Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Many, many thanks to LosingInTranslation, Mingsmommy and Superlibn who helped me with this. I really couldn't have done it without them.
December 30, 2007
The hallway is deserted. The recycled air is cold and a little stale, but I'm used to it. It is in my blood, my very bones, and I cannot imagine not being surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and human suffering.
It has been two weeks since I met Doctor Gil Grissom and I keep waiting for his next move, for the other shoe to drop. I have done my homework. I know who he is, what he is. And I fear what he can do to me.
I make my way to the nurse's station, my footsteps silent on the gleaming floor tiles. The fluorescent lights beam down from overhead, moving my shadow from front to back as I pass under each one. I am transfixed by the play of light and dark. I see my shadow as a representation of the passage of time, constantly moving, ever changing, but always there. I am so caught up in my musings that I fail to realize I have reached my destination.
"Dr. Rosenthal?" Elizabeth's nasal tones snatch me back to the present. "Is everything okay?"
Turning my head, I take in her porcine form. "Everything is fine."
She giggles and bats her eyes. Why does she not realize that hearing that sound coming from her is akin to watching a cat and dog mate? I try to keep the disgust off my face, but something must have seeped through, because she recoils as though I have slapped her. Dammit! My control is slipping. I need some time. I need some time away from this place and all its heartache.
Brushing off the uncertainty, I draw myself up. "I just need to update some charts and then I'll be out of your way."
With a nod, she turns back to her computer. And another rock takes up residence in my belly. While I may not have time for her simpering, I understand its usefulness. I know I will have to make it up to her and I dread it with every fiber of my being. To flirt with her, to compliment her, goes against my very nature. But I will. I will do it, because sometimes we must sacrifice for the Lord.
I work in silence, scribbling notes, checking charts. When I'm done, I stand and slip my pen into my pocket. I want so badly to leave without a word, to walk away. But I know that would not be prudent. Instead, I place a hand on Elizabeth's shoulder and apologize. "Elizabeth, I didn't mean to snap at you earlier."
She cringes, drawing away from me, as if my touch burns. "You didn't snap." She stares at me and in her eyes I can see something I have never seen before; hurt and anger. "No need to apologize."
"I've just had a really bad night and I'm a little tired. You startled me and I was afraid I snapped." I gaze at her, giving her what I hope is a soulful look. "If I offended you, I'm sorry."
She does not answer me, merely gives a tight nod and returns to her work. My anger is boiling just below the surface and I know that I must get as far away from her as possible. First a fight with Renee and now this. How much can a man take? Rounding the corner of the desk, I turn my back to her and begin to walk away, muttering under my breath, "Insipid cow."
If I had been paying attention, I would have seen her face harden as the words floated back to her. I would have seen her look at me as if I were something to be scraped off the bottom of her shoe.
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Grissom rang the doorbell of the small stucco house. He looked around, noting the line of cookie cutter homes marching up and down both sides of the street. The same plantings, the same toys in the yard and, inside, the same mom and dad and two point three children. But not for this house. This house would never again be just like all the others.
The opening of the door drew Grissom back from his inspection of the neighborhood. His eyes automatically swept over the man; around forty, dark hair, blue eyes, a little overweight, and haggard. He tried to muster a smile, but his mouth merely twitched at the corners.
"Can I help you?" The voice was quiet, almost monotone.
"Mr. Williams? I'm Gil Grissom, with the Crime Lab."
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he stepped back and opened the door wider. "I…um…I'm sorry, I forgot you were coming. Come in, please."
Grissom stepped inside and looked around. The place was just as small as it appeared from the outside. A tiny foyer fed directly into a family room. A hallway to the left obviously led to the bedrooms. A dining room was at the back of the house and there was a pass through to the kitchen. Compact, but clean and well cared for, with a feeling of emptiness that no amount of furniture could fill. Family photos of the man, a little boy with carrot colored hair, and a red haired woman were scattered about.
