A/N: I loved, loved, loved The Two Mrs Grissoms episode. I absolutely loved it. I can't find anything to fault with it and I think TPTB did great and were more than generous with the GSR. Grissom's opening and closing scenes were just perfect and more than I could ever have hoped for. I'm eternally grateful to Billy Petersen for agreeing to come back and be Grissom again, even if it was for the very last time. Just keep that in mind when you read this. ;-)

Thank you to my great friend JellybeanChiChi for allowing me to use her In the Writer's Room series of parodies as inspiration for this. If you enjoy this, go and check out her work, it's better. Isn't that what we do with great masters? Copy their work? Anyway, she assures me – and she's met him so she knows what she's talking about – that he is lovely. This is a parody and in no way reflects my true opinion of the man.

Oh, and in case you are wondering about the beautiful and talented insinuation in the story, it's a nod to the words Billy Petersen used when describing Darlanne Fluegel, his female co-star in To Live and Die in LA. We – Jelly and I – thought the term might have been a code word for something else.

Some dialogue gratefully borrowed from the episode itself, and sadly isn't mine.

Beautiful and Talented.

"Why can't I keep my hair its natural colour?" Petersen asked, looking at his reflection in the mirror, his tone on the weary side. He rubbed his fingers over the dark circles under his eyes. "The man's been gone two years now. He's what? Like sixty?"

Michel Poirot had been Petersen's hair stylist for more than twenty years. They'd met on the set of Manhunt where he'd been let loose with a bottle of hair dye and the curling iron. Oddly enough, Petersen had asked for him by name ever since.

"No. Actually, you'll find he's closer to fifty-five," Michel replied pleasantly. He finished fixing a curler in Petersen's hair before pointing to the mirror's top right corner. "Look, I've a photo of you – him – before you – he left. Carol said that I'd never get work in the industry again if I couldn't make you look exactly like you did then, except less tired and more happy." Michel's eyes became distant, his smile longing as he stared intently at the photo of Grissom.

"Good luck with that," Petersen said dryly, shifting forward on his chair. Staring at the photograph he let out a long weary sigh, adding in a slightly contrite tone, "I did as you asked, Michel. I grew the beard back and my hair so you could curl it back to its former glory but on the understanding that you wouldn't dye it. I thought I was done with all that crap; it makes my scalp itch."

Michel shook himself out of his reverie and reached for another curler. "We might not have to," he said with a conspiratory smile. "I managed to get a hold of a special hair marker pen on e-bay. It should do the trick."

"Thank you, Michel," Petersen said gratefully, reaching back to pat the hair stylist on the hand. "I appreciate that."

"You're very welcome, Mr Petersen." Michel's face pursed in thought. "Doing the hair's easy. Lily's going to have her work cut out with the make-up though."

Petersen felt along his chubby cheeks and jowly jaw line, and shrugged. "I thought the beard was helping with that," he said with a sigh. "Gina's trying to get me to quit smoking again."

"I wondered. M&Ms?"

Petersen shook his head forlornly. "Pringles. The serving size on them's something ridiculous, like seven crisps. Who eats seven crisps anyway, huh?"

Michel put the last curler in the actor's hair. "I hear you, man. I hear you."

The door to the trailer opened with a flurry, cutting the two men's heart-to-heart short, and Stephen Felder, the episode director, breezed in. "Okay, Billy," he said, dropping a copy of the script on the counter in front of Petersen. "I got the final scene all set up for you. Your character, Grissom, is going to appear on Skype. He'll be talking to Sara and his mother at the end of the episode."

"I wanted to talk to you about that actually," Petersen said, picking up the scrip and leafing through it. "Isn't his mother supposed to be dead? Didn't she die some time during season five?"

"Well, no. That was assumed. It was never mentioned as such. So, we kind of-"

"Okay. So she's alive?"

"Oh, yes. Her and your wife – your onscreen wife – will be talking to you. How did it go with the signing coach by the way?"

Petersen shared a private smile with himself. "Very well," he replied, his eyes glazing over. "She was both very beautiful and talented." The smile on Michel's face was all seeing, all knowing.

