Disclaimer: I own no CSI. It is all property of Jerry Bruckheimer, CBS, etc. Nor do I own the song "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls.

Notes: This story is coming out in three parts, and after those, an epilogue is likely. There is also a character death, and it includes spoilers from Season 7. Happy reading!

That Sidle Scent

A CSI Fanfiction by Lizzy Sidle

As memories of his attack haunt him, Greg takes a leap of faith towards furthering his relationship with the one person he feels could help. After rejecting him, Sara begins to doubt that Grissom (whom she wanted, and now has) is truly what she needed, and if Greg is the one to fill that void.

"Smell is a potent wizard who transports you across thousands of miles and all the years you have lived."

--Helen Keller

Part I

Bitter laughing pelted his mind in unison with the blows—fists, feet, purses and rocks, each leaving their own mark on him as he tried to make sense of what had happened. Nothing registered but the pain. All that pain, in every bone, on every fraction of skin, exploding all over. The blows stopped, but the laughter lived on…and on…and on…and the repercussions of pain echoed across his entire body, throbbing in unison with the laughs.

Greg's eyes opened, and he found himself to be in his own apartment, in his own bedroom, in his own bed. His breathing was heavy, but he found himself unable move. The right side of his face pressed into his pillow, the rest of his body tangled in his cotton sheets. Sweat beaded his face, and as Greg gained some control of his paralyzing fear, he took the liberty of wiping the sweat away. He sat up, setting his elbows on his knees and putting his face in his hands, troubled to find he was shaking.

These nightmares had been popping up for weeks, sometimes varied, but always making the same general point—they laughed at him while he lay on the ground, like he was nothing more than dirt. Just dirt. His body still ached, not from those bruises, but from the memories. He could imagine the sting as if it were yesterday, how it felt to have every limb aching, every inch of skin screaming, every bone shooting lightening bolts through his senses.

A shiver ran through him, and he decidedly stood up, heading for his bathroom across the hall. With a flick of the light switch, he spotted himself in the mirror. His hair lay across his head, flattened and moistened from sweat. The same was true for his grey tank top. He turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on his face, trying to bring some sort of life back to his senses. His tank came off, and he tossed it in the hamper against the wall behind him. A scar on the left side of his chest glared at him through the mirror, and he brushed a tender finger across it, swearing he could feel the healed wound sting. It was grey now, and he knew that with time it would turn shiny, never to fade.

His breathing was still rather strained, and he knew he needed to regain control. So he did what he'd been doing for the past few weeks when he found himself in the same situation. Smell, after all, had the closest link to memory—Sara's smell. The memory of some familiar presence beside him, her gentle fingers softly supporting his own seemed to lessen the eruptions of pain in his hands. Her cool, delicate hand brushing gingerly through his hair melted away the sting. And her voice echoing in his ears let him know he was more than dirt. He was way more than dirt. He was higher than clouds.

So it wasn't in a twisted, sexual way he imagined her scent. It was his drug. That smell brought back those feelings of calm, the easing of pain. It was a soft sweetness nearly beyond words, hinting of citrus mixed with the bittersweet, thick smell of an unnamed soap. Words didn't cut it. It was a description all on its own—the Sidle Scent.

He'd thought about it for some time. Was it wrong to think of her in that way? Before the attack, maybe, when he was still in the lab and acted like the overly confident nerd falling for Homecoming Queen. He'd obsessively made a mental note of it then, as if it were all just a joke, just another crush. It wasn't that way anymore. He'd give up almost anything to have the smell around him whenever he needed it. His drug.

He went back to his room, pulling the blinds up to let in the streaks of sunlight. It was 1:00 in the afternoon. Nick, Sara, and he had planned on lunch together at around 2:00, and Greg was looking forward to it. He wouldn't need to imagine her presence that way. He dressed himself quickly, in a black tee and jacket with a pair of slightly baggy jeans. Then after a quick run back to the bathroom, some finger-fulls of hair-gel, a brush of his teeth, and another deep breath, he headed off.

Greg entered the diner to the familiar jingling bell and glanced around. He could only smell eggs, bacon, coffee, smoke from the smoking section, and anything but what he'd truly come for. He was looking for her face and spotted her sitting alone in the far corner of the diner, waving him over.

"Hey Greg!" Sara greeted brightly, smiling as he neared the table.

He grinned back, seating himself across from her. For once, he was quiet. Worse, disappointed. The diner was blanketing any chance he had at even getting a whiff. He was only a tabletop away, and the only thing he could smell was the food. He tried to stay smiling, but failed, and turned his head towards the window.

"Are you alright?" she questioned quietly, her hands folded under her chin.

Moving over to sit by her would be too conspicuous. He would have to wait until they'd finished, and maybe she wouldn't mind him walking her out. "I'm fine," he said finally. "Just thinking…"

Her eyes narrowed slightly, as if she were activating some sort of inner x-ray vision. "The civil case?" she asked, practically stating it as fact.

"It's over," Greg said through a sigh. "I'm not getting sued, but…I can't stop thinking about it."

"Can I help?" she offered quietly.

Yeah, tell me what shampoo you use, he thought with a mental chuckle. But what could he say? She'd already done more than he could have ever asked. She'd come to him before anyone else, stopped over right after Grissom came in, and visited him a third time with Nick and Warrick trailing behind — toting Mexican food to boot. She'd stuck up for him, lied for him, when the others had forgotten what was going on in his head. Now here she was, wondering what else she could do to help.

"Sara, I…" Stop. Think. Don't say anything stupid. "I wanted to…to thank you," he managed. "You've already done too much. I couldn't ask you to do more."

