Author's Note: Well I think my muse has kicked into overdrive – yet another idea that just couldn't wait. I figure starting a new story while there are still two works in progress either makes me a brilliant multi tasker – or a masochist. This is a series of first person POV by all the characters – yep, that includes the secondary characters as well. It is my take on what they are really thinking/feeling. I actually got the format by a writer by the name of revivingophelia over in the Wrestling section. So I am giving credit where it's due (in other words, don't sue me!). Same thing with the characters – they are not mine, I am just trying them out to see what I can do with them.
* * *
Gil Grissom is an idiot.
Not that he doesn't know what he's doing. When it comes to his job, he is definitely on top of his game. But I think he is an idiot, the way he lets his team run all over the place, doing whatever they want and bending the rules to suit their needs. If my guys did that, the big man would have my head on a platter. But because it is Saint Grissom, everyone is willing to turn a blind eye. And if he does screw up, which is rare, everyone will run around and make sure that his ass is covered.
I shouldn't let it bother me. I mean, he must be doing something right, because his team solves the cases that everyone else thinks are unsolvable. But it just irks me the way that everyone looks at him with awe in their eyes. They look at him like he is the icon that all other CSI's should strive to be like. Some of them, like Nick and Sara, do just that. The way those two run around like Grissom's little lap dogs just makes me sick. But much as it irritates me, it also makes me jealous. I wish that my team acted like that sometimes. I wish that I had a team that would bend over backwards trying to help me. I like my team and they do good work, but we don't have that same rapport that Grissom and his team do. I act like it doesn't bother me, but it does. It bothers me more than anyone knows. But I can't tell them. No, I am supposed to be mean ol' Ecklie. I am the Goliath to Grissom's David. The devil to his angel. I am the bad guy around here.
I can see it, even now as I walk down the halls of headquarters. Eyes look away, backs are turned and conversations suddenly cease when I appear. I pass by Warrick and make an effort to be professional. I smile at him and nod, and am rewarded with a look of indifference for my attempts. There is even a bit of contempt in his eyes. It is like he is angry at me for something I haven't even done yet. Or maybe he is just angry for any previous transgressions that I have committed. I continue walking even though I want to run back, grab him by the shoulders and ask him why he hates me so much. I haven't done anything to him personally. I haven't done a lot of things to anyone personally. I can understand why Grissom hates me. We are like oil and water; we don't see eye to eye. And he annoys me so much that most times I can't even be bothered to make the effort to be civil. I understand that. I don't like everyone I work with and I shouldn't expect everyone to like me. Yet people seem to hate me by association around here. They hate me because of the problems Grissom and I have. But they have no reason to dislike me. I know that Nick hates me because of the investigation I led into the death of that hooker he was seeing. But he doesn't understand that I was just doing my job. Does he really think that I would be so malicious as to try and get him fired because of my beef with Grissom? Rhetorical question. I tried to explain it to him afterwards, but he would have none of it. If we had been outside of the building I am sure he would have spit on me. Oh hell, he probably would have set me on fire. I wish that he and the rest of Grissom's team didn't hate me. I know that I am here to work, not to make friends, but it sure would be nice to have someone ask me how my day was. It would be nice if someone could flash me a smile once in a while, instead of looking at me like I am the Anti-Christ. No one here knows me. They think they do, but they don't. No one takes the time to find out what I am like outside of work. I will be the first to admit that I am not one of those sugary-sweet individuals but I am not on par with Lucifer either. I am a man who likes to take my dogs for walks, eat good Italian food and watch classic movies.
They don't know any of this.
I can live without them knowing the mundane details of my life. But sometimes I want to scream at them that there is a reason that I come across as so harsh and unfeeling at times. I grew up in the type of house where rules and structure were the name of the game. It's all I know how to do. I can't turn it on and off whenever I feel like it. They don't seem to understand this. They think that I like to be anal retentive and rigid. While it's true that I do sometimes, I also wish I could be more free spirited. It kills me to admit it, but I admire Sanders. I watch him in the lab, bouncing around with that "devil may care" attitude and I am envious. I wish I could me more like him. I wish I didn't care what people thought about me. I wish I could let loose once in a while. I used to know how to separate my real life and my work life. I used to know that this was only a job. But when my wife left me, I forgot all that. Work is the only thing that I have left now. I eat, sleep and breathe it. It is the only thing that I am good at anymore. I was obviously not very good at the marriage thing. They don't know that either. They never bother to ask. For all they know, or care, I am still married. But they never asked, so I'll never tell. I look at the calendar and the reasons for my sudden pity party become abundantly clear: Today would have been our anniversary. I wonder where she is today. That's all I can do anymore. The wondering is the worst part. I hate this day, and I always will. It reminds me that my life fell apart. I lost my love, I lost my old life and I lost myself. That is why I act the way I do. I wish I could put out a memo and let them all know that they shouldn't judge me. Everybody has a story. Mine defines who I am. I look at the clock. My shift is almost over. I grab my coat and start to leave the building. I pretend I don't feel the hate and loathing that emanate from everyone I pass. I quicken my pace and in my haste to get out, almost knock Catherine right off her feet.
"Whoa! Careful Conrad! Where's the fire?"
I study her face. She is not quite teasing, but not quite angry either. She is the only one around here who doesn't give me dirty looks every time I walk through the door. Maybe she is just better at pretending to be civil than the rest of them are.
"Sorry Catherine. I just don't want to be here another minute."
"One of those days?" Is that actual sympathy in her voice? It's been so long that I can't even be sure.
"Something like that. Just a lousy, rotten day."
She smiles a genuine smile at me. It's been a while since I saw one of those, too. "Well cheer up Conrad. Things can only get better. Have a good night" With that, she waves at me and goes inside.
I get in my car and think about that short encounter. For the first time in ages, someone showed a little actual concern for me. It feels good. Maybe she's right. I mean, I have already been down as low as I can go. It's never too late to change. Tomorrow I will become the person I want to be. It won't be easy, but maybe I can make an effort to be a little less distant, a little less harsh and a little more approachable. Tonight I will walk my dogs, order in some Italian food and watch some old movies. Tomorrow is the first day of my new life. Tomorrow, I will start trying to be a better me.
But I still think Grissom is an idiot.