SATURDAY
First of all, I'd like to apologize for posting the wrong version of chapter six.
Spoilers for this chapter:
Precious Metal In this episode, Greg leaves the lab to help Grissom solve a crime, and finds that he likes working on the field. Even Grissom's comment that CSIs make less money than DNA technicians doesn't discourage him.
In Burden of Proof, Grissom utters 'The lab needs you.'
SATURDAY
Grissom glanced at his coworkers as he gave them their assignments for the night. Nick was happy with his assignment -a robbery at the Rampart Casino- but Catherine and Warrick were definitely unhappy with theirs –a murder at a local pawnshop. They obviously wanted the more glamorous case, and resented Grissom for giving it to Nick.
They spoke at the same time.
"Is this because I used to have a problem with gambling?" asked Warrick.
"Is it because Sam Braun is my father...?" Catherine asked.
"It's a robbery," Grissom replied, "It's a one-person case. The murder, on the other hand, will require two CSIs." He glanced at them over his glasses, "Unless you want the third case of the night-" He added, waving the last sheet he had, "A dead body found at a dump site."
He glanced at Catherine and then at Warrick. They responded by picking their sheets of paper and rising from their seats. A pawnshop might not be a glamorous place but it was better than a dump site.
"See ya," Warrick said.
Grissom watched them go and then he turned to Sara, who reluctantly took the sheet of paper he handed her.
"Dump site," she sighed, "What a joy."
"Greg, you're with Sara." Grissom said.
"Great!" Greg said, jumping from his seat.
"Why are you so happy?" Sara glared.
"I always knew we would get down and dirty some day."
Sara narrowed her eyes, but Greg's smile was contagious, and she ended up smiling back. She rose from her seat to follow Greg, but she paused at the door when she noticed that Grissom hadn't moved.
"You're not working tonight?" she asked.
"I am working," Grissom replied, "I've got paperwork to take care of, reports to sign... and overtime sheets to review," He added pointedly. "Someone maxed out her overtime; that means I'll have to revise the budget -again."
Sara narrowed her eyes but didn't say anything.
Greg didn't show the same restraint.
"Don't listen to him, Sara." he said, loud enough for Grissom to hear, "He just wants to get rid of us so he can stay in his office, watching TV. I bet there's some show on bugs on the Discovery Channel tonight-"
Grissom smiled indulgently as his youngest CSIs left.
He didn't say anything, but he was grateful to Greg and Sara for taking their assignment –the worse of the night- so good-naturedly.
Grissom sat and stared at the paperwork on his desk. He had let it pile up, and it was time to do something about it.
Resigned to his task, Grissom picked up a file and started to read. He turned the page and read a couple of lines... and then he simply stared at the open file in front of him. He couldn't concentrate. It seemed that neither his mind nor his heart were on this task.
Maybe. Or maybe it was simply that there were other matters crowding his mind -matters that he had let accumulate, just like his paperwork.
Grissom put his pen down. He leant back on his chair and did a mental review of the things that he'd relegated to the back of his mind:
A couple of investigations that were going nowhere and would end up in the hands of the FBI if Las Vegas PD didn't get a break soon;
An upcoming trial that Grissom didn't think they had enough evidence for;
His mother's birthday-
Grissom scoffed softly; it didn't seem right to add a personal matter on this list but he needed a couple of days off to visit her mother, and this would affect his work.
But his mother's birthday was a month away, while there were other things demanding his immediate attention. Lke The Law Enforcement Race, for instance.
The race.
Grissom sighed. The truth was, he did not share the night shift's enthusiasm for this competition. He didn't even want to drive the follow car this year, but every effort to get somebody else to take over had failed. Even Brass had refused, citing the night shift's poor performaces in the past.
It seemed that Greg wasn't the only one who believed the night shift was jinxed.
Thinking of Greg reminded Grissom of yet another problem, one that had started on Wednesday, when Greg announced that he was joining Adrian Vauchss' team.
Hearing The Fox's name had stirred some memories for Grissom. He had heard stories about Vauchss over the years; stories that an old pal of Grissom had summarized in a colorful way: "'The Fox always picks up the choicest chick: the brightest member of your staff, the youngest, the most promising, the one you've trained to take over after you retire..."
And according to those stories, working for Vauchss wasn't a smooth ride for everyone. Most newcomers quitted within a year; and while some of them were lucky enough to get their old jobs back, they often lost their .
When Greg talked about running for Vauchss' team, Grissom didn't think there was any reason to feel threatened; after all, as Greg himself had pointed out, he was not a lab technician anymore.
