AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my first CSI fanfic, edited and reevaluated to make it more true to the characters and to the history of our wonderful soap opera disguised as a crime show. The plot changes a tad to make the story [very slightly] Gil/Sara and [very heavily] Greg/Original Character and to change the stupid little mistakes I had written before I owned all three seasons on DVD. Not that I'm obsessed or anything. Twitch
DISCLAIMER: Do I really have to do these? I think they're stupid: I don't own any of it, I just own Sonya.
SETTING: This takes place 3 weeks after the Season 3 Finale. Grissom made it through the surgery okay but has been even more of a workaholic and withdrawn lately.
Gil Grissom sat at his desk, staring into space. The clock on his desk read 7:59 pm. As it turns to 8:00 pm, the day crew left and the Las Vegas Crime Lab became alive.
Greg Sanders was the first to arrive. He still had scars on his face from the explosion. For some reason, he still couldn't get it off of his mind, even though it was almost a month ago. Not for the first time, he wondered if he should still be working here... He put on his lab coat and walked back to the newly renovated lab. His eyes slowly wandered over to the heating plate, making sure it was turned off.
Warrick Brown ran in next, shoving a muffin in his mouth. Before he could go anywhere, his cell phone rang.
"Brown," Warrick said, stopping in his tracks.
"Warrick?" The voice belonged to Clay Johnson, the father of Warrick's latest case, a DB: a little girl.
"Mr. Johnson?" Warrick asked, "What's wrong?"
"I'm sorry to call you so early, it's just... Lyla's funeral... it's today... and since you've worked so hard on her case, I figured... y'know, you would want to come."
Warrick's eyes filled with tears involuntarily. He had never felt so torn. He couldn't even imagine how hard it would be to invite the man who couldn't find his daughter's killer to her funeral.
Warrick's eyes flew to Grissom's shut door.
"What time?" Warrick asked, walking over to his office.
Sara Sidle opened the doors next. She adjusted her coat and her eyes flew to Grissom's door as well. She walked past the Lab and paused to look through the glass to Greg.
Her cell phone rang.
"Sidle," she said, still focused on Greg.
"Sara." The voice was Grissom's. She looked past Greg and saw Gil on the other side, watching her with his calm eyes, which have been even more desolate lately.
"Is Greg shaking?" He asked, still talking on her cell.
Sara focused in on Greg's hands, just as he spilled some hydrochloric acid.
Sara hung up her phone and looked through the 2 panes of glass that separated her from Grissom and nodded. He hung up his cell to and retreated back into his office. Sara lingered for a few more seconds and left.
Nick Stokes wandered in next. Sighing, he opened his locker and the odd feeling of sadness crept in again. He shook his head, closed his locker and left.
The last to arrive was Catherine, 30 minutes late. She flew through the door right into Grissom.
"You're late," he said in his matter-of-fact way.
"I'm sorry, it's just Lindsey was running late and I had to drive her to-" She stopped and looked in Grissom's eyes. "If you had kids, you…" She paused, shook her head, and just left.
The Las Vegas Crime Lab had awakened.
Gil walked into the modest house in the suburbs. It was a half an hour after shift started, and he already had a fresh murder case.
"Hillary and Jon Winters," Jim said, meeting Gil at the door. "Fairy tale life. They hosted children for temporary foster care."
"When does the fairy tale end?" Gil asked, dodging the police men running about.
"When Hillary kills Jon because of his flaming affair." Jim said abruptly. "The DB's in the bathroom. We got a confession when you were heading over. Don't you wish it was always that easy?"
Gil didn't say anything and walked into the bathroom. Jon Winters was sprawled out in the middle of the floor, a bullet hole through his head, the blood in a puddle on the floor. He took a few pictures and determined that the woman's story checked out perfectly.
"Where is she?" Gil asked, turning his back to the DB.
"She's in the living room. She's had her rights read to her, so question her all up. She's in a right state."
Grissom walked into the living room. There were pictures of different children on the mantle. He walked up to Hillary Winters. She was probably a pretty woman, but with the blood on her shirt and her arms twisted awkwardly behind her in the handcuffs, she looked terrible.
"Mrs. Winters?" Gil asked. She looked up, her eyes swollen from crying. "I'm so sorry... so sorry."
"Mrs. Winters," Gil asked, crouching down to look at her straight in the eyes. "Do you have a foster child right now?"
"I'm sorry. Why did I do this? Why?" She was crying more now, ignoring everything.
"Hillary." He stated firmly. She looked in his eyes as if just out of a trance.
"Are you hosting children?" Gil asked urgently.
"Just one..." She said, starting to break down again.
"Who?" Gil asked again.
She pointed up on the mantle to a woman.
"No, not a friend. A child. Who is the child?"
She started crying. The cops lead her out. "You're not getting anything out of her."
Gil nodded. He turned and saw Jim.
"Get me the kid."
Gil came back into the LVCL and made a beeline for his office when he got a call on his cell phone. It was Jim.
"We got the girl. Her name is Sonya Connors. I'm bringing her in."
"Okay. Bring her into interrogation. I'll be there in fifteen." Gil stood up and looked at the clock. It was 10:30. It's amazing how much can happen in a short time on the job. He shook his head and headed into interrogation. Before he opened the door, Jim walked up behind him.
