Finally, another chapter. I have two reasons for this being a bit late. The
first was that I wrote another fic in the intervening period, so obviously
that took a bit of concentration. The second reason – the second very
immature reason – was that only two people reviewed it so I sulked for two
weeks; I'm sorry, but I really liked the new fic, I thought it was
funny....so grumble snarl mutter &@!!^?!
This chapter is not too appalling; if nothing else I can still write
dialogue...as I said, I think I'm funny.
Thanks as always to my Beta, 'tasha – even if her inbox has started
bouncing my work when I send it to her. [She thinks I'm funny too, which is
one of the reasons I keep her on].
Finally, thanks to those of you who read and all that other stuff.
**********
This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force. Dorothy Parker
A cucumber should be well-sliced, dressed with pepper and vinegar, and then thrown out. Samuel Johnson
It had only one fault. It was kind of lousy. James Thurber
"Excuse me? I'm looking for Gil Grissom." Greg looked at the woman appraisingly, she didn't appear to be one of the known threats to national security, those whose images were posted about the lab: of course you could never be really sure; take that Agatha Babylon for example, if City Hall was to be believed, she not only ran the public relations campaign for the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse but was also unkind to small animals and children.
"Could you describe this Grissom for me," he asked, in his best approximation of professional suspicion.
"About so tall," she replied, indicating a height somewhat taller than a midget and somewhat shorter than a basketball player, "Greying, blue eyes, smart mouth, doesn't tolerate fools and shows a completely unhealthy interest in insects."
Greg's mouth quirked in a wry smile, "Well, you do more than read the newspaper it would appear, I think most of Las Vegas knows him as 'that nasty bug man' thanks to what that low-rent hack, Babylon, wrote. Anyway, may I ask who you are; the one thing you didn't mention, and should probably be aware of, is that Grissom hates surprises."
"Well, when I'm not going by 'low-rent hack', most people call me..."
"...Agatha Babylon," finished the completely mortified lab tech. "If you'll excuse me I'll go find Grissom for you then throw myself under a passing herd of lawyers."
"That would be just wonderful" was the sardonic reply to his retreating back.
When she was sure the younger man had gone, Agatha Babylon gave vent to a mournful sigh, it was one thing to have someone like Grissom decry her journalistic talents it was another thing entirely to have one of the vox populi confirm that that opinion was somewhat more widespread. She hated the fact that she gave a damn; she'd thought she was long past caring what another thought of her, but for some reason her façade of indifference was beginning to crack. Fortunately, things weren't quite so bad as to necessitate a descent into maudlin poetry 'about the first rays of sun on a winter's day', but she did feel unnaturally vulnerable and the events of earlier that evening, and the subsequent reason for her visit, hadn't made her new-found vulnerability any easier.
It had been just after six o'clock and while she was tired from the day at work – being malicious wasn't as easy as it appeared – she was feeling invigorated; in part, the meeting, by non-specific definition, that she'd had with Grissom, had restored a measure of her faith in, if not the righteousness of her cause, her abilities. She'd also enjoyed the benefit of a long relaxing slower and the pulsating of the jets against her body had created a feeling of arousal that she had long abandoned to a purely mechanistic stress release. She wasn't sure what triggered the wave of emotion that swept her as she brought herself to a tumultuous climax, but she just shrugged, accepted it and determined that it wouldn't get in the way of her plotting, for now, she really was, at least in her own eyes, Babylon: Defender of the City.
Well, okay, not really. She allowed herself a slight smile at the wonderful illusion and the potential it had for giving the mayor a major coronary; if she couldn't have the city she'd at least work to having the mayor six feet under in a pine box. Then again, she'd met the mayor's wife – who had the personality of a water buffalo on acid - at some petty bureaucratic function and it was more than likely that the mayor would welcome death over being locked in a room with her; Agatha thought it would be true justice indeed if she invited them to the next office party and arranged for the pair to be trapped in a lift for a couple of hours...or weeks even.
She towelled herself off and wrapped her body in an oversized bathrobe, the soft yet gently abrasive fabric caressing her body like the hand of an experienced lover. Mentally, she shook herself; she was acting like a horny schoolgirl idolising the untouchable rock star except that this time it wasn't so much a person that was causing her intense discomfort as an ideal, an image of competence and security all wrapped up in a package that was oblivious to its own attractiveness; while she, Agatha Babylon, would not allow herself the luxury of pursuing one such as Grissom the thought of holding a person who challenged her on both a professional and personal level made her tingle in anticipation and arousal.
She dressed, and after pouring herself a drink – bacardi and lime - decided to sit on the balcony and enjoy the early evening air. While she lived in a fairly exclusive apartment complex it was close enough to the city for some of the ambient pulse of the neighbourhood to permeate the gentrified surrounds. Looking around, she saw the children taking their miniature dachshund for a drag and heard the couple next door that had returned from their honeymoon the previous evening. It was then that she saw him or at least what she assumed to be a him, Dressed in a long coat with a Russian army hat pulled down closely over his ears he looked distinctly incongruous is the sultry evening air. Normally, she would have written such eccentricity off as random weirdness but there was something in the figure's preternatural stillness that disturbed her on an almost elemental level and while she could not attest to the fact it appeared that the figure watched her, watched her with a hunger almost palpable in its ferocity and almost yearning in its desire; whatever its intent it made Babylon feel like prey and the languid sensuality of before evaporated as she fled inside.
