Blind Revenge
By: Manda and Allison
Disclaimer: Not our players, just our playground.
Archive: The Graveyard, all others please ask.
Rated: A strong PG-13
A/N: We'd like to thank Angie, who puts up with us sending her 30 pages of this story to beta at a time-and who also had the dubious honor of titling the fic.
Summary: It was impossible to conceal the exasperation in her voice: she was fine, or at least she thought she was...
Chapter 1: Perfect, Imperfect
There were long nights and there were lazy nights, and Catherine Willows easily found herself able to classify this particular night into the realm of long, although it had barely begun. Recent nights had all seemed too long and too harrowing for her liking, and the added burden of her father-depraved daughter seemed only to hinder her success in catching up on restful sleep. She began yet another shift after Eddie's death with a cup of coffee in the break room, greasy motor-oil swill skinning over in its Styrofoam prison as she stalled for time. Grissom had summoned the collective force of the Las Vegas Graveyard shift, with assignments to dole out as necessary, and she wanted her few precious moments to collect her thoughts before she would join them.
Her co-workers, however, had other plans in mind. Filing in slowly, and chatting amongst each other, Nick, Sara, and Warrick took their respective seats, as Grissom remained standing, case file folders in hand.
"Catherine, Nick... you're with me. Brass called me in just before shift -Businessman found in an alley behind the French Palace. The scene's been processed; Doc Robbins is prepping him for autopsy as we speak... This is our only case so Sara, Warrick, you two are on stand-by until something else comes in."
Catherine rolled her eyes before rising from her chair, coffee in tow. It figures Grissom would put her on the only case to come in that night -just her luck.
"Catherine- can I speak to you for a moment?" Grissom snagged her as she passed through the doorway, and she handed off the coffee cup to Nick, who picked up her subtle grimace, and disposed of the liquid. She followed the supervisor into an alcove branching off from the main hall, leaning against the wall, as he stood opposite.
"What is it, Gil?" It was impossible to conceal the exasperation in her voice, the irritation causing the skin around her eyes to tighten.
"Are you all right with this?" It was unlike him to be so personal, so close to any of his co-workers, even with the many years they'd been acquainted.
"With what?"
"Cath- you've just been through a traumatic experience, and you haven't used any leave yet. Don't you need time to sort through-"
"I don't need any time to sort through anything, Gil. I'm fine, trust me." She brushed past him; heading in the direction Nick had gone, leaving him to watch her retreating back, forehead wrinkled with confusion.
Once Catherine had turned the corner, and started heading for the morgue, she let out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding in. Pushing through the swinging metal doors, the smell of formaldehyde and lingering death assaulted her nose. Nick was already suited up, and taking his cue, she pulled on blue scrubs and latex gloves and waited for Grissom to make his entrance.
He did arrive, ten minutes later, in scrubs, blue eyes peering intently over the thin, white fabric of his facemask. But they never met Catherine's gaze, instead gazing over the still form spread upon the autopsy table.
"There's some sort of sticky stuff around the lips," Nick pointed out, as soon as their boss had snapped on the thin latex gloves. "Some sort of gelatinous residue... kinda like lubri..." He stopped, mid-sentence, cheeks flushing slightly at the suggestive word he'd been about to utter. "Reminds me of the stuff I used to use when I was greasing the wheels of my rollerblades."
"If that stuff you used smelt like bananas and cream, then that'd be it, Nick." Catherine commented wryly, as she leaned close to the metal table, fingers toying with the edge of the corpses mouth. "There's that hint of banana...and considering this guy was found in the alley behind the French Palace...I think I know what we're looking at."
"Dare I ask?" Grissom's query wasn't at all sarcastic, although Catherine's eyes flashed angrily as it registered, and she tipped her chin upward, changing her vantage point just enough to glare at him irritably
"There's a policy at the club- a sort of 'behind the curtain' rule that most of the girls went by when they had a patron who requested a private dance. Private dances didn't always stay in the realm of 'dance', and as a rule, we were all issued Blue Banana Condoms every month. The best of the best- and the way our boss knew it was if he could smell banana on our breath when we left the room after the sessions."
"You didn't-" Nick's face had become slightly more flushed, and Catherine eyed him with equal animosity as she'd displayed toward Grissom.
