Disclaimer: CSI: isn't mine.

For all other disclaimers and warnings please see the Author's Note at the beginning of Chapter 1.

Chapter 14

The Lowest Price

Grissom didn't know whether to laugh or cry so, to save himself from making the decision, he was doing both. He had been thoroughly hoist by his own petard. Grissom knew that a 'petard' was, in fact, a mediaeval explosive device, so that the adage literally meant to be blown up by one's own bomb, and he had been. Into tiny pieces. He giggled a little, noticing how it hurt the lump that was stuck deep in his throat.

He thought he'd been really clever when he came up with the idea, which just went to show how badly his brain was treating him these days. Another tear slid down his cheek to moisten his hated goatee beard.

Here he was, curled up in ball, or the nearest to it he could get right now, desperately wanting to see David Hodges when he visited later that day, (he sniggered a little at that thought), and crying because he knew he wouldn't get to do so. A peculiar noise escaped his heavily bandaged chest, half sob, half snort of laughter.

God, he'd thought he was smart, thought he'd found a way to beat the system. His plan had had a fatal flaw, and he'd spotted it far too late, once he'd already been caught in the trap. He sniffed deeply and roughly eradicated another teardrop with the heel of his hand.

Hoist by his own petard.

When he'd seen Jim Brass four days ago it had seemed to be working so well. He had to admit that he'd misled Jim a little. Although Gil had read the prisoner's handbook that had been included in his 'Welcome Pack' several times, there was nothing in that to tell him that regulations required a minimum of four guards to take part when moving a prisoner forcibly, he'd actually found that out two days before Jim's visit.

It had been the morning after he'd been returned to his own cell from a night in the jail's hospital wing, a precaution taken after he was knocked unconscious during the assault on him. He was being taken down to the shower block because he'd missed the shower he had been due to have the previous day. Gil was anxious about being cuffed at first, but at least his hands had been locked in front of him, and he'd managed to talk himself out of his fear. His guards had held him less tightly too, allowing him to edge along at his own pace, favouring his aching ribs. Then things had all gone wrong. Gil had heard footsteps approaching from his blind side. Panic had swept in and his mouth had gone instantly dry. He'd come to an abrupt halt as he tried to turn his head far enough to check out the perceived danger and, when his escort attempted to move him on, he'd found himself frozen to the spot.

He couldn't persuade his legs to move him forward, but nor could he turn around and head back to his cell when his guards told him to do that. Grissom had learnt what it meant to be literally petrified by fear that day. All he could do was stand and shake his head as the world around him went grey and there was a roaring in his ears. He couldn't even speak to explain how he was feeling, because he was convinced that, if he opened his mouth, he would vomit. Eventually one of his guards had radioed for assistance, and that was when he'd discovered the four man rule. He'd also found out how much it hurt to be picked up and carried while nursing cracked ribs.

Gil tried to ease his position. He wanted to hold himself like this for the comfort, but it wasn't helping his physical injuries. The soft tissue of his face was healing well, but his ribs would take a while longer. He was lucky they had not been completely broken, he just didn't feel lucky. Of course neither laughing nor crying helped, both jolted him more than was comfortable, but he couldn't seem to stop and the fact that he was fully aware that he was becoming hysterical only made it worse.

The problem was that his 'strategy' worked fine, when it was applied to something that mattered to his jailors. They'd played along to get him back to the hospital wing for check-ups, which involved keeping paperwork in order. They'd moved real fast to accommodate him when the Warden had summoned 'Price' to his office as part of the investigation into the attack. When LVPD had requested an interview with their prisoner they'd been eager to oblige and, if that meant agreeing to Grissom's plea for an extra escort, they would. The problem arose when it came to things that the prison officers didn't care about.

