CSI: Unfinished sequels
Bits and pieces of fic that aren't going to be finished. These are the ones that were going to be sequels to other fics.
A few ficlets from what was going to be a sequel to The Favor. Ellie abandoned her son with Brass.
“Would you like another drink, honey?” He could barely manage to shake his head ‘no.’ All the muscles of his body were weak as the woman behind him continued to massage his shoulders, back, and neck. He couldn’t even keep his eyes open, he was so relaxed.
“Are you sure?” Her laugh was low and melodious as she leaned down next to his ear. He wanted to protest the fact that her hands were no longer moving, but the sensation of her warm breath against the back of his ear was too enjoyable. “Because I could...”
“Could what?” he asked when she didn’t continue.
“Answer the phone.”
“What?”
“Answer the phone Jim.” Her vocal tone was sharper now. For the first time he realized that the phone to the right of him was ringing. Reluctantly he opened his eyes to find the annoyance, and suddenly found himself alone in his bed. Glaring at the bright green numbers of his alarm clock he quickly calculated that he had been asleep for just over three hours.
“Shut up before you wake the baby,” he growled at the offending object as he picked it up. Whoever had the gall to call him at one in the afternoon better have a damn good reason for doing so. “What?” he barked.
“Is this Mr. Brass?”
“Yes,” he replied brusquely.
“Mr. Brass, I’m pleased to tell you that you have won an...”
“Shove it.” His sleep, infinitely more precious lately, had been interrupted by a tele-marketer?
“Hang up right now, and take me off whatever list you are using to make calls, or I will hunt you down and make you wish that you never learned to speak.”
When the only answer to his threat was a click followed by silence, Brass hung up the phone. He considered rolling over and going back to sleep, but he knew that Michael would be awake soon and wanting a bottle. With a deep sigh he rolled over on his side and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
xxx
Brass never called his grandson Mike: it was always Michael. Mike meant Mike O’Tool, the man that his ex-wife had carried on an affair with for more then ten years. The man who was his daughter’s biological father. He often wondered if Ellie had known the truth, or if the name Michael was a macabre coincidence. He hadn’t asked her when she had first spoken the name. Now, he wasn’t sure if he would ever get the chance. It had been more then two weeks since she had disappeared. Brass was beginning to think that she was never going to come back.
A bit of a sequel to Ivy, my only Greg centric fic in which he met a homeless woman while working a case. This is their second meeting.
“Hey Greg, there someone asking for you at the receptionist desk.” I looked up from the layout table and nodded to Nick to let him know I’d heard him before continuing to write down information on a chain of evidence form. When the form was completely filled out and I’d double checked to make sure I had all the facts right (and spelled correctly, since I had no desire to repeat the funtain mistake) I looked up to find Nick was still there.
“Do you know who it is?” I asked.
“No one I know. Maybe she’s involved in a case of yours. She’s an older lady, only comes up to about my shoulder.” I tried to think of who it might be, but Nick’s description was too vague.
“I’m guessing she’s homeless, Nick continued. As usual, he saved the more useful information for the middle a conversation instead of starting with it. “On her way in she stopped Ecklie and asked him if he’d ‘be a dear boy and watch her cart.’”
When I stopped laughing at the mental picture of ‘Ecklie as homeless man,’ I realized who Nick was talking about.
“Ivy.”
“A person, Greggo, not a plant.” I gave Nick my best you-think-your-so-clever stare.
“Ivy is a homeless woman I met a couple of months ago, when I was working the Thompson murder case with Griss and Sara. I wonder why she’s here?”
“Only one way to find out.”
“Thanks for stating the obvious.” I jabbed Nick in the upper arm as I walked past him.
It was Ivy waiting for me. She looked exactly the same as she had when I met her, down to the scarf tied around her head. Looking outside, I could see her cart parked next to the front wall of the building. Unfortunately, Ecklie was not out there. I would have loved to have gotten a picture of him cart-sitting.
“Hello Ivy,” I greeted her.
“Hello honey,” she returned. “You sure are a sight for sore eyes.”
“Is there something I can help you with?” I was just about to tag a ma’am onto the end when I remembered not to.
“Someone’s stolen my Harry’s jar.” For the first time since I met her, her voice held a note of anxiety.
“Whose jar?” I asked.
“My husband Harry’s.”
“Where is Harry? Why isn’t he with you?” I was glad to hear that she had someone. She seemed too fragile and sweet to be alone.
“He was with me honey. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Someone stole him.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” I had an idea of what she was trying to say, but it was too strange to be true.
“The vase that they stole, that was my Harry’s ashes.”
Follow up for Gil Grissom, Cat Sitter, part of my 'Dinah the cat' collection. GSR. Set just before season 5
“How did a cactus wind up there?” Sara mused. Not only was her flowering cactus on top of the bookcase instead of on the coffee table, but it was in a different pot. A deep purple color, it matched the walls of her living-room perfectly. It was just the kind of thing she would buy for herself, except that she hadn’t.