"I'm not like that, Nick- I never have been." She gazed upon the face of the victim, whose eyes were closed, jaw relaxed in peaceful acceptance of death.
"This man...there was oral sex shortly after the initial penetration and intercourse. Any residue from the condom transferred to the area around his mouth."
"How do we know that no one else had this brand of...protection?"
"They're special order- there's no way anyone outside the club staff could get one of these without the boss knowing about it. It's like stealing gold from Fort Knox- and to some of those girls, what these condoms protect is almost as precious as gold."
"You're sure?" Grissom asked; uncertainty in his voice.
Annoyed, Catherine replied, "No, I'm not sure. I'm positive. I may be out of that business, but I certainly haven't forgotten about it."
"So..." Nick started, trailing off for a moment, as the wheels began turning in his head. "We've got a dead business man, with banana residue from a specially made condom, where does that leave us?" He was pretty sure he knew the answer to his question already, but as he looked at the two elder CSI's glaring at each other with daggers in their eyes, he knew he needed something to break up the private war they were waging with each other.
"With a reason to get a warrant for DNA samples from all the girls working at or around the time of our victims' death. The residue tells us that he was probably killed there as well, not dumped. The alley is our primary scene," Grissom replied, crossing his arms over his chest.
"You had a reason to think it was anything but the primary crime scene? From what I saw of the crime scene photos it looked pretty cut and dry."
"Some things can't be seen in photographs, Cath."
"Ah, now therein lay the problem, eh Grissom?" Catherine was tired of being left out of the loop. She recalled days when Brass would call Grissom out and Grissom's first action would be to ask her to join him. Now he was processing scenes without her, and leaving her with only photos to boot. It took all her will not to walk out of the room at that moment and not look back.
Instead, she dug her perfectly manicured fingernails into her palms until she could almost feel them bleed. She wouldn't give Gil Grissom the satisfaction of seeing her walk out of the room seething with anger. If he wanted a war, damnit, she'd give him one.
"It's not my fault Brass gave me this case just before shift..."
"No I guess it's not," she scoffed, folding her arms across her chest and rolling her eyes. "It's not your fault at all."
"Catherine-"
"You know, just...forget it." Her fingers began to unclench from her palms, one after another, and she felt the dull ache as the nails withdrew from her skin. The pain was small, but grew as she straightened each digit, and she glanced down at the palms as it beckoned her to do so.
Blood streamed from five crescent-shaped indentations, each deep enough to allow the fluid to seep from her body and into the cool air of the morgue.
"Shit!! Shit!" Her eyes widened, body moving backward and arms flailing as she reacted, backing into a cart of instruments. "No, Eddie...no, I don't want to shoot up again! Get the fuck away from me!"
"Cath?" Confusion crept into Nick's voice, concern triggering him to reach forward and place a hand on her upper arm. "Cath, Eddie's not here- he's dead, remember?"
"What the hell are you doing!?" She struck out, her aim true as Nick too fell back, Grissom's hands catching him before he hit the floor.
"Man, what's wrong with her?"
"I don't know, Nicky- I don't know." Grissom watched as Catherine headed out the door, scrubs fluttering to the ground as she pulled them off, mask joining them immediately after. "It's not like Catherine to react that way to blood."
"Yeah, dude...that's not Cath at all." The younger CSI rubbed his shoulder wearily, the area where Cath's palm had struck him sore from impact.
Grissom snapped off his latex gloves, and tossed them in the trashcan next to him. "I'll go see if I can talk to her."
"You sure you want to do that, boss? I mean, she wasn't exactly thrilled to be working with you tonight."
"You want to go try and talk to her?" Grissom raised an eyebrow at Nick, noticing he was still rubbing his sore shoulder.
"Yea...erm, okay, not really, but someone has too. I'm just saying maybe I should come with you. You know, in case she flips out on you again."
"Fine, but just let me talk to her. If I have a problem, then you can help me. I don't want Cath to feel like we're ganging up on her."
"Got it."
So the two male CSI's removed their own scrubs, putting them in the bin marked 'used', and exited out the doors the fleeing Catherine had ran out of just a moment before. They checked the break room first, and found only Sara and Warrick joking around playfully as they finished their paperwork. Next was Grissom's office. Cath was known to go into his office on occasion, to think, or just to sit around where there was quiet. But she wasn't there either.
