Quiet Desperation
Summary: When a girl goes missing, the case threatens to complicate matters between Grissom and Sara.
A/N: Thanks to Ann for the beta. Sorry for the delays in the updates; the real world isn't playing nicely at the moment.
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: Yes, I really do own CSI. To maintain my evil reputation, I will not allow the characters to get involved. Bwhahahaha!

Chapter 7

Tilting his head quizzically, Grissom walked into the Layout Room. Sara sat at the head of the table with piles of materials neatly arranged around her. From the smell, he presumed she'd retrieved the items from a trashcan. She was concentrating on some scraps of paper, and she didn't look up as he approached.

"Shift is nearly over," he commented dryly. She'd pushed even her endurance to the limit, and he wanted her to take care of herself. The trouble was how to achieve that without coming across as patronizing again.

"I know. Go to the library, see if Rachel ever showed up and then go home. Trust me, I'm ready for some sleep. You don't have to check up on me."

His eyebrows twitched at her tone. It wasn't angry, amused or annoyed. If anything, the delivery was so lacking in any emotion it sounded forced. Hoping exhaustion was the cause, he turned his attention to the table. "Did you find anything at the construction office?"

"Not really. No sign of a struggle, no blood. The place was neat, but no one's done a thorough cleaning in there recently."

"Like someone was trying to cover up a crime scene."

"Exactly. I printed everything. There was one of those rollaway dumpsters outside. Mainly construction waste, but when I was looking in it, this caught my attention," she said, holding up a scrap of paper. "I was getting ready to page you."

She handed him a torn piece of paper. On it a large grid had been drawn. The columns had been labeled alphabetically, starting with 'a' and ending in 'z'. Underneath that, a series of rows had been drawn. Those appeared to be alphabetically listed, but almost everything below row 'd' had been torn away. A jumble of letters filled all the cells of the grid.

"What is it?"

"That's what I was hoping you could tell me. There were pages of these. I managed to piece one complete one together," she said, moving a sheet of tissue paper over. On it rested several scraps of paper. "The rows are also listed alphabetically. If you go across each row, all the letters of the alphabet are there in some random order. The order is different on each line, at least from what I can tell. Is this some sort of puzzle?"

"Besides a jigsaw puzzle?" he answered lightly. "Nothing I've ever seen before, but I'm a crossword kind of guy."

Sara let out a sigh as she leaned back in her chair. "Damn. I have no idea if this means anything or not."

"What about the rest of the items in the dumpster?"

"I'm having it hauled in."

"Get Jacqui to print the scraps of paper," Grissom said. "Until something else links to these, don't worry about them for now. The library staff should be arriving by the time you get this evidence put away and grab some breakfast."

"Subtle," Sara said, starting to package the various items. When he didn't leave, she paused in her work, slowly turning to regard him with a guarded expression. "Look…"

Grissom waited silently for her to phrase her statement. Her subdued manner bothered him more than her earlier anger. She was deliberately trying to hide something from him, and that made him a bit nervous. It also fired his natural sense of curiosity.

After a beat, she let out a small sigh and forced a smile. "Thanks again for the pizza. That was nice."

That comment had been unexpected, and Grissom wasn't sure how to react. There was no doubt she'd refrained from saying what was really on her mind. A muscle in his jaw worked slightly; he cared about his team, but he'd never been comfortable with personal conversations. He balanced that against his concern for her and his curiosity; the outcome seemed logical, but his stomach still twittered.

"I have a meeting this morning. By the time I get done with that, you should be finished at the library. I'd like to swing by your apartment."

"And I said you didn't have to check up on me. I do know when I need to sleep," Sara replied. A hint of her natural temper showed, and Grissom raised an eyebrow.

"I'll take your word on that. And it isn't my attention to 'check up on you', either. I want to talk to you."

"So talk now."

"I don't think this is the proper place for it."

She actually chuckled at that. "You never talk about yourself, so I'm guessing that's not what you had in mind. If it's work-related, then work is the place to talk about it. When I go home, I really do like to leave work stuff here."

"And you're conveniently leaving out the third option," he said softly, stepping closer to her.

"What? Baseball? Not into sports. Wouldn't be much of a conversation," she replied lightly.

"Sara ... I want to know why you're angry."

She darted her eyes to him momentarily. "We already covered that."

"True. I know why you're angry about the way this case was handled. The system isn't perfect. Some cases get more attention than they deserve. Others are brushed aside too quickly. You're probably right that I'm not always fair. I have my share of flaws," Grissom stated firmly. "Now I want to know the rest of it."

Sara dropped her head, letting it sway from side to side in minute movements. Taking a deep breath, she began packaging her evidence. "Even assuming there is a rest of it, there's nothing more to say."

"Why?"

She turned to him with a harsh glare, but he countered by softening his expression. It didn't have the desired affect, and she resumed bagging various items. "Drop it," she answered shortly.

"And that implies there is more than what you're telling me."

