Title: The Cult of Those Who Worship the Almighty, all Immortal, all Vegetarian, Open Twenty-Four Hours a Day, Seven Days a Week Tribe

Authors: Nick's Girls

Summary: Loosely based on a true story that happened to my friend's fifth generation grandfather on her father's mother's side.

Seriously. Translation- facts might have gotten lost while it was passed down.

WARNING: This refers to Mormons... don't read if easily offended... really has nothing to do with Mormons... but just in case.

WARNING part deux: this is VERY silly... may make you stupider.

Pairing: Gil/Nick

Rating: PG

Spoilers: None whatsoever.

Disclaimer: If they were really ours, they would spend all their time in drag, nakedness, leather pants or other asthetically pleasing outfits... they're not? Well, then they're not ours... HOWEVER, Space Weasel is ours.

*~*~* = change in time
*** = change of scene

By Nick's Girls
*~*~*

Grissom looked over at Nick, his disbelief and disdain clearly expressed on his handsome features. Nick just looked back at him, slightly confused.

"I am awake aren't I?"

"Yes Nick."

"So we-"

"Were kidnapped by Mormons? Yes."

"Well... slap my ass and call me Larry."

"I'd rather not."

"Understandable." There was a long moment of silence as they took in there surroundings. A dusty basement, light peaking through the very top of the room. The ropes around their wrists were chafing. "Mormons Gris?"

"Yes Nick."

"Just checking." Nick sighed. "You know, even though this is all your fault, I don't blame you."

"My fault?"

"Yes! Dammit Gris, why do you have to be so damn interesting!?" Grissom blinked as he looked at Nick, trying to gauge his mental state. "Quit it!"

"Quit what?"

"You're looking interesting again!" Grissom's right eyebrow inched up his forehead as he watched Nick slump back and begin pouting. Nick was pouting. The next little while was spent trying to
figure out how dimensional travel had suddenly occurred at forty miles an hour in a Tahoe.

"Mor-"

"Say it Nick and I will find a way to slap you."

"Will you call me Larry?" Grissom looked at Nick, for a moment mortified that Nick's mental health could have broken down in such a short amount of time even if they had both been given drugs to help. "I was kidding Grissom." Grissom let out a breath and nodded. "I'd much rather you call me Janet." Grissom looked up to see Nick grinning and couldn't help but laugh.

The laughter halted as the door leading upstairs swung open, slamming into the wall behind it. The loud footsteps clambered down the stairs and Nick and Grissom strained their necks to try and looked behind them. Grissom suddenly understood why they were placed against the wall that attached to the stairs. Wouldn't want the prisoners to see their keepers coming, it would ruin the suspense.

"Good, you are awake now."

Nick had already started talking before Grissom could even open his mouth. "Why are we here? Are you aware that this is illegal!?" The man fumed suddenly and dragged Nick by his arms (which were tied behind him of course) in a way that looked utterly uncomfortable. "OW! What are you doing?!" The man opened a nearby door and shoved Nick into the small room.

"Bad boys go in the closet." Grissom's eyebrows were now firmly planted in his hairline where they must have help rethink the idea of talking to this man. "Now sir, would you like pudding?"

Grissom blinked.

"You kidnap us and now you're offering me pudding?"

"THE CLOSET IS BIG ENOUGH FOR TWO!" Grissom abruptly shut his mouth and stared up at the large man. Suddenly the large man smiled. "Good boy. My name is Jayne."

"Let me out of the closet! I'm claustrophobic!" Grissom closed his eyes tightly and sent a mental signal for Nick to shut up. "Fine, don't have to yell Gris, yeesh." Grissom whipped his head to look at the closet door. (Authors' Note: No not really. Idiot.

This fic is weird enough without adding telepathy. Believe it or not, we know our limitations... even if my co-writer is trying to get me to write them as telepathic... maybe we'll add some telekinesis.) The mental plea seemed to fall on dead ears. "Would it help if I said I had to use the bathroom?"

The man that called himself Jayne appeared to be ignoring Nick's protests without much effort. "So, do you like butterscotch pudding?" Grissom cringed slightly. Butterscotch? No. Vanilla, rice,
tapioca even chocolate, yes. But butterscotch?

"Erm... yes. Yes I do." Ok, so it was a flat out lie, one that Grissom didn't mind using if it kept him out of that damned closet with a high Nick.

"Good, cause me and my friends made a whole drum of the stuff. That Simon couldn't make toast without step by step instructions. Sure 'e can set a broken leg in record time, but put him in a kitchen and it's like 'e don't know right from left."

Grissom fought the urge to ask the large intimidating man what this had to do with there being so much pudding, but decided against it.

"Do I get pudding?"

"No talking in the closet!"

"Aaaw..." Grissom could hear the pout forming on Nick's face.

A moment was spared to pray that Nick would never be on drugs again.

With a joyous smile, Jayne turned and left to go upstairs. Once the door had been closed, Gil leaned his head on the wall and tried to formulate a plan.

Ok, they were on a case, Nick and himself drove up to a small county where they had traced a DB to. Since they were on a case, it shouldn't be long before someone came looking for them. Why does the human body have so many fingers? Grissom tried to shake his thoughts back into some semblance of order.