Finally, the two of them made their way into the unisex locker room the five CSI's and Greg shared. At first Grissom didn't think anyone was there. He entered, Nick trailing close behind him, and flipped the lights on. They walked the perimeter and found no signs of her. It was only when they entered the connecting bathroom that they began to hear her muffled sobbing coming from one of the stalls at the far end.
Walking towards it, Grissom peaked underneath and saw the heels of Catherine's black boots. Next, he tested the door, and found that in her haste she'd forgotten to lock it.
What he saw next, as he opened the door, however, was enough to make him want to take her in his arms and never let her go.
Catherine was sitting on the ground cross-legged, rocking, her head knocking the side of the stall ever-so-slightly with each backward motion. Blood ran from her hands onto the floor, forming small pools on the stark white tile. And it was now he saw the long scratches, up and down the length of her arms; a few fresh, a few ever so slightly faded. It appeared this wasn't the first episode she'd had; only the first one that anyone had been witness too.
"Eddie...stay away...stay away from me. Don't hit me; don't make me do this again." He could hear her mumble to herself as she rocked. With each passing breath, Grissom's fear was multiplying within him.
"Catherine..." He spoke gently, and her face tilted upward, revealing sunken eyes and tear-stained cheeks, her desperation clear as her lips continued to move rapidly. The continued mantra, always wrapping around the same subject, the same old song.
"Catherine...Are you all right?"
"I can't...Grissom...I can't do this without..." Eddieˆ. His mind filled in the blank, although his mouth remained closed. She was in pain, a deeper pain than he had noticed in the days gone by, and he silently berated himself for not having taken note of it sooner. How could he have not seen the pain his friend endured? Her breakdown was as much his fault as it was that of Eddie's killer...and he couldn't bear to see it drawn out.
"Nick- get my rolodex- there should be a number for a Doctor Paloalta. Give her a call- tell her we need a refill on Cath's medication." It was the only explanation he could think of- the antidepressants Catherine had been put on, due to recent events. And even his awareness of them was limited- a chance meeting in the pharmaceutical section of CVS had revealed the fact before Catherine herself had been ready to reveal it. The contents of her red plastic basket had spoke volumes; an envelope reading 'Anti-depressant medication' perched upon a box of Tampax and a 2-pound bag of Peanut M&M's.
When Nick had left, Grissom moved closer to the shuddering Catherine, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and taking one of her hands to enfold it within the cotton fabric.
"Here, Cath...come here." Her head fell upon his chest, the sound of his heart beating muffled beneath the forest green polo shirt he'd worn that evening. It was a soothing comfort, and she began to cease in her ramblings, her incoherent mutterings that he had no longer attempted to decipher.
She seemed so...shattered, so unlike her normal self. Somehow, his comfort didn't seem like it was enough to ease the pain she was feeling. The Catherine he knew was strong, independent. She'd survived so much, that it baffled him. Hell, he'd only seen her cry once.
When Nick returned an hour later, he held the prescription in his hand, having taken the initiative to drive to the drugstore himself. Grissom held her head while she drank from a glass of water, massaging her tightly clenched throat with his fingers until she swallowed the pill and could offer him a weak nod.
"I'm all right..." He held the water glass to her lips as she took a swallow, and her eyelids closed briefly.
"What was that?"
"Prozac- I know you're on medication, Catherine...and it's going to be okay." As she climbed to her feet, shakily wrapping her arm around his neck for support, Grissom eyed the bottle of medication in his hand and shook his head wearily. Getting Catherine home was his first priority...and to figure out what was going on was certainly the close second.
"I'm fine Gris. Really I'm okay now." Catherine felt her body stead itself, the wobbliness in her knees ceasing and her hands becoming less shaky.
"You're going home. I'm taking you home. You aren't in any shape to drive yourself." He protested, coolly, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Gris, I'm fine. I can drive myself home, if I wanted to go home, which I don't. " Catherine wasn't going to give up without a fight. It wasn't even that she didn't want to leave -she longed for a night of restful sleep. But there was no way Gil Grissom, or anyone else for that matter, was going to make that decision for her.
