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She sits hunch-backed like a crooked exclamation mark. Red lights on the windshield and a bittersweet kiss, but it's not the taste of beer that lingers for hours afterward.
Before, they were in the bar. Silence was not an option. "Don't mind Hank" and these things happen, alright? Don't get so drunk and sad. But she said, Just another one, okay. Smiling. Crying and drunk and I'm-okay's. She was. Feel like Grissom: observing but only curious, not compassionate. Not pitying the shitload of misery and beer sloshing this way and that in her glass. Just another case to crack. This is science. Feel like Grissom: machine-like. The human factor is the only variable, the question without an answer. But this is science, this is work.
"That's enough, Sara. I'll take you home."
And she nods, a crooked exclamation mark, sitting bent like a mountain finally conquered.
"Cupa coffee and you'll be fine in the morning."
Sure, she forces a lopsided grin like it's real. A gentle sqeeze? The human factor, is why she joined the CSI. The human.
"Thanks, Cath."
And a quick kiss, before she knows. It was real. Not.
Yes. Yes, yes.
She'd feel like going home to less than she had yesterday.
But Lindsey.
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