Dismissing the absurd, that the mayor had sent a hit man, Agatha dared to think what every Las Vegan dared not, that HE had come for her. If that was the case, then the safest place was away and away at this point in time away meant only one thing to the frightened woman, Grissom. She didn't think of the consequences, she didn't care if would be pleased to see her; she didn't care if she ran over the neighbour's dachshund on the way there she just needed to be where he was.
So here she was, standing in the middle of a lab wondering if she had made the right decision.
About a hundred yards – as the bulldozer flies – across the building, Greg was approaching Grissom's office alternately considering what he was going to say and how he was going to remove his foot from his mouth to say it. As Luck, who is a sinister, malicious bastard, would have it, his shoulder clipped the doorframe as he entered and he stumbled into Grissom's office with the grace of hippo on ball bearings; Fate, Luck's less attractive younger sister, ensured the rest of the CSIs were listening to Grissom hold forth on something as Greg gracefully entered and spread himself across Catherine's lap.
"Why Greg, I didn't know you cared."
"Mmmphpgh" was the reply from Catherine's crotch.
Grissom cocked a tired and wholly bemused eye at the tableau now spread across his office and waited for his young colleague to slowly extricate himself from his inappropriate sojourn in paradise [Hey, I can do purple with the best of them].
"Urgh, sorry Catherine...." An inadvertent and geographically misaligned hand drew a sharp intake of breath from the older woman as Greg levered himself up.
"You know Greg, I'm really starting to wish you did care." If possible, Greg blushed even more furiously but, never short of a word, he reduced Catherine to inarticulate mumbling when he told Catherine that if he'd known he'd get that level of response he'd arrange a discount for her.
Warrick was not amused.
Grissom was amused at Warrick's lack of amusement but hid his grin behind an abrupt clearing of his throat as he sought to bring the now chaotic proceedings under some semblance of control.
"Was there something in particular you wanted Greg?"
"You've got a visitor."
"Are you planning on telling me whom it is, or do I have to guess?"
"Right. Sorry. Babylon." No one mistook his words to mean that an ancient city or a whore on the back of a dragon were waiting for Grissom
"Reception?"
"No, my lab. Don't ask me HOW she got there," He held up a hand to forestall questions he couldn't answer, "I turned around and she was standing in the doorway asking for you."
"So why didn't you bring her here then?"
"I didn't know that you were in your office, I mean you could have been out with your brush and tub of red dust decorating doorknobs; anyway, I didn't really think it was a good idea to drag her around the building like some sort of stray animal."
"And leaving her in a room filled with several million dollars of expensive equipment was a better choice?"
"Maybe she'll fall into the Mass Spec. and your problems would be solved."
"That's not very humane of you Greg."
"You don't pay me enough to be humane Grissom, you barely pay me enough to supply you with coffee."
"I thought you were charging a consultancy rate now Greg, it wouldn't be fair for Nick to have his nose completely out of joint for no reason, god alone knows we had to put up with his moaning for long enough.'
"Maybe so Warrick, but a fifteen percent consultancy rate over and above a base salary of nothing still works out at nothing, I'd make more money with a bowl and a guide dog."
"I thought you had a cat."
"Can you imagine a guide-cat?" interjected Nick; "It would lead you into the middle of traffic just so it could see what would happen?" He favoured Greg with a sly smile "Then again, maybe that's not such a bad idea"
"Gee thanks Nick"
"We aim to please."
Grissom's bemusement was fast becoming irritation, for amusing as his staff thought they were – and their day jobs were fairly secure – their alleged sense of humour was less important than the pressing concern of Viper Woman the Tactless roaming the lab despite the admitted fact that she had proved helpful of late.
"Greg? Babylon. Now."
The younger man paused momentarily; somewhat confused by Grissom's verbal shorthand, then catching on he nervously enquired "My place or yours?"
"Yours, let's go," and the two men left only to stop abruptly as the sound of scraping chairs and hurried footsteps followed them down the hall. Grissom's eyebrow ascended towards the ceiling and momentarily looked to be challenging Leonard Nimoy for his crown, "And precisely where do you lot think you're going?"
"With you; if you give me a few moments I'll sell tickets."
"Thank you Catherine." Clearly no thanks were intended. "There is no need for you to attend, Ms Babylon came to see me, not present a guest lecture on how the media ignores science when it's inconvenient."
"Greg's going," whined Sara unhelpfully.
"Greg. Stay."
"No."
"What do you mean no?"
"My lab."
"You work there, you don't own it."
"And you expect me to do my lab work in your office? You'll be shifting my toys then?"
"OK, you can come; you lot, stay."
"Grissom." – four-part harmony, average choir age: five.
"You'll just follow won't you?" The CSIs managed to look anywhere except at their boss; the ceiling, in particular, appeared especially riveting. Grissom said nothing; he simply shrugged, turned on his heel and headed towards the lab.
To Greg's relief, Babylon was sitting quietly in a chair when they arrived.
"Hello Grissom, I see you took time to round up a posse."
Grissom rolled his eyes, "They followed me home; do you want them?"
Agatha reviewed the gathered trooped with an appraising eye, "Well the tall one is kinda cute, what are you offering?"
"Free to a good home. Do you want him doctored?"
"Well that would take all the fun out of it wouldn't it? What do you say big boy, you'll get your own water bowl and a bed by the fire."
"Thanks all the same, but I'm fine."
"What a pity." murmured the journalist.
"Good choice Agatha, Catherine would have probably gone for your throat if you'd stolen her favourite chew toy."
"And Catherine would be the lady turning bright red?"
"Indeed."
Agatha grinned at the other woman, "You have good taste; perhaps I could borrow him if you get bored?"
