Cottonwood House III

The Hand You're Dealt

Disclaimer: No, CSI: still isn't mine. *sigh*

A/N Just a reminder that this is an AU from the episode Goodbye and Good Luck onwards. Incidents seen in later episodes may still have occurred but not necessarily in the same way or in the same timescale or order. Don't worry, there are no real spoilers.

Chapter 3

Grissom

I have to admit it's a relief to lie back on the poolside lounger with Lucy seated on the one beside mine. Her hair is still damp after Lindsey achieved what her mother couldn't and got my caretaker into the pool with everyone else to make up the numbers on the female team in a game of five-a-side water something-or-other. I'm still not entirely sure what the game was or how it worked in a pool shaped to represent the partially eclipsed Sun, which is funny, considering that I was the referee. Still, with the help of a whistle Warrick had found somewhere, a lot of pointing, and strict adherence to the old maxim that the referee's decision is final, I think we ended up having a fun game of whatever-it-was. The women won, of course, it was a foregone conclusion with the birthday girl, Lindsey, as their captain – not that I was biased, of course.

In spite of doing my refereeing from the comfort of a floating "umpire's" chair it's still taken a lot from my limited store of energy, so I'm happy to be out of the water and settled with the back of this lounger tilted at just the right angle to allow me to relax and quietly observe what's going on around me.

The first shades of a Las Vegas sunset are becoming apparent in the sky and the two relative strangers at the feast have disappeared toward the changing rooms. With the help of a level 3 from Swing who wants to get more supervisory experience on her CV, Riley and Ray will be covering the Graveyard shift tonight, allowing the people who have known Lindsey longest, my former team, to stay into the evening.

I was interested to meet Riley properly for the first time today.

It took me a long time to acknowledge that I needed to hire someone to replace Sara at the Crime Lab, because it was a task that seemed as impossible to me as filling the hole her departure had left in my heart.

In the end, after gentle nudges from team members fed up of losing their rota days off to provide cover, and more forcible ones from Conrad Ecklie, I went about the process of recruiting a CSI level 2, a grade that should allow the newcomer to start picking up some slack straight away. After checking through a number of application forms and conducting a handful of 'phone interviews, Riley came out top of the list.

I called to let her know, set up a starting date and then...

By the time I was conscious of the outside world again, Riley's first days at the lab were old news and I never heard a great deal of detail about them. It must have been difficult for her though, joining the team just when they were trying to deal with what had happened to me. I suspect there may even have been one or two people who were hostile towards her simply because she wasn't Sara.

Catherine acknowledges that she may not have been paying enough attention to what Riley needed from her new supervisor, but who can blame her, she was juggling a sudden and unexpected promotion at work with the emotional challenges of having a critically ill friend. Something was going to give.

Ever since I pieced together the story from what my various hospital visitors thought might interest me I've admired Riley for sticking with it long enough for things to settle down, for people to get used to the new arrangements and for her to really become part of the team.

Now that I've had chance to get to know her a little I'm glad that she did stay. She has an energy about her that reminds me of Greg when he was younger and it's accompanied by a confidence in communicating with people that I have never had. She showed it today by being completely unruffled by my aphasia. She introduced herself and thanked me for giving her a job in a city where very few cases turn out to be mundane and then gave me an example by talking about her very first case here, involving posed dead people, some of whom seemed to have forgotten to fall down. Her way of telling the tale was so lively and full of humour that it just didn't matter that I couldn't make any verbal responses. She even had Lindsey interested, even though Catherine's daughter hasn't developed the dark sense of humour that unites CSIs and many others who deal with death in their daily work. I was just pleased that Riley actually used her ability to observe to decide if she was amusing me or not because some people just seem to assume I lost my ability to laugh along with my ability to talk.

It's a good time of day for the people attending this party, not too early for the ones who are used to working nights but not too late for those of us who don't. Lindsey is positively blooming as the lighting starts to come on and music begins to play at a low volume, altering the mood of the private pool area. Lindsey has selected instrumental versions of show tunes, very her but not too jarring for those of us who have 'older' tastes. It wouldn't be Lindsey's party if there wasn't at least some dancing, but she seems to be saving the more energetic stuff for her friends' gathering a week from now.

