Disclaimer: CSI is not mine, I'm just playing with the characters. The song Exit Wounds by The Script also isn't mine, but I loooove it and I think it fits GSR very well :)
A/N: I stopped writing for awhile but I discovered the first chapter of this story sitting on my desk (from a year ago) and I was inspired to finish it. This is the second story I've written as a result of being mad at my English teacher lol I'm setting this story around season five, but after Nesting Dolls and its before Grissom and Sara are in a relationship. This also is not a work in progress. This is the first time I've completed a multi-chapter story before posting it, but I am posting it in sections. It's not beta'd but I've reread it a bunch of times for errors, I apologize if you find any.
Rating: M, for language and subject matter.
Exit Wounds
My hands are cold, my body's numb
I'm still in shock, what have you done?
My head is pounding, my vision's blurred
Your mouth is moving, I don't hear a word
~ Exit Wounds by The Script
Prologue
There was the dull tink of glasses on the maple wood bar and the chatter of people was a distant garbled sound that her mind blocked out. She was thinking, though thinking didn't do much good in a drunken haze. If someone asked, she'd say she didn't have a drinking problem. Her problem was that she couldn't handle certain cases at work. And then because she couldn't handle those certain cases, she would go to a bar until she couldn't remember the faces of the victims she had seen laid out on the metal autopsy room tables that shift. No, the alcohol wasn't the problem. It was her job, and her past. Her past was the reason that she couldn't handle the effects that some cases had on her.
Bursts of light would blind her for a moment because of the alcohol consumption, but with it would come a crime scene photo she had taken, the twisted and mangled body of the broken girl in the desert. Somewhere in the sea of alcohol warming her body, she had forgotten the girl's name and, for a moment, she realized that was probably a disgrace to the dead girl. Even if they could not catch her killer, she should not be forgotten. But all Sara wished for at that moment was to completely forget the thirty-eight hours straight she had worked, and everything she had seen. The overtime was in no way because the case was hot. The girl had been dead at least 2 weeks, and the wind and the swirling sand in the desert had left little valuable trace evidence to be discovered. There really was no more she could do. But when Grissom came and forced her to leave, she refused to admit that she had done all that she could. And so he had made her leave, offered to drive her home but she insisted she would be fine. Maybe if she had gone with him, she wouldn't be sitting in this place right now, her finger tracing the rim of her glass, her head propped up on her hand. But it didn't matter. He did not have to take care of her; she had walked to the bar, left her car at the lab to ensure that she could not be pulled over for another DUI.
Now, all she wanted to do was forget. Forget all the photos and the questionings of hysterical parents and relatives and everything that she had imagined the girl had suffered before her death…
"May I buy you a drink, doll?" So immersed in her own thoughts, Sara had failed to notice the man move over to her private corner of the bar. She lifted her head and glanced him over more out of habit than knowing what to look for, her normal scrutiny and suspicion for strangers was marred by the alcohol swirling her thoughts.
"No, thank you," she responded, her speech treading the line between slurred and incoherent. "I should go," she said, sliding off the stool but her legs failed to hold firm and she found herself being tugged back onto the stool by strong arms.
"What's your name?" he asked. Her eyes glanced over at the hand he had left grasping her upper arm, as if to keep her from losing her balance and toppling over. She appeared to be deep in thought for a moment before she answered in a voice hinting uncertainty.
"Sara," she said.
"Sara, I'm Jack. How about I call you a cab?"
"No, no. I'm fine," she insisted. "I'm just going to walk home." She slung her purse over her shoulder and placed her feet on the floor, this time her legs were a bit steadier.
"It wouldn't be safe for a girl as pretty as you to walk down the streets of Vegas in your condition. You don't know what kind of creeps could be out there," he said. Sara scoffed.
"Believe me, I know," she muttered, allowing him to take her arm. She followed as he weaved his way out of the bar and out onto the sidewalk. There was no need to call a cab; there was already a row of yellow and black cars along the curb waiting for the intoxicated late night patrons. Jack pulled open one of the doors and Sara practically fell into the car. She watched him from the window as he closed the door and went around the car only to open the door on the other side and climb in beside her.
"I can get home okay from here," Sara said, her words mumbled and strung together.
"Maybe, but I'd feel better if I saw you to your door," Jack said, something glinted in his sharp blue eyes but Sara wasn't sure if it was an emotion or just a reflection from the tail lights of the car in front of them. "Where do you live?" he asked, nudging her lightly.
