TITLE: Value
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K
TYPE: GCR (what else?)
RATING: R (just on the safe side)
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
SUMMARY: Catherine worries over a rather distracted Grissom.
NOTES: I apologize for any geographical inaccuracies. I haven't travelled far from my sheltered Quebec life… *grin*
----------Value - Part Two----------
Gil climbed in the Tahoe and glanced at the already seated – already buckled up Catherine. "Eager?" He asked, putting on his shades.
"Cautious." Came her curt reply.
He glanced over at her, matching her grin. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed towards Mandalay Bay. Catherine fidgeted in her seat, changing positions and sighing aloud. "Something bothering you, Catherine?" Gil asked casually, finally taking a hint.
Catherine let out a sardonic smile. "Oh, how astute of you to notice, Mr. Grissom. Now I see why you were appointed head of the CSI Graveyard Shift – nothing gets by you."
Gil gave her a half-smile. "Well developed senses, I guess." He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. His mind, however, was on the petite strawberry-blond sitting beside him. Whilst most – save Greg and his outrageous wardrobe – settled for casual wear at work, dawning jeans and t-shirts, Catherine always managed to make a fashion statement. Gil smiled, noting that even the plainest of clothes could look like a million bucks when sported by Catherine Willows. The car came to a resting pause at a traffic light, and he tried inconspicuously to observe her attire: clad in a regular pair of black leggings, a black tank-top and a baby pink mini-hoody; she was breathtaking.
Gil eased the car in the parking lot that surrounded Lupo's restaurant. Red and blue flashing lights illuminated the sky, and Catherine watched the colors dance off Gil's face. She stepped out of the Tahoe and made her way to the back of the car. Opening the trunk, she glanced at her surroundings, noting the group of undoubtedly hungry customers kept in line by the several uniforms. Her eyes trailed to the restaurants opening, where glass was scattered about inside and out and looking through the windows, she noted a general sense of havoc: tables up-turned, food splatters and broken chairs milling about. She absentmindedly reached for her bag, always keeping an eye on her surroundings, when her hand came into contact with warm flesh. She focused and looked down at her hand. Her eyes traveled up his arm to his shoulder, up his neck and rested on his handsome face. Her breathing deepened as her pores seemed to absorb his energy from the mere 'hand-on-hand' contact.
Gil broke the spell by retreating his hand close to his body, as if he had been burnt. He closed his eyes forcefully, reconsidering his recent action and tried to rectify his rudeness by offering to carry her bag. She smiled a thank you and closed the trunk after him. They walked up to the well-acquainted yellow tape that seemed to hang with such pride and Catherine lifted it up for her boss. They walked silently to the entrance, carefully stepping around the shards of glass from the now destroyed front doors. Gil put down both evidence bags and knelt down. Catherine watched him and after a few seconds lag, joined him. "See anything interesting?"
He picked up a shard of glass, with what looked like blood remains on it. His eyes jotted to hers and then he tossed it behind him. "Nope." He stated plainly, getting up and picking up the bags.
Catherine looked at him oddly and then in the direction where he threw the piece. Darkness never played part of the ally, and she couldn't pin-point where the important piece of evidence landed. "That piece of glass - " she started but was cut off by Gil's 'just drop it' look. Catherine shook her head, not understanding. She looked at him expectantly, waiting an answer to his behavior but was rewarded with a swift turn, and a silent conversation with his back. She stood up, and grabbed her bag from his hand and stepped through the glass-less wood-cased door. Gil opened the door, letting it swing shut behind him; glass tinkling as a few more fragments became unhinged and careened downwards to the floor.
Catherine closed her eyes as she heard the crunching noise of evidence being stepped on.. She glanced down at his hands then looked up at him. "The door." She muttered.
Gil swallowed hard. "What?"
"Gloves." She stated and fished out a pair from her bag. "Try wearing them." She told him coldly, slapping them to his chest.
