"Hey."
That voice, no matter how soft, can distract me from the most absorbing experiment, let alone the mountain of paperwork I'm currently trudging through.
"Sara." She's leaning casually in her usual spot against the door to my office, carefully not intruding.
I'm glad she's not.
I wish she would.
"Nick, Warrick, and I are going to breakfast, if you wanted to come?" Her voice lifts at the end, changing an invitation into a slightly nervous question.
She's settled a mask of neutrality over her features, but her tone gives her away. She's hoping I'll say yes. Why? After all I've put her through, why would she possibly want my company?
I realize she's probably expecting an answer sometime today, so I clear my throat a bit. "Thank you," and happiness flares up in her eyes, and I have to look away--out of shock that breakfast with me is something she apparently wants so badly, and because I can't bear to watch that happiness turn to sorrow as I finish, "but no."
I turn back to the reports covering my desk, taking sick appreciation in the little pattern we have: she reaches out, I close down, she goes away. Painful as it is to watch her leave, it gives me time to regroup.
"Why not?"
"Huh?" My response is unoriginal--it's not even intelligent--but it's all I can manage with my jaw hanging slack. Why hasn't she left? This isn't part of the pattern; it's not the right move. I don't know how to react.
"Why won't you come to breakfast with us? You used to." Despite her words, she isn't accusatory. In fact, she sounds...disappointed.
I panic, realizing that for whatever reason, this time she's decided to be stubborn. She won't go away until she gets an answer. The real one won't do; she doesn't need my emotional baggage piled on top of her own worries. Glancing somewhat frantically around the office, I hit on the perfect excuse.
"Paperwork." A gesture at my desk, covered with forms and memos, should help deter her.
"Right."
Or not. Once again, her tone betrays her; she doesn't belive me. I watch from the corner of my eye as she wavers a little, then shrugs and turns to go. I drop my eyes to the report in front of me, but my head snaps up at her parting shot.
"Your loss, Grissom."
And the she really is gone.
I guess some patterns aren't so easily broken.
That voice, no matter how soft, can distract me from the most absorbing experiment, let alone the mountain of paperwork I'm currently trudging through.
"Sara." She's leaning casually in her usual spot against the door to my office, carefully not intruding.
I'm glad she's not.
I wish she would.
"Nick, Warrick, and I are going to breakfast, if you wanted to come?" Her voice lifts at the end, changing an invitation into a slightly nervous question.
She's settled a mask of neutrality over her features, but her tone gives her away. She's hoping I'll say yes. Why? After all I've put her through, why would she possibly want my company?
I realize she's probably expecting an answer sometime today, so I clear my throat a bit. "Thank you," and happiness flares up in her eyes, and I have to look away--out of shock that breakfast with me is something she apparently wants so badly, and because I can't bear to watch that happiness turn to sorrow as I finish, "but no."
I turn back to the reports covering my desk, taking sick appreciation in the little pattern we have: she reaches out, I close down, she goes away. Painful as it is to watch her leave, it gives me time to regroup.
"Why not?"
"Huh?" My response is unoriginal--it's not even intelligent--but it's all I can manage with my jaw hanging slack. Why hasn't she left? This isn't part of the pattern; it's not the right move. I don't know how to react.
"Why won't you come to breakfast with us? You used to." Despite her words, she isn't accusatory. In fact, she sounds...disappointed.
I panic, realizing that for whatever reason, this time she's decided to be stubborn. She won't go away until she gets an answer. The real one won't do; she doesn't need my emotional baggage piled on top of her own worries. Glancing somewhat frantically around the office, I hit on the perfect excuse.
"Paperwork." A gesture at my desk, covered with forms and memos, should help deter her.
"Right."
Or not. Once again, her tone betrays her; she doesn't belive me. I watch from the corner of my eye as she wavers a little, then shrugs and turns to go. I drop my eyes to the report in front of me, but my head snaps up at her parting shot.
"Your loss, Grissom."
And the she really is gone.
I guess some patterns aren't so easily broken.