CSI – Sometimes It's the Thought
by Susan Dietz (Calim 11)
Rating and Reader Alerts: PG
Category: GG/SS DRA/HUM/AU
Summary: Grissom is finally ready but when something goes awry he nearly gets himself killed trying to get it back on track.
© April 2010
Feedback is appreciated
Disclaimer: The characters and general situations in this story are the property of CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer, however I reserve the rights to the specific details. It is not my intention to infringe upon their rights; this story is purely for the enjoyment of fans. Please do not redistribute in any form
Chapter 1 - Now, what happened?
"You've got Kotex all over you. Somehow I'm thinking that's not going to look good on the paperwork."
Jim Brass's snide comments blew into Gil Grissom's ears and forced him to pay attention again. Blinking, he hadn't realized his eyes had closed or his head had started to drift toward Brass's shoulder, his blurry mind consumed with the plans he'd had for this evening.
He'd been working on them for awhile these plans that included an expensive dinner in an exclusive restaurant with sweet words of love and hand holding. He'd even put on that suit that had a tendency to change color from blue to charcoal gray as he moved that Sara said made him look hot.
But it was the fuzzy box that'd been tucked in his pocket that made him forget what he'd planned and center instead on that punk ass robber who'd taken it from him, pulling out the object inside then tossing the box to the floor as if it meant nothing. He'd not expected the intense rage that consumed him in an instant nor could he believe what he was doing as he'd found himself stepping toward the robber.
"Hot diggity!" the robber exclaimed as he popped open the box. "Hit me a jackpot!"
"Excuse me," Grissom began not able to keep still after watching those green teeth bite down on the most important thing in his life, vaguely noting the trembling finger on the robber's hand that held tightly to the trigger of his shaking gun, wide eyes darting toward him.
"Shut up, man!" came the response.
"That's mine and I want it back," Grissom explained.
The robber smirked and moved his weapon closer to Grissom's face. "I got the gun, mister. You ain't got nothin'."
Grissom shook his head. "I don't care if you rob the store just let me have that back."
One part of his brain was yelling at him to stop but the other kept pushing on. He was finally ready, was finally able to take the next step. He wasn't about to give it up so easily.
"It means a great deal to me and it means nothing to you. Please, let me have it back."
The robber smiled. "Oh, it means at least a hundred bucks to me," he answered. "Now step back or I'll havta shoot you."
Grissom's eyes narrowed as he tilted his head, hearing the muscles in his neck creak. This guy had just stepped on his last nerve.
He took another step.
"I mean it, mister!" the robber slobbered. "I'll shoot!"
"Don't do it, Dr. Grissom," came a whispered call from behind him, a part of his brain recognizing Roland Foluca's voice, the owner of the store.
"Better listen to the man, Doc," the robber said.
"Just give back what's mine."
The robber began to laugh, dropped the object into his pocket and clasped both hands around the gun to still the shaking, the smile leaving his sweaty face.
"Ain't yours no more, Doc."
The world seemed to slow for Grissom as he watched the robber's eyes cease their restless darting and center solely on him. It was only then he thought he may have made a mistake and knew, without a doubt, he was about to be killed.
Damn. Sara was going to kill him!
But fate, as it's wont to do, stepped in and the bell over the front door began to ring. Without thinking all three men turned to look at the unsuspecting soul who'd ventured into the wrong place at the wrong time.
"Shit!" the robber blurted out swinging the gun toward this new visitor as Mr. Foluca yelled for the man to duck, the bullet shattering the glass door behind him as he dropped to the floor.
Recovering faster than the robber, Grissom leaped toppling them both to the floor, hands searching and finding the gun still clasped in the robber's hands. Trying to pry it away while rolling about the floor was proving fruitless but he refused to give up. Nothing would keep him from retrieving what was his.
"Let go of me!" shouted the robber as he valiantly fought to be free of this madman who refused to let go.
