Dislclaimer: They're not mine, although I'd love them to be. I own nothing but these words.
Small Swords
She thought of things as before the wedding, and after it. When the call had come in, she had grumbled to herself, imagining a fete of either extravagance or bawdy tack. There would be people, far too many people to make questioning a nightmare. As Grissom had come in to the break room to gather the team, she had taken the address of the scene and driven herself. In part she was afraid of being seen to always ride with him, much as she liked to. She didn't need anyone asking questions, least of all when it would only serve to remind her that there was absolutely, definitively, depressingly, nothing to know. In part she was looking ahead to the ride home and imagining she would want to be alone. The truth was, weddings made her sad. Reminded her that she had no real family. They felt like something that would never be for her. Even if she was lucky enough to find someone who would go the distance, there would never be a day like this, not for her. She told herself she didn't mind, didn't need it, and made her way across the grass towards where the action seemed to be. She could see uniforms in the distance, and then to her right she passed David, kneeling with the body on a bloody gravel path. He said something about wearing white, and she smiled, although it only registered as something cliched about weddings that she wasn't going to care about.
Ahead of her was an arbour, separating the house and the road from the wedding party .As she passed through it, a green and white haven, sunlight filtered through the branches like pieces of gold. Going in, it made her roll her eyes, but coming out, something had changed. The walk had been slow, and had allowed her for a split second to picture what that might be like, that passage from alone to together, from single to tied. She ducked slightly, brushed the fingers of one hand along the wall of flowers. When she emerged, she saw Grissom talking to the bride. The image was striking, more so for the fact that the picture of him with a beautiful woman in white was not altogether bizarre. In a snapshot he could have been just another man marrying another woman. She could imagine his wedding photographs, but not her own.
Yes, there was nothing to know. Lately they had become closer, but even as that had brought such pure joy, it had also brought a certain degree of clarity - they were very good at being friends. It seemed as soon as they had settled into it and stopped trying to make things happen, the tension had evaporated and she had been able to smile again. The pressure off, he was comfortable being close to her, and they had even managed to see each other outside of work. They had shared a few evenings, one or two lunches. It wasn't a conscious decision, it just seemed to have happened, a phrase she once thought she would reserve for something else entirely.
There had been no ceremony, no moment, no one asking the other, no awkwardness. Being the last two left in Frank's after a team breakfast had helped things along. They had been deep in conversation with Catherine about a case, finishing their coffees after Nick, Greg and Warrick had gone home. Catherine was always the first to arrive and the last to leave, enjoying every minute of her limited social life. The three of them made an unnatural party, so the conversation stayed with work. As the waitress came over to refill their coffee cups, Catherine's phone was ringing. A moment later she was hanging up and standing up, tossing a note onto the table.
"Lindsey." It was explanation enough, and she was gone with a frustrated wave. It might perhaps have spelt the end of the occasion, but their cups newly filled, it seemed too much of a statement to bring things to a close immediately. They stayed, drank their coffee, and found that simple conversation wasn't half as difficult as they had feared. In fact, it was a pleasure, and when Sara had got up to leave, Grissom had almost looked disappointed. A few days later they had happened in to each other in the hall at the end of their shift, and it had seemed natural for him to ask if she wanted to get breakfast. Natural, too, for her to say yes.
And so they slowly grew into a kind of comfort zone, occasional friends, and before she could decide how it felt he was calling her on her night off, just now and again. They avoided things that could be construed as romantic. No movies, no dinner dates. They sought solace in the benign, not allowing themselves to wonder about what lay beyond. A seminar that they both wanted to go to seemed safe. A coffee shop on the way from the police station to the lab made sense, and was something they often did individually so why not together? Her apartment, once or twice, when she had an article or a case file he needed wasn't ludicrous – she always took work home. His apartment, when she gave him a ride would have been dangerous, if she had stepped out of the car. They talked, a lot, more than they had been able to before, now that the way was clear.
Rather, clearer. Sara still tripped up now and again. When his name appeared on her call display she still got butterflies, although she played it cool when she picked up. If ever she opened the door to find him there, she was lost for a moment. But these were small things, minor setbacks, and she knew that she had to get past them, for her own sake. She knew that to have him like this was better than to not have him at all.
She was resigned to this. Not unhappy with it. But as she came out of that tunnel, things just felt...different.
Grissom was hot. It was a beautiful day for a wedding, and he privately enjoyed the irony of that in light of the reason they were there. The scene around him was so vast, distracting for the sheer number of people involved. He felt small. He turned, caught sight of Sara emerging from the tunnel, the shadows of someone else's roses falling over her face. Her face was growing ever more familiar to him these days, something he saw more often than he used to. He had been right to fear more between them, because what they were beginning to find now was worth so much. She was a great friend, and he loved her company, and he loved how innocent it could be. Yet now, bathed in the strong sunlight, he could scarcely deny her beauty. She was every bit as incredible as the woman in the wedding dress he was questioning. He faltered, looking over the shoulder of the bride, and then recovered, snapping back to the reality of the tragedy at hand.