Exercise was considered a privilege. If Grissom wouldn't go to the yard without a fuss, then he simply wouldn't go to the yard. To be honest he could live without the two sessions a week out there, even if he did miss the fresh air. Not having showers was a problem. Normally he would be taken for one every other day, but right now he hadn't had one since before he was injured. He wasn't unclean, he strip washed thoroughly with a flannel every day at the sink in his cell and, with his hair as short as it currently was, he could wash that with the cloth too, but it wasn't the same as standing under a stream of running water. Of course he was always offered the chance to shower, so his failure to take advantage of it was his problem. In fact if he missed one more it would trigger a similar process to that caused by missing too many meals. That could cause problems for him. A physical examination would find no reason for him not to shower and the head psychologist couldn't help him because she was on leave, which meant their regular sessions were on hiatus. Grissom had seen another psychologist after the attack, but Gil hadn't felt safe enough to answer questions about why he believed the attack had happened or why he felt he was likely to be targeted again. In the end he'd just stayed silent, which had been easy enough with the pain he was under at the time. Unfortunately the same tactic would not work if he was being assessed to see if he had a genuine reason not to shower. Failure to prove that would mean punishment. Withdrawal of the few privileges he had, including most of the personal items in his cell, would not exactly help Gil's situation.

Again Grissom found himself giggling. He never giggled. He rarely laughed out loud at all, and giggling was what teen-aged girls did, wasn't it, not fifty-odd year old men? But then, grown men weren't supposed to cry so hard their pillows got soggy either.

If making sure their charge exercised and washed wasn't important enough for his guards to find one more officer to escort him, then they wouldn't care at all how far David had driven through the desert to see him. What would it matter to them if he saw his visitor or not?

And they really didn't care.

Until all this had happened Grissom's strategy for survival in prison had been to keep his head down and follow orders. It had mainly come about because he couldn't be bothered to care enough to argue about anything, plus it wasn't in his nature to cause trouble for troubles sake, but it had its advantages. His guards hadn't known what to make of him. The crime he was convicted of and his instant commitment to segregation had led them to expect one sort of inmate, but his behaviour was that of another type entirely. Gradually his meek, polite and non-confrontational manner had won them over. Maybe not to the point of earning him great favour, but at least it had created a slightly more relaxed, almost amicable, atmosphere to their dealings with him.

That was gone now, and Gil couldn't be entirely sure if it was because they believed that he was being deliberately obstructive, or because rumours had reached them of whom he really was and why he'd been attacked.

Hoist by his own petard.

The problem was that, just as would have been true if he'd really blown himself to pieces, there was no going back.

It wasn't pride, he'd lost any of that along with his job and, he suspected, his mind.

It wasn't obstinacy. He'd always been prepared to give up on a theory if further evidence proved it erroneous. Now there was a funny word, he grinned to himself; although his vision was blurred by moisture.

Some of it, he admitted, was because he knew that if he accepted a two man escort for one thing, he'd lose any claim that he had a psychological reason for his actions and invite punishment if he tried to push for a larger escort in the future.

The reasons behind his actions were logical, he had real reasons to be afraid, and the more he had time to think about it, to have nightmares about it, the more afraid he became. The more afraid he became the more he realised that behaving like this was no longer merely a way of getting a bigger escort. It had become true. The time he'd frozen might have been a one off, a perfectly normal reaction immediately after his attack, especially combined with his limited vision at the time. Now it had become a conviction. Grissom genuinely believed that, without a minimum of three men with him, he literally could no longer leave his cell. Certainly not on his own two feet.

Hoist by his own petard.

More laughter shook Grissom's battered chest as a new thought occurred to him. Maybe he'd beaten the system after all. If he had become agoraphobic then surely being in prison was a blessing, not a punishment. Yet, he had become like this because he was in prison. Now if that wasn't irony, then Grissom didn't know what was.

But he didn't want to be agoraphobic.

He wanted to see David. He needed to see David. He had to try. If he could just get to the visiting area and back without incident then maybe he'd be OK. Maybe then he'd manage to get a shower too. Even if it all went wrong, maybe the guys escorting him would see his fear was genuine, that he wasn't doing this deliberately. Maybe, he thought, in a way the old Grissom never would have, maybe, they'll take pity on me.

