CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Triathlon
Chapter Two- Practice for Perfectionists
"Man I don't even know how to work this thing!" Warrick snapped to the people standing on shore.
Nick and Greg covered their faces, in an effort to hide their laughter from their struggling friend in the canoe the team was watching. They all snickered as the edge of Warrick's canoe hit a rock and he was pushed further back by the current. He swore very loudly as his float hit the back of his supposed start line.
"Hey foul mouth!" Sara called, "You might wanna practice harder. You do this at the race and we're gonna come last!"
"Hey! I'm trying but this no good piece of-"Warrick cursed.
"Don't blame the canoe Warrick!" Greg laughed, "Blame the user!"
"Well, if somebody would swap with me…" he eyed Catherine who was sipping her starbucks coffee.
Catherine shook her head smugly, "Nope, no way. Don't even think about it. If I tried what you're doing now, I would look demented."
The team laughed softly at her words, and continued to watch a distressed Warrick. Their laughter only increased to a dull roar when he capsized the canoe.
"You people have a lot of work to do" Grissom sighed shaking his head, as Warrick emerged dripping wet and supporting a bruised forehead.
"Damn!" he shouted loudly, slapping the water angrily with his free hand.
Sara Sidle
"Why are you two here again?" Sara asked groggily, shoving on her joggers.
"Me and the team felt bad about you getting the running part" Nick explained slowly, "So me and Cath are here to train you."
"I don't need training!" Sara complained, "I need sleep! Oh, look the sun isn't even out yet!"
"I've never heard you say that Sara." Catherine laughed shoving Sara out the front door.
"So you're gonna be my 'coach', huh?" Sara asked sarcastically turning to Nick.
"That's right" he nodded. They were out on the street, a few stars still twinkling over the desert city of Las Vegas. At least it was still cold.
"Then why are you here?" she turned to her right, where Catherine was leaning against a wall.
"I don't know. I'm the 'assistant coach'" she said lazily, "Besides I need the practice too." She patted the mountain bike by her side.
"So you guys are gonna follow me on those?" asked Sara looking at the bikes, with their large wheels, "How am I supposed to keep up with those!?" she looked to her 'coach' for help.
He only nodded toward the street, "Go on, get running."
"Wai- Isn't there some sort of special technique?"
Nick stared, "Yeah you put one leg in front of the other over and over again really fast."
Sara quirked her eyebrow at him, "Guys I'm not a baby. I can do this."
They both looked at her and she realized she would never win, so with a huff Sara started running, doing exactly what her 'coach' had advised. Catherine and Nick rolled their eyes and got onto their bikes, following her once she was a good 10 paces ahead of them.
"You know?" Catherine told Nick as they came closer to Sara, "This is good practice for me to."
*
A week later Sara was cursing under her breath as she jogged down the street, her thighs felt like they were on fire. She had managed to narrowly miss a car, escape a feral dog which chased her down the length of the road and ducked a bunch of magpies which swooped on her in a local park (much to the amusement of the little children playing in a nearby sandbox). She was panting and she hadn't even reached 3 mile's. How was she supposed to go the entire way in the race? She knew it was a hopeless task, why had they chosen her to do the running?
'Well' she thought, 'They are soooo gonna get it when I'm through with this!'
With a new determination she jogged harder and faster, ignoring the growing stitch in her side. Almost colliding with a brick wall as she sped around a corner…
Greg Sanders
Greg took a deep breath and walked into 'Moron Mikes Motorbike Madhouse' a shop specifically designed for all motorcyclist goods…and the morons who shopped in them. Surprisingly Greg knew how to ride one, and he was proud to say it had come from his years as a "young punk" (quoted by Gil Grissom). And he was pretty good at it to.
'The only problem' he thought, 'Is the costume, gotta look pretty for the ladies.'
He glanced over at the wall containing all the different coloured motorcyclist costumes, with their protective leathering and fancy laces. He strode up to the wall and began his search, by the end of it only three out of the many he had searched through, had caught his eye. The first one was a plain charcoal black. The second one was also black but had some interesting red patterns skimming down the sides and legs, the third one however was so shocking it would instantly catch your eye a hundred meters from where it was stationed. Every fiber of leather was coloured a fluoro pink. But which one to choose, it only dawned on him 20 minutes later that he didn't know what the team colours were. Flipping open his cell he dialed Catherine's number.
"Willows" Greg heard her say.
"Catherine, its Greg. Listen I just wanted to know what colours we're wearing as a team?" he asked, he bit his lip as he realized the team would never want to wear bright pink. Dejectedly he went to replace that uniform, halting his hand as he processed Catherine's reply.
