Disclaimer: The show CSI and anything related is not mine.

Chapter 1: Rules

Gil Grissom, supervisor of the night shift at the Las Vegas crime lab, pulled up to the crime scene and nodded to Jim Brass, captain of the homicide division.
"How's it going?" he asked, glancing at the building. The rest of his team – Nick Stokes, Sara Sidle, Catherine Willows, Warrick Brown, and even lab tech Greg Sanders, were already in the building processing the scene.
Beside him, Brass grimaced. "Do you have to ask? Multiple homicides, pretty brutal." He shook his head. "This one's definitely going to take your whole team, even if it's just to collect all the damn evidence."
Suddenly, the night was shattered by the sound of gunshots, coming from the house. "What the...!" Grissom took off running, fear coursing through him. He knew he should let Brass and his men handle it, but that was his team in there!
"Sara!" he screamed, as he burst through the front door, gun drawn. "Catherine!" In the front hall, sprawled across the blood-soaked floor, was his team. Nick, Warrick, Sara, Catherine, and Greg all stared back at him with unseeing eyes, faces twisted in shock. They hadn't even known what had hit them. "No!" he screamed, but he couldn't hear his own voice. And then a man was walking down the stairs, gun trained on Grissom. Grissom recognized him vaguely, but his face was blurred slightly, so he was unsure. The man's lips were moving, but Grissom couldn't hear what he was saying. A terrible rage seemed to build in him, and an icy cold claw gripped his heart. It felt like his arm was weighted down as he brought his gun up slowly, his mind focused on killing the man in front of him.
The man was blown backwards suddenly, and his body jerked five times as Grissom emptied his gun into him. "You son of a bitch," he screamed, blinded by the tears that were now coursing down his face. "You damn son of a bitch!" He was aware of hands grabbing him, holding him down, and he was screaming. Screaming because of the pain he felt, screaming because of the rage that was ripping him apart. And screaming because the words Brass spoke to him, trying to calm him, couldn't be heard. "The scene was supposed to be secured!" he yelled, the anguish in his voice heard by all at the scene as Brass pulled the struggling CSI out of the house. "It was supposed to be safe, damn it! You son of a bitch!" he screamed then, as he saw the officer who had supposedly secured the scene. "You damn son of a bitch! I'll kill you!" He lunged at the officer, striking out, feeling the overwhelming rage again, his face twisted in hatred and pain. "They're dead because of you!"
"I'm sorry," the officer whispered painfully as Grissom suddenly sank weakly to the ground in front of him. But Grissom couldn't, and never would hear him.
"They're not dead," he mumbled to himself as he let his head fall to his hands, "they can't be dead." But he couldn't even take comfort from his own lie, because he was deaf – and everything had been taken from him. His voice rose until it was once again an anguished scream. "No!"

"No!" Gil Grissom screamed as he lunged upwards from his bed, eyes wild, soaked in a cold sweat. For a moment the images flashed before him again, and he thought for a moment they were real – but then he saw the soft light of the evening sun shining through his blinds, and he released his breath in a trembling sigh. He groaned and let his sweaty face fall to his hands. He had been having nightmares for a while now – always the same two. In one, the one he had had today, his team would be dead, shot down in cold blood at a crime scene. In the other, he would relive the moment when his father returned home after two years, revenge on his mind. It was the most painful moment of his life, in more ways than one, and it terrified him as much as the other. The nightmare about his father had started soon after the other one, but Grissom could remember having it long ago as a child. One nightmare, a few times a week, he could handle. Two different ones, equally horrifying, every night, he couldn't. The strain was starting to show, and he knew his team was beginning to notice.

Sometimes, like today, he would wake up. Other times he would sleep through it and remember in the morning. Often he would have the same, or different dreams several times in a night. God, don't think about it, he thought desperately to himself. Don't think about it. He stood shakily, shivering as the air came in contact with his skin. He stumbled into his bathroom, suppressing the urge to throw up what little he had eaten earlier that day. He needed a shower. And then he would go to work early, to get his mind off of things.

Don't think about it. Just don't think about it. The words repeated themselves in his head as he showered and got dressed, and as he ate an early breakfast. That was his rule. If you didn't think about it, it would go away. Suddenly, the ringing of a phone broke through his thoughts, and he realized it was his cell.

