Title: Race Among the Ruins
Rating: Mature for Profanity
Disclaimers: Sadly, the characters herein are not mine. I promise to play nice and return them when I am done.
A/N: Many, many sincere thanks to my wonderful betas: csipal and ligaras and "She who wishes to remain anonymous". These ladies are are awesome.
Summary: Too little sleep and too much sleet
"It was a dark and stormy night."
Great. That's just...swell, Grissom thought disdainfully. You have all of these magnificent works of literature, philosophy and theology squirreled away for instantaneous regurgitation and you resort to quoting Snoopy. That's just fucking wonderful. He continued to berate himself internally, sighing heavily as his silent soliloquy rambled on, a forceful explosion borne of weariness, loneliness and frustration. It's not the first time you have plagiarized Charles M. Schulz and it most likely will not be the last. Sometimes a cartoon character could more precisely summarize a situation than Shakespeare, Buddha or the Book of Leviticus. Besides, Charlie Brown was one of the good guys, even if he was a total blockhead. All in all, the fat bald kid was not such a bad role model. Grissom could relate to Charlie Brown. He was not so sure that he, himself, could always be enumerated as one of the good guys, but it certainly was not a failure stemming from lack of effort. He had been trying all his life to be a good man - to do the right thing. Sometimes he succeeded and sometimes...well, he had some major regrets.
The "dark and stormy night" through which Grissom was cautiously navigating was a roiling inky black shroud lavishly adorned with harsh pounding rain, gleefully solidifying into sleet. The miserable weather served as a most fitting companion for his dank mood as he drove steadily, eating up one slick, wet asphalt mile after another. His mind wandered restlessly. Most of his concentration was steadfastly committed to the empty ribbon before him, while a smaller, more introspective grey-mattered gremlin flitted and danced, recapturing the preceding weekend that had amassed one incredible cluster fuck piled atop another. There was no end in sight...just an endless stretch of lonely slippery blacktop.
To Be Continued...