CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Word Count: 588
You've woken up as the opposite sex this morning... now what?
The woman woke up, stretched, and smiled over at the man next to her, already awake, already, watching her with loving eyes. It had been one of those weeks where they had seen each other the minimal amount, for an hour or two as one person got in, and the other ate a meal and headed out, but, here he was, dressed still in his work clothes, and lying across from her, on his side, eyes open, mouth smiling. So sweet and innocent.
The woman dressed, she ate and got her things together, she kissed him goodbye, they shared a hug, then she grabbed her keys and left the house. On the drive to work, as the world slowed down, and the evening began to approach, she thought about him. The way that, in a week or two, things would be back to normal, their schedules would work themselves out, and they could spend a bit more time together. It would be nice, they could go out for dinner, share a meal, talk and drink to their good health. It wasn’t as if they rarely saw each other, because she’d see him while she worked, he would be there sometimes, when he was, because, really, the lines between Dayshift and Nightshift, between where some cases finished and people went home, and some didn’t, has always been a bit faded and out of focus. If the Dayshift still needed to be there when the Swingshift got on, and the Nightshift came, then, that was that, really.
Parking her car, the woman took one last favourable look at the sky and entered the lab. The night passed quietly that time around. She took an overdose near the Strip, and quietly processed the hooker’s clothing as the coroner’s assistant looked the body over for signs of foul play. The case was later on, pronounced as what it was, and that was that.
She got home and watched him, sleeping. The day before, the day that she had just come home from, even though it was already the day after, she had gone to sleep a little later, had risen a little later and had run, fleeing her home, her safe house, so she could do her work, earn that pay check. Ecklie was lucky, because he got to keep a kind of, normal sort of day. He rose early, he worked, he came home, he ate dinner, he slept. This was as opposed to her, sleeping through the morning, rising as afternoon took hold, and doing her business then, before working. It didn’t bother them, either, too much, because that was how it was, that was how it would be, and had been, always. They liked it.
Ecklie woke, rose and began to get ready, smiling at her as she sunk down onto the ruffled covers with a sigh and a grin.
“Home early?” his voice rumbled, questioning, sweet, lovely, hers.
“Yeah, did an OD on the Strip, open and shut, quick to investigate, easy to pronounce, to close.” she said, her voice in her post work slumber seemingly, almost, lyrical.
“Fun.” he said, all humour and loving pretence, because death was never fun, it was just, grim.
They kissed, and hugged, she showered, ate, and slept, as he drove to work, and began his day. But it was nice, it was, this lovely life that they had found together and had secured in the world of reality. And she wouldn’t trade it for anything. And neither would he.