Guess Again
Disclaimer: Still waiting for CSI to go up for auction.
Spoilers: Up to Grave Dangers Parts I and II.
A/N: I figured if I could at least get out a one-shot or something, then I might have a fighting chance to write something longer.
"Marie."
"Pretty, but no."
"Priscilla."
Pregnant silence ensued. Then:
"Do I even have to dignify that with a response?"
"I guess not, that was a sort of… never mind. Jocelyn?"
"Neat name, but, sadly, no."
"Danica?"
"Wrong."
"Darryl?"
"I'd have to say no."
"Dana?"
"Is it just me, or do you have a fixation with the letter "D"?"
Greg threw up his arms in exasperation as he leaned far back in his chair, and literally huffed his breath out from his lungs. Together with Sara, they were the only people in the break room at the crime lab, indulging in the stash of Blue Hawaiian that was secreted away in one of the cupboards. So often the lab was like this now – everyone was quiet and went about their daily, or in some cases, nightly, business without flair or pause, getting what needed to be done. It had been like this since the incident with Nick.
Which was why Greg had started trying to liven everyone's evening's up with casual, innocent banter. Most often, the topics were about how this neighbor's cat had managed to get stuck in that neighbor's attic, convincing the poor people that their house had been haunted until their gerbil farm's populace had suddenly suffered great disappearances. The simple conversations also often led to simple questions, much like the one Greg now pestered his coworker with.
"Sara, it's just your middle name, why are you so defensive about it?" Greg grumbled, his male pride now scorned because his guessing skills had been honed towards the criminal and obtuse rather than the simplicity of a name, which was stumping him so completely. Secretly he also wanted the information because it both brought him closer to Sara, who he had unrequitedly pined after for the last five years, and the banter also seemed to cheer her up, something that was often a hard sought after reaction from her recently.
"Maybe because I enjoy your incessant pestering before work Greg," Sara deadpanned, but a small smiled quickly betrayed her monotonous voice. "It brightens my otherwise uneventful day."
"Can you at least give me a hint?"
Sara smirked into her mug as she raised it to her lips. "We don't get free hints on our cases; why should this be any different?"
"Because my lethal Hojem pout is utterly irresistible when fully powered?" he purred out, and Sara burst into peals of laughter, both at his words, and at the childish yet somehow seductive tone of his voice.
"Sorry Greg," she laughed, "But I'm afraid I'll have to pass on the experience."
Shoulders drooping for dramatic effect, Greg shifted in his chair and thought of a new approach.
"Does it start with a "Y"?"
"Does what start with a "Y"?"
Both the CSIs looked up at the sudden appearance of their supervisor, who had voiced the question. In a stride Grissom entered fully into the break room, clutching an assignment slip in one hand beside him and his own CSI mug in the other. Grabbing an empty chair beside Greg, he gave the young man a glare, and sheepishly, the CSI removed his feet from up on the table and placed them flat on the floor.
"One could easily believe you're reverting to your old ways, doing that, Greg," Grissom intoned.
"Sorry," came the mumbled reply.
Sara sat in her chair, smile still lingering on her face, watching the two men interact. Though it had always been a fact that Grissom was the alpha male in the lab, barking orders and giving praise alike, it had been more and more obvious that Greg was rising fast in the older man's eyes. Grissom's voice pulled her out of her reverie as he explained something.
"Seeing as how Sofia has left on maternity and Nick is still recovering, the lab has been short handed all around."
All three of the CSIs became solemn at the mention of Nick's condition, as the incident, weeks away as it was, was still a very fresh wound for all of them.
"Swing shift will be temporarily working with us starting next Tuesday, and though the shift will be awkward for some of us…" he trailed off, not mentioning how Catherine would no longer be in a full supervisory position soon, "I'm sure it will be far better working as a team again with everyone.
"With that said, you two have got a 419 at the Tangiers. Brass is waiting for you."
As it was her own private ritual, Sara stopped by Grissom's office on her way home from the shift. The case she and Greg had been assigned turned out to be pretty much open and shut, much to her unusual delight. Working extra hours, and the overtime, had lost their zeal to the CSI III, and as much as she had hated to admit it, she realized a while ago that even the job itself was losing that normally squeaky clean, attractive shine it used to show off.