"Here's her file," Jim said, handing him a thick manila folder.
"What file?" He asked, not concentrating again.
Jim gave him a look. "Her Social Services File. She's in temporary foster care at the Las Vegas Social Service Center down on fifth."
Gil nodded and took the file and read it before going in:
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CONNORS, SONYA ELENA (OCTOBER 1986)
MOTHER: Elena Lopez (1970-1991)
DEATH: Pancreatic Cancer
FATHER: Herman Connors (1965- )
DEATH: N/A
REASON FOR SOCIAL SERVICES INTERVENTION:
Sexual abuse by biological father. Subject called police January 16th, 1996 when subject
was 9 years of age. Subject was removed from residence the same night. Subject's biological
father is serving 6 years for child molestation and incest as of February 1998.
TEMPORARY FOSTER CARE:
JAN 1996-FEB 1997: Karla and Bob Smithers-San Jose, CA
MAR 1997-APR 1998: Sarah Wit- Sacrament, CA
MAY 1998-DEC 1998: Barbra and Walter Smith-Salt Lake City, UT
JAN 1999- DEC 1999: Susan and Mark Katz-Carson City, NV
JAN 2000-JUN 2000: Hermann Ruth-Carson City, NV
JUL 2000-JAN 2001: Franszica and Jake Germaine- Denver, CO
FEB 2001-NOV 2001: Sally and Fred Hyde-Colorado Springs, CO
DEC 2001- FEB 2003: Polly and Jack Sumptor- Reno, NV
MAR 2003- : Hillary and Jon Winters-Las Vegas, NV
EDUCATION:
Skipped fourth and seventh grades
Is considered "gifted"
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Gil looked up from the harsh social services folder to the door separating the 16 year old junior from himself. He really dreaded talking with a sexually abused teenager.
Grissom opened the door and Sonya was sitting at the table, silent.
Grissom was surprised. He usually prided himself on being a very open-minded and non-stereotypical person, but Sonya Connors was not what he expected.
She looked a lot older. She wasn't really tall or physically gorgeous. She was pretty, in a simple, sophisticated sort of way. It was hard for Grissom to read her like he usually does many people, out of habit. The first thing he was drawn to was her eyes. They were a bright blue that stood out in contrast to her black hair. It wasn't the color, though. It was what was in them. He could see such a sense of pure loneliness, such determination and complete independence. Those eyes . . . those familiar eyes. . . Grissom could have sworn he has seen those eyes before; he just couldn't put his finger on it.
He shook his head, realizing he had been staring.
"Hello," Grissom said in his curious manner, "My name is Gil Grissom, I'm a Crime Scene Investigator here at the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Can I ask you a few questions?"
Sonya stood up and shook his hand. "Sonya Connors."
Gil sat down, and spread the Winter's file in front of him.
"This case is pretty much close to closing, so I will keep this brief. First, are you okay to talk about the Winters?" He cast his gaze upward to meet her lost eyes.
"Mr. Grissom, no matter what my social services packet says, I am not a sad, abused teenager with low self esteem and repressed memories. Please treat me like a mature adult."
Gil silently berated himself for stereotyping again. Despite himself, he broke his eye contact and looked down. He forced his eyes back to hers and said, rather bluntly, "Do you have any reason to believe that Mrs. Winters is covering for someone who else who murdered Mr. Winters?"
Meanwhile, Sara just got back from working a breaking and entering when she flew through the door of the LVCL. She really needed to talk to Grissom.
"Warrick!" She said, catching Warrick on his way out. He stopped dead and turned around. "Where's Grissom?"
"Sara? Are you okay?" Warrick asked, sensing Sara's urgency. Sara forced her fear down in a swallow and said, "Naw, I was just... curious."
Warrick gave her a look of doubt, but seemed to be in a hurry, so he said, "Um... I think he's in interrogation."
"Thanks. I'll see you later," She said, trying her hardest to not run to interrogation.
When she got there, she walked behind the one sided mirror and watched Grissom. She was all by herself, so she pulled up a chair and sat and watched Grissom with mixed feelings.
Why? She wandered to herself, why can't I figure out this guy?
Meanwhile, back in the room, Grissom was trying to figure out the young woman in front of him.
"No. Jon was a classic depressed man in the middle of a mid-life crisis."
"How do you know that?" Grissom asked.
"When you live your life around many different people," Sonya said, keeping the eerie eye contact, "You find certain traits in common with them all."
Grissom nodded, understanding completely.
"Thank you for your time, Sonya." Grissom said. They both stood up and Gil held the door open for her and she exited. He shut the door, leaving himself alone in the room. He sat down and collected the folders. Sara was preparing to leave when Grissom sat and put his head in his hands.
Sara stopped packing her things and sat down, intrigued. Grissom sighed and caught something out of the corner of his eye. In the silence of the room, he turned and caught his own reflection.
Now he realized something. How stupid he was not to think of it before! The deep loneliness, the sadness, the fierce determination... the lost eyes. He knew where he had seen the lost eyes before.
Gil stood up and walked closer to the mirror.
They were his. He had lost eyes, just like her.
Lost eyes...
"Procrastinate now, before it's too late."
-Ellen Degeneres