Chapter 3 Off Balance

A/N: Thanks for all your comments! And thanks to Michele aka griot for the beta work. This story will be updated weekly.

Chapter 3 Off Balance

Grissom rushed into his office searching for a forensics journal that featured an article which might be helpful for their case. It described a novel technique for isolating DNA from a partially degraded sample. After hastily removing several issues from the bookshelf then flipping through the pages at his desk, he'd located it.

He'd been hesitant to suggest it, for he wasn't entirely certain that the technique was applicable to their situation. The details weren't clear in his mind; he didn't want to look foolish. But they were running out of options, at worst it would yield yet another dead end.

Swiftly shoving the stack of journals aside on his desk, he noticed a large manila envelope. The return address caught his eye, causing his pulse to accelerate.

It was finally here.

Fully aware that Greg and Nick were waiting on him in the lab, still he froze, somehow losing his momentum. Unable to stop himself, he brought the envelope closer to examine it.

What harm would it do to open it now?

Take a quick peak and then get back to work. Greg and Nick needed to take a well deserved break anyway, he rationalized. He'd only need to skim the report, for he knew exactly what information he was looking for. Presumably it would simply confirm what he was already aware of. How foolish, that it had come to this. But once the question arose, it had festered within him, demanding the truth.

He opened the envelope and removed the report. As his pupils scanned the papers, he located the pertinent information.

It wasn't what he'd expected.

XXXXXXXXX

Grissom sat at his desk, trying to finish up some paperwork and hastily eat a sandwich before leaving for an appointment. His case was progressing poorly. While the amplification technique had sounded promising, the results were inconclusive. He hoped they'd have more insights when they examined the evidence with fresh eyes during the next shift.

In the back of his mind, he could still feel the mother's eyes boring into him, demanding to know who had done this to her seventeen year old daughter. Images of her mutilated body came to mind, causing him to set aside his half-eaten ham and cheese sandwich.

"Hey," Catherine stepped into his office and discretely closed the door behind her. "You okay?"

"Of course," he hurriedly glanced up from his forms while not so discretely checking the time.

"How's the Sayers' case going?"

Trying to discourage her, he averted his eyes back to his forms. "Nothing yet. If we just had a solid lead."

"I hear you on that," Catherine agreed as she sank into a chair by his desk. "So you've been back, a little more than two weeks now -- how's it going?"

Grissom sighed, slightly annoyed. At this rate, he'd never complete his task. He wasn't in the mood to chat either. "Fine."

Catherine nodded sympathetically.

He suddenly wondered if he'd forgotten something important.

"Did I.."

"No,no, nothing like that," she hurriedly insisted. "Besides, you've covered for me for much larger mistakes that I had no legitimate excuse for."

That wasn't reassuring.

Sensing he wasn't going to discuss his mistakes, Catherine wisely steered the conversation in another direction.

"How are things going with you and Sara?" she smiled.

"Fine."

She probed a little deeper, "It's just, you seem to be going out of your way not to work with her. Don't you think that's a little strange?"

Grissom silently fumed, yet another issue he wasn't about to approach.

"I mean, it's not like any of us really care one way or another."

"Did you have anything else on your mind, Catherine?"

She paused, clearing her throat. "Um..are you okay Gil? You seem a little preoccupied today."

Catherine always had been perceptive. The results from his accident report that he'd read a few hours ago had disturbed him. So much so that he'd actually been driven to schedule an emergency appointment with his psychiatrist, Dr. Walker, that day to discuss it.

If he'd had a near death experience, why couldn't he remember it? Why hadn't anybody told him about it? Why did he have to find out from Fromansky of all people?

He glanced up again. Maybe he could simply ask Catherine; after all, presumably she had witnessed it. Then he could continue to successfully avoid his psychiatrist and not have to rush through this tiresome paperwork.

"Cath…" his voice trailed off. Even mentioning his accident had brought painful shadows to her expression. And maybe she and Sara honestly didn't know what had happened to him, or perhaps it was too painful for either of them to talk about. Although he was anxious for facts, he couldn't put either woman through it.

"It's nothing. I'm just frustrated by the case."

Rapidly sensing that she would try to steer the conversation towards how he felt about that, he cut her short. "Look Catherine, I have about thirty minutes to finish up this and then I have an appointment across town. Can we continue this some other time?"

Still concerned, she rose, "Sure."

XXXXXXXXXX

After turning in his paperwork, Grissom hurried past the AV lab, hoping to speak with Sara before he left. With no success there, he strode down the hall. He paused at the entrance to the layout room, the sugary tone of Rob's voice turning his stomach.

