A/N: It's been a long time since I've written and I need to get back in the habit so I apologize if the chapters are a little short. I'm also finishing up some diploma exams so you'll have to forgive me if I don't update too regularly, but the exams will be over soon and I'll get better after that. The titles for the first and second chapters are out of order (denial actually comes before anger) but I've taken a bit of poetic license. This story takes place immediately following the season 6 finale (what was up with that?)

Disclaimer: I do not, nor do I claim to own anything associated with CSI. I just like it.

Chapter One:Anger

Grissom grumbled and rolled over in his sleep. The sharp ringing of his cell phone pulled him from his sleep only hours after he'd managed to close his eyes. The previous night had been a long one and he'd been looking forward to his day off, but apparently someone had other plans. He could picture that someone's face, outlined by soft blonde hair, on the other end of the phone line. Grissom heard the phone ring again and considered letting it go to the voicemail, after all he'd never ignored a call before and he really was quite tired.

A soft groan from the other side of the bed pulled Grissom from his fantasies of avoidance. While he deserved a day off, he knew it wouldn't be fair to risk waking Sara this early in the morning by letting his phone continue to ring. After all they had both been up late the previous night discussing, quite literally, matters of life and death. Grissom marvelled at how comfortable he'd grown with Sara, so much so that he found himself able to discuss the most intimate details of his thoughts with her. It was nice to be able to confide in someone again, it had been a long time.

Carefully pulling back the blanket he shared with Sara, Grissom retrieved his cell phone from the pants he'd discarded in exchange for a pair of shorts the night before. He and Sara had talked so long into the night he hadn't even changed into something more suitable for bed. He opened and closed the phone to stop the ringing and moved into the living room to check his caller ID. Before he'd made it ten steps the phone began ringing once again, confirming Grissom's previous conclusion that he would not be able to escape his caller. With only the slightest sigh he flipped open the phone and muttered a greeting, thinking that Catherine was lucky he enjoyed his job.

Grissom was surprised when, where he had expected the somewhat apologetic and guilty tones of Catherine's voice, he was instead greeted only by heavy breathing on the line. Listening carefully Grissom was soon able to discern a voice speaking through the phone, mumbling words he hadn't recognized immediately.

"You think you're so … can't just come in here and … screw the cops I don't need …"

"Hello?" Grissom again tried to engage the individual on the other line, hoping perhaps he had the wrong number or had mistakenly dialled his phone. No such luck. After hearing Grissom's voice the mysterious caller's voice only grew louder.

"Fuck you Mr. Grissom," (Grissom couldn't help but notice the tone used to pronounce his name, eliminating the possibility of the call being a mistake) "you think you have all the answers but you DON'T!"

"Excuse me but who the hell is this!" Grissom reminded himself forcibly to keep the level of his voice low so as not to wake Sara, but moved further from the door all the same. Whoever was calling had screamed his last comment loud enough for the whole house to hear. "And what business do you think you have talking to me like that?"

A resounding click was all Grissom received in response and he found himself facing a dial tone. He was disappointed to realize, upon checking his caller ID, that the call had been placed from a pay phone. While he was sure Archie would have no trouble pinpointing the origin of the call and letting him know, he decided to let is slide. Wasting Archie's time and the lab's resources on tracing a crank call was not really the best move for a supervisor. After all, he was the one always preaching the integrity of the lab. And the odds of finding the actual individual were slim to nil. Instead he decided to ignore the call for the time being.

When Grissom's cell started ringing for the third time in as many minutes he opened it quickly and was somewhat snappy with his greeting.

"Sorry to wake you Gil, but the lab's really backed up and Sara's not answering her cell."

Grissom was almost relieved to hear the voice that he'd originally expected. He would have been angry to be woken for the sole purpose of answering a prank call. He smiled as he realized he'd signed his own death warrant by suggesting Sara leave her phone off the previous night, in order to prevent interruptions to their conversation. Walking into the kitchen he found a pen and paper and scribbled down the address of the scene where he was needed before informing Catherine he should be there within the hour. Glancing at the note he'd written himself, he realized that the scene was at least a half an hour's drive from his townhouse. After scrawling a note for Sara explaining his absence, he changed and grabbed a bagel on his way out. By the time he locked his door behind him he had already all but forgotten about the strange call, his mind full of the impending challenge.

The sharp clash of plastic on metal sounded as an angry man hung up the payphone receiver with far more force than was necessary. As angry as he'd been earlier, the sound of Grissom's self righteous voice on the line had driven him into a rage. All it took was the sounds of his saying hello to push him over the edge, forcing him to abandon his resolve not to say anything. The purpose of the call was supposed to have been solely to verify that he'd obtained the correct number, but after being faced with that voice again the plan had changed.

A tall, middle-aged man leaned heavily on the door of the phone booth as he turned to exit. Staggering slightly, he made his way back towards his apartment. Upon reaching the door to his building he fumbled with the keys before mastering the technology in order to gain entrance. He faced the same challenge upon reaching his apartment door but soon found himself facing an empty living room.

He hadn't been home all day, choosing instead to spend the majority of his time off in a local pub drowning his sorrows. The sight of it now did nothing to assuage his anger. Rejecting the impulse to vomit where he stood, the man slowly, carefully made his way to the spare room where he picked up a small piece of metal.

Grissom would pay.

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