Standing by the baggage claim, Don exchanged glances between the picture in his hand and the crowd surrounding him. After a long while of waiting, Flack checked the flight number again, impatiently as he began to tap his foot impatiently.
Maybe I shoulda made a sign again..., he thought, wondering if it would take too long to run to a giftshop to make a makeshift sign of his own. However, Don decided he would not have the extra time to do so. He'd just picked Greg Sanders up a few days before, though admittedly, that wasn't his job. The job had been up to Danny, but Flack had offered to tag along and drive. Little did he know that he'd be asked to meet another CSI just a few days later. Flack exhaled audibly. This was bullshit. He was a homicide detective, not a babysitter... He wasn't even a CSI?! So who got the idea for him to
( ... )
A jet-lagged Nick walked off the plane, dragging himself through the Airport, towards the luggage claim. He hated having to wait and search for his bags, which probably wouldn't be on the belt for another hour if prior experiences proved right.
His eyes made friends with the carpeted floor, and, as he rubbed them, he heard his name. He looked up, rather confused.
"That would be me, and you are...?" He studied the New Yorker suspiciously.
Flack extended his hand. "Detective Don Flack, NYPD." he said, introducing himself to the warry Texan. "I'm supposed to bring you down to crimelab." Eyeing the carryon in Nick's hands, Flack raised an eyebrow. "This everything or you still need to go by luggage claim?"
Comments 14
Maybe I shoulda made a sign again..., he thought, wondering if it would take too long to run to a giftshop to make a makeshift sign of his own. However, Don decided he would not have the extra time to do so. He'd just picked Greg Sanders up a few days before, though admittedly, that wasn't his job. The job had been up to Danny, but Flack had offered to tag along and drive. Little did he know that he'd be asked to meet another CSI just a few days later. Flack exhaled audibly. This was bullshit. He was a homicide detective, not a babysitter... He wasn't even a CSI?! So who got the idea for him to ( ... )
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His eyes made friends with the carpeted floor, and, as he rubbed them, he heard his name. He looked up, rather confused.
"That would be me, and you are...?" He studied the New Yorker suspiciously.
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"I have a couple bags at luggage claim yet," he shrugged.
Nick scrambled to find a topic of conversation, lacking any ideas but one. "Ever been to Vegas?"
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