This was written as a response to geekfiction's 'I Love the 80's' ficathon. I decided to turn it into a series. A few notes before you read, however. This is in present tense and thus a challenge for me. I was hoping that this would make me think more critically about my writing, so there are likely to be errors in tense. Feel free to point these out to me if you come across them. It would be helpful.
On another note, I'm clearly depressed about the departure of one of my all-time favorite characters, so we'll see how long my morale remains on the up-and-up.
Peace out, Sidle.
It's getting out of hand; the man isn't paying attention, at all. Scratching a note as though he's still in elementary school and sliding it across his desk to the woman next to him. When the woman rolls her eyes, elbow "accidentally" pushing it off of the desk, Grissom almost laughs, but pulls the emotion deep down into his stomach, instead announcing to the class a talk by a prominent chemist at San Francisco University next week.
The young man reaches over and touches the woman, Miss Sidle, Grissom thinks he knows her name from her papers, but she shrugs the man off, smiles facetiously and pulls her notebook a little closer towards her.
The class ends with Professor Grissom suggesting they pick up 'Crime Scene Methods of Forensic Detection, Second Edition', like always. The class files out languidly, their shoes scuffing on university grade linoleum, leaving the lonely instructor to gather his things in silence.
But it's not silence; vague whispering emerges from the back of the room, causing him to look up from the catastrophe of words spilled all over the pages in front of him. "No, no, really, thank, but no, you know?" her voice is stretched, strained and angry and she looks up at the man-Tony? Tom?, something with a T, Grissom thinks-and rolls her eyes again, shoving two thick notebooks into her ratty bag.
Ms. Sidle tosses her hair over her shoulder and slings the bag on it, getting up, preparing to leave, but the man with the T-name grabs her again and she swings around like she's going to backhand him.
Her name is Sara Sidle, Sara A. Sidle, he remembers now and though he doesn't want to, he smiles wryly up at the pair. "Miss, Miss Sidle is it?"
Her head snaps around, and she looks at him, eyes wide and he can't tell if they're pleading or surprised. "Ye-uh, yeah?"
Grissom swallows and angles his chin up, attempting to appear as a figure of authority. "Can I speak with you please, for a moment?"
T-name says, "I'll wait for you," and slides into a desk and crosses his legs, like he belongs, as she begins a slow saunter down the stairs.
"Actually," Grissom says, "I'd like the room, please."
He doesn't see, but rather hears T-name slink away, his departure finalizes by the auditorium doors quietly snicking shut.
Visibly, the woman, who is now before him, relaxes and smiles a little as she shifts uncomfortably. "My um, my paper? Was it my last paper because, well..."
The smile he manages is as genuine as he's ever felt; nervous and stumbling about her words, she must have never had a bad grade on a paper in her life. He could have a million filthy thoughts about her right then and there, with her biting her lip and staring at him, but he won't because she's not his type, not at all.
The large sweater she's wearing slides off of her shoulder and she cringes like she knows she shouldn't be wearing it because it's a decade out of style, like she's now made herself entirely too conspicuous, like she knows he's seen it. "Just... coming to your rescue," he mutters, pretending that he doesn't know that his mouth had gone completely and totally dry. Like he isn't intrigued by the smattering of coffee colored freckles across her shoulder.
What... is going on? He thinks about Linda back at home, at her apartment, writing him an email and he doesn't care. What is... going on?
"I uh, didn't mean to overstep my bounds, and if I did, I'm sorry," he looks up at her over the rims of his glasses. She, in turn, raises a brow and flicks the corner of her lips at him in a strange half-smile.
Sara pushes her long hair over her shoulder, a curl catching on the edge of one of her earrings. "Not at all, I should be thanking you, Doctor Grissom. Tommy, Thomas?-I think that's his name, never cared to ask-he uh, doesn't take rejection well." She licks her lips and he forgets what he's doing, just for a second. Regaining his composure, he smiles an actual smile, full wattage.
Sara matches it; this is... strange. "Or at all," he goes back to rearranging his papers. It's nice, the easy banter, the tiny twitches her lips make, the way she crinkles her nose and sniffles, just a little.
There's a shuffle and it takes her a moment, but she rearranges her bag on her shoulder, shifting her weight to her right leg, standing there like she expects something from him. "That uh, blood spatter pattern analysis was interesting. Recreating it, I mean, I'd be interested to know more about differentiating blood spatter patterns between temperatures." Her thumb begins rubbing against her palm, in between the pointer and middle, the movement creating a low, raspy sound in the still room.
Outside a janitor shuffles by, and they look up to the door. Grissom shrugs and packs the last of his notebooks into his briefcase. "I'm happy to... explain-," the friction increases, thumb rubbing, rubbing, agitated. "Am I keeping you?" It comes out harsher than he intends but she doesn't receive it as such.
"I was, I mean I was gonna have a smoke, you can, you know..." Trailing off, she thrusts her thumb in the direction of the auditorium doors.
