TITLE: The Nut Cracker
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K
TYPE: GCR (what else?)
RATING: R (some sexual themes)
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
SUMMARY: Classical dance can be a very competitive sport.
NOTES: Okay, one more chapter to go after this one - please bear with me.
Cheers!
---------------
Catherine and Gil sat in front of Krissy Samson, a table dividing the two sides. Jim paced, blending in to the background of the cold, grey walls. "This better be worth my rehearsal time - we're opening next week." Krissy huffed.
"Have you ever smelt something so bad that you actually became afraid of the source?" Gil asked cryptically. He observed her; the way her eyes roamed to the left, her jaw tight. "What did you do about that smell, Krissy?"
She looked away, fidgeting in her chair. "I called animal control, I figured I had vermin in the attic. I'm terrified of mice and rats, so I have never ventured up there." There was a look of pure terror on her face, and the shudder did not go unoticed by the team. "They never found anything, so I just opted to mask the smell as much as possible." She looked at all three of them and blurted out, "hey, it was either that or move!" She sat back in her chair. "Besides, you get used to it after awhile."
Catherine tossed a folder in front of Krissy, the pictures spilling out. "This is what was causing the smell." She stated in a monotonous voice.
Krissy's eyes grew wide. "Who - who is that?"
"We were hoping that you'd tell us." Jim piped in. Krissy just shrugged, her eyes disengaging the pictures.
"The chromosomes are XX, meaning that the victim was female. The coroner estimates her time of death around four years ago." Catherine informed the suspect. "We're thinking that you're brother didn't dissapear but rather went into hiding."
"Jarod would never do that!" Krissy shrieked. "How dare you bring him into this mess!"
"We also found something else." Gil began, always keeping his eye on the Krissy, dying to vision her reaction. "Before we found out that the chromosomes were XX, we ran Jarod's DNA against the Jane Doe, thinking that the body might be his."
"Yeah?" Krissy took a sip of water, her hand shaking so violently that water dribbled down her chin and on to the table.
"The victim and Jarod share 8 relating markers." Gil put it bluntly. "Meaning, they're related."
"What?" It was a hoarse whisper.
"Do you have any sisters, or aunts maybe, that had dissapeared or died?" Catherine asked.
Krissy shook her head. "I have to go." She got up, taking the cup of water with her. "I have rehearsals."
"We were thinking that the Jane Doe was your competition. Normally, you aren't too phazed by that, but she gave you quite the run. So Jarod, your guardian, sees you in a dill of a pickle and helps you . . . any way he can." Catherine watched the girl at the door. "That's why he ran."
"And now he's back." Gil added.
Jim stopped her at the door. "How about some DNA, huh?" He asked, fake sweetness slapping her in the face.
Krissy looked at the swab that was held captive between his index finger and thumb. "No, not without a lawyer." She exited the room, leaving behind a group of confused CSIs.
"So. . ." Jim turned around, tossing the swab on the table. "What do you guys think?"
"We need that DNA sample." Gil said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Do you have anything on Jarod?" Catherine asked Jim. They had been through file after file from the case review, but had come up empty handed. Her last hope lay with the captain.
Jim shrugged. "Actually, before his dissapearance, he underwent some cosmetic surgery, though they didn't specify what."
"My guess, liposuction." Catherine shook her head. "Maybe he wanted to get back into the game." Catherine offered.
"Either way, due to doctor-patient priveledges, and the fact that Jarod Samson is not deceased since no body was ever recovered, we won't be able to obtain the information." Gil said, his eyes closed. Exhaustion was creeping up on him, having pulled double-shifts for two nights in a row.
"He could have killed her and gotten a nose job or something." Jim said, on his way out the door. "Hell, he could be right under our noses and we wouldn't even know it." He chuckled at the cliché.
Catherine stood up and began to leave.
"Where are you going?" Gil asked, his eyes still closed, his body slouching in the chair. His hands were laced right above the nape of his neck, creating a make-shift pillow.
"Working a hunch." She threw over her shoulder and exited, feeling his eyes on her. She stepped into her car and drove to the Nevada Ballet Theatre.
***
Stepping inside the Theatre, she witnessed Krissy strolling casually into the women's changing room. Catherine decided to make a pit-stop herself. She stopped to admire a few photos, thus making her actions less suspicious and finally reached her destination. As she pushed open the swinging door, she heard toilet flush. She placed herself in front of the mirrors and began to wash her hands.