Catherine seems to have finally relaxed with the change of mood. I'm glad that she's starting to see her daughter as someone who has genuinely started to grow into an adult. Cath admitted to me in the past that sometimes she thinks she sees too much of Eddie, her late ex-husband, in Lindsey; or recognises too many of her own bad points, and judges her daughter according to the things she got up to as a teenager. Personally I occasionally see some of Catherine's positive sides in the teenager, but mostly I just see Lindsey, and maybe that's all it really takes to bring out the best in her.

Sometimes I think my 'niece' is a little too grown up though, she should have plenty of good reasons for learning to drive, including the car her inheritance will pay for if she gets good test scores in the process, but she tells me that the best thing will be being able to visit me more often out at Cottonwood House. If I hadn't been injured, would she have been so keen on visiting me now she's older? I don't think so, and I sometimes wish she'd be a normal selfish teenager and go out with her friends instead.

I feel a yawn building up. Maybe I should take the hint from my body and have a nap. Hopefully if I have half an hour now then I'll be able to avoid having to go home for a few hours longer.

Lucy catches my eye as the yawn releases itself.

"Should I tell Catherine that you would like her to arrange a room after all?"

I shake my head and then point to the recliner I'm lying on, to let Lucy know I intend to sleep here. Catherine's offer of a hotel room for me to use is kind, but I'd have to go down at least four floors to get to the nearest single room and Lucy would have to stay with me. The pool chairs around this exclusive pool are luxury standard with padded cushions, I'll be perfectly comfortable; and I won't feel so isolated if I stay up here, or guilty that Lucy will be getting bored with no-one to talk to while I sleep. I sit up briefly so that Lucy can lower the back of the seat and then I lie down on my right side. The sounds around me instantly fade to almost nothing proving that being completely deaf in one ear can have its advantages. Lucy drapes one of the large fluffy hotel towels over me as a makeshift blanket and then resumes her position beside me. I must be even more worn out than I thought because the simple action of lying down is enough to send me almost immediately to sleep.

I'm not sure how long it is since I drifted off or what has caused me to drowsily crack my eyes open but, as I look over to the neighbouring recliner I see that Lucy has somehow morphed into Sara. I'm pleased, I haven't had much chance to interact with her today, especially not one on one. Unfortunately I'm still so tired that the best I can do is let her know I'm aware of her presence by reaching out and nudging her gently with my hand. The way she jumps when I touch her is pretty funny and I let a smile curl my lips so she knows I saw her. Even as I do so my eyes are closing again.

Another brief awakening, this time the cause is a slight pull on my arm. A momentary glance shows me that Sara is playing with the fingers of my right hand, something that has become a habit of hers since we met again two months ago. At first she didn't realise that I couldn't feel her when she did that, but she knows that now and still she chooses to hold my right hand instead of my left. Right now the way that I'm lying down means that my right arm is under me, which is why I felt it when she pulled on my fingers, and yet she still picked that hand over the more accessible left one. I don't know why she does that and I haven't worked out a way to ask her but it sometimes seems like she's seeking to have that physical contact with me, but is afraid of me knowing how she feels.

I'm glad I've caught her this time. The changes in our circumstances and my desire to re-learn our relationship seem to have resulted in our dancing around each other just like we did years ago. The only difference is that somehow, in spite of my limitations, I have managed to make Sara aware of some of my fears and concerns about the possibilities of a future together, and she is less inclined to become angry with me if my efforts miss the mark. Unfortunately her anger seems to have been replaced by diffidence around me, particularly since the incident at the restaurant that tipped me over into an emotional outburst that must have scared her. Sara has been so careful around me since that day that, if it weren't for the fact that she has carried through the plan she told me about that afternoon and found herself a home and a job in Vegas, I'd be worried that she was going to leave me behind again. We have a lot of work to do, but moments like this, with Sara holding my hand, however tentatively, make me optimistic.

I wish I was able to build on that hope right now but I am so very tired that all I can do is drift away again, a smile on my face.