"Psst, Grissom!" Grissom looked over at the talking

closet. "I want out of the closet. It's suffocating me. The walls are closin' in on me... ok, they're not, but I'm cramping up." Grissom was about to reply when the closet burst into giggles. "Hehehe! I'm in the closet Gris. I'm going to get out of the closet one day. On that day, I shall dress in overly bold women's clothing covered in sequence, get a bright red wig and call myself Paprika!"

Grissom himself giggled along with Nick at the image, then after, spared another moment to pray that he too, would never be on drugs again.

*~*~*

Several hours had past and Grissom had forced down three bowls of butterscotch pudding, hand fed to him by a short man called Wash. Nick had been going on about how they would be saved by an effeminate looking blonde elf with space weasels in tow.

Grissom looked over at Nick (who had been let out of the closet... which was quite amusing since when he was let out, he had yelled 'I'm out of the closet Jeeves, hand me my gown!' and was then sat down next to Grissom.) and was suddenly struck by surprise.

How is it that he could not notice how cute Nick looked, sitting there, his head thrown back, his mouth wide, drool trickling down his cheek and a slight snore escaping him.

Grissom made a wish that his friend would wake up soon and be "sober".

*~*~*

Even more time had past by and they had met everyone. Jayne, the large hunter who seemed to have a knack for tactless conversation; Simon, the aforementioned doctor of the household who
had no skills in the kitchen and a wary look about him; Wash, a funny little man with an obsession for dinosaurs and enjoyed Nick's odd comments; Zoë, married to Wash and seemed to be the most sane of them all... which wasn't saying much since she was only slightly less loopy than the rest. There was also Kaylee, the farm mechanic; River the cook and seamstress; Inara was basically a town runner... would go to the nearest place of civilization and get supplies and Book was their preacher.

All of this however was of little consequence at the moment.

While Nick was sleeping... Mal had come down stairs. No, Mal had not been mentioned earlier, but he was mentioning him now dammit. Mal appeared to be the leader in all of this and was in fact the one who had initiated the kidnapping along with Jayne. Apparently Mal had thought that he and Nick were sent to them as sacrifices and the whole group were planning on using them as such. At six o'clock tonight, they were going to be shot. From a catapult. Grissom wracked his brain, but it was no use, he could not remember Mormons ever sacrificing anything to anyone. Grissom was beginning to think they were nothing but liars.

*~*~*

"They want to what now?"

"Launch us from a catapult."

"Oh. Ok, as long as it's nothing crazy!" Nick had indeed slept off the drug and was back to his normal self... which meant he wasn't taken this very well.

"Keep quiet Nick or you could upset them."

"Oh yes, can't upset them, they might, I don't know... put us on the rack or something! Maybe that's not such a bad idea after all, I mean, I always wanted to look Warrick in the eye without getting a pain in my neck."

"I think you're overreacting."

"I'm what!? They want to launch us from a catapult and you think I'm overreacting!?" Grissom thought this over for a moment (not the overreacting part, the situation... why would he have to think about Nick not overreacting?).

*~*~*

It turns out that thinking things through did squat because now he and Nick were sitting in a catapult, waiting to be launched into the atmosphere.

"We shall now sacrifice you to the Space Weasel. The Space Weasel shall devour your soul and nibble at your face. The Space Weasel is good; he brings us rain when he relieves himself!"
Jayne turned to Grissom. "We ain't had a good pisser since March. It's May dammit! How long can he hold it in!?"

"Jayne!" Jayne looked thoroughly ashamed and stopped talking.

Mal gave one last glare before continuing. "Feel your inner Space Weasel and you shall be safe in his rabid ridden jaws! The clouds are the foam upon his furry cheeks. The sun his eye... the other one closed because he is forever winking. The sky is his bad hair dye job."

"Since when do Mormons praise 'Space Weasels'?" Grissom was absolutely confused.

"Mormons?! Who the hell said we were Mormons!?" Jayne began to whistle a jaunty tune.

"Jayne!"

"What? It sounds a hella lot better then 'The Cult of Those Who Worship the Almighty, all Immortal, all Vegetarian, Open Twenty-Four Hours a Day, Seven Days a Week Tribe'."

"I don't care!"

"I have a question... If the Space Weasel is a vegetarian then how come you're feeding us to-?"

"Cut the rope!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" As Grissom and Nick flew
through the air, sailing towards the sun, Grissom could swear the other eye was opening, the foam highlighting the teeth of this famed Weasel, his 'rabid ridden jaws' opening to devour them. Grissom screamed and he slammed into the back of the beast's throat.

***

Eyes opened to take the room's details in. Grissom was in bed, in his townhouse. Nick was curled up at his side. Grissom glanced at Nick's pyjamas and let a fond scowl cover his features.

When Nick goes to shower tonight... those Weasel pyjamas would be burned.


~~~~*~~~~~
END

FINAL NOTE: We apologize to any Mormons (even though it wasn't really suppose to be about you) and anyone else who wasted time reading this pointless piece of fic. Wow, the two of us are incredibly crazy. Look at what can come out of you on little sleep, chocolate, pizza and weird imaginations.