Note: The usual disclaimer needs to be added here. I do not own the characters, CBS does. Also, I want to thank Emmithar for reading and editing this story - as well as for offering some suggestions.

Just Another Day at the Office

The incessant ringing ripped him from the clutches of what he vaguely remembered to be a good dream. Something about swimming and cake. Or was that swimming in cake? Whatever it was, it was over. Greg swatted blindly at his alarm clock. He found the snooze button, jabbing at it several times before he realized it wasn't making a difference. Greg groaned. His phone. Of course it was the phone. What else could he expect on his first night off in weeks.

He grabbed the guilty object and struggled to pull himself into a seated position without opening his eyes.

"'Lo?" Greg didn't bother to check the caller I.D. He didn't have much of a social life anymore and he was pretty sure it was either Catherine or Nick calling him in.

"Sorry to wake you," it was Catherine, and her voice was much too perky for his taste, "but we've just got hit with a few too many big scenes tonight, and we need you to come in."

By this point, Greg had managed to pry his heavy eyelids open, toss the covers off, and swing his legs over the side of the bed. Experience dictated that getting out of bed when you really didn't want to move should be treated the same way as removing a band aid. Faster was definitely better.

"Okay" He glanced at the clock. It was barely 10 pm. He shouldn't have let himself sleep this late anyway. "Give me 30 minutes to get myself up and out the door. Do want me to head directly to the scene or to the lab?"

"The scene. Thanks Greggo. Nick is already there and he'll fill you in on all the details."

He quickly jotted down the address on the notepad next to his bed – a tip from the late Warrick Brown – as Catherine rattled it off. Tossing the phone into his pile of keys and iPod, Greg made a dash for the bathroom. He figured a five minute shower followed by an even faster tooth brushing was more than what he needed to appear presentable. Long gone were the days of painstakingly sculpting his hair into dangerous spikes and organized chaos. His new short 'do was the result of increased responsibility of a CSI, the pressure to look "the part," and the need to rush out the door with a moment's notice.


Pulling into the correct street, he turned his nose up in disgust. How fast the media was able to mobilize and camp out at a crime scene was nothing less than abhorrent. They claim "the public has the right to know" what is going on in the city, but he saw their actions as self-serving and part of the constant battle for better ratings.

"Vultures" he muttered under his breath as he slowly maneuvered his car through the residential street littered with reporters and their camera-men, curious bystanders, and the police officers assigned to the case. Greg parked his car behind the lab Denali, and stared at the MacMansion in front of him.

One of the monstrosities that seemed to have appeared overnight during the height of the real estate boon a few years go, it was barely distinguishable from the neighbors' equally large and ostentatious homes. The only differences were the number of law enforcement officials on the property and the long length of crime scene tape roping it off.

Greg slipped out of the car, and retrieved his kit from the trunk. Nodding to the officer on duty, Greg lifted the tape and ducked underneath. He knew he'd find Nick inside, and possibly Brass and SuperDave too.