Title: Black Betty's Prize
Author: Alison Nixon
Rating: PG
Category: Vignette
Spoilers: Play with Fire
Summary: "The more he focused on his work, the less time he had to think of her and what he was still too afraid to do." – G/S
Disclaimer: None of the CSI characters are mine. They belong to Anthony Zuiker, CBS, et al.
Feedback: Certainly! Let me know what you think
Archival: Other than my own site (which will be up soon) or , please ask first. Email me at anixon72@hotmail.com.
Author's Notes: Well, this started as a quick vignette, but I think I may have to keep going with it for a couple chapters or so. The idea came to me as a neat way to explore one potential ramification of Play with Fire…It comes at this from a slightly different angle, which might make the fic seem a bit odd, but you know how it is… ;-)
******
"Gil Grissom, I presume."
Although the voice on the line struck a chord in his memory, Grissom could not help his frown. Leaning both elbows on his glass-topped desk, he rubbed at his forehead roughly, irritated by his lapse. Somehow, he had forgotten to reset his voice mail to screen his calls. Lately, the system's mechanical voice often declared him "unavailable." He was just being practical, he told himself; the less energy expended on useless chatter, the better. The more he focused on his work, the less time he had to think of her and what he was still too afraid to do. She had read the situation well that night—by the time he figured things out, it would probably be too late.
"This is Grissom, yes."
He tapped a finger against the sheaf of paper in front of him as he spoke, trying to refocus his thoughts. The fact that the sound failed to register in his reconstructed ear didn't worry him too much; it had only been a couple of months since the first surgery. Dr. Roth had warned him not to expect a dramatic recovery of his hearing right away. The sound would return as gradually as it had disappeared, apparently. One of the body's little mysteries, she had quipped during his last check up, smiling at him. If she had hoped to lighten his grim expression, she had no doubt been disappointed.
"Gil, it's Hal. Hal Monroe. Don't tell me you've forgotten me already."
Pushing back from his desk, Grissom curved his broad back into his chair and managed a small smile.
"Black Betty beat my Iago, Hal--I could never forget you. Not that it was a fair contest, of course. Black Betty did false start."
Despite their many years of acquaintance, Hal's guffaws never failed to catch Grissom by surprise. The man himself was tall and reedy, entirely in line with the classic proportions of an intelligent ectomorph. And yet, laughter burst forth from his cadaverous frame in wonderfully broad, hearty shouts of sound.
"She did no such thing. Such slander, I'm shocked."
Still smiling, Hal picked up the item he had been eyeing as he listened to his friend, weighing it in one hand. The crystal paperweight, expertly cut to resemble a male Gromphadorhina portentosa or Madagascar Hissing Cockroach, had been awarded to his little lady for last year's first-place finish. He sighed happily as he fingered its large horns, an impressive feature which Betty, as a female of the species, lacked. The horns were typically used for defensive purposes, but for some reason, when his Betty required a little extra race-day motivation, dropping the big guy into her tank revved her right up. Maybe it's time to get her a man, Hal noted thoughtfully. His hyper-active mind threatened to get lost on a road that only a few people could appreciate (or stomach), but Grissom's snort reminded him of the need to defend his roach.
"Hey, the instant replay cleared her, Gil. We all saw it. You can't argue with the videotape."
Grissom's eyes turned smug. "Please. Even the National Football League can't agree on calls when instant replay gets involved. It's unreliable human technology being interpreted by unreliable human eyes, Hal." He smiled again. "My Shakespearean was robbed."
Guffawing once more, his colleague shook his head. Gil would probably keep saying that until next year's race, right up to the exact moment Black Betty left all her competitors choking in her dust yet again.
"So did you call me just to gloat, or is this a professional consult?"
With long, tapering fingers, the other man put down his prize to the left of the sheet of paper that had prompted his call.
"Well, both, I think."
Grissom repositioned the phone's earpiece more closely against the side of his face. "I don't follow you."
"I have in front of me the absolutely stellar resume of one Sara Sidle from the Las Vegas Crime Lab. The woman seems to have it all, Gil. I'd hire her in a heartbeat." He cocked his head. "My only question is…why in the world would you be letting her go?"
The words hit Grissom like the rush of an icy river, bracing, relentless, bitter.
"I mean," Hal continued, sounding puzzled, "is there something she's not telling me about her skills or her performance? Is she the colleague most likely to bring a semi-automatic to work, or what? Why aren't you making sure she stays right where she is, if she's as good as she seems to be?"
Grissom forced himself to speak. "I…No, Hal, she's not misrepresenting herself." His tongue moved in his mouth, curling upward. "She's probably underestimating her skills, actually. The problem is just…."
"Just what?"
"Poor choice of words. It's not a problem. Sara just needs… a bigger arena, a broader field. Fresh challenges. She's been here three years, and--"
He heard himself and stopped short. He could usually lie better than this.
"Look, Hal, I'll be straight with you. This is the first I'm hearing of this."
The other man made a noise under his breath that Grissom took as a rebuke.
"I had no idea she was planning to leave. I suppose that says a lot about my supervisory skills, doesn't it?"
Hal nibbled at the inside of his cheek, trying to choose his words with care.
"Oh. I see. Huh." He thought for a moment. "Well…do you two have a good working relationship? Maybe…maybe it makes sense to talk to her about why she's applying for positions. Don't get me wrong," he added hastily, "this would be a great opportunity for her. It's a Physical Scientist position. With her education and prior experience, she'd start out as a GS-12 making nearly $70,000 a year. She'd be managing forensic evidence coming from crime labs and FBI field offices all over the country, advising law enforcement and prosecutors about evidence, and supervising a whole team of junior scientists and technicians…"
Hal lifted one bony shoulder in a shrug. "Basically, Gil, I plan to recommend her to the hiring committee here. If you're prepared to let her go." He paused. "I just thought I'd at least give you a heads up before I steal her away."
His mouth suddenly dry, Grissom let his eyes drift slowly around the office, searching for comfort in familiar things. Nearly every spare inch of the space had been colonized with his jars, his bugs, his peculiar specimens…He didn't like to admit it, but it would be hard to disappear without cake in the break room with all these things to dismantle and pack away.
Twenty-four by sixteen by thirty-six...
He had a good idea of what those dimensions could hold, what they did hold. When she wasn't looking, he often snuck glimpses into the one private space she had at the lab, peering into her locker through the angle between arm and thigh when one hand lay near her knee, through the semicircle formed from jaw to neck to shoulder, even through the shifting shapes taken by the curves in her hair as it framed her head.
Five minutes. Ten, if she hesitated as she packed or took the time to give away anything that she would no longer need, or want.
Ten minutes.
Ten.
"Gil?"
He blinked.
"So, what do you want to do here?"
The river's cold seemed suddenly, inexplicably warm now and as it began to overtake him, the force of it was almost frightening. His mother had always said a little fear could be a good thing, if you used it wisely.
"Let me…get back to you."
There was a beat of silence on the line.
"I'll get back to you, Hal, when I know what we're doing."
By the time his colleague secured the piece of paper in his hand underneath Black Betty's prize, Grissom had already stood up and set out in search of his.
TBC…
