Belgarath/Grissom
Title: Venificus Ex Machina
Author: ideom
Pairing: Belgarath (The Belgariad)/Grissom (CSI)
Rating: PG for mention of autopsy, perhaps
Summary: There's something not quite right about the dead woman in the forest.
Notes: 1300 words, ish. Alas, not a romance.
Beta: Thanks to mirroredsakura for looking it over
Venificus Ex Machina
The woman had been dead for just under eighteen hours. They found her, lying flat on her back in the centre of a forest glade; the call had been made by a jogger following a trail on her way home. What useful things cell phones were. There were no signs of trauma, no wounds that they could see. After making a sweep of the area, they had the team put her through to the morgue.
The old man was sitting on a park bench by the entrance to the trail. He was sorry, but he hadn’t seen anything.
~
Al Robbins’s report didn’t help. The woman was in perfect health - all of her organs perfect examples of How the Human Body Should be Functioning. There wasn’t even evidence of tobacco in her lungs, although neighbours swore she was a smoker. There were no contusions, no signs of trauma, no foreign substances in her digestive tract or in her blood stream.
The only unusual thing about the woman was her face, eyes wide with dilated pupils, popping slightly out of their sockets. It might have been swelling to the brain, but there was no evidence of that in the organ, and no sign of pressure on the eyeballs, which negated that idea. Although her mouth was parted in a silent ‘o’ of surprise, her heart showed no indication of strain. So much for death by shock.
Grissom received the news with resigned acceptance. There was nothing at the crime scene either, no sign of running footsteps, no evidence of struggle. No evidence at all. Nothing seemed to make sense, and he had no clues to work with. According to everything that he could find, the woman shouldn’t have been dead at all.
And the old man had been in the reception area the entire time, reading a magazine.
~
“Things not working out very well for you?” The man’s face, when Grissom turned, was pleasant. His hair and beard were white, but his features were strong, his skin only lightly creased. His slightly rumpled jacket looked worn, but made of high-quality material. Fraying jeans were belted at the waist by what might or might not have been industrial rope. The shoes almost seemed to be two different colours. He was an interesting specimen in and of himself.
“Not really, no.” Never one for polite conversation, Grissom couldn’t keep his tone from being analytical. The man didn’t seem to mind. He smiled good-naturedly.
“I don’t expect they would,” he commented. He dropped to his haunches beside Grissom and peered at the grass the inspector was examining. “This won’t help you much either, you know.”
Grissom raised one eyebrow. “Oh?” he inquired. “I’ve found that the evidence almost always helps the story, when the victims can’t talk about their own deaths.”
Oddly enough, the man burst out laughing. It wasn’t a maniacal sound, but a full-throated sound that resonated from the depths of the stranger. Grissom quirked his eyebrows and waited for the explanation that had to be coming.
“Oh,” the man said after a long moment, still chuckling. “She isn’t dead. That might be why you’re having these difficulties.”
“What is she, then?” Grissom asked politely. “Are you telling me that she’s found a way to live with her vital organs sitting in trays beside her?”
The old man grinned at the imagery, and then shook his head.
“No, no,” he said briskly, waving a dismissive hand. “Of course she’s not there - no human can survive like that. No, I transferred her life force into that branch, is all.” He gestured to a young sapling that Grissom couldn’t remember noticing the first day. “She’s quite happy, now, and she’s not going to hurt anyone else.”
His eyes twinkled merrily.
“You … put her in a tree,” Grissom repeated slowly. Perhaps it was his ears; that had to be it, although he thought he had been watching the other man’s lips.
The stranger nodded. “It was the best way to deal with the problem,” he declared.
The other man frowned. Perhaps, this time, avoiding the issue would be the best way to proceed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t think I know who you are.”
The man looked moderately confused.
“Oh, how stupid of me.” He extended a hand. “Gareth Bell … please, feel free to call me by my first name - all of my students do.”
Grissom shook the proffered hand.
“You teach?”
“Ancient history, in Rhode Island.”
“Well, that’s a long way to travel,” Grissom commented, eyebrows rising with surprise. Gareth shrugged.
“I needed to be here,” he answered simply. Suddenly he turned, looking Grissom directly in the eye. His expression had at some point become deadly serious. “Some things just need to happen, Mister Grissom. That woman could not have been left where she was. She was dangerous, not just to society but to things that society can’t even comprehend. She is content now, and she is no longer a threat to us. In fact, I might even venture to say that her life is better now than it was before, although I’m not entirely certain. You’d probably have to ask my daughter about that; it’s her forte, not mine.”
