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. It's getting stranger by the minute.....
Notes: Thanks to Trap and Escher for continually putting up with me, to Disempi and Eric for pointing out serious flaws in my plot and Dawn for listening to me rehearse it all over sandwiches.
MUCH THANKS TO ALL WHO R/R*** Those that don't :( ... I'll be gone for a month with no computer, should I finish before then? R/R
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4- Ursa Minor
"Miranda called today."
Grissom couldn't bring himself to say 'your mother', he had already had an awful row with Miranda and knew that Gillian would be furious, without launching off on a mother bashing tirade. If Gillian noticed his subtle deflection, she said nothing.
"She is still vehemently unhappy with your decision."
That was an understatement. Miranda had screamed herself hoarse for thirty minutes. She blamed Grissom for the attack on Gillian. She said that he had manipulated Gillian and then used the assault as justification to coerce her into living with him. Miranda had even accused him of poisoning Gillian's mind into thinking that her mother was an awful, hateful woman. Grissom simply said nothing. He had no idea how to respond to her anger and violence. What had hurt him was not the names Miranda called him, or the horrible accusations she made, but the fact that Miranda called only to persecute him, not because she was concerned with Gillian's welfare.
Gillian nodded, but said nothing. Grissom continued. "She says you should move back into the dorms and finish your semester here, then transfer to UCLA and take summer classes. They have an excellent program there."
Gillian shook her head slowly. "I can't transfer any of
my Forensics classes. I checked. I knew she would say this." Gillian's voice was unemotional and hard. "I expected it from the
beginning; she's doing this to antagonize you. I looked into it before
I made my choice to come to Vegas. I'm not starting over. She
knows that."
Grissom's brisk steps echoed a staccato rhythm down the long corridor. He read over a report Sara had handed him just minutes ago. The physical evidence she had collected supported the coroner's preliminary results. The analysis Greg was running on the blood samples should further corroborate their findings, just in time for the doctor's final report.
Grissom slowed as he neared the DNA lab. He paused as the familiar throb of music floated out the lab door. Grissom sighed. Sometimes he felt more like a high school hall monitor than an investigator. And more often than not, Greg was on the receiving end of most of his admonitions. One of the down sides to being supervisor.
Grissom entered the lab, ready to redirect the young technician. As Grissom opened his mouth to tell Greg to get back to work, he realized Greg was industriously hunched over a microscope making notes. Now Grissom recognized the music. Gillian had chosen it at a local kareoke night a few nights ago.
Greg looked up. His usual, annoying, overzealous, cheerfulness was subdued. "Oh, hi. your results should be up in just a moment."
Grissom nodded. "It's a pretty song. You can get rid of some of the distortion by lowering the gain."
Greg looked at the floor and gave a self-conscious shrug. "Force of habit. I guess I'm trying to broaden my musical horizons. Not that it matters, she's not dating right now." Greg let out a disconsolate sigh. "At least that's what she says."
Greg looked up suddenly, remembering whom he had been addressing. "Sorry, no point to my story. Only self-pity." Greg leaned over and turned down the radio. "Just wishful thinking."
The computer beeped. Greg took the paper the printer spat out and perused it, then signed the bottom, before handing it to his boss.
"You were right, again." said Greg, uncharacteristically devoid of any sarcasm or cynical humor. "Lethal overdose."
"Thanks." said Grissom taking the page and reading it for
himself, before adding it to his stack. "You do good work, Greg."
Grissom methodically scanned the atrium. Some of the spiders had escaped before, but there had always been tell-tale evidence of their methods. His eyes fell on the vacant snake's cage once again. Gillian was usually so careful about securing the top; but today the lid was gone and Monty was conspicuously absent.
Somewhere behind him, Grissom heard the rattle of keys and the distinct thump of books being dropped. Gillian was home.
"Hi, pop." Her voice floated through the rooms, followed by her footsteps.
"Where's Monty?" Grissom asked in a spartan tone. "His cage is empty."
Gillian appeared at his elbow. "I..."
Gillian fell silent as the investigator in her took over and she studied the room in silence. "Have you touched anything?" she asked in a serious manner.
"No. I worked late and had lunch out." Grissom followed her gaze around the room. Save for the barren cages, nothing appeared out of place. No voids, nothing missing, naught a hair disturbed.
"Someone was here."