A/N: So I had this crazy idea. And even though I told myself a hundred times it won't work and I'll probably fail, it won't leave me alone, so I'm going to give it a shot. Here in the US, Spike TV just restarted their repeats of CSI, back on season one. The pilot was on today. I'm going to try and write a post-ep for every episode as they air. Or at least, a story for one episode per day (they usually show three every weekday).
I'm not going to hold myself to an ultimatum, and if life gets too busy, or all of my creativity is just sucked dry to the bone, I won't post, but I'm going to try my hardest to do this little challenge. Just cause I think it might be fun.
Am I crazy?
Spoilers for episode 1x1, Pilot.
The world came to a screeching halt. The shift had already been jam-packed – between Warrick's scuffle with Brass, Catherine's 428, Nicky's trick roll (solved, by the way) and Holly's first autopsy, I didn't think we could fit any more into one night. In fact, I was rather looking forward to going home, making breakfast and finally completing an unfinished crossword that had been nagging at me all day long. But all that changed with Brass's five words.
"Holly Gribbs has been shot."
The team stood shocked and silent, unsure of what to do, or say, or think, but no sooner had Brass stopped speaking that I was walking away, high speed, toward my office, thoughts racing through my head a mile a minute.
Holly had been shot. According to Brass, she probably wasn't going to make it. Warrick was responsible for her. Warrick left.
Warrick could be in big trouble.
I knew right away that if Internal Affairs got involved, Warrick would be fired and gone by the time I could say "cockroach".
I entered my office and began pacing.
I had to keep IA out of this as much as possible. I needed somebody else, in the CSI division, to investigate what happened to Holly. It couldn't be anyone from the team, most likely couldn't even be anyone from our lab. No, we would have to bring someone in from the outside.
But who could I trust enough to handle this kind of situation with professionalism and ease? I ticked away old colleagues one by one, no one seemed good enough or well-suited for the case. I had to find someone perfect.
And it hit me.
Sara Sidle – the vivacious, level-headed, strong-willed, impossibly young, impossibly pretty CSI that I had met at a forensics conference over a year ago. She had, for some reason, taken an interest in me, and I would be lying if I said I expressed no interest in her. Before the conference ended, we had shared at least a dozen coffees together, talking about everything from decomposing corpses to classic poetry, and I was enamored by her. She confused me, challenged me and excited me all at the same time. I tried to ignore the inckling that I may have had feelings for her that ran deeper than on a professional level, but I told myself, multiple times, in fact, that I was impressed by her mind and her ability to keep up her end of an intellectual conversation. Not something I'd come across in many twenty-something females.
Our last conference coffee concluded with her email handwritten in my folder of notes, my business card in her hand and a wistful smile on her face. We hadn't spoken in person since, but we kept in contact regularly through our e-mails, and I was confident that I knew her well enough to know that she would do a thorough job with Holly's case.
I wouldn't admit to myself that there was a small possibility that I was excited to see her in person again.
I was reaching for the phone, my address book flipped to her page in hand, when Brass knocked on the door.
"Hate to tell you this, but you have a DB," he said. "Jumper."
He passed me the briefing.
"Shift has to go on."
I nodded at him, phone still in hand.
"Aren't you going?"
"I am," I assured him. "I, uh… have to take care of something first."
As I watched Brass's retreating back, I punched the buttons on the phone.
"San Francisco Police Department, Forensics Lab."
"Hi, I'm looking to speak to Sara Sidle," I said, waiting the pause before another voice picked up.
I took a deep breath.
"Sara. It's Gil Grissom. I have a huge favor to ask of you."
Later, looking back on that day and that moment, I realized just how big of a favor it actually was. That phone call not only changed Sara's life, it changed mine.
Big time.
Faster than I could say the word "cockroach".
A/N 2: So it probably wasn't unique or all that exciting, but... let me know what you think?
