A/N: I'm not entirely sure about this chapter … it's another one that's gotten a ton of rewrites. I hope you like it.
Thanks as always for reading and reviewing! (Hopefully you will) Enjoy!
I don't own CSI.
Distractions
Teri never called back.
Grissom knew that he should have seen it coming. In the end, the smart, nerdy guy never got the girl. He had learned that rule in high school, and had seen it played out again and again in his life.
He didn't try to call her again. If she had truly been interested, she would have returned his first call.
He never would have seen her again if it hadn't been for Catherine. Catherine, and an elderly woman with very little money and upper body strength. The woman, unable to afford a funeral, had cut her deceased husband's body into small pieces so that she could dump it in the desert. By the time the first piece of the body was found, the elements, wild animals and insects had attacked it, leaving nothing but pieces of bones. Grissom, Catherine and Nick found themselves with the intricate task of putting their victim back together.
After spending what felt like forever staring at bone fragments and textbook charts, Grissom knew that Catherine was at the end of her rope. Nick soldiered on like the good sport that he always was, but Catherine couldn't take it. She mentioned calling Teri for help more than once, citing her expertise in this area. Grissom denied her request each time.
He should have known that Catherine never listened to him. He should have known better than to think that she would abide by his wishes. But, as it was, he didn't realize that she had gone so far as to call in Teri without telling him until Teri herself walked into the room.
Their first meeting was awkward, to say the least. But, once the awkwardness had mellowed to the point of being bearable, she apologized for not calling him back … and asked him if he was still interested.
And so, forty-eight hours later, he found himself standing outside her hotel room door, knocking gently on the painted wood. When she opened the door, he literally felt as though his breath had indeed been taken away.
She looked stunning. She was always pretty, but away from work, she was a classically gorgeous woman. Even her waved and pinned hair recalled starlets of the golden age of cinema.
Grissom could hardly believe the situation. It was like something out of a life quite unlike his own, something he had barely allowed himself to dream of having. They had dinner together, talking, laughing and enjoying one another's company. He was just beginning to think of their next activity – a Vegas show – when he was paged.
Teri was understanding about the first several pages. It wasn't until his cell phone rang that she began to show her irritation. But, Grissom was helpless. His job was to be the lab's entomology expert, and this was a case that required his services.
He closed his phone and turned to ask Teri if he could take a rain check on the show. She was gone. He stared at her empty chair and lipstick-stained napkin and sighed. He should have known that things would end like this.
The smart, nerdy guy never got the girl.
"Okay, here we go. Catherine, Warrick, you're with me on a high school shooting."
"Oh, man," Warrick said. "How many kids?"
"Just one. He was shot in the restroom."
"Sounds like fun," Catherine said sardonically.
"Right," Grissom said. "Nick, Sara … do either of you have problems with motion sickness?"
"No," they said in unison, both highly confused.
"Excellent," Grissom said, sliding an assignment slip toward them. "You've got a decomp in the mountains. You're going to need to take a helicopter ride to get there."
"I haven't been in a helicopter in ages," Sara said enthusiastically.
"Enjoy," Grissom said. "Okay, I think that's everything. Let's get to work."
Grissom, Catherine and Warrick left at once, leaving Sara and Nick alone. Nick looked at Sara a bit apprehensively.
"Have you worked a decomp before?"
"No," she admitted. "Have you?"
Nick shook his head. "First time for everything, right?"
Sara grinned. "I'm glad my first time could be with you, Nick."
He laughed and shook his head. "Come on. Let's go catch our helicopter ride."
"You were flirting with him!"
"I was not," Sara said forcefully.
"You were, too," Nick laughed. "You were totally flirting with that EMT over a dead body! And, let me tell you, that barely even counts as a body, it's so decomposed."
Sara made a face. "Would you prefer I flirt with you?"
"No, that's okay," Nick said with a wink. "You can flirt with Hank all you want. Just … pick a better setting next time. And, try not to spend forever staring at him when we've got to get back to the morgue. Doc Robbins won't wait forever."
Sara rolled her eyes. "That body isn't going anywhere, Nick. It's not like the guy is going to come back to life."
"Yeah, but, we're not the only ones with a dead body that needs an autopsy tonight."
"You just want to get me in trouble!" Sara laughed.
"No, not really," Nick smiled. "I just want to give you a hard time."
Sara shook her head with a smile. "If I wanted a brother …"
"You've got one," Nick grinned. "I'm right here, waiting to play the role of your brother – a role, I might add, that was sadly lacking in your life until now."
Sara shook her head. "I wouldn't say that."
"I would."
"Okay, that was a whole new level of gross."
"Do you think that Grissom's right? Will lemons really get the smell out?"
"Do we really smell that bad?"
Nick and Sara looked at each other and grimaced.
"Yeah, we do," they said together.
"Oh, man, and this is all those human fatty compounds … we're going to need like ten lemon showers," Nick sighed.