"That's amazing Sara. You always have the best ideas," Rob stammered pathetically. "How did you even think of that?"

"I ran into a similar situation in San Francisco several years ago. Let's hope the screen will help us here as well," Sara explained.

Rob had been hired as a CSI during Grissom's absence. Eventually when Greg became a fully fledged CSI and Grissom was fully reinstated; Rob would be slated for day shift.

Ironically enough, although Rob and Greg were contemporaries, they differed drastically in personal style. Greg had always been a free spirit, strongly motivated by his unique and varied interests and unafraid to express his individuality. This usually irritated Grissom, even though thinking outside the box often proved to be an attribute in this job.

On the other hand, Rob tended to be more conventional, more like Grissom, keeping to himself, more serious, focusing mostly on his work.

Despite this, Grissom had mixed feelings about Rob. In the brief time he'd spent in the lab with him, he'd been impressed by the younger man's zeal and attention to detail. However, he didn't care for the way that Rob looked at Sara, especially at this instant.

Like an impressionable sheep, Rob tended to flock to Sara at work, constantly asking her questions. While Grissom couldn't fault the man for wanting to learn from her expertise, it was apparent to most of the lab that he had a schoolboy crush on Sara. In fact, the guys loved to good-naturedly tease Rob about this, especially since it was so easy to embarrass him.

Grissom tried to be a good sport about it at poker nights and upon his return to the lab. Yet Rob's feeble attempts at flirting with Sara irritated him.

"Wanna grab some lunch?" Rob asked.

"Sure," Sara agreed.

Grissom's temper flared. Why was she encouraging Rob? And why did he feel so threatened even though he and Sara had been together for several months?

That question was easy to answer. Rob was bright, younger and frankly, healthier than he was. There were no huge questions marks looming in his immediate future.

Rob and Sara turned to see Grissom standing in the doorway.

"Hey, um…didn't see you there," Rob stammered, his cheeks turning red.

Feeling the need to say something, Grissom chose neutral territory, asking, "How's the case coming?"

"Sara came up with a great idea. We're testing the fabric for toxins. We're going to get some food while the test runs."

Grissom nodded and Rob nervously backed out of the room, bumping against the door frame in his haste, most likely sensing the older man's displeasure with him. "I'll meet you out front," he called back to Sara.

"Hey," Sara enthusiastically greeted Grissom. He didn't return it.

Her smile faded. "Why are you being so tough on Rob? You practically ran the poor guy off." As she studied him, her lips pursed. "You've got to be kidding."

His words slipped past his restraints, "Why are you encouraging him?"

"I'm not. Talking about the case over greasy quesadillas hardly constitutes a date. I'm starving. Am I not allowed to eat?" Clearly peeved, she added, "I don't get this Gil, I just don't. Where is this coming from?"

He cut her off, "Later. This isn't the place."

She sighed as she left. "Of course not."

He'd forgotten the original reason he'd looked for her in the first place, to tell her about his appointment and that he'd be home late. Most likely it didn't matter; she'd probably be stuck late at the lab finishing up her case anyway.

XXXXXXX

"Don't take this the wrong way but I'm surprised to see you here so soon. I know it's nothing personal but I assumed you'd put off these mandatory checkups for as long as humanly possible." Dr. Walker peered up from his Spartan glass topped desk, adorned only with family photos.

As always, he favored shades of tan and brown with his wardrobe, wearing a dark brown turtle neck with tan pants and matching corduroy jacket. His office, with its ultra modern décor, had changed little, still impeccably clean, with chrome and glass surfaces glimmering in the beams of sun light that peeked through the vertical blinds.

The doctor was right on the mark with that assessment. Grissom silently cursed Fromansky once again for driving him to this.

"How are things going? How's Sara?"

Wanting to avoid small talk and address the heart of the matter, Grissom shoved the envelope containing the medical report towards him.

Dr. Walker removed the papers, examined them, then looked up.

"What about it?"

"This says I was technically dead for two minutes and had to be resuscitated. Why the hell don't I remember that?" he said with more emotion than he had intended.

"This isn't uncommon. Many people don't remember these types of experiences. In fact, many of the ones you read about in popular literature are fabricated accounts. People telling others what they think they want to hear or even what they themselves had wanted to experience."

Grissom was well aware of those facts. "Why don't I remember anything? Why didn't I even know about this?"

How could something like this have occurred without his knowledge?

