Business On Samhain, a csi fanfic

Disclaimer: It's been a year; hopefully by now everybody knows: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation does not belong to me.

Author's Note: For b8kworm, Mr. Hathaway. Eileen, my fellow scrooge, for your love of this holiday and its ethnic ties, this story was made with you in mind. For those members of the graveshift, who have supported me from the very beginning. Thanks, Angie, for the read through. Another year, another set of holidays. --- The intention for this story is to set up the next two; the conclusion, if it all works out, comes at New Year's.

Summary: Time, now, he had to change and to correct the misconception. If not this year, he could chip away at Grissom's legendary armor of patience from tonight until forever.

Rating: PG

Archives: the Graveyard, mine. Anybody else, email me. I like to go visiting.

Pairing(s): G/C friendship.

Spoiler(s): Anything after LHB that involves Eddie.

***** ***** *****

Title: Business On Samhain

Author: Laeta
Email: ladylaeta@yahoo.com

Lore has it that the veil separating the living and the dead thins on Samhain. It is the one night where the dead may consort with the living, and the vengeful come out to play. It permits those content with their former mortality to visit their surviving loved ones. Samhain also lets loose a third class of souls upon the unsuspecting living - the peaceful dead harboring unfinished business.

This year, one soul acknowledged his affiliation with the last group. He was not a member of this realm for a long time, only about half a year in living terms; time has no meaning for the dead.

I clearly remember his surprise as he joined us on this side of the veil; it was obvious that he expected fires, brimstone, and punishment. It takes a long time for Man to understand the true meaning of death; being so simple, the truth is occasionally hard to grasp. Death is merely the loss of the physical husk called the body. In dying, our minds endure, and mind-over-matter holds fast since thoughts control our physical shape.

Once this soul had grasped the true concept of death and grew comfortable with sensations here, the weight of his mortal death pressed down upon him. Similar to the medical condition of shock, this delayed response is typical. It is also the norm for unfinished matters to accompany. Score one for the non-ephemeral; he admitted as much. It broke my metaphysical heart to see his eagerness for the arrival of Samhain.

What surprised me was that he did not seek out his beloved daughter. He did not visit his estranged ex-wife. He did not go to any of the myriad of former lovers. This soul zeroed in on the one man he freely scorned during life: one Gil Grissom.

Standing outside Grissom's closed office at the witching hour, Eddie chose not to materialize into a recognizable human form. He drifted through the door, enjoying one perk of being a ghost. Having chosen never to enter this room while alive, he gazed in struck awe. He noted, with a keenness that any criminalist would envy, the lack of personal objects within the room.

With a thought, he stood inside Grissom's townhouse - again, a location he knew quite well but never entered. He walked slowly through the suite of rooms, absorbing what he could. He noticed here, too, the absence of photographs.

During life, he had been so sure of an intimate relationship between Grissom and Catherine. So sure. He would have bet anything on it, and the certainty drove wedges between him and Catherine. He could see the obvious reality now; knowing Grissom as he did, he knew Grissom would - at least - have framed pictures of her. Guilt and regret can still be felt when dead, unfortunately.

Time, now, he had to change and to correct the misconception. If not this year, he could chip away at Grissom's legendary armor of patience from tonight until forever. He grinned at the opportunity.

The instant Grissom unlocked the front door, all his preoccupations fell away and epinephrine flooded his circulatory system. Exhaustion temporarily lifted while he pulled his gun from the holster. His eyes, meanwhile, flew over the open space of the kitchen and living room; not a thing appeared askew. Every room was checked carefully but Grissom could not shake the feeling somebody had been here.

Giving only five seconds to the consideration of a call to Brass, Grissom ignored the unease and locked the front door. He successfully convinced himself that he was only troubled by the tension between him and Catherine. Ensconced within the shower, the grime from crime scenes and suspects washed down the drain as he vainly tried to pull together a way to help Catherine.

Her sole focus, understandably, was Lindsey. All her life, Lindsey spent Halloween with Eddie; it was their time, father-daughter time. Tomorrow would be the first holiday without him, and though more than six months had past, this was still uncharted territory. He and Catherine had discussed their options at easing the milestone to great lengths.

The first choice was for Catherine to take the night off. Lindsey in her maturity knew the financial constraints they were facing and blatantly refused to allow it. Choice number two had Grissom taking Lindsey trick-or-treating. Neither one had the courage to broach this option to Lindsey; who knew how she may take it. So, they were at a standoff.

By this time, Grissom was dried, clothed, and hungry. Toweling his hair, he walked leisurely toward the kitchen; then stopped short. Mind blank and disbelieving, he really re-thought his stance on the existence of ghosts. Lounged on a counter stool was Eddie Willows.

Reminiscent of a Western duel, both men took stock of the other. Eddie chose to speak into the silence first.

"You're not still considering to shoot, are you?" There was wariness evident.

Grissom's spiritual side overpowered the rational, scientific side with barely a tiff.

"Eddie, need I remind you that you're dead? I can't shoot you."

"I never said me, Gil."

Grissom filed away the absence of his visitor's characteristic sneer; immediately the science side of him clicked.

"Samhain."

Eddie nodded.

"Why are you here, Eddie? There was no business between us during life."

"No, but there is business between us now." Pause. "You're quite calm about this; you're not going to go for your gun, right?"

A head shake was his answer. Well, that and a raised eyebrow.

"I have stuff to say to you; if you shoot your gun in, say, hysteria, I won't be able to finish. I just want to know ahead of time."

Eddie's respect for Grissom increased a notch when Grissom crossed into the kitchen and poured a glass of iced tea. Apparently, he was going to accept an unwanted ghost into his home for however long it would take.

"Peaked your interest, haven't I?"

"It's been a long time since either of us had a reason for civilized conversations."

"Then let's pretend we're still friends. It may be the only way to get through this."

"What's this, Eddie?"

"My unfinished business: Lindsey, Cath."

Immediately, there was some degree of contempt for the deceased pouring out of Grissom. Yet, his words were controlled calm.

"You left her in quite a bind. I don't see what we would have to discuss."

Whoever said the dead cannot lie knew more than s/he was letting on.

"I know. Gil, that's what I'm trying to fix." Eddie grimaced as he spoke the words. Sometimes honestly hurts the discloser rather than the disclosee.

They spent close to two hours discussing and negotiating Eddie's unfinished business. Even for these two former friends, once attaining a common goal, they remembered how to work together. The only time Grissom's practicality reared its neck was at the timeline Eddie was insisting.

Funny thing about friends is that they know exactly which buttons to push. "Keep your enemies closer than your friends" has no application when the situation involves only friends.

To Grissom's reserve, Eddie merely replied, "I know how you love a challenge. Thanksgiving, that's one month." He stopped and the impact of his words was huge. "I know you can do it, Gil. I'm depending on you."

And Grissom nodded, however reluctantly.

But before Eddie left and the veil between the living and dead reformed, Eddie cinched the deal with one last promise. "You know, you can always decide not to do this for me. But you know, probably better than me, that there are more ways for me to contact you. Samhain lets me come physically. And you deserved this --- conversation in person."

With that, Grissom stumbled into bed but set the alarm for early evening. He had a phone call to make.