8) Exponential Growth

Catherine scrawled her signature across the report and slapped it on the pile at the edge of her desk. She fell back in her chair, happy to have those finished for at least tonight. She stood up and walked out into the hall. Grissom had sent the boys out on a call each and the lab techs were busy with work from day shift and evidence that had carried over from the night before. She strolled through the hall to Grissom's office, enjoying the silence. Sometimes it was nice to have everyone busy so she had time to think. It was a rare and short-lived time.

Catherine came around the corner and stared at Grissom. He was staring across his office with that blank expression she recognized as deep thought. Something had sparked that deep intellectual mind of his and he would be working on it for days, weeks even. Catherine stepped into the door, leaning against the doorframe.

"Hey," she said.

He looked at her. "Hi."

"I was going to go grab something. Did you want anything?"

Grissom looked out his windows into the lab, getting that expression again. She waited. He would answer if she just gave him some time.

"It's quiet tonight, isn't it?" Grissom asked.

"Kinda nice after the last three weeks."

Grissom nodded. "All the lab techs are busy, I take it."

"Yeah. Catching up. So about the food, do you want—"

Grissom looked at her. "Do you want to see something?"

Catherine's thoughts of food stopped. She smiled. "Sure."

She started toward his desk, but stopped when he got up and grabbed his keycard off his desk. He clipped it on a belt loop.

"Come with me," he said.

She followed him and he led her to the elevator.

"Going to lunch?" Gina asked.

"Yes," Grissom answered.

Catherine was confused now. "I thought we—"

Grissom stopped her by quickly answering, "I'll decide before we get to the car."

"What?"

"What I want to eat. I'll decide before we get to the car."

Catherine was baffled now. "Okay."

The elevator opened and he stepped on. She watched him tap the button for the first floor and then the one for the basement.

Grissom waited, watching the doors. When the elevator started descending he turned to her.

"You've worked here for almost thirteen years."

"I guess so. Why?"

"And all this time you've been to the basement several times, I imagine."

"Lots of times. The morgue's down there last I checked, Grissom."

He smiled, looking at the elevator doors when they opened. The security guards looked up at them. Catherine started to get off but he caught her arm, pulling her back.

"Not yet," he answered.

The doors closed and it started down again.

"What are you up to, Gil?"

"I want to show you something. Something I bet you never knew existed."

"That sounds scary."

"Not at all." The doors opened and they walked off.

She expected to turn toward the morgue, but Grissom took the opposite direction, heading toward the records room.

"Gil, where are we going? What did you want to show me?"

Grissom stopped and swiped his badge, waking into the basement.

"Do you believe that our job is stressful?"

"Yeah!"

"So do I."

"And so you're taking me to the basement because our job is stressful?"

"No. When I first saw this, I almost was angry. But then I noticed that this room has been around for at least thirty-three years. It's a piece of living history."

"What room?"

At the end Grissom turned to follow the last row to the back.

"They call it the wall."

"Who?"

"The lab techs and our CSI." Grissom stopped at a filing cabinet against the wall and crouched, pulling the last drawer almost out. She watched him retrieve a box of chalk from the bottom and take out two pieces of used chalk, then put it back and close the drawer. He handed her a piece.

"What's this for?"

"You'll see." Grissom started squeezing between the wall and filing cabinet toward a door almost hidden by the filing cabinet. Catherine followed, listening to him ramble on. "I've wanted to show you, but they're so protective of this place that I couldn't let them know. And I've seen it help them through some of the stress on the job, so I really don't want to let them think it's not their secret anymore."

Grissom opened the door and stepped through, flipping the light switch. Catherine slipped out of the tight space and started brushing off her clothes.

"Catherine, look."

She looked up as she brushed off her legs and her hands froze mid-motion. She slowly stood up and walked toward the table. Even slower she turned, taking in everything, and she smiled as Grissom came back into view.

"This is… Wow."

Grissom smiled, nodding. He walked across the room to a wall, motioning up at it. "This is the latest work."

Catherine joined him, staring at the list. "Have you written on this list too?"

"I have."

She looked at him, stunned. "You have?"

"Journaling is a very useful way of relieving stress. I see it as that."

Catherine looks to the right of the list, seeing the writing Sara had written. She looked back at Grissom.

"Did you journal when she left?" Catherine asked.

Grissom nodded. "I did. Back on that wall." He hiked his finger over his shoulder.

She turned, spotting his handwriting. She didn't read it though; she wasn't quite ready to know what he really felt about the situation. She turned to him.

"So we're standing in something of a time capsule, you might say?"

