Chapter 7 The Past

A/N: Note – brief mention of S&M in this chapter. Thanks for your comment! They're greatly appreciated. And thanks, as always, to Michele aka griot for the beta work. This story will be updated weekly.

Chapter 7 The Past

Grissom checked his watch again as he waited in the break room for Sara to join him. Finally they were both available for a case, so he had been quick to pair them together, hoping to appease her. Since his panic attack, she'd been irritable and distant. When he'd tried to be more attentive, it had only annoyed her. He wasn't sure how to handle it.

What was taking her so long?

As Rob passed the break room, Grissom called out, "Have you seen Sara?"

He paused, and stammered, "Uh yeah. I saw her a minute ago. I'm sure she'll be by soon." Then he turned and hurried down the hall in the opposite direction.

That was odd. Rob was intimidated by him. But even that might not fully explain his behavior. Was he making excuses for Sara? It was common knowledge that Rob was a terrible liar – look how much money they'd taken from him during poker nights.

He slammed the brakes on that line of thought, the memory of Sara's voice reminding him that he had to work on his irrational behavior. He was still in the doghouse because of that. Most likely he was overreacting.

Nick approached. "If you don't mind Grissom, I'll take my own vehicle. That place gives me the creeps. I'd like to spend as little time as possible there."

"Sure. We'll be there soon."

Nick's comment intrigued him, so he opened the case file. Of course, his first case with Sara since his accident was at The Dominion. Before he had time to fully digest that information, she appeared. Her face was pale; she didn't radiate her usual glow. Even her hair wasn't as lustrous, hanging in lank tendrils. The mysterious appointment with Dr. Laskey came to his mind.

"Are you okay?" rushed out in hardly professional tones.

"I'm fine," she snapped. "Let's get going."

"Need some coffee?" Maybe he'd even humor her and run by one of the fancy drive thrus she sometimes favored.

"No." She shuddered as if the idea was revolting.

In silence they strode towards the parking lot, Sara moving more slowly than usual.

XXXXXXXX

"Gil," Lady Heather beamed as he and Sara were escorted into her establishment. "What a pleasure it is to see you, though I wish it was under more auspicious circumstances."

Heather had never dropped by or called, even after his accident. He hadn't expected her to, that had never been part of the deal. Of his paramours, only Sara had gained those privileges. His liaison with Heather had been brief, a momentary flicker which hadn't been meant to last. As intriguing as he found her, it would've been impossible to appear in public with her for all the attention it would garner. Talk about tarnishing his reputation. He had no desire to commit professional suicide. Still, Heather was stunning and intelligent, and she had been content to play by his rules which most other women found too restrictive.

Grissom couldn't help but respond to the attention of such a provocative woman. His lips curved involuntarily into a smile. That was part of her allure, making a man feel special with only a word or glance, making him feel as if he was the only man in the world at that moment.

"It's good to see you again," he responded warmly, his hand momentarily resting upon hers.

"I'm glad to see you've recovered from your accident."

"It hasn't been easy," was all he was comfortable sharing. He wasn't in the mood to draw attentions to his deficiencies. After all, this wasn't a social call.

"It seems to have gone well." Her eyes lingered upon him as warmth crept into his cheeks. Heather always managed to unnerve him, making him feel as if she had the upper hand.

"I had a lot of help," his eyes shifting to Sara, whose gaze was fixed upon the other woman.

"And this is?"

He paused. As thrilled as he was to be in a relationship with Sara, it didn't seem professional to introduce her as his girlfriend.

Sara quickly filled the gap, introducing herself. "Sara Sidle."

"You've already met Nick Stokes?"

"He came by about twenty minutes ago. Yvonne took him to the room where the unfortunate…incident occurred. Perhaps you and I can discuss more of the details while Ms. Sidle assists Mr. Stokes?" she suggested.

Grissom agreed.

XXXXXXXXX

Lady Heather's private parlor had changed little since his last visit. It was filled with fascinating books and objects de art. In some respects, it reminded him of his childhood home, though the exhibits hadn't been nearly as elaborate. Or erotic

"Was this woman one of your regular employees?"

One of Lady Heather's girls had been beaten to death with a whip. He wasn't looking forward to examining the body. The report had mentioned excessive blood. The memory of the acrid odor filled his nostrils. Half gagging, he swallowed hard, worrying it might trigger yet another panic attack.

"No. She only recently started filling in part-time - maybe a month ago. She operated independently. Said she liked the flexibility."

"Is it possible some former disgruntled client or boyfriend might have followed her to your establishment? This type of execution shows uncontrolled rage and suggests highly personal motives rather than a random killing."

"It's a possibility, though Brittany was usually the dominant one. It doesn't make sense that she'd switch rolls. More likely she'd suggest a more suitable partner. As the submissive, he would've already had all the power. You know about that," her lips pursed suggestively.

Grissom dodged her insinuation, heavily emphasizing his first words, "From what I've read, that does seem odd. Can you give us her background information?"

