Title: Nothing Else to Count
Author: Rebecca
Rating: R for language and theme.
Summary: SCA G/S UST A new case seems to affect Grissom, and he is the last to know. Can Sara help his solve this case and understand his attraction, or will Grissom become too personally involved?
Disclaimer: No, I don't them; No, I don't make money from them. Wish I could have a couple of them for personal use, but that's another matter…
Archive: Definitely. Please e-mail me at phxchic@cox.net to let me know.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Devanie and Irene for their feedback and help in putting together my first fanfic effort, and to my other half for being so patient with me while writing. Title is courtesy a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson. Grissom's quotes are courtesy of Virgil's Aeneid and Bertrand Russell. This story takes place after Stalker, but before Miami: Dade.
Spoilers: No real spoilers, but passing references to moments from Season 1 and 2 CSI episodes are sprinkled throughout.
Brass lifted the yellow crime tape and ducked under it in one practiced motion, holding it for Grissom to follow behind. At first glance, Grissom noticed nothing unusual about the scene. It was a patch of desert, a few miles beyond the Welcome sign, well past any of the lights on the strip. The body lay several yards ahead, appearing to be on its back; nothing else appeared to be near it. Grissom certainly didn't notice anything that would explain the grim looks upon the faces of the officers present. Crime scenes were always tough, but these officers had long faces, furrowed brows, and were more silent than normal. As Grissom neared the body, he finally saw the reason for the darker mood—
The body was smaller than he expected.
"Shit." It came out of Grissom's mouth as a clenched exhalation.
Brass turned slightly toward him as they walked. "You summed it up." The body was that of a boy, about 10-12 years of age. He lay on his back, as Grissom had surmised, eyes focused and locked upon the stars. There was no blood evident on the body. The child's face was serene, and his limbs appeared intact. Brass studied Grissom's face. "Any guesses?"
"You know I don't guess. I look at the evidence. Who reported it?"
"Officer Hudson," Brass began, flipping a few pages in his notebook and peering intently at it with his flashlight. "He noticed the body around dusk, pulled over and checked it out. He's the one who called it in."
"Statement?"
Brass sighed. "Of course. He felt on the neck for a pulse, then called it in. He didn't move the body."
Grissom shone his flashlight near the boy's left side, noting the footprints in the dust.
"Collect his shoes so we can rule the prints out. Warrick and Sara should be here any moment for casts and collection."
Brass nodded. "I'll get right on it." He turned and walked back toward the officers, congregated just beyond the tape. Grissom turned back to the body, releasing a sigh of his own. Kneeling next to the boy, with his flashlight trained on the boy's face, Grissom reached out his right hand and slowly guided the eyelids down. The boy's serene face took on the appearance of a sleeping child.
"'Death's brother, Sleep.'"
Warrick and Sara arrived at the scene, taking in the sight of the small body and flashes of the camera around it. Warrick shook his head slowly. "Good thing Catherine has the night off."
"Tell me about it." Sara watched as Grissom finished taking photos of the body and surrounding area, then turned her attention to him. "Any thoughts, Gris?"
Grissom lowered the camera and wiped his forehead. "This would appear to be a dumpsite, given the few shoeprints we have. No signs of struggle, no blood, no visible evidence of bruising. No ligature marks on neck or wrists."
"Have you gone over the body yet?" Warrick asked.
Grissom shook his head. "No, just photos. The shoeprints are around the left side of the body. See if you can get a cast. Sara, bring your kit, and let's see what we have on the body." Sara nodded and walked to the right side of the body where Grissom was standing, then kneeled down and opened her case to retrieve a pair of gloves. The officers had set up a floodlight nearby for the CSIs to work by, and Warrick became a desert shadow as he opened his kit to begin mixing plaster for the casts. The three settled down to work quietly, with long faces and furrowed brows.
"So it turns out that we weren't looking for a cat-burglar, but for a damn cat!"
"A cat?" Greg doubled over in laughter while Nick stood before him; a half amused/half disgusted look spreading across his face. Greg slowly straightened himself in his chair, still chuckling. "The guy called 911 about a cat?"
"His cat. Got shut in the hall closet-" Nick was forced to pause as Greg let out a snort. "Pulled down coats, knocked over the shoe rack, the guy's golf clubs." Nick shook his head. "You gotta wonder sometimes about what-- " Nick's thought was punctured by a low, crisp voice barking from behind him.
Grissom stood in the doorway of the lab, a small brown paper bag in hand. "Greg, I need you to process this ASAP."
Greg stood quickly, the grin dropping from his face. "Sure, Grissom," he began, fumbling with some test tubes and reports lying on the table in front of him. "Let me just finish—"
"Now, Greg." Grissom dumped the bag on the table on top of the reports. "I'm clearing any overtime." Grissom's gaze then shifted to his right, to the taller, broader man attempting to hide in the corner of the room. "Sorry to break up the party, Nick, but I need you in the conference room with Sara. I'll be with Robbins." Grissom turned and departed, quick strides taking him in the direction of the coroner's office.
Greg sighed, breaking the spell, and began to open the brown paper bag in front of him. "Thanks for the laugh, Nick. Have a feeling it'll be awhile till the next one."
Nick turned to face him on his way out the door. "Let's hope you're not right." Nick continued his way out the door and down the hall to the conference room, leaving Greg alone in his whirring and beeping world of DNA and trace fiber analysis. Greg began to hum to himself as he extracted the samples from the bag, musing at how difficult it can be to put together a puzzle having never seen the expected result.
