Title: Genetics
Disclaimer: Want to, but don't own CSI
Summary: A teenage Gris ponders the effects genetics can have (gg/ocr)
Spoilers: None
Rating: Easy G
"I'm sorry" He said. "It was stupid. I don't know what the hell I was thinking." But he knew that the tall, dark-blonde girl standing next to him had heard it about as much as much as he had meant what he had just said. Because the girl standing next to him was deaf, and he knew that in roughly 20 or 30 years from now, he would be too. He knew that from the moment he heard his mother tell him that the disease that resulted in her deafness was genetic. Because he of all people knew, being the ultimate teenage prodigy of science in these small parts, that genetics, in its own way, was it's own evil. Because it never failed. It always passed on the information encoded onto it in its own way to the next generation. He knew that simply by looking at himself. His mother's hair. His mother's nose. His bastard father's eyes. He knew that from the realization that his best friend-one of his only friends, really, was the one standing next to him, and that she had the same condition that her mother had-in fact, she had been born with it. He knew that some people got inny belly buttons, and some people got outies. Some had a natural knack for things like singing. Some people were in naturally tall or short families. And some otherwise innocent people were predisposed to things. Diseases like the one his mother had. Diseases like the one that was lying dormant in his chromosomes somewhere. The diseases that had driven his father from him and his mother before he was even 8 years old. He knew that he was better off then most people because of it, too. But he hated genetics. He had his grandfather's feet and his mother's clean complexion. But everyone and anyone could be double jointed or 6 fingered. Anyone could have curly hair and blue gray eyes. But he had ostiosculorsus somewhere in him. And so did his mother. Some days he wished he could just hurry up and be deaf. Because some days he hated the large part of the stupid, vain, and naive part of the human race that could hear. They took far to much advantage of everything they lived in. But deaf people saw it from a way they could not. And Diane loved that. Diane knew that. She was funny and pretty and witty and smart. Intellectual and curious, and concerned. To him, she was perfect. She was the perfect friend when he was five, and now that he was 17 she was the perfect thing for him to fantasize about. "It was stupid, yes." She signed. "You were thinking fine. You don't care, that's why you did it." "What do you mean, I don't care? I care plenty, just not about them." "Why don't you have any friends at school??" He shrugged. "'I love the human race, it's people I can't stand.'" Diane laughed. "Again with the Lioness. "They just don't understand me, I guess." He continued. "I don't feel like trying. Besides, I have you." She smiled; he loved it when she smiled. But in the more intellectual and human side of himself, he also knew that in a way, genetics had its own sick way of spewing out destiny. It gives you the cards that you must deal in life, he supposed. Genetics could be evil in that way too, he knew. But he also knew that in spewing out destiny, genetics could open many a man's eyes. Genetics had had the graciousness to help him on the road to being introduced to Diane. And in that respect, he figured, genetics wasn't really all that bad. It was facinating, really.
"I'm sorry" He said. "It was stupid. I don't know what the hell I was thinking." But he knew that the tall, dark-blonde girl standing next to him had heard it about as much as much as he had meant what he had just said. Because the girl standing next to him was deaf, and he knew that in roughly 20 or 30 years from now, he would be too. He knew that from the moment he heard his mother tell him that the disease that resulted in her deafness was genetic. Because he of all people knew, being the ultimate teenage prodigy of science in these small parts, that genetics, in its own way, was it's own evil. Because it never failed. It always passed on the information encoded onto it in its own way to the next generation. He knew that simply by looking at himself. His mother's hair. His mother's nose. His bastard father's eyes. He knew that from the realization that his best friend-one of his only friends, really, was the one standing next to him, and that she had the same condition that her mother had-in fact, she had been born with it. He knew that some people got inny belly buttons, and some people got outies. Some had a natural knack for things like singing. Some people were in naturally tall or short families. And some otherwise innocent people were predisposed to things. Diseases like the one his mother had. Diseases like the one that was lying dormant in his chromosomes somewhere. The diseases that had driven his father from him and his mother before he was even 8 years old. He knew that he was better off then most people because of it, too. But he hated genetics. He had his grandfather's feet and his mother's clean complexion. But everyone and anyone could be double jointed or 6 fingered. Anyone could have curly hair and blue gray eyes. But he had ostiosculorsus somewhere in him. And so did his mother. Some days he wished he could just hurry up and be deaf. Because some days he hated the large part of the stupid, vain, and naive part of the human race that could hear. They took far to much advantage of everything they lived in. But deaf people saw it from a way they could not. And Diane loved that. Diane knew that. She was funny and pretty and witty and smart. Intellectual and curious, and concerned. To him, she was perfect. She was the perfect friend when he was five, and now that he was 17 she was the perfect thing for him to fantasize about. "It was stupid, yes." She signed. "You were thinking fine. You don't care, that's why you did it." "What do you mean, I don't care? I care plenty, just not about them." "Why don't you have any friends at school??" He shrugged. "'I love the human race, it's people I can't stand.'" Diane laughed. "Again with the Lioness. "They just don't understand me, I guess." He continued. "I don't feel like trying. Besides, I have you." She smiled; he loved it when she smiled. But in the more intellectual and human side of himself, he also knew that in a way, genetics had its own sick way of spewing out destiny. It gives you the cards that you must deal in life, he supposed. Genetics could be evil in that way too, he knew. But he also knew that in spewing out destiny, genetics could open many a man's eyes. Genetics had had the graciousness to help him on the road to being introduced to Diane. And in that respect, he figured, genetics wasn't really all that bad. It was facinating, really.
