"What bugs you most?"
A CSI fan-fic story, started May 2003; WIP.
The usual disclaimers: none of the CBS or CSI characters belong to me, and I make no money doing this kind of thing. I am not affiliated with CBS or CSI in any way.
Spoilers: this is set sometime between Seasons 4 and 5 (so lots of water under the bridge since I started this fic). Greg Sanders is still in the lab.
Rating: T for adult themes and language in later chapters.
Pairings: Jim/Catherine; Bobby/OFC.
Chapter 09/??
"Medicinal Chocolate"
(A Sunday morning in mid-May)
"Oh, I'm gonna kill that guy!" Sara exclaimed fiercely as she came rushing into the CSI break room. "I hate him, I hate him, and I hate him."
Nick, Warrick and Mickey were seated at the table sharing the Sunday paper's crossword puzzle. They had made a photocopy of it so Grissom could have the original. Mickey was snacking from a half-full bag of Nestlé's semi-sweet chocolate chips and looking over Nick's shoulder.
"Who's the 419 gonna be this time, Sara?" Warrick asked, smiling and using the LVMPD code for "dead body". He had a good idea who and winked mischievously at Nick.
"That damn Hodges in Trace." She started rummaging through cabinets and drawers, obviously searching for something, and not finding it. "Little brown-nosing shit…I swear to God…" she muttered.
"N-e-n-e," said Mickey to Nick, who had the pencil at the time. "Hawaiian goose, trust me."
"How in the hell do you know that?" he said with a grin as he wrote it in. "You do Hie-wayan zoology too?" Nick deliberately thickened his East-Texas drawl and Warrick had to roll his eyes in mock disgust. The flirting energy was getting pretty dense in the break room.
Mickey laughed and mimicked him as accurately as she could. "Lots of crossword puzzles, Bubba. I had plenty of time waiting for DNA gels to run in the lab when I was in graduate school; some of my friends called it gradual school since it took so freakin' long to finish!"
Sara stopped in her search and asked: "Hey Mickey, do you keep any Midol or anything like that with you?"
Mickey held up a small bottle from her lab coat pocket and shook it without a word, handing it to her immediately. Sidle gave her a grateful smile, opening it. She also read the label, with a raised eyebrow of interest: 800 mg ibuprofen. "Wow, this is the good stuff too."
"Only thing that'll cut mine," Mickey told her. It was then that Sara noticed the package of semi-sweet chocolate morsels (meant for baking Tollhouse chocolate chip cookies, but this bag wouldn't survive the drive home at the end of the shift) and the carton of milk on the table. By now, both Stokes and Brown were becoming distinctly uncomfortable at the two women's conversation topic.
Sara sighed and sat at the table, swallowing down two tablets with water, and then she took a few chocolates from the proffered bag. "Thanks, I'm your friend forever. And I can't wait for menopause…"
Warrick checked his watch suddenly and tapped Nick on the arm. "Hey, look at the time, Dog. Gotta get back to that evidence thing we were working on."
"Oh, yeah, right; that other thing we were working on," said Nick, rising from the table and leaving the crossword copy for Sara and Mickey. "We'll let you ladies get back to your, um, stuff…" With that, he quickly followed Warrick out of the break room.
"Cowards! Both of you," Sara called out after them, laughing merrily. Mickey was laughing too and picked up the crossword puzzle Nick had so hurriedly left behind.
Out in the hallway, Nick and Warrick nearly ran into Grissom, Willows and Brass who were just about to enter the break room. Nick held up a hand to stop Gil.
"I wouldn't go in there, if I were ya'll. Sara and Mickey are popping Midols with chocolate chip chasers," he told them. "It could be dangerous."
"And Sara is planning to kill David H. I think she really means it this time, Griss," Warrick chimed in, continuing his role in the tag-team routine. Grissom smirked and jerked a thumb over his shoulder; back toward the evidence lay out rooms.
"Can we get that analysis finished by the end of the shift please? Sara and Mickey's break habits are not exactly germane to our cases, are they?" He tried to glare at them sternly, and was failing miserably, especially with Brass snickering and Catherine barging her way into the doorway. Gil moved to follow her, but Jim bailed.