"Oh, great! So what I'm trying to achieve with the scene is convey how, regardless of how unconventional your – or rather Grissom's – marriage to Sara is, it works for you. For the both of you. And you're happy."

Petersen gave a mild shrug of the shoulders. "I'm a method actor. I can do happy."

"Good."

"But why do I have to wear this shirt again?" He raised an arm up in the air. "Couldn't you at least have got it washed from the last time I wore it? It still stinks of sweat."

"We thought it might help you get in character. It's been a while." The director turned toward the prop lady hovering nearby. "You gave him the ring?"

A look of fear crossed Petersen's face. "The ring? What ring? Zuiker never said anything about a ring. I don't wear jewellery; I don't like it."

"Your character wears a watch."

"A watch doesn't count. It's not considered jewellery."

"Neither is a wedding ring."

"Listen, buddy," Petersen said, scratching his scalp, "My real life wife can't get me to wear my damn wedding ring so I'm not going to for a show I only accepted to appear in again because Jorja specifically asked me to." A wicked smile suddenly tugged at his lips. "She is also very beautiful and talented."

"I'm pleased you and Jorja could come to an arrangement but-"

"Billy!" Anthony Zuiker exclaimed, sauntering into the trailer. "Thank you so much for accepting to do this. I'm glad we could finally agree on a figure. The show's been flagging in the ratings lately. And Langston's not cutting it with the fans-"

Petersen raised the hand of God. "Enough, I don't want to hear it. I've somewhere to be in like forty-five minutes so can we get this show on the road, like now?"

"But I've only just brought you the new revised script," Felder cut in. "I thought we could run through it together."

"Did you make the changes I suggested?" Petersen asked.

The director and Zuiker exchanged a look. "Listen, Billy," Zuiker said, "We didn't – couldn't – make that change."

Petersen bristled. "What?"

"What difference does it make if you say…when I get home…rather than…when I come back anyway?"

"What difference does it make?" Petersen exclaimed heatedly. "It makes all the difference. Come back makes it sound definite, like I'm definitely coming back. I'm doing this as a favour to Jorja, remember? Besides it's your fault I left in the first place. If you'd approved the script changes I suggested then, you wouldn't be in the mess you're in now."

"Billy," Zuiker said in a disparaging tone, "We simply could not write in a sex scene between you—your character and Lady Heather. Leaving it to the viewers'…interpretation was the best we could do at the time."

Petersen pulled a dubious face. He scratched his scalp again and threw Michel a glance through the mirror. "It's beginning to itch. Are we done with the hair yet?"

"How long do you want the curl to hold?" Michel asked, addressing the director.

"It depends," Felder replied, staring meaningfully at Petersen. "How many takes is it going to take to shoot the scene?" His eyes narrowed meaningfully. "Can you still be Grissom to the fans? I've been keeping an eye on the boards and-"

"Theatre boards?" Petersen enquired with sudden interest.

Felder's shake of the head was dismissive. "No. Fan sites, forums, chat rooms. Those kind of boards." Petersen's eyes glazed over. "They're all just waiting for us to mess up. So, do you remember how to play Grissom? Can you still do the eyebrow thing? The smirk? The pondering look? The-"

"Of course I remember how to play Grissom," Petersen cut in irritably. "The man took over my life for nine years! I still see him in my sleep with his goddamn bugs and pickled pets!" He took in a deep calming breath, adding quietly, "I can play him with my eyes closed."

"No, no. That won't be necessary," Zuiker cut in with sudden worry. "We need you to keep your eyes open and looking straight at the camera." The trailer door opened and Zuiker paused, turning to address the make-up artist who had just walked in. "Did you manage to find cerulean blue contact lenses?"

"Oh, no, not the lenses," Petersen lamented. "I hate wearing that shit. They make my eyes go all funny."

The make-up artist grimaced. "Sorry. No. They discontinued the line. Cerulean blue wasn't selling any more. I got azure instead. Just a tad darker than the cerulean."

Zuiker shot Felder a panicked look. "Can we trick the fans?"

"I can play with the lighting," the director replied easily. "Shouldn't be a problem."

