A/N: Jellybean and I apologise for the delay in chapters, once again. The trials of life away from the computer can indeed be trials at times. Kudos to co-writer, Jellybean, for this powerful chapter. We can't give a time frame of when the next chapter will be, but we are grateful for your continued interest and patience.
Chapter 61
"It took me a long time to realize how the stress I felt inside was affecting everything in my life. My relationships. My mental state. My drive. I mean it's not like I didn't realize that something was wrong… something was off… I was off… but I figured if I worked myself to the bone I could control what was happening. But it didn't change what happened. I mean putting an experience in your own rear-view mirror doesn't mean it's not still following you around. … Jesus… I sound like one of those fucking self-help books getting promoted on Dr. Oz. Thanks a lot, Oscar."
The comment made the group of seven laugh, the loudest laugh coming from Oscar Jimenez. He served as the counselor and moderator of the group session of first responders who suffer from post trauma stress. They were all active duty officers, save one — Grissom. As a former CSI, Oscar encouraged Grissom to participate in the group.
"So Tim," Oscar started, "that realization shows a lot of progress."
"But it's not like something's really changed."
"Yeah, cause you still work like a dog, I'm sure."
"Yeah."
"But do you want to?" Oscar asked.
Tim offered a reflective face and took a couple of beats before answering. "I … I don't think I do. I mean. My blood pressure is up and I've been told I'm a total dick." Again, Tim gave the group a laugh. "But yeah, I … I think I'm at the point where I want to move forward instead of in some kind of black hole or something." Although he said the last comment with the utmost sincerity, Tim shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Goddammit, Oscar, you are turning me into such a fucking inspiration porn pussy."
"That's bullshit and you know it," Oscar said with a smile. "You're doing good, Tim. What do you all think?"
The group offered various words of encouragement and support. Along with getting the law enforcement professionals who are known to bottle up their feelings and emotions to open it, the support from a community of people who understand their stressors and situations was equally important. Although he blushed a bit, Tim let out a breath he was holding and it was obvious he appreciated the kind words.
Feeling the natural lull in the room, Oscar put a supportive hand on Tim's shoulder. "You got some more to add Tim, or are you due in the Oz studio?" Oscar said in jest.
Tim laughed. "I'm good, Oscar. Someone else should take the floor."
With that comment, Oscar cast his glance in the direction of the two people who had yet to share — Grissom and Rhetta, a sergeant with the Clark County Sheriff and the only female in the group.
The two stared at each other in a mock, stern stare, trying to conceal their smiles at being a bit uncomfortable sharing. Grissom broke the silence, "As a gentleman, I should offer ladies…"
"Do not give me that 'ladies first' bullshit," Rhetta interrupted. "We're all cops here. We deal this the fair way. RPS."
Grissom had several fond memories of members of his team employing "Rock, Paper, Scissors" to decide who gets what. Assignments, last slice of pizza, dumpster diving. So it made sense to settle the present quandary in such a manner.
Both Grissom and Rhetta moved their fists in unison as they said aloud, "Rock, paper, scissors, shoot."
Grissom put his hand out flat for paper, hoping Rhetta would produce a rock. But two of her fingers were extended like scissors.
"HA!" Rhetta exclaimed.
"Best two outta threes?"
"Ah, no. You're next, Gil," Rhetta said, leaning back in her chair. "And, FYI, you had paper written all over your face."
"I did?" Grissom replied, hoping she would offer an explanation to stall a few moments longer.
But she keep quiet, as did the rest of the group.
"I guess that's that," Grissom said with a sigh.
"This is your time, Gil," Oscar said compassionately. "Remember, we all checked our egos at the door. We're here to offer support, if nothing else, but no judgments, OK?"
It wasn't an easy decision for Grissom to arrive for the mini-retreat, as it was promoted. He had only had a few sessions with Jimenez, and felt like he was in a group that had more counseling experience. But he quickly learned that wasn't the case, when each member introduced himself to the group.
"You look uncomfortable," Oscar said. "What can we do to help with any anxiety?"
"At the risk of sounding cliche, it's not you, it's me," Grissom started, putting a nervous hand through his hair. "I suppose, if I'm being honest, being in the room with you all… you all in law enforcement, makes me feel like I'm overstepping my bounds because… well, I'm not a CSI anymore. And I know how important that bond among members is. How you understand the issues and problems with the avocation. And I feel like … I'm intruding on that."
Oscar nodded his head, not so much in agreement, but to let him know that Grissom was heard. "OK, Gil. Thanks for expressing that. I'm going to open it up to the group. Is he intruding?"