"Give me what's mine!" Grissom gasped out through gritted teeth wondering at the strength of this skinny man when a loud bang raked across his left ear followed by an instant stab of pain just before his back plowed into something solid not once but twice.
It was then the sound of breaking glass was followed by a heavy weight descending upon them both succeeding in doing what Grissom couldn't – tossing the gun from the robber's hand.
Feeling as if an elephant was sitting on him, Grissom still had one coherent thought pushing its way to the forefront and, with great effort, he forced his hand toward the pocket that housed that very important item. Rifling through a partially used Kleenex, a stick of gum and something he wasn't sure he could identify even if his eyes weren't swirling about his head, he felt it. A partial smile tugged at him as he pulled it free of the dirty pocket and clasped it tightly in his hand.
Now everything was right with the world and he could relax and wonder what exactly he was laying in; why was Mr. Foluca yelling "get your ass down you scumbag!" and how very late he was going to be for his date with Sara.
"She's gonna . . . be . . . mad," he mumbled just before the lights went out.
That had been, what, hours ago?
No, just about forty five minutes. Then why did he feel as if he'd been sitting on this cold floor for a year?
"You in there?" Brass's voice came to him on a wave rumbling in between his ears until it finally settled.
"Jim?"
Brass smiled. "Still here."
Frowning, Grissom tried to look around, a hissing sound coming from him as pain lanced through his shoulder then his head.
"Don't move too much. You're bleeding enough as it is. Where's the damn ambulance?" he called out to Mr. Foluca.
"I called. Must be traffic," he gave the Captain.
"What . . . happened?" Grissom asked in a slurred voice, his words difficult to push out.
Brass cast his friend a worried look. He'd already told him the story once as relayed by Mr. Foluca upon his arrival.
"It seems you were trying to play hero without your cape and theme song. Because of that you've lost a nice chunk of your shoulder, we're sitting on Mr. Foluca's floor and you're covered in Kotex."
"Oh," came the whispered answered as he flinched around a jagged twinge in his head just before catching a whiff of something making him gimace. "What's that smell?"
"Beer."
Grissom frowned again. Is that what that was? Oh, man. That was it. He smelled like a brewery.
God, not only did he smell but he felt awful.
"And that's where your head got caved in. Slammed right into Mr. Foluca's two tier display of 32 oz glass bottles of Budweiser. Bang, right on top of the both of you. He'll probably sue the county for glass in his eyes," he said nodding toward the robber neatly cuffed to the front counter, Mr. Foluca standing guard with a well worn bat in his hand.
It was then it all came back to Grissom and he slowly raised his right hand.
It was empty!
I thought I'd gotten it back!
Trying to sit up only caused him to flop back against the shelf knocking boxes of Tampax to the floor and pulling a harsh gasp from him.
"Steady, Gil," Brass intoned putting a restraining hand against him not that it was necessary.
"He has something that's . . . that's mine," Grissom fumed through clenched teeth glaring at the robber who refused to look at him.
"I've got it right here," Brass quickly stated showing him the fuzzy box and what it held before snapping shut the lid. "You've got a mighty solid grip there, buddy. I had to pry it out of your hands."
". . . need that," Grissom whispered as he began to relax glancing toward Brass.
"It's not going anywhere and neither are you," Brass reminded him watching his friend digest this information then turn his attention to the robber.
Cursing the fact that he didn't have enough energy to get up and slam that bastard into the watermelon display then follow it up with a grapefruit pummel until he cried uncle, Grissom gave himself a smile instead.
"What?" Brass asked adding more Kotex to Grissom's shoulder wound before buttoning up his jacket again to keep the makeshift padding in place.
". . . thinking," came his breathy response around another wince.
"This is no time to be thinking of Sara," Brass admonished trying to keep a smile from tugging at his lips.
"Wasn't. Thinking of . . . grapefruit."
Brass's brows rose steadily then he shook his head, plastering a hand across Grissom's sweaty blood and beer drenched forehead. "I'm not even going to ask," he answered wiping his hand on another Kotex. "Oh, Gil, how do we get into these situations?"