Jim Brass stepped up behind them, unseen. "I didn't expect you two to be here." He said, surprised. "A chef found the body in the kitchen." He muttered, straightening his tie. "Right hand in the deep-fryer."
Catherine looked at him, disgusted. "A burn killed him?" She asked, skeptically.
Jim motioned the two CSIs to follow him into the kitchen. They walked by broken chairs and wrecked tables, napkins and tablecloths strewn about, until they reached a rather large swinging door. Jim took out a handkerchief and pushed the door open, holding it for the two investigators.
Catherine held her gloved hand to her face, grimacing. "It smells like rotten food in here." She commented, inhaling the latex. The trio walked to the end of the room, took a right past a freezer and glanced on the floor.
"Martin Howard." Jim read from his pad of paper. "Thirty-one years old, male Caucasian. Used to be five feet eleven inches but now it's kind of hard to tell. . ." Jim trailed off.
"But you mentioned something about the deep-fryer." Catherine said, observing the body from a distance.
Jim let out a grim laugh. He walked over to the fryers and took out a pair of tongs. "Right hand." He simply said, holding up what appeared to be a charred hand.
Gil and Catherine bent down and observed the remains of Martin Howard. "Garbage disposal?" Catherine asked, looking at Gil. "So, he was cut up, shoved in there and then emptied on the floor?"
Gil looked at her then back at the victim. "Can we rule out accident?"
Catherine stood up and looked at the garbage disposal. "Yeah Grissom, that's what happened. This man accidently tripped over some knives and fell head first into a 'Waste King'." Catherine replied sarcastically.
Jim looked at Catherine. "Head first?"
Gil chewed on his bottom lip. "An assumption based on hair follicles seeming to rest on the bottom of the," he paused, "pile." He finished, lacking a better word.
"Waste King Commercial Garbage Disposals." Catherine said, checking the make. "Found all around the world, manufactured here in the States." She turned around and faced the two men. "I'll have to do some more research on the make of the disposal," she then looked at Jim, "but can I take this to the lab?"
Jim shrugged. "Bag it, or something."
Catherine was about to disposal out of the sink but then paused. "We should check for prints before we take it." She stated, bending down and observing something on the rim of one of the blades. "The disposal has been cleaned." She mentioned, to no one in particular. "But blood can't hide from the wrath of Catherine Willows." She grinned smugly.
Gil slowly stood up, letting his eyes travel from her well-developed calves, to her slim thighs and finally to her toned buttocks. The tip of his tongue rested between his teeth and he slowly jutted it out to lick his drying lips.
Catherine glanced at Gil and he quickly looked away. «One of his moods, I guess.» She thought to herself as she furrowed her brow in response to his odd behavior. She went to her bag and started rummaging through, looking for some rubber-gelatin lifters, seeing if she could lift a print.
Meanwhile, Gil wandered over to the 'Waste King'. He sighed deeply, and shook his head. He traced his fingers along the inside of the rim and quickly across the blades. Looking at his naked fingers he found trace of blood - his blood. He smeared the blood on his fingers with his thumb then glanced quickly at Catherine who had located the object of her desire. He quickly put his hand in his pocket and continued to search the parameter. "Anyone hear or see anything?" He asked Jim.
Jim shook his head. "It's close to closing time, so they were all finishing up. Guests still lingered, finishing their coffee." He walked back to the door, recreating the findings. "Chef Felline walks in, stops at the freezer and opens it."
"He could smell something rotting." Catherine added, now standing near the disposal. She took out the lifters and placed it on the inside rim of the 'Waste King'. She slowly glided her fingers across the material, and then lifted it up. "Shit."
"He doesn't find any scraps of food and closes the freezer door," Jim did as he said, "and turns and sees the vic." Jim puts a hand to his heart in mock surprise.
"Police work truly wasn't your calling." Gil gave him a half-smile, ridiculing his acting skills.
"Did someone touch the disposal?" Catherine stormed up. "A chef, bus boy...police?"
