Disclaimer/Note: I do not own any of these characters, I am merely taking themfor a walk on a literary detour. To the readers, I am still exploring my writing capabilities. I am not a scientist, but I do the best I can with what I know (or think I know). Nor is it possible that we share the exact same perceptions of each character, so I hope you will be accepting of the choices I make for them. Lastly, know that I am a hopeless romantic and that will come through in my writing. Beware, and enjoy!
UNREASONABLE LOGIC
Gil Grissom sat at his desk, pouring over a large bulky book entitled "The Decomposition of Entomology: Insects and Forensics". His face was lit dimly by the sparse lighting in his office giving it an eerie blue undertone. Around him on his desk were piles of papers relating to cases; some unsolved, and some waiting to be signed off as complete. His walls were lined with shelves, jars, images of crime scenes, insects, various biological specimens, art, and other things that held his interest. Simply by entering his office, it was easy to see that Gil Grissom was no ordinary CSI and certainly no ordinary man.
Grissom was wearing headphones, playing the music much louder than usual to compensate for the gradual loss of his hearing. He could not hear CSI Catherine Willows enter over Puccini's La Boheme and the soprano voice of the sad and graceful Mimi pounding against his eardrums.
Catherine leaned her elbows on Grissom's desk. She smiled half-heartedly and asked, "Is the fat lady singing?" Grissom did not look up at her but continued sifting through the hefty book beneath his hands. Catherine made a face. "Hey, Grissom?"
"There is no fat lady in La Boheme, Catherine, and it's not over." Grissom reluctantly removed his headphones and looked up at her, cocking an eyebrow. Unsure of what to say, Catherine sat down at the seat in front of his desk and handed him a file.
"We're stuck on a case. A thirty-two year old woman was found dead in her weekend home on a beautiful ridge in the mountains. She'd been there for several days before she was discovered. Her house was kept at a consistent temperature, she had plenty of food, no health problems, no drug use. We examined her body but we were unable to find any reasonable cause of death."
Grissom looked thoughtful for a moment. "Did they find any evidence of strangulation, choking, unfamiliar substances in the digestive tract? You know I once heard of a case where a victim choked on a material that dissolved in her stomach acid once it fell through her oesophagus."
Catherine looked doubtful and shook her head. "No, Doc Robbins did a thorough autopsy on the victim and he came up empty-handed. She was in good health, had no enemies according to her husband.
"Where was he?" Grissom asked.
"He says he was out of town on business for a week, and then he came back to this. This case is going nowhere, Gris." She sighed.
"What about the unreasonable."
"I beg your pardon?" Catherine said.
"The unreasonable. You said you couldn't find any reasonable cause of death." Grissom tilted his head, his eyes concealing the wisdom that he refrained from giving away all at once.
Catherine laughed. "Right." She turned to leave but stopped herself. She looked back at him. "Why opera?"
Grissom, who had returned to his book, looked up once again, his eyebrows arched high on his forehead. "Because it bugs me."