Grissom shifted his weight, leaning slightly away from the other man, but something intrigued him. He didn’t get up.
“I picked this place because I didn’t think anyone would be harmed by it,” Gareth was continuing. “I guess I should have realised that you’d find her, but I can be a little bit out of this world sometimes. At any rate, I saw you come here, and I saw you work. I thought I owed you something of an explanation, or at least a warning. You won’t find any evidence relating to her death, because she isn’t dead.” He smiled. “It would be a shame for you to waste such a beautiful afternoon.”
Grissom stared at the man for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he dusted off his knees and rose to his feet. Garath followed him up slowly.
“I won’t call you crazy,” Grissom stated finally, and thought he saw gratified amusement in the eyes of the old man. “I’ve known too many people with good reasons, and I’m sure you have one yourself. If you’re trying to protect someone, it’s admirable, I’m sure. But every crime leaves its evidence, and this one will be no exception. I would suggest you tell the police the true story. Whatever you’re hiding, it’s not worth a life.”
Garath nodded. He stood quietly for a moment, a strange mixture of humour and disappointment on his face, and then sighed. He spread his hands with a wry grin.
“I guess you’re right,” he said. “Thank you for indulging an old man in his flights of fancy - I assure you, I had reasons enough. But you’re right, of course. What was I talking about, with women living in trees. You have much more scientific experience; if you say this was a normal crime, then it must be, and there will undoubtedly be evidence as well. I’m sure you’ll find it.”
Quirking his head at the old man’s words, Grissom almost didn’t catch the whisper-thin whistle of wind that tickled the back of his mind. He did miss the look on Gareth’s face when he scowled, scratching at the back of his neck to counter the irritation.
And then his gaze fell on something at the same moment as his cell phone rang.
“Grissom? It’s Sara; detox just found something. There are trace elements of toxins in her bloodstream. Greg’s analysing them now, looks like a type of venom. Is there any sign of -”
“A needle?” Grissom asked, holding the object delicately with a pair of large tweezers.
A pause on the other end.
“Well, then. I’ll see you when you get back.” And then the line went dead. Grissom nodded his satisfaction. In the end, the evidence was always right. He turned with a pleased smile, wanting to report the finding to his new companion.
But the old man wasn’t there.
Author: ideom
Pairing: Belgarath (The Belgariad)/Grissom (CSI)
Rating: PG for mention of autopsy, perhaps
Summary: There's something not quite right about the dead woman in the forest.
Notes: 1300 words, ish. Alas, not a romance.
Beta: Thanks to mirroredsakura for looking it over
Venificus Ex Machina
The woman had been dead for just under eighteen hours. They found her, lying flat on her back in the centre of a forest glade; the call had been made by a jogger following a trail on her way home. What useful things cell phones were. There were no signs of trauma, no wounds that they could see. After making a sweep of the area, they had the team put her through to the morgue.
The old man was sitting on a park bench by the entrance to the trail. He was sorry, but he hadn’t seen anything.
~
Al Robbins’s report didn’t help. The woman was in perfect health - all of her organs perfect examples of How the Human Body Should be Functioning. There wasn’t even evidence of tobacco in her lungs, although neighbours swore she was a smoker. There were no contusions, no signs of trauma, no foreign substances in her digestive tract or in her blood stream.
The only unusual thing about the woman was her face, eyes wide with dilated pupils, popping slightly out of their sockets. It might have been swelling to the brain, but there was no evidence of that in the organ, and no sign of pressure on the eyeballs, which negated that idea. Although her mouth was parted in a silent ‘o’ of surprise, her heart showed no indication of strain. So much for death by shock.
Grissom received the news with resigned acceptance. There was nothing at the crime scene either, no sign of running footsteps, no evidence of struggle. No evidence at all. Nothing seemed to make sense, and he had no clues to work with. According to everything that he could find, the woman shouldn’t have been dead at all.
And the old man had been in the reception area the entire time, reading a magazine.
~
“Things not working out very well for you?” The man’s face, when Grissom turned, was pleasant. His hair and beard were white, but his features were strong, his skin only lightly creased. His slightly rumpled jacket looked worn, but made of high-quality material. Fraying jeans were belted at the waist by what might or might not have been industrial rope. The shoes almost seemed to be two different colours. He was an interesting specimen in and of himself.
“Not really, no.” Never one for polite conversation, Grissom couldn’t keep his tone from being analytical. The man didn’t seem to mind. He smiled good-naturedly.
