Disclaimer: "CSI was cool, but it would have totally gotten between us." - Nigel Crane
A/N: This fanfic is based around season two... since there is so much more potential for cases and extra characters in that season. Don't flame me if what happens doesn't match up with what happens in seasons three and four, though I will try and match it up. This is a fanfic. Enjoy.
"Hey Greggo!" Nick clapped his hands, barely containing his enthusiasm. "Any news on the shoes?"
Greg swivelled around to face Nick and Valerie, a silly grin on his face. "That's good. News on the shoes. I like that."
Valerie rolled her eyes. "Could we please focus on the case, boys?"
Greg sobered instantly. "Of course, Valerie. As usual, you are the voice of reason."
"As usual?" Valerie raised an eyebrow.
Nick cleared his throat, awkwardly. "Is that a yes, Sanders?"
Greg stood, snagging a piece of paper from the printer. "Yes, that's a yes. But it's also a no." He held the paper out to Valerie, then sidled up close to her to point something out on the paper. "Yes, DNA from the blister. No, we can't get a match, can I have your phone number? But we could get something. The person who wore those heels was a..."
"Just a minute." Valerie frowned at Greg, who was practically hanging off her shoulder. "What did you say?"
"I said, DNA from blister, no match, and the person who wore the heels..."
"Before that bit."
Greg grinned. "Oh, I was just wondering if I could have your phone number, but I got flustered." The labrat sat back down in his swivel-chair. "It's nothing, really."
Nick shook his head pityingly. She's taken, Greggo. She's not going to give you her phone number.
Valerie stared at Greg. "Why would you want my phone number?"
Greg shrugged, all nonchalance. "Oh, no reason, really. I was just wondering if maybe, perhaps, someday, I could ask you out, or something, but if that's a no, then never mind." He put on his best innocent face.
Nick cleared his throat to stop himself from laughing.
Valerie blinked, then smiled, a little embarrassed but obviously flattered. "Oh, my only weakness: the puppy-dog eyes." She pulled a card from her jacket pocket. "Do you have a pen?"
It miraculously appeared in Greg's fingers. Valerie scrawled quickly while Greg smirked at Nick. Nick stared, his jaw hanging open.
"Here." Valerie handed Greg the card. She was blushing slightly. "I'm, umm... going to go," she flapped the paper around, "And work on this...evidence..." She made a hasty exit, but was still grinning.
Greg kissed the card, then waved it at Nick. "Valerie Wilks. VW." He made a noise halfway between a car revving and a cat meowing. He grinned even wider seeing the look on Nick's face. "You didn't get her number, did you? Ha! Sucks to be you!"
Nick shook his head, unbelieving of what just happened. "But she's already got a boyfriend!"
"Didn't stop her, did it?" Greg threw his arms up in the air and spun around on his chair. "Greg shoots, he SCORES!"
Nick left the lab in a hurry. She's got a boyfriend, but she gives GREG her phone number? Something's not right. Not right at all...
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Grissom sat in the dark, his hand to his chin, staring at the dummy as though by staring at it, he could make it suddenly come to life and die all over again, just to show how Damien Peterson died.
But the dummy didn't move. It just stood there, two red plastic markers sticking out of it. It wasn't going to give up its secrets easily.
Grissom smiled, a little smug. Sara loved a challenge - let her figure this one out.
"Am I interrupting something between you and your friend, Grissom?"
Sara was leaning in the doorway, watching Grissom silently. Grissom waved her into the room.
"Damien Peterson had two bullet wounds in his skull." The older CSI pointed the two markers out to Sara. One, under his jaw, through the top of his skull. The other, straight through his neck."
"Nasty." Sara said flatly. She looked at the dummy critically, but said nothing else.
"Well?" Grissom asked. "Your thoughts?"
Sara pursed her lips. "Well, I think..." She reached for the light switch, "That it's too dark in here."
Grissom blinked and squinted in the sudden glare of the lights. But Sara didn't seem to notice. She walked around the dummy, examining it from every angle.
Dammit, Grissom, why don't you just tell me what this guy was lying about?!
She turned and looked back at her supervisor. "Well?"
"Well what?" He looked, somehow, infuriatingly smug.
Sara fought with her temper. "Well, what exactly am I looking for?"
Grissom shrugged, the same half-smile on his face. "I don't know, you tell me."
Sara stepped back to examine the dummy again, barely hiding a scowl. She forced herself to take a few calming breaths and take a better look at the dummy. The markers, showing the angle of the bullets' entry, both angled... downward.
Sara blinked, then turned back to face Grissom. "He was killed by a midget?"
Grissom sighed, not amused. "The man was sitting down, Sara."
