If there was ever a case that could squeeze an ounce of sympathy out of Grissom, it involved a missing child.
If there was ever a case that could really push Grissom's buttons, it involved a dead child.
If there was ever a case that could piss Grissom off, it involved a dead child, and a pedophile to blame.
If there was ever a case that could do all of the above, it involved a missing child, a dead child, and a lying bastard of a pedophile named Carl Fischer to blame.
After spending nearly 36 hours with a convicted child molester, discussing the likes and dislikes of other predators, Grissom couldn't think where to put his newly learned information regarding pedophiles… he likes…toddlers. ...Some of their pleasure derives from physical violence. They like to molest, then beat, and sometimes kill their victims.
For the first time, Grissom had to go eye to eye, and attempt to understand what a pedophile would do. To put himself in the shoes of a child molester… Okay Carl… what would you do if you were going to take those boys?
Carl Fischer's bleak and frankly horrifying response sent shivers beyond shivers up Grissom's spine, sending another sharp spike into the already strong migraine.
…It's a game of seduction.
Once you know what they like, you make contact. You start slowly, play it cool. Especially with boys. It's about building trust…
They found Lucas Hanson dead at a golf course. Carl had simply stated, In my opinion, if someone killed one boy, he killed them both. After they found Jason Crowley, the missing boy, on a bus to Texas, Grissom ended up passed out on Brass' leather couch.
Sleep didn't come, nightmares did. This always happened after a case managed to bite its way under his skin, but this time it prodded, poked and bit as if fire ants were crawling on his bones. His nightmares were filled with the face of Carl, giving the boys a "taste" of whiskey, then thinking it would be to just…indulge…one last time…
He didn't hear a knock at the door, or the footsteps quietly making their way to him. He knew it was Sara when her peach scented shampoo and her long fingers brushed through his soft curls.
"Gil?"
"Hm?"
"Brass told me you were in here. Can you..."
He couldn't hear her talking over the piercing ringing in his ears, caused by the sharp noises in the lab hall. Light sent his head spinning, which triggered nausea. Nausea made the sounds worse, which sent his head spinning downward in a vicious spiral.
She must've figured out that he wasn't listening, or couldn't listen, because she finally kissed his forehead, and left. He stayed in Brass' office until finally a small amount of rest found him.
He had retreated to Brass' office around 2:30 in the afternoon; it was now just past 5. Just after opening his eyes, thankful the few lights filtering in through the blinds didn't make him feel as if he was on some kind of hallucinogen, he carefully stood. Wobbling to the door, he reached in for his keys and blindly made it to his car. Plopping down inside, he found a yellow sticky note stuck to the steering wheel.
Bring it home. -me.
That's all that needed to be said. She always knew when a case prodded a little, but this was way beyond prodding. Slowly easing out of the parking lot, he made his way home to Sara.
Sara heard the garage door open, and jarred fully awake when the door unlatched. Through the door walked in a red-eye, mussed hair, wrinkled clothes, migraine-ill Gil Grissom.Words didn't need to be said. He looked to her, sighed, and toed off his shoes. Her hand entwined with his, and worried brown eyes met empty, confused blue orbs. She wrapped her arms around his waist in a hug, knowing he always felt content when they were so close.
Several minutes passed like that before the silence was broken by Grissom's muffled and broken voice. "I just don't understand people like this, Sara."
Pulling back, keeping her arms around his waist, she didn't speak. She just waited for just a few of those emotions Grissom was giving sail to to come pouring out.
"How… when… how does a person… cross a line… where… when… kids… innocence…is a turn on? When… that…is what gets 'em off?"
Letting out a deep, strangled sigh, Sara noticed the watery look to his eyes, along with a man searching for the right words to express the frustration also there. "Come with me Gil, please?"
Nodding in agreement, he followed Sara to their bedroom. She had only one dim light on in the corner, all the blinds retracted, and, as is her nature, something very special in mind for the cure of the remaining migraine.
"I want to help you relax, Gil. Help you to take your mind off the last 48 hours. Okay?"
After his brief nod, she continued, "First, let's get rid of those clothes you've had on for two days." Helping him ease out of his black polo shirt, she gestured for him to sit down on the bed to slip off his pants & socks, he looked over to her sitting next to him, and waited. "Good. Lie down, on your stomach for me."
He crawled slowly into place, initially hiding his entire face on his pillow, then turning to his right to see Sara crawling over to him. Leaning over his back just slightly, she gently placed a kiss at the base of his neck, just where those amazingly soft curls ended, and spoke, "I don't want you to think about anything right now, Gil. No work, no missing kids, no death…nothing." She waited a moment, repeated the kiss, then continued, "Ready?"
"Mm," was all he could mutter.
She started running her
hands over his scalp, as if she were washing his hair. Feeling
this, his eyes drifted contentedly shut. She occasionally used
her nails to rake over his skin, tugging his hair gently, using
circular motions with her fingertips, causing Grissom to let out a
relaxed sigh of appreciation. Continuing downward, she used her
thumbs to work the knot at the base of his neck, trying to release
the tension she knew had gathered in the bud there. His
breathing had slowed, and the tense muscles in his back finally
started to ease. Click
"Gil?"
"Hm?"
"You asleep yet?
"Eh...yeahhhkinda...mmm..."
Chuckle, "Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up."
"M'kay."
When Grissom woke up, he was disoriented. It was night time out, and the wall clock said 5:27am. In his 27 years as a criminalist, he hadn't missed a single day of work until now.
Panic almost set in, when the faint scent of coffee came from the kitchen. Carefully rising, he stumbled his way to the door and padded down the hall to see Sara standing in his shirt, her jeans, rinsing out a coffee mug.
"Sara, why didn't you wake me up before now?"
"Ah – ah, you go ahead and listen to that death threat of a voicemail from Catherine on your phone. To sum it up, if she sees you within 50 feet of the lab before Monday morning, she'd, well…"
Showing a hint of a grin, he made his way over to Sara and wrapped her in a hug, and ran his hand around her head, skimming his fingers through her silky hair.
Speaking very softly in her ear, "Thank you for last night, Sara. Easy to say, that's the worst migraine I've ever had….and by far the best ending to a migraine I've ever had."
She let out a laugh and toyed with the curls at the base of his neck, "Why you're very welcome. Anything for you, m'dear. After a few moments, she continued very softly, "If you need to talk...about the case...Brass filled me in a little bit this morning...about the pedophile..."
Shaking his head back and forth briefly, he spoke, "Not now, Sara. I need something small to eat, and then go back to sleep. And I want you to come with me."
Smirking, she kissed his cheek, and said, "So what would you like...?"