"Okay, good." Zuiker gave a cursory look up and down Petersen. "And make sure we only see the top half of his body, will you?"

Felder gave a vigorous nod of the head. "Already taken care of."

"Billy, this is Phyllis Frelich," Felder said, touching the deaf actress on the shoulder to get her attention, "she'll be playing the role of Betty Grissom, your mother."

Phyllis Frelich watched her interpreter's hands and flashed Petersen a warm, friendly smile.

Lifting a hand to his freshly-curled hair Petersen turned narrowed eyes toward Michel. "Did you do her hair too?"

"Okay, Billy, the camera's rolling," Felder said shooing the hair stylist away before a war broke out. "We're ready when you are." Petersen's eyes closed in concentration, and he nodded. "Good, okay, do your magic, Billy. The future of the show's in your hands. And action!"

When his eyes reopened Petersen was gone, replaced by his very much loved alter ego, Grissom. The transformation was instantaneous and utterly mind-blowing. There was a collective gasp from the crew and Zuiker closed his eyes and released the long breath he didn't know he'd been holding for a little more than two very long years.

"The graves were littered with pupae casings," Grissom said staring straight at the camera, looking just like he did in the Pilot when he smashed that dummy's head with the golf club. The trademark eyebrow rose. "It looked like someone dumped a ton of Rice Krispies on top of a bunch of Halloween skeletons." Sounding giddy with excitement Grissom went on saying, "It indicated that it wasn't a proper burial. During the Inca period, there was no greater punishment. We think it was meant as a warning. 'Don't mess with the Moche.'"

A stand-in actress read Sara Sidle's answering line.

Instantly Grissom vanished leaving in its stead a discomfited Petersen. "What? You couldn't get Jorja to do the scene with us?"

"CUT!"

"I can't believe we have to use a stand-in to do the scene," Petersen went on irritably. "Where is Jorja anyway?"

Felder exchanged a look with his cameraman. "She's…kind of busy right now."

"With something else," the cameraman piped up with a helpless shrug.

"Anyway, we need to redo it," Felder said. "Your voice wasn't quite right."

"My voice?" Petersen exclaimed. "What? Ess my aa-send too Peruvian?"

"No. Too Chicagoian."

"Oh. But I'm from Chicago."

"But Grissom isn't. Remember him? The role that made you millions?" Petersen rolled his eyes. "Okay. Good. So, can you try a little harder getting the voice right?" the director asked holding Petersen's gaze before casting a sweeping look at the rest of the cast. "Okay, we're good to go. ACTION!"

"So anyway," Petersen went on in his best Grissom's voice, "How was your week? What'd you do?"

"Well, I almost got blown up twice. I accused your ex-girlfriend of murder. And ... Oh, and I told off your mother."

Grissom pursed his mouth in his trademark smirk. "Oh, good. You kept busy."

"Yes. You see what happens when you stand me up?"

Felder knocked on the set stud wall.

"Who's that?" Grissom said, dipping his head.

"It's your mother."

Grissom's right hand came in the frame and he waved, "Hi, mom!" And then his right hand joined his left hand as he signed, "You never came to the office when I was working there. I heard you and Sara had an exciting week."

"CUT!" Felder shouted as he moved into the frame. "Where's the ring? Where's the goddamn wedding ring?" He turned an icy glare at the prop lady.

"Hey, don't look at me!" she muttered arms folded defensively over her chest, nodding her head toward Petersen.

Petersen sighed, lifted one buttock off the chair and fished the ring out of his jeans back pocket.

"Good catch," Zuiker told the director. "Make sure he keeps it on, all right? And that we can clearly see it when he signs?"

The director nodded and watched as Petersen winced as he slid the ring on his finger. "And ACTION!"

"I told her you like vegetation," Grissom signed to his mother after she had just given Sara the African violets as an apology. Then he looked directly into Sara's eyes on the picture they had stuck on top of the camera and lifted a trademark sheepish shoulder, adding, "I'm sorry too, honey. I'm sorry I never told you about Julia. We met during my sabbatical in Williams. She was teaching-"

"And CUT! What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Petersen did a double take. "I was adlibbing. I do it all the time."

