Title: ...And Neither Do Dead Bodies
Rating: PG-13 for language
Pairing: Nick/Greg
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Summary: A few hours after the events of "Monkeys Don't Tap-Dance...", Greg sees something else that shouldn't happen.
Author's Notes: This ficlet deals with a problem Greg has on the LJ community Csi_labs. Kinda. Dedicated to Sparkleblsm because we were discussing "small green monkeys" and Puppytraining because of her playing Nicky on the LJ community Csi_labs. Also, thanks goes to this website for the lyrics of Hello, Ma Baby.
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The monkey had disappeared a couple of hours ago, roughly the same time Greg finished with Nick's DNA samples. To be perfectly honest, Greg was happy that the green monkey had disappeared. The idea he was beginning to see things rather frightened him more than hearing things that weren't really there.
But it was gone now and Greg could go back to thinking he wasn't going more insane than usual. And because he was done with Nick's results, that meant that Greg could go find the CSI and personally deliver them instead of just having to page the Texan.
Greg exited his lab with a little skip, feeling happy with the world just because the obnoxious figment of his imagination had vanished, and went off in search of Nick, pausing only once in the breakroom to snag a cup of the sludge the Criminialistics Lab tried to pass off as coffee. As he poured enough sugar and creamer to gag a cow into the motor oil looking mess, he tried to think where in the lab his dashing cowboy could possibly be. A glance over his shoulder through the glass that covered the wall overlooking the hallway told him that Nick wasn't in the hallway or any of the surrounding labs.
"Hmmm." He mused as he left the break room, taking a sip of his coffee. The lab rat grimaced, making a mental note to dip into his stash of Blue Hawaiian coffee and replace the horrible-tasting dark liquid when he had the chance. "If I were a cute Texan on a case, where would I be...?"
With the musing that any direction was as good as any other, Greg turned left and headed for the morgue. It wasn't that he assumed Nick would be there; it was just that, when on a case, a CSI could be found there with Doctor Robbins. Besides, Greg didn't know the details of the case Nicky was working on, or even if the vic of the case was dead, so even if Stokes wasn't in the morgue, there was a good chance another CSI would be and would know where to find the Texan.
As he approached the morgue, a ragtime tune floated toward him. He quickened his pace, but stopped at the swinging doors to the morgue, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
Could he dare hope he was only hearing things again? He pondered that as he slowly pushed open the swinging door, opening his eyes once more and looking into the morgue. He knew that Doc Robbins sometimes listened to music, usually classical, when he worked on reports, and he fervently hoped that was what he was hearing now.
As he watched from the doorway, a body that was laid out on one of the autopsy tables got up, and Greg found himself wishing that the morgue had gotten another living body by mistake.
Nope, that was wishing for a bit much. Fucking hell.
As the body started to can-can, Greg could see the stitching covering the bare muscular chest of the dead man in the familiar Y pattern that told that Doc Robbins had already finished his autopsy. It was definitely a dead vic. Really fucking hell. Could this night get any worse?
As if to add insult to injury, the dead body began to sing along with its dancing, and the lab rat was reminded of that one cartoon he'd seen numerous times as both a child and an adult. That one Chuck Jones cartoon with the frog that only one person could see dancing and singing.
"Hello! ma baby, Hello! Ma honey, Hello! ma ragtime gal. Send me a kiss by wire, baby my heart's on fire! If you refuse me, Honey, you'll lose me, then you'll be left alone; Oh baby, telephone and tell me I'm your own."
When the body was done dancing and stood for a moment in a pose a dancer would take for applause, Greg glanced down at the mug of coffee in his hand almost mournfully, as if looking at the coffee would answer any question of his sanity. When the lab tech's liquid brown eyes came back up, the body was back to lying on the table under its pale blue cloth as if it hadn't been dancing just then.
"Fucking hell." The lab tech sighed as he turned to head back toward his lab. "I have got to talk to my psychologist about changing my prescription."
When he passed a water fountain, Greg emptied out his coffee, rinsing it down the drain, and headed for the breakroom to change out the coffee. Even if it wasn't the coffee that had made him see what he'd just seen, he wouldn't trust it on anyone else in the lab.
The End
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