This story is based on characters created by Anthony E. Zuiker for the television series CSI: Crime Scene Investigation.

Remuneration, Part 26
by Cheers

The Sheriff had requested that Grissom be at the news conference that was scheduled for 9 o'clock that morning. Grissom was tired and he had looked it. Mobley had practically ordered Gil to go home and get some rest. It wouldn't do for the innocent CSI to look too beleaguered when the press was informed that there wasn't a solid shred of evidence against him.

The relief that Gil felt when he knew that he was cleared, that he would be allowed to continue doing the job he had spent his entire life preparing for and perfecting, surprised him. It wasn't until he was sure of what the Sheriff was telling him that he realized how much energy he had been expending to keep his emotions under control. After Mobley had left his office, Gil sat down to think. So much had happened in the past 36 hours. He was having a hard time processing it all. One thing struck him, though. Sheriff Mobley's apology seemed sincere enough, but still felt hollow. Now Gil understood.

His apology must have sounded exactly the same way to her.

The drive home flew by. His mind was filled with thoughts of apologies, careers, and cases when he was ushered up the back stairs of his condominium building by Officer Doug Barron, who had pulled the night shift again. After the news conference, there wouldn't be a need for an official LVMPD shadow. That was something Gil definitely wouldn't miss.

Pushing through the fire doors at the landing on the third floor, Gil dug into his pocket and retrieved his front door keys. He was sorting through the keys on his keychain as he moved up the hall. He never saw the blow coming.

"YOU BASTARD!" Ron Danbridge shouted as he lunged at Grissom. His first blow caught Gil on the left side of his face and sent him back into the corridor wall. "YOU KILLED MY LITTLE GIRL!"

Officer Barron was only steps behind Grissom, but it took him several seconds to get a good grip on Danbridge and pull him off the CSI. By the time the officer had gotten a restraining hold on the enraged father, Gil had been struck by several more blows and was lying on the floor with his hands held out protectively. The last thing Grissom wanted was to get into a fist fight with the grieving parent of a murder victim.

Ron Danbridge continued to struggle against Officer Barron's restraining hold for only a few more seconds before he finally relaxed. The tears followed quickly on the heels of his rage.

"He killed her," Ron cried. "That bastard killed my Shelly."

"No, he didn't," the uniform told Ron Danbridge. "Dr. Grissom didn't kill anyone."

"I saw it on the news," Danbridge continued, losing certainty in his voice as he spoke. "They said he was a suspect."

Jim Brass had called Barron to tell him that Grissom had been cleared and that the officer was to treat him with the utmost respect. Grissom had been through the public opinion mill as it was. Barron slowly released his restraining hold on the father but maintained a steady grip on the man's arm. "Being a suspect doesn't mean you're guilty of anything. Dr. Grissom has been cleared, and the Sheriff will be holding a press conference this morning to report that publicly."

Gil slowly rose from the floor. Wiping the side of his mouth with the back of one hand, he realized he was bleeding. He didn't have a broken nose, but it wasn't for a lack of trying on Mr. Danbridge's part.

"Then who killed Shelly?" Ron Danbridge asked, confusion and grief now taking him over in the absence of his prior anger.

Doug Barron looked at Grissom. "Are you all right, sir?"

Grissom nodded to the officer and leaned against the wall for some support. He felt a little weak in the knees. It had been a long time since anyone had clocked him that hard. After catching his breath, he answered Shelly's father's question. "We don't know who killed Shelly, Mr. Danbridge. Not yet. But we can promise you that the department has placed the highest priority on her case."

Ron Danbridge stood quietly in the middle of the corridor and stared Gil Grissom in the eyes. He knew his mother's neighbor was telling him the truth. The man in front of him had not killed his daughter. Now who was he going to be angry at? Who had killed his daughter? Why couldn't anyone help him find the man responsible?

Gil watched as the emotions played across Mr. Danbridge's face. His heart went out to the man. There was no way Gil would ever understand the depths of his loss. Swallowing against the rise of his own emotion, Grissom took a step toward the grieving father.