"Grissom!" he snapped into it, irritated at the caller for no real reason. "Damn," came Nick's southern drawl. "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the litter box." Grissom, immediately regretting his tone of voice, sighed and apologized. "Sorry, Nick," he said tiredly, "I had a... a late night." The lie came to him easily – too easily. He had been lying a lot lately. "Grissom, you should really consider sleeping more, you know," Nick said teasingly, "you're a pretty grumpy guy when you don't get enough."

"Thanks, Nick," Grissom replied sarcastically, feeling a strange relief at feeling the young man's voice. It banished all thoughts of his dream from his head, at least for the moment. "Anyways, me and the rest of the team were just wondering..." Nick's voice went quiet suddenly, and for a minute Grissom thought he had stopped talking. Then he realized – his hearing had faded out again. Damn, he swore to himself, and nearly panicked before he collected himself. "Listen, Nick," he said, unable to hear his own words, hoping Nick wouldn't hear any fear in his voice. "Listen, I've got to go." With that he pushed the end button. He realized then that his hand was trembling, and he shook his head. Don't think about it. But his golden rule was finally useless against something. He was going deaf, and no matter how long he pushed it away and refused to think about it, it was still going to happen. But not right now, he thought desperately, not right now. Just don't think about it. So he didn't, and as he drove to work he pushed it all out of his mind – the nightmare, the fears, and especially any thoughts of his hearing.

When he arrived at work, he found the rest of his team already there, waiting for him in the break room. "What's up?" he asked, trying to lighten the tense mood that blanketed the room. Nick looked at him accusingly, and Grissom remembered the phone call. He had pushed it out of his mind, but now it came back to him as Nick spoke. "We could ask you the same thing! We went out for breakfast. We wanted you to come, why didn't you?" He paused for a minute. "You just cut me off in the middle of asking you, and hung up! What's with you, Grissom?" he asked, his voice angry. The rest of the team sat and watched their supervisor, unwilling to defend him. They all knew he was hiding something. Grissom felt incredibly guilty, and he refused to look any of them in the eye. "Nothing, Nick," he replied quietly, his voice emotionless, "I just couldn't come with you. I'm sorry." There wasn't another word spoken as he handed out the assignments.

"Grissom!" Warrick Brown, level 3 CSI and one of Grissom's team, waved his hand in front of his supervisor's face. "Wake up!"
Grissom jumped, and Warrick thought for a moment he saw a flash of worry in his boss's eyes. He shrugged it off, though, as the next second Grissom's face was once again the emotionless mask they all knew so well.
"Sorry," Grissom said tiredly, "what was that? I was just thinking."
"Whatever," Warrick muttered. He, and the rest of the team, had noticed that Grissom had been acting weird lately. Sometimes, when someone was speaking to him, he would seem to zone out halfway through the conversation. Other times, people were forced to call his name several times to get his attention. He had seemed to withdraw even more into himself, which was saying something for Grissom, and he seemed to stay away from his CSIs as much as possible. He would give them their assignments, and then retreat into his office to finish up paperwork. He was hiding, there was no other word for it, but Warrick had no idea what from. What had happened that morning was just proof to support his theory. Shaking himself, he glanced back at his boss, who was staring at him, eyebrow raised questioningly. "Catherine sent me to ask you if you were going to come with us after work to grab something to eat. She says if you don't, she'll personally drag you. She says you have to, to make up for being such an ass this morning when Nick phoned."
For a moment there was silence, and then Grissom shook his head. "Listen, I'm sorry about what happened this morning. And I'm sorry, but I can't make it tonight either."
Warrick thought Catherine had probably known that was going to be the answer. He sighed. "What are have you been doing that's so important, Gris? So important, mind you, that you can't even take an hour or so to have dinner with us. Racing cockroaches?"
A flicker of a smile flashed across Grissom's face, and Warrick realized that it had been a long time since any of them had seen him smile.