Grissom slings the strap of his case over his shoulder and shoves one hand into a pocket, "I don't smoke."
Sara licks her lips again and begins fumbling inside of her bag for her pack. "Doesn't mean you can't join me."
They're outside and it's nippier than it should be, the wind coming off the coast to blow across her face; when her cheeks go pink, he finally realizes how young she must be. Sara doesn't notice him noticing her because she's too busy pulling a hideous knit scarf from her bag, wrapping it around her neck. "I miss winter, you know?"
And then she's smacking the small carton of cigarettes against her palm, wrestling a thin stick out, placing it to her lips. When she retrieves the lighter, hand scratching around inside of her large tote, it takes her a few tries to get the tobacco going, the wind a formidable opponent. "Where are you from," he finds himself asking as she emits a breath of smoke, turning her head away from him, then picking a piece of hair off of her tongue.
Sara licks her lips, takes another puff and leans back against the stone slab behind her. "All over, really, born in Tamales Bay, was in Stockton for a while, next was Fresno, always wanted to wind up in Napa, never did." For a moment, she stares at the glowing end of the cigarette before flicking some ashes off of the end. "But the winter thing, I was in Boston for a while."
Grissom makes sure his briefcase is against the stone and sits across from her, drawing his knees up so that their toes are inches from each other. "For school?" There is no pain in his voice, though there should be, as his back and knees protest at the position.
A chuckle was her answer, followed up by a nod, another drag. "Yeah, I uh, didn't expect that, that chill of the wind, but, it was nice, a nice change."
"New England does have a certain charm," his voice is low and enchanted and he wonders why. He hates smoking, doesn't take to people who smoke, hates addictions. But she's bringing that air into her lungs like she's contemplating every breath and maybe it's different somehow. "New Hampshire in autumn is... is something else."
"Yeah," Sara agrees and crosses one leg over the other, "Didn't get too much time away from school but ah, when I did, I was all over the place. Skiing in Vermont, needed to have lobster in Maine, but yeah, spent a lot, a lot of time studying."
She's smart and smiles a lot, he already knows this. "Where, uh," he's not sure why he finds it difficult to speak, he's chatted with plenty of students, he's just never shot the breeze. "Studying where?"
"Harvard," she says it like it meant nothing, and scratches her cheek, flicking the stub of her cigarette off to her left. "But that's enough about that," comes her voice, tinged with finality. "What about you? If you'd care to share," her hands wrap up in her lap, as though she's settling in for a long story.
There's a blush on his cheeks, he's sure; Grissom doesn't like talking about himself, wonders where she has the nerve to make the conversation so personal. Then again, he'd been the one to inquire about her to begin with. "Sharing is caring, after all," comes her sarcastic quip and she looks off to her right, at the parking lot. "Better yet, come with me," precocious and acting on instinct, she's a breath of fresh air, he thinks, the wind picks up again, blowing frantic curls into her face. "Let's get something to eat, I'm starving. Only had coffee all day."
Her short boots click against the granite as she hops down, picking up her bag from the ground; she looks at him expectantly. It's time for him to put a halt to all of this frivolity. "Fraternizing with a student wouldn't look too good for me, would it?" He almost winks to soften the blow, but doesn't.
For a split-second, a fraction of a moment, she looks taken aback, but she recovers flawlessly. "Fraternizing? I promise we'll both keep our pants on, and I'm a student, or was, so past tense, I'm here on continuing ed with the San Francisco lab." Grissom blinks at her. Colleague then perhaps? "Let's go. I want Thai and I want to talk."
Headstrong, that's what she is, and he's stunned that when she walks away from him without another word, stunned that he follows behind her. Soon they're side by side and she's rubbing her fingers again and he wonders how long she's been a smoker.
"How long have you been a smoker?" he asks, managing to keep his tone level.
Sara chuckles; it's an odd, offbeat sound, too deep to sound normal, but intriguing. "That obvious? Damn..." Sara smiles over at him and he swears she's closer to him than she was before. "Trying to cut back." Then, she grants him a stunning grin, "They can kill you, you know?"
"Is that so?" he plays along and wants to not be enamored with the fact that her mouth is so perfect, even with the generous gap between her front teeth. Linda, Linda would surely email him that evening. About something important, something important, she had told him when he'd hastily cut their conversation short in the early hours of the evening previous.
Sara nods and turns down a side street. "True fact."
They eat with relative ease, though she manages to get peanut sauce on her jeans and swears something fierce as she attempts to scrub it out with a napkin. And she pays, and suggests ice cream and as he watches her take her first lick of the soft serve, he forgets that there's an email in his inbox that he needs to read.
So when he gets back to his hotel room that evening, he's almost shocked at what he finds.
You can't seem to speak to me over the phone, so apparently it has to be like this. I can't do this anymore, Gil. I'm always at work or you're always at work, and we never see each other. We both knew this wouldn't last.