"I would definitely say that. The oldest writing is down here." Grissom led her down the wall to one of the writings. "This is the oldest. 1974. And not all of these are dated, so some of the writings could be even older."

"It's a piece of Las Vegas history."

Grissom nodded, looking around the room. "It was here before you and I were even here."

"And Ecklie?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to postulate. I could be off by a few ions."

Catherine laughed, surprised by the joke. "I have never heard you talk about him like that, Grissom!"

Grissom smiled. "That's why I added that last line up there." He went back to the list. "I'd never noticed how unique their handwritings were until I saw this list. I think the chalk and brick really brings it out because they write larger, with more pressure, than on paper."

"They? You mean 'we'? Aren't you part of that 'they'?"

Grissom nodded. "I suppose I am, aren't I?"

"So you can tell me who wrote what up here?"

"I can."

"Okay. I can already guess the first three are Greg's, because even I was pretty mad about the luminol incident. Who wrote four?"

Grissom started down the list, telling her who wrote each one, and if he knew, why.

#

Brass walked into Grissom's office. "Gil?" he called.

There was no answer. He turned, walking back into the hall. Archie was coming his way reading a folder.

"Have you seen Grissom?" Brass asked.

"Nope," Archie said without looking up.

"Are you sure?"

"Not since the shift started and he handed me an entire night of work."

Brass walked around to the reception. Gina typed at a blinding speed, her eyes glued to the scene.

"Gina, have you seen Grissom?" Brass asked.

She didn't even look up or break pace when she answered, "He and Catherine went to lunch."

Brass watched her for a moment. "Do you always type so fast?"

"Normally."

Brass turned and tapped the elevator button. The doors opened and he went to the first floor. Two security guards sat behind the front desk.

"Did either of you happen to speak to Grissom when he went through here?"

"He didn't go through here," one answered.

"I was just told he went to lunch."

"He went to the basement. That was…" The guard looked at his watch. "About an hour ago."

"Okay. Thank you."

Brass got back on the elevator and went to the basement. He strolled into the morgue. Robbins was lifting intestines from a corpse and Brass cringed. There were only a few some internals that just made his stomach turn – intestines were among those few.

"Have you seen Grissom?"

"Nope." Robbins turned and lowered the mass onto a tray on the scale.

"He didn't come in here?"

"No. Should he have?"

"I was told he came down here."

"Haven't seen or talked to him all night."

"Thank you." Brass left, happy to leave that mess behind him. This was unusual. Grissom always told someone where he was going when he left the building, and was not known to be late back from lunch. He saw David walk off the elevator carrying a stack of folders.

"Have you seen Grissom?" Brass asked.

"Not tonight."

"Jim," Robbins called from behind him.

He turned.

"Try records."

"Records? Why would he be in records?"

"I don't know, but they seem to be frequenting it a lot." Robbins pointed up to indicate the CSI upstairs.

"Thanks. I'll try there."

Brass headed down the hall to records – no, he liked to call it the second morgue. Once things went in that room, they rarely ever came out again. Brass fished his keycard from his pocket and swiped it, hearing someone running up behind him. He turned, finding David.

"Something wrong?" Brass asked.

"No. I just want to see why this place has been so popular this week."

"Popular?"

"Yeah. Lots of people have been in here lately. I don't have a keycard."

"It's just a room full of boxes with old and cold cases."

"I know, but there has to be some reason the CSI and lab techs keep coming down here. And they never leave with anything, either. Well, rarely."

Brass considered telling the young man 'no', but then he decided not to. Records was dark, large, and difficult to find someone in. He could use the help.

"Fine." Brass opened the door and walked in. He pointed to the right. "Start searching down there."

"Shouldn't we stay together?"

"Are you afraid of the dark?"

"No. I just thought…"

"Thought what?"

"I'll go right."

"Right." Brass turned left and started walking. He heard David walk in the opposite direction. Brass looked down each aisle as he passed. Most were well lit, but a few were almost too dark to see anything. He stopped short, listening. He heard someone talking. Starting walking he listened. The voice was getting closer as he neared the end of the aisles. He stopped at the end of the last row, staring at the opposite end, staring at the open door at the end of the dark aisle, made more obvious by the bright light coming out of the room. Had that door always been there? Why hadn't he noticed it before today? He'd come down here for years to get files but it was truly the first time he'd ever noticed the door. Probably had something to do with the old filing cabinets standing in front of it, camouflaging it from anyone who wasn't looking for it.

"Did you find him?" David called.

Brass looked back at him. He was walking towards him. Brass motioned him to be quiet, and then motioned him to come. David broke into a trot, stopping at Brass' side.

"Has that door always been there?" David asked in his regular voice.

