An Arrangement of Convenience: Chapter One
a/n- r&r is always appreciated. This story kind of came to me and won't let me go.
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Well, this was rather curious.
Moments before Sara Sidle had awoken from what had been a fantastic, blissfully dreamless sleep. Not that this in itself wasn't an oddity; sleep, especially undisturbed sleep, was rare for her. Even before she cracked her eyes open she was very aware of two things simultaneously: she was not alone, and she had a terrible headache. As she lost the thin tendrils of sleep she became increasingly aware of two solid distinctly male arms wrapped around her. One hand rested comfortably under her breasts, the other on her hip. Her back was flush with his chest, his soft breath playing across the back of her neck in its rhythm of sleep.
Sara felt herself tensing. She had absolutely no idea who slept next to her. She felt herself starting to panic, taking shallow breaths she knew she had to bring the situation under control. First point of action: where the hell was she? Even from her limited vantage point she was instantly relieved to find that it was familiar. It was the room she had slept in the first two nights of the convention.
Ah yes, the convention. Last night had been the last night. Sara's forehead crinkled in thought. A small farewell dinner if she remembered right. She couldn't remember specifics, but what she could remember was a lot of champagne. Oh God. Just thinking about it made her want to vomit.
All thoughts of vomiting quickly left her as the hand that had been on her hip suddenly moved to lay farther down her thigh. A flush crept up her neck, embarrassed at the way her body was reacting. Second point of action: who was sleeping next to her? This proved to be more difficult. Clutched in his arms Sara found she couldn't properly look at him without moving him. Moving gently, she tried to shift slowly, but as she did so his arms tightened around her. As she was briefly considering her next line of action she felt his breathing change. Sara tried to remain slack, but her body tensed, panic tense in her shoulders. The hands that had a moment before been caressing her were now rigid.
He was awake.
They lay a moment in silence. Sara letting him come to terms with waking up with someone he didn't know. At least she assumed he didn't know her. What if he did know her? Maybe it was that guy John from the L.A lab. He had been handsy the whole weekend. She didn't have any time to consider anyone else as she felt him shift. His hands left her gently. Sara decided to let go any pretense of sleep and turned to face him.
"Oh." She breathed.
Grissom looked down at her, his expression as shocked and bewildered as her own.
"Sara…?" His confused voice was endearingly scratchy and rough from sleep.
Sara stared up at him with wide eyes, her throat suddenly closed. She watched Grissom take in the scene and interpreting it. Not that it could be explained any other way. Even under the sheets it was obvious she was naked, and from being pressed up against him she knew he was too.
"Sara?" He repeated, his eyes meeting hers. His voice was now less confused but becoming increasingly perplexed.
Sara suddenly sat up, unable to take his gaze. When she realized she'd left herself bare she grabbed the sheet to cover her chest in a brief frantic motion. Anxiety rattled her chest. She stood quickly, taking the sheet with her.
"Sara." His voice was odd.
She turned back to him in sudden anger, the sheet twisting around her body. "Can you think of anything else to say?" she snapped. Grissom remained mute staring at her, his eyes running over her face. When he said nothing Sara turned away searching for her clothes.
"Sara, stop." The authority in his voice made her turn back to him. He was standing on the other side of the bed clad in only his boxer shorts that he had found draped over a lampshade. "We need to talk about this."
Sara looked away, cursing her accelerated heart rate. "What is there to talk about?"
"I think it's pretty obvious." Sara paused reaching for her bra. He actually sounded amused.
She didn't respond. She quickly found her clothes sans underwear. Swearing rather colorfully, she dressed quickly in the strapless black dress she had worn the night before. Now clothed, she let the sheet drop around her feet, and again turned to Grissom. He was half dressed in his black dress pants. Sara felt her eyes drawn to his bare chest, she looked away quickly.
"It's very obvious." Her voice was harsh. She couldn't look at him. "I just don't know what you want to discuss here."
Five steps and he was in front of her. He gripped her arms tightly. Sara looked up at him and was surprised by the undisguised anger in his eyes.
"I think this has a lot of room for discussion."
Sara glanced down at his hands. "Let go of me." And he did quickly taking a step away. Sara sighed heavily, flinging a hand up in frustration. "Grissom, we were both drunk. I mean I was. I can't even remember…" her cheeks burned. Pursing her lips, her eyes hardened. "Look. We both know this was a mistake. I think it would be best if we just…why are you looking at me like that?"
Grissom's face had turned an unusual ashen shade. His breaths shallow. "You're…" he swallowed, "…left hand."
Sara looked down at said hand. Her mouth opening in surprise. She looked up at Grissom with wide eyes.
"What…" She swallowed. "What is this?"
Not answering, Grissom lifted his own left hand. Both stared at the ring on his ring finger for a silent moment. Each catching flashes of memory. A priest. A chapel.
"Oh crap."
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--One Week Earlier—
Sara stared at her fellow CSI incredulously. "A convention?"
Catherine rolled her eyes. "I know, I know. Stiffs with stiff upper lips; but I'd really, really appreciate it if you'd stand in for me. C'mon, all you need to do is an hour presentation on projectile blood splatter and you get a fully paid weekend off. Even the plane ticket is paid for."
Sara continued to stare at the blonde CSI with raised eyebrows. "Why aren't you doing it?"
Catherine sighed. "I'm really neck deep in my double homicide and I know you're finishing up with Henry Jones. I tried to back out but I had to promise I'd find a replacement."
