CSI Nightlife (original) (raw)

[	mood	|	exhausted	]

WHO: Anyone/No one. Random update.
WHERE: Trace Lab.

~~~~~~~

Jesus, just how late was he? Barreling through the crime lab's double doors he frantically looks around. Thank GOD he's not here. Grissom would skin him alive if he knew his work wasn't finished. Actually all Griss would have to do is give him 'that look'. H doesn't even have to say a damn word to express how he felt, you could just tell. Hell, you felt it. How infuriating is THAT.

Speed hurdles toward the elevators, grabbing the next one up. Flicking his arm out he checks his watch for the millionth time and he grumbles, swearing his watch was going much faster than time should allow. 11:15pm. Speed .. Speed was LATE.

For the moment luck was on his side, the halls appeared to be bare but just for the moment ..and he slunk inside the men's locker room. He had an extra shirt in his area but, of course, it was wrinkled. Although so is the one he's wearing now..plus Poe's scent..and fur was all over it so he shed the garment quickly and changed, still buttoning up the new attire. The new puppy would be the death of him. Throwing on a loose fitting long sleeved dark blue shirt and some baggy jeans he hauls himself out the door.

Speed bolted down to the trace lab, ducking and weaving through sporadic waves of people who barely noticed him. Crashing through the doors he groans, finally able to sit down on the stool as his fingers run through sweat-soaked curly hair. Chest heaving he realizes just how exhausted he is as his arms droop down to his sides, hanging limp.

Collecting himself as best he can he leans forward, forehead resting against the microscope as he peers into another slide. Arms resting on the table he slumps forward a little, trying to get comfortable. This case was tough. A little kid, a spider, and a sandbox. Timmy was currently sifting through a very large pile of sand for some kind of evidence. Anything that could move this case along.

To the untrained eye it looks as though Speed's still hard at work as usual. People pass by the clear glass doors of his lab, only mildly interested but they have their own work to do. If one were to step inside though, all they would hear is soft, content snoring of a very tired CSI.