The urge to laugh died suddenly and Gil was left only with the tears. For a few minutes more he sobbed hard into his pillow. Then, exhausted, he fell asleep.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

David Hodges leaned back in his chair as if stretching his back and neck and tried to crane his head far enough to see what the other visitors in the room were doing.

Not long after he'd arrived at the prison an officer had sought him out in the waiting area. Apparently they weren't sure if James Price would be coming down for his visit today and it was likely that, even if he did, he might be delayed. Mr. Hodges should still enter the visiting area with the others and sit in the cubicle allotted to Price's visitor, but he may have to wait for a while. The staff would, of course, inform him if it became apparent that the inmate would not be arriving at all.

Visiting had officially started 17 minutes ago according to Hodges' watch and there was still no sign of Grissom. Coupled with the arrangement which meant Grissom would be leaving ten minutes before the other prisoners this was a sizeable chunk out of the ninety minute visiting period. It was also more than long enough for a man of his superior intellect to get bored, thought David, as he fidgeted in his chair.

Finally!

David sat up straight as he noticed movement behind the chair Grissom should have been seated in.

Two prison officers emerged with Gil between them. Hodges couldn't be sure if the men were keeping his friend under very close guard or simply trying to keep him upright. It was the first time Hodges had seen Grissom under restraint like this, but right now he was far more concerned by how sick the scientist looked.

In some ways Gil looked in better shape than the way Jim had described him to David after his visit last week. His left cheek was only a little puffy now, with the red line of the healing cut sitting on his cheekbone, which was now clearly defined once more. The angry bruising that Brass had seen was now faded mainly to yellows and greens which would have strangely complemented Grissom's blue eyes had they not been squeezed almost shut as he shuffled along.

David continued to watch as the men manoeuvred their charge into the seat on the opposite side of the glass. Briefly Grissom slumped forward until one guard pulled him back firmly to the seat's backrest while his colleague did something low down, out of Hodges' line of sight.

In that brief moment David noticed that Grissom's face was deathly white where it wasn't bruised, and there was a thin layer of perspiration over his forehead and cheeks.

At last Gil's handcuffs were taken off and the guards moved back. As a final gesture one of them leant in towards Grissom and said something into his ear. He must have been pointing out that David was there, because only then did the blue eyes finally open fully to meet David's gaze.

Slowly Grissom reached for the handset as his visitor did the same.

For a moment there was silence. Grissom swallowed hard a couple of times, and then moistened his lips in a nervous manner. Eventually David realised it was going to be his job to speak first.

"You look terrible, James," he said his long face clearly showing his concern, something which might have surprised a few people who didn't think David Hodges could be concerned about anyone other than himself. "Have you been ill?"

Grissom nodded, still making an occasional convulsive swallow. Well, he thought, he had been. In the corridor on his way down here, twice.

"Is that why you haven't made the 'phone call you talked about yet?" Anyone eavesdropping would have assumed they were discussing a call the two of them had spoken about before. Of course by 'you' David really meant Brass and Grissom, but as far as the prison was concerned James Price only ever got visits from one man and there was no point risking calling attention to the fact that there might be someone else in the picture.

"Actually I called yesterday, Jim should hear from them soon. Tell him I'm sorry I took so long, but I talked too much to some detective a few days ago and it was only once the stitches in my mouth had been removed and I'd spent twenty-four hours recovering from that, that I was finally able to speak well enough to be understood." Gil managed to exchange smiles with David, who knew precisely who 'some detective' was. Grissom didn't dwell on the other joke along the lines of how, most amusingly, the ice chips which had helped him speak had actually become rarer as his relationship with his guards had got chillier.

Suddenly Gil jumped to his feet as the guard who had appeared behind him leant forward to place a plastic cup on the ledge in front of the glass screen. David was surprised, Grissom was usually so aware of his surroundings, even able to recognise people he met in the lab corridors despite apparently being engrossed in a case file as he walked along. It was why David hadn't bothered to warn his friend of the man's approach.

Grissom quickly regained his seat, his heart thumping, it wasn't as though he could have gone anywhere, the tug of the chains which connected his ankles to the floor had quickly reminded him of that. The prison officer who had approached him told him to try and calm down more, but didn't seem too upset at Grissom's sudden movement. Then, to Gil's surprise, handed over the other item he had, a wash cloth moistened with warm water.