"Assuming Grissom's right about the lemons," Sara said, obviously more than a little concerned that there was no hope for them.
"He wouldn't joke about something like that," Nick replied.
Sara glanced back through the glass window into the autopsy room. David was still washing the liquefied mess that had been a living, breathing person down the drain. "Poor David. At least we get to escape the smell."
"One of us," Nick grinned. "You have to process the jacket that's been in that bag baking with liquid man for the past few months."
Sara screwed up her face. "You could take it."
"And why, might I ask, would I do that?"
"It would be the gentlemanly thing to do."
Nick laughed. "I thought you didn't want to be treated like a girly girl."
"I'm willing to make exceptions in cases of extreme grossness."
"The problem is, darlin', that our definition of 'gross' tends to be a bit different than the average person's."
"Relevance?" Sara asked, raising an eyebrow.
Nick grinned. "Nothing is too gross for you. Enjoy the jacket."
"Hi."
Judy looked up with a smile. "May I help you?"
"I'm looking for Sara Sidle. Can you tell me where to find her?"
"She's in the lab, processing," Judy said. "Would you like me to page her for you?"
"No, thank you," Hank smiled. "I'll find her."
"All right, then."
He set off into the lab, anxious to find the pretty CSI who had teased him at their crime scene. He had never met anyone like her – and he intended to get to know her a bit better.
Nick had joined Sara to help process the jacket when Hank found them. They were standing across a table from each other in a small room that reeked of death. Sara left to talk to her visitor. Nick could hardly blame her. If the two of them couldn't stand the smell in the room – Sara had just vomited into a trash can – how could they expect someone who was used to dealing with live bodies to handle it?
Sara was back remarkably quickly, considering how long she had spent flirting with Hank at the scene. Nick looked at her questioningly.
"What happened?"
"He wanted me to go out for dinner with him," she said.
"That's great! Your flirtiness paid off. When are you going?"
"He wanted to go now."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Even if I change …"
"Yeah, this smell isn't coming off. Did you make plans to go another time?"
"No," she said angrily. "I reek, Nick. He could barely stand to be that close to me long enough to ask me out for dinner tonight. How exactly was I going to suggest some other time? He practically ran away from me!"
"Hey," Nick said gently, "it's okay." Growing up with as many sisters as he had, he knew that emotional screaming of that caliber was usually followed by emotional tears. He was anxious to avoid that, if at all possible.
"It's not okay!" she yelled. "Grissom tells me that I need to get a life, but, I'll tell you, Nicky, that's going to be tough when I smell like death all the time!"
"Smell like death?" Nick repeated.
"That's what Greg said."
Nick rolled his eyes. "You're listening to Greg now?"
She bit her lip. "Greg also said that a real man wouldn't care."
"Greg is right," Nick said immediately.
Sara smiled in spite of herself. "You seem to have done a 180 about him in a very short amount of time."
"Hey, when he's right, he's right," Nick said. "I've been with you the whole time, and I haven't run from you. Greg stopped to chat with you. We aren't put off by the smell. If Hank is, that's his problem."
"Yeah, but you guys are used to this," Sara said. "You understand the job."
"If Hank is that easily repulsed by your job, he's not the guy for you."
"I guess you're right."
"I know I am," Nick nodded. "You're a special girl, Sara, and you deserve a special guy."
Sara smiled. "Thanks, Nick."
"Anytime."
Sara fumbled her way into her apartment, juggling her purse, field kit, keys and a grocery bag full of lemons. She made it as far as the kitchen, where everything was dumped unceremoniously onto the counter. She then picked her way through her belongings, putting everything into its appropriate home.
After slicing the lemons, she put them into a large plastic bag for easier transport into the shower. She was walking through the living room on her way into the bathroom when she noticed the message light blinking on her answering machine. Frowning slightly, she pushed the button to play back the messages.
"Hi, Sara, this is Hank Pettigrew. I'm sorry I pretty much ran out on you earlier. I'll tell you, I don't know how you do your job. Anyway, I wanted to see if we could do dinner another day – maybe one of your days off? Give me a call, and we'll try to schedule something."
Sara stared at the machine in shock as she listened to Hank rattle off his phone number and say good bye. Maybe Nick and Greg were right – a real man wouldn't care about how she smelled.
That thought did nothing to deter her from taking a very hot, lemony shower.
"So, what happened when you called him back?"
"I haven't." Sara sat curled up on her bed, her hair still wet from her shower, telling Mary the entire story of her meeting with Hank.
"What do you mean? You called me first? That's just silly. You had to know that I'd want the whole story!"
"You have the whole story," Sara said.
"The whole story up till now," Mary agreed. "But, I want to hear about what happens when you call him back!" She paused. "Call him now, then call me back and tell me what he says."
"No, Mar … I'm not calling him back."
"What do you mean? Why not?"
Sara sighed. "I smelled like death."
"But, he was okay with it."