“I, uh, bumped up against the table and it fell. The pot was shattered but that plant seems to be fine. I put it up there for safe keeping.” It was only half the story, but there was no way he was going to tell Sara that he had been running away from her cat at the time. “I hope it’s alright?”
He was unsure of himself, a sight that Sara rarely got to see, and she was enjoying it. Enjoying the sight of him, sitting on the floor in the middle of her living room, looking flustered.
“It’s perfect, Griss. Thank you.”
Grissom didn’t say anything, just nodded his acknowledgment.
“So Dinah has been fed, the plants are watered. I’d better go, let you unpack or... whatever.” He stood up, ready to leave when she stopped him.
“Don’t go.”
He turned to look at her, wondering if she really had just spoken.
“Are you hungry? The only food they offered for the entire three hour flight was a single bag of pretzels. I was going to make something to eat. Do you want to stay? Making you a meal is the least I can do after you watched my cat for the week. You can catch me up on events at the lab too.” She was rambling, overtaking around him like she tended to do when talking about anything not strictly related to work. Maybe someday she would stumble across the right words, and they would change everything. Until then, maybe they would be enough to get him to stay for a little while. It was a minute before Grissom answered, and Sara was afraid he was going to say no. She braced herself for yet another rejection.
“Sure, I’d like that.”
Sara let out her breath and smiled at him, wide enough that the gap between her teeth was visible. A true Sara Smile. Grissom was relived that for once he managed to say the right thing around her.
She was pulling a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator when she happened to glance at the calendar taped to the door. Today was the 17th of August. Written in the corner of the square in her own version of shorthand were the letters GGB. Translated: Gil Grissom’s birthday. Setting down the eggs, she opened the junk drawer and rifled through the contents until she found what she was looking for. “Do you need any help in there?” Grissom was seated on the couch, pretending to leaf through a science journal but really listening to the sounds coming from the kitchen. Sara had told him to relax, but he felt strange sitting and doing nothing while she cooked for him.
“No, I’m almost done. What do you want to drink?”
“Uh, water’s fine. Thank you.”
She came out a moment later, caring two bottles of water.
“I hope pancakes are alright with you. After a week away all my food is either expired or rotten.”
“Pancakes are good.” He took one of the bottles from her outstretched hand. “Are you sure I can’t help with anything?”
“Nah. Besides, I thing Dinah likes you just where you are.” She looked pointedly at Grissom’s lap, where the black cat was curled up and was asleep. Every so often she would release a contented purr. Lucky cat, Sara thought to herself.
A few ficlets from what was going to be a sequel to The Favor. Ellie abandoned her son with Brass.
“Would you like another drink, honey?” He could barely manage to shake his head ‘no.’ All the muscles of his body were weak as the woman behind him continued to massage his shoulders, back, and neck. He couldn’t even keep his eyes open, he was so relaxed.
“Are you sure?” Her laugh was low and melodious as she leaned down next to his ear. He wanted to protest the fact that her hands were no longer moving, but the sensation of her warm breath against the back of his ear was too enjoyable. “Because I could...”
“Could what?” he asked when she didn’t continue.
“Answer the phone.”
“What?”
“Answer the phone Jim.” Her vocal tone was sharper now. For the first time he realized that the phone to the right of him was ringing. Reluctantly he opened his eyes to find the annoyance, and suddenly found himself alone in his bed. Glaring at the bright green numbers of his alarm clock he quickly calculated that he had been asleep for just over three hours.
“Shut up before you wake the baby,” he growled at the offending object as he picked it up. Whoever had the gall to call him at one in the afternoon better have a damn good reason for doing so. “What?” he barked.
“Is this Mr. Brass?”
“Yes,” he replied brusquely.
“Mr. Brass, I’m pleased to tell you that you have won an...”
“Shove it.” His sleep, infinitely more precious lately, had been interrupted by a tele-marketer?
“Hang up right now, and take me off whatever list you are using to make calls, or I will hunt you down and make you wish that you never learned to speak.”
When the only answer to his threat was a click followed by silence, Brass hung up the phone. He considered rolling over and going back to sleep, but he knew that Michael would be awake soon and wanting a bottle. With a deep sigh he rolled over on his side and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
xxx
Brass never called his grandson Mike: it was always Michael. Mike meant Mike O’Tool, the man that his ex-wife had carried on an affair with for more then ten years. The man who was his daughter’s biological father. He often wondered if Ellie had known the truth, or if the name Michael was a macabre coincidence. He hadn’t asked her when she had first spoken the name. Now, he wasn’t sure if he would ever get the chance. It had been more then two weeks since she had disappeared. Brass was beginning to think that she was never going to come back.
A bit of a sequel to Ivy, my only Greg centric fic in which he met a homeless woman while working a case. This is their second meeting.