"Uh..." she murmured, fumbling a few seconds with her bag, retrieving her driver's license. "Here," she said, pointing to the address on the card. Jack recited the address of her apartment to the cab driver and soon they were in the traffic of the strip.
Her head fell against his leather jacket clad shoulder and her eyes flickered closed a few times during the ride to her apartment, the cab muffling the sounds of late night partiers and tourists on the strip. Jack had to jostle her awake, pay the cabbie, and then run around to the other side of the cab before she could attempt to step out on her own. His arm around her waist, he followed a path through the complex until coming across her apartment number. If she had been lucid, Sara would have picked up on the small detail that Jack did not tell the cab driver to wait. But her mind was far from logical now.
Sara fished her keys out of her jeans pocket; they clattered together as her hands fumbled with the carved metal. She missed the lock in the door and the keys fell to the floor. Jack bent to retrieve them and then unlocked the apartment door, pushing Sara inside. Before she regained her balance, he had the door closed and locked and her back pinned against it, arms twisted together above her head.
CSIGSRCSIGSR
Her head was pounding even before she opened her eyes to the harsh sunlight spilling in through the blinds which she had, strangely, not closed. She pushed herself to sit up and it felt like her brain was rolling around in her skull. Her wrists ached as she moved to sit on the edge of her bed. Her legs were bare, and so was her upper body. This wasn't right. She didn't sleep naked. Hell, she couldn't remember going to sleep. The pain in her wrists had her eyes shifting to the tender skin, black and blue, as if she'd been held down. Searching her mind for an explanation, she couldn't remember an incident in the interrogation room with a suspect; her case hadn't even gotten that far.
Sara lifted her head to look around the room but found her eyes looking back at her through the mirror above her dresser. Her face was bruised too. The right side, just under her eye, was a mix of purple and black splattered skin swelling over her cheek bone. Gingerly, she brushed the damaged area with her fingertips and winced when they made contact with the fresh bruises. In the reflection from the mirror, she saw her bed was a tousled mess of sheets and blankets wrapped and twisted around each other. She tended to move in her sleep, but not to this extreme.
Standing to adjust the blankets, her eyes caught on something on the floor, the carelessly discarded used condom was enough to send her rushing for the small wicker garbage pail beside her nightstand. Her body revolted and she threw up only liquid in a multitude of colors. It tasted like alcohol coming back up too. And that was her answer. She had gone for a drink or two, or a few, after work, and had carelessly, and stupidly, let her guard down. And someone, whose face she couldn't remember, let alone know if he had even introduced himself, had come into her house and violated her. Had used her. Had raped her.
She dropped to the floor and leaned against the wall for support. Oh God, what else had he done? She just couldn't remember anything after leaving work and walking to the bar, specifically so she wouldn't get pulled over and so Grissom would have nothing else to shove in her face. Oh how she had fucked up.
Without thought, Sara grabbed the cordless phone from her nightstand and began to dial…9...1…1… She halted on the call button. She couldn't call 9-1-1 and say that she believed she was taken advantage of last night but could not remember a single thing. No, it would be like tattling on the man that did this to her meanwhile it didn't even matter because it never would've happened if she hadn't gotten so drunk. They would laugh at her. A brilliant CSI who was aware of every danger Las Vegas posed, let alone every danger the city posed to someone no longer in control of what was happening to them. She clicked the end button, deleting the dialed number, and instead, did the next best thing.
"Hello?" he said, his voice heavy and lazy, hinting that she had woken him from a deep sleep.
"Grissom?" Sara asked, swallowing back the tears burning her throat.
"Sara?" he responded, she could almost picture him becoming more awake at the weakness in her voice. She curled an arm around her legs, closing herself into a tight ball.
"I… I need you," she managed to get out; her voice more high pitched as she was on the verge of tears.
"Where are you? ...Are you home?" he asked alarmed, and she could hear as he got out of bed and started moving around. She nodded, forgetting for a moment that he could not see her.
"Yes," she squeaked out.
"Okay, honey, I'll be right there," he said, and then she hung up the phone.
TBC
A/N: Thank you for taking the time to read this. I hope you'll stick with it 'til the end. I will decide when next to update based on reviews, so please review :) And since this story is completely written, I will try to reply to each review. Thanks again for reading!