TBC.
By: Manda and Allison
Disclaimer: Not our players, just our playground.
Archive: The Graveyard, all others please ask.
Rated: A strong PG-13
A/N: We'd like to thank Angie, who puts up with us sending her 30 pages of this story to beta at a time-and who also had the dubious honor of titling the fic.
Summary: It was impossible to conceal the exasperation in her voice: she was fine, or at least she thought she was...
Chapter 1: Perfect, Imperfect
There were long nights and there were lazy nights, and Catherine Willows easily found herself able to classify this particular night into the realm of long, although it had barely begun. Recent nights had all seemed too long and too harrowing for her liking, and the added burden of her father-depraved daughter seemed only to hinder her success in catching up on restful sleep. She began yet another shift after Eddie's death with a cup of coffee in the break room, greasy motor-oil swill skinning over in its Styrofoam prison as she stalled for time. Grissom had summoned the collective force of the Las Vegas Graveyard shift, with assignments to dole out as necessary, and she wanted her few precious moments to collect her thoughts before she would join them.
Her co-workers, however, had other plans in mind. Filing in slowly, and chatting amongst each other, Nick, Sara, and Warrick took their respective seats, as Grissom remained standing, case file folders in hand.
"Catherine, Nick... you're with me. Brass called me in just before shift -Businessman found in an alley behind the French Palace. The scene's been processed; Doc Robbins is prepping him for autopsy as we speak... This is our only case so Sara, Warrick, you two are on stand-by until something else comes in."
Catherine rolled her eyes before rising from her chair, coffee in tow. It figures Grissom would put her on the only case to come in that night -just her luck.
"Catherine- can I speak to you for a moment?" Grissom snagged her as she passed through the doorway, and she handed off the coffee cup to Nick, who picked up her subtle grimace, and disposed of the liquid. She followed the supervisor into an alcove branching off from the main hall, leaning against the wall, as he stood opposite.
"What is it, Gil?" It was impossible to conceal the exasperation in her voice, the irritation causing the skin around her eyes to tighten.
"Are you all right with this?" It was unlike him to be so personal, so close to any of his co-workers, even with the many years they'd been acquainted.
"With what?"
"Cath- you've just been through a traumatic experience, and you haven't used any leave yet. Don't you need time to sort through-"
"I don't need any time to sort through anything, Gil. I'm fine, trust me." She brushed past him; heading in the direction Nick had gone, leaving him to watch her retreating back, forehead wrinkled with confusion.
Once Catherine had turned the corner, and started heading for the morgue, she let out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding in. Pushing through the swinging metal doors, the smell of formaldehyde and lingering death assaulted her nose. Nick was already suited up, and taking his cue, she pulled on blue scrubs and latex gloves and waited for Grissom to make his entrance.
He did arrive, ten minutes later, in scrubs, blue eyes peering intently over the thin, white fabric of his facemask. But they never met Catherine's gaze, instead gazing over the still form spread upon the autopsy table.
"There's some sort of sticky stuff around the lips," Nick pointed out, as soon as their boss had snapped on the thin latex gloves. "Some sort of gelatinous residue... kinda like lubri..." He stopped, mid-sentence, cheeks flushing slightly at the suggestive word he'd been about to utter. "Reminds me of the stuff I used to use when I was greasing the wheels of my rollerblades."
"If that stuff you used smelt like bananas and cream, then that'd be it, Nick." Catherine commented wryly, as she leaned close to the metal table, fingers toying with the edge of the corpses mouth. "There's that hint of banana...and considering this guy was found in the alley behind the French Palace...I think I know what we're looking at."
"Dare I ask?" Grissom's query wasn't at all sarcastic, although Catherine's eyes flashed angrily as it registered, and she tipped her chin upward, changing her vantage point just enough to glare at him irritably
"There's a policy at the club- a sort of 'behind the curtain' rule that most of the girls went by when they had a patron who requested a private dance. Private dances didn't always stay in the realm of 'dance', and as a rule, we were all issued Blue Banana Condoms every month. The best of the best- and the way our boss knew it was if he could smell banana on our breath when we left the room after the sessions."
"You didn't-" Nick's face had become slightly more flushed, and Catherine eyed him with equal animosity as she'd displayed toward Grissom.
