TITLE: Where There is Smoke
AUTHOR: MSCSIFANGSR aka NoHayRemedio
PAIRING: Brass-Grissom friendship, G/S Angst Implied.
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: A frank discussion between Brass and Grissom while both are drunk about Grissom's unresolved feelings for a certain brunette CSI.
DISCLAIMER: I'm just playing with them.
NOTES: This was the first FicChallenge on the Improv from Mossley. Since I wasn't writing CSI fan fiction at the time or even aware there were people out there actually writing these wonderful stories, I thought I would attempt this challenge. Also this is my first attempt at a songfic, the songs are "Free Bird" by Lynyrd Skynyrd and "Reminds Me of You" by Van Morrison. Beta'd by the always wonderful Giwu, who cleaned up my mistakes.
SPOILERS: This is loosely in the 4th Season, several weeks after "Butterflied" and "Early Rollout", but before "Bloodlines".
The smoke drifted upward slowly. Grissom watched the cigar smoke with the same investigative regard as he would evidence. It captured all his thoughts, everything else was blocked out of his mind. The smoke curled as if it were a side winding snake, making tracks against the sand of the desert, running from whatever predator who happened to be chasing it. When the door to the dark bar opened and shut quickly, the smoke in the air dissipated but was soon replaced by another stream of fume from the imported cigar Detective Jim Brass held in his right hand. His left hand turned an empty shot glass upside down and back up with a steady tap tap repetition. Neither man had spoken since they had downed their fifth shot of scotch. Grissom was fascinated with the smoke from the other man's cigar and Brass was lost in thoughts of a woman he had known long ago, in what seemed another life, in a far-away place called New Jersey.
Brass' voice cut the uncomplicated silence between the two men who sat surrounded by the noises from the crowd and the house band, playing a Lynyrd Skynyrd tune badly. "Gil, have you ever been in love?"
Jim stopped his empty shot glass in mid-air while waiting for Grissom's response and took a long draw on the cigar, filling his lungs with the luxurious taste of the cigar.
Grissom had heard Jim's question over the blare of the electric guitars, but his focus was still on the smoke curling from the cigar. The singer's voice cut through the sound of the guitars battling for dominance and Grissom missed the first words. He cut his focus from the smoke to the singer on the small stage. The man had long blond greasy hair, and dressed as was the rage among hardened rock n' rollers in a torn t-shirt and busted out levis. Grissom let the words flow through his senses as had the scotch he had previously drunk.
Please don't take it so badly; Lord knows I'm to blame.
If I stay here with you now, things just couldn't be the same.
Cause I'm as free as a bird and the bird you'll never change.
And the bird you cannot change. And the bird you cannot change.
Lord knows I can't change; Lord help me, I can't change; Lord I can't change.
Brass looked at Gil as the music reached it's crescent, wondering if the man had heard his earlier question. Brass motioned for the barman to bring them another round with the flick of his wrist, practiced by many years of drinking in establishments such as the one they were in now.
Jim observed the man beside him, wondering if Grissom knew himself at all. He knew Grissom was in love, but possibly the man didn't know he was in love. He had seen all the signs, heard Grissom's confession of love to a murder suspect of all people, watched as the object of Gil's desire floundered, then succumbing to the same nasty demon the two of them were worshipping at the moment. The demon of drink; the elixir to help forget what could not be forgotten.
Both men reached for the new round of shots at the same time and threw the liquid down their throats with a grunt, slamming the glasses onto the bar with a bang. The bartender stood before Brass, questioning him, with his eyes, wondering if they wanted another shot or had the liquid fire taken a toll on their bodies, yet? Brass shrugged his shoulders, and replied: "Maybe in a little while." The bartender wandered off to serve other customers, as the two men sat, one smoking, slightly inebriated, the other appeared off in some parallel universe staring off into nothing, saying nothing, lost in space, perhaps?
"Yes." Grissom's voice was low, almost too low to be heard over the din of noise, but Brass somehow heard him. Brass nodded his head once as he looked at Gil: His friend's finely groomed beard was a jumble of hairs growing in opposite directions, his hair appeared longer and much curler than he usually allowed.His normally bright azure eyes where tinged with redness. "I don't know what to do about it, though. So I decided to do nothing, but that's wrong. I need to do something, but I don't know what."