Rodney Williams motioned Grissom toward a brown leather couch that, along with the matching loveseat, was too big for the room. Sitting down, Grissom studied the man across from him, letting the silence run out just a moment too long. "I'm sorry to intrude on you but I wanted to ask you a few questions."
"Questions about what?" Rodney leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders.
Grissom felt a twinge of guilt for bringing even more pain into this house, but he relentlessly pushed that aside. With a quiet sigh, he began to explain why he was there.
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Anger lights a fire in my chest as I make my way out of the hospital. Climbing behind the wheel of my car I back out of the parking place and head for home. My surgical shift will not start until later and for that I am grateful. As I drive, I keep hearing Renee's voice in my head.
"Are you sure nothing is bothering you, Malachi?"
I did not want to answer, so I pushed another forkful of peas into my mouth and nodded. But she refused to let it go. Instead, I felt her eyes on me, searching for something I did not want her to find. Finally, I stopped eating.
"What?" What did she really want?
And then she said something that just ripped a hole in my gut. "You're lying to me."
Those quiet words crawled under my skin and wormed their way along my nerve endings, straight to my brain. I was not ready to deal with her. So, I dropped my fork and shoved my chair back. Picking up my plate, I took it in to the kitchen.
But her voice followed me. "Walking away isn't going to change whatever it is. Tell me, Malachi. You can tell me anything."
"There's nothing to tell, Renee." I kept my voice low and even, trying to pacify her. "Just let it go."
She touched me then, a whisper between my shoulder blades, and I jerked away. "I can't let it go. Whatever it is, it's eating you up inside." Then her hand brushed my arm. "I hate to see you this way."
"What way, Renee?" My control was slipping, little by little, and my voice became rough, hard.
"Upset. Worried." I refused to look at her, but I could not block out the words. "Just tell me what's bothering you." I could feel her eyes on me; probing, pushing, gazing into my very soul. "Have you done something?"
"Done something?" The words almost choked me on the way out. "What do you think I've done?" I looked at her then, and I saw fear in her eyes. "Stop looking at me like that! Like you don't know me!"
Not until she flinched, did I realize I was screaming, but it felt good. All that rage rolling around inside me suddenly came boiling to the surface, and I was screaming at her.
"Are you afraid of me, Renee?!"
I heard her whisper. "No."
"No? Well maybe you should be. Maybe you don't know me. Maybe you don't want to."
"No." Her voice trembled. "I'm not afraid of you. You're my husband and I love you."
The anger seemed to leech out of me and I slid a hand over my face, vainly trying to block out her accusing stare. "Then just leave me alone. That's all, leave me alone."
I am so caught up in my memory of last night's argument that I fail to notice the police car behind me, until the bleat of his siren snaps me back to the present.
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It was a busy night. Drunks fighting in three different bars, a convenience store and a local movie theater both robbed at gun point, one rape and a vehicular homicide just to get things started. With Sara gone, the shift was stretched thin. After handing out the first round of assignments Grissom hit the road, stopping only long enough to direct the CSI's from one scene to another.
He barely had time to breathe, much be concerned about the look on Rodney Williams' face when he'd left. The poor man appeared…shell shocked. There really wasn't another word for the slack jawed, wide-eyed stare the man had given him. Ignoring the worry that was niggling at the base of his spine, Grissom worked his way from one scene to the next.
It was almost six in the morning when his phone rang for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Muttering a curse, he pulled it off his belt and checked the display. When he saw Ecklie's name he gave a resigned sigh as he flipped the phone open and tucked it between his ear and shoulder.
"Grissom," he barked.
"Gil," Ecklie snapped, "where are you?"
Eyebrow rising at the man's tone, Grissom answered calmly. "At a scene, Conrad. That is what you pay me for, right?"
"How long until you're back here?"
Casting a look around at the line of people who still to be printed, Grissom sighed. "Probably two hours. Is there something you need?"
"Yeah. I need you to come by my office before you leave for the day." Ecklie paused for a moment. "And don't blow me off, Gil. This is important." With that he broke the connection.