Ch1: In which Boredom is a Crime
AN: This is a prequel to my work-in-progress "But the Book Said...." which I seem to have hit a slight block on. I will work on them both, I promise that if I ever abandon a story it will be marked as such. I won't just leave you hanging forever. And now without further ado.... the beginning, sorta.
Oh yeah, almost forgot. I OWN ONLY THE FIGMENTS OF MY IMAGINATION. DIANE (aka Deb) AND DELVIN (aka David) ARE MINE, THEIR IMMORTALITY IS NOT. I DON'T OWN HIGHLANDER OR CSI. Moving on.
Ch 1: in which boredom is a crime.
The soft chink of test-tubes and muffled sound of comfy shoes was shattered by the c.d. of the night coming on in the D.N.A. lab. Greg Sanders was on duty. Some of the scientist looked up from their work with indulgent smiles while others groaned in irritation, but none of them bothered the lab rat. He was good at what he did, the little darling of the graveyard shift, so they endured the noise in exchange for his expertise and the comic relief.
Greg bee-bee-dopped his way around his little corner of the crime lab, playing the air-drums between checking the readiness of each piece of equipment, when he noticed the C.S.I. in the entry way.
“Warrick! What can the master of genetic structuring do for you?”
The sleepy-eyed Warrick Brown chuckled.
“Can you structure me the perfect woman in this lab?”
“Not tonight,” Greg replied with a wink, pulling a sheet of paper from a file with a flourish. “However, if you want the D.N.A. results from last night’s clumsy thief, I can give you that. It printed out about an hour after you left, and Eckley told me his shift has their own problems and to leave it for you.” Warrick accepted the print-off. “I’ll work on that perfect woman later, but she’ll only boor you. Flaws make a woman perfect, and perfection is the biggest flaw of all.”
“That was very poetic,” Warrick replied. “Full of wisdom tonight, huh?”
Rolling up the print-out, Warrick saluted Greg and left. Greg smiled brightly until the C.S.I. was out of sight, then released it with a sigh.
“Yeah, full of wisdom,” he murmured. Shaking himself, he put his smile back on and went to work. Greg loved his job, he really did, but if he was honest, it wasn’t enough to love his job anymore. Greg was bored and lonely.
The C.S.I.’s were great, but he knew most of his like of them was hero-worship more than friendship. He knew they thought of him as a wide-eyed kid with a crush on all of them. Sometimes he got a mental image of himself regressing to five-years-old, looking up at the All-Knowing Gil Grissom and saying, “When I grow up, I want to be just like you!”
He could imagine Grissom’s patronizing chuckle and pat on the head all too clearly.
Mechanically he processed everything in his path, habitually bumping Grissom and Catherine ahead of everyone else. No one complained too loudly since they were the highest ranking Investigators on shift. He wondered if he’d love them or hate them as his parents.
Hate, he decided. And then I’d hate myself for lusting after my mom.
Shaking his head at himself, he lost his depressing thoughts in his work.
“What in the name of all that isn’t holy is that?”
David Lionel Granger stared in horrified wonder at the TV screen. His sister glanced over.
“Children’s programming. I’m just getting caught up on modern culture,” she explained, turning back to the newspaper.
“That is not culture, twin. That is a singing purple dinosaur,” he declared with great disgust.
Deborah Lynn Granger rolled her eyes.
“Change it then.”
With gratitude, David changed the channel, only to be confronted by four colorful creatures that he couldn’t identify at all. One of them seemed to look right at him and announce cheerfully, “Poe!”
The television finally, mercifully fell silent.
“I think we’ve spent enough time in America now.”
Deb grinned. “We’ve only been in the country for four hours.”
“Long enough if there is an entire generation here raised on that.” He pointed meaningfully at the blank TV dominating the dresser in their two-bed motel room.
“You insisted we leave last time after six-hours,” she reminded him.
“The country was at war.”
“It’s always at war.”
“Both sides had a valid point.”
“Civil Wars are bad news.”
“That time doesn’t count!”
“Well, you started that one.”
“Beside the point.”
“Are you bored?”
“Yes.” A slight sulk there.
“Okay.” Deb put down the newspaper and grabbed her keys. She threw his to him. “We’re in Vegas, Dee. Bored is punishable by death here.”
With a grinned, the Immortal man followed his equally Immortal twin out, congratulating himself on a plan well executed.