A/N: "CSI: Briefly" is a compilation of various vignettes and short stories that I will update periodically. All characters, episodes, genres, and ratings are fair game. Unless I indicate otherwise, each piece stands alone. Not beta'd. Read and Review!
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
"Mouse Trapped"
Set sometime after ep.4x06, 'Under Suspicion'
Rated K+
"What the #*! is the lousy *!#^ I'm never #!%&…"
Sergeant Rick Stetler was having a bad day. His alarm failed to go off this morning, causing him to wake up an hour late. He couldn't take his usual time to perfect his appearance, so now his shirt was wrinkled and his untrimmed sideburns looked a little ragged and his hair was sticking up at odd angles. He realized half-way through the day that he was wearing two different color socks.
Now Rick sat in his office (in a swivel chair that was refusing to swivel) blotting ink out of his slacks from a faulty pen and wondering what the hell was making all that noise. For two hours, he'd been attempting to focus on a script for tomorrow's big press conference. And for two hours, a small scratching noise had grated on his nerves. Rustle, scratch, shuffle, scratch.
He'd had enough. Stalking to the far side of his office, Rick jammed his ear up against the wall. "I swear, if Dolores is still using that stupid typewriter..." He was muttering to himself— not a good sign.
It wasn't a typewriter, though. He realized the noise was moving, and he followed it lower and lower, then to the left toward the adjoining wall. It stopped, and Rick heard a 'scratch, scratch.'
He groused and stalked back to his desk, snatching the phone roughly off the receiver and viciously punching three numbers.
"Maintenance."
"Yeah, Sergeant Rick Stetler. Can someone please explain to me why there is a mouse in my office?"
"A mouse, sir?"
"Yes, a mouse dammit! You know, round ears, tail, tiny feet covered with infectious diseases."
"I don't know, sir."
"Well, I suggest someone comes and gets rid of it! Fast."
Larry in maintenance thought about that for a moment. Now, if someone asked nicely, he wouldn't mind a task so small as catching a mouse. Mr. Stetler never asked nicely. Larry looked over his shoulder at Pete and Armando, taking a break and catching up on last night's game.
"You know, Sergeant, I don't have any men to spare right now. We can get to you… tomorrow, about three o'clock."
"Not good enough. I need someone here now."
"I just can't do it, sir. I'll put you down for tomorrow. Have a good afternoon, Sergeant!"
Rick heard the dial tone and looked down incredulously at the phone in his hand. This was an outrage. He replaced the receiver, grabbed his keys, and barreled out the door.
Twenty minutes later, he was back in his office after a trip to the hardware store down the street. He carried a bag of mouse traps in one hand and a box of bait in the other.
Twenty minutes after that, Rick was once again sitting in his broken swivel chair, trying to write his speech with his broken fountain pen. Three dozen mouse traps were scattered around his office, loaded with bait and waiting to spring. His eyes darted skittishly from corner to corner at the slightest noise.
"SNAP!"
"Aha!" Rick shouted in triumph an hour after he set the traps. He sprang out of his chair and grabbed the old baseball bat he kept on the shelf behind his desk. In his rush to kill the blasted varmint, Rick failed to see the computer cord that ran from his desk to the plug on the wall.
He went flying. "SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAP SNAP!"
"Freaking #*! and the *!#^ this is #!%&…"
Sergeant Stetler lay on his back in the middle of his office floor, thirty some-odd mouse traps attached mercilessly to his body. Rick felt a small movement on his leg and began to kick furiously, to no avail. A small, spiteful looking creature scampered up to sit on his chest. It looked him straight in the eye, and he swore the little scourge was laughing at him.
"Rick, I need those—" Horatio stated as he walked into Stetler's office. He caught sight of the man and stopped dead in his tracks. A disheveled Rick was sprawled on the floor, baseball bat in hand, covered in spring traps and shooting daggers at a mouse with his furious eyes. A cute, furry little mouse that was perched curiously on his chest, safe and sound.
With eyebrows raised and a smirk on his face, the lieutenant said, "I don't even want to know." Then, he turned on his heel and walked away. Horatio Caine was definitely laughing at him.
"I swear to #*! I'll kill the little *!#^ I don't care if #!%&…"
