CSI Fanfic (G/S, M sneezing)

[Frick]

Title: Nothing At All

Author: Frick

Fandom: CSI - Original Series

Rating: G

Pairing: Hint of Gil/Sara

Disclaimer: Everyone belongs to CBS, etc - not me. No profit made, no

harm intended. Plot (such as it is) is mine

Notes: This was surprisingly difficult to write, and didn't come out exactly as I'd

hoped. I may have to give Griss/Sara another try. But my goal is not to leave so many

unfinished fics. That said, here we go!

Summary: After too many nights of not enough sleep, Grissom submits to a cold.

Feedback: Will earn you my love and devotion.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Nothing at All

"Grissom, what're you doing here? And is it already, or still?"

Warrick's voice broke the stillness of the office and Gil jumped

guiltily, gaze flicking to the clock display on his phone. After

eleven and too far into the swing shift. Catherine would not be

pleased to find him here – again. Something about letting her handle

any problems Nick or Warrick had. She claimed they went to him first

if he w ere around. Habits were hard to break, or so he told her.

She wasn't impressed.

"Still," he replied, realizing suddenly that Warrick was still waiting

for a response. He cleared his throat slightly against the hoarseness

and reached for the mug he knew sat somewhere behind the pile of

papers threatening to overflow from his inbox. He took a gulp of the

contents without looking and grimaced – stone cold. Nothing worse

than stale coffee, except maybe stale coffee made by Greg Sanders.

The tech might be smart, but he brewed a terrible pot of coffee. "Was

there something you needed?"

"No; I just saw the light on. Figured I'd say hello." Warrick said,

glancing around the room nonchalantly. As though he wasn't noticing

each and every damning detail. Grissom knew he looked horrible and if

he were completely honest, he'd admit he felt worse. Not that he

would admit it.

Grissom raised a brow. "Catherine or Sara?"

"Excuse me?" The slightest hint of a blush crept over Warrick's

features and it nearly made Grissom grin.

"Which one sent you?"

"Catherine," he admitted. "You know her." He shifted from foot to

foot. For a moment he looked like a kid in trouble.

"Tell her I'm going. Eventually," he added. He glanced back to the

computer screen, eyes drawn by the blinking message. 'No match

found.' He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. He had been

certain that Sara's swatch would be a breaking point. He'd felt it.

Now he just felt exhausted.

"The Solari case," Warrick asked, still hovering in the doorway.

Grissom nodded. "No match in CODIS." He'd run it twice, unwilling to

believe it the first time.

"But I thought..." Warrick crossed the room to peer over Grissom's shoulder.

"I did too." Grissom took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of

his nose. The headache that had been lurking all day seemed to have

settled in for the long haul. It had to be the lack of sleep... the

long shifts... because he would not let it be anything else.

It just wasn't coming together. He had been so certain that the semen

stain Sara had discovered on one of Beth's shirts would prove that her

husband was the same man who had killed his first wife in a domestic

violence incident three years before. Then... then it wouldn't matter

whether she wanted to press charges or not. He closed his eyes

briefly, rubbing his nose against a rising tickle. Against the

darkness of his lids floated a picture – dark hair hanging lank

against hollow cheeks, a bruise blooming dark and swollen over one

cheek-bone, bottom lip split, brown eyes hooded.

She, Beth, had eyed him warily through the crack between the door and

the frame – the barest opening allowed by the chain. He had

introduced himself, explained that the police had asked him to come –

to investigate the scene of the disturbance.

There was no need, she had said. It was a misunderstanding, nothing

wrong had been done. The neighbors had jumped to conclusions about

what had been a lover's quarrel. The bruise, the lip? From a trip in

the dark. Her clumsiness was legendary in her family. The police

hadn't listened when her husband tried to explain. The whole thing

had been blown out of proportion. She wasn't feeling well, and if he

didn't have a warrant...

He did not – yet – and so she closed the door in his face gently, but

firmly. There had been no convincing her. But what drew him was the

tiniest glint in her eyes when she first opened the door, a strange

mixture of deep fear and deeper hope. Behind her words, her eyes

spoke to him, asked to be set free. It was this he answered with his

long shifts, his endless searching.

And something else he could not admit, even to himself. Behind his

eyes, her face shifted slightly and slid into another he knew so well.

For the briefest of moments it was her eyes looking out of the pained

and closed face.

Suddenly his phone rang, shattering the image, and Grissom grabbed for

it, sending a sheaf of papers sliding from the corner of his desk.

