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Retribution
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or its
characters. No infringement intended.
Chapter
One
His
phone was ringing again.
It
had been ringing a lot lately, or perhaps it was just that he was home a lot
more to hear it.
Sometimes
it was benign – an annoying telemarketer wanting to sell him something.
Sometimes it was Catherine, calling to check in or ask where a particular case
file was kept. Mostly it was Ecklie, calling every day to grovel. They all got
to talk to his machine.
The
one person he wanted to hear from never called.
He
sighed as he leaned closer to his microscope, peering down the eye piece to
view the sample he was working on. As Catherine’s voice drifted over the air
from his answer machine, he suppressed a wry laugh. Several years before, it
had been Cath that had told him to lift his head up from his microscope.
Now
his head was buried in it further than ever.
He
scratched another note on the journal beside him and resumed his viewing.
It
wasn’t as though he had lost hope. He believed Sara when she told him she’d
come back to him when she was ready. He carried her note with him constantly –
a physical reminder of the pledge she’d made.
But
it had been two weeks. Two weeks of no word – not a phone call, not a postcard.
Nothing to tell him how or where she was. Nothing to tell him when she’d be
back.
God, he missed her…
He
lost track of time somewhere in the midst of his bugs and his thoughts. Next
thing he knew, someone was rapping loudly on his front door. Wearily, he got up
and stretched. He knew who it would be. He only got one visitor these days.
Catherine
looked tired when he opened the door. Part of him felt guilty – his departure
from the lab had left them two scientists short and placed the heavy
responsibility of leadership squarely on Catherine’s shoulders.
He
greeted her with a nod and stepped back to let her in.
“Catherine.
How are you?”
Her
death glare answered the question better than she could articulate. “Ecklie
keeps promising to move someone from days to grave, but so far he hasn’t
bothered,” she replied. “I think he thinks that if he runs me into the ground,
you’ll change your mind and come back.”
Grissom
grunted in response.
“The
boys miss you,” she went on. “Nick and Warrick have taken over Greg’s training
between them. Course, we’re so short handed that the kid’s getting thrown into
the deep end a lot. He just got his first decomp yesterday.”
“How’d
he do?” Grissom wanted to know.
A
small smile crept through her annoyed expression. “He did really well. Even
managed to hold onto his lunch.”
Grissom
felt a small surge of pride radiate through him.
“How’s
the book?”
Two
weeks ago, she had stormed into his townhouse, demanding to know if he had
completely lost his mind. What was he
doing quitting his job? He was a workaholic, for Christ sake! He’d go insane
sitting around his house every day with nothing to do.
He’d
told her of his plan – a book he’d been trying to work on for years and had to
keep shelving due to his workload. He hadn’t published an entire book in ten
years – just papers in journals here and there. It was an achievable goal,
something to occupy his time and his energy while…
He
hadn’t said “while he waited” but she knew that was what he meant.
“You
can’t put your life on hold, Gil,” she had told him kindly, sorrow and regret
in her tone. “I know you love her and god knows I hope she comes back too,
but…”
He
hadn’t wanted to hear it then, and he still didn’t.
“It’s
coming together,” he replied with a shrug. “Early days.”
He
moved to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee.
“Not
that I’m not glad to see you, Cath, but to what do I owe the pleasure of this
visit?”
She
suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. He was always looking for the ulterior
motive. As luck would have it, she had one this time.
“I
wasn’t sure if you would have heard the news yet,” she began. “I thought I’d
better come over and tell you in person - since you’re still not answering your
phone.”
He
shook his head, ignoring her jibe as he set two mugs on the countertop and
reached for the sugar. “No, I haven’t gotten today’s paper yet. What’s up?”
“The
jury’s come back on the Jill Davenport case.”
---
The
sun was warm on her back as she walked along the secluded beach. Sandals
dangling from one hand, she relished the cool sand beneath her toes near the
water’s edge. Here, it was nearly impossible to believe that anything bad was
happening in the rest of the world. There was no sound, save for the cries of
the gulls and the waves lapping against the shore – a noisy silence, Sara had
called it as a child.
She
had spent every possible moment on the beach back then. It was her solace, her
safe haven from the violence and ugly words of home. She would walk for miles,
or bring one of her many books and find a hidden spot in which to read. It was
on this very beach she had discovered her passion for learning - devouring
volume after volume of science texts, or reading literature for fun.
As
she stooped to pick up an attractive shell, her cell phone rang, its shrill
tone sounding unnatural here.
“Sidle,”
she announced after flipping it open. The person on the other end said nothing.
“Hello?”
she tried again, before taking the phone away from her ear to check the screen.
It gave no answer, merely announcing that a private
number was calling.
“Hello?
Griss?” No answer. “Mom?”
Click.
Whoever
it was had hung up.
---
Gil
Grissom had a lot of different silences.
There
were his thoughtful silences, when he was lost in contemplation over a case or
an experiment. There were his crossword silences, when an atomic bomb could go
off in the room and he still wouldn’t hear it, being too caught up in whichever
advanced level puzzle he was demolishing with ease. There were his “I don’t
want to talk about it” silences – usually reserved for his private life.
And
then there were his silences born out of pure fury, when words would not
suffice to express his anger and so he just didn’t bother using them. These
were few and far between – Grissom might become impatient, irritated or
annoyed, but fury was something
Catherine had only witnessed from him once or twice in the long tenure of their
friendship.
She
watched him as his jaw bunched and his fists clenched, wanting to offer a word
of support or comfort, but coming up dry. She let him fume for a while, sipping
on her coffee and keeping her distance in case he started throwing things.
Finally
he crossed the room and slumped down on the couch and she figured it was safe
to speak again.
“Damned
conspiracy theorists,” she grumbled. “It only took two of them to buy the
defense’s claims that we rigged the evidence and boom – hung jury. At least the DA is going to retry the case…”
He
didn’t react, his eyes fixed and glassy.
“We
knew we were screwed when the judge ruled Jill’s psychiatric record
inadmissible. Without that and the accusations of her stalking Tom Haviland in
He
looked like he might speak, but he didn’t, so after a moment she went on.
“Her
lawyer managed to convince the Judge to give her bail until the new trial. I
guess His Honor has seen the bad
press law enforcement is getting over this; he doesn’t want the same treatment.
But the condition of her bail is that she has to check in at PD twice a day, so
at least that’s something.”
Again,
she searched his face, looking for something. Relief. Resignation. Anything...
“The
DA is pressing for a speedy retrial. He’s also going to try and have the
stalking charges admitted into evidence this time…”
“Catherine.”
He held up his hands – whether in surrender or in an effort to silence her, she
couldn’t tell.
He
got up again and moved aimlessly around, finally ending up by the window.
Catherine
was ready to give up and leave when he finally spoke again.
“Does
Sara know?”
She
shook her head. “Not yet. Unless she’s reading the papers wherever she is. Do
you want me to call her?”
He
considered it for a moment.
“No,”
he finally replied. “I’ll call her.”
TBC.
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