Title: Facts and Senses
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me. I just love 'em so much, they inspire my muses. As this is my first posted CSI fic, let me know what you think! It's a complete drabble. Many thanks, and best wishes in this new year!
“Heya Griss—haven’t seen ya ‘round here in a while. Take the seat at the end, will ‘ya?” Grissom nodded as he headed towards the barber’s seat at the end of the row of chairs. After all these years, he always managed to get same chair.

Years ago, just when he was starting out as an investigator, he’d had a case involving the murder of a female bartender just outside this very barbershop. Adam Lenard, the shop’s owner, wasn’t very particular about confiding information to the police. Turns out he just wanted the attention—he hadn’t seen anything to reveal in the first place. Grissom had gone to the shop during Lenard’s off hours, using the excuse of wanting his hair cut. The co-owner of the place, George Peters, took care of him, and being a barber, chatted up the conversation with the recent murder that took place just outside his shop’s doors. Could Grissom believe it? A murder, taking place in a neighborhood such as this. Grissom got few leads out of the conversation; however, he did find a barber that he liked.

And somehow, George Peters always had that same seat available for him. “How ya doin’ Griss? Been busy chasin’ down half o’ Vegas?”

“As you say George.” Grissom knew that soon he’d have a hard time understanding George. His lip reading was improving, but when someone had as thick a Texas accent as George did, speaking his words as simply as he could, Grissom didn’t know how he’d manage. But he would. It was a slowly becoming a fact of his life.

“How’s that girl doin’? The one ya work with tha' yur always talkin' 'bout?” Grissom raised his brows, looking at him through his reflection in the mirror as he brought the scissors to the back of his head.

“She’s in a...relationship of sorts.”

“Golly Griss. Told ya she’d get away eventually. Them smart brunettes are easy t' slip away.” Grissom felt himself tense up a bit, but pushed the tension away, closing his eyes to regain his composure. Aware of his customer’s response, George discontinued his thought and continued to sip away at his hair. “Christ.” He muttered, so softly that it was not comprehensible to Grissom. Moving his shoe to step on a cockroach that had scurried past his chair, he stopped just short of completing his action.

“George, don’t even think about it.” George snapped his head up, looking at his customer’s reflection. Sure enough, Grissom’s eyes were closed. Shaking his head, George turned back to his job, not noticing the small smile that had formed on the corner of Grissom’s mouth.