"Why?" Jim asked.
Catherine held up the black piece of plastic paper. "It's smudged. Even the blades." She sighed. "Almost as if someone passed their hand over it." She held up the paper. "But we lifted two prints - one from the rim and one from the blade." Gil watched Catherine bag the evidence. "I'll run the prints through AFIS when we get back to the office."
Catherine motioned Jim and Gil to help her remove the disposal. They struggled and finally got it unhinged and guided it towards an awaiting bag. "This is heavy." Jim grunted.
"Wait." Catherine stopped the two men and took a swab. She passed it over one of the blades. "It's fresh, still recent. Might be the killer's who nicked his finger while pushing the victim through." Catherine hypothesized. "And there's some skin tissue as well." She put the swab in a container and took out the tweezers. "Okay, ready." She finally said, holding up the bag. "Guess the killer must have cut himself while cleaning up."
Gil grunted as he and Jim placed the 'Waste King' in the bag. "Thanks for helping, Jim." Gil grumbled sarcastically , rubbing his back. Jim just grinned.
Catherine sighed and clapped her hands together. "I think we're done." She said, letting her eyes travel one last time throughout the scene. Her eyes fell near the exit door and her thoughts went back to the chaotic scene in the restaurant. "If no one saw anything, then why is the restaurant in complete bedlam?" She asked Gil.
He looked at her blankly. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it, and decided on shrugging.
"If the killer came through the exit, he could be in and out without anyone noticing." Catherine said, walking over to the exit door. "So why was the restaurant in ruin?"
Jim stepped up. "The chef must have reacted, running out screaming for 911." He looked back at the swinging doors. "People panicked - was it something in the food, is there a killer, is the killer still here?" He sighed. "People do crazy things when they feel threatened. Like jumping out windows when they could have easily opened the door. . ." he trailed off.
Gil walked up to the exit door where Catherine was checking for prints. He pressed on the metal bar that opened the door and a loud siren went off.
Catherine stood up and whacked him on the shoulder. "What the hell are you doing?" She pointed at the print kit she had prepared and how he had probably ruined her chances at finding anything.
Gil looked at Jim then back at Catherine. "Working my theory." He said, stepping outside.
"You should try working tel theory with gloves, Gil!" She called after him, only to be rewarded by the door shutting in her face. "Jim." Catherine said, letting him know that she would be outside with Gil.
"I'll start loading the items into the truck." He said, understanding.
Catherine stepped outside, letting the door close behind her. "Are you bored?" She asked aggressively.
"What?" Gil asked, trailing his hand across the wall, as if he was looking for something.
"I've been racking my brain, Gil; trying to find out what could be bothering you. Are you bored or have you begun to fall back down the evolution time line."
"I don't understand what you mean." Gil said casually, not looking her in the eye.
"You're acting like a real unprofessional son of a bitch right now, Gil Grissom."
"Watch it, Cath." Gil finally turned to her.
"You've been in the business how many years, Gil?" When he didn't answer she pressed on. "Because right now, it looks as if you've never been to a crime scene before, like you have no idea what the hell you are doing. I'm starting to wonder why they did give you the cushy job."
Gil just watched her, and she could see anger flash in his eyes. "I think we're done here." He said, in a stable voice. He turned and began to walk away.
Catherine let out a breath she didn't know she had even been holding. She hated being so hostile with him, but it pained her that he wouldn't open up. Something was obviously bothering the dedicated man, and she ached to heal his wounds. She followed his path, stopping a distance away from him. She observed him talking heatedly on his cell phone, and finally shutting it off. He pounded his fist on the roof of the Tahoe and then climbed in. She saw the lights turn on and watched him, with her mouth open, as he drove off.
Jim walked up to her and raised his eyebrow. "Need a lift?"
She nodded as she watched Gil's car dissapear down the road.
—TBC—
AUTHOR: Gomey (grissomsgnome@yahoo.com)
ARCHIVE: Anywhere . . . just let me know, so I can brag. Heheh. J/K
TYPE: GCR (what else?)
