Disclaimer: Remember that time I was best friends with Anthony Zucker and he let me write for the show? No? Me neither.
Spoilers: Through The Sixth Sense
This is my first story! ¯\(°o)/¯ Be kind.
Special thanks to jenbachand for being awesome!
No Words
Apparently the break room was too quiet for Nick, as most of the night shift worked silently on reports. "Did you never notice how Grissom always knows the answer to everything?" he posed - not asked, because this wasn't a question but rather an obnoxious certainty - to Warrick and Greg as they chomped their way through a late shift bag of Cool Ranch Doritos.
Greg looked up.
Warrick didn't.
Across the table and away from the conversation, Catherine sat pen in hand, a small but knowing smile creeping up the sides of her mouth.
"You're talking to him," Nick went on, "laying out your case. You've spent hours working it and you've fingered a perp. You're about to say the name when-"
(Earlier that day)
"-Sheila Malone." Grissom blurted.
Nick's jaw fell ever so slightly open. The last ten minutes of his life spent explaining in exacting detail the case, and his brilliant conclusion, gone forever. "What?"
Grissom reached for and removed his glasses, holding them between the thumb and index fingers of his right hand. He didn't set them down, but rather, kept them suspended over his desk as he stared at nothing in particular. Raising an eyebrow he explained, "It seems that the good Dr. Covington was performing surgeries off the books." He made eye contact with Nick and continued speaking, "I noticed during her initial interview that, Shelia kept squinting her right eye, so Brass got a warrant for her medical records. Her insurance company denied her claim for lasik surgery nine times. Astigmatism. She wasn't a good candidate."
"Uh huh." Nick stretched the second syllable a second longer than was probably necessary.
"Covington did the surgery, failed, and left her nearly blind in one eye. He took her vision and she took his life." The glasses went back on as Grissom shifted back to work mode and focused on the papers on his desk. "She confessed an hour ago. I thought I paged you." He said as an afterthought.
Nick looked down at his cell phone. There were no messages.
"So Grissom beat you to the punch." Greg concluded in a more reserved tone than he had in times past.
"Actually," Nick paused, "Iwasgoingtofingerthewife." He said it so fast that it blurred into one word. "But regardless, it still is very annoying."
Without looking up from his paperwork, Warrick let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a grunt.
Greg leaned back in his chair and let it swivel slightly from side to side. "You know a couple months ago I was working a case out at a nursing home."
(Two months earlier)
Greg looked around the cluttered reception area. So far he'd made no headway in the investigation of a series of deaths, by asphyxiation, of Cedar View Rest Home residents. He spun a pale grey office chair.
Squeak.
He sighed and sat down, the hydraulics dropping all the way to the floor. "I should have expected that." He leaned back against the chair.
Squeak.
Six hours had yielded nothing but a sore back and the beginnings of a blister on his left big toe. He looked around.
The reception area, or "staff lounge" as the head orderly put it, was a mess of patient files, medical equipment, and staff personal effects. With too many patients and too few staff members, the nursing home showed some serious signs of mismanagement. Greg made a mental note to put that thought in his report as a contributing factor to the deaths.
He took a deep breath and rose from the chair.
Squeak.
There was a narrow hall off to the left, so he headed down it in search of the proverbial needle in the haystack. He'd searched most of the facility, excluding patient's rooms as they fell outside the scope of the warrant, and was quickly running out of places to look.
A door halfway down the hall caught his eye.
Storage. The black letters engraved on a tarnished brass plate sparked something in his mind. He jiggled the handle.
It was locked.
He called over the facility supervisor to open it and motioned for an officer to join them.
Once inside he did a quick inventory of the room: Toilet paper. Paper towels. Non-rebreather masks. Nasal canals. First aid kit. Oxygen tank. Rubbing alco—
His eyes shot back to the tank. It was silver and green. Definitely oxygen. Greg pondered.
An oxygen tank in damp confined space? Safety protocols recommend well ventilated storage. And why only one tank? A facility this size should have multiple tanks per floor.
Greg knelt down and reached for the tank with his gloved hands. He checked the pressure gauge. The valve was open. Another safety violation.
"Why do I think you're not filled with good old O2?"
He reached for his phone.
"Grissom? It's Greg. I think I've got a lead on our asphixiat-"
"Carbon monoxide poisoning." Grissom's voice cut in. "Probably delivered via an oxygen tank. We got a tip from one of the patients. Bring back all the onsite tanks."
Dial tone.
Greg's big toe throbbed.
"Ouch." Nick commiserated.
"Yea." Greg agreed. He swiveled his chair once more.
Squeak.
With an audible sigh, Warrick scratched the scruff that lined his jaw. He looked as though he was considering whether or not to join the discussion. He opted to commiserate with his fellows. "Last month, Sara and I were working in the garage, taking apart a car."
"Baldwin case." Catherine stated without looking up.
Warrick nodded, though she didn't see. "The guys a dealer. Vartan's been watching him for weeks waiting for him to lead them to his supplier. Finally he does. Some overgrown house on Lincoln Blvd. So Baldwin comes out holding a brick. Then the idiot runs right to his car and takes off. Vartan arrested him, but when they searched the car the brick was gone."
"He toss it?" This from came from Nick.
Warrick shook his head. "They would've seen it. No, it had to be in the car."
(Four Weeks Earlier)
Clad in blue coveralls unzipped to his waist and a white tank top, Warrick chugged a bottle of water. He looked at the beat up blue Ford Taurus with disgust and scratched his head.
This was ridiculous. A brick. A large brick of cocaine was in this car and he couldn't find it.
