Rated PG
Disclaimer: This is based on CSI, which is owned by CBS, A. Zuiker, and Atlantic/Alliance, et al. I don't make any profit or make any money from this. No infringement is intended. This is just for fun.
Synopsis: An 'alternative' view of one of Grissom's interpersonal relationships. Finally, someone who can get an emotional response. My apologies for a Greg-less chapter.
Notes: Thanks to Trap, Escher, Eric and Disempi for helping me
work out the flaws.
If you read, please review I won't keep writing if no one likes it.
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3-Don't fear the belt
It felt like she was moving in slow motion as Gillian turned to
strike her opponent. She reacted out of habit, before she realized
what was happening. Her attacker slumped to the floor. The
girls that lived across the hall opened the door angrily to see who was
banging on their wall, so late at night. When Gillian saw them, she
told them to call security and locked herself in her room.
The investigating officer scrutinized the unconscious assailant and the unhappy co-ed. "Are you Gillian Genoix?" he asked.
She nodded.
"What happened?"
"I was opening the door and he tried to grab me."
"What did you hit him with?"
"My elbow."
"Miss Genoix, I need to know exactly what happened."
"I told you. He attacked me and I defended myself."
"How?"
Gillian sighed. It had come as instinct. She put herself into the situation as an observer, instead of the victim. "I had dropped my books, then I reached into my pocket to get my keys." she said slowly watching it happen in her mind's eye. "Then I felt someone behind me. I elbowed him as I turned, I might have hit him with the keys, then I kicked him."
The officer shot her a skeptical look.
"I guess this solves my book problem." mumbled Gillian.
"What?" The officer stared at her.
"I was debating about getting a second set of books to leave at my dad's house. But there is no way he's gonna let me stay in the dorms after this. I don't think he even knew they were co-ed in the first place." She paused and looked at the officer. "There's no way to keep it from him. I am in so much trouble. My dad is not going to be happy."
"Yes, we will have to contact your parents." sighed the officer
Gillian glanced at her watch. 11:30. Her father would be at work already. She sighed in resignation. "My father is Gil Grissom. Las Vegas Crime Lab. He's shift supervisor, they're probably out somewhere investigating, but you should be able to get him on his cell phone."
The officer nodded. "Why don't you come to the station? We can get your statement and your father can pick you up there."
"Hi, dad." Gillian tried to smile at her father. Grissom's face was impassive, his mouth set in a thin, hard line. She could see it in his eyes that he was incensed. The ride home wouldn't be fun.
Grissom, reserved and silent, drove through the streets of Las Vegas. Gillian sat next to him, unable to explain what had happened.
"I'm sorry, pop." she began in a small voice. "Can I at least go back tonight and get my stuff for class? Tracie will be with me."
A stoic Grissom made no reply.
"We can stop by the house for Monty. No one would come near me with him around my neck. I'll have to go back there eventually to pack my stuff."
"No, you don't." said Grissom evenly. "I can pay your roommate for that."
"Pop! Where am I going to go? And don't forget I have class in six hours."
Grissom stopped the car in the driveway. "Gillian," She was braced for the worst. He was calm and rational; his emotions wouldn't interfere with his ability to make clear, shrewd decisions. "It's hard for most people to accept the fact that you are only 16..."
"I'll be 17 in a few months." Intellectually, she knew she shouldn't interrupt, but she was upset, and couldn't argue with biology.
"The fact still remains that you are considerably younger than your peers, and perhaps you need to wait." Grissom paused.
"You think that if I were 18 or 20, he wouldn't have tried it?" asked Gillian. She spoke slowly, she was still shaken and unreasonable. "I know you want to protect me, but that's why I train. Like Disempi says, 'don't fear the belt, fear the one who earned it.' I can defend myself better than any of the rest of my colleagues."
"I know you can defend yourself, but no amount of martial arts can stop a bullet."
"I know. I'm willing to discuss it, but you need to work and I have class. Neither one of us is fit to have this talk right now. After my classes I will have Tracie bring me here and we will decide then, okay?"
Grissom conceded with a short sigh. "Go get Monty."
Grissom grimaced. His head ached and throbbed. Even the quiet strains of Brahms stabbed at his temples. He turned to try to get comfortable and was caught by a faint dim shaft of fading sunlight. It burned his eyes and a wave of violent nausea washed over him. The room was stifling, but he couldn't stay standing long enough to adjust the thermostat. The sound of Gillian's key in the lock was like a gunshot, echoing in great swells of pain.
The Brahms suddenly fell silent and Grissom felt the gentle touch of cool air brush his face. It carried the scent of spice and fruit, Gillian's perfume. There were faint distant sounds his anguished mind couldn't place.
"Drink this." Gillian placed a glass in his hand. "It will help."
Grissom took small, slow sips of the tepid water. Then he smelled something that reminded him of his childhood in Santa Monica. The thick sweet smell of cinnamon and spice, the heady fragrance of burning sage and the light scent of lavender. Gillian's tender hand took the empty glass, and pulled his head into her lap. Her touch was methodical. She started rubbing his temples, then around his crown, stopping periodically to push firmly in the top of his head.
At long last, Grissom ventured to open his eyes. The room was a sea of darkness, cool and still. He pushed himself into a sitting position. He felt Gillian's delicate fingers begin to work on the small hard knot between his shoulders.
"One of the doctors in Dr. Colin's medical group has started recommending holistic, eastern type medicine in addition to traditional western style." whispered Gillian. Grissom knew where this was headed. Every time he had a migraine, Gillian insisted it was because he didn't take care of himself.
"I went to school with her daughter, Natsuko. Nat's grandmother is an acupuncturist. She says that the body needs mental and spiritual cleansing as well as physical." Gillian pressed hard on the knot. The pain was almost unbearable. Grissom let out an audible sigh of relief when she eased the pressure.
"So what caused this one? Work?" Gillian paused, then stopped rubbing. "Or me?"
"Not you." Grissom reassured her affectionately. "It was a long night. Too many hours in front of a computer."
"Grandma San says that the body tells a story the mind refuses to hear. Like evidence in a case." Gillian applied steady, firm pressure to another pressure point. Grissom cringed. "So do you want to talk about what is really bothering you or are you going to try to redirect me? I told you before, hiding you feelings is not the same as not having them."
"It isn't you, sweetheart." Grissom maintained.
"But it isn't work, either." The heel of Gillian's hand pressed down hard with increasing weight.
"No." Grissom could barely answer. The knot suddenly vanished as the tension went out of his shoulders. The faint popping of his back snapped in his ears.
There was a harsh scratching sound and his nose was assaulted but the sharp acrid smell of sulfur and something burnt. Gillian lit a fat vanilla candle, it's three wicks dancing merrily in the darkness.
Grissom sat on the sofa, watching the flames sway, casting moving shadows on the wall. It reminded him of growing up in Santa Monica. His mother always had a candle burning, and the smell of baking often coalesced with the fragrant inscence.
The migraine had subsided to a dull throb now, that could be chased away with analgesic or sleep. Grissom forced himself to relax into the couch. Gillian sat cross legged at the end staring at him.
"Miranda called today."
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