Catherine did a remarkable impression of an engine running on a too-rich petrol mix. Warrick started to extend a solicitous hand, stopped, reconsidered and decided that no matter what he did he'd end up in trouble or severely embarrassed, probably both.
While Babylon was thoroughly embarrassing his colleagues, Grissom took the opportunity to find himself a chair, seated comfortably, he returned to the topic at hand, why was Agatha Babylon in his lab? He was fairly certain that it wasn't a reciprocal visit; the kind practised by diplomats to show that they take other countries seriously, so, quietly puzzled, he decided to wait for the mystery to be revealed. It didn't take long.
"I suppose you're wondering why I'm here Grissom."
"Well yes, it did cross my mind. Initially I thought it might be for the wit and charm my company provides but as I'm not completely delusional I guessed you might be here for something else."
Babylon laughed delightedly, "Of course I'm here for your company dear boy, if only because your company is infinitely preferable to the lurking presence that was hovering outside my apartment this evening."
"You are aware that we have a police force to deal with lurking presences, nice folk, wear uniforms, drive cars with flashing lights."
"Yes Nick, thank you for mocking the guest, I thought we had sent you on the 'ways to win friends and influence people' course." The Texan shot Greg a dirty look, despite all evidence to the contrary he still considered that the young tech was getting special treatment and it rankled. What rankled more was that his annoyance had become a standing joke amongst his colleagues; and it was threatening to reach epidemic proportions throughout the building.
"Who's your attack Chihuahua, Grissom?"
Grissom sighed, maybe if he closed his eyes they'd all go away. Unfortunately, despite his disapproval of the Texan's complete lack of manners, Nick did have a point. "It is a valid question, why come here? We're crime scene investigators, not police, it's not our job to arrest people no matter what you might see on all those stupid television shows."
"True enough, but you're well aware of the fact that I currently have no faith in our police department, and you're assuming that even if I did have any faith in them they would have a spare pedal car available to answer my call. As scary as the thought is Gil, after our conversation the other evening, I do trust you, if for nothing else than to put a rational spin on my possibly irrational concerns." The hand she put on his arm as she spoke was missed by no one, least of all Sara, who struggled to resist the urge to growl possessively.
Grissom was perplexed. Certainly, he was interested in Sara, and indeed, Greg had assured him that Sara's interest was reciprocal, however, his discovery of late that Babylon was, behind the façade of malicious insouciance, an intelligent, powerful woman and, somewhat surprisingly, fairly attractive. Perhaps it was the fact that her direct nature contrasted strongly with his more reserved self and Grissom, always fascinated by contrasts, felt himself torn between his adolescent idolising of Sara and his more primal and immediate response to Agatha.
Greg thought it was funny.
Greg was also wondering where he had picked up the ability to read Grissom's mind and if it was possible to get it exorcised.
It was Sara, with all the tact and charm she could muster – which left room to spare in a midget's thimble – who managed to return the conversation, such as it was, to some semblance of relevance.
"Was there anything in particular about this lurking presence, I mean why did it send you scuttling over here?"
"Other than the fact that it scared the living shit out of me?" She winced inwardly at her delicate phrasing.
Sara nodded.
"Well, don't ask me why, but I was certain it was him."
"Him?"
"Yes."
"Him who?"
"Shakespeare him." Oh god, she thought, I'm regressing, 'ugh, me Agatha, you, bitch'.
"And why do you think it was the state's most notorious criminal? Was he wearing a sign?"
"Well, if you'd been paying attention at the beginning of the conversation you would have heard me say that: It. Was. Just. A. Feeling." Agatha spoke slowly, as if presenting the information to a particularly slow student. Sara mentally winced; the last thing she wanted was for this first cousin to the Wicked Witch of the West to make her look bad in front of Grissom.
"Maybe we should be scoring this," murmured Nick, "Or maybe not" on catching the death glare Sara threw his way.
"Can we please return to the subject at hand?" Interjected an obviously agitated Grissom.
Silence reigned, until one, lone voice hesitantly ventured, "errrrr what was the subject at hand?"
"Agatha's stalker."
"Probably a literary critic" snarked Sara, and silence one again held sway.
"What would you know about literature? Just because you can read a DNA sequence from the little grey lines doesn't grant you any particular superiority, other than a particularly bad case of crow's feet."
"That's fighting talk bitch, and if you were a normal height I'd do something about it."
"I see. Not only are you ignorant, you're prejudiced. I bet you were a public relations joy at the midget convention; tell me, did Grissom put you on a leash or did he let you out with his attack Chihuahua to see how many people you could offend?"
Grissom was nonplussed. Bugs he could handle. The empty threats of try-hard tough guys as they attempted to intimidate were not a problem. But never, not in his wildest dreams – or nightmares for that matter, did he expect to be refereeing a catfight in the middle of his DNA lab.
Perhaps the remainder of his staff had the right idea as they backed away, attempting to negotiate a way out of the lab while maintaining a watchful eye on the combatants in case one of them decided to warm up with a bout of collateral damage. To Grissom's way of thinking, things couldn't get much worse, Murphy, being the bastard that he is, decided that was the perfect time for Riley to arrive.
"Hi Greg, you didn't have to arrange a reception for me, yourself would have been just fine. Hello Grissom, any more annoying little problems you want me to solve?"
"No thank you Ms Andrews, I don't have a specific need for your literary knowledge this evening, may I assume you've come to collect Greg?"
"Shhhh, don't tell him that, he'll run and it's such a nuisance having to catch him again."
"Do you mind!?" This from Greg.