"I'm not like that, Nick- I never have been." She gazed upon the face of the victim, whose eyes were closed, jaw relaxed in peaceful acceptance of death.
"This man...there was oral sex shortly after the initial penetration and intercourse. Any residue from the condom transferred to the area around his mouth."
"How do we know that no one else had this brand of...protection?"
"They're special order- there's no way anyone outside the club staff could get one of these without the boss knowing about it. It's like stealing gold from Fort Knox- and to some of those girls, what these condoms protect is almost as precious as gold."
"You're sure?" Grissom asked; uncertainty in his voice.
Annoyed, Catherine replied, "No, I'm not sure. I'm positive. I may be out of that business, but I certainly haven't forgotten about it."
"So..." Nick started, trailing off for a moment, as the wheels began turning in his head. "We've got a dead business man, with banana residue from a specially made condom, where does that leave us?" He was pretty sure he knew the answer to his question already, but as he looked at the two elder CSI's glaring at each other with daggers in their eyes, he knew he needed something to break up the private war they were waging with each other.
"With a reason to get a warrant for DNA samples from all the girls working at or around the time of our victims' death. The residue tells us that he was probably killed there as well, not dumped. The alley is our primary scene," Grissom replied, crossing his arms over his chest.
"You had a reason to think it was anything but the primary crime scene? From what I saw of the crime scene photos it looked pretty cut and dry."
"Some things can't be seen in photographs, Cath."
"Ah, now therein lay the problem, eh Grissom?" Catherine was tired of being left out of the loop. She recalled days when Brass would call Grissom out and Grissom's first action would be to ask her to join him. Now he was processing scenes without her, and leaving her with only photos to boot. It took all her will not to walk out of the room at that moment and not look back.
Instead, she dug her perfectly manicured fingernails into her palms until she could almost feel them bleed. She wouldn't give Gil Grissom the satisfaction of seeing her walk out of the room seething with anger. If he wanted a war, damnit, she'd give him one.
"It's not my fault Brass gave me this case just before shift..."
"No I guess it's not," she scoffed, folding her arms across her chest and rolling her eyes. "It's not your fault at all."
"Catherine-"
"You know, just...forget it." Her fingers began to unclench from her palms, one after another, and she felt the dull ache as the nails withdrew from her skin. The pain was small, but grew as she straightened each digit, and she glanced down at the palms as it beckoned her to do so.
Blood streamed from five crescent-shaped indentations, each deep enough to allow the fluid to seep from her body and into the cool air of the morgue.
"Shit!! Shit!" Her eyes widened, body moving backward and arms flailing as she reacted, backing into a cart of instruments. "No, Eddie...no, I don't want to shoot up again! Get the fuck away from me!"
"Cath?" Confusion crept into Nick's voice, concern triggering him to reach forward and place a hand on her upper arm. "Cath, Eddie's not here- he's dead, remember?"
"What the hell are you doing!?" She struck out, her aim true as Nick too fell back, Grissom's hands catching him before he hit the floor.
"Man, what's wrong with her?"
"I don't know, Nicky- I don't know." Grissom watched as Catherine headed out the door, scrubs fluttering to the ground as she pulled them off, mask joining them immediately after. "It's not like Catherine to react that way to blood."
"Yeah, dude...that's not Cath at all." The younger CSI rubbed his shoulder wearily, the area where Cath's palm had struck him sore from impact.
Grissom snapped off his latex gloves, and tossed them in the trashcan next to him. "I'll go see if I can talk to her."
"You sure you want to do that, boss? I mean, she wasn't exactly thrilled to be working with you tonight."
"You want to go try and talk to her?" Grissom raised an eyebrow at Nick, noticing he was still rubbing his sore shoulder.
"Yea...erm, okay, not really, but someone has too. I'm just saying maybe I should come with you. You know, in case she flips out on you again."
"Fine, but just let me talk to her. If I have a problem, then you can help me. I don't want Cath to feel like we're ganging up on her."
"Got it."
So the two male CSI's removed their own scrubs, putting them in the bin marked 'used', and exited out the doors the fleeing Catherine had ran out of just a moment before. They checked the break room first, and found only Sara and Warrick joking around playfully as they finished their paperwork. Next was Grissom's office. Cath was known to go into his office on occasion, to think, or just to sit around where there was quiet. But she wasn't there either.