Warrick bent down to retrieve them and Grissom took the opportunity to

scrub his nose with one knuckle. The tickle was driving him mad.

"Grissom," he said, wincing slightly as his voice grated.

"It's Brass. I've got two DB's."

"Catherine's on this shift."

"It's your case," Brass gave the address and Grissom's stomach

knotted. An altercation had been called in but the PD had arrived too

late. Two DB's. It sent a chill through him, actually making him

shiver. Suddenly the tickle in his nose returned, much stronger than

before and he ducked his head, bringing a fist to his mouth and

pressing a finger tight under his nose as he stifled the first sneeze,

but the next two escaped slightly. Fortunately there was little sound.

"Griss?" Warrick asked, a hint of concern in his tone.

Grissom replaced the receiver, closing away discomfort and

disturbance. "There's been a development. Tell Catherine I'm gone."

Pulling his Forensics jacket from the rack by the door, he stepped

around Warrick, avoiding his gaze and any possibility of questions.

The air outside the climate controlled environment of the lab clung to

Grissom like damp cobwebs, clammy and clinging. He coughed lightly,

but it didn't help. The air felt nearly too thick to breathe and the

atmosphere weighed on him. The slightest scent of ozone hung sharp in

the air. Lightning. A storm was coming. Even as he thought it,

there was a flash on the horizon and the muted rumble of thunder.

The drive from downtown Vegas to Spring Valley, where the Solari's

lived, was both too short and immeasurably long. His throat had

joined the ache in his head, his nose was starting to run, and he was

beginning to suspect that there was more going on than simple

exhaustion. He fumbled in his pockets for Kleenex, even a scrap, but

all he could find was napkins stuffed into the pocket in the car door.

Rough, but necessary. Before he was able to prepare himself fully

for what was to come, he found himself outside the Solari house.

The driveway and front door were crossed by Crime Scene tape but the

media had not yet arrived. Fortunately; the more they could complete

before the circus arrived the better. He wasn't feeling at all able

to deal with them. Behind the bright yellow tape, the door gaped

wide. Grissom paused for a moment outside the entrance. He took a

deep breath, steeling himself, ducked under the tape and crossed the

threshold.

Captain Jim Brass met him just inside the door. "They're upstairs.

Master bedroom," he said in his abrupt way. "I called Sara and Greg;

they should be here soon."

Grissom nodded without reply. His nose was tickling again and he

tried to sniff discretely, wishing again he had thought to bring

Kleenex when he left the lab. Brass was still talking, he realized.

Describing the scene, the position of the bodies. The likelihood that

it was a murder suicide. The weapon was still in the room... but

there was a strange rushing in his ears making it difficult for him to

understand what Brass said.

He didn't pause outside the bedroom, if he had he wasn't certain he

would have been able to go in at all. As he passed through the

doorway he could feel his expression tighten, the professional mask

dropping over his features and closing everything else out. His gaze

swept the room, taking in the positions of the bodies, the placement

of the weapon, blood spatter across two walls and the floor. He knelt

beside the bodies, searching for evidence of struggle, defensive

wounds. Grissom didn't notice when the storm broke over the house,

rain hammering down on the roof, beating against the windows. Didn't

hear the wind tossing the tree branches. All he saw, all he smelled,

all he heard was the scene surrounding him.

He swabbed both of their hands for GSR, though it was Beth who held

the gun. Thin fingers clutching the weapon. Fingernails bitten so

far down they offered no protection to her fingertips. The only way

out, he thought. It was the only way she could see to get away. Not

much for them to do here, not anymore. He swallowed hard, scrubbed

his nose with his shirtsleeve against a sudden tickle. Sneezing on a

crime-scene would contaminate the evidence. He couldn't. But his

breath hitched irresistibly. Unwilling to submit, Grissom pressed his

nose into the crook of his elbow, stifling the sneezes so that they

knocked him forward, but didn't escape.

"You'll hurt your ears doing that," a voice warned and Grissom turned

sharply. Greg Sanders stood in the doorway, kit in one hand, the

other resting on the door frame as he took in the room.

"Call it," Grissom asked, ignoring his comment more easily that he

could ignore the lingering urge to sneeze. Peeling back one glove, he

knuckled his nose.

Greg shrugged. "He came at her one too many times and she killed him,

then killed herself."

