Title: Championship Line
Author: Burked
E-mail: res0rvm5@verizon.net
Summary: G/S. Director Carvallo tries to interfere in G/S with unintended results.
A/N: Not beta-ed, so blame no-one but me.
"Gil, I know you're probably not going to like this, but I'm moving Sidle to the swing shift," Carvallo said, his body language trying to convey authority, but showing it was tensed for battle.
Grissom struggled to keep his mask from slipping, the squint in his eyes the only indication he was displeased. "Have you discussed this with her?"
"Not yet, but it's not her choice to make," Carvallo said icily.
"Do I have any say at all in this?" Grissom asked critically, his breathing starting to deepen with each passing moment.
"No," Carvallo simply shot.
"May I ask why you are moving her?" Grissom pressed, hoping to find a way to change Carvallo's mind, perhaps hidden in his reasoning.
"Let me give you an analogy. A poor one, I fear, but it's the only one I have at the moment. Let's say I'm a champion dog breeder. I have a cadre of fine animals, created by years of careful selection, grooming, training and care. They are the absolute best in the country ... perhaps the world.
"They have won every competition they have been in. Their reputation is so well known that all I have to do is show up with my dogs, and half the competitors pack up and leave. Are you getting the picture so far?" Carvallo asked.
"Yes, though I hardly see how it relates," Grissom said with a touch of sarcasm.
"Perhaps you will in a moment," Carvallo advised, holding a hand up to still Grissom. "Anyway, everything about them is managed scrupulously, all designed to keep them the best. When it's time for new blood to be added to the lineage, the competition is fierce, and only the very best are allowed to join the kennel."
"If there is a point to this story, will you get to it?" Grissom asked impatiently.
Carvallo ignored Grissom's outburst. "It all started with one excellent sire, but now there's a tier of several of his offspring to keep the lineage going. They are not as well-seasoned as he is, but that will come in time. He still shows, and still wins consistently, but it won't be too terribly long until he will be able to relax and spend most of his time siring champions." He looked pointedly at Grissom.
"Robert, come to the point!" Grissom barked, his impatience growing.
"You start noticing that one of his first-tier offspring, a dam who will quite possibly rival his unbelievable career, is coming into heat. Over time, she and the grand sire become increasingly agitated, obviously anxious to fulfill nature's call. You hope she will accept another stud, but she won't. You can't rely on either of them to show well right now, because their minds and bodies have been subverted by nature. Until it passes, they are more of a nuisance than being the pride and joy of the kennel."
Grissom sat shaking his head, at first wondering if Carvallo actually had a point, but beginning to fear that he did.
"What would you do about the situation?" Carvallo asked pointedly.
"Let them do what they want," Grissom answered too quickly.
"They are too close in lineage. Too much alike. It would annihilate years of work," Carvallo countered. "Try again."
"Separate them," Grissom answered heavily, now knowing where Carvallo was going with his colorful metaphor.
"Yes. Separate them ... before they can destroy everything you've worked for, through no fault of their own. They are just behaving naturally. But you have to manage their natures better than they can. You have a responsibility, don't you?"
"I suppose," Grissom exhaled, feeling his body pulled down by gravity and a sense of exposure and defeat.
"I am responsible for creating and maintaining the most efficient work environment possible for this lab. For your good, for Sidle's good, for the lab's good, I need to separate you two ... until this passes," he summarized, pleased that his crude analogy was sufficient.
"What if it doesn't pass?" Grissom asked pointedly. Carvallo was probably unaware of how long Grissom and Sara had played at this game.
"I can arrange for a more ... complete ... separation," Carvallo answered threateningly.
"You could end up losing both," Grissom warned. "What if your champion sire reacts badly, doesn't show well and won't breed?"
"I doubt that," Carvallo stated confidently. "It's in his nature to show well."
"And you think you can control his nature," Grissom posited.
"I have to try, for the good of the kennel. I have a larger responsibility."
"Robert, in all of this, you've never even asked if we were involved. For you information, we are not. This whole exercise is moot," Grissom argued.
"It's too late to separate the dogs once they are 'involved'. You have to put distance between them before they are 'involved'."
"I hope you don't use this same analogy with Sara. It could be hazardous to your health," Grissom warned, pushing up from his chair. "She may just show you another side to the term 'bitch'."
"CSI Sidle does not run this lab," Carvallo stated forcefully.
"And you do not run CSI Sidle," Grissom chuckled. "No one does."