Finally, the two of them made their way into the unisex locker room the five CSI's and Greg shared. At first Grissom didn't think anyone was there. He entered, Nick trailing close behind him, and flipped the lights on. They walked the perimeter and found no signs of her. It was only when they entered the connecting bathroom that they began to hear her muffled sobbing coming from one of the stalls at the far end.
Walking towards it, Grissom peaked underneath and saw the heels of Catherine's black boots. Next, he tested the door, and found that in her haste she'd forgotten to lock it.
What he saw next, as he opened the door, however, was enough to make him want to take her in his arms and never let her go.
Catherine was sitting on the ground cross-legged, rocking, her head knocking the side of the stall ever-so-slightly with each backward motion. Blood ran from her hands onto the floor, forming small pools on the stark white tile. And it was now he saw the long scratches, up and down the length of her arms; a few fresh, a few ever so slightly faded. It appeared this wasn't the first episode she'd had; only the first one that anyone had been witness too.
"Eddie...stay away...stay away from me. Don't hit me; don't make me do this again." He could hear her mumble to herself as she rocked. With each passing breath, Grissom's fear was multiplying within him.
"Catherine..." He spoke gently, and her face tilted upward, revealing sunken eyes and tear-stained cheeks, her desperation clear as her lips continued to move rapidly. The continued mantra, always wrapping around the same subject, the same old song.
"Catherine...Are you all right?"
"I can't...Grissom...I can't do this without..." Eddieˆ. His mind filled in the blank, although his mouth remained closed. She was in pain, a deeper pain than he had noticed in the days gone by, and he silently berated himself for not having taken note of it sooner. How could he have not seen the pain his friend endured? Her breakdown was as much his fault as it was that of Eddie's killer...and he couldn't bear to see it drawn out.
"Nick- get my rolodex- there should be a number for a Doctor Paloalta. Give her a call- tell her we need a refill on Cath's medication." It was the only explanation he could think of- the antidepressants Catherine had been put on, due to recent events. And even his awareness of them was limited- a chance meeting in the pharmaceutical section of CVS had revealed the fact before Catherine herself had been ready to reveal it. The contents of her red plastic basket had spoke volumes; an envelope reading 'Anti-depressant medication' perched upon a box of Tampax and a 2-pound bag of Peanut M&M's.
When Nick had left, Grissom moved closer to the shuddering Catherine, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and taking one of her hands to enfold it within the cotton fabric.
"Here, Cath...come here." Her head fell upon his chest, the sound of his heart beating muffled beneath the forest green polo shirt he'd worn that evening. It was a soothing comfort, and she began to cease in her ramblings, her incoherent mutterings that he had no longer attempted to decipher.
She seemed so...shattered, so unlike her normal self. Somehow, his comfort didn't seem like it was enough to ease the pain she was feeling. The Catherine he knew was strong, independent. She'd survived so much, that it baffled him. Hell, he'd only seen her cry once.
When Nick returned an hour later, he held the prescription in his hand, having taken the initiative to drive to the drugstore himself. Grissom held her head while she drank from a glass of water, massaging her tightly clenched throat with his fingers until she swallowed the pill and could offer him a weak nod.
"I'm all right..." He held the water glass to her lips as she took a swallow, and her eyelids closed briefly.
"What was that?"
"Prozac- I know you're on medication, Catherine...and it's going to be okay." As she climbed to her feet, shakily wrapping her arm around his neck for support, Grissom eyed the bottle of medication in his hand and shook his head wearily. Getting Catherine home was his first priority...and to figure out what was going on was certainly the close second.
"I'm fine Gris. Really I'm okay now." Catherine felt her body stead itself, the wobbliness in her knees ceasing and her hands becoming less shaky.
"You're going home. I'm taking you home. You aren't in any shape to drive yourself." He protested, coolly, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Gris, I'm fine. I can drive myself home, if I wanted to go home, which I don't. " Catherine wasn't going to give up without a fight. It wasn't even that she didn't want to leave -she longed for a night of restful sleep. But there was no way Gil Grissom, or anyone else for that matter, was going to make that decision for her.
TBC.