Blind Revenge
By: Manda and Allison
A/N: Hey - it's week 7!
Chapter 7: Decisions
~*~*~*~
"What was that all about?" Warrick didn't request any answers until they'd arrived back at the lab, heading down the corridor toward the computer lab, where they could present Sara with their list, to cross-reference with her own findings. "You and Brass back there-"
"It was nothing, Warrick. Find Sara and get started on those names- I'll be in my office." It was the only place he could think, and Grissom found that all he needed to do now was just that. Fortify himself for the battle of wits with Brian Mobley. He'd go to the mattresses, if it had to come to that.
"Sure."
Grissom broke away from Warrick and went into his office-shutting the door and locking it. The last thing he needed was for Greg, or someone else to wander in unexpectedly. Slouching down onto his couch, Grissom kicked his feet up and began to slowly massage his temples. He needed Bach...or Tchaikovsky right now, something soothing, to clear his head. Help him think.
Funny the only thing that could clear his thoughts better than the soft sounds of classical music, was Catherine, and he didn't have her right now either.
"You think you don't have me, hm?" The sound of her voice brought him to a sitting position, and he glanced around, seeing her sitting on the edge of the desk, looking pleased. "You always have. After all, who got me into this field in the first place?"
"It takes two to tango, Catherine." He didn't move, but she did, coming to sit beside him on the tough, leather sofa. "And you made it here without my help."
"Ah, but you were the one who encouraged me." She leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose. "And if you think you're getting rid of me that easily, Gil Grissom, then you're wrong. Go head-to-head with Mobley- you're good at that. But remember that you can't sacrifice both of our careers...it won't do you any good."
"I'm not letting him fire you."
"Then don't. And Gil?" Her smile was coy, sweet, and clever as she leaned forward, hands on his shoulders, tip of her nose touching his. "Remember who taught you what it means to go to the mattresses. If it hadn't been for me- you may never have watched 'The Godfather'."
"Yes, I-" He opened his eyes, sitting up in the dim light of his silent office. His empty office, as he realized that, like Catherine earlier, he had been hallucinating. She was still in the hospital, still under restraints and fighting the assailant that none of them could find.
And he knew that he still had her.
Getting up and stretching, he felt a renewed spirit in him. The world was not lost, the fight wasn't as hopeless as it had seemed but an hour or so ago. Striding over to the phone on his desk, he picked it up and dialed. Two rings later he heard the gruff, commanding voice of the Sheriff on the other end.
"Hello?"
"Mobley, its Gil Grissom...go to hell, I'm not firing her." And he slammed the phone back into its cradle, creating a resounding boom, for added effect.
And that was that.
~*~*~*~
"Hey." Sara tore her eyes away from the computer screen as Warrick walked in, brandishing his own sheet of crisp computer paper.
"Hey," She'd begun to morph into something closely resembling a vegetable, crumpled Styrofoam cups scattered around the desk area "You've got that list?"
"Yeah, names and phone numbers." Warrick leaned against the doorframe, eyeing the piles of litter with a raised eyebrow. "Gonna check up on some of the employees, want to come?"
"Uh...yeah." Rubbing her eyes, Sara rose, pulling a crisp sheet out of her own printer. "I've got a list of my own- all of Catherine's cases in the past few months. I can go over it in the car- see if there's anything that matches any of the names on your list."
"Cool-let's go then."
"Fine by me," she smiled, grabbing her coat eagerly off of the back of her chair. After spending nearly an hour glued to her computer, her tired eyes were grateful for the reprieve. "Where we headed to first?"
"A Mr. Alexander Petty-says here that he filled the first prescription. February 20th, just like Conrad told us back at the pharmacy."
"But he didn't fill the other three?"
"Right."
"So who filled the other three prescriptions?"
"Let's hope Mr. Petty can tell us that."
~*~*~*~
"So, Mr. Petty- you left the pharmacy in March?" Sara opened the questioning once the two CSI's were allowed into the neat duplex where Alexander Petty- a forty-three year old white male- resided, in Henderson. They'd been offered tea and coffee several times- Warrick subtly covering Sara's empty teacup when coffee was brought in--and had finally managed to warm the man enough to ask their questions. "Can you tell us why you left?"
