CSI Redux:

Let the Seller Beware

March 1998

            The crystal clear ice danced like a provocative ballerina, spinning gracefully within the amber colored liquid, promising the numbness he craved. His day had been long, a lifetime long since he had opened the hated envelope that still sat on his kitchen table, the one that told him happiness was not to be his. Bile rose up from his stomach and Grissom quickly downed his drink to wash the foul taste of his reality down.

            He reached for the bottle of Glenfiddich and refilled his glass, watching as the ice began to rise from the bottom of his glass. Purists would scold him at having ice in a glass of 15 year old scotch but Grissom never felt like having his likes and dislikes dictated to him. Besides, staring at the ice was away to let his mind drift from his troubles and forget the pain that now lived permanently in his heart.

            With the glass to his lips Grissom heard a very familiar voice.

            “Hmm, Glenfiddich, fifteen year,” Grissom’s blue eyes raised to the man holding his bottle of scotch, “nice.”

            “Jim,” Grissom acknowledged, placing his glass in front of him.

            The look on Grissom’s face told Jim Brass two things. First, the man was obviously not happy to have company and two he was in the express lane to Shitfacedville. Of course being Grissom, it was a little harder to discern the fact that the man was three sheets to the wind but Brass knew his CSI well enough, that and the weight of the bottle told Brass he’d be giving the man a ride home.

            “What are you doing here?” Grissom asked giving Brass a steely stare.

            On corner of Brass’ mouth twisted into a lopsided smirk, not at all put off by his friend’s sour demeanor and poor manners. “Same as you,” he began taking a seat in the horseshoe shaped booth directly across from Grissom, “getting a drink.”

            Brass signaled the waitress and ordered his drink, giving her a friendly wink for her troubles. He would have to call Catherine eventually, letting her know he had found their wayward friend. But knowing Catherine, she would find them before long.

            “Thanks Alice,” Brass said with a smile, dropping his money on to the waitress’ tray and taking his drink.

            The long, dark haired forty-something woman with the body meant for a chorus line smiled at Brass before giving Grissom a concerned glance. “I’ll check back with you later, honey,” she told him, an understanding passing between the two.

            “Sure thing,” Brass said with a nod.

            Grissom rubbed his index and middle finger a long the furrowed spot between his brows, obviously not liking the intrusion. “Jim,” he hesitated seeking the right words that would make his unwanted drinking partner disappear without causing irreparable damage to their friendship. “I’m not very good company,” he explained, his glass hovering just in front of his lips.

            Brass shrugged. Grissom hadn’t been good company in months but he really couldn’t blame the man. The past year had been Hell for the man. The fact that Grissom could continue to do his job in the same diligent manner spoke volumes towards the man’s inner strength. The fact that his personal life was faltering on all fronts, well, Brass couldn’t cast any stones in that department. When his marriage had fallen apart he had fallen into the bottle and had nearly lost the last worthwhile thing left to him- his job.

            “You never are,” Brass teased, his eyes gliding over to the door as it opened an flooded the front of the bar with light.

            Catherine had found them.

            Hips swaying, Catherine marched across the bar towards Grissom and Brass. The pursed lips and gentle nod from Brass told Catherine that Grissom was alright but that she had been correct he was hurting. Grissom had not been himself in awhile and although Catherine was certain it had something to do with Sara, Grissom had kept everyone at such a distance of late that she didn’t know what it might be.

            “Hey, there you are,” she said with more cheer than she actually felt.

            Sliding into the booth next to Grissom, Catherine casually placed her arm on the back of the booth, angling herself in such away that she could get a good look at her friend. “You’ve been here awhile,” she noted by the slightly glassy look in Grissom’s eyes. “Celebrating scaring the shit out of Hansen?”

            Brass huffed. “Ecklie’s going to have his panties in a bunch when he finds out his favorite kiss ass nearly pissed himself.”

            Catherine leveled Brass with a look that told him to behave.

            “Hey, I’m just saying, the guy’s mouth has been writing checks his ass is going to end up paying one of these days,” Brass smirked.

            Three hours later and he was still waffling. Brass and CSI II Chris Penry had stepped in to save Trent Hansen from a well deserved ass-kicking by Grissom but it had been a tough call. Brass couldn’t count how many times he had wanted to put his fist through the pompous know-it-all’s face just to watch him choke on it. The man made Conrad Ecklie seem like an average, down-to-earth joe and to be fair Grissom had put up with more than his fair share of the man’s bullshit during the past three days.

            “Are you okay, Gil?” Catherine asked, deciding not to go down that particular rat hole.

            Grissom took along swallow of his drink, fortifying his defenses and buying time. He held out the hope that his friends would leave him alone, even though he knew it was a long shot. “I’m fine,” he said, twisting the near empty glass as it sat on the table.