"Chasing you down? Not at all, but I could do without the sweat. Anyway, me boy, what time are you finishing?"
Greg shrugged, "We were trying to sort out a little problem Ms Babylon had, or at least we were until she and Sara decided to go ten rounds over Grissom."
Rilie cast an appraising stare over the two combatants, as indicated to her by Greg's nod. Babylon she knew of only by reputation and from the irrelevant fluff she passed of as journalism, she shrugged internally, everybody needed a day job no matter how deep the tawdry depths to which one sank. Sara, by comparison, she knew well, at least in terms of the descriptions supplied by her garrulous boyfriend. Admittedly, Greg had become more charitable in his descriptions of his former, and once again, colleague, as his bitterness at his former treatment eased with the passage of time. However, there were still traces of resentment and occasionally the young man backslid into referring to Sara as an emaciated emotional desert or a self-serving CSIborg; certainly her current expression hardly epitomised a font of nurturing joy, indeed, homicidal was the least descriptive of a raft of violent adjectives that could have been applied to her current mien, which was currently directed to the abbreviated woman in front of what she assumed was one of Greg's toys.
"Fun and games huh?" The only answer was the audible sound of collective eye rolling and a strangled grunt of suppressed frustration from Grissom. Rilie, even from her brief encounter with Grissom at the campus café, knew that Grissom sometimes felt that he was trapped in a world populated by children, and that watching two, ostensibly professional, women apparently going to war over him made him would make him feel like he was trapped in his worst nightmare; an episode of Dawson's Creek.
"Anyway," Rilie continued, "What's this problem? I have plans, I need Greg, and you're slowing me down." She grinned at Greg's blushing countenance; a look no one missed and that was stored away for future harassment and coffee blackmail.
Grissom gave the young woman a grateful look before clearing his throat. "So, we were, I believe, trying to ascertain the possible identity of this person who you claim to have seen Agatha."
"I did see someone Grissom, I don't claim to know who it was. What I did state was that they made me feel nervous. Whatever you, or your people," this was said with a sidelong glance at Sara, "May think, they were watching my apartment."
"So you're not saying it was the Shakespeare Killer."
"Well since I don't know who that is I can't rightly say can I? It's not like we've been formally introduced is it?"
"I'd pay to see that." Quipped Sara.
"Thanks bitch."
Greg quickly intervened before the two could start arguing again, "Is there anyone other than our friend with the knives who would like to see you nailed to a wall?"
"Other than the mayor?"
"What did you do to the mayor?"
"It's more a questions of what hasn't she done" noted Grissom. "It's a fair question, Agatha, whom have you particularly aggravated lately?"
"Apart from Astoria?"
"Apart from Astoria."
"You" was the somewhat wry response
"You?"
"You. Grissom. Bug man."
"I'm not sure if I would consider you aggravating, Ms Babylon, fascinating would be more apt; a bit like a bug really."
"Maybe I should see if I can hire the charming fellow with the knives." She retorted, although her tone was undercut by a shy smile; it had been too long since she had had a sparring partner capable of giving as good as they got and she was enjoying the repartee.
"Look, I hate to interrupt, but can we get back on track here? As fascinating as it is to watch the mating habits of the middle-aged I'd really like to drag Greg out for some good old-fashioned debauchery. So, if it's not too much to ask, can we stop with all the clever words and decide whether the lady with the sharp tongue is really being followed by the gentleman with the sharp knives and a passion for literature."
"Debauchery?"
"It's a big word that means sex, Nick."
"Yes, thank you Catherine, I was actually wondering why it is that Greg has a life and the rest of us don't."
"It's because we're dedicated professionals Nick."
The lean Texan snapped his fingers, "That's right, I'd forgotten in all the excitement. Grissom? Warrick and I would like a pay rise so we can have lives too."
"What about me?"
"Sorry Cath, you've got a kid, you're not entitled to a life until she leaves home."
"Grissom? Can I have a rise so I can send Lindsey to boarding school?
"No."
"What about my stalker?"
"You want to send your stalker to boarding school?"
Greg, with Rilie's ever so subtle elbow to the ribs, tried to bring the discussion back into focus. "Guys? We're getting a little off track here. Can we decide what we're going to do so I can go," before adding with a smirk, "My life is waiting."
"You're so whipped Sanders."
"No I'm not." Greg protested.
"Maybe later," noted Rilie, with what sounded suspiciously like a purr.
Grissom, for his part, was beginning to despair. While secretly enjoying the irreverent air that had permeated the lab - the addition of Rilie to the mix adding whole new levels of innuendo and sarcasm - it didn't address the problem at hand was the Shakespeare Killer haunting the footsteps of Agatha Babylon? He decided that once more, if only for the sake of his battered reputation – he would try to instil a serious air to proceedings.
"While all this frivolity is vastly entertaining," he cast a grim look – again, solely for the purpose of resuscitating his battered reputation- in the general direction of his younger colleagues, "If it's not too much trouble could we please address the matter at hand."
"Greg's imminent whipping?"
Catherine this time and after all her years working at Grissom's side you'd have thought she'd have known better. If looks could have killed then Catherine would have been a small pile of smoking ash but she was saved by the arrival of Doc Robbins.
"Evenin' all, is anyone free?"
"We're trying, and I stress the word trying, to have a discussion, what's up?"
"St Dementia's called, the Mother Superior just imploded and they'd like someone to have a look, there's not too much of a mess but they suggest that whomever goes takes a trowel."
