Please Refer to Employee Handbook
Summary: It's a slow night and Gruesome Grissom is on the loose.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: …and one time at band camp…I still didn't own anything.
A/N: A word of apology from a new author:
I love reading CSI fan fiction. I love it so much that more than once I've thought how convenient it is that CBS developed a show just to provide impetus for these talented authors. However, as much entertainment and enjoyment as I've gotten from fan fiction, I have never, ever written a review. I honestly didn't think it mattered. I didn't think it would matter when I started writing my own stories. Then I got one. Wow. So, I apologize to each and every talented author whose story I thought was amazing and but didn't review. I promise to be a reviewin' fiend from here on out.
Sincerely yours, the fan formerly known as a negligent reviewer.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
It had been a slow couple of nights. Lacking any sort of seasonal or climate-related explanation, the night shift knocked it up to the notion that even crooks occasionally had to spend some time with the in-laws or take the kids to Disneyland. Luckily, Sofia had serendipitously requested this week off. Greg found his way back into the lab much to Mia's chagrin. Sara selected herself a whopper off of the fish board. This left Grissom at large.
Time and experience had taught the night-shift that an occasionally under-tasked Grissom could be very frightening for its employees. One time in the early 90s, for purposes he claimed were to verify findings for a journal article, Dr. Grissom procured the "help" of a fingerprint tech to study the body's physiological reaction to stress incited by the presence of "dangerous" insects. The experiment found the fingerprint lab tech submerged in a tank of cockroaches. Years of therapy later, while watching an episode of Fear Factor, the lab tech considered calling up his former boss and demanding a cash prize.
This and other stories were passed from generation to generation of nightshift employee and thus the thought was so institutionalized that some believed it was actually documented in the employee handbook. The policy was explicit: steer clear of Gruesome Grissom during the slow times when his faculties had a habit running amuck.
Lost in the intricate, if not dead-end throes of a cold case file, Sara Sidle had momentarily forgotten the implicit statute when Grissom settled in beside her on a stool in the layout room.
"Find anything good?" He asked studying a photograph from the file, re-acquainting himself with the cold case.
"Nah, not really, "Sara responded. "I think I'd be nearer to the truth if I just guessed that it was Mrs. Peacock in the library with a monkey wrench," she sighed looking up at Grissom.
"You wanna take a break, help me out for a little while?"
"Bring it on," Sara answered brightly as she began gathering the file spread out on the layout table.
"Job security favors the enthusiastic."
At this Sara looked up from her packing, eyebrow raised. "Uh, Roosevelt?"
"Which one?"
"FDR?"
"Nope, I read it in my horoscope this morning. Meet me in my office in five minutes." Grissom ordered. In hindsight, Sara realized she should have been suspect of a jovial Grissom.
Stopping on her way in to Grissom's office to inspect his newest find Sara held it up, "Isn't this just a little cliché?"
"It's nostalgic," Grissom replied, "the detail work in the handle alone makes it a work of art."
Inspecting the antique magnifying glass more closely, Sara found that it indeed, was quite pretty. "First the horse, now this—if I didn't know better, I'd suspect that you were thinking getting a day job and opening up one of those citchy theme restaurants a la CSI."
Grissom rolled his eyes, but agreed reasonably, "you know, there might be a market for fried grasshoppers and body part surprise."
"Yeah, yeah, I know, and you'd call it Recipe for Murder."
"Hey," Grissom pretended to be hurt, "I'll have you know, I am a fine cook."
"Well, don't quit your night job," Sara's tone was light but she had grown slightly wary of this new garrulous Grissom.
Not trusting the slightly fuzzy, but not unpleasant way their banter was making her feel, Sara changed the subject. "So, what do you need?"
"You."
Oh dear she thought, this wasn't helping as she managed an inelegant, "Huh?"
"Actually," he said holding up a syringe and an empty blood bag, "I need your blood."
At this Sara's palms immediately began to sweat, her knees feeling slightly wobbly. "You know Griss, I don't think that you're supposed to do that." She tried.