"You're on your own, Cousin," he said, high-tailing it to the relative safety of his office.
"Okay, how about a fruit that begins with 'T'?" they heard Mickey asking. Gil and Catherine helped themselves to coffee and joined the young women at the table.
Sara thought a moment. "Tangerine. Tangelo. How many letters?"
"Six," was the response. "Yeah, help yourself, Catherine," replied Mickey to Willows' unspoken question regarding the bag of chocolate chips on the table.
"How about tomato?" Grissom suggested.
Mickey nodded and wrote it in. "Perfect. You are the man, Dr. Gil."
Catherine scoffed. "Tomatoes aren't fruit, are they?" She looked skeptical, but winked out of Mickey's and Sara's view, teasing.
Grissom sipped at his coffee before answering. "Any ripened flower or ovary is a fruit: eggplant, cucumber, tomatoes, and green beans. Not just apples and oranges."
There was a poignant moment of silence before all three of the women spluttered and started laughing. Gil chuckled quietly and reddened suddenly with embarrassment. This much female solidarity was getting to him, but he bore the teasing like a good sport. "I'll see you ladies later. Enjoy your crossword."
"Okay, bye, Grissom," Catherine called as he went out the door and closed it carefully behind him. He could still hear their amusement as he made his way carrying coffee down the hall to Jim's office, shaking his head at himself.
-/-/-/-/-/-
Later, at about 5:00 a.m., Mickey was working alone in the DNA lab. Greg had accompanied Nick and Warrick on a call, so she was really just babysitting the instruments as they ran their automated programs. Grissom had granted permission for Sanders to occasionally work in the field, and a Sunday morning seemed slow-paced enough for him to do so.
Mickey was sitting at a bench with her laptop computer in front of her, trying to catch up on her seminar notes from the ASM conference she'd attended the previous week, and trying not to yawn too much. Greg had shown her his private stash of music CDs in the cabinet and offered her the use of his player while he was away. She was beginning to seriously consider a nap on the couch in Uncle Jim's office when two very big, burly gentlemen in suits came into the lab area. Inwardly, she commented on their harsh haircuts brusque body language. Outwardly, she was trying not to look too awed or intimidated. They were both huge, and one of them was extremely annoyed about something.
"I don't give a good goddamn what he says, Ray. The D.A. is about to crawl up my ass and…" one of them was saying with a great deal of irritation. He stopped suddenly when he saw Mickey, taking in her "visitor" tag and light blue lab coat of the Forensics/I.D. unit. "Sorry, ma'am." He winced as his face and ears reddened up into his auburn crew cut; old manners hammered into him by his no-nonsense grandmother coming to the forefront.
"Good morning, Sheriff," said Mickey (and she couldn't help drawling on the last word, just like in the cowboy-western movies), reading his badge and I.D. She hopped off the rolling high chair and held out her hand. "I'm Dr. Mickey Kaye, visiting from Tallahassee this week. Well, attending a conference and visiting family." Mickey wasn't sure why she said it that way, but she wondered what this sheriff and detective (noting the other man's badge on his coat) were like. Jim Brass hadn't introduced her to any cops yet, just the science types.
Mobley chuckled as he shook her hand. "A real-live Lady Seminole, huh? That Coach Bobby and his boys did a number on my Lobos a few years back," he asked, referring to the college team mascot from that particular Florida city (his team was the NMSU Lobos). "Brian Mobley. This is Sergeant Ray O'Riley. You seen Sanders around?"
"No, sir. He's out in the field with Stokes and Brown. Anything I can help with?" She had to look up slightly to talk to both of them.
The sheriff looked over at O'Riley, who shrugged and gave a short laugh. "I'm not the one with the D.A. and hemorrhoid problem, Brian." Mickey was trying to place his accent and guessed back East someplace. The sheriff was obviously a Texan; his was an easy one.
Mobley heaved a sigh. "It's this DNA data. Some of the lawyers involved are hauling in their own experts and our District Attorney is having a conniption fit. How about a basic info piece Dr. Kaye, enough to get him off my tail?"
