Saturday Nights
Title: Saturday Nights
Fandom: CSI
Rating: PG
Words: 314
Summary: Coffee can brighten a day. Or is it really the coffee?
Saturday night is the loneliest night of the week, a wise man had once said.
Well, actually Frank Sinatra sung it, to be more precise. And while Sinatra thought so because he used to go dancing with his sweetheart on Saturday nights, Greg Sanders thought so because he honestly had other ideas of spending a Saturday night than sitting in a quite dark lab, alone with nothing but case files and samples of blood, hair and dirt.
All work, no play, Greg thought to himself, as he lay at the desk, his chin resting on the tabletop. Picking another sample from his table, he raised his head some to look at it, thoroughly uninterested.
The see through little bag contained dirt from under some victim’s nails - nothing interesting. Well, of course he’d only know if there was something of interest in it if he actually got his ass up to run it through the computer; just that that didn’t promise to rid him of his boredom either. A computer wasn’t quite the company he wished for on a Saturday night, unless he and it were involved in a big LAN party.
Greg sighed, his spiky haired head sinking back to the desk, just as a ceramic cup was loudly placed there, right in front of his nose. The smell of coffee emanated from it. Raising an eyebrow, the lab tech looked up slowly.
“Thought you might need some.”
Archie smirked down at the other, a second cup of coffee in his own hands. He sipped at it, and Greg followed suit with his own cup of freshly brewed heaven, then smiled broadly.
“Thanks.”
Archie waved dismissively.
“No big deal. Saturday nights here can be damn lonesome and cold.” He muttered, before he turned around and left.
Greg smiled. Yes, they could.
But his night had just become a lot less lonesome, and even less cold.
Fandom: CSI
Rating: PG
Words: 314
Summary: Coffee can brighten a day. Or is it really the coffee?
Saturday night is the loneliest night of the week, a wise man had once said.
Well, actually Frank Sinatra sung it, to be more precise. And while Sinatra thought so because he used to go dancing with his sweetheart on Saturday nights, Greg Sanders thought so because he honestly had other ideas of spending a Saturday night than sitting in a quite dark lab, alone with nothing but case files and samples of blood, hair and dirt.
All work, no play, Greg thought to himself, as he lay at the desk, his chin resting on the tabletop. Picking another sample from his table, he raised his head some to look at it, thoroughly uninterested.
The see through little bag contained dirt from under some victim’s nails - nothing interesting. Well, of course he’d only know if there was something of interest in it if he actually got his ass up to run it through the computer; just that that didn’t promise to rid him of his boredom either. A computer wasn’t quite the company he wished for on a Saturday night, unless he and it were involved in a big LAN party.
Greg sighed, his spiky haired head sinking back to the desk, just as a ceramic cup was loudly placed there, right in front of his nose. The smell of coffee emanated from it. Raising an eyebrow, the lab tech looked up slowly.
“Thought you might need some.”
Archie smirked down at the other, a second cup of coffee in his own hands. He sipped at it, and Greg followed suit with his own cup of freshly brewed heaven, then smiled broadly.
“Thanks.”
Archie waved dismissively.
“No big deal. Saturday nights here can be damn lonesome and cold.” He muttered, before he turned around and left.
Greg smiled. Yes, they could.
But his night had just become a lot less lonesome, and even less cold.