Sky & Microscope
Disclaimer: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation belongs to someone else entirely.
Chapter 6
"What the..." A string of invective reached Grissom's ears as he lay, stunned and winded, on his back on the gritty desert floor. Squinting awkwardly he moved his head slowly from left to right and back again but couldn't see who might be speaking.
"Hey, whoever you are has nobody ever told you to mess around at a crime scene?"
The voice which wasn't totally clear but was obviously very angry seemed to be coming from the ground somewhere near Grissom's feet. Managing to raise his head a little he tried to move his legs slightly so he could see past the toes of his work boots. As he did so there was a rattling sound and a shooting pain that made him gasp and hold himself still again.
"Right, that's it," was the voice's response, as Grissom let his head drop back to the ground and tried to breathe through the spasm his movement had created. Letting out a moan he closed his eyes. This was going to be horribly embarrassing.
Several minutes seemed to pass while Grissom tried to get his breath and composure back. The shock of his fall had disoriented him enough for him to wonder if he'd dreamt the angry voice he'd thought he'd heard or, worse still, if he was beginning to have auditory hallucinations, something that he'd discovered was known to happen to some people who were in the process of losing their hearing. Even if the voice had been real, the anger in it meant there was no guarantee that its owner intended to investigate further. Taking a steadying breath Grissom decided that it was time to attempt to move again, to try and assess his injuries and check out whether his radio had survived the accident in working order. Before he could quite build up enough courage though, he heard a new voice, male this time; and coming from a new direction somewhere behind his head.
"Gil! Gil! Are you OK?"
"Hey, Jim," Grissom responded, wincing as he took a deeper breath in order to call out. Tilting his head backwards awkwardly he attempted to spot Brass' approach. His response should reassure his friend that he was at least conscious, but he didn't actually answer the detective's question because he wasn't yet sure for himself if he was alright.
Footsteps rapidly approached and Jim made a welcome appearance in Grissom's field of view, albeit at an unfamiliar angle.
"So what have you been up to?" Brass asked, raising an eyebrow. His tone was light but Grissom could see his friend's eyes scanning rapidly over him in an attempt to assess the situation.
"Fell." Grissom said, tersely.
Jim's expression said 'tell me something I didn't know,' but he didn't voice the words aloud. Instead he hunkered down beside the CSI.
"That's it, you just fell?"
Grissom nodded silently, to add to his embarrassment he could feel that his cheeks were beginning to glow red, which only made him blush harder.
"Do you have any idea what went through my head when, after Sara came storming up to me and told me to deal with whichever of my officers was messing up her crime scene, I checked around and realised that not only was the only person up here was you, who definitely wouldn't cause any problems at a crime scene if you could help it, and that you weren't responding to my radio calls?" Brass' voice became almost as strident as Sara's had been as he continued. The anxiety he'd obviously felt now converted to frustration now that he had established that this wasn't going to be a repeat of the Holly Gribbs incident.
"Sorry, Jim," Grissom apologised, "this was my own fault, just plain clumsiness."
"Yeah, well now I've got my men doing another head count to check that none of our suspect pool decided to sneak away and do you a mischief." Jim had continued to visually scan Grissom for signs of injury while he talked and it seemed that something he was seeing was making his anger dissipate. "Well, I guess it's a good exercise for the guys to double check that we really do have confirmed IDs and addresses for everyone; this thing may be due to go on for another few days but there'll be some folk who want to head home after what's happened, especially when they realise that the DB is going to be left sitting around a few hundred yards away; strange as it may seem to you the presence of a corpse can really spoil a party's atmosphere, even when it's a 'star party'. I need to know I can track people down later if and when you science guys tell me this is an official homicide investigation."
"And what about their statements?"
"We're taking them but confirming peoples' alleged locations through the night are going to be a real pain; in the dark it's pretty hard to be sure who saw who, where and at what time. The ones who do feel able to confirm each other's alibis have been friends for a while and without any independent confirmations I don't know how far to trust what they say. Right now, though, that's not exactly my priority."