Grissom did not dismiss the matter altogether –oh, no. He had simply pushed it at the back of his mind... until this afternoon, when Greg asked if they could talk.
Grissom panicked.
Actually, it wasn't the idea of talking that had alarmed Grissom; it was what Greg said after, when he explained that what he wanted to talk about was not related to the case he was working on.
This sounded so ominous, that Grissom did the unthinkable: He assumed. He assumed that what Greg wanted to talk about was related to Vauchss. And if it was related to Vauchss, then it could only mean that The Fox had offered him a job in Washington.
Grissom did everything he could to avoid the conversation then: He took every phone call and welcomed every interruption until Greg finally desisted and left. It hadn't been Grissom's greatest moment, but then this was the kind of situation that always highlighted his weaknesses as Supervisor: Every time a member of his team talked about leaving, he just didn't know what to say or do.
He did have a standard phrase, "The lab needs you." It was concise and honest, and it conveyed a basic truth... but it never worked. He had used it with Sara –with nearly disastrous results- and he had used it with Mia –with completely disastrous results. Greg hadn't even taken it seriously.
But now Grissom wished he had let the young man talk. At least, he'd know what it was all about. After all, there were lots of things that Greg might have wanted to talk about; maybe it was something to do with his grandfather or his coin collection or something equally harmless.
Maybe there was nothing to worry about-
But maybe there was.
And there was only one way to find out.
It was close to midnight but Adrian Vauchss was still working out at the gym; he was alone, after outlasting his coworkers.
He was so focused on his weigh-lifting, that he didn't notice when Gil Grissom entered the room.
Grissom watched in silence. The Fox didn't seem to have changed much. He still favored weight-lifting and refused to use the fancy equipment in the gym. He was still as intensely tanned as he was when he worked the night shift in Chicago, and he still wore his signature t-shirts, black and tight-fitting, the better to show off his muscles. He was still as vain.
Vauchss puffed noisily every time he lifted the weights, and so Grissom waited for a pause to interject a greeting.
"Hello, Adrian." He said.
Vauchss turned in surprise. He smiled – or more exactly, he bared his teeth.
Grissom smiled to himself; he had forgotten how much Vauchss enjoyed showing off his pointy canines –the ones that had first earned him his nickname. Things hadn't changed indeed.
But others had; up this close, Grissom could see faint wrinkles around Vauchss' eyes and mouth.
"Well, well," The Fox said, "If it isn't Dr. Gil Grissom. Or do you prefer CSI Gil Grissom?" he asked. He lifted his weights and held them up for a few seconds, "Wanna give these a shot, Gil?" he asked.
Grissom smiled with some amusement.
"No, thank you."
Vauchss smirked.
"You know," he said, "I believe this is the first time that I've seen you enter a gym, Gil. Don't tell me you're in a case."
"I'm not," Grissom replied, "I just thought I'd come and see how you were doing." He said, and then he added in a slightly ironic tone, "A courtesy visit to a distinguished visitor, so to speak."
Vauchss scoffed.
"Bullshit." He said, "We both know why you're here." He paused, "It's about Sanders, isn't it? You've come to plead your case."
Grissom didn't say anything. Vauchss had answered his question before he even had a chance to pose it.
Vauchss resumed his weight-lifting, but he didn't remain silent.
"I love the way lab honchos react whenever I come to their territory." He said in amusement, "Once they know The Fox is coming to town, they run around like hysterical hens trying to protect their chicks."
He threw a glance at Grissom, "But I'm curious," he said, "Years ago I took a technician from your lab and you didn't say a word. Why now?"
"You took a technician from another shift," He replied, "Greg Sanders is a CSI, Adrian. He's one of my guys."
Vauchss put down the weights. He picked up a clean towel and then he carefully wiped the sweat off his face.
He was taking all the time in the world to respond.
"Gil," he finally said, "There's something you ought to know: Contrary to what everybody assumes, people come voluntarily with me. They leave their jobs because they can see the advantages-"
"They come with you because you manipulate them."
"Oh, give me a break," Vauchss scoffed, "As if you'd never resorted to a little manipulation of your own."
Grissom frowned. He clearly didn't know what that meant.
"You know what I'm talking about," Vauchss insisted, "You knew that Sanders didn't want to work in that little basement lab anymore, didn't you? He was probably thinking of quitting, and that's why you gave him a job as a CSI-"
"I gave him the job," Grissom replied calmly, "Because he has the makings of a good criminalist."
"He was set to be a brilliant scientist," Vauchss retorted, "That's what I trained him for. He shouldn't be wasting his time on the street, cleaning up murderers' messes-"
"He had a choice-" Grissom interrupted, "And he chose to be a CSI."
