Title: Can't Take It
Summary: Snickers. Follow Grissom, Nick, and Sara through a case; one that could ultimately draw two of our favorite CSIs together.
Disclaimer: Last time I checked, I still didn't own it…
A/N: Oh yeah! Snow day today! I'm so excited. Particularly because we were supposed to have one on Tuesday (like, 6 inches) but I didn't see a single flake. I love snow days…especially the ones like this one when I'm the first one awake in the house and I have the downstairs all to myself!
Warning: I'm rating this chapter a tiny bit higher due to some course language (one word, I think, but still…)And the next shift in plot here is probably not something I'd want a five year old reading. It's not graphic or anything, but it kind of implies it. I guess you'll find out. So just be aware of that.
Thanks for the awesome reviews, which are way cooler than any snow day, and without any further ado, I present to you, chapter 5!
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"I already told you: I was in his house two days ago. House sitting. So what?"
Nick regarded Janet from his position behind the window looking into the interrogation room. Grissom looked calm, sitting in a metal chair across from the girl. Brass sat next to him, arms resting casually on the table, while Sara opted to lean against the back wall, arms crossed. Janet's appointed attorney sat straight up in his chair next to the girl; apparently Janet's "lawyer" father also happened to be a dead-beat one. "Lives out of state, God knows where" she'd explained when asked, "Who needs the bastard?"
"Janet" Grissom sighed, using a voice one might use to scold a child, "You had access to his house."
"He gave me his key" she spat venomously.
"Did you return it?" Sara cut in.
"No. I didn't see him. He always pays me beforehand, and I return the key to him the next day at work. What? You'd rather me leave it in his mailbox at the dealership where anyone could grab it?"
Brass raised an eyebrow. 'Kid's got a point' he thought. Obviously, Grissom thought so too, as he changed tactics. "Janet, we found this in Mr. Hobbes' house. Do you recognize it?"
Her attorney came to life as Grissom place the evidence bag containing the small exacto blade on the table. "You don't have to answer that, Janet" he warned, but she laughed him off.
"Whatever" she scoffed, rolling up her sleeves. "Sure I recognize it. It's mine."
Behind the glass, Nick did a double take: thin red cuts and pink puffy scars ran up and down Janet's arms, criss-crossing and intersecting one another. Inside the interrogation room, an uncomfortable silence had settled. Janet was the first to break it.
"Look, it's just a hobby, alright? Not the end of the world. It helps me keep myself in check." She shrugged, her attitude suggesting it was no big deal.
Grissom looked shocked, carefully phrasing his next question: "Why -"
She cut him off. "Look, rough day at school, work…you need to find a release. Some people run around the block a few times; my brother holes himself in his room and plays his guitar. I do this." She looked around, only to be greeted with looks of disbelief. She continued, clearly exasperated. "Unbelievable." she directed her next comment at Sara. "Lets say…this guy, Dr. Grissom was it, pisses you off one day. Kicks you out of the office ore something. I dunno, catches you and your boyfriend making out on company time and gets pissy. Jealous, angry, whatever. You go home and do something to make yourself feel better, right? Well so do I. That's all this is" she explained, tracing some of the newest cuts on her arms almost lovingly.
No one spoke; Grissom suddenly found his shoes incredibly interesting, Sara was making a point to stare fixedly at the wall. It was Brass who spoke, "I, uh, think that's all for now."
Janet got up, her chair scraping against the ground. "Look, just because I did this-" she held out her arms "-doesn't mean I killed the guy."
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Nick caught up with Sara and Grissom as they exited the interrogation room; Sara walking a few paces ahead of their supervisor.
"So" he started, "We're pretty much back to square one, huh?"
Grissom sighed, "So it seems."
Sara let out a hiss of air, clearly frustrated. "So we'll go back to the house. Find out where our guy came in?"
"At least we'll have something" Nick agreed, "If we know where and how he came in the house, we might find where he came from."
Grissom nodded thoughtfully. "We'll recreate the scene."
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A/N: You see what I mean now about the not wanting a five-year old reading it? It's just the cutting really. I thought it made a kind of interesting character… I had the idea for a bit, now, and inserted it into the story. I think it worked out pretty well. I don't know a lot about the subject, but I've read a few books dealing with the problem. I hope I didn't turn it into some huge stereotype kind of thing.
Sorry this chapter is so short, but in the next chapter there's the biggest moment of Snicker's yet involving close proximities and a certain brown chair. But I'm holding it for hostage until people review. Hee hee….not really.