CSI REDUX
Title: CSI Redux
Chapter: A Bullet Runs Through It
Rating:
Pairing: GSR
Spoilers: Anything up to Season 6
Disclaimer: CSI is not mine and never will be which makes me bitter.
Summary: A secret past woven through the seasons.
Author’s note: My writing has become nearly non-existent in the last year and a half but bear with me as I find my footing. That’s my way of saying, “Read at your own risk”.
November 12, 2005
Grissom sighed heavily as he sat in his parked car listening to the mechanized hum of his garage door as it slowly lowered. The diminishing sunlight released the shadows as they slowly spread out until they nearly consumed him. He welcomed the darkness, embraced its quiet isolation as his hand slipped the key from the ignition in an unhurried fashion.
Sitting in his car, in his blackened garage, Grissom had found a small measure of peace from the insanity of the past two days. The running gun battle that had taken Officer Bell’s life, left a number of suspects dead and had one kid’s life hanging in the balance had had his entire team maxing out their monthly overtime. Of course it was easy for higher ups to waive the OT cap with the bravado of a swashbuckler but they weren’t out there, grinding up hour after hour in the Nevada sun, pouring over miles of evidence.
Grissom had become accustomed to long shifts, turning into long days, but he worried for the members of his team. Their jobs were not always the safest of environments and this case was literally in a war zone, bullets and all. The sooner they could put the case to rest the better, was the logical reasoning but this one had a big shadow hanging over it that could affect one of their own.
At that thought, Grissom sighed again, his chin dropping to his chest before he wrested himself from his car. He had five hours to get some sleep and get his head back in the game before he would have to be at it again. Most of the tests that had been running when he had left the lab would be completed by then and maybe they’d have the answers everyone sought.
The dark, slightly damp cool of the garage gave way to the crisp cool of his townhouse as Grissom entered. With his attaché in hand, Grissom made his way down the hall towards the open expanse of his livingroom, knowing almost immediately he would find it occupied.
Sitting on his couch, elbows on her knees, was Sara. With the fingertips of her right hand she absentmindedly traced the rim of a glass of orange juice sitting on the coffee table, oblivious to his presence until he stepped purposely into the room.
“Gil,” she said, her tone telling him she was momentarily startled by his arrival, even though he was certain she was expecting him. “I was thinking,” she began, trying to explain her jumpiness before letting the explanation die.
Grissom for his part simply nodded. He was tired and, after the episode with Sofia in his office, a little leery. The last thing he wanted or needed at that particular moment was for Sara to light into him about the former CSI. Grissom wasn’t entirely sure why Sara was so insecure where Sofia was concerned. Yes, he had taken her out for dinner once before but it had never been anything romantic, would never be anything romantic, and he couldn’t understand why Sara didn’t just accept it.
“How long have you been waiting?” He asked, placing his case on the breakfast counter before rounding it to the kitchen.
“Not long,” Sara answered.
He could feel her gaze on the back of his neck, knew she was studying him, seeking the answers to whatever questions had been brewing in her brilliant mind. There were times when Sara’s anxiety over their relationship irritated Grissom. He would argue, if only to himself, that they were lovers, albeit secretly, but still lovers. That by engaging in an intimate relationship with her, he risked a great deal professionally, and shouldn’t that be enough proof of his commitment to her?
Hell, I never cheated on her when we were married, Grissom’s mind protested as he half-heartedly searched the fridge for something to eat. Why would I cheat now?
The feel of Sara’s hand upon his back told Grissom he had been deeper into his thoughts than he had realized, having not noticed her approach. Giving up on the contents of the fridge, Grissom shut the door and was about to turn and face Sara when se slipped her arms about him.
“I know you think I’m mad,” she began, resting her cheek against his shoulder blade, “but I’m not. I’m not even jealous that Sofia came to you because I know why she did it.”
Grissom covered Sara’s hands with his own, his thumb gently stroking as he listened to her words softly spoken at his back.
“It’s why Catherine comes to you when she’s in trouble, or Warrick, or Nick, or Greg, or me. Because we know, somehow, someway, you’ll make it better. Even if it just means being in our corner.”
“Sara,” Grissom quietly protested, his voice laced with regret. “I can’t fix this.”
“I know,” she replied, squeezing him a little tighter before he turned in her arms.
“Bell is dead. Killed by friendly fire.” Grissom rubbed his forehead as if by doing so it would erase the reality of the situation. “And either Jim or Sofia is at fault.” Grissom shook his head. “I can’t fix that.”
“I know,” Sara repeated, raising her hands to take his face in her hands. “But it’s enough for all of us to know that if you could you would, and maybe that is why we all come to you when we need help.”
Grissom sighed heavily, his blue eyes closing as he gave in to the peace Sara’s touch elicited in him.
“You’re tired,” Sara stated, her hands sliding from his face before taking him by the hand. “Sleep now and when you wake I’ll make you some dinner.”
Grissom followed Sara up the stairs like an overtired child, a look of relief and contentment replacing the troubled countenance he had worn since arriving home. For the moment he felt safe letting go of the case, putting the puzzle pieces down, even if only for a little while. They would be there when he woke, clamoring for his attention, but until then he had this, he had Sara. She was both the tempest and the tranquil to Grissom, and he had come to need both incarnations no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise.