Grissom looked confused, but Bass just looked back at him with one eyebrow raised pointedly until Grissom realised he was referring to the fact that, as they talked, one of them was lying flat on his back on the ground. Grissom had the good sense to look abashed; as happened a lot with him, he'd allowed himself to get lost in his work to avoid dealing with something that was causing him discomfort; it was just that on this occasion his unease was entirely physical. Brass' comment about not being able to get a hold of him had raised strong suspicions about what might be the cause of that pain, now he just needed to confirm his idea and get moving again.
"You think you could help me sit up, Jim?" he asked.
Brass wrinkled his brow, he seemed concerned. Grissom followed the other man's eye line, Jim seemed to be focussing somewhere near his right hip. Still unable to comfortably raise his head enough to see what Jim was looking at, he did what he'd been nervous of doing earlier and moved his hand down to explore the area by touch. He couldn't quite reach the spot that was causing him the most pain, because it was underneath him, but he was able to feel something. His hand touched something wet and when he raised it enough to see his fingers they were red. Damn, came his first thought, I've contaminated the scene.
"I called for EMTs as soon as I realised you were down," Brass tried to reassure him, although the last thing Grissom wanted to hear about was a possible ambulance trip, "but it's gonna take them a while to get here unless I call back and insist on an air evacuation. Actually that might be the best thing considering you're up here above road level."
Grissom was about to interrupt and stop Brass from calling on precious resources before they had a better idea what was actually necessary when another, slightly hesitant, voice broke in on Jim's musings.
"Maybe I can help work out how much help is needed?"
Grissom craned his head to see around Brass. David Phillips was standing there, holding the larger than average green first aid case that normally travelled in the Coroner's Department van. The senior CSI smiled in relief, he was pretty confident that his injuries, while painful, were not serious and he certainly wasn't eager to lie where he was any longer than he absolutely had to.
Brass seemed to be in two minds about accepting the bespectacled young man's help, even though he must realise that if Grissom was still bleeding the cause needed to be dealt with quickly.
"I'm not sure he's ready for the coroner's department's services yet," Brass joked to cover his hesitation but even if David missed his reluctance, Grissom didn't.
"Thanks, David," Grissom called out, making the decision to accept the help offered for himself. People tended to forget that the unassuming young man had already been a fully qualified MD with a hospital rotation behind him before he was even allowed to begin training with Doc Robbins. Grissom suspected that it was David's natural diffidence that had made him decide to follow his choice of medical career path. When you're a little shy the dead are much easier to cope with than the living, something Grissom knew from his own experience, although age had brought confidence in his case, at least when he was dealing with people as part of his work.
Brass continued to hover until Grissom asked him to arrange for a little privacy. If David had already managed to find out that his medical skills were required then the news of his accident was probably spreading like wild fire amongst the LVPD team at the site and having all of those people who could find an excuse to come up here and gawp at him in this condition wouldn't do much for his reputation as a serious criminologist, especially as he had a horrible feeling that for David to examine him properly he was probably going to have to lose his pants. Brass reluctantly hesitated and then started to move away, allowing the assistant coroner to take his place at Grissom's side. Just before leaving he touched David on his shoulder to get his attention.
"Check out his head will you? It's his most valuable asset in the first place and I'm pretty sure he knocked himself out for a few minutes; I was calling out to him for a while before he moved or responded."
Now Grissom understood the level of Brass' reaction better. While he was quite sure that he hadn't actually hit his head or lost consciousness it was quite possible that his hearing had cut out for a short while and prevented him from noticing Jim calling at first. Of course that left him with a dilemma; he didn't want to get caught up in unnecessary restrictions because of some imaginary possibility of concussion, but he didn't want to take the risk of telling David the more likely reason why he hadn't reacted either. Even if he managed to convince David that the revelation ought to be covered by doctor-patient confidentiality, time and a guilty conscience would almost certainly result in Doc Robbins being brought in on the secret and, while Al would be sympathetic and unlikely to go to the powers that be behind Grissom's back, unless he thought the situation was affecting the chances of one of the morgue's 'clients' getting justice, he would also put pressure on him to 'do the right thing' and inform his bosses that he was losing the ability to continue doing his job; something that Grissom wanted to put off until he felt ready to do so, which in practice would probably be at around about the time when he could no longer successfully conceal the problem.