She grinned and saved the spreadsheet file she had been working on, and then closed her lap top cover, seating it with a soft click. "No problem, I live for this stuff back home. Is over here okay?" Mickey indicated the large white marker board on the wall across the lab.
Forty minutes or so later, Mickey was leaning comfortably against the board, having covered it with illustrations and notes about DNA, etc. Mobley and O'Riley had pulled lab chairs over and were seated with her at the board, looking much more relaxed than when they had first come in.
"So what is it that you do back in sunny old Florida, Doc?" O'Riley was asking. "Obviously teaching."
Mickey put the caps back on the erasable markers, making sure the correct colors went with the markers (it was a pet peeve that she was well-known for at the college: white board markers with the wrong color caps just plain ticked her off sometimes).
"Yes, I teach part-time at the college; mainly biology with some chemistry thrown in. I had spent so much time in Tallahassee that I looked into staying after I finished up my degree. Some friends and I also started an environmental consulting lab, so it leaves plenty of time for fun stuff like fishing and golf, too."
Sheriff Mobley had been utterly charmed by Mickey (a difficult thing to do given his usually uptight personality, but she had cheated a little by letting her usual Southern accent out a bit during their conversation). "NMSU never had Profs in Las Cruces that looked like you, young lady, and I honestly hated biology class with all the damn smelly dead frogs. Thank you for your help on this."
Mickey blushed slightly. "You are very welcome. I hope it ends up being useful."
"Should be just fine. Hey, do you have a résumé with you? Grissom mentioned a while back about a bacterial DNA database we should get into. Pro…something?"
"Prokaryotic. Sure I do. One thing about conferences is that you always take your C.V. 'cause you never know who you'll run into."
Mobley nodded, smiling. "We're the number two crime lab in the country, and I'd like to get us to top dog."
She laughed with the pair of them. "Who's number one?"
O'Riley made a face. "L.A." Mickey nodded, understanding immediately. She was a fellow East-coaster after all.
Just then, Grissom, Sanders and Brass entered the lab. Greg Sanders widened his eyes when he saw the marker board, taking in the amount of information on it, particularly intrigued by the multi-colored illustrations of DNA double helices. He busied himself with checking the instruments, not sure what he should say around nearly the entire department senior staff in his lab, especially Sheriff Mobley, who rarely came into the technician areas. Brass and Grissom exchanged a wordless look of surprise at the sight of Mickey in friendly conversation with the sheriff and the sergeant.
Mobley held out his hand to Mickey. "Dr. Kaye…thanks again. How about that paperwork on my desk by Tuesday morning? We can crunch some numbers later, you and I."
"Sure thing, Sheriff. And thank you for the opportunity," she replied, noticing that Uncle Jim had arrived.
"Marcie will kill me if I miss Sunday school again. Gil, I don't know where you found Dr. Kaye, but we need to figure out how to keep her in Vegas," Mobley said to the CSI supervisor, much to his surprise. "Jim, Ray, tomorrow at 6 a.m. should work."
Brass barely had a chance to acknowledge him as he left, so he turned to Mickey with a questioning look on his face. "So, give. Did we miss something, Mouse?"
"Oh, hi Uncle Jimmy. If it's alright with Dr. Grissom, we're thinking of getting a summer project started," she told him. "Only a few crime labs in the U.S. are set up for bacterial DNA. Weird, huh?"
Grissom looked over at Sanders, and winked, chuckling quietly at the straightforward, guileless way she spoke. "I think you're going to have a good summer this year, Greg. Ray, have you met Captain Brass' niece from Florida yet?"
O'Riley laughed heartily, patting her shoulder as he made his way to the door. "Apparently I just did, and it's still a pleasure, Doc. I'll get started on that Evans report, Captain."
Brass smiled and shook his head at her; Mickey was looking rather pleased with herself and grinned back at him and Grissom, as if this was something she did every weekend.
"So, um…Uncle Jimmy, yesterday you said I could stay in your guest room as long as I wanted. I'll cook at the house if you like, and I think I just found a great way to pay for it!"
TBC