RATING: R (just on the safe side)
SPOILERS: *shrugs* I guess . . .
DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.
SUMMARY: Catherine worries over a rather distracted Grissom.
NOTES: I apologize for any geographical inaccuracies. I haven't travelled far from my sheltered Quebec life… *grin*
----------Value - Part Two----------
Gil climbed in the Tahoe and glanced at the already seated – already buckled up Catherine. "Eager?" He asked, putting on his shades.
"Cautious." Came her curt reply.
He glanced over at her, matching her grin. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed towards Mandalay Bay. Catherine fidgeted in her seat, changing positions and sighing aloud. "Something bothering you, Catherine?" Gil asked casually, finally taking a hint.
Catherine let out a sardonic smile. "Oh, how astute of you to notice, Mr. Grissom. Now I see why you were appointed head of the CSI Graveyard Shift – nothing gets by you."
Gil gave her a half-smile. "Well developed senses, I guess." He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road. His mind, however, was on the petite strawberry-blond sitting beside him. Whilst most – save Greg and his outrageous wardrobe – settled for casual wear at work, dawning jeans and t-shirts, Catherine always managed to make a fashion statement. Gil smiled, noting that even the plainest of clothes could look like a million bucks when sported by Catherine Willows. The car came to a resting pause at a traffic light, and he tried inconspicuously to observe her attire: clad in a regular pair of black leggings, a black tank-top and a baby pink mini-hoody; she was breathtaking.
Gil eased the car in the parking lot that surrounded Lupo's restaurant. Red and blue flashing lights illuminated the sky, and Catherine watched the colors dance off Gil's face. She stepped out of the Tahoe and made her way to the back of the car. Opening the trunk, she glanced at her surroundings, noting the group of undoubtedly hungry customers kept in line by the several uniforms. Her eyes trailed to the restaurants opening, where glass was scattered about inside and out and looking through the windows, she noted a general sense of havoc: tables up-turned, food splatters and broken chairs milling about. She absentmindedly reached for her bag, always keeping an eye on her surroundings, when her hand came into contact with warm flesh. She focused and looked down at her hand. Her eyes traveled up his arm to his shoulder, up his neck and rested on his handsome face. Her breathing deepened as her pores seemed to absorb his energy from the mere 'hand-on-hand' contact.
Gil broke the spell by retreating his hand close to his body, as if he had been burnt. He closed his eyes forcefully, reconsidering his recent action and tried to rectify his rudeness by offering to carry her bag. She smiled a thank you and closed the trunk after him. They walked up to the well-acquainted yellow tape that seemed to hang with such pride and Catherine lifted it up for her boss. They walked silently to the entrance, carefully stepping around the shards of glass from the now destroyed front doors. Gil put down both evidence bags and knelt down. Catherine watched him and after a few seconds lag, joined him. "See anything interesting?"
He picked up a shard of glass, with what looked like blood remains on it. His eyes jotted to hers and then he tossed it behind him. "Nope." He stated plainly, getting up and picking up the bags.
Catherine looked at him oddly and then in the direction where he threw the piece. Darkness never played part of the ally, and she couldn't pin-point where the important piece of evidence landed. "That piece of glass - " she started but was cut off by Gil's 'just drop it' look. Catherine shook her head, not understanding. She looked at him expectantly, waiting an answer to his behavior but was rewarded with a swift turn, and a silent conversation with his back. She stood up, and grabbed her bag from his hand and stepped through the glass-less wood-cased door. Gil opened the door, letting it swing shut behind him; glass tinkling as a few more fragments became unhinged and careened downwards to the floor.
Catherine closed her eyes as she heard the crunching noise of evidence being stepped on.. She glanced down at his hands then looked up at him. "The door." She muttered.
Gil swallowed hard. "What?"