The two men listened to the end of the guitar solo and the bartender came by again, questioning Brass with uplifted eyebrows. He turned to Grissom, who nodded in the affirmative. Soon there were two more shot glasses before them empty. The band played several more classic songs from the 1970's, and the men both stared off blankly, lost in their own thoughts. Brass pulling on the cigar; Grissom watching the smoke.
After what could have been fifteen minutes after his confession of sorts, Grissom turned back to his friend and said: "Jim, I really have enjoyed this, but I need to get home and get some sleep."
"Let me call us a cab, we'll share, because we're both too drunk to try to drive ourselves."
"Okay."
Jim reached into his pocket, pulling out a small wad of bills, throwing two fifty dollar bills onto the bar, looking to Grissom, who started to protest, but Brass waved him off, "I asked you to come have a drink with me, so it's on me. You can pay for the cab."
Grissom nodded in agreement, watching as Brass touched the pad of his cell phone with a delicately practiced form, and then brought the phone to his ear for a moment, before he spoke again: "Yes, we need a cab..." Brass trailed off as Grissom lost interest as the band began playing another tune, he did not recognize it, and was unsure whether or not he had ever had the song. It was slow with slight twang of almost country. The singer's voice brought forth images into his mind; colorful images of Sara, his employee, his not quite friend, or lover, but she was the woman he loved.
I miss you so much I can't stand it, seems like my heart is breaking in two.
My head says no, but my soul demands it.
Everything I do reminds me of you.
I miss you so much in this house full of shadows;
While the rain keeps pouring down my window too.
When will the pain, recede to the darkness from whence it has come, when I m feeling so blue.
Ain't going down no more to 'The Whale';
Sometimes It feels like I'm going to hell.
Sometimes I'm knocking on your front door, but I don't have nothing, to sell no more.
Seems like the spirit is pushing me onward, I'm able to see where I tripped and went wrong.
Just have to guess where my soul will find comfort. But I miss you so much when I'm singing my song.
Ain't going down no more to 'The Whale';
Sometimes it seems I'm going to hell.
You'll find me knocking on your front door, But I don't have nothing to sell no more
Feels like my spirit is pushing me onward
But I'm able to see where I tripped and went wrong
Just have to guess where my soul will get comfort
I miss you so much when I'm singing my song
I miss you so much I can't stand it seems like my heart is breaking in two.
Head says go, but my soul demands it,
Everything I do, reminds me of you.
Everything I do, reminds me of you.
Everything I do, reminds me of you.
"Everything I do, reminds me of Sara", he continued to sing the song after the song and appause had died.
Brass looked at him sharply. "Did you just say that?"
Gil looked at him, wondering if he had sang out loud. "I guess I did" He admitted.
"You know, Gil, that girl has it as bad for you as you do for her. If you are saying things like that, I think you need some air. Come on, let's wait outside for the cab." Brass stuck the short end of his cigar into his mouth, stood up from the barstool, gripped Grissom's arm and pulled him off his stool.
"Come on, Gil. Maybe I can help you out of here." The drunk Brass assisted the less than sober Grissom across the short space between where they had been sitting and the door. When Grissom opened the door to the outside world, he looked back, hoping to see a bit of the smoke he had previously been so intent upon earlier. But the smoke had dispelled as the fresh air came into the room.
Standing outside at the curb, both men stood lost in their own thoughts.
"You know what you should do right now, while you're too drunk to chicken out?" Brass' voice cut into the blackness of Grissom's mind.
"Pass out?" Grissom smirked.
"No, you should go to Sara's apartment. Tell her you love her, romance her a little, slip in between the sleets and her thighs," he winked at the drunk Grissom, and continued, "Wake up in her arms every day for the rest of your lives. It would be good for you as much as it would be good for her." Brass drew the last bit of smoke from his cigar, snubbed it out under his black leather shoes, and looked at Grissom for his reaction.
Gil had a strange look upon his face. He was clutching his chest slightly, began coughing from all the smoke he had inhaled in the bar. "If only," was his response.
The two men waited another few minutes for the cab to arrive and when it did, Brass quickly gave his address to the cabbie. Grissom piled his 6'2" frame into the small taxi, smelling the putrid odor from other patron's who had lost their battle with the bottle and he tried his hardest not to vomit. Brass told the driver to take him to his house first, then to take Grissom to another address.
Brass shut the door to the cab against his right leg. Grissom looked to him and said, "You know that's not my address. I'm not too drunk to realize that's Sara's address."
"You ruined my surprise."