            “Fine my ass,” Catherine shot back. “It’s one in the afternoon and you’ve worked your way through half a bottle of scotch.” Catherine pointed to the bottle sitting in front of Grissom as if it was Exhibit A in a trial. “And you nearly took Hansen’s head off.” She accused.

            Grissom rolled his head in annoyance. He wasn’t exactly proud of his momentary lack of control, especially at the lab, but after three days of the sanctimonious prick picking apart his victim’s life…well, he lost it. If Jim and Chris hadn’t been standing right next to him Trent Hansen would be sporting a broken nose and a lot less teeth.

            “So give, what’s up?” Catherine could show a pit-bull a thing about persistence.

            With a heavy sigh Grissom reached down along his left side. Sitting atop his jacket was a large manila envelope with white mailing labels, grabbing the envelope he dropped it in front of Catherine without saying a word. Catherine glanced across the table at Brass before she slid her hand into the open end and pulled out several crisp, white papers. They were adorned with letterheads spouting legal offices and the official seal of California.

            “Divorced?” Catherine said, still surprised at the outcome.

            She had only met Sara a handful of times in the past two years but the young woman and Gil had seemed like the perfect match. True, the pair had run into some logistical problems initially but it had not deterred them. It had only been the tragedy of Jamie’s death that had seemed to derail Catherine’s friend and his beautiful, young wife.

            “One year and one week.” Grissom stared into his drink as if it held the answers to everything. “One year and one week, and everything is gone,” he said as if no one was near to hear him.

            Brass and Catherine exchanged worried glances marked by sadness for their friend.

            “To…everything,” Brass said, raising his glass in a toast, his gaze holding Grissom’s. He knew the pain of a failed marriage, knew that love did not always end at the decree of judge and that good friends sometimes were the only solace for a workaholic. “May God watch over them.”

            Grissom raised his glass, nodding to Brass. It was done. He hoped that Sara found the happiness that she deserved. He was just thankful that Sara had never transferred to Las Vegas. Seeing her everyday, watching her get on with her life, leaving them behind, it would have been too painful. And Grissom honestly wasn’t certain how he would have handled such a thing.

            Not well, he admitted silently.    

            The chuckle coming from across the table caught both Grissom’s and Catherine’s attention. Brass was shaking his head as he brought his drink up to his lips.

            “What?” Catherine asked stunned by the police captain’s mirth.

            “The look on Hansen’s face,” Brass said with another amused shake of his head. “I’d place ten bucks on the table that the man shit himself a little.”

            Catherine choked on her drink, causing Grissom to pat her on the back. “Damn it, Jim,” she scolded but was obviously not angry by the grin on her face. “Wait until I’m finished with my drink before you say something like that.”

            And for the first time in weeks Brass and Catherine saw a hint of a smile from their friend.         

October 12, 2002

            Their shift was over three hours before but their Grissom was, grudgingly signing away at the pile of paperwork that never seemed vacate his desk. Sara hesitated briefly in the hallway as if she were weighing her options. Finally, she approached Grissom’s office door.

            “Well, goodnight,” she said.

            Grissom looked up from his paperwork, his glasses slipping midway down his nose. “Goodnight, Sara,” he returned causing Sara to give him a small, half-hearted smile.

            Sara hovered in the door and Grissom waited, sensing there was more.

            “I’m, uh, sorry I missed your page,” she told him, not registering his widening eyes. “It’s just, um…you tell me to get a life and then I get one and then you expect me to be there at a moment’s notice.” Sara paused, searching for the right words. “It’s confusing.”

            Grissom guppied, taken off his game at her straight forward words. Placing the pen in his hand slowly on top of his desk, Grissom considered his response carefully. Beware of quicksand!

            “I’m sorry, I, just…” What could he say? Sorry, Sara. You can have a life as long as it doesn’t involve another man because I am a shallow man and no matter how hard I try I can not shake you from my heart. “I came up shorthanded, and I knew you could handle the case.”

            Sara stared at Grissom, an unreadable expression upon her countenance that caused him to glance back down at his papers. There seemed to be something hidden within his words or maybe it was his expression that Sara felt she was suppose to glean. But like every maddening aspect of their relationship lately, Sara couldn’t see it clearly enough to take hold of it.

            “Well, I’ll see you tonight,” she finally said, gathering from his posture Grissom had concluded their conversation.

            “Sar-“ Grissom stopped. The door where Sara had stood was empty. The lack of her presence echoed loudly within him as he fought the always present urge to chase after her.

            Taking a deep breath Grissom turned his attention back to the stack of forms on his desk. Paperwork, forensics, the job, that was his life. There was order and understanding and Grissom understood his place in it, he excelled in that world. The other, the one that had had Sara in it- not so much, Grissom thought with a shake of his head. Failure, was the word that always came to mind when Grissom found himself in such moments. Complete failure.