"Gloves." She stated and fished out a pair from her bag. "Try wearing them." She told him coldly, slapping them to his chest.
Jim Brass stepped up behind them, unseen. "I didn't expect you two to be here." He said, surprised. "A chef found the body in the kitchen." He muttered, straightening his tie. "Right hand in the deep-fryer."
Catherine looked at him, disgusted. "A burn killed him?" She asked, skeptically.
Jim motioned the two CSIs to follow him into the kitchen. They walked by broken chairs and wrecked tables, napkins and tablecloths strewn about, until they reached a rather large swinging door. Jim took out a handkerchief and pushed the door open, holding it for the two investigators.
Catherine held her gloved hand to her face, grimacing. "It smells like rotten food in here." She commented, inhaling the latex. The trio walked to the end of the room, took a right past a freezer and glanced on the floor.
"Martin Howard." Jim read from his pad of paper. "Thirty-one years old, male Caucasian. Used to be five feet eleven inches but now it's kind of hard to tell. . ." Jim trailed off.
"But you mentioned something about the deep-fryer." Catherine said, observing the body from a distance.
Jim let out a grim laugh. He walked over to the fryers and took out a pair of tongs. "Right hand." He simply said, holding up what appeared to be a charred hand.
Gil and Catherine bent down and observed the remains of Martin Howard. "Garbage disposal?" Catherine asked, looking at Gil. "So, he was cut up, shoved in there and then emptied on the floor?"
Gil looked at her then back at the victim. "Can we rule out accident?"
Catherine stood up and looked at the garbage disposal. "Yeah Grissom, that's what happened. This man accidently tripped over some knives and fell head first into a 'Waste King'." Catherine replied sarcastically.
Jim looked at Catherine. "Head first?"
Gil chewed on his bottom lip. "An assumption based on hair follicles seeming to rest on the bottom of the," he paused, "pile." He finished, lacking a better word.
"Waste King Commercial Garbage Disposals." Catherine said, checking the make. "Found all around the world, manufactured here in the States." She turned around and faced the two men. "I'll have to do some more research on the make of the disposal," she then looked at Jim, "but can I take this to the lab?"
Jim shrugged. "Bag it, or something."
Catherine was about to disposal out of the sink but then paused. "We should check for prints before we take it." She stated, bending down and observing something on the rim of one of the blades. "The disposal has been cleaned." She mentioned, to no one in particular. "But blood can't hide from the wrath of Catherine Willows." She grinned smugly.
Gil slowly stood up, letting his eyes travel from her well-developed calves, to her slim thighs and finally to her toned buttocks. The tip of his tongue rested between his teeth and he slowly jutted it out to lick his drying lips.
Catherine glanced at Gil and he quickly looked away. «One of his moods, I guess.» She thought to herself as she furrowed her brow in response to his odd behavior. She went to her bag and started rummaging through, looking for some rubber-gelatin lifters, seeing if she could lift a print.
Meanwhile, Gil wandered over to the 'Waste King'. He sighed deeply, and shook his head. He traced his fingers along the inside of the rim and quickly across the blades. Looking at his naked fingers he found trace of blood - his blood. He smeared the blood on his fingers with his thumb then glanced quickly at Catherine who had located the object of her desire. He quickly put his hand in his pocket and continued to search the parameter. "Anyone hear or see anything?" He asked Jim.
Jim shook his head. "It's close to closing time, so they were all finishing up. Guests still lingered, finishing their coffee." He walked back to the door, recreating the findings. "Chef Felline walks in, stops at the freezer and opens it."
"He could smell something rotting." Catherine added, now standing near the disposal. She took out the lifters and placed it on the inside rim of the 'Waste King'. She slowly glided her fingers across the material, and then lifted it up. "Shit."
"He doesn't find any scraps of food and closes the freezer door," Jim did as he said, "and turns and sees the vic." Jim puts a hand to his heart in mock surprise.
"Police work truly wasn't your calling." Gil gave him a half-smile, ridiculing his acting skills.