For a moment Grissom simply held the cloth to his face, letting the warmth soothe him. Then, carefully, he used it to clean his mouth and beard. Finally, he took a few sips of water from the cup and rinsed them around in his mouth.

Only then did he pick up the hand set again. "Tell me something positive, David." Gil asked a stunned looking Hodges. More refreshed now physically, but still needing help recovering mentally from the effort he'd made to get to his visitor, there was a look of pleading in his eyes.

David offered him the best news he could. "Jim heard from the FBI, they've stopped searching, they believe Sara's safe."

"They have? They do? How do they know? You said they've called the search off, but that means they didn't actually find her. So how can they be sure?" Grissom was all eagerness now.

"They must be, Jim didn't give me all the details, but I do know they've passed the information on to Henderson PD. It's OK, they know you didn't hurt her, and no-one else has either."

"But they don't know where she is." It was a statement, not a question.

"No. Jim and I will continue to do our best, James, I promise, we'll keep her out of this if we possibly can."

Grissom was back to responding silently, with an absent minded nod of his head.

David sighed; he didn't know how to cheer Grissom up. He wished he could tell the man in front of him about Ecklie's terrified reaction to the dead tarantula. It had been made doubly sweet by the fact that Ecklie had panicked so badly he'd failed to realise the beast was dead and called in an expert from the zoo to cope with the spider in his office. Of course by the time the expert arrived Grissom's pet had been removed for solemn burial later and the only thing even vaguely spider like in Ecklie's desk drawer was lime green and unmistakeably made of plastic.

Unfortunately he couldn't without letting Gil know that his pet was now very much an ex-spider. This was exactly why Ecklie had deserved everything he got, including the photographs which anonymously appeared in the break room afterwards.

Trying to change the subject David explained to Griss that he'd only left the work boots and a large bag of jelly beans with security. He'd chosen the beans over chocolate because, if necessary, they could be sucked instead of chewed. Hodges admitted he hadn't ordered any books to be sent to Grissom either, because he wasn't sure if he wanted anything else and he knew Gil was only allowed to have a limited number of personal items in his cell at any one time, so he needed to avoid bringing in anything unwanted.

"Maybe I could send some more crossword books?"

Another sad head shake. "I haven't done most of the ones you sent in a few weeks ago. I'm afraid I need something less challenging these days."

"Perhaps I can get you something else then. Word searches maybe?"

"I think join-the-dots is more my current level." Grissom managed to joke before remembering to ask for a book on Tai Chi. "Make it one that's heavy on pictures and how to do the exercises; I'm really not up to a deep analysis of the philosophy."

Sympathetically, Hodges agreed then managed some inconsequential chat until it was time to leave. He'd noticed Grissom becoming more taciturn and fidgety as time passed, with occasional anxious glances behind him that rapidly increased in frequency. When a guard had come to let them know their time was nearly up Gil's breathing had speeded up noticeably, despite Hodges' warning that someone was approaching.

As usual David departed at the end of the visit without looking back. He wasn't even sure if Grissom knew that he'd been seen coming in. If he hadn't it was probably best that he didn't know.

As two guards prepared to take him back to his cell Grissom noticed how much his hands were shaking as he offered them to be cuffed.

"Don't worry, Price," it was the same guard who'd brought him water and his voice was almost friendly. "In view of your 'accidents' on the way here we've taken measures to get you back to your cell a little more quickly than you came."

As Grissom unsteadily stood and turned towards the door he suddenly realised there were two more officers present in addition to the ones who had just been dealing with his chains. Still anxious, but more than a little reassured, he shuffled forward, his escort falling in around him.

Someone had indeed taken pity on him.

A/N Yes, I know I'm horrible, making Grissom cry again; but I hope I've answered a few queries and requests from reviewers in this chapter. I do read them all, even if I don't respond to everyone. Next chapter will hopefully move the story on some more. In the mean time please write more of your lovely comments.