"I wasn't happy in my position." Petty sat on a low, overstuffed white sofa, while Warrick and Sara perched on wing-backed chairs. "Mr. Conrad and I didn't see eye-to-eye."
"What do you mean by that?"
"He was hitting on me, if you must know." Crossing his legs, Petty seemed agitated, gesturing to a gilt-framed photo on a table nearby. "Andrew and I have been together for nearly two years- and Conrad knew that. But he insisted I'd have more fun. It didn't make the workplace very friendly, Miss Sidle."
"I see," Sara trailed off, as she scribbled this down in her notes.
"I'm sure you understand what I mean, Miss Sidle...as a woman I'm sure you've experienced something similar in your own work place, at one time or another."
"Um, no...I haven't, Mr. Petty."
"Ah well," he shrugged nervously, "good for you."
Sara sent a helpless glance Warrick's direction, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.
"It also says here, Mr. Petty, that you filled a prescription for Prozac, on February 20th. For a Ms. Catherine Willows, is that true?"
"Blonde, leggy, smart dresser?"
Sara and Warrick didn't speak, the expressions on their faces doing all of the talking for them.
"Just because I play for the other team," Mr. Petty replied with a grin, "doesn't mean I don't notice those kinds of things...but yes, I filled that. Ms. Willows was a frequent customer, got most of her medication there."
"And you only filled the first prescription, Mr. Petty?"
"Yes. But I did come in to clean out my desk on the day Ms. Willows came back for a refill. I recall as much-- because I'd given her enough to last several weeks...and she returned long before that. Of course...there could have been any number of reasons why-"
"Do you remember what day that was, Sir?"
"Yes- it was March 5th. I remember it like it was yesterday, Mr. Brown...it was the day Andrew and I..." The middle-aged man blushed, and Sara's eyebrow arched as she and Warrick exchanged glances. "At any rate- there was a new boy in that day...brown hair, 5'7"...I believe his name was Reggie."
"Thank you, Mr. Petty."
At that, Sara and Warrick stood up and exited the house, shutting the door quietly as they stepped into the dry Vegas evening. The walk to the car was silent, neither speaking until they were securely buckled in and had begun pulling out of the driveway.
"Who'd name their child Reggie?" Sara asked suddenly, out of the blue.
"There are worse names, Sara."
"Like what?"
"Well..." Warrick stopped for a moment, and thought. "Francis, for one."
"What does the name Francis have to do with anything?" His passenger winced as Warrick neatly, yet narrowly, avoided a UPS truck on the 4 lane Vegas highway.
"It was supposed to be my name," Warrick replied, and swerved again to pass a station wagon with dangling Maine plates. "But my mom vetoed that idea- said it was my Pop's mother's name. She wanted her son to be a man."
"Well, if that's what you are, then it worked." Sara grinned, and Warrick yanked on the wheel to pull them close to the guardrail, causing her to tighten her grip upon the door handle. "Warrick."
"Don't mess with the man, Sara."
"The man, is going to get us killed."
"No faith, I've been driving in Vegas my whole life. Never even gotten a ticket...I know these streets better than you know your parents. Where's the faith in my driving skills, Sara?"
"About five miles back Warrick, with my stomach."
"Ha, ha."
"So glad you think, me losing my lunch all over this car is so hilarious," Sara folded her arms across her chest, and kept her eyes on the road in front of her.
"You wouldn't-"
"And I would make you clean it up, man."
"Oh, harsh, Sara, harsh," Warrick took one hand off of the wheel, placing over his chest as if he'd been vitally wounded.
"Well, I try to live up to my reputation." She laughed, leaning for the radio knob and flicking it on. "Hey...Warrick?"
"Yeah?"
"I suppose only a real homie listens to classical opera?" Her mouth clamped shut as her co-worker changed stations and lanes simultaneously, and not another word was uttered for the remainder of the drive.
TBC.