Grissom was wise. Grissom could read the signs. Grissom gave up. "Nick, Sara, you go to the convent. Agatha, can you come to my office? We'll have a chat there. Greg, Rilie, have a good night. Cath? Take Warrick and get out of my sight, go talk to Hodges or something equally painful. Coming Agatha?"
As Grissom and Babylon departed the only sound was a whispered "Who was that masked man?" before the group split up and headed off on their designated assignments.
**********
This is not a novel to be tossed aside lightly. It should be thrown with great force. Dorothy Parker
A cucumber should be well-sliced, dressed with pepper and vinegar, and then thrown out. Samuel Johnson
It had only one fault. It was kind of lousy. James Thurber
"Excuse me? I'm looking for Gil Grissom." Greg looked at the woman appraisingly, she didn't appear to be one of the known threats to national security, those whose images were posted about the lab: of course you could never be really sure; take that Agatha Babylon for example, if City Hall was to be believed, she not only ran the public relations campaign for the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse but was also unkind to small animals and children.
"Could you describe this Grissom for me," he asked, in his best approximation of professional suspicion.
"About so tall," she replied, indicating a height somewhat taller than a midget and somewhat shorter than a basketball player, "Greying, blue eyes, smart mouth, doesn't tolerate fools and shows a completely unhealthy interest in insects."
Greg's mouth quirked in a wry smile, "Well, you do more than read the newspaper it would appear, I think most of Las Vegas knows him as 'that nasty bug man' thanks to what that low-rent hack, Babylon, wrote. Anyway, may I ask who you are; the one thing you didn't mention, and should probably be aware of, is that Grissom hates surprises."
"Well, when I'm not going by 'low-rent hack', most people call me..."
"...Agatha Babylon," finished the completely mortified lab tech. "If you'll excuse me I'll go find Grissom for you then throw myself under a passing herd of lawyers."
"That would be just wonderful" was the sardonic reply to his retreating back.
When she was sure the younger man had gone, Agatha Babylon gave vent to a mournful sigh, it was one thing to have someone like Grissom decry her journalistic talents it was another thing entirely to have one of the vox populi confirm that that opinion was somewhat more widespread. She hated the fact that she gave a damn; she'd thought she was long past caring what another thought of her, but for some reason her façade of indifference was beginning to crack. Fortunately, things weren't quite so bad as to necessitate a descent into maudlin poetry 'about the first rays of sun on a winter's day', but she did feel unnaturally vulnerable and the events of earlier that evening, and the subsequent reason for her visit, hadn't made her new-found vulnerability any easier.
It had been just after six o'clock and while she was tired from the day at work – being malicious wasn't as easy as it appeared – she was feeling invigorated; in part, the meeting, by non-specific definition, that she'd had with Grissom, had restored a measure of her faith in, if not the righteousness of her cause, her abilities. She'd also enjoyed the benefit of a long relaxing slower and the pulsating of the jets against her body had created a feeling of arousal that she had long abandoned to a purely mechanistic stress release. She wasn't sure what triggered the wave of emotion that swept her as she brought herself to a tumultuous climax, but she just shrugged, accepted it and determined that it wouldn't get in the way of her plotting, for now, she really was, at least in her own eyes, Babylon: Defender of the City.
Well, okay, not really. She allowed herself a slight smile at the wonderful illusion and the potential it had for giving the mayor a major coronary; if she couldn't have the city she'd at least work to having the mayor six feet under in a pine box. Then again, she'd met the mayor's wife – who had the personality of a water buffalo on acid - at some petty bureaucratic function and it was more than likely that the mayor would welcome death over being locked in a room with her; Agatha thought it would be true justice indeed if she invited them to the next office party and arranged for the pair to be trapped in a lift for a couple of hours...or weeks even.
She towelled herself off and wrapped her body in an oversized bathrobe, the soft yet gently abrasive fabric caressing her body like the hand of an experienced lover. Mentally, she shook herself; she was acting like a horny schoolgirl idolising the untouchable rock star except that this time it wasn't so much a person that was causing her intense discomfort as an ideal, an image of competence and security all wrapped up in a package that was oblivious to its own attractiveness; while she, Agatha Babylon, would not allow herself the luxury of pursuing one such as Grissom the thought of holding a person who challenged her on both a professional and personal level made her tingle in anticipation and arousal.
She dressed, and after pouring herself a drink – bacardi and lime - decided to sit on the balcony and enjoy the early evening air. While she lived in a fairly exclusive apartment complex it was close enough to the city for some of the ambient pulse of the neighbourhood to permeate the gentrified surrounds. Looking around, she saw the children taking their miniature dachshund for a drag and heard the couple next door that had returned from their honeymoon the previous evening. It was then that she saw him or at least what she assumed to be a him, Dressed in a long coat with a Russian army hat pulled down closely over his ears he looked distinctly incongruous is the sultry evening air. Normally, she would have written such eccentricity off as random weirdness but there was something in the figure's preternatural stillness that disturbed her on an almost elemental level and while she could not attest to the fact it appeared that the figure watched her, watched her with a hunger almost palpable in its ferocity and almost yearning in its desire; whatever its intent it made Babylon feel like prey and the languid sensuality of before evaporated as she fled inside.
Dismissing the absurd, that the mayor had sent a hit man, Agatha dared to think what every Las Vegan dared not, that HE had come for her. If that was the case, then the safest place was away and away at this point in time away meant only one thing to the frightened woman, Grissom. She didn't think of the consequences, she didn't care if would be pleased to see her; she didn't care if she ran over the neighbour's dachshund on the way there she just needed to be where he was.
So here she was, standing in the middle of a lab wondering if she had made the right decision.