The flat tone of his voice echoed Grissom's own at any number of crime

scenes and he flinched, suddenly shot through with doubt. So

different than the boy who had been stricken with nausea at his first

field scene. Yes, the passion was still there, especially when he was

back in the lab but it was hidden now. Buried under the detachment he

thought he was supposed to show, because it was what Grissom always

showed. Some measure of remove was necessary, but was this?

"Now, see what the evidence tells you," Grissom said, moving back from

the bodies to let Greg work.

For the first time he caught the flash of lightning and the clap of

thunder nearly overhead. In the brief flare of light, his gaze was

captured by the splay of Beth's body, the ruin of her face.

Accusation in the lines of her limbs, accusing him. Should have done

more, pushed her further, made her let him in. He should have... the

lightning flashed again and it wasn't Beth there any more, another

body, another face...

The need to sneeze sent him striding toward the door, but it hit him

before he reached it. Unable, or perhaps unwilling, to stifle again,

he finally submitted to the urge, hunching in on himself. "Eehtchh!

... kehhtchh!" Only a moment to breathe when the third of the set

hit. "Eeeshhhuh." Without even the dubious benefit of the napkins,

Grissom was reduced to sniffling like a child.

"You sound terrible."

Grissom closed his eyes briefly before facing her. "Thanks," he said,

unable to keep the edge from his voice.

Sara smiled. "You've got it, don't you?"

Grissom scowled.

"Gruesome Grissom falls to a mere virus." Her voice trembled with

suppressed laughter, but she held out a handkerchief.

"Where did you hear that," he growled, nearly as irritated by the

nickname as he was at needing to accept the cloth from her.

She shrugged, turning to the scene before them before he could stop

her. He could only watch as her face blanched, the lingering humor

draining away until she was left with the professional mask they all

wore. "He killed her."

"No," Grissom said carefully, watching her closely. "She killed him."

Sara nodded slowly, studying Greg as he worked. Another burst of

lightning dazzled Grissom's eyes and when his vision cleared Sara was

bending over Beth's body. She glanced back at him over her shoulder

and her eyes were dark with anger. You should have stopped this; he

could read the words in her gaze as clearly as if she had spoken them.

It's your fault it came to this. And because he could not deny her,

he had to look away. "I need some air," he mumbled and fled the room.

Down the stairs, past Brass who was questioning one of the neighbors,

past the responding officers and out into the night. Rain poured down

over him and he was instantly drenched, but the coolness of the storm

let him breathe again. He slowly sank to the ground, sitting on the

porch steps and just letting the rain wash over him. His body ached,

his eyes stung with exhaustion. All he wanted was to go home, get

into bed and sleep for a week.

Words ran through his mind, an accusation Sara made in her first year

in Vegas. They had just finished Pamela Adler's attack case and Sara

had sought him out, looking for comfort, for compassion, or maybe

simply for understanding. He had tried, but he couldn't put into

words what was in his heart. She had walked away, but before she went

she said something that stayed with him even now. I wish I was like

you, Grissom. I wish I didn't feel anything. And she was gone,

before he could respond. He coughed once against the tightness in his

chest, but it didn't help. The rain dripped down his cheeks and off

his nose, making him sneeze again. With no one around and nothing to

be contaminated, he finally allowed himself to sneeze freely.

"Hehchhhuh! ... iichhhuh! Eeeshhhuh!"

"Jesus, Gil..." Sara's tone was an unusual mixture of concern and

irritation. "Are you all right?" She hovered in the doorway, the

light behind her throwing her shadow over him.

He shook his head, not in answer but asking her to wait. "H..hold

on," he managed, breath hitching. He yanked the handkerchief from his

pocket and pressed it to his face, muffling the next set of sneezes.

"Chhmph... htchhm... hehchhmph!" He resisted the urge to blow his

nose, instead just wiping rather gingerly before stuffing the cloth

back into his pocket. "I'm fine."

Sara quirked a brow but didn't argue. Somewhat perversely, he wished

she would. It would give him something to focus on besides himself,

his circling thoughts.

"Was there something you needed," he asked, somewhat shortly.

"It's raining."

Grissom waited.

"Look, Greg seems to have things under control here. Why don't I take

you home."

It was Grissom's turn to raise a brow. "I look like this and you want

to take me home?"

Sara scowled. "Try to do something nice..." She sighed, joining

Grissom on the stairs. "You look like you could use a friend. Will a

co-worker do?"

"It's nothing," Grissom protested, keeping his gaze focused on the rain beyond.

Sara reached out and pressed a hand to his forehead. Grissom meant to

move back, but the warmth of her touch set him to shivering and

instead of pulling away he leaned into her, slightly. It wasn't until

the sneezes hit him again that he turned away, hunching his shoulders.

