Bear Witness
Summary: Sitting in a seedy motel, Grissom regrets the circumstances that led to the current situation.
A/N: Entry to this week's Unbound Improv Challenge. The first and last lines are given, and there's a 1,000-word limit that I blew. Thanks to Burked and Ann for beta services, but I keep all mistakes for myself.
Rating:PG-13
Disclaimer: If I had any rights to CSI, I would have them taken away for this story.
"Perhaps it was a mistake."
Grissom spoke softly, but sorrow tinged his voice. He was unwilling to look at his sole companion sitting beside him on the end of the bed, so he focused on his bare feet. A hand came up absentmindedly to wipe the lingering moisture from his brow.
"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he added.
Still receiving no response, Grissom slowly turned his head to the side. Sara's mouth was partially open in shock, and her attention was focused on a side wall. He followed her gaze, wincing at what he saw. That was one mural he had missed earlier.
"You mean Ecklie didn't plan this?"
Grissom didn't react to the sarcasm in her voice; he didn't blame her. For a brief minute, he actually considered their current predicament could be something Ecklie devised. Giving his head a shake, he dismissed the idea; not even Conrad was that evil.
It had been a simple enough 'request'. Grissom was to give a demonstration to the state police on how not to destroy evidence at a crime scene. Ecklie told him to take an assistant from dayshift, but he'd insisted on Sara.
Since it was so far from the city, they'd have the night off. They'd left straight from the lab after shift, and by the time they were finished in the late afternoon, the rain was coming in a heavy downpour.
When traffic crawled to a stop, Grissom dashed through the torrential rain to talk to the state police trooper blocking the mountain highway. He was thoroughly drenched by the time he learned the cloudburst caused a rockslide, closing down the road until it could be cleared away.
It was late in the day, and both of them were tired. It would be hours before the road was cleared, and it would take at least as long to wind their way through the back roads on an alternate route. Finding what amounted to an overgrown truck stop, they made a beeline for the only motel in the area.
Unfortunately, every other driver on the road had the same idea.
They asked for separate rooms, but it was Sara who understood the clerk's calculating look as he surveyed the crowd behind them. The motel charged based on the number of occupants. Two rooms with one guest each meant lost money.
"Do you have anything with two beds?" she'd asked quickly.
While some of the newer hotels were epitomes of good taste, the truth was Las Vegas was still the neon nexus of gaudy. But on a one-to-one basis, this motel could out-tacky anything Vegas had to offer. Their first clue as to what awaited them was the name of their room: Ursula's Den.
Grissom presumed Ursula was the contently-grinning, pink-bowed teddy bear adorning nearly every flat surface in the room. And whose coquettish eyes followed him no matter where he went. The murals were exceptionally well-painted, he had to admit, even if the subject matter was disturbing.
Ursula's smile seemed to be due to the carnal attentions from her multiple ursine companions. Everywhere in the room, depictions of sexually active child-like teddy bears greeted them. Grissom doubted some of the configurations were anatomically possible even if the teddy bears had been anatomically correct.
"Wake me when this nightmare is over," she muttered.
Sara let out a mini-growl and started to collapse on the bed. Her hands paused just above the surface of the comforter, and he saw her face scrunch in distaste. It didn't take a CSI to imagine what an ALS would show there. With a sigh, she opened her eyes and scowled.
"There's a mirror on the ceiling."
"At least it doesn't have a perverted teddy bear on it," Grissom sighed.
"Want to bet?"
Sara stalked to the bathroom. Letting out a groan, Grissom stood slowly. Sopping wet clothing stuck to his body, and his jeans sloshed uncomfortably as he surveyed their surroundings. The bed she vacated was narrow and had a noticeable dip in the center.
He turned to the other piece of furniture. It was a bed in the same sense that a little yapping dog is a wolf at heart. It was flat and had padding. It was all the extras that confused him.
Grissom had been exposed to a great deal on the job, he was well-read, and he had gone to college during the sexual revolution. He knew a lot, even if it wasn't first-hand knowledge. But the variety of straps, restraints and other … things… had him at a loss.
"You can take the bed," Sara said, moving beside him as she tried to towel-dry her hair. "I don't need to sleep."
"We're both adults," he sighed. "We can share the bed."
"Oh, you'll sleep with me, but you won't have dinner with me."
Sara had a grin when she spoke, but Grissom detected the hurt underneath. The truth was his insistence on bringing Sara hadn't been strictly professional. Some sort of ingrained self-preservation mode advised him that mentioning that while they were stuck in a room full of furry fornicating teddy bears wouldn't be a smart move.
His head tilted to the side as he examined a new mural. At first, he thought it was a bruin bunny hop, but it appeared Ursula had no problem with alternative lifestyles.
"Tell you what. I don't think I'll be able to sleep tonight," Grissom said honestly. He had no doubts that his dreams would consist of Lady Heather presiding over a group of infantile furries.
Then he sneezed.
"You need to get out of those wet clothes."
"You can't catch a cold from being wet," Grissom replied shortly, frowning as she felt his forehead. He hated for anyone to fuss over him.
"No, but being cold can lower your resistance."
"I'm fine," he said, ignoring the eye roll directed at him when he sneezed again.
"For once, just don't argue with me," she said impatiently. Sara smiled at his hurt expression. "Look, there're robes in the bathroom. I'll go see if there are any coveralls in the Denali."
Grissom headed to the bathroom. He stripped his clothes off, trying to ignore Ursula's salacious grin from the shower curtain. What kind of sick mind would think something like this up? Standing in just his boxers, he noted they were also soaked. With a resigned air, he hung them with his other clothes to dry.
Taking a robe from the back of the door, he hesitated. Not only was it one of the ugliest pieces of polyester he'd ever seen, it was short. Cautiously, Grissom slipped it on, one hand tugging at the hem. It reached the top of his thighs, barely covering everything that needed to be covered – if he stood straight.
Thoughts of making it to the relative safety of the bed before Sara returned faded when he opened the door to find her heading his way.
"No luck on the cover…"
Grissom frowned when she stopped talking, dropping her head after a minute. The unsuccessfully muffled chortles didn't amuse him. He headed to the bed with as much dignity as was possible under the circumstances. Luckily, Sara headed to the bathroom, and he hoped to crawl into bed without exposing himself.
He settled onto bed and was about to pull up the covers when he noticed the mirror over the bed. Not only did it show Ursula, it showed him – all of him.
"This robe is see-through!" Grissom half-screamed in horror. He turned his head towards the openly laughing Sara as she bolted to the bathroom. The door slammed.