"No, but I do run this lab," he countered. "And I do have the sense to not present it to Sidle as a punishment, because it truly is not. As a matter of fact, she will be promoted to Assistant Supervisor over the swing shift, if she accepts."
"I see. You have it all figured out. You'll appeal to her ambition," Grissom said in clipped tones.
"She is too good to be languishing as a CSI-III on your shift. You are still a relatively young man and it could be years until she got an opportunity to progress. If I don't offer her advancement here, she may well look elsewhere," Carvallo reasoned.
"The only time she threatened to go elsewhere had nothing whatsoever to do with ambition," Grissom said without thinking.
"Actually, that demonstrates the flip side of my analogy. I cannot allow your personal issues with Sidle to drive her away either. This lab has invested three years of time and a fair amount of money to further develop her already impressive skill set. I can get a replacement for her if I have to, but I'd prefer to be able to reap the dividends of our investment."
"First she's a dog, and now she's an investment," Grissom huffed. "Robert, she's a person, a human being."
"For sixteen hours a day she's a human being. For eight hours a day, she's a CSI. I'm only responsible for those eight hours."
"By extension, you have no right to tell her – or me, for that matter – what to do for the other sixteen hours," Grissom reasoned.
"No, I don't. But if what occurs the other sixteen hours impacts what occurs for the eight I manage, then it becomes my concern."
Grissom's mind was beginning to rebound from the shock of the confrontation, and his thoughts were beginning to come into sharper focus. "There is little use in our continuing this conversation. You're mind is made up, and we don't know what CSI Sidle will choose. I see no reason to waste any more of our time at this point," Grissom said, rising from the chair.
"I will inform you of the outcome of my discussion with Sidle," Carvallo said.
"Fine," Grissom nodded, turning and abruptly bursting out of the door. Carvallo smugly thought he had the situation well in hand.
* * * * *
The moment Grissom heard the door to Carvallo's office shut, he began to dial the number he knew by heart. Carvallo had scheduled his meeting with Grissom in the harsh light of day, at a time when many of his crew would no doubt be asleep in their crypts. But Grissom wasn't concerned this time. As little as she slept, she could make it up later.
He heard a muffled "Sidle."
"Were you asleep?" Grissom asked.
"Still am," she answered.
"Sorry. Call me the second you get up," he said excitedly.
"With a lead-in like that, I'm up," she said groggily, sitting up in bed to enforce her commitment. She wiped at her eyes with her free hand, then ran it back through the mop of her hair.
"I need to talk to you," he continued.
"Okay, so talk," she said.
"No, not on the phone. In person."
"Sure. Where? When?"
"I can be there in fifteen minutes. Is that okay?" he asked hopefully.
"Uh, give me half an hour. I need to shower and dress. Have you eaten lately?" she asked.
"No."
"Okay, make that twenty minutes, and you can eat when you get here."
"You don't have to do that. I'm not coming over to eat, but to tell you something important," he said.
"I've got to eat. You either come over and eat with me in twenty minutes, or you come over after I eat in thirty. You call it," she said plainly.
"I'll be there in twenty. Can I bring something?"
"Sure. I have fruit, coffee, juice. Stuff like that. If you want something more substantial, like bagels or some kind of meat, you'll need to bring it," she said.
It struck him as strange that she would allow him to cook or eat meat at her home, and he found himself literally scratching his head. "Aren't you still a vegetarian?" he asked.
"Yeah, but you're not," she said. "Clock's ticking. I'll see you in a little while," she said, stumbling unsteadily towards the shower.
Grissom was glad to have an errand to run, because it wouldn't take him more than ten to fifteen minutes to get there, and he didn't want to sit around, either at the lab or in her parking lot, twiddling his thumbs. Snatching up his keys he decided to stop at the bakery and pick up fresh croissants and bagels.
Several of the people he passed in the hall were looking at him strangely and Grissom began to wonder if he had stained his shirt or left his fly open. He ducked quickly into the men's room to check himself before he left the building. He had a change of clothes in the locker room, if needed, and he certainly didn't want to show up at Sara's apartment looking like a street urchin.
His clothes were fine and he looked at his face, thinking he might have ink smeared across his forehead or a big wad of lint in his hair, but there was no evidence of either. As he was about to leave, he caught a glimpse of his face as a whole, and realized what the 'problem' was: he was smiling.
* * * * *
"Come in," Sara said evenly at the door, pulling it open to reveal Grissom standing with two bags in his arms.
"Hungry much?" she laughed, as he passed her with an answering smirk.
"No. Indecisive," he answered.