"You went through a lot with your accident. Between the medication and your extent of injuries, your doctor could've told you and you might have completely forgotten about it. Besides, does it really matter?

Offended Grissom barked, "Of course it does."

"What's more, didn't you have an epiphany of sorts during that time when you realized that you wanted to change your life and take more chances?" He briefly glanced at his notes on a yellow legal pad, "To use your metaphor - that you were tired of being on the sidelines and it was time to play ball?"

That was true. When faced with the imminent prospect of his death, Grissom had realized that he hadn't fully immersed himself in life and that he needed to remove his latex gloves. The accident had allowed him to open his heart up to Sara and to grow a little closer to his co-workers. Shouldn't that be enough?

The doctor rose from his chair, taking a few steps towards the wall which displayed his various diplomas. "Hmm…I suppose I would feel cheated if I couldn't remember such an experience. It would've been a unique opportunity to gain a different perspective on life and death."

It irked Grissom that the scientist within him felt the same way. But that suggestion didn't give him peace, it wasn't addressing the core of what was bothering him.

"Of course, knowing about it doesn't change anything," the doctor astutely pointed out.

Grissom simmered quietly, frustrated that this issue was disturbing him so much. Had his head injury impacted his ability to process his emotions? Was that why he couldn't let this go?

"How did you find out about this?"

Grissom briefly described his encounters with Officer Fromansky.

"Most likely you're embarrassed that some one you obviously dislike saw you in such a state and had this information, isn't that right?"

Begrudgingly Grissom nodded.

Dr. Walker expounded, "But clearly there's more to it than that. Otherwise you wouldn't have felt driven to insist upon scheduling this appointment." He smiled wryly. "You know what I think? It's all about control. The idea of not being in control, not even knowing about something so important that happened to you, that's what galls you."

Grissom's mouth tightened stubbornly as he inwardly acknowledged that the man was correct once again. Ever since his accident, he'd had limited control over his life – even over his own thoughts and body. Yet time had healed him. Supposedly he was better. Returning to work was supposed to mean that everything was fixed. It was supposed to reset his life back to normal parameters.

Then Fromansky's words came to him,

"Why are you back? After what you've experienced, how can you face it everyday?"

Unwittingly he'd said it out loud.

"Is that what that officer told you?"

Grissom nodded.

"How do you feel about that?"

He barely suppressed his annoyed scoff. There were rarely any straight answers in these sessions. He wished human behavior was more predictable, more scientific.

"I have no idea. We're not friends. We're barely civil with each other." Just thinking about that man made his blood pressure rise.

"I suppose he's dealing with his own life and death issues and is looking to you for answers. In your professions, it's common to reach a point where you can't deal with such violence and atrocities on a daily basis anymore. You know all about that. You reach a threshold where your tolerance disappears. Burn out.

"Perhaps he's personalizing your situation – seeing himself in your shoes and it scares him. Or possibly he's just having difficulties maintaining his professional protective layers after such a personal brush with death. Once you've been the victim, it's easy to lose that objectivity which you need to function.

"Most likely he's talking from his own fears, his own experiences. He's afraid of dying. You reminded him that it could happen so he wanted to get the inside scoop."

Something about that calmed Grissom. Fromansky was as vulnerable as he was, that thought provided some comfort.

"How are you coping with the job?"

"Fine," although that was far from the truth.

"How about emotionally?"

Why was he asking about that? That was the least of Grissom's concerns. Sure, he was having some issues with adjusting to the odors and images of the lifeless, mutilated bodies of the victims that sometimes invaded his thoughts. Yet that was simply a matter of rebuilding his professional veneer, nothing more to it than that, just as Dr. Walker had discussed. He pushed those thoughts aside, focusing on more important issues.

"I'm more concerned about the mechanics of the actual job. It's been challenging developing strategies to remember things. I'm not used to that," Grissom humbly explained. Every day small nagging mistakes taunted him. It was hard on his pride.

"I'm sure you're not. Don't be too hard on yourself with unrealistic expectations. Even though you've been back a few weeks, it'll still take some time to optimize those skills. And don't downplay any emotional issues. Those are important too. How are things going with Sara?"

"Fine."

Dr. Walker laughed for he hadn't expected much more of a response. "This has been a challenging year for you two. You've been through a lot and this is still a big time of transition. Be sure to keep those lines of communication open between the two of you."

Inwardly Grissom cringed. He'd been so consumed with his return to work that he'd been neglecting Sara. Since they had not been partnered together, Grissom made a mental note to plan something special for the two of them at home.

TBC