"I don't know, Cath. It's such short notice…I don't think Grissom would give me the time off…"
"He was willing to give me time off for it, I'm sure he wouldn't care that we switched. He knows he'll be short a CSI next weekend."
Sara's pager vibrated on her hip. Unclipping it from her waistband she checked the digital screen.
"I'll get back to you on this, alright? I have to go talk to Jones."
"Fine, fine. But make sure to call me as soon as possible."
--
His eyes were dilated under the florescent lights. Sweat gathered at his brow, slowly making tracks down his forehead. He stared at the lights with slightly unfocused eyes. He leaned back in his chair, his thin greasy hair giving off a sickly sheen.
"I told you before, and I'll tell you again: I don't know who these women are." His voice was a whisper, his gaze leaving the lights and glided over the interrogation room's dark walls. He leaned forward, splaying his hands out on the cool metal table in front of him.
Across from him Sara sat. Her hair was dark against her black pant suit. Her eyes were sharp and piercing, tracking his every movement.
"We have tremendous evidence that places you at the scene of the eight murders." Sara stated, her emotions veiled, making her sound disinterested.
The man left his inspection of the walls to the woman. He studied her face, as though he was trying to memorize its every crevice. His eyes showed open appreciation; she bit back a snarl.
"Murder?" He scoffed, as though it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. "Where is this evidence? Why am I not locked up if you…investigators," he threw a glance towards the mirror on the side of the room, "… are so sure?" He leaned back in an easy stance; his eyes strayed to her soft brown hair, studying how it laid against her face.
Sara crossed her arms and leaned back, studying him as though he were a distasteful spider. "You will be. With such extensive evidence, you're looking at the death penalty." Her voice was low and cold. "I am giving you the opportunity to confess."
Henry Jones stared at her a moment, then he turned to look at the pictures lying on the table. "These women are…special. I have set them free. They are free to be accepted into the womb of the afterlife. Where they will no longer be hindered by this world's unnecessary evils. I saved them." His voice was wistful as he gazed at the photos of the eight brutally slain women with tenderness. He caressed one of their pictured faces with his thumb.
Sara felt bile in the back of her throat. She stood up, slamming a hand on the table. "You murdered these women. You did not save them." Suddenly, she was too disgusted to stay in the same room as the serial killer, she motioned for the police officer, who had been mostly forgotten standing in the corner, to take Henry away.
Sara could feel him looking at her as the officer handcuffed him. She looked into the murderers eyes defiantly. His eyes were searching, and slightly puzzled. His voice was soft, "You are interesting, Ms. Sidle. Your soul is so torn. So much strife and heartache." Sara's mouth felt dry. She watched the officer escort Henry out of the room.
Sara sat in the interrogation room alone, trying to collect her thoughts. She had been working on the Jones case for months. He had murdered eight women, all under thirty. Other then their ages, nothing else tied them. They were an assortment of race, jobs, and lived on opposite sides of Las Vegas. It was a fluke he had been caught, really. He was pulled over for speeding. When the officer suspected drug use, and thus searched the vehicle, the knife used to slit all of the murdered women's throats was found in his glove compartment. All the evidence the lab had recovered so far at that moment was leading to an unknown person. When they matched fingerprints, and DNA against Jones, the case split wide open.
She rubbed a hand over her face. Maybe she did need a vacation…even if it was a work convention. She had worked a double and the initial adrenaline from facing Jones was starting to wane. Yawning behind a closed fist she stood and gathered the files and pictures scattered across the table. She nodded at the one-way glass, letting the Detective behind it know he could leave. Sara left the interrogation room and headed towards Grissom's office in a languid gate.
"Hey Griss." Sara said entering Grissom's office; she set down the case files on Grissom's desk. "These are from the Jones case."
"Mm. Yes, thank you Sara." Grissom said glancing up at her. "Good work by the way."
Sara nodded slightly, secretly pleased by his comment. Turning to leave, she stopped when he spoke.
"Catherine said you might take her place at the convention."
Sara shrugged a shoulder, "Maybe. I haven't really decided."
Grissom looked up at her, taking off his glasses. "You should go. You deserve at least a little time to unwind. I know this case hasn't been…" he paused as though searching for the right word, "…easy for you."
Sara felt a faint flicker of annoyance. "I've been fine. You don't need to worry about me, Griss."
Grissom appeared to want to say something else but someone knocked sharply on his door. She turned when the door opened and Detective O'Rielly entered.
"Hello Detective." She facing him with a smile she didn't entirely feel.
"Hello Detective." Grissom repeated, his voice a bit cooler. "How may I help you?"
Detective O'Reilly smiled perfect, white teeth. "Actually I have a proposition for Sara here." He sent her a wink. "A couple of us are heading to get some breakfast and I thought you might like to join us."
Sara looked at Grissom before quickly looking back at the Detective. "Thanks James, that's very nice of you, but I really just want to head home and have a hot shower." Sara stifled a yawn, sending him an apologetic look.
"No problem. This case has taken a toll on everyone." Detective O'Reilly smiled again, thinking Sara looked adorable. He did not notice a certain entomologist was watching him and knew exactly what the Detective was thinking and wasn't pleased.
"Anything else?" Grissom asked a bit too sharply.
"Nope." Detective O'Reilly said, then looked back to Sara. "But if you change your mind just give me a call, you have my number."
Sara smiled, if not a bit forced. "Sure, thanks."
The Detective left as quickly as he came. Sara looked back to Grissom but saw he was once more closed off to the rest of the world.
She sighed quietly. "Well, goodnight then."
Grissom nodded mutely and watched her leave closing his office door with a soft click.
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tbc