"Forgot the flowers," he answered trying once again to sit up straight and failing to do so. A short gasp followed. "Knew Mr. Foluca . . . had some."
Brass tapped his chin. "Hmm. Flowers, fancy suit and this lovely little thing," he said holding up the fuzzy box, "you almost got yourself killed over. My detective senses are working overtime here. Going to ask her weren't you?"
A bit of a smile tugged at Grissom's split lip. "Finally got the nerve." Then that smile stopped. "And now . . . now I smell like beer and there's a hole in my suit," he whined. "Not very . . . presentable now."
Brass smiled and clapped Grissom's leg. "Somehow I don't think Sara would care if you were covered in mold as long as you were breathing," Brass quipped looking at his watch.
"What's . . . the time?" Grissom vaguely asked thinking everything looked a bit hazy.
"8:30."
"Damn," he muttered. ". . . in trouble now."
"You could say that again."
Grissom gave a slight shake of his head before remembering that hurt and quickly stopped. "Probably thinks I . . . I stood her up. Tonight's important."
"Yeah, I know."
"No, no," he said getting agitated. "Second . . . anniversary. I wanted . . . wanted to surprise her."
Brass put a hand on his friend's arm. "Calm down, Gil. There's nothing you can do about it now."
"But it was . . . was all planned."
"Mr. Foluca can always corroborate your story."
Grissom leaned his head back and sighed thinking a nap would be really good right about now. ". . . think all the . . . the blood might convince her."
Brass cast worried eyes over Grissom's pale face noticing the quick breaths he'd begun to take and wondered why it was taking so damn long for the ambulance to get here.
"So tell me about this priceless object," he asked hoping to keep Grissom talking, noticing the glazed look that had fallen about his blue eyes.
A slight smile appeared. "It's perfect. Took forever to find it but she'll . . . she'll love it."
"If she says yes," Brass reminded his friend.
The smile quickly left and eyes narrowed as he managed to cast a hard look his way. ". . . such a downer."
That made Brass smile. "Don't worry, my friend. I've never seen anyone so in love with another person. It's quite disgusting you know. I've never had a woman look at me the way Sara looks at you. You're one lucky bastard."
". . . yeah," Grissom answered thinking the lights must be going out in the store. Everything seemed to be getting darker but decided it took too much effort to ask.
"I hope I get to give her away," Brass mused. "I've always thought of Sara like a daughter. That would make my year."
". . . make sure she . . . she . . ."
Grissom's voice drifted off as his attention strayed to the darkness that slowly descended about him. He squinted, seeing Brass's mouth move but unable to hear any words that made any sense. It was as if he was in a tunnel, a tunnel with only dark at the other end.
"Gil? Come on, stay with me here. You know I hate sitting alone on a grungy floor."
A vague idea of someone's hands on him muddled into his consciousness and he tried to respond but his body had other ideas as lovely brown eyes that filled his soul with love obliterated anything else.
Sara.
Her soft gentle touch that sent him over the edge with each caress drifted across his skin, comforting him, easing him away from the pain.
His love.
His life.
His Sara.
A smile graced his split lip just before the lights went out and his head fell toward Brass who easily caught it.
"Gil?"
Fingers immediately trailed along Grissom's neck until what was sought was found and Brass closed his eyes, the distant sound of a siren penetrating their space.
"Ambulance coming, Captain," Mr. Foluca said hurrying out the door to wave them down leaving Brass to stare at the back of the robber's head until he turned to face the Captain's burning gaze.
"I don't want any trouble from you," Brass began, his intensity making him squirm, "or I'll let Mr. Foluca use you for batting practice."
The robber gulped and turned away, scrunching up his shoulders and wondering why he thought it was a good idea to rob this particular store.
Have no fear this WIP is complete. I just decided to upload Chapter by Chapter as I finish revising it. I hope you enjoy! I yearn for reviews and await any approval that may come my way. SD