Knocking to announce her presence, Sara sidestepped a crate of empty specimen jars beside the doorway and ploughed right into Grissom's office to take up temporary residence in one of the chairs before his desk, crossing her jean-clad legs neatly. Grissom had watched her enter, and he was grateful for her being there, acting as a brief reprieve from paperwork and pensive thoughts alike.
As usual, Sara was the first to speak.
"Anything happen here during shift?" she asked.
"Other than my delight from having avoided Ecklie for the duration of it? Not really."
"Ecklie?"
"He's been on the prowl in attempts to get everyone motivated again, or so he claims. It's my personal belief that he's just trying to find someone to yell at."
Sara grinned, easily picturing the self-involved assistant director storming arrogantly about the halls, mowing down a random lab tech or two that got in his way.
"It really doesn't surprise me," she admitted. She sat there, staring at the pattern of her jeans for a moment. She looked up at Grissom, met his eyes questioning eyes, as if he was curious as to why she was still here.
"So, uh-"
"What was going on with you and Greg earlier, Sara?"
Sara turned to Grissom, an expression of slight surprised confusion coming over her features as she thought for a moment. "Oh, in the break room. You heard us?"
"Yeah."
"Just a playing a guessing game. Greg was wondering what my middle name is."
Grissom's eyebrows rose slightly, and he asked, "Why didn't you just tell him outright?"
Sara didn't respond right away, so he glanced up from the mound of paperwork before him to see that an ugly expression had washed over her face, quickly replaced with a wry, twisted grin. Her eyes were smoldering – there was really no other word for the dark intensity of emotion they had ignited with – and Grissom instantly began to regret his words, though he wasn't quite sure why.
"Of all the people to ask something like that, it had to be you," she vehemently spat out, her contralto voice dropping down into harsh, guttural notes. Grissom's eyebrows shot up in confusion at her statement and the emotion poured into it. What had happened to make Sara lash out with that level of anger and resentment?
On a whim, he decided to find out.
"Sara, what are you talking about?" His voice was quiet and even, as though talking to a child. The words only seemed to incur more of her wrath, however.
"How can you even ask me that? You, who hold everyone at bay, and never talk about yourself or your past."
Grissom's expression went blank, though not from his usually stoic guarding of emotions. Genuine confusion overtook him, confusion of what Sara was hinting towards.
"Sara, I'll ask you again, what are you talking about?"
"YOU!" she quietly yelled, somehow whispering and screaming at once. She continued:
"Where did you learn to sign, Grissom? Why don't you speak about your parents? Why did you leave a year ago for almost a month and not tell anyone where you were?"
Shell-shocked would have been an accurate term to describe Grissom after Sara had finished with her bombardment of questions. Seeing her handiwork etched on his face in a mix of confusion, awe, and worry, Sara was slightly taken aback. She hadn't meant to unleash herself like that. And, as much as Sara hated to, she let go of her anger, and calmed herself.
"You say nothing about yourself, Grissom, you don't even bother to play a guessing game, and yet you question why I do it with Greg? That isn't even fair."
Her voice had almost cracked on that last word. Still stunned, Grissom still sat in his chair as if he was mute. Sara took this as another cue to continue.
"Even more unfair," she began, her mouth once again shaping into a deformed grin, "Is the fact that I shared with you my worst memories, and the horrid past that accompanied them, while I don't even know your favorite color."
Mouth agape and dumbfounded, Grissom was finally the one subdued into silence, an odd juxtaposition from what he usually inflicted upon others with his eccentric habits. His jaw was moving, but no sound was coming out. The words that usually flowed had been dammed with sticks and mud made from Sara's statements. He slouched into his chair more, averting his eyes downwards to the hands folded in his lap. Hands… why hadn't he taken matters into them before this, before it had progressed to this point? He reached up one of the offending hands before him and rubbed his jaw, his bristly beard a prickly reminder of reality.
