Distance by TwoTrack
I watched "Committed" again today with a GSR-wired mind. I'm working on a Nick/Rick one also, but this serves to break in the idea of a CSI fic; I've only ever done HP.
Windows should be for escape. This one might as well have been painted onto the wall, for the reprieve it could provide her. Sara strode to it and threw her weight against the frame in frustration, the metal above her head hard on her hands.
It was this place, it was ending up like her father, it was a lot of things.
Mostly, it was dying.
She grimaced as she fought away thoughts of death, of the feel of a sharp edge on her throat. She fought for a distraction. The metal was cool from hours of air-conditioning; coupled with a slight vibration from the storm, the wire's coldness was oddly comfortable.
But her colleague's distance wasn't.
She didn't know what he would do. Grissom was a private man, and she respected that.
Grissom was also a stickler for rules, and would pull you out of the field in the middle of a case if you hadn't passed your gun proficiency test. She understood that. Or he could be a joker and would put a 280 pound dummy on Greg. Tell Catherine he missed her tush.
Oh, Sara had heard about that one.
Her fingers curled into the wire grate, and she pulled back, gazing at the rain. At least thinking about her emotionally challenged crush stopped her from thinking about what had just happened.
She wasn't a stranger to chokeholds, or threats to her life. Just the two combined.
The scent came then, again. It didn't bother her as much when she was working, hurrying about the place. Only times like this when she paused and the memories that smell invoked invaded.
Now even Grissom wasn't coming to distract her, physically or in her thoughts.
Sara folded her arms, still looking at nothing through the window. How would a normal person respond in this situation? Flip out? Start crying?
Not her.
Sara didn't know if she wanted to let herself withdraw, or put on a front.
Grissom's face in front of her stopped her from either. She stared at the reflection absently and realized he stood slightly behind her.
Did he want an explanation? A reassurance that she was still fit to work?
No. He would ask for those as her supervisor. Now she decided to explain her actions as a friend. Sara began to talk.
"When my father died…"