"I'll send whatever I have to you as soon as possible, along with our guest list from last evening, though it should be understood that discretion is necessary."

"Of course."

Grissom stroked his beard. "If Brittany liked flexibility, why did she come to work here?"

"More steady clientele perhaps. Or a higher quality?"

"Maybe she thought she was safer."

Heather scoffed bitterly. "I'm sickened that this happened under my roof. I do the best I can to protect my workers. But given the sensitive nature of this business, there's a fine line between protecting the clients' right to pleasure and privacy as well as my girls' safety."

Grissom turned, focusing his attention on a Peruvian fertility statue displayed on a shelf. His mind was taunting him, imagining the state of the poor, bloody, beaten woman. Tension was rising within him.

Heather stepped towards him. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Damn, she always had been insightful. Initially that had been what had drawn him to her. Later he'd realized that it wasn't that she was so uniquely in tune with him. Like Catherine, she was simply highly skilled at reading people and their non-verbal cues. No wonder she was so successful in her chosen profession.

For an instant he was tempted to spill the horrible details of his accident and prolonged recovery or at the least, visit with Lady Heather a little longer. Yet the impulse was fleeting. Things had changed. He had more pressing priorities. He needed to face this image, to take away its growing power. The longer he delayed, the worse the prospect would become. Sara's worn appearance and the ominous doctor's appointment also prodded him. He had to move on.

As if she had discerned the shift in direction of his thoughts, Lady Heather's voice interrupted, "You should've told her about us Gil."

"What?"

"She's your lover and she's smart. You need to tell her," she insisted.

"What are you talking about? There is no us. There never was." Except for a few couplings over two years ago which certainly didn't count as a significant relationship. With his impending hearing loss and Sara dating Hank, he had been vulnerable and she had been there for him. It hadn't lasted long.

And how did Heather claim to figure this out from a conversation lasting less than three minutes?

She shook her head. "For a smart man, you can be pretty clueless. She knows."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Where's Sara?" Grissom asked, somewhat puzzled. Her absence was more alarming than the tortured body of the woman who was still bound with leather ties to a brace attached to the wall.

Nick looked up from photographing some bloody clothing strewn on the floor.

"I sent her to the lab with the samples I'd collected so far. Then she's going to stop by Brittany's apartment to look into the enraged boyfriend angle."

Grissom was confused. Sara had been pestering him for weeks to pair them together. And now during their first official case, she disappears before he arrives at the scene?

Setting his kit down on the floor, he mentioned, "I'm surprised you didn't go yourself, considering your feelings about this place."

Nick spoke curtly, "I did it as a favor for Sara. She's not looking so hot. I thought some fresh air might do her good.'

The accusatory tone of the latter part of his statement made Grissom flinch. Was Nick implying that Sara was upset about his so-called past with Heather? Yet that made no sense. Nick had no knowledge of those issues.

Grissom's concerns were allayed when Nick asked, "Is she okay?"

He took a breath. "She's stubborn Nick. You know that." With that he opened his kit, having no intention of discussing the issue any further.

Although the smell was repulsive, Grissom was able to examine the victim without incident. At least something was going right for him. At times like these, he found it difficult to believe that he used to be immune to such a stench. As it was, he was making a conscious effort to breathe through his mouth.

David arrived to transport the body and the two men continued to process potential evidence. Blood was spattered everywhere, though most of it likely belonged to the victim. Epithelial cells from the whip handle would've been their best lead to identify the perp, but it was conveniently missing. Nick and Grissom examined other associated paraphernalia for trace evidence.

Nick shook his head as he held up a spiked leather collar. "I don't get this. Some guy pays a complete stranger to beat her up and ends up killing her by mistake? No one could survive this."

"I believe the primary goal is not to inflict harm. The pleasure comes more from the illusion of having power and control over another. The fine line between pleasure and pain, per say. It's more of a mind game. After all, the brain is the most erogenous zone."

Nick's expression clearly revealed his utter disgust. "Whatever. Do you think this was a routine encounter which got out of control or premeditated murder?"

"It's hard to say. I suppose it could be easy to become caught up during the act and lose control if one had a predilection for violence."

"Who has it in them to do…that?" He gestured to the blood splattered walls. "I don't get this stuff. I just don't. I'm not a prude. I get experimentation – like handcuffs or tying people to bedposts with scarves. I know weird stuff occurs between consenting adults who care about each other and that some of it can actually be exciting. But paying some stranger to hurt you or for you to hurt them?" He shuddered. "That's not right."

"Who are we to say what normal is Nick?"

A large portion of his life he'd been censured because he didn't suit the cultural norms. Book worm. Nerd. While physically not a slouch, Grissom had never been the football hero. Nor had he taken much pleasure from the time honored male ritual of watching sports while slugging down beers and jeering loudly at the other team.

He didn't want to consider the slanderous names his mother had been called by those who misunderstood her deafness.