When I surface once more Sara's feminine features have been replaced by the familiarly craggy profile of Jim Brass. It would be quite disconcerting, but I got quite used to these apparently sudden changes in companionship back when I was in Desert Palm's neurological unit. Unable to move even enough to press a call button and with my lower face bandaged so tightly after the reconstructive surgery on my jaw that I couldn't open my mouth to make much noise, it was important that I have someone with me constantly in case I woke up in distress. A rota was arranged amongst the team so that, as much as possible, it would be someone familiar sitting with me and I got used to those faces changing what seemed like constantly to me, due to my initially infrequent periods of wakefulness.

With an incoherent grunt I flip onto my back, allowing the sounds of splashing, music, talk and laughter to suddenly re-enter my world. With a grin, Jim sets his beer on the table beside us.

"Hey there, Sleeping Beauty, had a good nap?"

I blink at him just once, but he gets the message.

"Not bad, but still feeling a bit washed out, huh?" Ever the detective, Jim has gathered that from the fact that, although I signalled 'yes' in answer to his question, I did it the lazy way, without raising my head to nod. "So does that mean you need bit of propping up?"

I blink again and Jim offers an arm to help me sit up. Once there I manage to stay upright long enough for my friend to arrange the back rest and cushions before leaning back with a relieved sigh.

"Catherine dragged Lucy away to have a drink while you were sleeping and you sound like you could use one too."

This time I manage a proper nod.

"So are you sticking to soda?" Jim raises his left hand in a fist. "Or are you going to push the boat out and join me in a beer? He picks up his abandoned bottle in his right hand and then holds the two hands widely spaced. If I didn't like either option I'd just look at Jim's face but, after a moment's thought, I direct my gaze at the beer. I'll need to take it slowly, but just one won't be too much of a problem and this is a celebration after all.

"OK," Jim grins, pleased to have found a drinking partner, "I'll be right back with a nice cold one for you."

Jim heads off to the bar and I relax again. I was hoping to feel a lot more refreshed after sleeping, but maybe I just need a little more time to wake up properly again.

I look around and confirm that Lucy is indeed sitting on a bar stool in the pool next to Catherine, I hope she stays there and enjoys her break for a while, she deserves it and Jim seems to have me covered.

Turning my head the other way I notice that I'm being approached by Ray, the man hired a year ago to make the numbers up on Graveyard once it was clear that I would never be returning to the Lab. I'm surprised to see the Afro-American because I thought he was leaving earlier with Riley, so that they could both get some rest before going on shift at midnight.

"Doctor Grissom? I hope I'm not disturbing you, Sir, but I didn't want to leave without paying my respects. You have been a great inspiration to me in finding and pursuing my new career as a CSI and, seeing you here today, I now realise that the recovery you have made from such severe head injuries is inspirational too."

I'm a little surprised to find that I actually feel a little intimidated. I was never comfortable with this kind of effusive praise, but the real problem is his physical presence. He'd probably tower over me even if I was standing up and even though that wouldn't have been a problem for me in the past, I find it hard to ignore now. I guess it's as much about a loss of confidence as my weakened physical state, even if Langston wasn't so big, I'm just not very comfortable with someone who is practically a stranger standing so close to me. I swallow deeply.

Thankfully Ray does seem to have some awareness of his own physicality, and mine, because he offers his left hand for me to shake and then sits on the end of the lounger Jim recently vacated, making his presence a little less overpowering.

"Before I came across you and your team I was lecturing about serial killers based on a book I wrote. I thought failing to identify one in time and then doing a lot of research made me some kind of expert. Finding out what you guys did made me realise I didn't have a clue and set me off on a whole new career track."

I must look confused; I have no memory of ever meeting this guy.

