Nesting Dolls
Her hand was cold in his.
Just like it had been at the station seven months ago, and how it had been after the lab explosion the year before that.
Had he really only held her hand three times?
No. It was four.
Once in San Fransisco when they first met, as they walked along the beach, he reminisced.
It was innocent enough back then, but her intentions were clear when she reached for his hand on his last night in the city. Her intentions had always been clear.
He winced and tilted his head as her long, unpainted fingers instinctively wrapped around his warm digits. An unspoken lifeline, as her body wracked with sobs. Seeking him for comfort.
He watched in pain as she concealed her reddening face with her free hand, and her shoulder length brown hair draped over her cheeks like a curtain.
If he were to reach out, would she let him tuck the strands behind her ear? So he could look at her? He had the sudden pressing urge to touch her hair, brush his thumb along her cheek, wipe her tears, feel her skin.
But he resisted.
He hadn't really looked at her in a long time, he realized.
Coming here today reminded him of that.
It was like a punch to the gut: realizing he had been so preoccupied with trying not to look at her... that he had ignored her completely.
Ignored the signs of her breakdown.
The signs of her history.
If he had have looked for more than three seconds, he would have seen it.
Now that he knew, it was obvious, really.
She displayed all of the classic signs of someone from a broken, abusive home.
The anger on domestic violence and rape cases.
The short fuse.
Her emotional reactions.
Her blind spots.
It all flooded back to him, even as far back as Kaye Shelton. Pamela Adler.
She had cried then, too. And he did nothing to comfort her.
Absolutely nothing.
He sat on the other side of his desk in a cold, heartless way and watched her walk out of his office.
He should have seen it.
Even the fact that she didn't have any family listed as next of kin on her work forms should have been his first clue. San Fransisco wasn't really that far from Las Vegas. A quick flight, or a day's drive. Her family could be by her side in an instant.. but, when she moved to Vegas, she had awkwardly shuffled in his office doorway and asked him if he minded being her emergency contact since she "didn't really know anyone else in the city".
Five years later and his name was still on her form, and she knew plenty of people here now.
He didn't think twice about it then.
Now it all made sense.
If he had have actually looked at her.. he would have seen the innocent and displaced twelve year old girl, trapped in a thirty three year old woman's body, screaming for air. Screaming to tell someone. Angry. Alone. Drowning in her own past, and yet still surrounded by it every single day at work.
He quickly tried to think back to how many gruesome domestic violence cases she had worked along side him in the last six months.
Dozens. It had to be dozens.
How many cases had she been standing in a room, blood splattered on the walls, stab or gun shot wounds in one or both victims, reliving her own horrific past and childhood? How many had involved children who were placed under state care? While he, what? Just stood there like a bumbling idiot, printing a door frame, ignoring her cues?
She hid them well, to be fair.
But watching her now, sobbing into her hand, knees pulled up in a childlike safety position... he could see it as clear as day.
At a scene she'd twitch her head, ever so slightly.
If there was a child involved, she would insist on processing them herself, despite her insistence that she hated and wasn't good with kids.
She'd roll her shoulders to release some of the tension.
Scratch behind her ear or rub her neck, nervously.
Wince her eyes.
Work hour after hour, bent over the layout table sipping cold and bitter black coffee, sifting through photos and evidence, determined to make a case.
He chalked it all up to her dedication and being tired. Working too many doubles and triples.
But it was evidently so much more than that.
How long had they known each other? Seven years, now?
And not once had he noticed.
She was right.
He was emotionally unavailable, clearly.
He had spent so much time and effort trying not to look at her inappropriately, that he didn't look at her at all.
He'd left her to her own devices and all on her own.
Figured she was fine.
She always said she was fine.
He knew it wasn't really his job to take care of her, but as her supervisor.. and as her friend.. it should have been his job to look out for her. Especially since they had this unspoken 'thing' between them.
