"Friend of yours?"
Grissom frowned, refusing to pause during his collection of the glass pieces from a smashed bottle in order to answer Jim. He disliked interruptions; they could bring about improper collecting of the evidence, and distract a person from the task at hand. Only once the last shard was carefully tucked inside a small vial, did he turn to regard the man.
Sometimes, it felt as if Jim Brass hadn't changed over the years. Always a hard ass, and unforgiving when it came to protocol, he had been a silent figure in all their lives on the night shift. Well, usually silent. But then Grissom had to remind himself of all the terrible one-liners Brass could come up with in the worst situations. Even so, the man had a nose like a bloodhound, with his uncanny ability to procure a suspect from thin air. He wondered what else Jim could pull out of his hat.
"A long time ago," Gil finally replied, bagging and tagging the evidence before moving on to the counter. It almost felt like a formality at this point when he began to dust for prints, but he wasn't about to do a slap-shod job of it here. Not where she was involved.
"Ooh, do we get to hear about the infamous Gil Grissom's life prior to the Las Vegas crime lab?" Casting a sidelong glance at the man, he silently shook his head. Where did Brass find that particular brand of wit? A Crackerjack box? "Probably not. Hey! I wonder what sort of stories she could tell us…"
"Jim. Don't." Grissom's quiet answer was ground out between his teeth, which took a great deal of concentration. No, it really did. Don't breathe on the dust that would coat everything, don't inhale it either, lift the print carefully, and refuse to smack the Captain hovering over your shoulder. Brass knew he hated that, especially when there was no reason for it!
"I think this is the most worked up I've ever seen you, Grissom!" How long would it take for the smirk to appear? Three, two, one… Right on cue, apparently. But he refused to bang his head against the conveniently located counter. Nor would he give Brass the satisfaction of getting beneath his skin. He'd never hear the end of it! "Are you twitching?"
"I do not twitch," Grissom muttered, silently praying that the fluttering of his eyelid would go unnoticed. "Don't you have anything better to do than hover over my shoulder?" He immediately regretted the question as soon as it popped out of his mouth. Not because he was being peevish, oh no; more to the fact that he'd never live this one down. Not for a long time. That in itself was good enough reason to close his field kit with a bit of excessive force.
"No, not really." Jim's grin returned in full force as he watched Gil pack up. "I've put out an APB on the suspect. A few of the beat cops know him, typical tale. Rap sheet as long as your arm, mainly petty theft. Boy thought he was probably stepping into the big leagues with this place." Odd how someone could place so much distaste in a few words and a significantly placed glance. Even stranger when Grissom wanted nothing more than to wipe that look off Brass' face. "Regardless, he'll be in by the end of shift. You're just icing on the cake."
"Good." Surprisingly, Gil found that he meant it. And not about being a sugary confectionary, either. "I'm heading back to the lab. Keep me up to date."
"Wait wait!" Oh please God, don't let him do this… "Aren't you going to get the victim's recount of the crime?" Crap. "I could always have one of the boys do it, but I know how much you hate that…"
"Fine," Grissom issued with a pent-up sigh, craning his neck toward the few cop cars that were still huddled together. Seated in the back of one, with her legs hanging out of the open door, was her. Why did he want to avoid her so badly? Rachel and Alex had been good friends of his. But that had been a different part of his life, years ago, and he had kissed it goodbye. At least, he had hoped so.
With case in hand, and ignoring a snicker from Brass, Grissom didn't quite march over to the squad car; but there was a definite reluctance in his steps. Even in his stance. Rachel was sipping from a Styrofoam cup, likely some of the coffee that had been set on the burner inside. She seemed… withdrawn. Not the outgoing woman that he remembered from all those years ago. It felt like losing her husband had crushed the woman's spirit. But still, she moved on. Why? And why here, of all places?
"Rachel," he finally murmured, squatting down beside the police cruiser so she wouldn't have to crane her neck. He knew he was supposed to be questioning her, but he couldn't do that. Not just yet. Once again, why?