Exasperated, she pounded a gloved fist lightly against the table. "Considering you wouldn't even tell me something trivial like why you know sign language, why should I keep telling you all about my life? Do you like hearing it? 'Cause I sure as hell don't like talking about it."

Grissom reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose. As he suspected, this wasn't a conversation he wanted to have in a public location. Her voice wasn't raised, but anyone could walk into the room at any time. That was a situation he wanted to avoid.

"This isn't very productive, and it's not the proper place for it. I have to meet with Burdick about the Kenyons' complaint this morning," he said, starting to add he'd call her once the meeting was done, but she interrupted him.

"I'm so sorry about that."

He actually blinked in surprise. Her sorrow was sincere; there was no mistaking it in either her tone or her body language. What he didn't understand is why she felt the need to apologize. She had no blame.

"It's not your fault," he said, frowning when she looked away in embarrassment. "Did you tell the Kenyons to file a complaint?"

"Of course not! I'd never do anything like that," she said, looking at him in shock. "I told the sheriff and Ecklie you didn't do anything wrong. Please believe me."

"I do. The only reason I mentioned it was to point out it was insane."

"Right."

Grissom's face curled up in confusion. The conversation wasn't making any sense. It was clear she was upset, but he couldn't decipher the reason. Did she really think he'd believe she'd encourage a victim's family to lodge a complaint? If so, things between them were worse than he ever imagined. The only other option was that she blamed herself for what happened, but that also made no sense.

"I'm lost," he exhaled softly.

"Isn't that the best place for a scientist to be?" Sara shot back with a faux smile. When his concerned gaze never faltered, she rolled her shoulders. "Just let it ago, okay? I've already said too much."

"You said that earlier."

"Are you going to drop this?"

He frowned and huffed out a breath. Her last question was barely above a whisper. "No," he finally answered. "I can't."

Sara took her time answering. She put her elbows on the table, intertwining her fingers together as she stared at the far wall. Grissom didn't interrupt, realizing she was mentally working out the way to proceed.

"You think I identified with Rachel."

He rested his hip on the table, shrugging slightly. "The parallels are obvious."

"Yeah. All us foster kids have identical lives," she snorted. "When I went to my first family, I had no idea how screwed up my life had been before that. Everything that I thought was normal turned out to be abnormal. It took getting used to."

"I can imagine," he said gently.

"Somehow, I doubt you can." Her grin was self-deprecating and short-lived. "Once I started figuring out what was right, I swore I wasn't going to let what happened to me hold me back. I wasn't going to be a victim."

Grissom smiled at that. "I'd say you'd succeeded. Ivy League education, graduate degree in the hard sciences. That's an accomplishment in itself, even for someone who came from a … typical family. And you have a job you excel in and love."

"Yeah, well, the job can't love you back."

"No, it can't," he said uneasily, clearing his throat.

"I can't escape what happened. I thought I had it behind me, but I don't. And I screwed up at work. I totally lost my composure, got suspended."

"How does this relate to the case?"

Sara looked at him for a long time. Anger and sadness mixed together in her countenance, further confusing him. Finally, she broke the contact and let out a long sigh.

"If I had kept my cool, I wouldn't have been suspended. If I hadn't been suspended, you would have left me alone. You wouldn't have a clue about what happened to me."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Of course it is!" she half-barked.

"I was right," he said quietly. "You are mad at me."

"No. No, I'm not. I'm pissed, but at myself."

"Why?"

She twisted around in her chair, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest in a resigned manner. Her voice was quiet when she spoke. "I screwed up, and now everything's changed. Don't try to deny it. Now that you know about my parents, what I went through, you see me differently. Everyone does once they know the truth. Why the hell do you think I don't talk about it?"

His lips parted slightly, and he shook his head. She was right; since learning about her childhood, his perceptions had changed. But if anything, he thought more of her now; she was stronger than he ever suspected.

Her hand came up to brush her eyes quickly, and he caught her irritated look as she wiped away the moisture. "It's bad enough I screwed up my life; I can deal with that. My mistakes, my consequences."

"Don't be so hard on yourself."

"You still don't get it. This is my fault. If you didn't know about my childhood, you wouldn't have thought I was identifying with Rachel. You wouldn't have assumed I was unable to be impartial. Maybe you would have listened to me. The case wouldn't have been dismissed, you wouldn't be in trouble," she said. Her voice was low, but he caught the wobble. "And there'd be a better chance of finding Rachel still alive."

Grissom sat in a stunned silence. His mind replayed her words as it tried to make sense of it. She had to be wrong. That's all there was to it. This definitely wasn't her fault, but he had changed the way he treated her. Still, he hadn't dismissed her concerns because of it.

Or had he?

He was mentally debating that point when his pager sounded off.

"You better get to your meeting. Burdick's already upset," she said.

Before he could stop her, Sara exited the room with her boxed evidence. Swearing, he turned off his pager and headed the opposite direction for his meeting.

TBC