Instead, he had just put her on this lonely pedestal for so long: tough Sara Sidle can handle any case.
He'd been proud to have her on his team for that reason, in fact. That's why he enjoyed working with her.
She'd take any decomp, any garbage dump, any scene, any time of the day with a smile.. and while she could be emotional, sure, she was thorough and passionate. She was his best CSI because of that. She had a nearly flawless solve rate, and would comb through evidence until she found what she needed for a conviction.
She didn't complain.
She didn't annoy him with dumb jokes like Greg, or try to start up a pointless heart to heart conversation like Nick. She certainly didn't pry into his personal life like Catherine, and he never had to question whether she would even be there when he called like he did with Warrick.
She took her assignments, and handled them like a professional, regardless of the outcome. Plus, she always smelled good. That didn't go unnoticed or unappreciated either.
Had he expected too much, without knowing enough?
Assumed and expected perfection from her?
She was just as flawed, just as human as the rest of his team.
She'd cried for help, silently, and he refused to see it.
The DUI.
The working too much.
The anger.
The "looking for validation".
The problems with authority.
God, he was an idiot.
And now it was all unraveling in front of him. The tears, her trembling hand, surrounded by her things and her scent in the sanctuary of her home.
"Sara.." he heard his own voice tremble, and watched as she sniffed, and straightened her back. As if she realized, suddenly, where she was and who she was with.
She glanced up at him, her eyes red rimmed and puffy. Her cheeks rosy. Her expression was unreadable, but it wasn't anger and surprisingly, it wasn't sadness. Was it resignation? Defeat? Vulnerability?
"Sara." He sighed again, as he squeezed her hand affectionately. "Honey, I'm so sorry."
She suddenly let out a quick, sarcastic chuckle, and pulled her hand back, out of his grasp to wipe her cheek forcefully.
"Look, Grissom," She breathed, "I don't need your sympathy and I don't need you to tell me I need to separate my work and personal life. I already know I do. And I usually do fine, just.. some cases hit harder, alright? I'm working on it."
He shook his head, speechless.
"And now you know, ok? Not that it matters anyways." She laughed bitterly and rolled her eyes as she wiped a tear away, avoiding his gaze. "I know I'm fucked up. I have a fucked up past... and now it's going to fuck up my job... so just... it's fine. Just do what you have to do."
"Why wouldn't it matter?" He asked, still in shock, and kicking himself internally that after everything she had just shared, he could still barely formulate a coherent sentence or offer her comfort.
"Well, I'm fired, aren't I?" She laughed sarcastically again. "Now it won't affect my work anymore, and you don't have to worry about it. Or me."
"Sara," he spoke as his brow furrowed, barely recognizing the low intimacy in his own voice, "I'm not going to fire you."
She looked up, stunned, and met his eye line for the first time since he had sat down on the couch beside her. "You said Ecklie.."
"Conrad... can talk a big show, but ultimately, you work for me." He shrugged.
"And you work for him. He could just fire both of us."
"But he won't." Grissom smiled, sadly, and shifted in his seat opposite her, "He may not like me and how I handle things, and he will never admit it, but he needs me and my credentials. I make the lab look better." He rolled his eyes, "He can't afford to lose both of us. The lab needs you.. And I need you."
There was a long pause between them, the familiarity of his words from years before hanging in the air, before he spoke again.
"If I had have been paying attention, if I had have been doing my job, you wouldn't be in this position. This is a result of my poor management, my lack of communication.. and your career should not suffer because I was too much of an idiot to see you were struggling and at your rope's end."
"Why are you putting yourself on the line for me like this? It's your career too." Her eyes squinted, and searched his face slowly.
He cleared his throat, nervously, and rolled his tongue around in his mouth for a moment before running a hand through his hair in exasperation,
"For a long time, Sara," he began nervously, "I've been married to my work. It's always just been easier to.. ignore other things around me. The people.. the feelings. It's how I've always been. I've always been able to... I can compartmentalize the various aspects of my life and make sure they don't cross contaminate."