"This is considered harassement." Krissy spat out, lathering the soap in her hands.
"I'm not here on business, I'm actually considering enrolling my daughter in the ballet classes they have here." Catherine said, drying her hands. She took out her make-up bag and began to apply her mascara.
Krissy eyed the CSI. "Did you use to dance?" When Catherine nodded, Krissy smiled. "I can tell, you have a dancer's body." She let her eyes trail up the woman's slender yet muscular legs, well toned hips, slim waist.
Catherine smiled. "Except I wasn't exactly in your line of expertise." She chuckled.
Krissy took out her lipstick and touched it up. "Do you have a kleenex?" She asked Catherine, while checking her teeth in the mirror for any smudges.
Catherine smiled as Krissy snatched the kleenex from her hand, and placing it between her lips, pressed down on it, relieving herself of any excess colour or crumbs.
"Have a good day." Krissy called out, tossing the kleenex into the toilet and heading out of the bathroom.
Catherine bolted into the stall and quickly snapped on a glove. She gingerly picked up the kleenex from the toilet bowl, thankful that the kleenex had not absorbed the water completely. She also prayed a word of thanks for having let Krissy throw the kleenex lipstick-side-up.
***
Catherine walked into the lab, grinning. Gil met her at the door, a perplexed look dawned upon his face. "Where have you been?" He asked, his brow slightly furrowed.
She smiled. ". . . went fishing." She commented, tossing the wet kleenex in his direction.
"What?" Gil thanked his reflexes for not making an ass of himself, as he caught it, water sloshing around. He grimaced and looked back at her. "Catherine?" He started to follow her, still cupping the soaked kleenex. He spotted a new lab tech passing by and called him over. "Here." He distractedly gave it to him, and followed his muse.
The lab tech stood there confused, not moving, unsure of what actions to take.
Gil poked his head out. "Just dispose of it." He shook his head and returned to Catherine.
***
Greg turned and pushed, causing his chair to roll just beside Gil. "Nice shade. Yours?" He raised his eyebrow playfully, holding the lipstick-stained piece of tissue that Catherine had given him.
"Greg." His name was a warning, not a hint of humour on Gil's lips.
The young lab tech gave a sheepish grin to Catherine and started processing the DNA.
Gil turned to Catherine with a smirk. "Good work. I guess running off on your own paid off." He turned to Greg. "Call me when you find something."
Catherine watched her supervisor leave and then looked at Greg, who wiggled his eyebrows at her. She sighed, opting to follow her leader. "See you later, Greggo."
***
Catherine found Gil already in his office, a case file open in front of him. She noticed his smile, and narrowed her eyes. "So . . . " she plopped down on his couch.
He looked up at her, then at the door she had closed behind. His eyes focused on the lock and he quirked an eyebrow up. He closed the folder and folded his arms on the desk. "We can keep this professional." He stated, assuming that he answered her question. He shrugged. "It never happened, we can put it past us." He chewed on his lower lip, hoping that was the solution she wanted to hear, thus being able to put the awkwardness behind them and continue on with their friendship, at least he could salvage that.
Catherine just stared at him, forcing herself to take in what he had just said. She just nodded her head, swallowing a bitter lump that had formed in her throat. "Works for me." She replied, trying to mask her emotions. «I guess he's made up his mind.» She thought to herself, her broken heart causing a sting in her eye. She got up and nodded, heading towards the door. She tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. Already feeling vulnerable from his obvious rejection, she pounded the door with her fist, cursing under her breath. The tears were trying to escape.
Gil eyed her curiously, his head cocked to the side. He got up and strolled behind her, standing facing her back. Her shoulders were shaking ever so slightly, but his observational skills, keen as they were, picked up on the minute up-and-down movement, complemented by a few short inhalations.
Catherine felt him behind her, felt his aura mingle with hers, creating this safe haven that she wanted to wrap around her shoulders. She felt him reach out for her, and her skin seemed to tingle with anticipation at the warmth his skin would bring to hers.
*click*
She glanced down, seeing his hand withdrawing from the lock, leaving it open, almost tempting her to walk out of this office and away from him. She lifted her eyes to his, wanting him to stop her from making a mistake. Wanting him to reassure her that everything will work out, that their friendship will only but blossom in the next level. Wanting him to help her heart win the losing battle with her mind. Wanting him to want her again.