"Any luck?" Called Grissom from the garage entrance. His blue eyes darted around the room.
Probably looking for Sara. Warrick mused.
"No." Warrick set down his water and picked up a crow bar. "We've been over every inch of this thing." He started to rattle off a list. "Under the dash. Inside the seats. Under the carpet – cabin AND trunk." He paused. "We even looked in the spare tire"
Grissom raised an eyebrow at that.
"Don't ask." Warrick replied to the non-verbal question. "Sara's checking out his clothes again."
Stepping forward Grissom peering inside at the ripped up interior of the car. "I'm not sure Mr. Baldwin will appreciate your redecoration."
Warrick leaned against the open door. "We may have gotten a bit frustrated."
"Any record of work done on the car?" Grissom asked as he grabbed a flashlight from the floor and turned it to get a better look at the interior.
Warrick nodded. "Yeah. He had the brakes replaced about a year ago, but we checked 'em out. There was nothing around the brake peddle though, or underneath. Not that he'd be able to get it under the car anyway."
"What about the emergency brakes?"
Warrick froze.
Grissom continued his thought. "This car was made in the late 90's. No one is going to pay a few thousand to have the brakes replaced, unless there's a very good reason for them to work."
Warrick ducked past Grissom and slid into the driver's seat, eyes focused on the emergency break in the center console. He felt along the base until his fingers met an odd structure. He looked down amazed.
"Unbelievable. There's a latch here," Warrick said as he fingered a small piece of metal at the base of the center console.
Grissom smiled at him, a camera already in hand.
Warrick snapped a few pictures before he flipped back the latch. The emergency break lifted away revealing a hollowed out compartment. Hidden within was the missing brick of cocaine.
Warrick looked up at his boss. "Where were you three hours ago?"
"The emergency break?" Greg repeated.
Warrick bobbed his head.
"Well that's one for the scrap book." Added Nick.
Warrick tossed down his pen and took a sip of coffee. "What about you Cat? You've know him the longest."
Catherine looked up. Her expression made it clear that she had expected the question. She inhaled deeply and began...
(1993)
Wearing a slightly faded navy blue power suit, Catherine Willows stalked down the well lit lab halls, her long hair and wavy bangs bouncing with each step. She was making the rounds, introducing herself to anyone in a ten foot radius. She wanted to make a good impression (or at least an impression) on this, her very first day of a very different profession.
She'd already met a print tech named Charlotte and an abrasive balding man that kept starting at her chest.
Didn't I get into this line of work to avoid assholes like that? She took a breath and shrugged it off. Up ahead was another man. Strong frame. Curly brown hair. And the dorkiest glasses she'd ever seen. She made her approach.
"Hi," She called out with her hand extended.
He looked up from whatever file he'd been reading.
"I'm-"
"Catherine Willows." He supplied shaking her hand. "Jim Brass told me you'd be starting today. I'm Gil Grissom."
Eager much Gil? Well, at least he looked me in the eye.
(1999)
"I can't believe you waited all night to get this tape." Catherine said from the break room couch as she popped a potato chip into her mouth.
"Shhhhh!" Jackie said, riveted by the scene playing out before her.
On the small television screen, a young Haley Joel Osmond spoke to Bruce Willis.
"I see dead people. I see them all the time…"
Grissom walked in nursing a cup of coffee, his id badge dangling from a chain around his neck. He passed by the couch - eliciting a groan from the ladies as he blocked the screen - and stopped at the coffee pot where he refilled his beverage. He took a sip and watched as Bruce Willis's image filled the screen.
"…they don't know they're dead. They only see what they want to see."
Grissom swallowed and pointed at the television, "I bet he's dead." Another sip and he was gone.
Catherine's jaw dropped. Jackie screamed.
(2004)
Sitting in her brand new office Catherine was working hard… on a crossword. This was the farthest she'd even gotten and the only thing standing between her and extreme personal satisfaction was 32 across.
"6 letters. Land of Xerxes." She mumbled to herself.
"Persia." Grissom said from her doorway. He smiled, as though he'd just made her day, and shuffled off.
"Son of a bi-"
"Anyone seen Sara?"
Everyone looked up to see Grissom standing in the break room doorway.
A moment of absolute silence followed as Nick, Greg, Warrick, and Catherine all eyed Grissom angrily.
"I would have gotten it Gil." Catherine fumed. "32 down was a three letter word for a Bic product."
"Pen?" Her angry eyes were answer enough. He returned to his previous question. "Sara? Has anyone seen her?"
"Lay out room." Warrick, Nick, and Greg supplied in unison... and frustration.
Grissom watched them for a moment. "Maybe you guys should cut back on the coffee." With that he wondered off to find Sara.
It didn't take him long to reach the lay out room. He leaned in the door way and guiltily watched as she packed up two boxes of evidence. "Hey."
She looked up and smiled. "Hi. I'm almost done here."
Grissom stepped farther into the room and helped her pile the last of the plastic evidence bags into their designated boxes. He lowered his voice. "Tonight. How do you feel about-"
"A movie? Sure."
He frowned. "How did you know I was going to ask that?"
Sara removed her gloves and sealed them in a bag, a slight grin playing at her lips. She lowered her voice to match his cautious tone. "You left the movie section open on the kitchen counter last night."
He rolled his eyes and lifted one of the boxes off the table. "Well then would you like to stop by-"
"Spargo's for breakfast first? Sounds good to me." She grabbed the other box and headed for the door, doing her best to keep a straight face.
"You know that's kind of annoying," Grissom grumbled as he followed after her.
"That's what I've heard." She replied.
The End