"Jim's worrying over nothing, David," Grissom said, "I know I didn't hit my head and I've certainly been aware since the moment of impact, but every time I try to move I get a lot of pain. That's why I haven't been moving around much, but if I did happen to shift slightly just before Jim shouted I might not have heard him while I tried to breathe through a spasm." Yes, that sounded plausible, it might even be the real explanation of events. He hadn't noticed any of the signs that occasionally accompanied his hearing deafness like whistling or ringing noises or a feeling of pressure. Grissom was well on the way to convincing himself that this explanation was true, he just hoped that David would accept the story as well.
"Well, if you're sure," David said, apparently happy to accept the word of someone he was still a little in awe of in spite of Grissom's attempts to be more approachable. Slipping on a pair of latex gloves, David briefly looked back over his shoulder in the direction Brass had headed, he clearly didn't want to get into trouble with the detective captain. "How about you just let me have a quick check for any obvious contusions? I don't want to get a lecture from Doc Robbins for not being thorough enough if something shows up later."
Grissom rolled his eyes but tolerated David's fingertips as they gently explored his scalp and the back of his neck.
"So what exactly did happen?"
Grissom was tempted to repeat the terse answer he'd given to Brass earlier, but he knew that his response would guide David's examination and by steering the coroner's assistant directly to the real site of the problem he would hopefully be able to get up off the hard floor fairly soon and, with a bit of luck, put an end to all this talk of EMTs, he'd had quite enough for one day already and the possibility of coming across Sara's new beau under the current circumstances was more than he even wanted to think about right now. Dignified was the way he'd imagined being when he next met the man he now knew to be lucky enough to be dating Sara, and dignified was the last word he'd use to describe the way things looked right now.
"My foot skidded and I tried to save the evidence instead of myself," he admitted. "I landed flat on my ass. Now every time I try to raise myself up or move my legs into a new position I get a stabbing pain in back of my right hip. From what Captain Brass was saying just now I think I may have landed on my radio. I think you better help me roll over so you can check out what sustained the most damage; it or me."
"OK." David nodded and sat back on his haunches, apparently satisfied by his fingertip examination that Grissom's skull and senses were still intact. "There's some blood around but not enough for serious concern, so that probably means that nothing has gone in too deep and clotting has already begun. Let's just hope that moving you doesn't open anything up. It might be easiest if we roll you, but before that do you mind if I try feeling your legs? Just to be sure no other injuries have been missed."
Grissom agreed because it was a sensible request. After asking to be told if Grissom felt any pain or, alternatively, any areas of numbness, David began gently feeling down each of Grissom's legs.
"He's usually unarmed," Brass said dryly, returning from reassigning his men away from the immediate area, "even when I tell him he should be."
"Actually I'm checking to see..." David began, but broke off and smiled politely when he realised that Jim was joking about having caught him apparently patting Grissom down for weapons.
"So how's the damage assessment coming along?"
"No signs of head injury or obvious broken bones," reported David as he completed his checks. "I just need to see what's causing the bleeding. Doctor Grissom says his hip's hurting badly enough to make him wary of moving, so maybe you could help me roll him on his side so I can take a proper look."
"You OK with that buddy?"
Grissom showed his consent and then waited while David and Brass organized themselves to perform a log roll on him. He'd assist them as much as he could, but he wouldn't be able to use his legs to do so without causing himself a lot of pain and possibly more damage, so his colleagues would have to do most of the work. David gave the countdown and, with another sharp twinge and the sound of shifting gravel, Grissom was lying on his side. He winced and tried to regain his composure and, as he did so, he once again thought he heard a muffled voice. Was it Sara again? He still wasn't quite sure how she was managing to react so quickly every time he moved. Or was it one of the two men, commenting on his injury while he was unable to work out what they were saying because his hearing was playing up again? Even though it wasn't failing completely that often, yet anyway, his oncoming deafness was always on his mind and his first thought whenever he couldn't quite make out what was being said to him. The possibility was rapidly ruled out though when the radio that was attached to the belt of Jim Brass, who was currently kneeling just behind Grissom's head, came loudly to life right beside his ear. After checking that Grissom could maintain his new position on his side without help, Brass wandered off a little way to respond, his first words confirming that it was indeed Sara once again.