By: Manda and Allison
A/N: Hey - it's week 7!
Chapter 7: Decisions
~*~*~*~
"What was that all about?" Warrick didn't request any answers until they'd arrived back at the lab, heading down the corridor toward the computer lab, where they could present Sara with their list, to cross-reference with her own findings. "You and Brass back there-"
"It was nothing, Warrick. Find Sara and get started on those names- I'll be in my office." It was the only place he could think, and Grissom found that all he needed to do now was just that. Fortify himself for the battle of wits with Brian Mobley. He'd go to the mattresses, if it had to come to that.
"Sure."
Grissom broke away from Warrick and went into his office-shutting the door and locking it. The last thing he needed was for Greg, or someone else to wander in unexpectedly. Slouching down onto his couch, Grissom kicked his feet up and began to slowly massage his temples. He needed Bach...or Tchaikovsky right now, something soothing, to clear his head. Help him think.
Funny the only thing that could clear his thoughts better than the soft sounds of classical music, was Catherine, and he didn't have her right now either.
"You think you don't have me, hm?" The sound of her voice brought him to a sitting position, and he glanced around, seeing her sitting on the edge of the desk, looking pleased. "You always have. After all, who got me into this field in the first place?"
"It takes two to tango, Catherine." He didn't move, but she did, coming to sit beside him on the tough, leather sofa. "And you made it here without my help."
"Ah, but you were the one who encouraged me." She leaned forward to kiss the tip of his nose. "And if you think you're getting rid of me that easily, Gil Grissom, then you're wrong. Go head-to-head with Mobley- you're good at that. But remember that you can't sacrifice both of our careers...it won't do you any good."
"I'm not letting him fire you."
"Then don't. And Gil?" Her smile was coy, sweet, and clever as she leaned forward, hands on his shoulders, tip of her nose touching his. "Remember who taught you what it means to go to the mattresses. If it hadn't been for me- you may never have watched 'The Godfather'."
"Yes, I-" He opened his eyes, sitting up in the dim light of his silent office. His empty office, as he realized that, like Catherine earlier, he had been hallucinating. She was still in the hospital, still under restraints and fighting the assailant that none of them could find.
And he knew that he still had her.
Getting up and stretching, he felt a renewed spirit in him. The world was not lost, the fight wasn't as hopeless as it had seemed but an hour or so ago. Striding over to the phone on his desk, he picked it up and dialed. Two rings later he heard the gruff, commanding voice of the Sheriff on the other end.
"Hello?"
"Mobley, its Gil Grissom...go to hell, I'm not firing her." And he slammed the phone back into its cradle, creating a resounding boom, for added effect.
And that was that.
~*~*~*~
"Hey." Sara tore her eyes away from the computer screen as Warrick walked in, brandishing his own sheet of crisp computer paper.
"Hey," She'd begun to morph into something closely resembling a vegetable, crumpled Styrofoam cups scattered around the desk area "You've got that list?"
"Yeah, names and phone numbers." Warrick leaned against the doorframe, eyeing the piles of litter with a raised eyebrow. "Gonna check up on some of the employees, want to come?"
"Uh...yeah." Rubbing her eyes, Sara rose, pulling a crisp sheet out of her own printer. "I've got a list of my own- all of Catherine's cases in the past few months. I can go over it in the car- see if there's anything that matches any of the names on your list."
"Cool-let's go then."
"Fine by me," she smiled, grabbing her coat eagerly off of the back of her chair. After spending nearly an hour glued to her computer, her tired eyes were grateful for the reprieve. "Where we headed to first?"
"A Mr. Alexander Petty-says here that he filled the first prescription. February 20th, just like Conrad told us back at the pharmacy."
"But he didn't fill the other three?"
"Right."
"So who filled the other three prescriptions?"
"Let's hope Mr. Petty can tell us that."
~*~*~*~
"So, Mr. Petty- you left the pharmacy in March?" Sara opened the questioning once the two CSI's were allowed into the neat duplex where Alexander Petty- a forty-three year old white male- resided, in Henderson. They'd been offered tea and coffee several times- Warrick subtly covering Sara's empty teacup when coffee was brought in--and had finally managed to warm the man enough to ask their questions. "Can you tell us why you left?"
