Sky & Microscope

Disclaimer: Unfortunately nobody dropped the rights to CSI: Crime Scene Investigation into my post box while I was away, but it is my birthday today...

A/N: Well I'm finally back. Thanks for your patience while I took a break to concentrate on my studies, I hope at least some of them will have helped improve my writing.

I had written a long author's note discussing why the reasons I've seen some writers giving for their withdrawal from CSI: LV fan fiction are actually reasons why they should be writing more, but then I realised that you can't just talk someone into being inspired.

For me the joy of fan fiction is that if my favourite characters (or even whole shows) disappear or change direction, I can use my imagination to go back to when I enjoyed watching the most. That's why I'm setting this particular story near the beginning of Season 3, just after "A Little Murder", at a time when detectives were detectives, criminalists were criminalists and Grissom was, well, Grissom.

This time I hope to be rather less cruel to my favourite CSI, except for the fact that at this point he's losing his hearing, of course; and hopefully, like a proper CSI episode, it will be the case that is the centrepiece. Only you guys can tell me if I'm succeeding with this multi-chapter WIP and for that to happen I suppose I'd better shut up and give you something to read and comment on, hadn't I?

Prologue

Gil Grissom sighed deeply, he'd never been a fan of paperwork in the past and still wasn't, but now he found himself actively choosing it over going out in the field and doing what he really loved about being a CSI. Tonight he'd achieved his goal of sending every member of his team out of the lab and busy with cases that should keep their attention away from the mystery of their leader's increasingly odd, irascible and reclusive behaviour. He'd pay for it tomorrow when they began processing their discoveries, demanding his advice, needing him to sign off on urgent paperwork, but maybe tomorrow would be one of his 'good' days, hearing wise. For tonight, though, he'd retreated into his office and the papers he had heaped around him were his defence from intrusion by the lab rats and others wandering the corridors. All that any potential visitor to the room would see would be the top of a head of greying curls bent over multiple piles of forms and hopefully they'd be deterred from interrupting him. Unfortunately there was one flaw with the plan; he was already bored. Shuffling some of the papers around him in the hope of finding an interesting case file to review before passing it on to the DA's office, Grissom's heart dropped still further as he came across the application forms for the soon to be vacant post of Graveyard's trace technician. He hated being involved in the recruitment process at the best of times because it involved dealing with people instead of evidence, but since his hearing had become so erratic the idea of telephone interviews and calls to check references made him almost nauseous. His first inclination was to try and fob the task off to Catherine, but even Grissom could pick up the signals when she was coming to the end of her tether, plus she had been testing his leadership already lately and giving her the power to hire a new member of staff would only make the situation worse. No, he'd have to tackle the job sooner or later, but at least one of the perks of the night shift was the excuse that most of the people he should be phoning wouldn't appreciate a call at two in the morning. He'd have to make the interview calls from home during more 'civilized' hours and maybe Human Resources would take on the task of reference checking if they realised that they'd be saving themselves from paying him overtime. Having made his plan, Grissom leaned down and opened one of his desk drawers. Rooting around to locate an additional cardboard file cover that he could put copies of the forms into to be passed back to HR, his fingers paused briefly on a file he'd placed there earlier that night, hoping that the official cover would disguise nature of the contents, which were distinctly personal to him.

Coming back upright, Grissom suddenly realised that he was no longer alone. He half left his chair then settled again and quickly slammed his desk drawer shut, almost trapping his fingers. Even though anyone on the other side of the desk would have needed x-ray vision to see what was in there, Grissom was acutely aware of the hidden folder. It had been a calculated risk bringing the paperwork relating to his otology appointments into work, but he'd decided that the danger of his colleagues finding them was far less than that from his inquisitive Mother discovering them while she was looking for something to amuse herself when he was working or sleeping during her imminent visit. Now he had another reason to curse Philip Gerard; until he'd mentioned his former mentor's visit to Betty, his mother had been happy to let him come to visit her, but now she'd been prompted to leave her Marina Del Rey home and travel to see him in Las Vegas. She was due to arrive the afternoon after next and Grissom was deeply afraid that, one way or another, the secret of his failing hearing would be exposed, to her, or his colleagues, or everyone.

"Well, it looks like you could do with a break."

The fact that Grissom only caught the last half of Jim Brass' sentence clearly explained how the Detective Captain had managed to startle him, but at least it was enough for him to understand what his friend was saying and to shrug as if he'd been too engrossed in his work to notice that Jim was there. It was easy to pass a hand over his eyes and stretch as if exhausted and then nod his head in tacit agreement that a break would be very welcome right then.

"Well my timing's good then. I'm told you've been far too morose and miserable lately so get your stuff together, I'm taking you to a party."

Grissom, who had been looking down at his desk seeking an excuse if he needed to fob Brass off, looked up, his blue eyes startled.

"A party, no, no, I..."

"Relax, Gil, you'll like this party, it's the sort you actually enjoy. One of the guests just turned up dead."

T.B.C.