Disclaimer: I don't own anything. I know it.
A/N: Don't pay attention to me. I have been trying to write something GS for weeks now. Gotta start somewhere.
Review: For what it's worth- yes, please. Always.
Scene by moonlight by Miranda2
Grissom is sitting alone in his apartment. It is night, all the lights are off, everything is shed in silver-blue light. It's not really dark, he can see the outlines of his furniture clearly.
He is sitting there, listening to the silence, and asking himself the old childish question: if you had to lose any one of your senses and/or abilities, which one would you chose to live without? Well, given his profession (and his vocation), losing his hearing lets him off the hook relatively easy. So much of the sciences he is proficient at depends on eyesight. Still, deafness, even heavy hearing, might just be enough to get him unemployed.
The doorbell rings, and he reflects that he'll have to connect the bell to the lamps in all the rooms. It's not very difficult or expensive, his mother has the same arrangement at her house. He's also irritated because he didn't get to finish his thought about which one of his abilities he would rather lose. He was just imagining himself in a wheelchair, rolling up to a crime scene, kit in his lap, torch between his teeth. No that would certainly add to his reputation.
Another ring. Grissom gets up and goes to open the door. He doesn't turn the lights on. Sara is standing outside, blinking against the light over his door. That one cannot be switched off, it goes on automatically with sundown.
"Hi."
"Hi."
She hesitates. He just stands there, trying to find his way into the real world. She looks solid enough. Fresh, splendidly tall.
"Um, you left this in the break room..."
This way she has of letting almost all her sentences end like a question. As if she's already expecting a rebuttal, or as if she is testing her ability to communicates thoughts accurately in a form other human beings can understand.
He looks down. His cell phone is lying on her open palm. She is holding it out to him like someone would offer a piece of raw meat to a domesticated lion, after being told by the caretaker that there's no risk at all. Just don't be afraid, they can smell it.
"Oh. Thank you."
He's back now, almost. He takes the phone from her hand before his mind can start pondering the different strategies and technical details. Sometimes, one single movement requires careful planning.
"You didn't have to do that. I would have picked it up in the morning."
(Oh, but I wanted to see you. Standing in moonlight, just like you are now. As if you had just been born, with all the knowledge of the world behind your eyes.)
"No problem. I figured you could need it. Get a call from central, Brass or something..."
"I have my beeper. And Brass has my home number. Everyone has my home number."
"Right."
(I don't.)
And why is the thought of Grissom having a home number slightly amusing? As amusing as the thought of him having a home.
"Well... good night, Grissom."
"Good night, Sara. And thanks again. See you tomorrow."
"Sure."
He closes the door and walks up to the same chair he had been sitting in. The phone is warm in his hand. He puts his other hand on the back of the chair, but doesn't sit. The moonlight floods through the window.
A/N: Don't pay attention to me. I have been trying to write something GS for weeks now. Gotta start somewhere.
Review: For what it's worth- yes, please. Always.
Scene by moonlight by Miranda2
Grissom is sitting alone in his apartment. It is night, all the lights are off, everything is shed in silver-blue light. It's not really dark, he can see the outlines of his furniture clearly.
He is sitting there, listening to the silence, and asking himself the old childish question: if you had to lose any one of your senses and/or abilities, which one would you chose to live without? Well, given his profession (and his vocation), losing his hearing lets him off the hook relatively easy. So much of the sciences he is proficient at depends on eyesight. Still, deafness, even heavy hearing, might just be enough to get him unemployed.
The doorbell rings, and he reflects that he'll have to connect the bell to the lamps in all the rooms. It's not very difficult or expensive, his mother has the same arrangement at her house. He's also irritated because he didn't get to finish his thought about which one of his abilities he would rather lose. He was just imagining himself in a wheelchair, rolling up to a crime scene, kit in his lap, torch between his teeth. No that would certainly add to his reputation.
Another ring. Grissom gets up and goes to open the door. He doesn't turn the lights on. Sara is standing outside, blinking against the light over his door. That one cannot be switched off, it goes on automatically with sundown.
"Hi."
"Hi."
She hesitates. He just stands there, trying to find his way into the real world. She looks solid enough. Fresh, splendidly tall.
"Um, you left this in the break room..."
This way she has of letting almost all her sentences end like a question. As if she's already expecting a rebuttal, or as if she is testing her ability to communicates thoughts accurately in a form other human beings can understand.
He looks down. His cell phone is lying on her open palm. She is holding it out to him like someone would offer a piece of raw meat to a domesticated lion, after being told by the caretaker that there's no risk at all. Just don't be afraid, they can smell it.
"Oh. Thank you."
He's back now, almost. He takes the phone from her hand before his mind can start pondering the different strategies and technical details. Sometimes, one single movement requires careful planning.
"You didn't have to do that. I would have picked it up in the morning."
(Oh, but I wanted to see you. Standing in moonlight, just like you are now. As if you had just been born, with all the knowledge of the world behind your eyes.)
"No problem. I figured you could need it. Get a call from central, Brass or something..."
"I have my beeper. And Brass has my home number. Everyone has my home number."
"Right."
(I don't.)
And why is the thought of Grissom having a home number slightly amusing? As amusing as the thought of him having a home.
"Well... good night, Grissom."
"Good night, Sara. And thanks again. See you tomorrow."
"Sure."
He closes the door and walks up to the same chair he had been sitting in. The phone is warm in his hand. He puts his other hand on the back of the chair, but doesn't sit. The moonlight floods through the window.