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Supper that evening was soup, and she found an episode of CSI on the telly to watch while she ate it.

It was supermarket value brand soup; it had cost her all of seventeen pence and tasted like it, too. She mopped it up with a couple of slices of bread, also supermarket value range, but with a healthy amount of butter on it to provide some semblance of taste.

The CSI, however, was the good stuff. The original, not one of the spin-offs. She’d watch New York and Miami, sure, but her heart was in Vegas. This was one of the early ones, too, and although she’d seen it before she sat entranced.

The blood and guts didn’t bother her at all. As they talked about blood spatter, and how you can tell the direction somebody was moving by the shape of the blood spots from their wound, she idly dripped a little bit of soup onto her cheap folding wooden table. It was true, she thought, as she glanced from screen to soup spots.

She liked Gil Grissom. No, that was an understatement. She loved him. Warrick was attractive; Nick was cute, especially in the earlier series, but Grissom was the reason for watching. Horatio Caine made her giggle, with the sunglasses and the way he always slid out of the shot, and she couldn’t even remember the name of the guy from New York – just that he was a marine.

Gil Grissom though… She daydreamed about him sometimes. Not in a kinky way, not at all. She imagined him sometimes as her father, sometimes as her boss. She imagined him smiling at her, just slightly, and saying he was proud of her, the way her father had never done. That she had done a good job. Sometimes she daydreamed about riding rollercoasters with him.

She sighed. She had an essay to write when she finished her tea, and now of course she had to wipe soup off the table before she got the books out. She had to take good care of them, she’d saved hard to be able to afford them, just as she had saved hard and worked hard to get her place on this course, on the best forensic science course in the country. One day, she would be examining blood spots, not soup spots, and she’d really be able to imagine Grissom being proud of her.

But she’d watch the end of this episode first.

© Kari Fay

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