DISCLAIMER: CSI is the property of CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a response to a call for fluff stories on the Catherine and Sara list, so don't expect Dostoevsky.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Thong
By ralst
Catherine took a step back as the full force of the image struck her.
She'd seen many things during her time as a CSI but the sight before her
had taken her completely by surprise.
"Sara?" she addressed the brunette rather than having to face the other
occupant of the room. "What are you doing?"
Sara reluctantly lifted her gaze. "I'm tracing the pattern left by the
second perpetrator in the Johnson case." She turned back to the wall and
her assistant of the moment.
Catherine glanced to Sara's right, before quickly reverting her attention
to the other woman. "And Greg is...?"
"Helping."
Greg remained silent, the blood saturating his cheeks having left him
temporarily deaf, dumb but unfortunately not blind.
"Helping?" A smirk transformed Catherine's face. "In a thong?"
Sara didn't appear to see the humour in the situation; as if being
assisted by a man wearing a leopard print thong, socks and a Bruce
Springsteen t-shirt was an every day occurrence. "Mrs Johnson's neighbour
reported seeing what she thought was a flasher at the same time the
perpetrators would have been fleeing the scene. She also happened to
mention that the man leant up against the wall, and I thought."
"That he might have left butt prints?"
Greg groaned.
"Not prints, exactly, but at least an indication of height and possibly
weight."
"Okay." Catherine tried to look as serious and businesslike as Sara but
her smirk couldn't be denied. "And Greg is in a thong because?"
"You weren't available," Sara muttered, before pointing to her tracing
pattern. "The marks looked odd, so I asked Greg to help me determine the
normal pattern of prints and scuff marks produced when skulking next to a
wall."
"So it's not just some weird sex thing?"
"No!" Greg's voice was strained, his eyes tightly shut in the hope of
blocking out the scene. At one time in his life he might have dreamt about
getting Sara alone, sans trousers, but that was in the past.
"Weird sex thing?" Sara's voice was dangerously low, her eyes promising
retribution for any perceived transgression. "Are you suggesting that I
would use my."
Sara's words were cut off as Greg fled from the room, a strangled cry his
only farewell.
The two women looked at each other, listening as Greg's cry was drowned
out by a chorus of giggles and shouts, before a set of chimes informed
them they'd both received a page.
--- Damn, you're good. The drinks are on us. WB ---
Catherine linked her arm through Sara's. "You'd think the boys would have
learnt by now."
"Greg in a thong," Sara chuckled, "as if that was going to be a challenge."
Catherine agreed. "I do love April Fools."
The End