—TBC—
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K
TYPE: GCR (what else?)
RATING: R (some sexual themes)
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
SUMMARY: Classical dance can be a very competitive sport.
NOTES: Okay, one more chapter to go after this one - please bear with me.
Cheers!
---------------
Catherine and Gil sat in front of Krissy Samson, a table dividing the two sides. Jim paced, blending in to the background of the cold, grey walls. "This better be worth my rehearsal time - we're opening next week." Krissy huffed.
"Have you ever smelt something so bad that you actually became afraid of the source?" Gil asked cryptically. He observed her; the way her eyes roamed to the left, her jaw tight. "What did you do about that smell, Krissy?"
She looked away, fidgeting in her chair. "I called animal control, I figured I had vermin in the attic. I'm terrified of mice and rats, so I have never ventured up there." There was a look of pure terror on her face, and the shudder did not go unoticed by the team. "They never found anything, so I just opted to mask the smell as much as possible." She looked at all three of them and blurted out, "hey, it was either that or move!" She sat back in her chair. "Besides, you get used to it after awhile."
Catherine tossed a folder in front of Krissy, the pictures spilling out. "This is what was causing the smell." She stated in a monotonous voice.
Krissy's eyes grew wide. "Who - who is that?"
"We were hoping that you'd tell us." Jim piped in. Krissy just shrugged, her eyes disengaging the pictures.
"The chromosomes are XX, meaning that the victim was female. The coroner estimates her time of death around four years ago." Catherine informed the suspect. "We're thinking that you're brother didn't dissapear but rather went into hiding."
"Jarod would never do that!" Krissy shrieked. "How dare you bring him into this mess!"
"We also found something else." Gil began, always keeping his eye on the Krissy, dying to vision her reaction. "Before we found out that the chromosomes were XX, we ran Jarod's DNA against the Jane Doe, thinking that the body might be his."
"Yeah?" Krissy took a sip of water, her hand shaking so violently that water dribbled down her chin and on to the table.
"The victim and Jarod share 8 relating markers." Gil put it bluntly. "Meaning, they're related."
"What?" It was a hoarse whisper.
"Do you have any sisters, or aunts maybe, that had dissapeared or died?" Catherine asked.
Krissy shook her head. "I have to go." She got up, taking the cup of water with her. "I have rehearsals."
"We were thinking that the Jane Doe was your competition. Normally, you aren't too phazed by that, but she gave you quite the run. So Jarod, your guardian, sees you in a dill of a pickle and helps you . . . any way he can." Catherine watched the girl at the door. "That's why he ran."
"And now he's back." Gil added.
Jim stopped her at the door. "How about some DNA, huh?" He asked, fake sweetness slapping her in the face.
Krissy looked at the swab that was held captive between his index finger and thumb. "No, not without a lawyer." She exited the room, leaving behind a group of confused CSIs.
"So. . ." Jim turned around, tossing the swab on the table. "What do you guys think?"
"We need that DNA sample." Gil said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Do you have anything on Jarod?" Catherine asked Jim. They had been through file after file from the case review, but had come up empty handed. Her last hope lay with the captain.
Jim shrugged. "Actually, before his dissapearance, he underwent some cosmetic surgery, though they didn't specify what."
"My guess, liposuction." Catherine shook her head. "Maybe he wanted to get back into the game." Catherine offered.
"Either way, due to doctor-patient priveledges, and the fact that Jarod Samson is not deceased since no body was ever recovered, we won't be able to obtain the information." Gil said, his eyes closed. Exhaustion was creeping up on him, having pulled double-shifts for two nights in a row.
"He could have killed her and gotten a nose job or something." Jim said, on his way out the door. "Hell, he could be right under our noses and we wouldn't even know it." He chuckled at the cliché.
Catherine stood up and began to leave.
"Where are you going?" Gil asked, his eyes still closed, his body slouching in the chair. His hands were laced right above the nape of his neck, creating a make-shift pillow.
"Working a hunch." She threw over her shoulder and exited, feeling his eyes on her. She stepped into her car and drove to the Nevada Ballet Theatre.
***
Stepping inside the Theatre, she witnessed Krissy strolling casually into the women's changing room. Catherine decided to make a pit-stop herself. She stopped to admire a few photos, thus making her actions less suspicious and finally reached her destination. As she pushed open the swinging door, she heard toilet flush. She placed herself in front of the mirrors and began to wash her hands.