"I wasn't happy in my position." Petty sat on a low, overstuffed white sofa, while Warrick and Sara perched on wing-backed chairs. "Mr. Conrad and I didn't see eye-to-eye."
"What do you mean by that?"
"He was hitting on me, if you must know." Crossing his legs, Petty seemed agitated, gesturing to a gilt-framed photo on a table nearby. "Andrew and I have been together for nearly two years- and Conrad knew that. But he insisted I'd have more fun. It didn't make the workplace very friendly, Miss Sidle."
"I see," Sara trailed off, as she scribbled this down in her notes.
"I'm sure you understand what I mean, Miss Sidle...as a woman I'm sure you've experienced something similar in your own work place, at one time or another."
"Um, no...I haven't, Mr. Petty."
"Ah well," he shrugged nervously, "good for you."
Sara sent a helpless glance Warrick's direction, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.
"It also says here, Mr. Petty, that you filled a prescription for Prozac, on February 20th. For a Ms. Catherine Willows, is that true?"
"Blonde, leggy, smart dresser?"
Sara and Warrick didn't speak, the expressions on their faces doing all of the talking for them.
"Just because I play for the other team," Mr. Petty replied with a grin, "doesn't mean I don't notice those kinds of things...but yes, I filled that. Ms. Willows was a frequent customer, got most of her medication there."
"And you only filled the first prescription, Mr. Petty?"
"Yes. But I did come in to clean out my desk on the day Ms. Willows came back for a refill. I recall as much-- because I'd given her enough to last several weeks...and she returned long before that. Of course...there could have been any number of reasons why-"
"Do you remember what day that was, Sir?"
"Yes- it was March 5th. I remember it like it was yesterday, Mr. Brown...it was the day Andrew and I..." The middle-aged man blushed, and Sara's eyebrow arched as she and Warrick exchanged glances. "At any rate- there was a new boy in that day...brown hair, 5'7"...I believe his name was Reggie."
"Thank you, Mr. Petty."
At that, Sara and Warrick stood up and exited the house, shutting the door quietly as they stepped into the dry Vegas evening. The walk to the car was silent, neither speaking until they were securely buckled in and had begun pulling out of the driveway.
"Who'd name their child Reggie?" Sara asked suddenly, out of the blue.
"There are worse names, Sara."
"Like what?"
"Well..." Warrick stopped for a moment, and thought. "Francis, for one."
"What does the name Francis have to do with anything?" His passenger winced as Warrick neatly, yet narrowly, avoided a UPS truck on the 4 lane Vegas highway.
"It was supposed to be my name," Warrick replied, and swerved again to pass a station wagon with dangling Maine plates. "But my mom vetoed that idea- said it was my Pop's mother's name. She wanted her son to be a man."
"Well, if that's what you are, then it worked." Sara grinned, and Warrick yanked on the wheel to pull them close to the guardrail, causing her to tighten her grip upon the door handle. "Warrick."
"Don't mess with the man, Sara."
"The man, is going to get us killed."
"No faith, I've been driving in Vegas my whole life. Never even gotten a ticket...I know these streets better than you know your parents. Where's the faith in my driving skills, Sara?"
"About five miles back Warrick, with my stomach."
"Ha, ha."
"So glad you think, me losing my lunch all over this car is so hilarious," Sara folded her arms across her chest, and kept her eyes on the road in front of her.
"You wouldn't-"
"And I would make you clean it up, man."
"Oh, harsh, Sara, harsh," Warrick took one hand off of the wheel, placing over his chest as if he'd been vitally wounded.
"Well, I try to live up to my reputation." She laughed, leaning for the radio knob and flicking it on. "Hey...Warrick?"
"Yeah?"
"I suppose only a real homie listens to classical opera?" Her mouth clamped shut as her co-worker changed stations and lanes simultaneously, and not another word was uttered for the remainder of the drive.
TBC.