Multifandom Imagines (and a Headcanon set here and there)

Noise - Gil Grissom x Reader

(A/N:  This is dedicated to all my fellow autistics who get overstimulated by noise.  Also, this is rated 17+ because I Cannot Control Myself when it comes to this man.)

You were working the Eric Berkley case, while Warrick was on the Stephanie Reyes case.  However, you had borrowed Warrick to have him identify the rave stamp on Bobby Taylor's hand.  You let out a light sigh; as bad as you felt for Bobby, the noise of the party would be very overwhelming for you.  And not going was not an option because Grissom needed you to do his running.

"I-I'm sorry," Bobby said to you, thinking that you were disappointed at his actions.

You put up a hand to stop him.  "No, it's okay Bobby.  That's not what I'm upset about."

"O-oh, okay..."

Grissom smiled at you and quirked his eyebrows, one higher than the other, in an effort to amuse you.  "We'll go there early, okay? It won't be so loud yet." You sighed, heavier this time, dropping your head and bobbing it in a few half-hearted nods. At Bobby's confused look, Grissom explained, "They hate noise; it overwhelms them."

"Oh.  I see," Bobby acknowledged. You did have earplugs you could use, but you had to be ready to perceive the perpetrator at all times, whether by sight, sound or other means.

Grissom and you waited until later on in the night for when the party would start. Grissom drove you to the rave while Bobby was brought along in a squad car; Jim and some other officers came too because they would have to make an arrest.

When Grissom stopped the car, you took a deep breath, preparing for what you had to face. When Grissom opened his door, the first wave of music (if it could be called that even) rolled in, sending an unpleasant shudder up your spine and neck. Grissom reached for your hand and took it. "Come on," he smiled encouragingly, "You can do it."

You managed a small, appreciative smile in return. The both of you got out and joined Bobby, who was waiting patiently. Grissom locked the doors. Bobby led you two to the entryway; you stayed behind Grissom at all times as if to hide. Bobby asked the bouncer for three tickets, and turned his head back to inform Grissom and you that the tickets would cost twenty dollars each. Grissom, who was nearer to Bobby, took sixty dollars out of his wallet and passed it to the boy to give to the ticket master. He thanked Bobby, and let the three of you pass to the second guard to have your hands stamped. As he stamped each of you, he stated the approval of the passes and coaxed you inside. In the meantime, the police officers had taken advantage of the bouncers being distracted by you to sneak around the barriers and find another way in.

The noise floating over from one direction to the entrance was nothing compared to being in the thick of the crowd. The people around you were shouting. A lot. You were sure there were other noises mixed in with that and the music, but you could not place them. You groaned and brought one hand up to massage your aching forehead.

"Teenage wasteland," Grissom commented loudly, not caring if any of the partygoers heard him because it was literally impossible for them to do so.

"Who?" you asked with a raised voice, not being able to hear him properly.

"Yeah," he called back; evidently, you were not the only one whose hearing had been compromised.

Just then, one of the partygoers walked up Grissom. "Hi!" she greeted cheerily.

"Hi!" Grissom replied, tentative.

The stranger beckoned to him; Grissom had barely taken a tiny step forwards when she put her hands on his upper back from the sides and smiled at him, "I love you." She brought him in for a hug. You frowned, not particularly fond of the bubbling acidic feeling in your stomach and chest.