"So, what can you see, David?" Grissom asked, trying not to imagine Sara's reaction when Jim informed her of what was going on above her head.
"You were right about your radio, it did get a little squashed and I think you must have slid a little ways after you landed too, the door of the battery compartment and a couple of bits of circuit board have gotten stuck to your jeans and might have gone through into you also. I think I can pull them out, Sir, if that's OK with you and then I'm going to need to take a look underneath your pants, I think they'll only need to come down a little bit, but I, err... Anyway pulling those bits of radio out might hurt a bit, especially if just moving around has been so painful for you." The hesitancy and the return to addressing Grissom as 'Sir' betrayed David's nervousness at having to deal with such a personal part of his respected colleague's anatomy.
"It's OK, David, I trust you. If it helps don't think of me as Gil Grissom, just pretend I'm a DB you're pulling some bits of evidence out of."
"Thanks, Sir, I'll try, but with the patients I usually deal with I don't have to worry about hurting them or making them bleed too much."
"Yes, well, I'm tougher than I probably look from the angle you're currently seeing me and, unless I've forgotten my anatomy, there are no major arteries in the spot you're looking at right now either. You won't do me any more damage than I've done to myself already, so let's get this over with, OK?"
David's touch was as delicate as he'd expected, but Grissom was still glad that the coroner's assistant was behind him and Brass otherwise occupied so that no-one would notice the grimaces he was making in order to stop himself from crying out. His tenderness made him realise that it was important to check out what was causing him to be sorer than the few bits of debris that had penetrated his pants would explain, so he was more resigned and prepared for the situation than David seemed to be by the time they were ready to proceed to the next stage.
Pushing himself up on one elbow so that he could undo his belt and fly enabling David to gently manoeuvre his jeans down and reveal the damage sustained by his backside, Grissom was finally able to get a good look at the position in which he'd ended up. He now realised that somehow in his spiral path out from where his equipment marked the well camouflaged hole in the ground he'd gotten himself turned around and had been taking a route back to his case that would have directly crossed the opening. If he'd been a matter of inches closer when he slipped he might have fallen through. His physical bulk would probably have stopped him going all the way down the hole but their DB, Kate Barlow, was far more petite. In the dark of last night had she got even closer before, like him, she had lost her footing on the loose grit and had she tumbled through like Alice down the rabbit hole? If she had then her injuries had clearly not been immediately fatal or even very disabling, because Kate had apparently been trying to climb back out of the hole, unaware that there was a ground level exit just feet away. The effort or movement involved in the ascent might then have aggravated some hidden injury, resulting in Kate's death. It was a viable hypothesis for an accidental death, but somehow Grissom felt dissatisfied, he just needed to put a finger on why and come up with something that might either prove or disprove his theory.
But not right now. Grissom's eyes widened, clearly David had taken his suggestion that he imagine Grissom was a DB a little too much to heart and forgotten that with a living patient it was helpful to give a warning before starting to clean a wound. That antiseptic stung!
David stopped working instantly at Grissom's stifled gasp, but the injured CSI insisted he continue the wound would have to be cleaned up in order to asses it. As soon as David was done with that Grissom asked him to report.
"It's just an, err, soft tissue injury. You'll have a unique pattern of bruising and maybe an interesting weave design scar," David's enthusiasm for discovering how the body reacted to being damaged overcame him for a moment before he realised that he was talking to Grissom about his own body, not discussing a case over a mortuary slab, "not that anyone will get to see it of course, I mean, not unless you... err. Well, anyway, your jeans seem to have kept the worst of the dirt out and stopped nearly every layer of your dermis being turned completely into uncooked hamburger," he said in a voice that the flesh was pretty raw even so, "it's lucky you were wearing them."
