Disclaimer: All rights to CSI: Crime Scene Investigation and its characters belong to CBS/Alliance Atlantis/Jerry Bruckheimer Television/Anthony E. Zuiker. No copyright infringement is intended.

Spoilers: Gentle Gentle
Rating: PG-13 for disturbing subject matter
Summary: A difficult case opens wounds and offers some explanations.

A/N: This is my response to the Unbound Improv Challenge of 08/02/04. The first and last lines are provided, and there is a 1,000 word limit.

XxxOOOxxX

Her socks were mismatched again. Why that was the first thought that entered his head, he couldn't begin to fathom. Perhaps it was his mind's way of coping with the horrible, unthinkable reality of the grisly scene before him. A little girl, lying on the floor with a sheet draped over her body, only her feet - with their mismatched socks - peeking out from beneath.

But he recognized those feet… those socks…

"Honey, you can't go to Mommy's like that. Your socks don't match. You'll have to decide which pair you want to wear most."

"But Smurfette likes My Little Pony, Daddy! They want to be together," her five-year old mind explained happily.

He chuckled. "I know sweetheart, but the Smurfette sock is blue and My Little Pony is pink. Your socks both need to be the same color."

"Oh…" She pouted.

He tilted his head and smiled. "I'll tell you what. You pick which ones you want to wear over to Mommy's, and we can put the other pair in your overnight bag to wear tomorrow. That way, Smurfette and My Little Pony will be together, just not on your feet. How does that sound?"

She bit her lip, obviously giving the idea some serious thought, and then grinned as she agreed. "Okay. I'll wear My Little Pony today."

He rubbed her nose with his. "That's my girl."

It didn't surprise him that she had switched them back after he left her at her mother's for the weekend. His daughter was nothing if not a clever little girl who took after her Daddy when it came to stubbornness.

What did surprise him - infuriated him - was that she was lying still there in front of him… that there would be no more discussions about matching socks and Ponies and Smurfs…

His voice was full of murderous rage when he finally spoke.

"Where is he?"

The detective looked up sharply from the little girl's body and recognized the Los Angeles County Coroner standing before him, but never before had he seen in him in such a state. Why he was so distraught, the detective couldn't understand. Yes, any child's death hit them all hard, very hard, especially when it was the result of abuse. But you had to hold it together, at least until you could deal with it on your own, in private. This was different. Never before had he seen the coroner show any emotion of any kind. Now the man before him looked as if he was ready to tear someone apart, limb from limb.

"Dr. Grissom? Are you okay? Who do you mean?" The detective responded.

"The man who did this to my daughter. My ex-wife's boyfriend. Where is he?" Grissom growled through clenched teeth.

The detective's eyes went wide with shock. He had no idea the little girl was the coroner's child. Oh, God. He wouldn't wish this on his worst enemy. This was bad. Very bad. He had to get him away from there.

"He's in the police cruiser, Dr. Grissom. Why don't you come with me? We'll head back to the station. You shouldn't be here right now." The detective spoke softly, soothingly, taking a step towards the man in order to gently escort him away from the scene. However, Grissom had other plans. He purposefully strode out the front door and over to the nearby police cruiser and frantically attempted to open the door, but it was locked. He began furiously pounding on the window as a very disheveled-looking man stared back at him in abject horror.

"You will pay for this Peter. I swear to God, you'll pay for it if it takes every last breath in my body to see that you do!" He continued to pound angrily on the window, screaming in rage with tears streaming down his cheeks until the cruiser pulled away and he slumped to the ground in exhaustion. Several officers at the scene simply stood by and let him sit there for a few moments, sympathizing with his pain, and waited until he quit sobbing. Finally, the detective stepped forward and placed his hands on his shoulders, gently coaxing him up from the ground.

"Come on, Doc. I'll take you home."

The detective guided him over to another cruiser. Just as Grissom was about to get in he looked up towards the house – and saw his ex-wife for the first time, standing by the front door; her body hunched over in defeat with tear-stained cheeks – looking completely empty and broken.

"How could you let this happen, Joann? How could you?" he choked out as he slumped into the seat and dropped his head into his hands.

XxxOOOxxX

"Grissom?" Sara's voice was soft and full of apprehension as she called to him. "Grissom, are you okay?"

Sara and Brass both turned towards each other, concern evident in the look they gave one another before each of them turned back towards Grissom's lone figure kneeling by the little girl's bedside, gazing intently at a My Little Pony doll in his hand. Both of them knew how much child abuse cases affected him. Sara wished she knew why they affected him so deeply though – more deeply than any other kind of case. He admonished her often enough for her inability to distance herself from rape and abuse cases, yet he seemed to be just as affected by those involving children, if not more so. What was the connection? And why couldn't he tell her?

They had been called to the home of a woman who had contacted the police to report her five-year old daughter missing. Her boyfriend was supposed to be watching the child, but when she got home from work neither of them could be found. He had a history of going on drinking binges, and the woman admitted that he had beaten her and her daughter on more than one occasion. While looking through her house for them she had found some blood on a towel in her daughter's bathroom and was scared to death that he had finally gone too far. Brass put out an APB for the boyfriend and an Amber Alert for the girl.

Sara hated these kinds of cases. She would never understand how a woman could stay with a man who beat her, or her child – especially her child. Wasn't there some kind of law of nature that should make that an impossibility? Too often in these circumstances the outcome was tragic. She didn't want to have to process another child, another life lost before having a chance to ever really live… She knew Grissom felt the same, but today it seemed different. He seemed to shut down and shut everyone out the minute he walked into the little girl's bedroom.

Finally, Grissom stood and walked towards Sara and Brass. Without looking at them he simply said, "I have to get some air, I'm going to step outside," and slipped past them through the doorway. Again they gave each other worried glances. This was not good. The window of opportunity for finding the girl alive was getting smaller by the minute. They needed to get Grissom back on track. Fast.

Sara aimed for the back door, the direction she had seen Grissom headed. As she neared, she saw him leaning against the sliding glass door, a smile on his face as he stared off into the distance. Sara was taken aback. What in the world could he be smiling about at a time like this? Grissom caught Sara's approaching form out the corner of his eye and waved her over to him. She shot him a puzzled look as he gave a nod of his head, indicating what he was looking at. As she peaked around the corner Sara let out a sigh of relief and grinned at the little girl before her, alive and well with a large Band-aid on her knee. He found her on the back porch blowing soap bubbles.

FIN