“I don’t expect they would,” he commented. He dropped to his haunches beside Grissom and peered at the grass the inspector was examining. “This won’t help you much either, you know.”
Grissom raised one eyebrow. “Oh?” he inquired. “I’ve found that the evidence almost always helps the story, when the victims can’t talk about their own deaths.”
Oddly enough, the man burst out laughing. It wasn’t a maniacal sound, but a full-throated sound that resonated from the depths of the stranger. Grissom quirked his eyebrows and waited for the explanation that had to be coming.
“Oh,” the man said after a long moment, still chuckling. “She isn’t dead. That might be why you’re having these difficulties.”
“What is she, then?” Grissom asked politely. “Are you telling me that she’s found a way to live with her vital organs sitting in trays beside her?”
The old man grinned at the imagery, and then shook his head.
“No, no,” he said briskly, waving a dismissive hand. “Of course she’s not there - no human can survive like that. No, I transferred her life force into that branch, is all.” He gestured to a young sapling that Grissom couldn’t remember noticing the first day. “She’s quite happy, now, and she’s not going to hurt anyone else.”
His eyes twinkled merrily.
“You … put her in a tree,” Grissom repeated slowly. Perhaps it was his ears; that had to be it, although he thought he had been watching the other man’s lips.
The stranger nodded. “It was the best way to deal with the problem,” he declared.
The other man frowned. Perhaps, this time, avoiding the issue would be the best way to proceed.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I don’t think I know who you are.”
The man looked moderately confused.
“Oh, how stupid of me.” He extended a hand. “Gareth Bell … please, feel free to call me by my first name - all of my students do.”
Grissom shook the proffered hand.
“You teach?”
“Ancient history, in Rhode Island.”
“Well, that’s a long way to travel,” Grissom commented, eyebrows rising with surprise. Gareth shrugged.
“I needed to be here,” he answered simply. Suddenly he turned, looking Grissom directly in the eye. His expression had at some point become deadly serious. “Some things just need to happen, Mister Grissom. That woman could not have been left where she was. She was dangerous, not just to society but to things that society can’t even comprehend. She is content now, and she is no longer a threat to us. In fact, I might even venture to say that her life is better now than it was before, although I’m not entirely certain. You’d probably have to ask my daughter about that; it’s her forte, not mine.”
Grissom shifted his weight, leaning slightly away from the other man, but something intrigued him. He didn’t get up.
“I picked this place because I didn’t think anyone would be harmed by it,” Gareth was continuing. “I guess I should have realised that you’d find her, but I can be a little bit out of this world sometimes. At any rate, I saw you come here, and I saw you work. I thought I owed you something of an explanation, or at least a warning. You won’t find any evidence relating to her death, because she isn’t dead.” He smiled. “It would be a shame for you to waste such a beautiful afternoon.”
Grissom stared at the man for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he dusted off his knees and rose to his feet. Garath followed him up slowly.
“I won’t call you crazy,” Grissom stated finally, and thought he saw gratified amusement in the eyes of the old man. “I’ve known too many people with good reasons, and I’m sure you have one yourself. If you’re trying to protect someone, it’s admirable, I’m sure. But every crime leaves its evidence, and this one will be no exception. I would suggest you tell the police the true story. Whatever you’re hiding, it’s not worth a life.”
Garath nodded. He stood quietly for a moment, a strange mixture of humour and disappointment on his face, and then sighed. He spread his hands with a wry grin.
“I guess you’re right,” he said. “Thank you for indulging an old man in his flights of fancy - I assure you, I had reasons enough. But you’re right, of course. What was I talking about, with women living in trees. You have much more scientific experience; if you say this was a normal crime, then it must be, and there will undoubtedly be evidence as well. I’m sure you’ll find it.”
Quirking his head at the old man’s words, Grissom almost didn’t catch the whisper-thin whistle of wind that tickled the back of his mind. He did miss the look on Gareth’s face when he scowled, scratching at the back of his neck to counter the irritation.
And then his gaze fell on something at the same moment as his cell phone rang.
“Grissom? It’s Sara; detox just found something. There are trace elements of toxins in her bloodstream. Greg’s analysing them now, looks like a type of venom. Is there any sign of -”
“A needle?” Grissom asked, holding the object delicately with a pair of large tweezers.
A pause on the other end.
“Well, then. I’ll see you when you get back.” And then the line went dead. Grissom nodded his satisfaction. In the end, the evidence was always right. He turned with a pleased smile, wanting to report the finding to his new companion.
But the old man wasn’t there.