"So Jim can call and cancel my transport to hospital."
"Well, I suppose I could dress it, but, you know your jeans did get cut through in a couple of places, you should really have the wound checked over more closely for foreign bodies and then dressed properly."
"So you do it."
There was an uncertain pause.
"There's an illuminated magnifier in my kit, use that. I know you've got a light touch and an eye for detail and we've gotten this far without anaesthetic. Do your best then stick a thick bandage over the top, I'm up to date with my shots," he had to be in his job, "and I promise to see my own doctor if there are any signs of infection later."
Because Jim was now walking back towards him, Grissom asked him to grab the large aluminium case which held his kit and bring it over with him.
"I know you're a top grade CSI, Gil, but I'm surprised that even you would be trying to collect evidence while lying in that position." Brass sounded like he was joking, but looked as though he half thought his words might turn out to be true.
"Actually the kit's for David."
"You have evidence stuck to your hiney?"
"Like you just said, even my evidence gathering powers don't extend that far. David's going to borrow my magnifier so he can clean and dress my wound properly instead of just doing an emergency patch up. Apparently all I've gotten is a glorified scrape in a place that's a bit more awkward than my knee, so you can call off those EMTs before they get any further out of town and get them back on call for some genuine emergency."
"Would you agree with that?" Brass looked to David for confirmation.
David, now peering at Grissom's behind through the large illuminated lens, nodded distractedly.
"I think I can patch him up well enough for now, and I'm sure Doctor Grissom is more aware than most of what symptoms he should look out for and see his own doctor about if they happen, but he'll be pretty sore moving or sitting for a while, so maybe an ambulance would be the best way of getting him back to Vegas."
It took Grissom a moment to give his response to this suggestion, because David was now using a pair of sterile, disposable forceps from his first aid kit to extract a tiny piece of grit from Grissom's raw flesh. Once he'd finished wincing he spoke.
"I'm not using an ambulance as a cab service. I'm sure we can figure a way of getting me comfortable in my CSI van, and it is your turn to drive us back, Jim. If that doesn't work then I'll hitch a lift with David in the Coroner's van, I could lie on the gurney in there if necessary, couldn't I David?"
"I guess so," David didn't sound so sure, "I suppose we are going to be driving back empty, we're just hanging around waiting for now, when I finally got through to the Doc he accepted our decision for the DB to stay where she is right now, but she's the responsibility of the coroner's department from now 'til she's released to her family, so someone from the department needs to keep an eye on her at all times, I'm just waiting for some day shift guys to relieve me and my team."
"OK, I'll cancel the bus if you're both sure it's not needed for medical purposes," Brass decided, remembering the frustrations of non-urgent 'emergency' call-outs from his days as a uniformed officer, "we'll figure out your transport arrangements after David's done and we've got you up on your feet. I can probably be ready to leave fairly quickly; I'll just need to brief the baby-sitters who'll be keeping an eye on things until tonight."
"I'll need to brief Sara too," Grissom said, "there are a couple of things I wanted to do before leaving and she'll need to get the evidence we've found back to the lab and processing underway, something I told her I'd take care of." Grissom sighed, yet another reason for Sara to get annoyed, not something he wanted to deal with right now.
"Speaking of Sara," said Brass, slowly and a little reluctantly, "she's on her way up here."
Grissom looked alarmed; thankfully his boxers were loose enough that David was managing to treat him without having lowered them as well as his jeans, but that didn't mean he wanted Sara to see him like this. There were already times when it was difficult to get Sara to respect his position as shift leader without her having caught him literally with his pants down.
Brass seemed contrite. "I did try and dissuade her," apparently Grissom's wasn't the only authority Sara was prepared to ignore, "but the best I could do was to delay her by asking her to fetch some coveralls for you to change into, your pants are pretty messed up and I figured they'd be looser and more comfortable for you to wear." Looking at Grissom's expression Brass took pity on him. "I'll try to head her off at the pass." He said before heading back towards the path Sara would probably take.
All Grissom could do was close his eyes and hope that David would finish up soon.