"I can't do it."
"Sara, you're being ridiculous. Call the man back."
"No!" Sara exclaimed. "I don't care what Grissom says about me needing a distraction from work, or what you say about me needing a distraction from Grissom. I can't subject other people to me. This is a tough line of work for people to understand. It's all-consuming."
"It's all-consuming because that's how you make it," Mary argued. "Catherine was married. She has a little girl."
"Was married," Sara replied. "Notice that she's not anymore."
"Did they break up over her job?"
"No …"
"I rest my case."
"You're not a lawyer," Sara sighed.
"And you're not being very rational," Mary shot back. She sighed. "Is there nothing I can say that will convince you that calling Hank back is a good idea?"
"Probably not."
"Fine. Just promise me that you'll think about calling him back."
"That I'll think about it?"
"Yeah. Just … consider it as an option."
Sara sighed. "All right. I'll consider it."
"Good," Mary smiled. "That's all I ask … for now."
Sara did follow through on her promise to Mary. She considered calling Hank back. But, as the days stretched into a week, then two, she knew she couldn't do it. She let herself get buried in her work, in the new cases that were always there for her to investigate. Hank drifted to the back of her mind.
"A fetish club? We're at a fetish club?" Nick asked in shock.
"Whips, chains and all," Catherine replied.
"Man," Nick said. "This is unbelievable."
"Somewhere else you'd rather be?" Catherine asked lightly. "This is where our vic worked. As far as we know, this is the last place she was seen alive."
Nick looked at her evenly. "I want to be on the case."
"Good. Then you can help me work the perimeter."
"Where are Brass and Grissom?"
"Inside."
Nick grinned. "Doing what?"
Catherine shook her head. "Interviewing the owner."
"And the owner is …?"
"A dominatrix," Catherine nodded.
"Oh, man," Nick laughed. "Greg is so jealous of us right now …"
Catherine laughed with him. "Evidence, Nicky. You can give Greg a hard time when we get back to the lab."
As the evidence mounted, the criminalists spent more and more time at the fetish club, getting to know Lady Heather, the dominatrix who owned it. Their latest victim had worked there, and by all accounts, had been killed in the line of duty. Although Catherine, Grissom and Brass all spent time talking to her, Catherine and Grissom were the ones who developed a liking for her. Brass and Nick shared the opinion that Lady Heather and those who sought her services were freakish in nature.
"I don't see why Gil is so into this dominatrix," Brass commented as he and Catherine ate lunch together.
Catherine raised her eyebrows.
"He doesn't seem the type," Brass shrugged.
"I don't know," Catherine said. "When it comes down to it, his fetish is deviant behavior. Anything that goes against the norm is incredibly intriguing to him. Knowing him, he's there checking out the masks, whips and chains without even looking at the people in the building – including Lady Heather."
Brass shook his head. "I saw the way he looked at her. I think he's a little smitten."
"Grissom? Smitten? Those are two words that don't often go together."
"But, this time, I think they do."
Catherine looked at him closely. "Do you know something that you're not telling me, Jim?"
"Nope," Brass replied. "Not yet, anyway."
Grissom had gone to visit their new favorite dominatrix again, this time with pictures of their suspect. Catherine was sitting in his office waiting to talk to him when he returned.
"How did it go with Lady Heather?"
"Fine," he said shortly.
Catherine raised her eyebrows. "Um … I think I'm going to need a bit more information than that, Gil."
"She said that she had seen the suspect before."
"At work?"
"At work," Grissom confirmed.
Catherine studied him for a moment, noting the completely out of character vacant look in his eyes and erratic mannerisms he displayed as he wandered around his office. "She really got to you, didn't she?"
Grissom looked at Catherine as though he had no earthly idea what she was saying. "Who really go to me?"
Catherine rolled her eyes. "Always so oblivious. Lady Heather? Remember her? Tall, brunette, beautiful? Dominatrix? Does any of this sound familiar?"
"Are you interrogating me?"
Catherine smiled. "Are you avoiding my questions?"
"Maybe."
Her smile widened. "She did! She did get to you! Look at you – you're practically an emotional wreck over her!"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Like hell you don't!"
Grissom sighed. "Can we please drop this, Catherine?"
"Sure … for now."
Grissom sat at his desk for a long time after Catherine had left. He stared off into space, thinking of the afternoon he had just shared with Lady Heather.
The fact that she was beautiful didn't mean much. Oh, it did have meaning – Grissom could certainly appreciate beauty. But, her physical appearance wasn't what had him so rattled.
It was that she claimed to know him. And, perhaps even worse, she did seem to know him.
In just a few short visits, she had managed to glean more information about him than anyone ever had before. Even Catherine and Brass didn't realize half of what she had discovered about him through simple observation.
Most disturbingly, she knew how he feared being known. The very idea of being fully understood by another human being terrified him.
Yet, somehow …
He wondered what it would be like to be known by her.