"Oh, uh…we're not sure yet" Catherine said distractedly, Greg could hear Lindsey in the background begging her mum for a candy, "You wanna choose?"
Greg smiled, he could sure use this to his advantage, "Well yeah okay I will. I choose fluoro pink. If that's okay with you?"
Before Catherine could answer he quickly continued, "Great! Well now I'm sure your busy Cath be sure to tell the others. Okay bye bye." He hung up before she could protest. Chuckling as he put away the rejected costumes, sighing contently.
'Now for the helmet' he thought wandering over to another section of the store. This was gonna be fun…
Catherine Willows
After dragging Lindsey out of the candy store, Catherine dropped her wailing daughter off with her mother in law and was now at the gym on an exercise bike. Training with Sara in the mornings had exhausted her. Not only was Sara too slow for the bike, but trying to ride in pace with the brunette had cramped up Catherine's muscles. Riding the exercise bike proved harder than it looked, with eight different levels. Catherine dragged her feet round and round in continuous circles. How much of this was she supposed to endure? She sincerely hoped that in the race she wouldn't topple the bike over and cause one of those stack ups you see so often in cyclist racing.
The heat crept to Catherine's cheeks as she spotted a bunch of young men behind her, their eyes flickering to her backside as it worked to move the muscles. She sneered in disgust; there wasn't any respect in society these days. And she was equally amused with Greg's choice of colours. Of course, she had mentally cursed herself when she had allowed him to choose the colours.
The others would be angry for it. Oh well! Everybody makes mistakes, Catherine wasn't perfect.
"Screw them!" she thought, her anger making her peddle faster.
Nick Stokes
Nick stood by a couple of silver benches, his gear sprawled around him. He glanced up while smearing on the last of his sun screen, there was a long 100 meter lap pool a few meters to his right. A few swimmers were in there now even at these early hours. Nick was pretty confident Sara would keep up her exercising and be able to run the length of her course. So Catherine and himself had stopped her 'personal training' in just over a week, since they needed to train themselves. Anyway she told them not to worry and she would be able to handle it, no problem.
In his youth Nick had been a good swimmer, he had to admit. And the ladies sure did like it when he walked around wearing nothing but swim shorts. Even now in the local pool, he could spot a few of them eyeing him, giggling and talking behind their hands.
'To busy to play cat an' mouse ladies' he thought. Sighing he put away his sunscreen and organized all his items, locking most of them away. With everything in check he hitched up his goggles and walked over to one of the vacant lanes in the pool. He put on his underwater glasses; the chlorine in the water always did funny things to his eyes. He knew that in the race, being in the fresh water would mean he wouldn't need them. Perching on the edge of the pool he decided he would start easy with a backstroke for a warm up, then progress into freestyle as he went. This was the technique he was planning on using in the actual event.
Taking a deep breath he plunged into the water. He had always loved that weird feeling which came over him every time he dived into the liquid. Like there was suddenly a whole new way of moving his body. Settling himself down, he thrust his hands around in circular motions. One going over his head, then plunging back into the water, before the other one would repeat the process. His strong stocky legs kicking smoothly against the water current, like the flippers of a dolphin. And he was off…
Warrick Brown
'This is a joke!?' thought Warrick, pulling his arms back and long hairy legs cramped up every time he went for another row. Warrick was on a practice machine in the athletics centre, after the little performance earlier he thought it was safe to assume he needed training out of the water before he actually got in. This proved sufficient enough.
'Back' Warrick thought as he roughly jerked the paddle toward his chest, 'Forward'
He wondered why he had chosen canoeing in the first place. It was better than running for sure, and Warrick hated water. He was like a cat, the problem was whenever he got his hair wet it became wild and out of control more than it already was. He glanced around at the gear they had to dress up in, and doubted he could fit his hair into one of those helmets. He had always had trouble with helmets, even when he was young…
Gil Grissom
Grissom sat comfortably at home, flipping through some report papers. This was the last one, the last sheet of paperwork he had to fill out before he was free from it for the rest of his time off. He smiled contently as he wrote the last word, flipped the cover shut and threw it on the stacked pile of completed work. That should do it. He got up from the sofa and walked over to a bookshelf of his, picking up the first book which came into his view.
He withdrew It from the shelf and walked over to a chair, settling himself comfortably in the cushions and wondering what his team were up to lately. He snickered.
TBC
A:N/ I've edited as best i could, sorry if it sucks.
Sar'z