"I don't know," Brass whispered. "And be quiet."

"Oh!" David whispered back. "Sorry. Do you think Grissom is in there?"

"Someone is. Follow me and be quiet."

David obeyed. The two quietly approached. As they drew nearer, Brass recognized Grissom's voice. He was reading something, it sounded like. Who was the person with him laughing? They were laughing awfully hard. Brass stopped at the filing cabinets and motioned to be quiet again. David nodded.

"So that's what the story is behind number fifty-four," Grissom finished.

"Well don't stop. You have another fourteen left."

The two men crept into the room and behind Catherine and Grissom. Brass took the room in at a quick glance. The writings were a little shocking, but finding these two in here reading a list titled: THINGS LAB RATS ARE NO LONGER ALLOWED TO DO was far more shocking. David, on the other hand, looked a little overwhelmed by everything he was seeing. Brass hoped he wouldn't make a sound because he wanted to find out more about what exactly this room was.

Grissom cleared his throat and read the next one:

55. May not pretend to be a fascist Storm Trooper while on duty.

"Greg wrote that, but I don't know what that is about."

Catherine grinned, "Oh I do. I didn't think my scoldings were sinking in, but apparently they are."

"Ah. Gina." Catherine said. "I know here handwriting anywhere. I guess something happened?"

56. I am not authorized to fire anyone.

"She fired a swing shift CSI because she felt he was being unreasonably rude. Ecklie told her she couldn't do that anymore."

Grissom laughed. "Looks like the next two are Bobby and Hodges. And I'm sure the story is good, whatever it is."

57. C-4 is not to be used as modeling clay.

58. Modeling clay is not to be labeled C-4.

Catherine nodded. "I bet a prank was involved somewhere in there." She laughed, reading the next one. "That's Nick's swirling S. He only writes it when he's two sheets past tired and about to drop.""

59. My country is not Texas, nor is those other, forty-nine, lesser states.

"Do you know what the story is?" Grissom asked.

"Yeah. It happened back when the team was separated. The case involved a couple of tourists from out of the country. The guy said we were discriminating because they were foreigners. Nick's retaliation was he was a foreigner from Texas. The guy asked where that country was. Nick told him south and east, small country, not a lot of people. I told him he wasn't allowed to claim Texas or any other state as a country anymore. But this next one he wrote, I don't know. Do you?"

60. Not allowed to report on the radio '10-100, teddy bear down! 10-100, teddy bear down.'

"Ten one hundred is using the restroom. I don't know what the teddy bear means," Grissom said.

Grissom thought about it. Brass knew the reason Nick had written it and knew he'd told Grissom about it. But apparently Grissom had let it slip his mind.

"We were at a scene when the shooter regained consciousness, got my sidearm, and started shooting again," Brass prompted.

The two turned. He waited a moment to see if they were going to ask him to leave, but apparently they weren't concerned he was there. So he continued.

"There was a kid on the scene?"

Grissom shook his head. "I don't recall this."

"Nick grabbed the kid and pulled him in the bathroom with us. The kid was freaking out about his teddy bear and I wasn't able to get anyone on my phone. Nick remembered he had his radio on him and that was the first thing that came out when he called for help. Then he remembered to say the right code. The dispatch supervisor sent the written reprimand. I gave it to you."

"Oh. I remember that now. I shredded it."

Brass smiled and Catherine giggled. It had been a stupid reprimand. They were in a stressful situation and as a CSI, Nick didn't usually use his radio to call for backup, so the mistake had been an innocent one.

David waggled a finger at the list. "What about the rest of these? What about them?"

Grissom and Catherine turned back to the list.

"Archie's the next one," Catherine said. "And I know why he wrote that. Remember the scene we processed where that guy had all those pirated foreign DVD's?" Catherine asked Grissom.

61. The A/V lab is not to be used to 'pirate' movies or music even if the evidence brought in was originally pirated.

"And you caught him making copies of the pirated movies," Grissom added. "Yes. I recall. I think he tried to tell you that by law he could make one copy as a backup?"

"Yeah. I had to remind him they were already backups made illegally and not to make anymore. What about this next one? I don't know what this is about."

The men stared at the next one, clueless as to what it was referring to:

62. LVPD CSI is not "the supreme investigative team of the immediate century" and should not be referred to as such while attending a national conference.

"I do not have any idea," Grissom said.

"It sounds like he probably shouldn't have said it anyway," David piped up.

They laughed. It did sound like Archie had gotten himself in trouble.

"Bobby came to me about this one," Catherine said, pointing at sixty-three. "I told him nicknames came with the job. Guess he found a way to solve it."

