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.
Sean- Thanks so much for your 'eyewitness' account of the end of this
chapter. I really appreciate it. You rock!
MUCH THANKS TO ALL WHO R/R
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5- Altered Realities
"Maybe Monty escaped."
"No." Gillian shook her head and readjusted the mesh bag on her arm. "I took Monty to class with me."
Grissom studied the room once more. If someone had been here, he or she had been meticulous. The only signs of disturbance were the missing arachnids. He shook his head. "Nothing is missing but the spiders. The door was locked and I didn't see any signs of forced entry....."
"Someone moved my bo staff." Gillian interrupted, nodding to the corner.
To Grissom it looked like an old broom handle, leaning in the corner of the room, by Monty's cage. The same place she always left it. Grissom shook his head, unable to see how she could tell the difference.
"It's upside down." Gillian said, answering his unspoken
question. "Even if I didn't just know; there's a notch in the bottom
from when I first learned my bo kata."
Grissom studied the paperwork in front of him. He removed his glasses and rubbed the middle of his forehead with his thumb. This case just didn't add up; they were missing something. He heard a key in the lock. Gillian was home early.
"Hey, pop." she called, announcing her presence.
A garbled, distorted yelling echoed through Grissom's home. What was Gillian listening to now? It was worse than Greg's.... Grissom paused mid thought as a belated realization struck him. It was the answering machine. He hadn't erased Miranda's message yet.
The message came to an abrupt end in the middle of the angry tirade. Gillian stalked over the the table where Grissom sat studying the case and the evidence. To say she was angry was an understatement.
Gillian glared at him. "Have you listened to your messages today?"
Grissom didn't look up. "Yes, I heard it. I've been here all day working on this case."
Gillian let out an exasperated breath. "Well, why didn't you just pick up the phone and tell her I was still taking my finals?"
Grissom removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. When parents fought it was hard on the child. When those parents were separated it was more complicated, because the parents almost forced the child to chose sides.
He recalled his own childhood. The screaming the tears, the insults. His father bellowing obscenities at his mother's unhearing back. Grissom had never wanted that for his own child. He had tried to pacify Miranda as much as possible, to spare Gillian the same grief.
"She already knows your schedule." Grissom sighed with resignation. "She called to talk to me. She's still unhappy about your decision."
"So she calls you?" Gillian frowned. The look reminded Grissom of the look Sara gave him often. Gillian's scowl darkened. "This is my life not hers, I can do what I want."
"She's just concerned."
"No, she's not!" snapped Gillian. "She doesn't even care about me."
"That's not true." To his own ears, Grissom's assurance rang hollow. He didn't talk to Miranda much any more and had no idea how she treated Gillian when he wasn't around.
"Yes, it is!" shrieked Gillian. "She told me so."
Grissom's heart sank. Miranda was a brilliant lawyer, but she was a less than charitable person when someone refused to do things her way. He once thought he could change that. He was young and idealistic. He was madly in love with her, or so he thought. He wanted to give Ian a loving father and Miranda a sensitive, caring husband. In retrospect, Grissom realized that Miranda had simply manipulated him for her own means. Miranda's parents wanted her to marry to assuage their religious convictions and Grissom had been more than willing to help her out with law school.
Grissom studied the hot, savage tears that gathered in his daughter's eyes.
"What did she say to make you think that she doesn't love you?" Grissom's voice was tender. He had never wanted to have this conversation. But he knew it was inevitable.
Gillian trembled with rage. Grissom knew the feeling. Every time he saw Eddie, Catherine's ex. When Warrick had called him to say the Crane had defenstrated Nick. Certain cases. Sara volunteering to bait the 'Strip Strangler'. Grissom knew the ferocity of Gillian's emotions. The fury that burned in her was as potentially destructive to her as to anyone in her path.
Gillian took a deep shuddering breath before she spoke. "She said you forced her to marry you and that you forced her to have me."
The anguish in her voice was tangible. The huge, resentful tears scorched red rivers down her cheeks.
"I suppose that is partially true." Grissom conceded quietly, at a loss to explain how he had felt the day Miranda told him she wanted to abort Gillian. "I couldn't let her end the pregnancy."
"So she never really wanted me?" Gillian ran from the room, crying. "I wish I had never been born. You're so selfish. I hate you both."
Grissom exhaled suddenly as if he had been punched in the gut. That's how it felt. The slamming door echoed deafeningly in his ears. He rubbed his temples, trying in vain to fend off the impending headache.
Before he left for work, Grissom tapped on the bedroom door. He could still hear Gillian's soft, heartbroken sobs from within.
"Gillian? I have to leave for work." Grissom paused, his heart stuck in his throat. "I love you, sweetheart."
The sobs stopped, but Gillian made no reply.
Grissom surveyed the crime scene, trying to visualize the accident. Another hit and run, although the victim had been lucky. The kid had been wearing a helmet and pads when the car struck him. He had a few scrapes and bruises, and a couple of broken bones but all things considered he had been fortunate. Grissom thoughts were diverted by the obnoxious tone of his cell phone ringing.
"Grissom."
"Hi, pop."
"I'm working right now; can I call you later?"
"I just wanted to apologize."
Something in her voice made him stop. "Hold on." He glanced up at Catherine. "I need to take this call, I'll be back in a minute."
Grissom eased into the front seat of the dark, late model Tahoe parked at he edge of the police tape. "Why couldn't you wait until I got home?"
"I didn't want to wait. I thought about what I said and about what you said. And I called Ian. I can't take back what I said, but I didn't mean it." Gillian paused. Grissom swore she was still crying. "I don't hate you, pop. And I don't hate mom, either. I know she was angry. I..."
"I understand. I have to get back to work now."
"I'm sorry. I really do love you, pop."
"I know."
"Be careful, pop."
"Ok. Go get some sleep, you have finals tomorrow."
"I know. 'night."
" 'night, sweetheart."
Grissom hung up and slipped the phone in his pocket as he sauntered
across the street. Catherine was tagging evidence. Grissom
felt a sharp sting, then the world swirled and lurched sideways in slow
motion. As the planet seemed to tilt, Grissom was aware of a cold,
clammy sweat covering his body. Then everything was black.