"Eehtchh! ... kehhtchh!" The third stuck, leaving him gasping and

feeling utterly ridiculous. "Heeh.. uhh... ehh... Eeeshhhuh." He

finished with a groan and blew his nose.

"Look, you're obviously sick, you're soaking wet and there's no reason

for either one of us to sit here in the rain. I'm sure you don't have

any cold medicine in that monk's cell you call an apartment."

"Is that how you see me, an ascetic?"

"Follow the evidence," Sara said, shrugging.

The tiniest smile crossed Grissom's lips against his will.

"Come on." Sara stood and held out a hand to help him up.

He took it, grateful for the support as the world did a slow turn,

nearly making him stagger. Thankfully, Sara didn't mention his

obvious lack of grace and the dizziness passed as quickly as it had

come.

They left the lab Blazer in the driveway for Greg to take back,

instead taking Sara's car. She drove in silence with the heater

turned on high, though she was probably stifling. Grissom felt his

shivering slow and finally subside as they crossed the Strip. As the

shaking eased, sleep stole over him and he leaned his head against the

window, allowing himself to drift. But it wasn't until he lay on her

couch and she covered him with a quilt that he truly slept. And

dreamed of Beth, wounded woman with a different face.

"Grissom?" A pause, then, "Gil?"

It was her voice that drew him back. "I'm sorry," he said fuzzily,

rubbing his eyes, still not fully awake. "I should have done more – I

should have helped her." The words scraped at his throat and he

coughed, turning away from her.

"You couldn't have. It was her choice." Sara's tone was calm, the

couch dipped as she sat on the edge. "You know that." She held out a

glass of water and a packet of pills. NyQuil.

Grissom took the pills, drank the water in one long swallow. The

coolness soothed his throat, but set him to shivering again. "I

should have pushed her... not given up so easily." His voice shook

and he clenched his teeth against the discomfiting tide of tears. He

only met her eyes when he was certain he was under control. "I should

have saved her," he said, furiously.

"You don't get to make that decision, Gil."

"It was my case, my responsibility, my..."

"It was her life. Not yours."

"But..."

Sara shook her head. "Remember what you told me? You've got to learn

to let this go..."

"I can't," Grissom whispered. "I saw... you," he admitted.

Sara took his hand, held it tight. "I'm still here."

~ fin ~

[Geist]

uuuummmm....that's a WHOLE buncha MEOW right there! Nice to see you, stranger!! Hehehehehe . . . .

Perhaps a sequel is to come?

~Frack

[polychrome]

Nice story! But I'm not quite sure about the rated G part...then again I don't know much about how to pick a rating.

Is it just to describe the level of intimate interaction between the characters, or does it translate to the whole story the way it would for a movie or television show?

What with the blood spatters, murder, and semen stain I'd not put this story in the Disney category

Oh! And I especially like the way you describe the way his voice and throat reflect his sickness...for some reason that gets me. And the ending is so realistic for that kind of situation. My exboyfriend and I are both EMTs, and one night he did CPR on a dead 17 year old girl, and he had the same reaction...."I can't look at you lying down, I see you and I see her."

[Geist]

I think Frick meant the sexual part as being G rated....hehehehe.......

~Frack

[Frick]

Thank you much for your feedback. It's always good to know what people like, in particular, about a story.

Also - as Frack said, I was rating the interaction between the characters rather than the story in its entirety. Perhaps I should have rated with the violence in mind. Sorry about that, everyone!

Thanks again for the feedback.

~ Frick

[Guest GoddessAphrodite]

That was great! I admit I haven't finished (must leave to go somewhere now...) but I loved what I read so far, and I thought I should leave the deserved feedback.

Will continue soon.

[Love_2_Sneeze_666]

Thanx for the contribution. You're a great writer! Hope to hear more soon, keep up the good work!

[ID2006]

I love CSI...That was a great story. I loved reading it.

[Aljana]

Ooh Ooh Ooh!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love CSI! Grissom is soooo SEXY! You totally got his character down! Fantastic. Makes me want to finish the CSI fic I started ohh..2 years ago? LOL! I swear I'll get back to it! Anyhow, fabulous story.

*Melts*

Aljana

[tma]

Loved it! I'll admit that I'm a diehard L&O fan so I don't really watch CSI, but I loved the characters and the interactions and the plot seemed very realistic.

And I am a big fan of rain and angst.

Thanks very muchly!