About a hundred yards – as the bulldozer flies – across the building, Greg was approaching Grissom's office alternately considering what he was going to say and how he was going to remove his foot from his mouth to say it. As Luck, who is a sinister, malicious bastard, would have it, his shoulder clipped the doorframe as he entered and he stumbled into Grissom's office with the grace of hippo on ball bearings; Fate, Luck's less attractive younger sister, ensured the rest of the CSIs were listening to Grissom hold forth on something as Greg gracefully entered and spread himself across Catherine's lap.
"Why Greg, I didn't know you cared."
"Mmmphpgh" was the reply from Catherine's crotch.
Grissom cocked a tired and wholly bemused eye at the tableau now spread across his office and waited for his young colleague to slowly extricate himself from his inappropriate sojourn in paradise [Hey, I can do purple with the best of them].
"Urgh, sorry Catherine...." An inadvertent and geographically misaligned hand drew a sharp intake of breath from the older woman as Greg levered himself up.
"You know Greg, I'm really starting to wish you did care." If possible, Greg blushed even more furiously but, never short of a word, he reduced Catherine to inarticulate mumbling when he told Catherine that if he'd known he'd get that level of response he'd arrange a discount for her.
Warrick was not amused.
Grissom was amused at Warrick's lack of amusement but hid his grin behind an abrupt clearing of his throat as he sought to bring the now chaotic proceedings under some semblance of control.
"Was there something in particular you wanted Greg?"
"You've got a visitor."
"Are you planning on telling me whom it is, or do I have to guess?"
"Right. Sorry. Babylon." No one mistook his words to mean that an ancient city or a whore on the back of a dragon were waiting for Grissom
"Reception?"
"No, my lab. Don't ask me HOW she got there," He held up a hand to forestall questions he couldn't answer, "I turned around and she was standing in the doorway asking for you."
"So why didn't you bring her here then?"
"I didn't know that you were in your office, I mean you could have been out with your brush and tub of red dust decorating doorknobs; anyway, I didn't really think it was a good idea to drag her around the building like some sort of stray animal."
"And leaving her in a room filled with several million dollars of expensive equipment was a better choice?"
"Maybe she'll fall into the Mass Spec. and your problems would be solved."
"That's not very humane of you Greg."
"You don't pay me enough to be humane Grissom, you barely pay me enough to supply you with coffee."
"I thought you were charging a consultancy rate now Greg, it wouldn't be fair for Nick to have his nose completely out of joint for no reason, god alone knows we had to put up with his moaning for long enough.'
"Maybe so Warrick, but a fifteen percent consultancy rate over and above a base salary of nothing still works out at nothing, I'd make more money with a bowl and a guide dog."
"I thought you had a cat."
"Can you imagine a guide-cat?" interjected Nick; "It would lead you into the middle of traffic just so it could see what would happen?" He favoured Greg with a sly smile "Then again, maybe that's not such a bad idea"
"Gee thanks Nick"
"We aim to please."
Grissom's bemusement was fast becoming irritation, for amusing as his staff thought they were – and their day jobs were fairly secure – their alleged sense of humour was less important than the pressing concern of Viper Woman the Tactless roaming the lab despite the admitted fact that she had proved helpful of late.
"Greg? Babylon. Now."
The younger man paused momentarily; somewhat confused by Grissom's verbal shorthand, then catching on he nervously enquired "My place or yours?"
"Yours, let's go," and the two men left only to stop abruptly as the sound of scraping chairs and hurried footsteps followed them down the hall. Grissom's eyebrow ascended towards the ceiling and momentarily looked to be challenging Leonard Nimoy for his crown, "And precisely where do you lot think you're going?"
"With you; if you give me a few moments I'll sell tickets."
"Thank you Catherine." Clearly no thanks were intended. "There is no need for you to attend, Ms Babylon came to see me, not present a guest lecture on how the media ignores science when it's inconvenient."
"Greg's going," whined Sara unhelpfully.
"Greg. Stay."
"No."
"What do you mean no?"
"My lab."
"You work there, you don't own it."
"And you expect me to do my lab work in your office? You'll be shifting my toys then?"
"OK, you can come; you lot, stay."
"Grissom." – four-part harmony, average choir age: five.
"You'll just follow won't you?" The CSIs managed to look anywhere except at their boss; the ceiling, in particular, appeared especially riveting. Grissom said nothing; he simply shrugged, turned on his heel and headed towards the lab.
To Greg's relief, Babylon was sitting quietly in a chair when they arrived.
"Hello Grissom, I see you took time to round up a posse."
Grissom rolled his eyes, "They followed me home; do you want them?"
Agatha reviewed the gathered trooped with an appraising eye, "Well the tall one is kinda cute, what are you offering?"
"Free to a good home. Do you want him doctored?"
"Well that would take all the fun out of it wouldn't it? What do you say big boy, you'll get your own water bowl and a bed by the fire."
"Thanks all the same, but I'm fine."
"What a pity." murmured the journalist.
"Good choice Agatha, Catherine would have probably gone for your throat if you'd stolen her favourite chew toy."
"And Catherine would be the lady turning bright red?"
"Indeed."
Agatha grinned at the other woman, "You have good taste; perhaps I could borrow him if you get bored?"
Catherine did a remarkable impression of an engine running on a too-rich petrol mix. Warrick started to extend a solicitous hand, stopped, reconsidered and decided that no matter what he did he'd end up in trouble or severely embarrassed, probably both.
