Title: Waste Management
Rating: PG 13 for implied adult themes.
Notes: Unbound challenge response. I tried very hard to a) not turn this into a GSR, and b) not turn the stuffed toy line into something dirty. One out of two aint bad.
Disclaimer: The characters from CSI are not of my invention, and no infringement is intended.
Lines provided: "Grissom had never seen a stuffed toy do that before." and "It's overrated."
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Grissom had never seen a stuffed toy do that before.And he was pretty sure he never wanted to see it again. In fact, on his nonexistent list of Things He'd Like To See a Stuffed Toy Do, this came in absolute dead last.
"It's because we're in Vegas, isn't it," Nick Stokes stated, wincing at the screen in the AV lab. "All the crazy people come here to get their kink on, and we end up cleaning up after them. Man, why can't they just go to the casinos like everyone else?"
"Everyone needs an outlet, Nick," Grissom said absently. He wanted to look away, very much, but it was like watching a car wreck.
"You call this an outlet?"
"Yes."
"Grissom…they're having sex with stuffed animals."
"Where did you say you found this again?" Archie interjected, staring the screen with fascinated distaste.
"Murder vic's hotel room," Nick said flatly. "There was a box of tapes under the bed. And we recovered a couple of bears, too. We realized something was funny when we tested them for blood and found…"
"Ewww."
"Okay, come on guys, focus," Grissom said impatiently. "This could be important."
"Man, I do not get paid enough to watch this sort of thing," Nick said, shaking his head.
"Well, if you're dissatisfied you're more than welcome to look elsewhere for employment." Grissom quirked an eyebrow. Nick smirked.
"Yeah, right, Griss. We all know I'm your favorite CSI. You'd never let me go."
"I thought Sara was his favorite CSI," Archie said innocently. Grissom glared at the AV tech.
"Whoa! Hold up a second." Nick stood up and moved closer to the screen. "Is that our vic?"
"Yeah, that's him. That's the same tattoo on his shoulder…" Grissom's voice trailed into shocked silence as the tape continued to play.
Nick's jaw dropped. "Oh no. He isn't doing what I think he is…"
Grissom's expression hardened. "We need to call Brass."
"Still call this an outlet?" Nick muttered with a dark glare. Grissom sighed grimly and pulled out his phone.
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Twenty minutes after the gruesome discovery, Brass strode down the hall of the crime lab and into Grissom's office.
"You've got to be kidding me," he said bluntly.
"I'm afraid not. It explains the fibers Robbins' found in the vic's nose."
"Teddy bear snuff films?"
Grissom shrugged. "That's what it looks like. Archie's examining the rest of the tapes."
"So what are we dealing with? A murderer or a victim?"
"Both," Grissom said simply.
Brass lowered himself into a chair and released a long, disgusted sigh. "You know, it's days like this I wish I had gone into waste management."
"One could argue that you did," Grissom pointed out, glancing absently at his watch. Brass laughed humorlessly.
"Come on," Grissom said, rising from his desk. "We won't be getting the results back from the bears for a couple of hours. Let's get some dinner."
The two men drove to a nearby 24 hour diner and ordered burgers and coffee. Brass picked up a salt shaker and turned it over in his hands without seeing it.
"Gil, do you ever think about retiring?"
Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Are you trying to drop a hint?"
"No, 'course not. But do you ever think about a job outside of law enforcement?"
"I don't really consider what I do law enforcement, Jim. I'm a scientist."
Brass snorted. "Yeah, right. A scientist with a gun."
A waitress set two cups of coffee on the table. Brass took his time with the cream and sugar.
"I gave up a lot for my career," he said slowly, watching the cream swirl into the dark liquid. "At the time, I didn't even see it. I thought I was doing the right thing. Thought I was making a difference. But now..." He looked up. Grissom was watching him thoughtfully. "I wonder if it was worth it."
Grissom sighed and an odd, tired expression passed over his features. "Some would call what we do a career in futility."
"That's a good way of putting it."
"I don't see it that way. People do terrible things to each other no matter how many criminals we put in jail. There is no surefire method of preventing crime, and there never will be."
"Human nature," Brass muttered darkly, lifting the mug to his mouth.
"Exactly. We can't stop crime. But we can try to make sense of it. Clean it up." His lips hinted at a smile. "Waste management."
Brass chuckled as their hamburgers were placed on the table. The conversation meandered casually into other cases, mild lab gossip (though Grissom was never much fun in that department) and the hurricanes in the south. They were halfway back to the lab when Brass realized Grissom had never answered his question.
"So, humor me for a second," he said when they were stopped at a traffic light. Grissom looked at him askance and waited. "If you woke up tomorrow and…you were missing a leg. What would you do?"
"I think you should be asking Robbins that question."
"Fine, fine. Bad example." The light turned green. "Have you really never thought about it?"
"Of course I have," Grissom said dismissively, accelerating through the intersection.
"And?" Brass began to wonder if he was moving into private territory.
"And…I couldn't find an answer. This is what I do, Jim. It chose me. I don't expect to change the world or become a better person. I'm not saying I couldn't do something else, but I couldn't do anything else as well. And that means a lot to me." He guided the Denali into the crime lab parking lot and shut off the engine. "But I can't answer that question for you."
"No," Brass sighed. "I don't suppose you can. But thanks."
"Thinking of retiring?" Grissom said lightly as they crossed the dark parking lot. "Taking up a life of leisure?"
"Nah." Brass smirked and held open the door. "I'm sure it's overrated."