Fandom: CSI Pairing: G/S Rating: NC-17 Summary: You can put off Armageddon, but you can't cancel it. Disclaimer: Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. All the others are mine, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any. Spoilers: through "Swap Meet" Note: Again, many thanks to Cincoflex, without whom this would never have seen daylight. ********* “Has he ever been late?” Sara asked, a little challengingly. Catherine shrugged. “Of course. Once or twice at least since I started working here.” “Example?” Nick asked, folding his arms and leaning against the breakroom counter. “I don’t remember off the top of my head. No, wait. Once he had a flat tire.” Warrick turned a chair around and sat, resting his arms on the back. “But he called, right?” “Sure.” Catherine frowned a little. “Maybe his phone’s not working.” “You know Griss. He’d find one that was.” Warrick’s brows drew together. “Stuck in traffic, bad reception?” Sara theorized, toying with the tag on her teabag. “That’s probably it.” Catherine clapped her hands together, mentally compartmentalizing the problem. “He’ll get here eventually. In the meantime, I say we get a leg up on him and pick our own assignments.” Nick snorted. “Based on what, seniority?” Catherine gave him a wicked smile. “You said it, I didn’t.” Four assignments, four CSIs. Unwilling to argue, Sara chose the robbery and drove out to it, finding a great deal of evidence of an inside job and none at all of a break-in. Putting the pieces together, she told the homeowners, and it took their fifteen-year-old son about three minutes to break down and confess. Leaving the house and its upset family behind, she called in to the lab. None of the others were back yet, Greg reported, and if she happened to see Grissom, could she tell him that his samples from his assault case were ready? “Sure,” Sara said, and clicked off her phone, feeling the slightest tinge of uneasiness. Leaning against the side of her SUV, she dialed Grissom’s office number. No answer, but then he apparently isn’t there yet. Cell number. No answer. Home number. Machine. This is getting weird. Pager. It’s off? “Okay,” she muttered, holstering her phone and getting into the vehicle. “This is officially disturbing.” Sara shut the door and put on her seatbelt, but then rested her forearms on the steering wheel and considered. There’s probably nothing wrong. This is just one of those combinations of circumstances that looks weird but turns out to be nothing. ...But what if it isn’t? She grunted in frustration, working her fingers into a knot and back out again. He’s been nicer than usual lately, but that doesn’t mean I can just show up on his doorstep asking if he’s okay. I’ve made a fool of myself enough in front of him already. It still stung, that memory--Grissom the witness to her humiliating run-in with the police. At the time, she’d wished he’d been upset. His anger would have been easier to take than that relentless kindness. But he’d been there. He could have not come; he could have officially reprimanded her; he could have chewed her out right there in the police station. Instead, he’d driven her home, made her a cup of tea, and told her not to try to explain anything just then. All his awkwardness had disappeared for that hour, as though her circumstances gave him permission to display caring. I owe him. She turned on the engine, and pointed the SUV towards Grissom’s neighborhood. It was a slow waking, and it felt odd. Grissom’s chest ached a little, the dull pain that often came when he slept too long, and all his muscles were lax. It felt like he’d finally caught up on sleep. Which made no sense at all, as he’d gone to bed only about five hours before. It’s probably this cold. He’d been sniffly and lethargic for two nights now, and his body had probably gone into a deeper sleep than usual to make up for things. Still, it was strange to wake before his alarm. He rolled over, feeling very foggy, and squinted at the clock. The numbers displayed made him sit up in shock, and dizziness rolled through him for a few seconds, making him brace himself against the mattress. I must have forgotten to set the alarm--I’ve never been so late-- Grissom fumbled for the phone next to his bed, but when he raised the receiver to his ear there was no dial tone. Annoyed, he clicked it off and then on again, and then realized with a sick thrill that it wasn’t just the dial tone he couldn’t hear. He couldn’t hear anything at all. Not even his own breath. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The tests said I was fine. The surgery worked--it’s not-- Coherency dissolved in a wash of panic. He gripped the phone so tightly that the plastic shifted under his palm, and stared blankly at the opposite wall. An overwhelming sense of loss rose in him--not so much of his hearing as of his life. He’d faced the fear before, and he thought he’d conquered it. He hadn’t. He’d only pushed it away. Reason, honed by decades of practice, slid coolly into the panic and calmed it. Okay. Okay, I’m deaf. This is not the end of the world. But as he put the phone down, he knew it was. The end of his world, anyway. You can put off Armageddon, but you can’t cancel it. Reason gave way in turn to the stillness of despair. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 CSI Home