“Hey Greg, there someone asking for you at the receptionist desk.” I looked up from the layout table and nodded to Nick to let him know I’d heard him before continuing to write down information on a chain of evidence form. When the form was completely filled out and I’d double checked to make sure I had all the facts right (and spelled correctly, since I had no desire to repeat the funtain mistake) I looked up to find Nick was still there.
“Do you know who it is?” I asked.
“No one I know. Maybe she’s involved in a case of yours. She’s an older lady, only comes up to about my shoulder.” I tried to think of who it might be, but Nick’s description was too vague.
“I’m guessing she’s homeless, Nick continued. As usual, he saved the more useful information for the middle a conversation instead of starting with it. “On her way in she stopped Ecklie and asked him if he’d ‘be a dear boy and watch her cart.’”
When I stopped laughing at the mental picture of ‘Ecklie as homeless man,’ I realized who Nick was talking about.
“Ivy.”
“A person, Greggo, not a plant.” I gave Nick my best you-think-your-so-clever stare.
“Ivy is a homeless woman I met a couple of months ago, when I was working the Thompson murder case with Griss and Sara. I wonder why she’s here?”
“Only one way to find out.”
“Thanks for stating the obvious.” I jabbed Nick in the upper arm as I walked past him.
It was Ivy waiting for me. She looked exactly the same as she had when I met her, down to the scarf tied around her head. Looking outside, I could see her cart parked next to the front wall of the building. Unfortunately, Ecklie was not out there. I would have loved to have gotten a picture of him cart-sitting.
“Hello Ivy,” I greeted her.
“Hello honey,” she returned. “You sure are a sight for sore eyes.”
“Is there something I can help you with?” I was just about to tag a ma’am onto the end when I remembered not to.
“Someone’s stolen my Harry’s jar.” For the first time since I met her, her voice held a note of anxiety.
“Whose jar?” I asked.
“My husband Harry’s.”
“Where is Harry? Why isn’t he with you?” I was glad to hear that she had someone. She seemed too fragile and sweet to be alone.
“He was with me honey. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Someone stole him.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” I had an idea of what she was trying to say, but it was too strange to be true.
“The vase that they stole, that was my Harry’s ashes.”
Follow up for Gil Grissom, Cat Sitter, part of my 'Dinah the cat' collection. GSR. Set just before season 5
“How did a cactus wind up there?” Sara mused. Not only was her flowering cactus on top of the bookcase instead of on the coffee table, but it was in a different pot. A deep purple color, it matched the walls of her living-room perfectly. It was just the kind of thing she would buy for herself, except that she hadn’t.
“I, uh, bumped up against the table and it fell. The pot was shattered but that plant seems to be fine. I put it up there for safe keeping.” It was only half the story, but there was no way he was going to tell Sara that he had been running away from her cat at the time. “I hope it’s alright?”
He was unsure of himself, a sight that Sara rarely got to see, and she was enjoying it. Enjoying the sight of him, sitting on the floor in the middle of her living room, looking flustered.
“It’s perfect, Griss. Thank you.”
Grissom didn’t say anything, just nodded his acknowledgment.
“So Dinah has been fed, the plants are watered. I’d better go, let you unpack or... whatever.” He stood up, ready to leave when she stopped him.
“Don’t go.”
He turned to look at her, wondering if she really had just spoken.
“Are you hungry? The only food they offered for the entire three hour flight was a single bag of pretzels. I was going to make something to eat. Do you want to stay? Making you a meal is the least I can do after you watched my cat for the week. You can catch me up on events at the lab too.” She was rambling, overtaking around him like she tended to do when talking about anything not strictly related to work. Maybe someday she would stumble across the right words, and they would change everything. Until then, maybe they would be enough to get him to stay for a little while. It was a minute before Grissom answered, and Sara was afraid he was going to say no. She braced herself for yet another rejection.
“Sure, I’d like that.”
Sara let out her breath and smiled at him, wide enough that the gap between her teeth was visible. A true Sara Smile. Grissom was relived that for once he managed to say the right thing around her.
She was pulling a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator when she happened to glance at the calendar taped to the door. Today was the 17th of August. Written in the corner of the square in her own version of shorthand were the letters GGB. Translated: Gil Grissom’s birthday. Setting down the eggs, she opened the junk drawer and rifled through the contents until she found what she was looking for. “Do you need any help in there?” Grissom was seated on the couch, pretending to leaf through a science journal but really listening to the sounds coming from the kitchen. Sara had told him to relax, but he felt strange sitting and doing nothing while she cooked for him.
“No, I’m almost done. What do you want to drink?”
“Uh, water’s fine. Thank you.”
She came out a moment later, caring two bottles of water.
“I hope pancakes are alright with you. After a week away all my food is either expired or rotten.”
“Pancakes are good.” He took one of the bottles from her outstretched hand. “Are you sure I can’t help with anything?”
“Nah. Besides, I thing Dinah likes you just where you are.” She looked pointedly at Grissom’s lap, where the black cat was curled up and was asleep. Every so often she would release a contented purr. Lucky cat, Sara thought to herself.