TITLE: Appreciation
AUTHOR: jenbachand
PAIRING: Brass with a side of Grissom/Sara
RATING: General
SUMMARY: Brass is worried and takes action.
DISCLAIMER: I made no money from the writing of this fic.
NOTES: This is my fraternizing fic. Thanks so much to mingsmommy for the tireless beta work and to csishewolf for the second set of eyes.
Cameron: Ferris, my father loves this car more than life itself.
Ferris: A man with priorities so far out of whack doesn't deserve such a fine automobile.
– Ferris Bueller's Day Off
The scene was a bloody mess. Literally. It made the scene in Kill Bill Vol. 1 where Uma Thurman took on all those Japanese body guards of Lucy Liu look like a kid's film. There were bodies littering the house with every kind of wound imaginable. Slashed throats, bullet wounds, and bashed in skulls.
It was days like this that made Jim Brass glad he wasn't a CSI anymore. He'd be sticking to the living people and reading over the reports on the evidence collected about the dead bodies. He wasn't sure what exactly had happened recently, but Vegas seemed to be getting harder to live in.
He understood why Sara had fled.
He'd considered leaving after he was shot. When the feelings of uselessness would overwhelm him. That sense that no matter what you do, criminals would still be committing crime and violence would still touch the innocent. It made you want to leave it all behind and go someplace nice without the glitz and glamour. Someplace pleasant and friendly. Far away from the seedy side of life.
So, yeah, he got why the young woman had hightailed it west away from Sin City. He just wished her leaving hadn't left Grissom one of the walking dead. Emotional Zombie Grissom was not a pretty sight.
Pulling himself out of his maudlin thoughts, he focused on the present. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson had come home to find their son and his friends slaughtered in their garage. The only thing missing, other than the dozen lives, was a Red 1961 Ferrari 250 GT California.
Just like in that movie from the 80's.
Jim doubted that whoever stole it would get far. It was a bit like stealing the Hope Diamond; you really couldn't show it off to anyone once you had it.
But criminals were notoriously stupid, so it would be shown off and hopefully the same person who had the car would be the one who killed the kids, making his job easier.
He watched Grissom surreptitiously throughout the night. No, the man wasn't doing well without Sara around. He did his job with his usual expertise, but seemed to be missing a certain spark. There were few smiles, and frankly the tension between Grissom and Sanders was thick enough for Doc Robbins to cut with one of his finely sharpened scalpels. The healthy look he had recently noticed on Grissom was fading and there were dark circles on top of his dark circles.
The rising sun brought an anti-climatic end to the case. The shiny red car was found wrapped around a tree out near the lake. The murder weapons, a shocking array of items for a minor to have in their possession, were all inside the car, and the driver was dead.
Jesse Vargas was an outsider from what Jim could tell when talking to his mother. Few friends, from the poor side of town, and had taken a job working for the Johnsons doing odd jobs on their property. Mrs. Vargas said Jesse frequently complained about how unappreciative the Johnson boy was of all the nice things his family gave him. She sobbingly told Jim about how solemn her son had become, but that she would have never believed him capable of that level of violence.
As Jim walked into the Lab to drop off some things he had collected from the Vargas household, he noticed Grissom leaving. "Gil," he nodded at the other man.
"Jim." Grissom nodded back at him. He sighed. "If you're going to ask about Sara, she's fine, I spoke with her a few days ago."
"It's not Sara I'm worried about." Jim gave his friend a look. "Want to go grab a bite after I drop these off?"
He expected Grissom to decline; the man wasn't actually into the whole sharing feelings thing. But in a weary "might as well" gesture, Grissom shrugged an acceptance.
The diner they stopped at was known for quick service, good food, and decent coffee, no matter what the hour. Their waitress was perky and efficient, smiling while quickly filling their mugs and taking their orders. As they sat and waited on their food, Jim broached the subject again.
"I'm worried about you Gil. Since Sara left," Jim gave the other man a grimace, "well, frankly, you look like crap."
"Thanks, Jim." Grissom frowned down into his mug. He sighed and made to say something, but shook his head and stared down into the brown depths of his coffee.
Their plates arrived and mugs were refilled with more steaming brew. The two men filled the silence with the sounds of eating for a few minutes. After the edge had been taken off his hunger, and he'd had a few minutes to consider what to say, Jim offered his friend a bit of advice.
"Look. I don't know how long you and Sara have been playing at this, but you've been in love with her for longer than you'd ever admit to anyone." He frowned into his coffee cup. "I'm sorry I gave you a hard time when she first got here." He shrugged, "Maybe if I'd kept my mouth shut you would have made a move sooner." At Grissom's look of protest he held up a hand to stop him. "Whether you would have or not, we won't know, but I know this, if my girl was hurt, and I could take some of the fifteen weeks I had on the books for personal time, I'd be there, even if it was just staying in the same town and letting her know I was there for her."
The scientist chewed on the corner of his lip for a silent moment before shaking his head. "I don't know Jim, she's so independent." He cupped his hands around his coffee mug as if seeking warmth. "She swears she's ok." He gave a half shrug, part feigned indifference, part uncertainty.
"She's not." Brass spoke decisively. "She wouldn't have left if she was. She wouldn't walk away without a fight if something wasn't wrong." Idly, he shifted the salt and pepper shakers to the other side of the table. "Obviously, I don't know her as well as you do, but I'm thinkin' maybe you're too hurt to be thinking clearly." He pushed his plate away and moved his coffee cup a little closer. "The Sara Sidle I know is a fighter. And, yeah, she's independent…maybe, too independent, but I know from my experience with her she has trouble admitting when she needs help." The detective noted the sudden spark of hope in the other man's eyes; Jim had cracked the bugman's shell, now to make him take flight. "She needs you; she might not want to admit it, but she does."
"My cases..." Grissom started to protest.
"Are not nearly as important as the woman you love. Go after your woman, Gil," Jim stated firmly, with a bit of a grin peaking out. And when Grissom smiled back, he knew it wouldn't be long before Sara Sidle was home with Gil Grissom and that drooling mutt of theirs.
And that was good, cause like the kid in that movie said, "Life goes by pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."