"I'm sorry for your loss," Gil said softly as he stepped close. The words seemed too little, too patented to be of much comfort.

Ron Danbridge nodded as the tears flowed freely down his face. Officer Barron let go of his arm and the father, now spent of his rage, moved toward his mother's front door. Gil watched the man go until Ron stepped through the door and it closed quietly behind him.


Forty-five minutes after being attacked in the hallway outside his home, Grissom heard a loud knock on his front door. He rose stiffly from his couch and headed to answer the door. He had a pretty good idea who was there.

When he opened the door he realized that he was right, but not completely. He had expected Catherine, but that was not all he found. What seemed like a throng was huddled outside his doorway. The entire night shift CSI team stood looking at him.

As soon as Catherine saw Gil's face, the grin she wore disappeared. "What happened to you?" she asked, practically pushing past him and into his house. The rest of the team followed quickly behind her.

Gil was forced back up against the wall as they funneled past. "Why don't you come in," he said to their backs after they had entered.

Ignoring him, Catherine waited for him to close the door and look at them again. "Who the hell did this to you?" she demanded.

A chorus of "Wow, Gris." "Oh my God." "Damn, Gris." greeted him as he moved back into his living room.

Reaching his couch, Grissom sat down. He would never admit it, but he still felt a little light-headed. "It's nothing," he insisted. "I'm fine."

The team moved into his living room as well. Catherine walked over and sat down next to him. Before Gil could object, she was turning his face toward her so she could get a better look at his injuries.

"Nick," she said without looking up, "Get some ice, would ya?"

"I'm on it," Nick said as he headed for Grissom's kitchen.

Gil pulled his head away from Catherine and gave her an irritated look. "I said I'm fine."

"You look just peachy," Sara said, arms crossed and wearing a scolding expression on her face.

"I hope you got the license number of the truck," Warrick muttered.

Catherine scanned her friend's face. She didn't like the deep purple that was developing under his left eye. The whole left side of his face was swollen and the right side of his lower lip was still oozing a little blood. The handkerchief that lay on the end table was stained with blood as well. At least the ice would help with the swelling and finish staunching the blood.

"Are you going to tell us what happened to you?" Catherine pushed.

Grissom gave her a determined look. "No," he said.

That didn't sit well with Catherine. "Okay," she said, slapping her hands down on her knees and standing. "I'll bet the officer outside knows something and even if he doesn't, since you've obviously been assaulted I guess we should have him call it in."

"Don't do that," Gil said quickly. When Barron had asked if Grissom wanted to swear out a complaint for the assault, Gil had declined. He had also refused the officer's offer to call a rescue squad. All Gil had wanted after the attack was some piece and quiet. His team obviously had other plans. They were concerned about him. Gil knew that. But, dammit, he had his reasons for not wanting to tell them what happened. He was losing his temper.

"I said I'm fine," Gil insisted, not able to keep the ire out of his voice.

"Here's the ice," Nick said as he arrived with an ice pack wrapped in a dish towel and handed it to Catherine.

Taking the ice pack from Nick, Catherine sat back down next to Grissom and attempted to apply it to the side of his face. He flinched away from the cold.

"Would you hold still?" Catherine said with exasperation. "You're worse than Lindsey."

That admonishment brought a slight grin to the faces of the onlookers. Seeing their amusement, Gil finally stopped struggling against Catherine's ministrations. He took the ice pack away from her and gingerly held it to his sore face.

After a few seconds, he had to admit that his face did feel better. A quiet had settled on the room as the members of his team watched him. He felt decidedly like a goldfish in a bowl.

"What are you guys doing here?" he asked them all.

They looked at each other and smiled. Warrick was the one who finally spoke up.

"Well, we heard that they kicked your ass out of the department so we figured we'd come over here and rub it in a little."

"Looks like someone else beat us to the punch," Sara observed.