Clothes, clothes, and more clothes (part 2)
Title: Charity is the Best Policy, part 2
Challenge: The Clothing Challenge
Rating: PG-13ish?
Pairing: Nick/Greg (CSI)
Warnings/Spoilers: Not really. Would probably make sense if part 1 is read first... but, it's okay too. Written during a depressing night watching depressing TV.
Summary: Promises, promises.
---
Filthy and tired, Greg walked aimlessly, heading towards the general direction of the showers. Grissom had one of those (very rare) mischievous moments and paired him off with Nick. Usually, he would jump in joy (in secret, of course), but Nick was very ticked off. The prospect of walking around commando brought a vicious revenge streak and Greg was at the receiving end. Dumpster diving, garden digging, wading in sewers, baiting very-scary-pet-dog-with-very-sharp-teeth (and probably rabies), and all the filthiest, scariest work there was for a CSI.
"Greg! Hey Greg! Sanders!" the receptionist shouted across the hall.
"What?!" he shouted back.
"There's a packet for you!" the receptionist shouted again.
"Hold on to it! I'll collect it before I leave!" Usually, he would not pass up a package, especially one that sounded like a surprise. But he was just tired, and he walked straight into Grissom.
"Go grab the packet," Grissom said, "and don't shout in the lobby. Not good for the lab's image. More working and less shouting, please."
Greg stood transfixed as he watched Grissom walked away with a body language that promised bad things to Greg.
"Fine!" Greg shouted at Grissom's direction. He knew it wasn't a very good thing to do, but he was just tired and he felt petty. Grissom on the other hand continued to walk down the hall, raising a cautionary index finger up and wagging it.
---
Fresh out of the shower, dressed, and rather subdued, Greg sat in a corner and ripped the brown wrapping off the package in his hand. A box and and envelope. He thought about Nick, and hoped that this would be a nice surprise from Nick, a present and an apology. Opening the envelope, he then thought about pranks and crazy criminals, and hoped that this wouldn't be a bomb or something horrible like that. Now, that would suck big time.
"Dear Mr Sanders," Greg read under his breath, "Thank you for your donation. We are unable to accept the underwears, however. And although we will have a hard time trying to distribute your clothes, I'm sure it will be an interesting experience for our staff."
Greg sighed and opened the box. He allowed for a smirk, feeling like he'd know what he might find in the box. He peeled the lid off and found a boxful of Nick boxer briefs and a notecard. It was written in a different hand from Mrs Renshaw's. "Dear Mr Sanders," he read again. "Mrs Renshaw wanted to bin these. Mrs Renshaw doesn't know this, but I think I'd better return it. It's not even yours is it? By the way, I think you're a very fun guy, if your clothes are anything to go by." There was a name and a phone number written on the bottom of the card, next to the words "call me!" and a scruffy heart.
What the fuck? Greg thought. An anonymous come-on? Okay, maybe not that anonymous, seeing that he had a number and a name. He looked at the box of boxer briefs in his hand and for the first time saw tiny black stitchings on the waistband that he'd never noticed before. He squinted and snorted.
"Greg? What are you doing there?" Nick who just came out of the showers smelling like... well... Nick, really. "Those are mine." Nick accused. "Do I even have any left at home?"
Greg was rather miffed that Nick would accuse him of taking more. Despite what popular urban myths said, he wasn't an underwear thief. "No... The Mission returned them. Which is good of them. Because they could've thrown it away."
"Well, bless 'em," Nick snatched the box away from Greg.
"Nick, who stitched their names on their underwears?" Greg lifted one up and pointed at the black stitching.
"I did, apparently. Put it back in," Nick said.
"It's not like anybody'd steal the damn things," Greg sighed, still holding it up.
"You did, apparently. Now, put it back in," Nick answered.
"Huh. So..." Greg drawled, putting the briefs back in the box and giving it a small pat. "Now that you've got your briefs back, are you even going to apologize for the shit you put me through this shift?"
"No..." Nick said, as he replaced the lid on the box.
"No?"
"No."
"Really?"
"Yep."
"Are you sure? 'Cause the one who returned 'em left his name and number. Apparently he thought that, and I quote, I'm a very fun guy, if my clothes are anything to go by. I think I'm going to call him." Greg said, brandishing the notecard in front of Nick's face.
"No you aren't going to call him," Nick growled.
"So, apologize already," Greg pushed.
"No. And you aren't going to call him, because you, Mr Greg Sanders, love me."
"I love you, but that wouldn't stop me calling him," Greg huffed.
"Well," Nick drawled, putting his jacket on, his leather jacket on (which Greg loved), and tucking the box underneath one arm, "nobody's stopping you from calling him. But I doubt you'll still call him when you know what I have in store for you at home." Nick didn't wait for Greg's answer, but walked out of the locker room, grinning.
---
He must be grinning too widely that Archie stopped him in the hallway. "Somebody's happy," he observed and noticed the box under Nick's arm. "It's not your birthday, is it?"
"No it's not," Nick said. And as he heard Greg's hurried footsteps he smiled even wider, "No. But it could well be."