While Babylon was thoroughly embarrassing his colleagues, Grissom took the opportunity to find himself a chair, seated comfortably, he returned to the topic at hand, why was Agatha Babylon in his lab? He was fairly certain that it wasn't a reciprocal visit; the kind practised by diplomats to show that they take other countries seriously, so, quietly puzzled, he decided to wait for the mystery to be revealed. It didn't take long.
"I suppose you're wondering why I'm here Grissom."
"Well yes, it did cross my mind. Initially I thought it might be for the wit and charm my company provides but as I'm not completely delusional I guessed you might be here for something else."
Babylon laughed delightedly, "Of course I'm here for your company dear boy, if only because your company is infinitely preferable to the lurking presence that was hovering outside my apartment this evening."
"You are aware that we have a police force to deal with lurking presences, nice folk, wear uniforms, drive cars with flashing lights."
"Yes Nick, thank you for mocking the guest, I thought we had sent you on the 'ways to win friends and influence people' course." The Texan shot Greg a dirty look, despite all evidence to the contrary he still considered that the young tech was getting special treatment and it rankled. What rankled more was that his annoyance had become a standing joke amongst his colleagues; and it was threatening to reach epidemic proportions throughout the building.
"Who's your attack Chihuahua, Grissom?"
Grissom sighed, maybe if he closed his eyes they'd all go away. Unfortunately, despite his disapproval of the Texan's complete lack of manners, Nick did have a point. "It is a valid question, why come here? We're crime scene investigators, not police, it's not our job to arrest people no matter what you might see on all those stupid television shows."
"True enough, but you're well aware of the fact that I currently have no faith in our police department, and you're assuming that even if I did have any faith in them they would have a spare pedal car available to answer my call. As scary as the thought is Gil, after our conversation the other evening, I do trust you, if for nothing else than to put a rational spin on my possibly irrational concerns." The hand she put on his arm as she spoke was missed by no one, least of all Sara, who struggled to resist the urge to growl possessively.
Grissom was perplexed. Certainly, he was interested in Sara, and indeed, Greg had assured him that Sara's interest was reciprocal, however, his discovery of late that Babylon was, behind the façade of malicious insouciance, an intelligent, powerful woman and, somewhat surprisingly, fairly attractive. Perhaps it was the fact that her direct nature contrasted strongly with his more reserved self and Grissom, always fascinated by contrasts, felt himself torn between his adolescent idolising of Sara and his more primal and immediate response to Agatha.
Greg thought it was funny.
Greg was also wondering where he had picked up the ability to read Grissom's mind and if it was possible to get it exorcised.
It was Sara, with all the tact and charm she could muster – which left room to spare in a midget's thimble – who managed to return the conversation, such as it was, to some semblance of relevance.
"Was there anything in particular about this lurking presence, I mean why did it send you scuttling over here?"
"Other than the fact that it scared the living shit out of me?" She winced inwardly at her delicate phrasing.
Sara nodded.
"Well, don't ask me why, but I was certain it was him."
"Him?"
"Yes."
"Him who?"
"Shakespeare him." Oh god, she thought, I'm regressing, 'ugh, me Agatha, you, bitch'.
"And why do you think it was the state's most notorious criminal? Was he wearing a sign?"
"Well, if you'd been paying attention at the beginning of the conversation you would have heard me say that: It. Was. Just. A. Feeling." Agatha spoke slowly, as if presenting the information to a particularly slow student. Sara mentally winced; the last thing she wanted was for this first cousin to the Wicked Witch of the West to make her look bad in front of Grissom.
"Maybe we should be scoring this," murmured Nick, "Or maybe not" on catching the death glare Sara threw his way.
"Can we please return to the subject at hand?" Interjected an obviously agitated Grissom.
Silence reigned, until one, lone voice hesitantly ventured, "errrrr what was the subject at hand?"
"Agatha's stalker."
"Probably a literary critic" snarked Sara, and silence one again held sway.
"What would you know about literature? Just because you can read a DNA sequence from the little grey lines doesn't grant you any particular superiority, other than a particularly bad case of crow's feet."
"That's fighting talk bitch, and if you were a normal height I'd do something about it."
"I see. Not only are you ignorant, you're prejudiced. I bet you were a public relations joy at the midget convention; tell me, did Grissom put you on a leash or did he let you out with his attack Chihuahua to see how many people you could offend?"
Grissom was nonplussed. Bugs he could handle. The empty threats of try-hard tough guys as they attempted to intimidate were not a problem. But never, not in his wildest dreams – or nightmares for that matter, did he expect to be refereeing a catfight in the middle of his DNA lab.
Perhaps the remainder of his staff had the right idea as they backed away, attempting to negotiate a way out of the lab while maintaining a watchful eye on the combatants in case one of them decided to warm up with a bout of collateral damage. To Grissom's way of thinking, things couldn't get much worse, Murphy, being the bastard that he is, decided that was the perfect time for Riley to arrive.
"Hi Greg, you didn't have to arrange a reception for me, yourself would have been just fine. Hello Grissom, any more annoying little problems you want me to solve?"
"No thank you Ms Andrews, I don't have a specific need for your literary knowledge this evening, may I assume you've come to collect Greg?"
"Shhhh, don't tell him that, he'll run and it's such a nuisance having to catch him again."
"Do you mind!?" This from Greg.
"Chasing you down? Not at all, but I could do without the sweat. Anyway, me boy, what time are you finishing?"
Greg shrugged, "We were trying to sort out a little problem Ms Babylon had, or at least we were until she and Sara decided to go ten rounds over Grissom."