63. Bobby is not the "Bang-bang Guy."

64. Greg is not "Psycho Joe."

65. Warrick is not "Hakim, Ein's kidnapper." (Who the hell is Hakim and Ein anyway?)

"Psycho Joe and Hakim, Ein's kidnapper? What is that about?" Brass asked.

"Psycho Joe is a song by Blues Traveler. It's about a psycho-path that gets the chair and how corrupt society has become to enjoy such things. And the other is referencing this cartoon, no, anime series. Cowboy… Cowboy… I can't remember. You'd have to ask Greg. He's always teasing Warrick with it."

Catherine and Grissom looked at each other.

"Our guys need to get out more."

Grissom turned back to the list. "I'm not a coffee drinker, but I have seen our team when they don't get caffeine."

66. Do not 'test' graveyard's ability to deal with stressful situations by switching the coffee to decaf.

"Not pretty," Catherine added.

"They're more dangerous than the bad guys without the caffeine. So, Grissom, what's with this next one?"

67. May not challenge anyone to "meet me on the field of honor at dawn."

"Greg," Grissom, David, and Catherine answered together.

"What?"

"Greg likes to challenge people to meet him on the field of honor at dawn when they annoy him," David told him.

"What is that?"

"You've never watched Star Trek, have you?"

"No."

"I get this next one," Catherine said. "I get why our guys started using it, and I get why you put it there. Now."

68. "Sparkality" is not a real word.

Brass walked forward. "So how does this work? What do I write with here?"

Grissom handed him the chalk. Brass stepped on the chair against the wall and started writing:

69. "Book 'em Danno! Murder one!" is not to be spoken until the suspect has not just left the floor, but the building.

"Nick?" Catherine asked.

Brass stepped down, handing back the chalk.

"Since the first day he was a rookie. I finally just gave up and told him the suspect can't be anywhere he could possibly hear it."

Catherine and Grissom both chuckled.

"Can I write some? They're mostly morgue related though."

"The list is open," Catherine said, holding out her chalk.

David climbed up on the chair and wrote down his two contributions:

70. Not allowed to sing "Who Are You?" by The Who when we can't identify a victim.

71. Must not use any vehicle, particularly the morgue vehicles, to squish things.

"By squish you mean…" Grissom left off.

David stepped off, giving Catherine the chalk back.

"Sandwiches, usually. I saw it on a movie once and I can't do it anymore."

"And you're prone to singing 'Who Are You?'"

"Only when they first arrive. Well, now I have to wait until I'm alone, but yes."

Catherine got more of a laugh out of it then the men did. She stepped up on the chair, asking Grissom, "Do they usually listen to this list?"

"Have you seen sparkality in any reports the last week?"

"No." Catherine started writing.

72. May not start any report with "I recently had an experience I just had to write you about….", "Dear Mom," "Dear Dad," or "To The Owner of Crimeville."

"So I guess it serves a dual purpose – an unobtrusive means of reprimand without actual confrontation." David said.

"It does," Grissom agreed.

She stepped off the chair, and they stared at the contribution.

"Nick or Hodges?" Grissom asked.

"Both. And Greg seems to have been taught it too."

"Well, on that note I think we should get the mom and dad thing nipped in the bud too." Grissom climbed onto the chair and added:

73. CSI Catherine Willows is not to be referred to as "Mom".

74. CSI Gil Grissom is not to be referred as "Dad".

They laughed as they read his writing.

"Do they really call you two mom and dad?"

"It depends on how much coffee and lack of sleep they've had. There are degrees of severity involved," she admitted.

"I just thought of another one I'm not supposed to do." David said.

Grissom handed off the chalk. David wrote:

75. May not wear gas mask or environmental suit when reporting to a crime scene that does not require one.

"Doc Robbins didn't like your overly precautious measures?" Brass jabbed.

"No. He said I was only to use them if I was told to. Not very comfortable with that."

Catherine stifled her laughter. She told them, "I have a couple more come to mind. Especially with Greg's Storm Trooper comment."

Catherine stepped onto the chair and added:

76. Police officers standing outside the crime tape are not Imperial Storm Troopers, so you should not tell them "You don't need to see my identification, these are not the droids you are looking for."

77. Not allowed to trade any item in my field kit equipment for "magic beans".

"Who tried trading items for magic beans?" David asked.

"Nick," Grissom and Catherine answered.

"Nick? Really?"

"It was his first week on the job and some locals tricked him into trading his fingerprint dust for magic beans," Grissom answered. "And along the lines of magic beans."

78. Not allowed to sell magic beans during duty hours.

"He tried to sell them?"