She thought she had seen Grissom look, but she couldn't be sure, and it would not have meant anything to him anyway. Reminding herself she was not to be disappointed by these things any more, she looked around her, seeing any number of handsome, eligible men, suited and groomed, and thought that even for her, there had to be something out there to distract her, if only momentarily.
When the best man had approached her, Sara had actually felt something. He was sweet, and looked good in his tuxedo. She let him flirt with her, without feeling the need to be defensive. Before, she would have shot him down. Before, she would have thought of Grissom and uttered something acidic. No-one else had been good enough for a long time. Now, her defences were down, and she wasn't looking for a boyfriend. She felt a new compassion towards other men, though, slightly sheepish for the years of short sharp rejections she had issued. In spite of their new dimension, she knew that if Grissom noticed the attention this guy was paying her, that couldn't hurt. And it was nice to feel attractive, to someone, even if that person was a potential suspect. So she was professional, but with a smile, and she let him talk the talk.
Grissom let the bride go, after taking her statement. Turning around in a circle, scanning the grass for his next move, he noticed the man in the suit talking to Sara. He noticed her body language, and took a moment to process it. Perhaps they were flirting, more likely she was just being approachable. She was good like that, better than he was. They made a good team sometimes purely because she could be warm when he was only quiet. He watched her tuck her hair behind her ear and savoured the image. She was nice to look at, and his new self lived vicariously through the man who used to be flushed hot by her every step. Before, he used to try not to look. Now, he watched her intently, but told himself that as her friend there was no reason not to. It was a very happy compromise.
When Nick's car was stolen, and the team were grounded until Internal Affairs could get there, Sara didn't mind. Work was her happy place, and she never felt more constructive or worthy than when she had put in a long shift and plenty of overtime. The thought of a double wasn't a bad one. Nick and Greg did not share her enthusiasm, and paced until they ran out of energy, when they retired to the break room to sit it out. Sara hovered, walking the halls and working as much as she could with the majority of the evidence missing. She was waiting for the honeymoon car to arrive at the garage - that was when she would hit her stride. In its absence she looked in on Grissom to see if there was anything she could do there.
"No," he said, taking off his glasses. "I'm at a standstill too." She nodded, leaning on the door frame, deflated that there was no work. She needed the current of the day to carry her along - standing around was painfully frustrating. Grissom looked equally ruffled, and motioned for her to sit on the couch in his office. She did, bringing her knees up to her chest, hugging them to her as she exhaled slowly.
"Weird day," she said, smiling.
"Two rites of passage rolled into one."
"Two that are never supposed to share the same stage," she said. Grissom raised his eyebrows.
"Indeed."
"Best and worst day of your life." Sara couldn't imagine that feeling. Couldn't imagine saying to anyone, wholeheartedly, in all truth, that any day was the best day of her life. She didn't have best days. She had days that were brighter than others, days that made her feel good about her job, accomplished, and even days that made her feel more comfortable with herself. But the best day of her life? She couldn't think what that would be, it seemed too strong a title for anything. She supposed that was because she had never had a Vegas wedding.
"Not if you were the bride. She seemed to think she'd had a lucky escape."
"She still married the guy. Doesn't sound like a lucky escape to me."
"Ah, cynicism, thy name is Sidle." They both smiled. She was a cynic, she knew. She had the right. She had had her share of the things in life that justified being that way. She had had plenty of worst days. It was what kept her honest, and it was her unorthodox combination of utter cynicism and human compassion that made her a good criminalist. She easily believed people capable of the worst things they could do to each other, and it made her fight for those they did it to. Ecklie called her hot headed.
Grissom looked at her with her knees drawn up in half hearted defence. She was a cynic, but she had more emotion than anyone he had ever worked with. She was unpredictable but frequently brilliant. She broke the rules sometimes, and he had to rein her in. She blurred the lines sometimes, and he had to throw the book at her. She called into question everything she believed in now and again, letting the weight of the work affect her heart and her mind sometimes, and he had to admire her. He called her passionate.
"You look tired," he said, softly.
"I'm okay."
"I'm going to make some coffee." He got up, and for a moment she wondered if that was a cue for her to leave his office. But he held up a hand as he wandered out, giving her leave to remain. She let her knees go and stretched out, crossing one ankle over the other. She looked around the familiar space, taking in the curiosities it contained. She felt their bond was strongest in this room, it was so very him. She felt close to him amongst the plants and samples in here, and sometimes when he wasn't there she found an excuse to come in. Just for a second, to connect with him in some small way, when all other ways were barred. Until their recent cease fire, the small things had been all she had.
Minutiae mattered to Sara. In science, the truth was in the detail. In her mind, often the only sanctuary was in understanding. She had to know exactly what was going on. To arm herself against anything untoward, anything debilitating, anything that would weaken her defences. She had been caught short plenty of times, mostly by him. He had spoken words to her that had slain her – taken her down with gracious, glorious, thudding strikes. Since I met you. Crash. I need you. Down. Honey, this doesn't look good. On her knees. She had fought back, given him his fair share of surprises. More, perhaps, than fair. You want to sleep with me? Shock. Why do you think I moved to Vegas? Resounding blow. Pin me down. Half serious. With half smiles they allure and allude, drawing each other in and then beating each other off. It is a beautiful war they have waged, tiny battles fought with small swords.