Rilie cast an appraising stare over the two combatants, as indicated to her by Greg's nod. Babylon she knew of only by reputation and from the irrelevant fluff she passed of as journalism, she shrugged internally, everybody needed a day job no matter how deep the tawdry depths to which one sank. Sara, by comparison, she knew well, at least in terms of the descriptions supplied by her garrulous boyfriend. Admittedly, Greg had become more charitable in his descriptions of his former, and once again, colleague, as his bitterness at his former treatment eased with the passage of time. However, there were still traces of resentment and occasionally the young man backslid into referring to Sara as an emaciated emotional desert or a self-serving CSIborg; certainly her current expression hardly epitomised a font of nurturing joy, indeed, homicidal was the least descriptive of a raft of violent adjectives that could have been applied to her current mien, which was currently directed to the abbreviated woman in front of what she assumed was one of Greg's toys.
"Fun and games huh?" The only answer was the audible sound of collective eye rolling and a strangled grunt of suppressed frustration from Grissom. Rilie, even from her brief encounter with Grissom at the campus café, knew that Grissom sometimes felt that he was trapped in a world populated by children, and that watching two, ostensibly professional, women apparently going to war over him made him would make him feel like he was trapped in his worst nightmare; an episode of Dawson's Creek.
"Anyway," Rilie continued, "What's this problem? I have plans, I need Greg, and you're slowing me down." She grinned at Greg's blushing countenance; a look no one missed and that was stored away for future harassment and coffee blackmail.
Grissom gave the young woman a grateful look before clearing his throat. "So, we were, I believe, trying to ascertain the possible identity of this person who you claim to have seen Agatha."
"I did see someone Grissom, I don't claim to know who it was. What I did state was that they made me feel nervous. Whatever you, or your people," this was said with a sidelong glance at Sara, "May think, they were watching my apartment."
"So you're not saying it was the Shakespeare Killer."
"Well since I don't know who that is I can't rightly say can I? It's not like we've been formally introduced is it?"
"I'd pay to see that." Quipped Sara.
"Thanks bitch."
Greg quickly intervened before the two could start arguing again, "Is there anyone other than our friend with the knives who would like to see you nailed to a wall?"
"Other than the mayor?"
"What did you do to the mayor?"
"It's more a questions of what hasn't she done" noted Grissom. "It's a fair question, Agatha, whom have you particularly aggravated lately?"
"Apart from Astoria?"
"Apart from Astoria."
"You" was the somewhat wry response
"You?"
"You. Grissom. Bug man."
"I'm not sure if I would consider you aggravating, Ms Babylon, fascinating would be more apt; a bit like a bug really."
"Maybe I should see if I can hire the charming fellow with the knives." She retorted, although her tone was undercut by a shy smile; it had been too long since she had had a sparring partner capable of giving as good as they got and she was enjoying the repartee.
"Look, I hate to interrupt, but can we get back on track here? As fascinating as it is to watch the mating habits of the middle-aged I'd really like to drag Greg out for some good old-fashioned debauchery. So, if it's not too much to ask, can we stop with all the clever words and decide whether the lady with the sharp tongue is really being followed by the gentleman with the sharp knives and a passion for literature."
"Debauchery?"
"It's a big word that means sex, Nick."
"Yes, thank you Catherine, I was actually wondering why it is that Greg has a life and the rest of us don't."
"It's because we're dedicated professionals Nick."
The lean Texan snapped his fingers, "That's right, I'd forgotten in all the excitement. Grissom? Warrick and I would like a pay rise so we can have lives too."
"What about me?"
"Sorry Cath, you've got a kid, you're not entitled to a life until she leaves home."
"Grissom? Can I have a rise so I can send Lindsey to boarding school?
"No."
"What about my stalker?"
"You want to send your stalker to boarding school?"
Greg, with Rilie's ever so subtle elbow to the ribs, tried to bring the discussion back into focus. "Guys? We're getting a little off track here. Can we decide what we're going to do so I can go," before adding with a smirk, "My life is waiting."
"You're so whipped Sanders."
"No I'm not." Greg protested.
"Maybe later," noted Rilie, with what sounded suspiciously like a purr.
Grissom, for his part, was beginning to despair. While secretly enjoying the irreverent air that had permeated the lab - the addition of Rilie to the mix adding whole new levels of innuendo and sarcasm - it didn't address the problem at hand was the Shakespeare Killer haunting the footsteps of Agatha Babylon? He decided that once more, if only for the sake of his battered reputation – he would try to instil a serious air to proceedings.
"While all this frivolity is vastly entertaining," he cast a grim look – again, solely for the purpose of resuscitating his battered reputation- in the general direction of his younger colleagues, "If it's not too much trouble could we please address the matter at hand."
"Greg's imminent whipping?"
Catherine this time and after all her years working at Grissom's side you'd have thought she'd have known better. If looks could have killed then Catherine would have been a small pile of smoking ash but she was saved by the arrival of Doc Robbins.
"Evenin' all, is anyone free?"
"We're trying, and I stress the word trying, to have a discussion, what's up?"
"St Dementia's called, the Mother Superior just imploded and they'd like someone to have a look, there's not too much of a mess but they suggest that whomever goes takes a trowel."
Grissom was wise. Grissom could read the signs. Grissom gave up. "Nick, Sara, you go to the convent. Agatha, can you come to my office? We'll have a chat there. Greg, Rilie, have a good night. Cath? Take Warrick and get out of my sight, go talk to Hodges or something equally painful. Coming Agatha?"
As Grissom and Babylon departed the only sound was a whispered "Who was that masked man?" before the group split up and headed off on their designated assignments.