"Sara, there are very good reasons why I didn't disclose how I learned to sign, and the same can be said about my parents, and even past."
"That doesn't mean you have to constantly clam up about anything else, Grissom. How do you think I feel, sitting here, knowing that I've exposed my own most-guarded secrets?"
Grissom sighed, and met her eyes pleadingly. Seeing the look, Sara finally backed down, and felt a cold twinge of resignation in her shoulders. She sighed.
"You know what? Fine. Let's just pretend this never even –"
"My mother was diagnosed with otosclerosis before I was born. It's a hereditary, genetic hearing condition that eventually renders the patient deaf after a length of time. She finally lost all of her hearing when I was five. It ultimately was the reason for my parents divorce, as my father couldn't handle his suddenly handicapped wife, and the son that also carried her defection, as he called it. I haven't seen him since. I had to learn to sign in order to communicate with my mother."
Sara was now the mirror image of what Grissom had been earlier – stunned into silence, she could only sit, mesmerized by the fact she was so blatantly unaware of the man before her.
"Two years ago, I started experiencing the first symptoms of the condition – my hearing would fade, if you will, in and out at times, and often I felt like I was underwater and everyone was trying to reach me from the surface." He gave a harsh laugh, and Sara started at the sound. "It wasn't until I was almost too late that I finally called and made an appointment to get the necessary corrective surgery. That time also coincided with when you had asked me out, Sara."
Grissom paused, and met her eyes at that point.
"I was losing myself Sara, not just my hearing. Everything was falling apart, and everything was going wrong." He ran a hand haphazardly through his salt and pepper curls, as if the action would clear his thoughts. "If I lost my hearing, would that mean I couldn't capably do my job anymore because I couldn't communicate properly? If I lost my job, then that would be the end for me, because I am my job. When my mother lost hers, it ruined her, and in turn, her family. We coped, but it was hard. I couldn't bear that I might end up the same way as her. I didn't want pity – I'd had enough of it when I was younger with my mother.
"That was why I didn't tell anyone, Sara."
Sara had recovered enough to respond, by this point.
"Grissom, you know we would have supported you through it." Though, when she said "we", Grissom could have sworn it sounded more like "I."
"I was in an emotional mess, and I just didn't want anyone to know. Gruesome Grissom isn't supposed to have any emotions, remember?" He shrugged. "It ended up that Catherine was the only one who ever found out at the lab, and that was because she was at the hospital getting antibiotics for Lindsey's ear infection at the time. She said I apparently had a 'nice ass hanging out of that sexy hospital gown.'"
Sara blushed, instantly imagining the picture in her mind. She dismissed it, however, and turned her focus back to the issue at hand. Grissom was now watching her, and she him, the both of them waiting for some off-the-wall comment to spring forth from their closed mouths. But it never came.
Learning forward, Grissom spoke, "So… now that we've got both our issues out in the open, and neither one of us has yet run for the hills… what are we going to do?"
Sara gave a small smile. "I don't know about you, but I really could go for either breakfast or a shower. Still debating the merits of both right now."
Grissom frowned slightly, and then adopted his Grissom-look – the pensive, deep in thought expression that was so characteristically him.
"Ah… Sara," he began hesitantly. Opposite him, Sara's posture had gone fully alert, and she waved a hand for him to continue. "If… it's not too late, would you like to turn those dinner plans you proposed so long ago into ones for breakfast? I hear the diner has a new menu out, and I've yet to try it."
Right then and there, Sara started to glow, almost, in Grissom's office, and she nodded fervently, her eyes almost disappearing under the huge smile she was sporting. Grissom answered it with his own wide smile.
"So, meet you at the diner in half an hour?"
"Sure!"
Sara got up and started walking towards the door to leave when a thought occurred to Grissom.
"One question, Sara, before you go," he asked, soft and contemplative. His words stopped her at the door frame, and she turned back, leaning her shoulders against it.
"Hmm?"
"What is your middle name?" he asked, voice gaining back some of its life and Grissom-like playfulness.
At that, Sara broke into one of her dazzling, million-wattage Sara Sidle smiles.
"I don't have one."