"When he found out they were just plain pinto beans, yeah." Catherine answered. "Hey, while you're up there, there are a few things we should remind them not to say in front of certain people – like us, the mayor, and so on."

Grissom started writing and with Catherine's help added:

79. The following words and phrases may not be used in the presence of any supervisor OR mayor OR witness OR tour group OR suspect OR press: necrophilia, I hate everyone involved with this case, the lab has a live bomb, sexual lubrication, black earth mother, all beat cops are latent homosexuals, Tantric yoga, gottadamit, Korean hooker, whores are found behind the strip, slut puppy, or any references to two-eyed demons.

By the time he finished writing, they were laughing hard. Grissom climbed down, collecting himself before the others did.

Brass wiped his eyes, holding his hand out. "I have two more and then I gotta get back to work."

Grissom handed it over. Brass added:

80. Must not tell any suspect holding a weapon that I am smarter than they are, especially if it's true.

81. No one is to be tasered to 'see them dance.'

"Do I want to know?" Catherine asked.

"Seventy-three is just a life lesson. Seventy-four I was written up for, twice, when I was a patrolman.. It was funnier than hell though and my partner was asking for it!"

Their laughter died into silence. Catherine looked back at the spot where Sara had secretly professed her love. She turned.

"Well, I'm sure they've probably thought we were kidnapped. Better get back up there."

"I'll walk with you."

Brass watched them leave, and then looked back up at the list. He had a feeling he might have to add some more, but for now he was happy with his additions. He turned to David.

"Shut the door and turn off the light on the way out."

David nodded.

Brass left him to read the wall.

#

"Greg."

Greg slid to a stop, turning. Grissom motioned him into his office. Greg walked in.

"Shut the door," Grissom said.

Greg obeyed. "Did I do something wrong?"

Grissom looked up at him. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"Well… Just wondering."

"No. This is about your room."

"Room?"

"Sorry. The Wall."

"Oh. What about it?"

"I'm afraid it was discovered by Jim and David when I showed it to Catherine. I'm sorry, Greg. I know you guys wanted to keep it a secret."

Greg smiled. "Catherine knows?"

"Yes."

"Ah, well, it's okay if mom and dad know."

"Stop calling us mom and dad. It's on the list."

"What!? I'll have to invent new nicknames now."

"How about Catherine and Grissom?"

"Doesn't really capture your personality like mom and dad does."

Grissom shook his head. He wasn't really sure what Greg meant by that, but it wasn't really something he wanted to explore at this moment, either.

"Well, I'm meeting everyone at Frank's. You coming?" Greg asked.

"No. I have to finish up some work." Grissom turned back to his reports.

Greg looked at the reports on his desk. "Do you want some help?"

"No. Thank you."

Greg laid his hand on the door handle, but he didn't leave. Grissom looked up, waiting for him to leave or speak.

"I miss Sara," Greg said.

That was the last thing Grissom had expected to hear. "You do?"

Greg nodded, looking into the hall. "I could talk to her about anything. I thought she could talk to me about anything too. Guess…" Greg shrugged, adding softer, "Guess I lost my friend long before she left town."

Grissom sat his pen down, looking at the report under his hand. Seeing how hurt Greg was that she left like she had, made him realize he was not alone in his grief.

"Is she okay? I mean… Have you spoken to her? I haven't heard from her."

Grissom nodded. "She's visiting her mother."

"At least she's okay. Well… I guess she's okay. That's a loaded remark, isn't it?"

Grissom looked up again. Greg was still staring out the door.

"Why don't you call her?"

Greg slowly shook his head. "Naw. If she wanted to talk to me, she'd call. She needs time and I don't want to impose."

"Greg, I think she needs to know she has a friend that cares."

"She has you." Greg looked at him.

"Yes, but you're her friend. Call her."

Greg shook his head. "Just mention when you talk to her next time that she can call me when she's ready. I'd like to catch up."

"I'll do that."

Greg turned the door handle. Grissom suddenly stood, grabbing his coat.

"On second thought, I will join you."

Greg smiled.

"Should we take the same vehicle?"

"Sure. I'll drive," Greg offered.

The two left his office and walked to the elevator. Greg looked at him, quietly telling him, "I've been wanting to tell Catherine. I thought she'd get a kick out of it."

"She did."

"And Brass and David?"

"They contributed. I assume it amused them too."

The elevator opened and they stepped on.

"Good!" Greg said as he turned to face the door.

Grissom smiled, pleased that Greg was okay with this. As illogical as it may seem, the room seemed to have strange healing powers. Perhaps it was the energy of everyone that had been in it and let out their fears, worries, and joys that created a virtual salve for anyone who passed through that dark hidden door.