DISCLAIMER: CSI and its characters belong to Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer and CBS, not me. They made up the show and the characters, not me. I do this for love, not money, and it's a good thing 'cause this won't be expanding my bank account any.
SPOILERS: "All for Our Country"
FEEDBACK: Constructive criticism always welcome!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Just popped into my head and was typed out in about 20 minutes. For those who like "soundtracks", I was listening to the End Titles from "Snow Falling on Cedars" as I wrote it. Enjoy!
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FISHBOWL
By Karen S.
Sometimes he feels like the world's a gigantic fishbowl and he's the owner, watching the fish swim around, day in, day out, but always with that glass inbetween.
No, that's not the right metaphor. It makes him sound too God-like, as though he has control over the fish he sees, as though they rely on him for food and a change of water every now and then. If his job has taught him anything, it's that he has no control. He can't stop criminals from committing a crime, he can only keep them from doing it again by putting them away from society. But there's always that first time. Always the one victim he can't do anything about except, maybe, bring closure.
So the world's not a fishbowl. Maybe it's not what the world is, it's what he is. Like a security camera, dispassionate, observing without interference, hardly even noticed by most people. Making no judgements, just recording everything, emotionless.
At least, that's what he's supposed to be.
He thought he had it down to a fine art. After his parents broke up, he was always so careful not to let his mother see him upset, more so when she lost her hearing and could see tiny indicators no one else could. She had enough to deal with, supporting herself and her son, not to mention the worrying over her son's admittedly odd interests, wondering if he would turn out all right. So he never let her see when he'd been bullied at school, or when he'd been frustrated by his inability to do something. It had helped at school, too. In high school, he'd been able to hide, not to be noticed except by the odd teacher. Occasionally a teacher had seemed to suddenly realize that he existed, that gawky boy, the one who spent his lunch hours in the library, the one who could be found in odd corners during spare periods, curled up with a book. But for the most part, it was like he wasn't even there.
What were you in school, a brain or a jock?
I was a ghost.
No one notices ghosts. Not even bullies, which was fine with him. He honed the talent as he honed his knowledge of science, the lesson of objectivity helping his development of scientific method and vice versa.
Or at least that's what he'd thought. Now he isn't so sure.
He'd broken his first rule. Let the evidence speak to you, and listen with an objective ear. Don't try and force it to tell you something it's not. Don't get ahead of the evidence.
He'd let a bully get to him. He'd wanted to get Fromansky, nail him for being what he was, as well as what the man stood for. So he hadn't listened to the evidence, had only tried to listen to what he wanted to hear.
And lately he's started wondering if he's honed that objectivity too well. That it had turned on him and tricked him into thinking he was following the rules when he wasn't, made him forget that objectivity is something that requires constant care and monitoring. And he's wondering if maybe he's taken it a little too far.
Maybe it was the fact that he'd felt himself becoming more and more cut off from others because of his hearing loss, even those few that got as close as he would allow. Maybe it was seeing Nick and Warrick express their condolences to Catherine after Eddie died. He'd watched them reach out to her, the concern and sympathy clear on their faces. He'd wondered why it was they could do that so easily, without even thinking about it.
And then he'd gone for surgery, and gotten his hearing back. A second chance. And now that he can hear people's voices as well as see their facial expressions, he feels as though there was some lesson along the way that he missed. Like submitting your application to graduate from university and finding out that there was some course you should have taken as a freshman that you hadn't known about, and were now stuck going back and trying to learn.
He isn't sure anymore that he wants life to be like he's standing in front of the two-way mirror in the interview rooms, watching others when they can't see him. But he isn't sure how to break through the glass. Not without losing his objectivity, without becoming more sloppy than he already has. He spent two weeks rattling around his townhouse after surgery, for the first time feeling oppressed by the solitude. And when he got back to work, the feeling of being where he belonged was so strong he nearly told Catherine what it felt like. But he's not sure how to take that plunge. Particularly not after holding people back so long, after hurting Lady Heather, and turning Sara down when she asked him to just see what would happen. He's not sure how much he wants to include others, how much he wants them to know him.
Maybe the world really is like a fishbowl. And maybe he's the fish.