"Yeah," Grissom joked, "that sounds like a good excuse." Then he was serious. "Tell her I'm sorry I can't make it."
"Whatever, man," Warrick shook his head and disappeared down the hall to the break room, where Catherine and Nick were they were working on the paperwork for the case they had just finished. He smiled to himself as he heard Catherine crow triumphantly, "done!" When Warrick entered the room they glanced up at him, Catherine with a question in her eyes. Warrick shook his head. "He's not coming, says to tell you he's sorry he can't make it."
"And what's his excuse this time?" Catherine snapped angrily. She didn't like that Grissom had become so much more isolated than usual. She also didn't like how for the past few days he had been coming to work looking exhausted, and badly in need of a good sleep. Nick definitely wasn't wrong about Grissom needing sleep. Grissom was her best friend, but he didn't seem to understand that best friends helped each other through hard times. And there was no doubt something was going on in Grissom's life that was messing with his head. "Look, this is stupid," she said firmly, "why don't you guys find Sara and Greg and I'll meet you at the restaurant. I'll see if I can get Grissom to change his mind."
Warrick shook his head. "I don't think you'll change his mind. He was really out of it when I walked in, I had to wave my hand in front of his face to get his attention."
Nick frowned. "How many times did you call his name?"
Warrick raised his eyebrow. "I don't know. Maybe three or four times before I got fed up."
"Huh," Nick muttered. He glanced up at them. "The other day I had to call his name like, five times before he answered me. And then a couple of days ago he just ignored me. Something's going on with him."
Catherine sighed. "Let's go, you guys grab Greg. He should be done by now."
Greg met up with them halfway down the hall, hyper and ready for a night out. "So what's up, guys?" he asked, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. "Where we going tonight?"
Warrick shook his head, his lips twitching in a smile. "Out, Greg, we're going out."
"Ha, ha." Greg gave Warrick a look. "Sara said she had to ask Grissom something, so she'll be in his office." He glanced at them. "It's always easy to find Grissom these days. I wonder if he's ever going to leave his office again? Maybe he'll have a bathroom installed..."
He let the rest of his sentence trail off at the glare Catherine sent his way. "Sorry," he squeaked, ducking behind Nick.
"Well, you know something's wrong if Greg noticed the change," Catherine muttered as she stepped into Grissom's office. She stopped suddenly, seeing Grissom sitting at the back of the office with his tarantula in his hands. His back was to them. Sara glanced at them from where she stood by his desk, exasperation written all across her face. "I've been standing here for five minutes, talking to him, calling his name. He just ignores me. It's like he doesn't hear me..." she stopped at the look on Catherine's face. "What?"

It was like a door had opened in Catherine's brain, and realization suddenly dawned on her. For a moment the triumph shone on her face – she knew what was going on now – before it fell again as she realized what this meant for Grissom. The others stared at her, knowing she had figured something out. "What?" Greg asked anxiously, glancing at Grissom to see that he still hadn't moved. "He's going deaf," she whispered, afraid to say it out loud. "What?" Nick said, caught off balance. "He's not..."

"Damn it," Catherine muttered, angry with herself. "I should have realized sooner." She looked sadly at her friends. "His mother gave it to him - osteosclerosis. It's a hereditary..."

"We know what it is, Catherine," Warrick snapped angrily. He didn't know who he was angrier with – himself for not realizing, or Grissom for not trusting them enough to tell them. Sara looked as pissed as him and Catherine, and Greg and Nick just looked shocked. Catherine ran her fingers through her hair and stared hard at Grissom's back. "He was afraid we'd find out. That's why he started staying in his office, staying away from crime scenes, telling us he couldn't make our dinner dates." She glanced at Nick. "You said this morning on the phone, he sounded panicked right before he hung up. His hearing probably faded out." Catherine shook her head, and then moved up next to Sara. "Grissom!" Catherine yelled loudly. Grissom jumped as though he'd been burned. He hadn't realized that his hearing had gone. "Damn, Catherine," he growled as he put his spider back in its tank. "Don't sneak up on me like that."