---
---
Challenge: The Clothing Challenge
Rating: PG-13ish?
Pairing: Nick/Greg (CSI)
Warnings/Spoilers: Not really. Would probably make sense if part 1 is read first... but, it's okay too. Written during a depressing night watching depressing TV.
Summary: Promises, promises.
---
Filthy and tired, Greg walked aimlessly, heading towards the general direction of the showers. Grissom had one of those (very rare) mischievous moments and paired him off with Nick. Usually, he would jump in joy (in secret, of course), but Nick was very ticked off. The prospect of walking around commando brought a vicious revenge streak and Greg was at the receiving end. Dumpster diving, garden digging, wading in sewers, baiting very-scary-pet-dog-with-very-sharp-teeth (and probably rabies), and all the filthiest, scariest work there was for a CSI.
"Greg! Hey Greg! Sanders!" the receptionist shouted across the hall.
"What?!" he shouted back.
"There's a packet for you!" the receptionist shouted again.
"Hold on to it! I'll collect it before I leave!" Usually, he would not pass up a package, especially one that sounded like a surprise. But he was just tired, and he walked straight into Grissom.
"Go grab the packet," Grissom said, "and don't shout in the lobby. Not good for the lab's image. More working and less shouting, please."
Greg stood transfixed as he watched Grissom walked away with a body language that promised bad things to Greg.
"Fine!" Greg shouted at Grissom's direction. He knew it wasn't a very good thing to do, but he was just tired and he felt petty. Grissom on the other hand continued to walk down the hall, raising a cautionary index finger up and wagging it.
---
Fresh out of the shower, dressed, and rather subdued, Greg sat in a corner and ripped the brown wrapping off the package in his hand. A box and and envelope. He thought about Nick, and hoped that this would be a nice surprise from Nick, a present and an apology. Opening the envelope, he then thought about pranks and crazy criminals, and hoped that this wouldn't be a bomb or something horrible like that. Now, that would suck big time.
"Dear Mr Sanders," Greg read under his breath, "Thank you for your donation. We are unable to accept the underwears, however. And although we will have a hard time trying to distribute your clothes, I'm sure it will be an interesting experience for our staff."
Greg sighed and opened the box. He allowed for a smirk, feeling like he'd know what he might find in the box. He peeled the lid off and found a boxful of Nick boxer briefs and a notecard. It was written in a different hand from Mrs Renshaw's. "Dear Mr Sanders," he read again. "Mrs Renshaw wanted to bin these. Mrs Renshaw doesn't know this, but I think I'd better return it. It's not even yours is it? By the way, I think you're a very fun guy, if your clothes are anything to go by." There was a name and a phone number written on the bottom of the card, next to the words "call me!" and a scruffy heart.
What the fuck? Greg thought. An anonymous come-on? Okay, maybe not that anonymous, seeing that he had a number and a name. He looked at the box of boxer briefs in his hand and for the first time saw tiny black stitchings on the waistband that he'd never noticed before. He squinted and snorted.
"Greg? What are you doing there?" Nick who just came out of the showers smelling like... well... Nick, really. "Those are mine." Nick accused. "Do I even have any left at home?"
Greg was rather miffed that Nick would accuse him of taking more. Despite what popular urban myths said, he wasn't an underwear thief. "No... The Mission returned them. Which is good of them. Because they could've thrown it away."
"Well, bless 'em," Nick snatched the box away from Greg.
"Nick, who stitched their names on their underwears?" Greg lifted one up and pointed at the black stitching.
"I did, apparently. Put it back in," Nick said.
"It's not like anybody'd steal the damn things," Greg sighed, still holding it up.
"You did, apparently. Now, put it back in," Nick answered.
"Huh. So..." Greg drawled, putting the briefs back in the box and giving it a small pat. "Now that you've got your briefs back, are you even going to apologize for the shit you put me through this shift?"
"No..." Nick said, as he replaced the lid on the box.
"No?"
"No."
"Really?"
"Yep."
"Are you sure? 'Cause the one who returned 'em left his name and number. Apparently he thought that, and I quote, I'm a very fun guy, if my clothes are anything to go by. I think I'm going to call him." Greg said, brandishing the notecard in front of Nick's face.
"No you aren't going to call him," Nick growled.
"So, apologize already," Greg pushed.
"No. And you aren't going to call him, because you, Mr Greg Sanders, love me."
"I love you, but that wouldn't stop me calling him," Greg huffed.
"Well," Nick drawled, putting his jacket on, his leather jacket on (which Greg loved), and tucking the box underneath one arm, "nobody's stopping you from calling him. But I doubt you'll still call him when you know what I have in store for you at home." Nick didn't wait for Greg's answer, but walked out of the locker room, grinning.
---
He must be grinning too widely that Archie stopped him in the hallway. "Somebody's happy," he observed and noticed the box under Nick's arm. "It's not your birthday, is it?"
"No it's not," Nick said. And as he heard Greg's hurried footsteps he smiled even wider, "No. But it could well be."
---
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