Sara smiled a tight smile. "Then I'll... fix... it." She punched the dummy in the 'gut', making it bend, sharply and suddenly, at the waist.
"Easy, Sara," Grissom warned, "That's expensive equipment you're manhandling."
I'll give you 'manhandling'... Sara thought darkly, knocking the dummy into a sitting position. "They're self-healing, remember, Grissom?" She dropped it on the floor, stepped back, and stared at the dummy.
"Stippling around the entry wounds," Grissom said coolly, watching Sara with his arms folded, "And you know what that means."
Sara said nothing. She just stared at the dummy.
Grissom continued, "It means, Sara, that whoever killed Damien had the gun right up against neck and jaw."
Sara stared at the dummy for another minute, then slowly turned to face Grissom. "So that's what you meant when you said that Damien was lying."
Grissom tilted his head and tried his best to look innocent. "You call it, Sara."
Sara sighed and closed her eyes. Give me patience... "You knew this all along, Grissom."
Grissom shrugged. "Knew what?"
"Damien Petersontold the security guard that he was being blackmailed, that she would be killed. That wasn't just a lie - it was just a slip of the tongue. Damien wasn't being blackmailed - phone records and his buddy Powers tell us that much - but as of yet we don't know who 'she' was." Sara looked down at the dummy, then continued in her detached, professional tone. "The real lie Damien told us was the lie he told in his death." Sara's mouth twisted in something of a sneer. "All the evidence surrounding Damien Peterson told of a murderer. That someone wanted to get even. He had gambling and drug debts galore. But according to his last phone call, this wasn't a murder."
This time it was Grissom's turn to frown. "What about his last phone call?"
"Oh," Sara said flippantly, looking pleased with herself, "I'm sure you'll figure that out on your own. I know you will." She folded her arms and smiled a tight smile. "I found his mobile in the car. Anyway," she picked up the dummy and put it on the table, "The entry wounds are..." Sara traced her fingers over the markers, "Angled so that it would be impossible for someone outside the car..." She stopped.
Grissom waited.
Sara stepped back from the dummy, and slowly turned to face her supervisor. Their eyes locked.
"Well, goodnight to you sir." The security guard lowered his flashlight and backed away from the car, walking quickly back to his post. Damien watched until he was sure that the man would not turn around before taking both the pistols from out of the glove box. He looked down at his phone one last time, but there was still no call, no message. She wasn't coming.
Sobbing without tears, Damien raised the guns. Nothing else mattered anymore. Placing the barrel of one gun into his throat and the other against the bottom of his jaw, Damien closed his eyes.
"Goodbye Gina..."
He jumped at the sound of the gunshots, but not because they had scared him. His grip on the pistols failed, and his arms flopped down uselessly. The guns fell, landing in the dead man's lap, their handles pointing outwards.
Damien Peterson was dead.
"He took his own life." Sara said, quietly.
Grissom inclined his head to Sara. "I know." He went over and stood next to Sara. "Damien Peterson killed himself."
Sara shook her head. "But why?"
Grissom shrugged and put a hand on Sara's shoulder. "That's still something we have to figure out."
"He killed himself, huh?" Warrick grinned from the doorway. "So that's what you meant when you said the victim was lying."
Grissom snatched his hand away from Sara's shoulder as though he had just been snake bitten.
"So it's not a murder, it's a suicide?" Warrick came over and examined the dummy with a sigh. "Well, there's one question answered." Warrick looked up with a wry smile. "Great. I finally get my case over and done with, and then when I finally come back to the case I started on and its over."
"Almost over." Sara smiled back tightly.
"So, Griss," Warrick turned to face his boss, "How come you bumped me to an old guy's overdose and let Sara replace me?"
Grissom's pager went off, and Grissom checked it quickly.
"Brass found Gina Thompson." He explained. "I'm going to go talk to her." He left, trying not to make it look like he was in a hurry.
"Grissom." Sara shrugged, her arms folded.
Warrick sighed in defeat, then turned to face Sara with a grin on his face.
"What?"
"Oh, nothing," Warrick smirked. "I just was wondering what you two were doing in here before I popped in."
Sara blinked and frowned. "We were examining the wound tracts of Damien Peterson, and discovering that he killed himself."
Warrick raised an eyebrow. "So the hand on the shoulder thing helped you figure it out?"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Sara said stiffly, a touch of pink appearing in her cheeks.
Warrick smirked again. "Sure you don't."
A/N: Just to recap:
Val: ::n-n:: -gives Greg phone number-
Greg: "SCORE!" n-nv -does the touchdown dance-
Nick: o.o;; then --;;
-giggles- This fanfic is so fun. Only a few more chapters to go! Comments? Reviews? Suggestions? Cookies? Press the review button, just down there.