"He was just excited at the prospect of carrying a weapon and making arrests," Vauchss said in a dismissive tone, "It's every kid's dream, Gil; you made it possible for him," He looked at Grissom, "It was really cunning of you, actually."
Grissom scoffed. "Not as cunning as playing the role of the needy old professor." He said pointedly.
"Touché," Vauchss said with a smile, "But I didn't just play a role, Gil." He said gleefully, "I also offered him a chance to be in a winning team."
Vauchss glanced around until he found what he was looking for: A gym bag. He went to get it. "You see," he said, "That's what's always set me apart. Sports. I give my guys more than just a job, Gil -I give them a lifestyle. We go everywhere, and we do everything: rock-climbing, surfing, scuba-diving-" He looked pointedly at Grissom, "Bookish guys just can't compete with that."
Grissom didn't reply.
"I open the doors of my home to my guys," Vauchss added, "Have you ever done that?" He asked, knowing perfectly well that Gil had not.
"You've done a lot of things for your guys," Grissom said, "And yet... they don't seem to stick around for long."
Vauchss opened the gym bag and rummaged inside. Again, it seemed that he was not in any hurry to reply.
"Don't you ever wonder why?" Grissom asked.
"Few have the stamina to keep up with me." Vauchss said dismissively. "We work under pressure; if people can't take the heat -"
"-you replace them." Grissom finished.
"Of course, I replace them," Vauchss replied, "It's wrong to hold on to people who fail."
"But don't you ever wonder why they fail?" Grissom asked, and waited in vain for an answer. "You never learned what being a leader means, did you?" he asked softly, "Except when it comes to sports."
Grissom paused again, but Vauchss didn't say anything. "You know what I think?" Gil continued, "I think that once you go back to the lab, the friendship stops and you leave them to fend for themselves. And they make a mistake, you simply replace them with somebody else."
"Some of them do move on to better jobs," Grissom admitted, "But others don't fare as well, do they? Some of them even end up leaving the field altogether; and you don't care about them."
Vauchss scoffed.
"Do you care about them?" he asked skeptically, "Give me a break, Gil. We run labs, not support groups. If someone can't take the pressure, then they need to reevaluate their goals."
Vauchss crossed his arms, "Don't try to lecture me on how to handle my people, Grissom. You haven't done too well, yourself. Turning Greg Sanders into a CSI was a mistake, and you know it. Sanders' place is inside a lab. A better lab, of course." He added, "And that's what I can give him: A different environment, a better salary, a chance to work at Quantico…"
"Unless he fails," Grissom interrupted, "In which case you'll simply replace him with someone else."
"I know Sanders," Vauchss said, "He won't fail."
"Humans make mistakes, Adrian. We all do. Even Greg. I don't want him to end up as one of your failures."
Vauchss pulled a sweatshirt from the gym bag, but he didn't immediately put it on.
He looked at Grissom.
"Look," he said at last, "If it makes you feel better, Sanders hasn't agreed to come to Washington." He admitted, "Yet." He added pointedly. "If you really want him to stay, then all you have to do is come up with a better offer. Or..."
"Or what?"
Vauchss smirked.
"Or we can face off, you and me." He said.
Grissom frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"Well... You could enter the race." Vauchss said, barely containing his mirth. "If you do a better time than me, then I'll withdraw my offer."
Grissom didn't say anything. Vauchss was obviously making fun of him.
"You don't want to run?" Vauchss asked, "Ok, fine. Let's find something that you can do too. What about poker?" He asked, "We could play a few hands, with the winner deciding Sanders' professional future."
Grissom remained silent.
"It sounds fair, to me. But you won't do it, right?" he said after a moment, "You want it to be his decision. See, that's your problem, Gil. You will interfere but only up to a point; after all it's said and done, you want it to be his choice."
"I want him to know what working for you might entail." Grissom said.
"So, tell him." Vauchss challenged.
But that wasn't Grissom style, and Vauchss knew it.
"Have it your way, then." Vauchss said, picking up his gym bag again, "Just don't blame me if he comes to Washington, all right? Remember: You practically left the doors of the hen house open."
He turned and walked away, but just as he was reaching the door, Grissom spoke again.
"Greg likes being a CSI," he said firmly. "He'll stay."
"He won't," Vauchss said dismissively. He opened the door, but Grissom's next words made him stop.
"Wanna bet?" Grissom asked.
TBC
Soon... Sunday: the race, Chip, and Greg's final decision.