Lines
By Dany
Summary: Art can cross lines that someone is too scared to leave behind.
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI.
xxxxx
The brush made contact with the white surface leaving behind a blue dot.
Assured that it was the right blue – light, but still strong enough to be sparkling – the brush descended on the canvas again and filled a small ring, sketched with a pencil, with the light blue that had been carefully selected. The motions were repeated with another ring of the same size.
The brush was set aside and a much smaller one was picked up. It was the smallest on a tray of brushes, designed to draw the finest of lines. And that was its purpose here too.
The tip was coated in a film of black paint before bringing it up to the canvas. With a calm hand leading the brush and a fine eye connected to the hand, tiny, almost invisible lines were drawn on the now blue surface.
A few times the color had to be applied before it was deemed satisfactory. If looked at it from far away the lines were not visible, only the blue could be seen shining brightly. If looked at it from a near distance the fine lines gave the blue more character and viability. That was exactly the effect that had been wished for.
The last action to finish this work was filling in the circles within the rings. A brush, the same size as the one that had painted blue, was chosen and again coated in black paint. Soon the inner circles were filled, and the painting was set to dry.
All brushes and other supplies were carefully cleaned and set out to dry too. The work here was done, and the door closed behind the retreating steps.
xxxxx
"Ok, we have a lot of blood in a hotel room. No one injured, no dead body. Just blood. Sara, Warrick, that's yours." Grissom handed the slip over to Warrick who grinned at Sara, tilting his head to the door. Sara followed him out before Grissom continued.
"Nick, sorry, but it's a trick roll." Nick groaned. He was at the verge of objecting when Grissom gave him that look over the top of his glasses and the young Texan thought better of it.
"Cath, break in at a gallery. I know how you love art," he teased. "Nothing stolen, just vandalized." He handed out the last slip, turning to leave the break room.
"What about you?" she called after him as he hurried down the corridor.
"Meeting!" His face was drawn with distaste. He really hated being a supervisor and the meetings were actually worse than the never-ending paperwork.
It was always the same. Carvallo wanted them to be more open to the press and more PC, Ecklie was always complaining about the others inadequacy, and Davis from swing shift wanted more cases handed over to him and his team.
And Grissom was always keeping an eye on the time, hoping Einstein would be proved wrong at last. No such luck, though… until his phone started ringing.
xxxxx
When he hung up he was glad for the call, even if it worried him somewhat. He excused himself and drove to aid Catherine. She had called and asked him to come over, not telling him why. But at the moment, any excuse was a good excuse.
Fifteen minutes later he pulled in behind Catherine's Tahoe. She was already waiting for him on the first floor of the gallery where the vandalism had taken place. It really didn't look so bad, an easy case, and he wondered why she asked him to help.
"Cath, did you just want me to come so that I'm indebted to you for getting me out of this meeting?" His comment was aimed to draw a smile from her, but her face remained oddly devoid of emotion. Catherine always showed what she got and now nothing?
"Gil… you should probably not be here, but there is something I thought you needed to see." He became nervous. Catherine's emotions often ran away with her.
"Catherine, if this is compromising the case…"
"It's not directly related," she tried to placate him. "It's next door. I discovered it on the walkthrough. But the next room is in no way connected to this." She gestured around her. He was still hesitant, but his inquisitive mind won out and he nodded to Catherine who led him over to the door. She pushed the door open with a gloved hand, not wanting to risk a contamination.
What appeared when the door swung open stole Grissom his breath.
xxxxx
The room seemed to close in on him as he stood in the middle of it. A big lump had formed in his stomach.
What?
He didn't know what to say, what to do.
There were paintings and drawings all over the place and although none of them bore a signature they looked as though they were from the same artist.
Some of them depicted landscape, colorful and full of life. Others depicted young children of various ages, always playing.
But one corner was filled with other pictures. Pictures that were more personal… at least for him.
A lot of different insects were crawling or flying over the canvas. Bright butterflies, spiders and beetles of every size, even roaches. And all of them were anatomically correct. An entomologist's dream. The tarantula was perfect. It looked exactly like his pet spider.
But right beside them were different sketches of various parts of a face – his face – especially the eyes.
Above them hung one huge painting of him.
And it was fantastic. It almost looked like he was starring into a mirror. The lines were so fine that they made it come alive.
He didn't even hear Catherine coming up close behind him, too engrossed was he in taking up every little detail. That was the investigator in him and although this was personal, he couldn't turn his automatic responses off.
Only when she spoke, did he remember that she was still there. "We're trying to locate the owner. Only the caretaker is here and he can't say whose work was destroyed or… who else left his work here." He nodded not really hearing what she was saying.