"This is considered harassement." Krissy spat out, lathering the soap in her hands.
"I'm not here on business, I'm actually considering enrolling my daughter in the ballet classes they have here." Catherine said, drying her hands. She took out her make-up bag and began to apply her mascara.
Krissy eyed the CSI. "Did you use to dance?" When Catherine nodded, Krissy smiled. "I can tell, you have a dancer's body." She let her eyes trail up the woman's slender yet muscular legs, well toned hips, slim waist.
Catherine smiled. "Except I wasn't exactly in your line of expertise." She chuckled.
Krissy took out her lipstick and touched it up. "Do you have a kleenex?" She asked Catherine, while checking her teeth in the mirror for any smudges.
Catherine smiled as Krissy snatched the kleenex from her hand, and placing it between her lips, pressed down on it, relieving herself of any excess colour or crumbs.
"Have a good day." Krissy called out, tossing the kleenex into the toilet and heading out of the bathroom.
Catherine bolted into the stall and quickly snapped on a glove. She gingerly picked up the kleenex from the toilet bowl, thankful that the kleenex had not absorbed the water completely. She also prayed a word of thanks for having let Krissy throw the kleenex lipstick-side-up.
***
Catherine walked into the lab, grinning. Gil met her at the door, a perplexed look dawned upon his face. "Where have you been?" He asked, his brow slightly furrowed.
She smiled. ". . . went fishing." She commented, tossing the wet kleenex in his direction.
"What?" Gil thanked his reflexes for not making an ass of himself, as he caught it, water sloshing around. He grimaced and looked back at her. "Catherine?" He started to follow her, still cupping the soaked kleenex. He spotted a new lab tech passing by and called him over. "Here." He distractedly gave it to him, and followed his muse.
The lab tech stood there confused, not moving, unsure of what actions to take.
Gil poked his head out. "Just dispose of it." He shook his head and returned to Catherine.
***
Greg turned and pushed, causing his chair to roll just beside Gil. "Nice shade. Yours?" He raised his eyebrow playfully, holding the lipstick-stained piece of tissue that Catherine had given him.
"Greg." His name was a warning, not a hint of humour on Gil's lips.
The young lab tech gave a sheepish grin to Catherine and started processing the DNA.
Gil turned to Catherine with a smirk. "Good work. I guess running off on your own paid off." He turned to Greg. "Call me when you find something."
Catherine watched her supervisor leave and then looked at Greg, who wiggled his eyebrows at her. She sighed, opting to follow her leader. "See you later, Greggo."
***
Catherine found Gil already in his office, a case file open in front of him. She noticed his smile, and narrowed her eyes. "So . . . " she plopped down on his couch.
He looked up at her, then at the door she had closed behind. His eyes focused on the lock and he quirked an eyebrow up. He closed the folder and folded his arms on the desk. "We can keep this professional." He stated, assuming that he answered her question. He shrugged. "It never happened, we can put it past us." He chewed on his lower lip, hoping that was the solution she wanted to hear, thus being able to put the awkwardness behind them and continue on with their friendship, at least he could salvage that.
Catherine just stared at him, forcing herself to take in what he had just said. She just nodded her head, swallowing a bitter lump that had formed in her throat. "Works for me." She replied, trying to mask her emotions. «I guess he's made up his mind.» She thought to herself, her broken heart causing a sting in her eye. She got up and nodded, heading towards the door. She tried to open it, but it wouldn't budge. Already feeling vulnerable from his obvious rejection, she pounded the door with her fist, cursing under her breath. The tears were trying to escape.
Gil eyed her curiously, his head cocked to the side. He got up and strolled behind her, standing facing her back. Her shoulders were shaking ever so slightly, but his observational skills, keen as they were, picked up on the minute up-and-down movement, complemented by a few short inhalations.
Catherine felt him behind her, felt his aura mingle with hers, creating this safe haven that she wanted to wrap around her shoulders. She felt him reach out for her, and her skin seemed to tingle with anticipation at the warmth his skin would bring to hers.
*click*
She glanced down, seeing his hand withdrawing from the lock, leaving it open, almost tempting her to walk out of this office and away from him. She lifted her eyes to his, wanting him to stop her from making a mistake. Wanting him to reassure her that everything will work out, that their friendship will only but blossom in the next level. Wanting him to help her heart win the losing battle with her mind. Wanting him to want her again.
—TBC—