"Did someone touch the disposal?" Catherine stormed up. "A chef, bus boy...police?"
"Why?" Jim asked.
Catherine held up the black piece of plastic paper. "It's smudged. Even the blades." She sighed. "Almost as if someone passed their hand over it." She held up the paper. "But we lifted two prints - one from the rim and one from the blade." Gil watched Catherine bag the evidence. "I'll run the prints through AFIS when we get back to the office."
Catherine motioned Jim and Gil to help her remove the disposal. They struggled and finally got it unhinged and guided it towards an awaiting bag. "This is heavy." Jim grunted.
"Wait." Catherine stopped the two men and took a swab. She passed it over one of the blades. "It's fresh, still recent. Might be the killer's who nicked his finger while pushing the victim through." Catherine hypothesized. "And there's some skin tissue as well." She put the swab in a container and took out the tweezers. "Okay, ready." She finally said, holding up the bag. "Guess the killer must have cut himself while cleaning up."
Gil grunted as he and Jim placed the 'Waste King' in the bag. "Thanks for helping, Jim." Gil grumbled sarcastically , rubbing his back. Jim just grinned.
Catherine sighed and clapped her hands together. "I think we're done." She said, letting her eyes travel one last time throughout the scene. Her eyes fell near the exit door and her thoughts went back to the chaotic scene in the restaurant. "If no one saw anything, then why is the restaurant in complete bedlam?" She asked Gil.
He looked at her blankly. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it, and decided on shrugging.
"If the killer came through the exit, he could be in and out without anyone noticing." Catherine said, walking over to the exit door. "So why was the restaurant in ruin?"
Jim stepped up. "The chef must have reacted, running out screaming for 911." He looked back at the swinging doors. "People panicked - was it something in the food, is there a killer, is the killer still here?" He sighed. "People do crazy things when they feel threatened. Like jumping out windows when they could have easily opened the door. . ." he trailed off.
Gil walked up to the exit door where Catherine was checking for prints. He pressed on the metal bar that opened the door and a loud siren went off.
Catherine stood up and whacked him on the shoulder. "What the hell are you doing?" She pointed at the print kit she had prepared and how he had probably ruined her chances at finding anything.
Gil looked at Jim then back at Catherine. "Working my theory." He said, stepping outside.
"You should try working tel theory with gloves, Gil!" She called after him, only to be rewarded by the door shutting in her face. "Jim." Catherine said, letting him know that she would be outside with Gil.
"I'll start loading the items into the truck." He said, understanding.
Catherine stepped outside, letting the door close behind her. "Are you bored?" She asked aggressively.
"What?" Gil asked, trailing his hand across the wall, as if he was looking for something.
"I've been racking my brain, Gil; trying to find out what could be bothering you. Are you bored or have you begun to fall back down the evolution time line."
"I don't understand what you mean." Gil said casually, not looking her in the eye.
"You're acting like a real unprofessional son of a bitch right now, Gil Grissom."
"Watch it, Cath." Gil finally turned to her.
"You've been in the business how many years, Gil?" When he didn't answer she pressed on. "Because right now, it looks as if you've never been to a crime scene before, like you have no idea what the hell you are doing. I'm starting to wonder why they did give you the cushy job."
Gil just watched her, and she could see anger flash in his eyes. "I think we're done here." He said, in a stable voice. He turned and began to walk away.
Catherine let out a breath she didn't know she had even been holding. She hated being so hostile with him, but it pained her that he wouldn't open up. Something was obviously bothering the dedicated man, and she ached to heal his wounds. She followed his path, stopping a distance away from him. She observed him talking heatedly on his cell phone, and finally shutting it off. He pounded his fist on the roof of the Tahoe and then climbed in. She saw the lights turn on and watched him, with her mouth open, as he drove off.
Jim walked up to her and raised his eyebrow. "Need a lift?"
She nodded as she watched Gil's car dissapear down the road.
—TBC—