Catherine retreated back to the crime scene, leaving Grissom to his pondering.
xxxxx
When Catherine came back after clearing the crime scene, Grissom was still standing where she left him. "Hey, I'm done. You wanna go back to the lab?"
After coming up empty for an explanation he was ready to talk to his friend again. "Cath, could you keep this quiet? I don't want anyone to be alarmed." He talked to her without really looking at her, his gaze always straying back to the artwork.
"Griss, this could be big, maybe we're even talking about a stalker." Catherine stepped forward and touched his arm lightly with her hand.
"I… no, I don't think so." Alone the thought of such a massive invasion of his privacy made him queasy. "I will clear this up," he continued with more confidence, which came from the security he felt within his job.
"But not now. Shift's not over yet." And with that the discussion was over for him and he left the room.
But it didn't let him go. The whole ride back images of the paintings popped back into his mind. They were really b… nice.
He chastised himself. No, not that word. That was reserved for something – someone else.
Who could create such art?
The rest of the shift he hid in his office, praying that for once Catherine could keep her mouth shut.
When clock-out time came, he had come up with a plan. A simple plan, but that was all he needed.
xxxxx
Grissom didn't have to wait long.
After shift he had driven back to the gallery. He sat outside in his car watching the entrance of the building. He had parked at the corner of the block, not wanting to be spotted.
The lights were still on and two cars were parked outside. One had been there earlier, so that must have been the caretaker's car. The other one was probably the owner's. Catherine had told him that they had tracked down the owner an hour before shift ended.
Not even 30 minutes later another car eased into a parking spot in front of the gallery. And it was a car he would recognize everywhere. His mind spun as he watched the driver exit, confirming the identity.
He debated with himself whether to let it go, now that he knew it was no stalker, or follow the person inside.
If he did, then that would change a lot. Maybe too much. If he drove home know, he could make sure Catherine never breathed a word about this, and no one would be any wiser.
But could he really do that?
Could he let it go?
The answer was NO.
He exited the car and walked the short distance to the gallery. He entered and looked around. No one was on the ground floor, so he ascended the stairs.
When he came closer to the room he heard voices. Carefully he stepped into the room, not making any noise.
A woman, most likely the owner, and the driver were standing in front of his portrait discussing the break in.
As he saw them looking at "him" he couldn't remain silent any longer.
"Sara?"
xxxxx
She whirled around, startled by his voice. Her eyes widened in fear and embarrassment.
The other woman had also turned around, but her face mirrored only surprise.
He made a few steps towards Sara, but she hung her head hiding her face beneath her hair. "Sara?"
The other woman seemed to sense that something big was about to occur between the other occupants of the room so she left.
Sara still kept her head down, even when he hovered only centimeters from her body. "Sara, it's okay," his voice was deliberately low, his instincts telling him to soothe her.
She shook her head chanting "No, no, no".
"Sara!" This time he pushed the hair away from her face and lifted her head with his other hand. She wouldn't meet his eyes, though. "Sara, please look at me."
His tone was still soft, but and air of authority swung with it, making her meet his eyes. "Why are you embarrassed?"
She huffed out some air, radiating this 'Are you kidding me' attitude. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about." He stressed the 'nothing'.
"This," he gestured around, "is beautiful."
xxxxx
"This," he gestured around, "is beautiful."
Now the word passed his lips easily. It was the right word for the right woman.
Something lit up in her eyes. But embarrassment and fear were still prominent. "They really are beautiful," he said again.
"Thanks," it was the first time that she had spoken and he could hear the strain.
"You're very talented," Grissom wanted her to feel secure again. Secure enough to hold his eyes.
"It's… a distraction." That made him blink with surprise. She had done it again, memorizing his words.
"It's a wonderful distraction." Slowly a smile started to spread over her face.
"You're not… disturbed? Mad?" The fear and even the embarrassment receded from her eyes.
"No, why would I be? This is excellent work. I'm flattered." Her talent was enormous and just like back in college, he was floored by what lay beneath this soulful eyes. She was amazing.
"So, would you… would you consider participating in another distraction?" Now her playful self was back. He tilted his head not really knowing what to say. "Would you like to have breakfast?"
As the words were standing in the room a light panic began to set in. These were the changes he had been afraid of.
He opened his mouth to decline, but instead something else made his way out. "Yes."
The smile on Sara's face widened, and he felt his fear melting.
His heart was overriding his brain and her smile tided over the storm in his soul.
If she couldn't let him go, drawing picture after picture, how could he let go?
The end
Author's note: Who else did you think it would be? I've always wondered what kind of distractions she could have picked up, besides Grissom of course.