"I don't know how much of the story you have had from Catherine and the others, so perhaps I should explain: I am a medical doctor and I didn't want to waste my training while I was doing my lecture tour, so whenever I could I volunteered to work in clinics and hospitals during my free time. I was on duty in the emergency room at Desert Palm Hospital when you were brought in. I must admit I didn't have much of a part to play, you were semi-conscious, the airway the EMTs inserted was all you needed to breathe and your heart was doing fine, probably because your autonomic functions were unaffected by the initial injuries, but it was vital to control any bleeding and swelling in your brain as soon as possible before they did become compromised. The neurological and maxillofacial teams had already been alerted while you were still en route and they didn't want to risk your condition worsening so, after I sent you for an MRI, you were taken straight to an OR from there and I didn't see you again."

It takes me a little time to understand all the abbreviations Ray has used. Although my aphasia is expressive, not receptive, acronyms can be a challenge because I find it hard linking the initials to the words they represent. Once I've deciphered it, the story is an interesting picture of events on the day I was attacked, but it doesn't feel like I'm the one he's talking about, it never does. I have no memory of my own of what happened and I'm glad, because that means it's easy to dissociate from it all.

"Then the Crime Lab team started to arrive, and the more of them that came, the more I wondered about you. I've spent a lot of time in Emergency Rooms and, believe me; it's rare for someone to mean so much to their workmates that they have any of them turning up after they're injured unless it was a workplace incident. Most people don't even manage to assemble that many family members with such speed and urgency. Even if that and the obvious regard that many of the EMTs had for you hadn't intrigued me, your medical condition would have done. I kept up with your progress while you were in the neurological ICU and got the chance to talk with some of your colleagues while they were there to visit you, and the more I found out about the job you were all doing, the more I realised I wanted to do it too."

It's clear from his precise recollections that my injuries had an impact on him and, if he still wanted to take up the career after he saw first-hand what being a CSI cost me, then no-one can deny it's a vocation. It was for me and even after all that has happened I don't regret that.

"Once you were out of the ICU I had fewer excuses to drop in and your friends were more interested in interacting with you than talking to some stranger, so I let things slide until I was coming to the end of my time teaching at WLVU. I would probably have left without going any further with the idea, except I saw an article about you in the local paper; it said that the Mayor was going to present you with a civilian bravery medal because you'd been injured as a result of doing your duty. The same paper carried an advertisement for entry-level recruits at the LVPD crime lab. I suppose you could say that the rest is history."

Yes, I could, but only before the assault happened.

As for that medal, they waited long enough after the attack to see if it was likely to be a posthumous award, but I was still too ill to go and accept it so Conrad Ecklie, who likes a good award ceremony, went on my behalf. I think it's on display at the lab now, which is fine by me; it would just clutter up some drawer at home.

"Are you still here, Doctor Ray? I hope you're not saying anything too nice about my friend here, he's not good with flattery."

I smile weakly at Jim, hoping that my expression will say 'rescue me' more plainly to him than it does to Langston. It's not that I have a problem with him, I think we'd get along great if I was my old self, but I'm not and he's picked a bad time to talk and a bad subject to talk about – me.

"I was just expressing my admiration."

Jim shakes his head in mock sadness.

"That's really not a good idea you know, he always reacts badly."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Langston seems confused.

"Well, he needs to watch his blood pressure and as a doctor I'm sure you realise that blushing is a sign that there's too much blood going to his head. Plus, considering the trauma it's already suffered do you really want to run the risk of that noggin of his starting to grow?"

Jim's comments diffuse the situation with humour but, in spite of his much smaller stature, his body language is definitely telling Langston to go. The tall man looks at me and maybe he takes in something about my tired appearance that warns him off too, because he quickly says his good-byes and heads off to the lift.

Jim hands me a beer and sits down with a fresh one of his own.

"Langston's an OK guy, he's already doing a good job as a CSI, but he can be kind of overpowering, especially when we were used to a low-key guy like you. You always know when he's around and sometimes it feels like that's all the time. He's easier to deal with in small doses 'til you get used to him." Jim muses.

"Sorry about the delay rescuing you, but would you believe I had to wait in line? OK, so it was only that Sara and Nick happened to get to the bar just as I was arriving, but it took a few minutes for us all to be served."

I nod my acceptance of his explanation and we both sit back sipping at our beers. It's a pleasant feeling sitting here with Jim but once my drink is done I'll probably let Lucy know it's time to leave. It's been a very, very long day.