"I'm not even going to swing at that slow pitch," she laughed. "It just wouldn't be fair."
She was dressed comfortably in short cut-off jeans and a Harvard tank top. Grissom couldn't help notice by the smoothness of the hips of her jeans that she must not be wearing underwear. While that might have been an assumption, or perhaps wishful thinking, the tank top left little to the imagination. It was obviously the only thing between her skin and the rest of the world.
He was mesmerized by her impossibly long, shapely legs.
Her hair was hanging in wet curls down to her shoulders. Grissom had never decided whether her hair was curly and she sometimes straightened it, or if it was straight and she sometimes curled it. Some part of his mind was glad to have that question answered, as trivial as it was.
He found himself distracted by the small drops of water chasing gravity down her hair, dripping onto the skin of her back, shoulders and chest, then joining up to run down to her shirt. There was a band of darkened fabric along the top edges of the shirt where the water was collecting.
"Hello? Grissom?" she said, bending down to put her face at what had been her chest level to get his attention. Actually, to divert his attention would be more precise.
"Uh, I brought some ... uh ... bagels and ... uh ... croissants. Some pastries, too. I think," he said distractedly.
"Sounds good. I've got coffee ready, or juice if you would prefer," she said, moving towards the breakfast bar. She got down two cups and poured coffee, then turned to offer a cup to Grissom, who had not moved.
"Are you okay, Grissom?" she asked, beginning to get concerned.
"Yeah, fine. I guess I'm just ... I don't think I've ever seen you dressed like that," he blurted out.
"Probably not, since you've never been to my house. I dress like I want to here, which is completely comfortably. But if it bothers you, I can go put on something else," she offered, heading towards the bedroom.
"No. No. Don't do that. You're right. It's your house," he said, nodding.
"What is the important news flash that can't wait until we get to work?" she asked, picking a croissant out of the bag.
"Carvallo is going to offer you a promotion, probably later today," he said excitedly.
"Cool!" she squealed.
"Well, it has its demerits," he warned.
"Oh, God! Tell me it's not on Ecklie's shift!" she groaned, horrified at the prospect.
"No, no. Not that bad. It's on the swing shift. You'd be working from three in the afternoon to eleven at night. He wants to make you the Assistant Supervisor."
"It's not as bad as it could be," she said noncommitally. "You don't have an Assistant Supervisor. If he wants to promote me, why can't I stay on your shift?" she asked.
"I should let him tell you all of this, but I think he wants to share the wealth. Too many good people on one shift and not enough on the others," Grissom said.
"What do you think I should do?" she asked, taking another bite of the crumbling croissant, flicking the flakes of pastry from her shirt.
"You should accept, of course," Grissom said, trying not to imagine removing the crumbs one at a time with his tongue.
"I guess you're right," she said, a little dejectedly.
"What's wrong? You don't sound very happy," Grissom noted.
"It's just ... well, I'm used to the group I work with. It'll be a big change. I guess I'll just miss you. All of you, I mean," she said sadly.
"I'm sure we'll bump into each other from time to time," he said. "After all, I see Ecklie far more than I would ever hope to," he laughed.
"Did you arrange this?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously. "Did you do this to get me off your shift?"
"I swear that I had nothing to do with this – no knowledge of it whatsoever until a couple of hours ago," he answered quickly, holding up his hands in a defensive posture.
"Seems a little ... convenient," she posited, setting her pastry down and sitting stiffly on the barstool.
"I think that you haven't thought this all the way through," he said, smiling at her.
"What's your point, Grissom?" she asked, a little more sharply than she had intended.
"My point is that, if you accept this promotion and move to another shift, that means that you are management, too, like me. And you don't work for me anymore."
"Amazing grasp of the obvious," she huffed. After a few moments, Sara looked up and grinned as the shocking realization sunk in – there was no longer any work-related reason why they couldn't date.
Without thinking, she jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck for an exuberant hug. "Oh, sorry!" she apologized, seeing his reddening face. "I was just excited ... about the promotion, I mean," she grinned.
"Yes, me too. After you tell Carvallo, would you like to have a celebration dinner with me, Assistant Supervisor Sidle?" Grissom asked with a grin.
"I'd be delighted, Supervisor Grissom," she answered, her grin starting to make the muscles in her face ache.
"By the way, after you talk to Carvallo, ask him about his dogs," Grissom suggested.
"His dogs?" she asked, bewildered.
"Yeah. Apparently he raises champion show dogs. He's really quite proud of them. He's got one championship line, and he's just begun another one that looks very promising."