Chapter: A Bullet Runs Through It
Rating:
Pairing: GSR
Spoilers: Anything up to Season 6
Disclaimer: CSI is not mine and never will be which makes me bitter.
Summary: A secret past woven through the seasons.
Author’s note: My writing has become nearly non-existent in the last year and a half but bear with me as I find my footing. That’s my way of saying, “Read at your own risk”.
November 12, 2005
Grissom sighed heavily as he sat in his parked car listening to the mechanized hum of his garage door as it slowly lowered. The diminishing sunlight released the shadows as they slowly spread out until they nearly consumed him. He welcomed the darkness, embraced its quiet isolation as his hand slipped the key from the ignition in an unhurried fashion.
Sitting in his car, in his blackened garage, Grissom had found a small measure of peace from the insanity of the past two days. The running gun battle that had taken Officer Bell’s life, left a number of suspects dead and had one kid’s life hanging in the balance had had his entire team maxing out their monthly overtime. Of course it was easy for higher ups to waive the OT cap with the bravado of a swashbuckler but they weren’t out there, grinding up hour after hour in the Nevada sun, pouring over miles of evidence.
Grissom had become accustomed to long shifts, turning into long days, but he worried for the members of his team. Their jobs were not always the safest of environments and this case was literally in a war zone, bullets and all. The sooner they could put the case to rest the better, was the logical reasoning but this one had a big shadow hanging over it that could affect one of their own.
At that thought, Grissom sighed again, his chin dropping to his chest before he wrested himself from his car. He had five hours to get some sleep and get his head back in the game before he would have to be at it again. Most of the tests that had been running when he had left the lab would be completed by then and maybe they’d have the answers everyone sought.
The dark, slightly damp cool of the garage gave way to the crisp cool of his townhouse as Grissom entered. With his attaché in hand, Grissom made his way down the hall towards the open expanse of his livingroom, knowing almost immediately he would find it occupied.
Sitting on his couch, elbows on her knees, was Sara. With the fingertips of her right hand she absentmindedly traced the rim of a glass of orange juice sitting on the coffee table, oblivious to his presence until he stepped purposely into the room.
“Gil,” she said, her tone telling him she was momentarily startled by his arrival, even though he was certain she was expecting him. “I was thinking,” she began, trying to explain her jumpiness before letting the explanation die.
Grissom for his part simply nodded. He was tired and, after the episode with Sofia in his office, a little leery. The last thing he wanted or needed at that particular moment was for Sara to light into him about the former CSI. Grissom wasn’t entirely sure why Sara was so insecure where Sofia was concerned. Yes, he had taken her out for dinner once before but it had never been anything romantic, would never be anything romantic, and he couldn’t understand why Sara didn’t just accept it.
“How long have you been waiting?” He asked, placing his case on the breakfast counter before rounding it to the kitchen.
“Not long,” Sara answered.
He could feel her gaze on the back of his neck, knew she was studying him, seeking the answers to whatever questions had been brewing in her brilliant mind. There were times when Sara’s anxiety over their relationship irritated Grissom. He would argue, if only to himself, that they were lovers, albeit secretly, but still lovers. That by engaging in an intimate relationship with her, he risked a great deal professionally, and shouldn’t that be enough proof of his commitment to her?
Hell, I never cheated on her when we were married, Grissom’s mind protested as he half-heartedly searched the fridge for something to eat. Why would I cheat now?
The feel of Sara’s hand upon his back told Grissom he had been deeper into his thoughts than he had realized, having not noticed her approach. Giving up on the contents of the fridge, Grissom shut the door and was about to turn and face Sara when se slipped her arms about him.
“I know you think I’m mad,” she began, resting her cheek against his shoulder blade, “but I’m not. I’m not even jealous that Sofia came to you because I know why she did it.”
Grissom covered Sara’s hands with his own, his thumb gently stroking as he listened to her words softly spoken at his back.
“It’s why Catherine comes to you when she’s in trouble, or Warrick, or Nick, or Greg, or me. Because we know, somehow, someway, you’ll make it better. Even if it just means being in our corner.”
“Sara,” Grissom quietly protested, his voice laced with regret. “I can’t fix this.”
“I know,” she replied, squeezing him a little tighter before he turned in her arms.
“Bell is dead. Killed by friendly fire.” Grissom rubbed his forehead as if by doing so it would erase the reality of the situation. “And either Jim or Sofia is at fault.” Grissom shook his head. “I can’t fix that.”
“I know,” Sara repeated, raising her hands to take his face in her hands. “But it’s enough for all of us to know that if you could you would, and maybe that is why we all come to you when we need help.”
Grissom sighed heavily, his blue eyes closing as he gave in to the peace Sara’s touch elicited in him.
“You’re tired,” Sara stated, her hands sliding from his face before taking him by the hand. “Sleep now and when you wake I’ll make you some dinner.”
Grissom followed Sara up the stairs like an overtired child, a look of relief and contentment replacing the troubled countenance he had worn since arriving home. For the moment he felt safe letting go of the case, putting the puzzle pieces down, even if only for a little while. They would be there when he woke, clamoring for his attention, but until then he had this, he had Sara. She was both the tempest and the tranquil to Grissom, and he had come to need both incarnations no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise.