My approach toward life may be more casual than some would like, but I don't drift aimlessly through life as some seem to think. I didn't graduate high school valedictorian at 16 accidentally, you know. Yes, I may tell my share - okay, more than my share - of dirty jokes, but I am tenacious when it comes to the things that really matter to me. From the game of chess I have learned patience and deliberation, and I apply those lessons when pursuing my goals.
You should know that nothing in my life means more to me than Sara Sidle. The fact that she is now fucking our supervisor does not lessen my devotion to her, although it does make me want to beat the crap out of the smug bastard. I keep my hands to myself and bite my tongue, though, because in my heart I know that this nasty little turn of events will run its course just like that ridiculous Hank Pettigrew situation. I know with complete conviction that Gil Grissom is completely unable to give Sara what she needs. For all his brilliance, he possesses some tragic handicaps - he is unable to express deep emotion, and he has no real desire to be truly close to anyone. That he has feelings I have no doubt, but due to whatever emotional aphasia shackles him they are known only to him. With Sara, ultimately that will prove a fatal flaw. I can see her insecurity and frustration mounting, and I hear her troubled sighs when she thinks she's alone and unobserved. I see something else as well - a cooling of his gaze when he looks at her, her looking away when he speaks. It hurts to see her slip into his car at the end of shift, hurts even more to think of his roach-petting hands on her body, but this thing must run its natural course. The first glow of passion has already been spent, and now they begin to see the truth of it all - for Grissom, being present emotionally for anyone is unnatural, a deliberate internal convolution causing serious emotional discomfort. For Sara, it's as natural and necessary as breathing.
She thinks they're alike, but they aren't. Under her reserved surface resides depths of swirling emotion no stranger would ever imagine; in truth she is more passionately caring and loyal than even Nick. Under Grissom's reserved surface lies a brilliant and confusing mind, contemplating and attempting to understanding, but devoting as little feeling to life as possible - a Spockish Zen master trying to find the meaning of life in an ant's nest, the heart of humanity in a mass of roiling maggots. She tries to warm him, and he tries to cool her, but in the end the whole tepid, sticky mess will grow so uncomfortable that both of them will find the feel of it intolerable and withdraw from it. I don't think there will be screaming, or heartbreak, or drama, just a half-hearted acknowledgement that they've both already let go.