Each member of the group shook their head in the negative, some of them voicing their dissent to the opinion.
"There's no reason to feel like that," one officer about Grissom's age said. "I'm getting ready to retire soon and that's not going to make me any less of a cop. Besides, Oscar wouldn't have invited you to this funfest if you didn't fit in."
"He's right," Rhetta said. "I think only a member in law enforcement could even understand about the bond you were talking about. And it doesn't matter if you retired or not."
"You understand the bond, that makes you law enforcement for life," another person said.
"I appreciate that, I truly do," Grissom said, waiting another beat before continuing. "But I'm not sure you're going to think that if I share what happened, what I was accused of…"
His voice faded out, and Oscar took over for a short moment. "Gil, no one's going to pressure you to talk, but this is a perfect opportunity to test that perspective with law enforcement who don't know you and aren't intimate with your situation. Use this time as a measure of testing whether that thinking that's engrossing your mind has credence. You have a captive audience here. Literally."
The comment once again garnered chuckles, even from Grissom. "I don't want to seem ungrateful to be with you all… I just…" He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. In a distant part of his subconscious, he could hear Rory Dunbar's mocking voice. "They'll turn on you like everyone else has because you don't deserve to be among them."
Since meeting with Oscar, he had worked to silence or ignore Rory's voice as best as possible, using exercise Oscar suggested. He employed them at that moment and realized the best way to silence the voice was to defy it by speaking his mind out loud.
"I was accused of the brutal murder of a man who antagonized me and my wife. An investigation led by members of my former CSI team resulted in me being incarcerated in prison for roughly two months. I was recognized by an inmate who beat me twice. During a prison transfer I was kidnapped by an inmate who held a grudge against me. He was the former Clark County sheriff who had been put in jail for his role in kidnapping my wife last year."
He glanced up to evaluate the looks around the room. He only saw Rhetta, who seemed to sit up straighter in her chair.
"I … ah… I've talked about the situation a lot with Oscar … I still have a hard time thinking that I didn't have a hand in what happened to me… Even as elaborate as the plan against me was… I still struggle… with … with responsibility. My responsibility."
Grissom would pause, sometimes lost in a thought, sometimes to regain his voice. "But, one of the things about this… whole… ordeal … that Oscar asked me to reflect upon was my feelings about being the center of an investigation… and… my team, well, my former team… I know you say law enforcement for life, and I always thought that too… but … that is something that can be tested. And I know people who served in uniform who lost that … courtesy of being in this fraternity because of some awful actions. … I just never thought I would be considered one of those exempt people."
"But you were exonerated," Oscar said during Grissom's pause.
"Yes," Grissom said, only keeping his eyes on Oscar.
"Yet you still seem to think that helped nothing concerning your situation among your peers."
"My former peers," Grissom clarified.
"Wait a minute," said one of the other men in the group. "How long did you work with that crew?"
"I've know some of them for 20 years, others more than a decade, depending on when they arrived," Grissom said.
"Oscar, it OK if I voice an opinion?"
Oscar shrugged then nodded toward Grissom. "You OK with that, Gil?"
"Yes… please."
"Look, just because you retired from your position doesn't … I don't know… erase all those years."
"I appreciate that, but do you think you would be saying that if you thought I commited the murder?" Grissom asked. "Because… many did. Maybe even most of the people at the lab."
"You know that for sure?" Rhetta asked.
Grissom paused. "I don't know about everyone in the lab, but I know how the gossip mill works, and how powerful it can be for those who might not work with you closely. From the way my wife was treated and got more than her share of unfair judgments and stares, I can assume the gossip worked well."
Rhetta's nod was one of absolute agreement. "Yeah, OK. That I get. Trust me on that one."
"But you also had colleagues you were closer to, isn't that right, Gil?" Jimenez said. "That's what I wanted to talk about. That's what I wanted to explore. How you have handled the case and what's happened since when you think about the people who were close to you?"
Grissom's posture slumped in his chair. He held both hands in his lap. "I was in the hospital after I was released and murder charges were dropped. I … fell at the house. Stupid." Grissom shook his head at the memory. "I got an unexpected visit from my friend, Jim, who is a long-time officer. We have known each other for years. He was the first person I had worked closely with to see me after I went to prison — other than my wife. He said he didn't believe I did it. And … I don't know, when he said that, it seemed like he was leaving out something else. Like Jim didn't believe I did it despite what our other friends thought. … But I didn't know if that was a fair assumption. I had to investigate an incident that involved Jim, and while my conclusions put him in the clear, I of course had to be impartial and make sure my feelings didn't enter into account. It was an enormous relief to know there was no evidence of malfeasance."