"Oh Sara, it's fine—it's practically written into the employee handbook that every new employee volunteers a pint or two."
"Grissom, I know time flies when you are having fun, but I'm not exactly a new employee anymore."
"I realize that Sara, but my records indicate that you never gave yours."
"You keep records on this—wait—" she narrowed her eyes, "Mia refused didn't she?"
"Yeah, I get the feeling she would have actually checked-out the handbook and then gone to HR when she found it wasn't there." Grissom looked at her boyishly through his eyelashes.
She hated when he did that. While it was well established that Grissom was about as slick as Velcro when it came to interpersonal communication, Sara often suspected that it was all a front and that he knew exactly what he was doing. At least when it came to her.
"Sure," she smiled, wiping her sweaty and now shaking palms on her pants, "no problem."
Clearing off a space on the edge of his desk, Grissom motioned, "hop-up." Sara took a seat on the edge of the desk and attempted to swallow past her accelerated heart. Deep breathes, friendly relaxing place, she thought.
Without asking, Grissom picked up her left arm and deftly tied the rubber tubing just above her elbow. "You know, I was a phlebotomist in graduate school," he chatted "helped pay for some of my research."
"Great Grissom." Sara's voice sounded very far away to her. Scratch Garrulous Grissom; definitely Gruesome Grissom Sara observed as she continued to concentrate on getting enough air into her lungs.
"I promise, you won't feel a thing." Sara turned her head away from her arm and tightly closed her eyes. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine, she silently chanted. Minutes passed and she actually began to believe it.
"You know, you really do look very nice in red." At this Sara's eyes popped open and she turned her head quickly toward her supervisor. Unfortunately, Grissom had turned away from her for a moment to adjust the hanging bag and instead, Sara's eyes gaze fell on the line in her left arm. As her eyes followed her own blood up the tubing, she felt the room tilt slightly. Black spots quickly took over her vision and she found herself distantly thinking, well this is just fabulous.
Grissom turned back to Sara to find her in immediate danger of sliding off the desk. He grabbed the CSI and managed to plop her unceremoniously into one of the chairs facing his desk so that her head was between her knees. Grissom made quick work of removing the line as he felt for her pulse. It was strong, and considerably too fast.
"Sara," he said gently, rubbing her back. "Can you hear me?" One hand went to her forehead, finding it damp and cool. "Sara, sweetheart, come on wake up."
This time Grissom was answered by a weak moan. "Oh God, I think I am going to be sick." Looking around quickly, Grissom grabbed the wastebasket from beside his desk just in time.
"Sara, I am going to call the paramedics."
As he picked up the phone, Sara's now bandaged arm came up, "No," she croaked, "I'm fine, it's okay."
"Sara, from where I am standing, you are definitely not okay."
"Just, just give me a minute," she whispered.
She heard him sigh in shaky resignation, "Hold on, don't go anywhere," he implored and she heard him walk across the room.
"Wasn't planning on it."
He's right, I am not okay—in fact, I am going to die of embarrassment momentarily, she thought. Please, please let me die of embarrassment. As Sara willed her heart rate back into the rapid fire range, an opened bottle of water with a straw in it appeared between her feet.
"Drink. Little sips. Nice and slow" he commanded, though his voice was gentle. Sara heard the seat next to her creak as he sat down and something wonderfully cold was draped across the back of her neck as his hand came to rest lightly between her shoulder blades.
She knew he was looking at her, but nausea and overwhelming embarrassment kept Sara from attempting an escape. Sara had not choice but to do as she was told and she sipped the water in between taking deep breaths.
Grissom broke the silence. "Do you want to lie down?"
"No" Sara sat up quickly and regrettably, opting to prop her elbows on her knees and cradle her head in her hands, to sway-off the dizziness.
"Whoah, take it easy Sara, slow down. It's okay."
Things went from bad to worse as Sara couldn't wrangle the tears that had suddenly began falling. She sniffed, trying to hold them in, and covered her face with both hands, her shoulders shaking.
She heard Grissom get up and hoped that she had scared him enough to leave the office. Steps sounded to the far and of the office and she heard a drawer open. Presently the steps returned as a blanket materialized across her shoulders.