"She wasn't sneaking," Sara snapped, finally finding her voice, "we've been here for a while. I've been standing here for five minutes calling your name. What the hell is wrong with you? We could have had a frickin' screaming match and you wouldn't have heard." She waited for him to admit it, to tell them what was going on, and share the terrible weight he must be carrying. He looked surprised at her outburst. From the look on her face he realized she was angry with him, and he managed to read her lips well enough to understand the general gist of her sentence. He could feel a migraine coming on, and he rubbed his forehead and sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize anyone was talking to me," he said, relieved when his hearing returned suddenly, "I was thinking."

"Yeah, Grissom," Sara said icily, hating that he had just lied to her face, knowing then that he might never admit it to them. "You're always thinking these days, aren't you? You don't do much else." Catherine and Warrick stepped up, each putting a hand on her shoulder, and she fell silent. They all saw the brief look of hurt that flashed across Grissom's face. It didn't stay for long though – it never did. He would always replace it with a completely emotionless mask, and it would never be spoken of again. Catherine realized these moments were becoming more and more frequent, and she felt a twinge of guilt as she realized she had said similarly cutting things to him herself. "Grissom," she began, but he cut her off. "I'm sorry, Catherine, I told Warrick to tell you I couldn't make it to dinner tonight." He clenched his jaw as his hearing faded out once again, like a broken record, and his migraine became worse. He wanted to scream, or hit something. Scream the way he always did in his dream, because there was nothing else to do. "That's not what I'm here about, Gris," Catherine said softly. Moving forward, she sat in the chair that was at the front of his desk. The rest of the group hovered anxiously around the door, waiting to see what she would do.

Without standing up, she slid the chair across the floor slightly, so her mouth was hidden behind his coffee cup. Almost immediately he moved it so he could see her, and the group before him exchanged looks. Catherine shook her head, and a sad smile crossed her face before she laced her fingers together and put her elbows on the desk, so her hands blocked her face. "Why didn't you tell us, Grissom?" she said. Her voice was soft, but loud enough for the group at the door to hear what she had said. Grissom's jaw clenched, and he seemed to have trouble getting the words out. "Excuse me? I didn't hear that, Cath, you were mumbling." His voice was too soft, as though he was unable to judge how loud his words were. Nick looked away, embarrassed and sad for Grissom. Warrick and Sara looked angry, and Greg just stood staring at his boss, still trying to process what was happening. Catherine's voice had been clear, easy to hear. Catherine met Grissom's eyes, keeping her hands in front of her face. Her voice was a little bit louder. "Gil, did you really think you'd be able to push it away, like everything else you were scared of? Did you really think it would just go away if you didn't think about it?" Grissom had vaguely made out the words 'Grissom... push away... go away.' "Look Catherine," Grissom said, taking a wild guess, "I'm sorry if you guys think I've been pushing you away lately, but I'm not..." he paused, looking for the right words, uncomfortable under their accusing stares. He glanced at the clock. "Look, I have to go..." Sara cut him off. "You have no idea what Catherine just said, do you?" Grissom looked away, grabbing the file from his desk and standing. He realized then that he had screwed up, that he had guessed wrong, and he knew he had to get out of there fast. He ignored Sara's question. What would he say, anyways? 'No, of course not, I've been going deaf for a month and was too terrified to admit it to myself or anyone else?' He could just imagine how that conversation would go. "I'm sorry, guys, I have to go," he muttered, but Warrick blocked his way. "Where to, Grissom?" he said, voice hard. He was still hurting after learning that Grissom had shut them all out, and angry that he was still shutting them out. "Home? Where you'll put on some music and sit there, straining to hear it, to memorize it. So when you're completely deaf you might be able to remember just a little bit of what it was like, so you can keep pretending everything's fine?" Grissom, unable to read Warrick's lips at the speed he was talking, pushed past him, trying to hold himself together. "I'm sorry, Warrick, I have to go," he said, before leaving the office and practically running down the hall. Don't think about it, he told himself. Don't think about it... and definitely don't talk about it.

Catherine looked as though she was going to go after him, but then she changed her mind. "Listen, guys, I don't feel like dinner. I think I'm just going to go home."

"Cath!" Warrick protested, but she shook her head. "You guys go have dinner. Have fun, forget about Grissom for a while." They stood silently for a moment. None of them really felt like going to dinner anymore. Slowly, the small group wandered down the hall together. They all knew where they were going, but weren't exactly sure of what they would do when they got there.