Hi everyone! I'm back for a few days right in the middle of the school
year since my school's got this conference it has to go to for a couple of
days.
Standard disclaimer applies (in other words, I only own the original parts of this story that I have made up)
This is just a short ficlet that has been niggling at my brain since "Early Rollout". The title is based on part of the song, "Father Figure" by George Michael.
I will be your father figure
Put your tiny hand in mine
I will be your preacher teacher
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Coughdrops. The telltale sign that someone was trying to pass off having the beginnings of a cold when they were really trying to cover up their beer breath. Captain Jim Brass wasn't the head of Homicide for nothing. He knew all the tricks employed for every occasion in the book that criminals and coworkers alike used.
He had sat her down in the break room, and mentally noted that Sara looked a lot more lucid at that point, so he concluded that she hadn't drunk that much earlier on. He tried to make it seem like he wasn't trying to pry into her personal life, but at the same time convey that he was worried about her. His own personal coughdrop story actually came out of nowhere; he had pushed the memories of that time in his life back into the deep recesses of his brain. Brass was glad that Sara was at least being open with him about the beers she had with breakfast, although he wasn't as quick to believe that she only had two.
Later that day, as he sat in his office, Brass contemplated the whole family dynamic that the CSI team had. Grissom and Catherine had a deep friendship that went back years. It was plain to everybody that either would be willing to take a bullet for the other if the time came. He remembered how Grissom might as well have been Warrick's father four years earlier. How Grissom cut Warrick slack for going away from the scene on company time twice. And how Grissom had taught the younger man everything he knew. Then he thought about Nick, and how he had been a hard working, though somewhat naïve, man four years earlier. The whole "silk, silk, silk. What do cows drink?" "Milk." Conversation was proof of that. But by example, and a few words, Grissom had somehow managed to teach Nick all the tricks of the trade. At times Brass witnessed what he could only describe as a young father trying to raise two adolescent teenagers, whenever Grissom would say something, and then Nick and/or Warrick would come back with some sort of comeback. Brass then thought about Greg, wacky lab tech extraordinaire. Warrick had taken him under his wing, and was in the process of teaching him everything he would need to know about a crime scene. He tried to think of a time when Grissom had guided Sara's judgement and formed it like he did with the others. With the exception of "don't get too attached to the victims" he couldn't recall any other advice his friend had given the young woman.
'That was the difference between the guys and Sara,' Brass thought. 'The guys have had the benefit of a mentor who was also a father figure, but Grissom and Sara have this weird relationship that prevents that sort of thing.' He smiled ruefully, deciding that this must be what an epiphany felt like.
All Sara needed was a father figure, someone she could freely air her ideas to, and maybe she wouldn't feel like she needed to find answers in a glass bottle, and would leave the future predicting to the scam artists with their darkened tents and crystal balls.
Sara just needed someone to look out for her, just like Grissom did for the guys and Catherine. At that moment, Brass appointed himself as her guardian angel: not meant to be seen, but there to catch her if she fell.
*****************************************
Okay, wow, that took about an hour. I hope this sort of makes sense.
So please, take the time to tell me if you loved it, hated it, or just wanted to say "Hi, welcome back to the world of the living". Please review!
Standard disclaimer applies (in other words, I only own the original parts of this story that I have made up)
This is just a short ficlet that has been niggling at my brain since "Early Rollout". The title is based on part of the song, "Father Figure" by George Michael.
I will be your father figure
Put your tiny hand in mine
I will be your preacher teacher
***************************************************
Coughdrops. The telltale sign that someone was trying to pass off having the beginnings of a cold when they were really trying to cover up their beer breath. Captain Jim Brass wasn't the head of Homicide for nothing. He knew all the tricks employed for every occasion in the book that criminals and coworkers alike used.
He had sat her down in the break room, and mentally noted that Sara looked a lot more lucid at that point, so he concluded that she hadn't drunk that much earlier on. He tried to make it seem like he wasn't trying to pry into her personal life, but at the same time convey that he was worried about her. His own personal coughdrop story actually came out of nowhere; he had pushed the memories of that time in his life back into the deep recesses of his brain. Brass was glad that Sara was at least being open with him about the beers she had with breakfast, although he wasn't as quick to believe that she only had two.
Later that day, as he sat in his office, Brass contemplated the whole family dynamic that the CSI team had. Grissom and Catherine had a deep friendship that went back years. It was plain to everybody that either would be willing to take a bullet for the other if the time came. He remembered how Grissom might as well have been Warrick's father four years earlier. How Grissom cut Warrick slack for going away from the scene on company time twice. And how Grissom had taught the younger man everything he knew. Then he thought about Nick, and how he had been a hard working, though somewhat naïve, man four years earlier. The whole "silk, silk, silk. What do cows drink?" "Milk." Conversation was proof of that. But by example, and a few words, Grissom had somehow managed to teach Nick all the tricks of the trade. At times Brass witnessed what he could only describe as a young father trying to raise two adolescent teenagers, whenever Grissom would say something, and then Nick and/or Warrick would come back with some sort of comeback. Brass then thought about Greg, wacky lab tech extraordinaire. Warrick had taken him under his wing, and was in the process of teaching him everything he would need to know about a crime scene. He tried to think of a time when Grissom had guided Sara's judgement and formed it like he did with the others. With the exception of "don't get too attached to the victims" he couldn't recall any other advice his friend had given the young woman.
'That was the difference between the guys and Sara,' Brass thought. 'The guys have had the benefit of a mentor who was also a father figure, but Grissom and Sara have this weird relationship that prevents that sort of thing.' He smiled ruefully, deciding that this must be what an epiphany felt like.
All Sara needed was a father figure, someone she could freely air her ideas to, and maybe she wouldn't feel like she needed to find answers in a glass bottle, and would leave the future predicting to the scam artists with their darkened tents and crystal balls.
Sara just needed someone to look out for her, just like Grissom did for the guys and Catherine. At that moment, Brass appointed himself as her guardian angel: not meant to be seen, but there to catch her if she fell.
*****************************************
Okay, wow, that took about an hour. I hope this sort of makes sense.
So please, take the time to tell me if you loved it, hated it, or just wanted to say "Hi, welcome back to the world of the living". Please review!