She grinned softly, though her eyes seemed sad. With a sigh, she reached across the table, giving one of his hands a quick squeeze. "What's bothering you, Greg?" Her eyes looked into his, and she determinedly held his gaze.

"Demetrius' brother…" he said softly, with a bit of hesitation.

"Are you worried he's going to take things into his own hands?" Sara asked matter-of-factly as she pulled her hand back and placed it under her chin once more. Her eyes remained fixed on his.

He nodded uncertainly, but that was only the half of it. He would have told her, but he heard the little jingle of the diner door being opened and felt Nick's presence as he sauntered over and seated himself beside Greg. The Texan greeted them with a nod and grin. They returned it pleasantly, and Greg sighed at the loss of his chance.

A waitress finally came and took their orders, and when she turned to fill them, they were left to speak amongst themselves. Greg listened in only halfheartedly as Nick and Sara talked and joked. If he was spoken to, he would give short answers. If he wasn't spoken to, he said nothing. He'd lost his chance to get everything off his chest. How he felt about killing a man. How he felt about looking over his shoulder every five minutes. How he felt about his nightmares. How he felt about her. When their order came, the silence thickened, and he couldn't help but notice Sara casting him worried glances.

"…and anyway what other reason would he shave his beard for?" Nick pointed out after taking a bite of his tuna sandwich. He and Sara had been engaged in a long-winded discussion on Grissom's sudden changes in appearance. Nick was convinced he was seeing somebody. Sara had other ideas.

"Oh, I don't know. What reason could there possibly be for you growing that 70s porno-mustache?" Sara retorted with a snigger.

Nick shifted in his seat, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Well I don't really care what you say, Sara. I think Griss has a girlfriend, and I'm going to find out for sure, tonight's shift."

"Don't bother," Sara commanded. "He won't tell you."

"Oh, have you tried? It can't do any harm to ask. And, for your information, I grew that mustache because I wanted to try something new. And it was not a70s porno-mustache." He set his share of the bill on the table and got up to leave, assuring the two of them he would see them at work.

"Are you sure you're gonna be okay?" Sara asked as she filled out the bill. "You're awfully quiet."

Greg reassured her he was, and they both got up to leave. He stood closer than he probably should have, hovering so close, they nearly touched. She didn't seem to notice as she opened the door and the two of them walked out together. The smell filled his nostrils with a small gust of wind and he suddenly realized he wasn't thinking as he normally would. She turned and grinned at him and asked him a question that he didn't even hear through his mental haze.

"Greg?" she said, her face turning to slight concern again.

"Huh?" he replied stupidly.

"I asked you if you wanted a ride home…you still seem a little out of it."

"Oh…uhh, no thanks…I'm good."

His mind was still operating on its own. Without thinking he decided to walk her all the way to her car, something he'd never done before. He still hovered, and he continued breathing in the citrus sweet smell. He needed it. What was he thinking? Why was he doing this? But his body just seemed to be moving on its own, his mouth speaking on its own.

"Greg, if there's something you want to talk about, tell me now, alright?" she said as they reached her vehicle. "Remember, anytime you wanna talk. Don't think I took you for granted when you were there to listen to me." She comforted him with a smile, one hand on the driver's side handle as she stood there waiting for him to speak.

Just say it. You're thinking it. Just say it. You've been thinking it ever since you stepped out of that diner.

"Sara…" He took another deep breath. He was being so stupid, acting ridiculous, but she was like a drug, and he was addicted to that smell. He'd do anything. "Would you…would you like to have dinner w-with me tonight, before work, at Valentinos?" Definitely not his most graceful date request ever.

She didn't move. She didn't blink. She just stood there. "Greg, I can't—"

"Tomorrow maybe? Friday? Any time you're available," he blurted, and that was just the start of the waterfall of words. "I mean, Sara, I know I tried this before, years ago, and it didn't work out, but I'm different, right? And I know you know because you treat me different than you used to and when I flirt with you, you just smile instead of blowing it off or rolling your eyes and you have absolutely no idea how much I've thought about you since the day you came to see me. You were the first one there, and I've thought about it for weeks, and I think this is…this is…what I want…"

He took a gulp of air and began to rock slowly back and forth, wringing his hands as he waited for Sara's response. She continued staring at him, though she wasn't smiling at all. In fact, her eyes were glistening as if she were about to cry.

"Greg, I'm sorry," she said, nearly as a whisper. With a sigh she turned around and entered her car, slamming the door shut and starting it up.

"Wait! Wait!" he nearly shouted, scrambling over to her window. She looked at him and he gestured for her to roll the glass down, which she did. "Why not?" he asked her breathlessly. "What's wrong with me?"

"Greg, I'm already in a relationship, I'm sorry."

A low blow. His whole body seemed to deflate. "Who? Who's better than me this time?"

She stared him directly in the eye, and he could see she was thinking. Thinking whether to tell him or not. She took a breath in, as if she was going to, but then she let it out. Another breath, another attempt. Another failure. Finally, she muttered the one damning name as she rolled up the window. "Grissom…"

An even lower blow. Her whisper was the silence before the tornado that was his head, spinning around and around as he watched her drive off. His knees gave out, and he dropped down onto the curb as she sped off onto the highway. There was no Sidle Scent to comfort him while he sat there alone…he could only smell the exhaust of her car.

And I'd give up forever to touch you

'Cause I know that you feel me somehow

You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be

And I don't want to go home right now

And all I can taste is this moment

And all I can breathe is your life

And sooner or later it's over

I just don't wanna miss you tonight

And I don't want the world to see me

'Cause I don't think that they'd understand

When everything's meant to be broken

I just want you to know who I am