She continued to stare, a small sad smile on her face, knowing full well that his feelings for her had likely been put into a box and shelved somewhere in his overly organized brain with the label "Do NOT Open" plastered across it like a sealed evidence bin in the warehouse. Left ignored and forgotten within rows and rows of other perfectly labeled and organized boxes.
"You said to me last week that I've always been a little more than a boss to you."
Feeling the bile rise to her throat, Sara flushed and swallowed the sudden tension that overtook her body. She knew she'd regret saying that...
"You've always been more than an employee to me, too." He finished quickly, his voice shaky, but his eyes never leaving hers. "It's.. it's a frightening concept for me. I don't.. I don't mix work and personal life, but lately it's getting... it's getting harder to distinguish the two from each other when it comes to you."
Sara could feel her mouth gaping, open and shut, trying to formulate some kind of witty reply to brush this whole thing off... after all, this temporary glimpse into his heart was only that, right? Temporary.
Surely he would snap back to reality in a minute, put his supervisor mask back on, and deny any and all feelings and words he had lain out.
Back to business.
"Sara, I.." he began again, to her surprise, when without warning his phone blared through the room.
Startling them both out of the moment, he sat back with a sigh and reached for the offending technology, and watched as she stood awkwardly and retreated to her kitchen with a hesitant smile.
"Grissom." He grumbled as he answered his phone, "Yes, Conrad. I've... yes. No. I'm not... ok. I will see you in a half hour then. Sure. Uh huh. Bye." He finished the call looking entirely unimpressed and frustrated.
"Duty calls?" Sara smiled from her small kitchen, just a few feet away, as she sipped on a glass of tap water, her hip against the hard counter top awkwardly.
He could tell she was giving him an 'out'. He recognized her body language from past conversations they'd had where she had opened up, she'd been vulnerable, and then he'd said something stupid or nothing at all and she closed off.
With a sigh he placed his hands on his knees and lifted himself from his spot on the couch while mindlessly checking his wrist watch. Had he really been there over an hour already?
Bringing his gaze back to her, he Grissom approached her and shoved his hands nervously into his pockets and nodded with apology.
"Can I, um.." he winced and squinted his eyes, trying to read her expression as she stood there, silently in front of him.
Her cheeks were still red from the tears and her eyes were puffy. She looked tired. He noticed her lip tremble ever so slightly and then quickly averted his eyes to the stubborn strand of hair that had untucked itself from behind her ears again.
He couldn't resist it anymore.
Feeling his heart race in his chest, his hand, as if on autopilot, reached out to tuck it behind her ear gently. He saw her jump a little and heard her gasp at the unexpected and uncharacteristic contact.
It was a beautiful sound. More beautiful than he could have imagined.
Her hair was impossibly soft between his thumb and his finger and he let himself linger there, his wrist against her neck, for just a moment longer than he 'should' have.
The smooth caress of her hair in his fingers and slight warmth of her neck against his skin reminded him that she was undoubtedly a woman, and he assuredly wanted her. Every broken and haunted piece. He'd always wanted her, and finally... finally he was letting himself admit it.
He brushed his thumb timidly against her soft, red cheek as he withdrew his hand and returned it to his pocket.
"Can I come back? After I..." his voice was low and intimate as he shrugged towards his phone.
Sara swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. "Ok."
"Ok." Grissom returned the nod with a small smile as he made his way to the front door, just a couple feet away before turning back to face her. He could feel the flush in his face, "Sara, I.."
"It's ok." Sara interrupted with a lopsided grin, "We can talk more later. Go deal with Ecklie."
"Get some rest." Grissom nodded and cleared his throat, back to business, as he made his way to the door and placed a hand on the knob.
Sara watched as he let himself out and walked down the apartment corridor with his bow legged gate. As he turned the corner to the stairs, he turned back with a small smile, and then he was gone.