But you're amazing, don't forget that.
I'll see you in Chicago in April for the COSA conference.
Be well.
Linda.
Grissom sits back in his desk chair, hands clasped behind his neck; if someone were to ask him, he wouldn't say he was heartbroken. No, not at all.
The next time he sees her, she's in line in front of him, waiting to get a coffee. Her hair is done up, with pieces falling out of the elastic and he watches her swipe at her eyes a few times before he makes his presence known.
"Long night?" It's only 9 a.m., so she could just be tired, but he needs a way to break the ice.
She spins around and nearly falls into him, her bag swinging dangerously below his belt. "Oh, jeez, sorry, no I uh, I just don't sleep... sometimes," Sara turns back around, once again facing the counter and he almost misses her, "a lot."
She's quick to order her latte and he steps up beside her, orders his own coffee and pays the cashier for the both of them.
When she grabs her cup and sips from it, he forgets to take his change and forgets how easily he let Linda go. "Thank you," she sighs to him, into the cup. "I was going to read for class today but, well, clearly, you're here now and..."
"And," he questions, wondering where she could possibly be going with this.
"It'd be rude to ignore the person who bought me coffee," there's a shy grin on her face and she moves out of line and looks over her shoulder at him, demanding he follow. And of course he does, holding the steaming cup in front of him as he meanders through the morning crowd towards the back of the establishment.
There is a small table with two large chairs and they manage to sink into them without spilling their beverages all over themselves. For the first time in a long while, he's not sure what to do with himself and he settles back in the large chair, not trying to fight the lack of posture it demands.
From her bag, she retrieves a large wad of newspaper and reaches across the table; blindly handing it to him as she also manages to pull out the book he'd recommended last class. "Okay. I lied, I'm going to be rude for a minute; I want to finish this chapter. Knock yourself out with my crossword." He glances down at the paper. A few words have already been written down.
In pen.
And she's confident, that's good to know. "Unless you have an aversion to words," Sara mentions, but she's already got a highlighter out and is reading the book. She really won't hear anything he has to say.
Grissom can't help but feel his heart lurch and his mouth turn up; she's well... adorable. It's, again, yes, he finds her refreshing. Refreshing. That's what he'll call it.
Sure.
Reaching forward, he takes a sip of his coffee and allows it to slide down his throat while he reads thirty-two down. He's on fifteen across when she sits forward and grabs her coffee, ignoring him completely in favor of the words in her book. He looks at her now, noticing her spandex leggings and Harvard sweatshirt. He realizes that she's done something, something with her hair. It's... shiny, and seems coiffed.
Is she trying to impress him? Has she chosen to... no, that's an absurd thought and he banishes it, immediately penning in his response to the easy crossword clue. Sara switches her legs, crosses them the other way and leans back in the chair, brow furrowing as she lays down a neon green streak on the page.
He's only slightly taken with her when she goes to dog-ear a page, thinks better of it, and leans forward to rip off a piece of the newspaper, placing it between two previous pages. "Sorry," she mumbles, smiles, highlights one more thing and then closes the book. "That was just... how's your coffee, and how's the, the crossword."
He knows the coffee is too hot as he watches her gulp it; Sara's nervous, and he can't figure out why.
Then again, he can't figure out why he's beginning to feel nervous. "They're both... good?" There's a question in his voice and it makes her laugh. Her voice is so low, the tone, the pitch, the pace. He's never heard anything like it before. And he's fairly certain that he'd like to hear more of it-much more of it-in the future.
Sara's eyes tease him and she moves her body so that she can see over the edge of the paper; he imagines them sitting in bed, on a Sunday morning, doing the same thing. Shaking himself to the present, he places the thin paper on the table for her to look at. "I'm impressed," rushes from her lips as she assesses his work, and she falls back into the chair, pulling her legs up underneath her.
And then comes a question he's expecting, but one that he isn't really expecting. "How long are you in town?" Sara's fingers sift through her hair and push it out of her eyes.
Pieces stick up; he finds it endearing.
He doesn't tell her.
"Why?" is the first word out of his mouth and he immediately regrets it; accusatory.
God, she dips a finger into what little whipped cream that's left in her cup and licks it off. "Why not? I, just, yesterday was nice, I mean, we shared a meal, I managed not to become bored and it seemed like you enjoyed yourself." There's a beat and Sara finally makes eye contact with him again. "Or you're a great actor."
"I did enjoy myself," Grissom agreed and stared her down, unsure of what else to say. What would one say in such a situation? What did one feel in such a situation? Limbo, that's where he felt he was, the loss of his girlfriend with no emotion involved, finding himself thinking about the young woman in front of him far too much in the past day and a half.
Day... and a half.
Odd, it feels like longer.
"Good," she says and hides behind the rim of her mug. "Now finish that puzzle, wouldn't want to be late for class."
He does as told, but leaves the last few boxes for her to fill in. K-I-S-M-E-T.