Author: Rebecca
Rating: R for language and theme.
Summary: SCA G/S UST A new case seems to affect Grissom, and he is the last to know. Can Sara help his solve this case and understand his attraction, or will Grissom become too personally involved?
Disclaimer: No, I don't them; No, I don't make money from them. Wish I could have a couple of them for personal use, but that's another matter…
Archive: Definitely. Please e-mail me at phxchic@cox.net to let me know.
Author's Notes: Thanks to Devanie and Irene for their feedback and help in putting together my first fanfic effort, and to my other half for being so patient with me while writing. Title is courtesy a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson. Grissom's quotes are courtesy of Virgil's Aeneid and Bertrand Russell. This story takes place after Stalker, but before Miami: Dade.
Spoilers: No real spoilers, but passing references to moments from Season 1 and 2 CSI episodes are sprinkled throughout.
Brass lifted the yellow crime tape and ducked under it in one practiced motion, holding it for Grissom to follow behind. At first glance, Grissom noticed nothing unusual about the scene. It was a patch of desert, a few miles beyond the Welcome sign, well past any of the lights on the strip. The body lay several yards ahead, appearing to be on its back; nothing else appeared to be near it. Grissom certainly didn't notice anything that would explain the grim looks upon the faces of the officers present. Crime scenes were always tough, but these officers had long faces, furrowed brows, and were more silent than normal. As Grissom neared the body, he finally saw the reason for the darker mood—
The body was smaller than he expected.
"Shit." It came out of Grissom's mouth as a clenched exhalation.
Brass turned slightly toward him as they walked. "You summed it up." The body was that of a boy, about 10-12 years of age. He lay on his back, as Grissom had surmised, eyes focused and locked upon the stars. There was no blood evident on the body. The child's face was serene, and his limbs appeared intact. Brass studied Grissom's face. "Any guesses?"
"You know I don't guess. I look at the evidence. Who reported it?"
"Officer Hudson," Brass began, flipping a few pages in his notebook and peering intently at it with his flashlight. "He noticed the body around dusk, pulled over and checked it out. He's the one who called it in."
"Statement?"
Brass sighed. "Of course. He felt on the neck for a pulse, then called it in. He didn't move the body."
Grissom shone his flashlight near the boy's left side, noting the footprints in the dust.
"Collect his shoes so we can rule the prints out. Warrick and Sara should be here any moment for casts and collection."
Brass nodded. "I'll get right on it." He turned and walked back toward the officers, congregated just beyond the tape. Grissom turned back to the body, releasing a sigh of his own. Kneeling next to the boy, with his flashlight trained on the boy's face, Grissom reached out his right hand and slowly guided the eyelids down. The boy's serene face took on the appearance of a sleeping child.
"'Death's brother, Sleep.'"
Warrick and Sara arrived at the scene, taking in the sight of the small body and flashes of the camera around it. Warrick shook his head slowly. "Good thing Catherine has the night off."
"Tell me about it." Sara watched as Grissom finished taking photos of the body and surrounding area, then turned her attention to him. "Any thoughts, Gris?"
Grissom lowered the camera and wiped his forehead. "This would appear to be a dumpsite, given the few shoeprints we have. No signs of struggle, no blood, no visible evidence of bruising. No ligature marks on neck or wrists."
"Have you gone over the body yet?" Warrick asked.
Grissom shook his head. "No, just photos. The shoeprints are around the left side of the body. See if you can get a cast. Sara, bring your kit, and let's see what we have on the body." Sara nodded and walked to the right side of the body where Grissom was standing, then kneeled down and opened her case to retrieve a pair of gloves. The officers had set up a floodlight nearby for the CSIs to work by, and Warrick became a desert shadow as he opened his kit to begin mixing plaster for the casts. The three settled down to work quietly, with long faces and furrowed brows.
"So it turns out that we weren't looking for a cat-burglar, but for a damn cat!"
"A cat?" Greg doubled over in laughter while Nick stood before him; a half amused/half disgusted look spreading across his face. Greg slowly straightened himself in his chair, still chuckling. "The guy called 911 about a cat?"
"His cat. Got shut in the hall closet-" Nick was forced to pause as Greg let out a snort. "Pulled down coats, knocked over the shoe rack, the guy's golf clubs." Nick shook his head. "You gotta wonder sometimes about what-- " Nick's thought was punctured by a low, crisp voice barking from behind him.
Grissom stood in the doorway of the lab, a small brown paper bag in hand. "Greg, I need you to process this ASAP."
Greg stood quickly, the grin dropping from his face. "Sure, Grissom," he began, fumbling with some test tubes and reports lying on the table in front of him. "Let me just finish—"
"Now, Greg." Grissom dumped the bag on the table on top of the reports. "I'm clearing any overtime." Grissom's gaze then shifted to his right, to the taller, broader man attempting to hide in the corner of the room. "Sorry to break up the party, Nick, but I need you in the conference room with Sara. I'll be with Robbins." Grissom turned and departed, quick strides taking him in the direction of the coroner's office.
Greg sighed, breaking the spell, and began to open the brown paper bag in front of him. "Thanks for the laugh, Nick. Have a feeling it'll be awhile till the next one."
Nick turned to face him on his way out the door. "Let's hope you're not right." Nick continued his way out the door and down the hall to the conference room, leaving Greg alone in his whirring and beeping world of DNA and trace fiber analysis. Greg began to hum to himself as he extracted the samples from the bag, musing at how difficult it can be to put together a puzzle having never seen the expected result.