A/N. Yet another drabble. The prompt? You guessed it. Contact. Although this isn't technically a drabble anymore, I'm still calling it such.And na-ner-na-ner, you can't stop me. With that random bit of childishness accomplished, I'd like to remind you all that I do not own any part of CSI. Damn.
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Sara is a strong woman.
But sometimes Grissom sees her sitting there, looking so torn down that she seems about ready to collapse. And he feels so empty and so cold, and all that he wants is to reach out and let his fingers brush across that porcelain cheek. Just a moment of contact, an instant of connection to another human being, and then he'll go back to torturing himself in his loneliness. But Grissom never reaches out. Because once you've made contact, there's no retreating. The sentiment, whatever the intent, cannot be explained, only analyzed by the recipient using the given evidence.
And though the evidence never lies, it is often misinterpreted. And misinterpretation is something that neither Grissom nor Sara can afford. Not these days. Therefore, neither is contact.
So they just sit in their labs and freeze under their armor, and wish that they could make contact.