While the activities that occurred at the Dominion were far beyond his comfort zone, it had never been his place to judge.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Grissom abruptly shut his phone. Where was Sara? Why wasn't she picking up? When he arrived at the lab, he'd just missed her on her way back to Brittany's apartment complex with Brass. For the last hour and a half, she hadn't been answering her cell phone. Even if she was upset with him, Sara was a professional. They had a case in progress. They needed to touch base to discuss the evidence to expedite their investigation.

He was waiting by the GC for some results, attempting to focus on the case when Brass rushed in.

"C'mon buddy. Let's go."

Grissom was only paying partial attention to him. His results had just printed out so he was attempting to remove the sheet from the instrument. "Go where? Do we have a lead on the supposed boyfriend?"

"No."

The perforated lines on the paper finally tore as they should. He grabbed the report to scan the results when Brass impatiently interrupted.

"Give that to me. You won't be needing it. Warrick and Catherine are taking over the case."

His first thought was that Ecklie had changed his mind and decided to clip his wings because of his panic attack last week. Yet when he looked at Brass's face, he knew. Dread filled him.

"Sara."

"Let's go."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What do you mean you can't tell me?" Grissom practically shouted.

The nurse peered over her shoulder at Sara's sleeping form. "Please Mr. Grissom, keep your voice down. She needs to rest. We've already explained this to you. Ms. Sidle's condition isn't work-related and she has no one listed as next of kin on any of her forms. All I can legally tell you is that she's going to be all right. You'll have to wait until she wakes up for her to tell you the details."

"This is ridiculous! I'm her boyfriend. We live together." He gestured to Brass, who was by his side, "He can verify this."

The doctor intervened, "Under emergency conditions, we might bend the rules for a significant other. However, Ms Sidle's condition is stable. There are no urgent decisions that need to be made. As Nurse Johnson has told you, they're going to be okay. We must respect her privacy."

As the doctor and nurse exited the room, Grissom slammed his fist against the wall.

"Calm down, Gil. The important thing is that she's gonna be okay. Sit tight for a while. Keep her company until she wakes up. I'll get us some coffee."

Rubbing his aching hand, Grissom sank into a chair near Sara's bed. He stroked her hand. An IV was hooked up to her arm; an ugly bruise was already forming at the point of entry. Her face still had a ghostly pallor. What had happened to her? Although he felt guilty that learning about his former involvement with Lady Heather might have spurred on her collapse, she hadn't been herself even before then.

The fact that he wasn't listed as next of kin was clearly an oversight. They'd been so preoccupied with his crisis they had neglected to update her paperwork. It was strange that she had no family members listed as emergency contacts.

"Gri…Grissom," a voice stuttered behind him.

What was Rob doing here? He was too upset to conceal his dislike for the man.

"I…I…need to tell you something. I feel awful that Sara collapsed today. But I have to tell you…she's been having problems for a while."

Grissom rose from his chair. "What?"

Rob cringed in response to the hostility in his supervisor's voice. "Low energy. Spending a lot of time in the bathroom." His shoulders began to tremble. "I've been covering for her. Making excuses so she could leave shifts early to rest or buy her time if she was in the bathroom. I kept asking her if she'd seen a doctor. Honestly, I did. She said she had things under control. Is she going to be okay?"

Grissom couldn't speak.

Brass had followed Rob into the room. He handed Grissom a Styrofoam cup of coffee. "Her condition is stable." He stepped between Grissom and Rob then placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder to reassure him. "You did the right thing. We'll keep everybody posted."

Rob smiled weakly with relief then fled.

Grissom was livid. "She tells this to Rob? Not to me but Rob?"

"Don't be dense Gil. If she'd told anyone else, they would've gone to you immediately. Given Rob's crush on her, she knew that he'd be fiercely loyal. She probably figured you had enough going on – wanted to protect you. I don't know for sure. You guys need to talk."

As they waited, Grissom reviewed the past few weeks. He and Sara hadn't eaten many meals together due to scheduling conflicts or plain lack of appetite on his part. Her tastes had also changed – vegetable lasagna had once been her favorite along with hazelnut coffee. Now take-out Chinese mu shu veggies and Rocky Road ice cream filled the fridge.

Dr. Laskey.

Was he an oncologist?

Had Sara waited too long to see a doctor?

The thought absolutely terrified him. What if she had pancreatic cancer with only weeks to live? Or would she require surgery followed by extensive chemotherapy? As much as he longed for a smooth return to his career, Sara was even more important. The seemingly endless ride to the hospital had reminded him that life without her wouldn't be much of a life at all. Nothing would fill that void. In a heartbeat, he'd take time off to nurse her through this or bring her to different specialists. Financially it would be challenging but somehow they'd swing it. He was willing do whatever was necessary to help her.

Then he remembered her comments to Rob over the phone. At the time, he'd wondered why she kept assuring him that she was fine. Had she been in denial about her symptoms?

There had also been a significant time interval where Dr. Walker had been unable to reach Sara when he had his panic attack. Was she already seeing the doctor who then referred her to Dr. Laskey? Had she learned that she was seriously ill? That might account for her irritability.

Then it all came together in blinding clarity.

The doctor had said they'll be okay.

TBC