Without him consciously being aware of it, Grissom's voice had trailed off and he became silent. Lost in a thought. Lost in a memory. His face became a little unreadable, although it would be hard to discount any sorrow since it was so present in his voice.
Oscar got from his seat and nudged Grissom's good knee. "Gil, bud, you still with us?"
Grissom swallowed a lump in his throat. His face was now readable, and it showed bitterness. "Yeah. Sorry."
"It's cool," Jimenez said. "What's going on, Gil? Give voice to it."
"They didn't do enough," Grissom said to a completely silent room. "And hearing myself say that makes me feel childish. Like I'm saying, 'They didn't play fair.'" Grissom's left fist was poised on his knee in a tight ball.
This was the place Jimenez hoped Grissom would explore. The reality that he might have feelings of disappointment and betrayal against people he worked with, served and mentored. The therapist knew there were feelings locked up. But now they had to be dealt with in a healthy manner. "It's not childish, Gil" Jimenez said. "It's not like your friends stole your bike."
"Yeah, you're right," Grissom said. "I lost a lot more than a bike."
"Yeah, you did," Jimenez confirmed. "It's also natural to want to question how your closest colleagues could think you committed murder."
Reason warred within Grissom. Would he have reacted and looked at the evidence the same way if he was investigating Nick or Warrick or Catherine for the murder? A part of him never wants to second guess.
Another part can do nothing but evaluate their missteps.
"It was their job to come to a conclusion without bias. And I understand that. I have to respect that," he replied distantly. "But I cannot shake the feeling that they saw this as a test about their ability to remain unbiased. So much so that they were willing to see me as guilty right away. So much so they were willing to take the evidence at first blush."
The silence in the room made Grissom a little uncomfortable. Would these law-enforcement professionals think that last comment was an insult? Did he think it was an insult to his own sense of what the job was for him for decades?
"I know what that sounds like. Monday morning quarterback. A bitter suspect. But…" Grissom put his hand through his hair knowing it was shaking. "Those damn shoes."
Jimenez understood what Grissom was talking about but knew the rest of the people in the room did not. "You're talking about the boots, right Gil?" Grissom nodded distractedly. "It was a member of your former crew who found those boots at your house. Theorized they were used at the crime scene."
"And they were used at the crime scene," Grissom said, his voice angry and ratcheting with each word. "Those chewed up shoes that were no longer usable and had been thrown in the trash earlier that week were used at a crime scene. They — people I knew and knew well — were willing to believe of all the shoes I wore to take a midnight stroll with my dog, I choose those. And after killing a man 15 years my junior with my bare hands with my dog at my side and apparently not barking at all, I put my shoes, and no other garments, in my own trash can." The sad chuckle that escaped his mouth was devoid of any humour. "You know, if I was that stupid to do all that stuff, then I would deserve the jail time. But I'm not that stupid. Or that malicious. Or that reckless. Or that immoral. Or that violent.
"But apparently they didn't think that," he continued. "They didn't invite enough afterthought. Instead, they fit the evidence in the box that made them seem unbiased and fit the DA's conclusion to a tee."
His anger caused his face to become red and he could feel it. The adrenaline of voices his accusations made him feel defeated more than empowered. Especially when he realized just how quiet it was in the room.
"I'm sorry," he said. "That's… exactly why I thought I would be overstepping my boundaries. This probably sounds like sour grapes from someone no longer in law enforcement."
"You're honestly sharing your feelings, Gil," Jimenez was quick to say. "Nothing to be sorry about. Remember, we're here to support, not judge."
The murmurs in the room affirmed Jimenez's stated in muted voices. But there was one person that spoke in anything but a muted voice.
"I think it took balls to say what you did," Rhetta said as she looked straight at Grissom. "Yeah, we're all cops, but that doesn't mean everyone we work with is an angel and that everyone you work with made the right decisions or makes any decisions for the right reasons. I sure as hell know colleagues who make shitty decisions that affect a lot of people, including me."
"Thanks," Grissom said sincerely. "I'm sorry if you've faced any conflicts."
Rhetta nodded her head, then looked towards Jimenez. "When Gil's done, I'm ready to talk."
"Gil, how you feeling?" Jimenez asked.
"It's Rhetta's turn," he said, ignoring the question but more than willing to pass off the spotlight.
With that, Rhetta reached over and patted Grissom's arm in a supportive, friendly manner. Then she proceeded to speak about the high level of harassment and discrimination she has felt at the hands of other officers. Through it all, she kept her composure and the men in the room keep rapt attention.