22) The Non-Drowsy, Congested-Stuffy Head, Sore Throat, Cough, Aching, Fever So You Can Get Through The Day Medicine
Catherine walked down the hall to records, swiped her badge, and walked in. She paused to look at the paper in her hand, and then walked down to row J. She slowly started down the aisle, looking for the box labeled with case file XS-20010206.
Someone coughed and she stopped, listening. She didn't hear them again so she resumed her search. The person coughed again. She stopped and listened, waiting for the cough. It came and she went in search of the person. Following the cough brought her to The Wall door, and the person coughing inside.
She slipped between the filing cabinet and wall, pushing the door opened. The light wasn't turned on, so she flicked it on.
"Nooooooo!" she heard Greg whine and turned.
He was lying on the floor in a sleeping bag, hugging a pillow over his head. Sitting on the floor beside him was an arsenal of medicine.
"What are you doing in here?" she asked.
In a stuffy, congested voice he answered, "Sleeping, until you turned on the light."
"Greg, you're sleeping on the floor in the basement."
"I know that."
"Why?"
"The air conditioning broke in my apartment. I was dying."
"I don't think sleeping on a cement floor in the basement is going to help your cold."
"Go away!" Greg threw his pillow at her.
She smiled, picking it up. She walked over and crouched down beside him. He looked up at her with the most pathetic look she'd seen in a while. She reached down, running her fingers through his hair. His head was damp with fevered sweat.
"You really feel lousy, huh?"
He nodded.
Catherine reached down and slid the pillow under his head. She sat down next to him, rubbing his back. Greg closed his eyes.
"You're a good mom," Greg muttered as he fell asleep.
She smiled, looking up at the wall. She smiled, surprised to see more rules had been added. Catherine hugged her knees, reading them.
344. Even if a victim is killed with a straight razor blade and the criminal turns out to be a man, we do not call him the Demon Barber of Fleet Street. (Nick's handwriting.)
She remembered the night this referred to…
#
Nick had just seen the movie and kept saying he was shocked at how gory it was. The previews never made it look as gory as it really was. He was still going on about it at a crime scene that she, Nick, and Grissom were processing. But then he made the fatal mistake of comparing a man whose throat had been slit by the straight razor lying nearby to one that had been killed in the movie.
Grissom had a moment of lost patience with Nick.
He turned around to his CSI and told him, "Perhaps if you actually attended live theatre instead of constantly going to films, you would have, at some point, attended a theatrical production of Sweeney Todd. Then, going to see it where they grotesquely ruin the play with visual effects and take away the audience's ability to see the play as it should be seen, you wouldn't be so surprised, and four hours into our shift, it wouldn't still be the topic of conversation. Would it?"
Both were surprised by how passionately Grissom had just revealed that he didn't like plays being made into movies. The night was quiet after that, Nick and Grissom hardly spoke.
"Grissom," Nick started.
The three were sitting in Grissom's office discussing the case and this comment came out of the blue, right in the middle of discussing the possibility that murderer at large may have be a relative.
"I think you're wrong that plays being turned into movies losing their meaning," Nick continued. "Think about how all of us CSI look at crime scenes. Half the time, when we start out seeing it in a completely different ways, but by the time we get to the end, we're all seeing it the same way. That's all that happens with the play being turned into a movie. And even then, Grissom, we all see things different. Even with visual effects."
Catherine realized that Nick's silence had never been anger. He had been thinking hard on what Grissom had said to him, probably weighing Grissom's belief against his own, looking for just the right angle to debate his stand against Grissom.
Grissom stared at Nick, who stared right back. Then a smiled of pride crossed Grissom's lips. He enjoyed it when his employees revealed they weren't willing to take his word for it and used their mental wile to take that stand.
"I challenge you to attend Sweeney Todd with me next month. Then we can continue this debate."
"You're on."
And with that, the two went right back to the case.
#
Catherine wondered what had ever become of that challenge. She'd have to remember to ask one of them.
345. No matter how funny the corpse looks (i.e. expression, not attire), we do not laugh at dead people. (Robbin's handwriting.) inspired by rose-in-may
346. While purchasing a plane ticket for a co-worker to go to China is nice, purchasing a one-way plane ticket to China is not. (Hodge's handwriting.)
She was going to have to ask about that one.
347. I will not cough on my co-worker because I don't like him or her. (Hodge's handwriting.)
Poor, poor Hodges… Nobody likes him. Everybody hates him…
348. I will not accept a box of snot covered rubber gloves as a present while in the company of my underlings or otherwise. (Grissom' handwriting.)
Who had done that? No. Why had they done that?
349. Gang tags are not to be used while playing: Scrabble, Boggle, Hang Man, Upwords, Balderdesh, Pass the Bomb, Mad Libs, or Wheel of Fortune. (Archie's handwriting.)
Oh the lab rats up to their trouble making stunts.
350. You will keep the color of my mucus to myself. (Warrick's handwriting.)
That so sounded like something Grissom had done.
351. You are not allowed to share 'cold remedies' on city time. (Ecklie's handwriting.)
He must have caught wind of Warrick giving Nick, Archie, and Henry flasks of his grandma's 'cold remedy.' She'd had a whiff of the stuff. If it didn't kill you, it certainly would cure you!
352. Long, multicolored scarves are not to be worn so you can playDoctor Who at a crime scene. (Nick's handwriting.)
He must be taking a stab at Greg's scarf. The one he'd been wearing got blood all over it at a crime scene, so he'd started wearing a multicolored one last night. Everyone gave him hell about it, which ended up making him grouchy and mean. She had intervened on a few fights between him and his co-workers, trying to keep the waters calm until Grissom came back to work.
353. Nor are you allowed to show up at a crime scene wearing a deerstalker cap and smoking a calabash pipe. (Warrick's handwriting.)
So many questions, not enough answers…
354. Don't torment the CSI or lab rat with the flu. (Greg's handwriting.)
She looked down at him. Ever since he'd had the avian flu, his immune system just didn't seem to be cope well with other virus. And his temperament when he was sick had gone downhill too. She got up and gathered all his medicine in his backpack lying nearby, then crouched down next to him.
"Greg," she said, shaking his shoulder.
"What?" he whispered.
"Come on, Greg. You can come sleep at my place."
"Too hot."
"I'll turn up the air conditioning. Come on, Greg. You can't sleep here on the floor."
Greg opened his eyes, looking up at her. He looked so pathetic it was heartbreaking. She smiled, rubbing his shoulder.
"Come on, Greggo. My pullout is comfortable and has your name all over it."
Greg slowly climbed out of his sleeping bag and followed her. She helped him through the tight space into Records and walked slowly alongside him. In the elevator he leaned on her, laying his head on her shoulder. She smiled, patting his cheek.
"You're a good mom," Greg told her.
"You keep telling me that. Thank you."
Greg nodded. The doors opened and he followed her off.
John Mayer "Say"