"Well, don't! We said happy. We want lovey-dovey, not talks about Grissom's ex!"

"I just thought-"

"Well, don't, all right?"

Petersen muttered a tight-lipped, "Fine."

The director took a deep breath, and then exhaled it very slowly. Veins were beginning to show in his neck. "ACTION!"

"When I come back the three-"

"And CUT!"

"Okay. Okay. I know, I know. Sorry. I was just- sorry."

"ACTION!"

It took Petersen all his acting skills to get Grissom to say and sign like he meant it, "When I come back, the three of us will go out to dinner."

"When?" Grissom's mother asked beseechingly with her hands, echoing the question on the lips of millions of fans all over the world desperate to know.

"Soon," Grissom replied.

"And CUT!"

"What now!" Petersen exclaimed. He lifted his left hand in the director's face. "Look, I got the damn ring on!"

"Yes, but Billy, your character's supposed to be looking HAPPY. We already talked about this." The director clasped his hands together beseechingly. "Please, your character's in a good place in his life. This is it for him; he's doing what he loves. He's got the woman he loves. This is it for us too, and for the fans. It's like…It's like his swan song. Please, look at the camera and say it like you mean it!"

"All right. All right. I get it."

"ACTION!"

Betty Grissom signed, "I still think you two need to get together more. Sex is always important in a marriage."

"Your mother is talking about our sex life."

"In Incan society, the Moche elders would pass down their knowledge of sexual pleasure to the younger generation. Their stories were documented on their pottery. Little ceramic jars called sex pots."

"Sex pots."

"You can still learn a lot from your elders," Grissom's mother said, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"Sometimes too much," Grissom replied with his trademark cheeky grin. He held the thumb, index and pinkie fingers of both hands up, making the sign for the letters, I, L, Y, and said, "I love you both." And this time he did it like he meant it.

"I love you, too," the stand-in said, and she looked like she meant it too. "Bye."

"And CUT!"

Someone patted Petersen on the back and the cast began to slow clap him. "That was great, Billy. Awesome. Brilliant! Thank you."

Petersen lifted his hands up to his side in acknowledgement of the praise and stood up. Reaching across for someone's bag of M&Ms he grabbed a handful, popped a couple into his mouth and chewed with a sigh of relief.

Zuiker walked up to him and clasped him on the back. "You still got it man. You still got it." Petersen did a double take as a pretty brunette walked past the set. "So, what would it take, really, to sign you back on the show permanently?" Zuiker went on with an uneasy chuckle.

"What?" Petersen shook his head and refocused on Zuiker. "Was that Melinda Clarke I just saw? Hey, Melinda, over here!"

Zuiker followed Petersen's eye. "Yeah. That's her all right. She was in a meeting with Carol. We'd like to bring her character back to the show."

"You want to bring Lady Heather back?" Petersen asked with incredulity.

"Yeah. It's still not official but it would appear that Larry's not staying on for season twelve so we might be a CSI short. Anyway, with her past experience, her intensity, her youth and beauty she's the perfect candidate for the job. That, and we were thinking of hooking her up with George Eads' character, Nick. He's overdue a love interest."

"What?" Petersen spluttered, choking on his M&M's. "But she's my—I mean, she's Grissom's gal."

"Well, no, Grissom's married now. He's married to Sara."

Petersen waved that detail aside. "I always thought that he had more chemistry with Lady Heather anyway. And what, you're thinking of signing her up for the start of season twelve?"

"That's the plan," Zuiker replied. "She is very talented and beautiful but…"

Petersen's gaze narrowed threateningly. "And you know this how?"

Zuiker eyed Petersen with uncertainty for a moment and then shook his head. "Anyway," he said, "she's being difficult so we don't think it's going to happen."

"Oh?"

Zuiker shrugged. "She says she'll only sign if we bring your character back permanently. We told her you were dead against it, that you'd taken your character as far as it could go-"

"Who cares about all that, Anthony?" Petersen cut in easily. He wrapped his arm over Zuiker's shoulder, a wide, wicked grin spreading across his face. "Where do I sign?"