Sara was right. Grissom had been scared to death even before Sara started crying. Crying Sara was enough to make him want to not just leave, but sprint out of the office. However, in a way he couldn't quite understand, the desire to stay was even stronger.
Grabbing a tissue out of the box on his desk, Grissom gently pulled a hand away from her face. "Sara, talk to me or I am really going to call 911." Taking in a shaky breath, Sara clumsily wiped at her eyes with the tissue. Momentarily she sat up entirely and leaned into the back of the chair, eyes anywhere but towards Grissom.
"I need you to look at me." Reluctantly, she complied. "Good, thank you" Grissom searched her face, his own expression a mixture of concern and fear. "I, I didn't mean to hurt you." It was the sadest, sweetest thing she'd ever heard.
"You didn't. This is my fault." Sara chewed on her lip and unable to hold his eyes, she looked down praying that the embarrassment reaper would take her at that moment. "I uhm." She started, "I uh, I'm hemophobic."
"Sara, you realize that's impossible—you see blood every day."
"It's weird, It's only the sight of my own blood," she nodded her head grinning without mirth. Looking up, Grissom's expression was indescribable. It was as if he couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. He was caught.
"It's okay to laugh," said Sara. "It's funny, really it is." And whether it was left over adrenaline or nerves, Sara began to chuckle. Eyes crinkling, Grissom did too, not because he thought it was funny, but from relief.
"How long?"
"Pretty much as long as I can remember." Grissom knew that many people could actually pinpoint the origin of their phobia to a single traumatic event. Knowing what he did about Sara's past, he decided to table the discussion for a later time.
"Is it always this bad?"
"No—this was actually the worst ever. But, in my own defense, I was about to go to dinner when you took me hostage for this little activity. So, I hadn't eaten recently."
Grissom looked at Sara guiltily, "I didn't help things. I took a little more than I should have."
Sara's eyes got big, "Gris-som—I thought you were an expert at this."
"I am. I just, got a little overzealous." Though he'd never admit it, the truth was he got distracted. With Sara's head turned and hers eyes closed, he allowed himself to stare wondering if she really had any idea how lovely she was. It struck him that he should say something nice. Unfortunately for Sara's blood supply, working up the courage had taken a little more time that he'd expected.
He looked at her seriously, "You almost scared me to death."
"Well, I was actually hoping to die of embarrassment," she admitted, smiling.
"Really Sara, I—" he stopped. "Well, I was just scared." he finished hoping she wouldn't call him on his cowardice. "You still don't look very well."
"Well, Grissom, you did starve me, stick me and then almost drain me." She narrowed her eyes, "Are you a vampire—because as incredibly sexy as the fiction makes it sound, I don't think I am ready to join the undead."
Grissom actually smiled at this "Sara—no, I'm not. Stay here and I'll prove it."
With that Grissom left the office, closing the door behind him and leaving Sara to wonder at what had just transpired. Minutes later, Grissom returned with a medium-sized brown bag. Setting it on the edge of the desk, he returned to the chair next to Sara. Handing her a paper plate, Grissom pulled a sandwich out of the bag. Unwrapping it, he put half on Sara's plate. "Low-fat cream cheese with cucumbers, sprouts and a little jalapeno" he listed. Reaching into the bag again, he retrieved a container of cut fruit and proceeded to dish a portion onto Sara's plate. Another dip into the bag produced a baggie of carrot and celery sticks.
Sara could do nothing but stare at Grissom.
Digging into his own half of the meal, Grissom stopped when he realized Sara hadn't moved and had simply continued you stare. He looked up and shrugged, "See Ms. Sidle, I am sharing my dinner with you, thus proving first, that despite what the employee handbook says, I can occasionally be a decent human being and second, that I was not intending to have you for dinner. Everyone knows vampires hate jalapenos."
With that, Sara laughed and turned to her own plate. She was in mid-chew when Grissom muttered without looking up, "Besides, even if I was a vampire you wouldn't be dinner. You'd be dessert."
Fin