"Gil," she murmured with a slight smile, causing her cheeks to dimple. Alex had always said that was one of her more endearing qualities; aside from having the will of some beastly animal. "You look… good." With her reluctance, and the bald-faced lie, he quirked a disbelieving brow. "You've definitely changed."
"Hmm? How so?" Grissom queried, wondering why he had even bothered to ask.
"Well…" Pausing, Rachel gave a mirthless laugh, reaching out to tug on his short hair. "When did you get so old? I remember putting those first few gray hairs on your head, personally." With her surfacing grin, mischievous in the least, Gil couldn't help but give a half-hearted chuckle. "How's my favorite entomologist been?"
"Fine…" The response came a little too quickly, and she mimicked his lofting brow, head canted to the side. "No, really." There went the other brow, and he shook his head. "Don't worry yourself over me. Now, what happened earlier—"
"You really haven't changed, have you?" Grissom met the woman's hard look, matching stare for stare. A few of the officers found this far more interesting than hanging about a defunct crime scene, and continued to observe the festivities. "I suppose neither of us have," Rachel quietly murmured after some time. "Fine. I was fixing to close up for the night, and had already deposited the money into the safe. He came in for a cup of coffee, paid for it, and then demanded all the money out of the drawer once it was opened."
"How much did money did he managed to get?"
"Thirty dollars or so," Rachel stated with a wry grin. "The floor safe was covered by the mat, so he couldn't see it." Pausing in her telling of the story, the woman frowned, seeming to look beyond Grissom. "The guy only had a Swiss Army knife. I think the corkscrew was pointed at me, instead of that dinky blade. He was more nervous than I was!"
"Hmm…" came the noncommittal answer, writing down a few things in a pocket notebook.
"Are you even listening?" Gil nodded in an absent fashion, causing Rachel to grin once again. "So if I said that the guy waddled like a penguin with a two by four stuck up his ass, you'd note it down?" She watched him scribble for a few moments, stop, and turn his attention to her. "So you did write it down!" Resisting the urge to clap in amused joy, the grin widening sufficed enough.
"And you're still bringing mischievous everywhere you go, I see," Grissom wryly ventured, shaking his head. Patting down a few pockets, he finally procured a small card, and scribbled something on the back. "My cell number is on there, and home phone is on the back. You'll probably have to come back in to fill out a statement, but otherwise…"
"Yeah, I remember. I hate the hurry-up-and-wait game." Giving a put-upon sigh, Rachel twirled the business card between her fingers, absorbed in watching the digits spin about. But Grissom could see she was thinking; about what, he could never tell. Though that was enough for him.
"Listen, I get off around six. Would you like to get some breakfast?" That sounded entirely too much like he was asking her out. So Gil hastily amended, "To catch up on old times." That was a close call.
"Wouldn't that be dinner for you?" She seemed to hum for a moment, drawing it out, obviously just to get beneath his skin. Rachel had always been so good at that, before. But that was then. "Sure, I'd like that."
"Great!" Wincing inwardly, Grissom forced himself to tone down the enthusiasm. "There's a diner near the lab. I'll meet you there, say… Seven?" Receiving Rachel's happy nod, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Right, I need to head back. So I'll see you then." Only when he was favored with the woman's smile, he skirted off towards the Denali with kit in hand.
Once he had packed everything up and climbed behind the wheel, Gil drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. What the hell was he thinking? Meeting up with Rachel after work like it was old times. But it wasn't. And, somewhere deep down, that gave a twinge of pain. Alex and Rachel had been his good friends. No matter how much he wished for it, things couldn't go back to the way they had been before. Wait, why was he wishing for that?
Frowning, Grissom turned the key in the ignition, driving back to the lab. And I told myself this would be simple…
A/N: Ooh, check that out, I actually got a few reviews! Surprise, surprise. That was spiffy.
Usual disclaimer. I don't own CSI, NBC, any of its affiliates, blahblah. Otherwise I'd be rolling in cash, and just manhandling my way into script writing for the show. Until then, this'll have to suffice.