Friday 12-16-2005
Chapter 19
One of the things Grissom had learned about Sara early in their relationship was that she didn't like air conditioning. When he visited her in San Francisco it had made sense to him—who would want their windows closed to a breeze that might just waft in with the faint scent of the nearby sea? It wasn't until she moved to Las Vegas that he realized there was more to it than that. "I just don't like feeling so disconnected from the world, you know?" she'd explained the first time he'd questioned her choice of open windows instead of AC in the car on a warm spring day. "We spend so much of our time inside, in the lab, mostly at night, mostly in rooms without windows. I hate not knowing what's going on outside, even if it isn't 68 degrees and sunny."
Not that she was a fanatic about it or anything. She'd run the air conditioner in her oven of an apartment while she was trying to sleep during the day. After all, the only thing worse than trying to sleep during the day was trying to sleep during the day in an apartment that was 120 degrees Fahrenheit. And since moving in with him, she hadn't complained about the climate control, essential for some of his insects, and now, of course, for Hank. But the second the thermometer outside their back door reached a comfortable range, the air conditioning went off and windows were flung wide. And it had to be pretty chilly out before she'd voluntarily turn the heat on.
So it came as no surprise to him that Sara was driving back to the lab with the window open despite the cold front that had moved through, bringing more typical December Nevada weather and a sharp chill to the early morning air. Pulling his jacket a little more tightly around him, and boosting the thermostat, he partially turned in his seat to face the driver. "Hey, Sara, I forgot to mention--Brass gave me tickets to the fight at Mandalay Bay on Sunday. Want to go?"
Sara paused before answering, thinking that that was probably about the last thing she'd expected Grissom to ever ask her, deciding that 'I'd rather shoot four inch galvanized spikes into my head with a nail gun', the first response that came to her, probably wasn't the most diplomatic answer she could give.
"Sunday? Boxing? I was kind of thinking I'd take Hank for a long run on Sunday, and then maybe to the dog park, get outside, see the sun, have a quiet day to decompress. But it's fine with me if you want to go, Gil."
The pallor that had come over her at the question belied her casual response.
"You sure about that?"
"Absolutely positively."
"It would be more fun if you were there."
"Not for me."
Deciding to take her answer at face value, Grissom answered, "Okay" and turned his attention to the Johnson case. It wasn't until later that he gave himself a huge mental 'dope slap'. How could he have been so dumb?! He'd been so focused on the opportunity to go out and do something with Sara, to attend an event that he'd not given any thought to WHAT the event was! Sara, who'd grown up in a house where she and her mother lived in terror of her father, where she'd seen her mother kill her father, where bruises were hidden and fractures were secrets. Sara, who had trouble dealing with cases involving domestic violence. Of course she didn't want to go to a fight to see two men beating each other to a bloody pulp. And who could blame her? How could he even have considered asking her to go?