The prescription bottle tumbled from her locker, rattling to the floor,
where it rolled a few inches and stopped. Sara hastily reached down and
scooped it up, shoving the bottle to the back of the small locker. She
glanced around the room quickly to make sure no one had noticed, then
closed the door and replaced her lock. Convinced that her actions had gone
unnoticed, the brunette slipped her jacket over her shoulders and left the
locker room, humming an Everclear song to herself. "I know the truth about
you," she sang softly.
As the door closed with a soft click, Grissom stepped to his wife's locker. She had acted extremely suspicious when that bottle had fallen, paranoid almost, and being Grissom, he couldn't leave it alone.
He popped the lock off of the locker in an instant, years of investigating robberies had taught him exactly how to break through a combination lock. Grissom reflected, as he hunted through the locker for the bottle, that he could very easily slip from criminalist to criminal. . .without being caught.
Paydirt. The unlabelled bottle, tainted orange like most prescription bottles were, came out of the locker easily. It was about half full of white pills. Grissom shook one out and sniffed it, no discernable odor. Not mints then, he concluded. Looking it over, he noticed a brand stamped into the pill, but he didn't recognize the stamp. It looked like any other white pill he'd seen in his life, but why would she be hiding it?
Grissom turned his attention to the bottle itself, slipping the pill into an evidence bag. The bottle was pretty standard, the cap told him it had come from Walgreens. Bits of adhesive remained on the bottle, the label had been taken off recently. The question of why came again. If Sara had done it, why? She'd missed a piece, which suggested to him that she didn't care that much about people knowing what was in it. But why had she taken the label off in the first place?
The piece she had missed had the word "OxyC-" typed on it.
The pieces clicked together in his mind. OxyContin. Long term pain relief, derivative of morphine, had become more popular in recent years as a drug because when it was crushed and snorted it produced heroin-like results. Very popular in small towns. Easy to OD on. Very addictive. Names of whole towns nearly obliterated by the drug and prescription fraud raced past him. He felt dizzy, weak, trying to rationalize the reasons Sara would have it, trying to put the picture of the Sara he knew together with the picture these pills were presenting.
How had he not known?
Sara wore her heart on her sleeve and he hadn't known she was in love with him. Pills would've been a thousand times easier to keep from him. . .but, God, they were married now! Their communication had increased tenfold in the last three years, he couldn't imagine how he hadn't noticed.
Grissom told himself to slow down, to talk to her, to get the pill analyzed before he jumped to any conclusions. Act like the scientist you are before you accuse her of anything.
If it was OxyContin, she hadn't gotten it for legitimate reasons. She never complained of migraines, of pain in her knee. . .the arthritis medication pretty much took care of that. Who would prescribe it to her? At any doctor's office, she would've had to tell them about the Vicodin she had been on before, the withdrawal she had suffered from that. . .
She had lied to him. It pounded through his system with every beat of his heart. She had lied to him.
"What the hell is this, Sara?" Grissom asked, holding up the bottle, rattling the pills inside. She lied to me.
She blanched, swallowed hard before asking, "Where'd you get that?"
Deer-in-the-headlights didn't describe her expression nearly enough. "Good question," he snapped, the betrayal rocketing through him again. "Where did you get them?"
"Gris. . ." Sara couldn't get her tongue and jaw to cooperate with her to tell him another lie.
"Are you snorting it?" He couldn't remember her sniffling much recently, not like Catherine had when he first met her, when she was still caught in the cocaine trap. "Damn it, are you snorting it?"
"No," she said quietly, and looked away from him.
"What the hell are you doing with OxyContin, Sara?" Her head shot up, a look of disbelief and entrapment on her face. "Greg ran a sample, it's Oxy," he confirmed. "How long? How long have you been taking it?"
"Just before the start of this case," she mumbled, looking somewhat betrayed. You have no idea, sweetheart. You only think you're feeling betrayal right now, you aren't sitting over here.
"How long before?" he demanded.
"Six weeks," Sara murmured, averting her eyes.
"You've been taking it for three months!" he exclaimed, disbelief tainting his words.
"Not every day," she protested. "Just when I need it."
"Why do you need it?"
"It numbs everything," she admitted hesitantly. "It makes things go away."
His voice cracking, the heartbreak in his eyes finally showing through, Grissom asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"
She laughed sadly. "Grissom, you think I don't know you're holding grounds for immediate dismissal? I wasn't going to tell you."
"You're getting it from a doctor?"
She closed her eyes and nodded. "I told her I was having migraines."
"Why didn't I know?" The question was completely rhetorical, but she chose to answer anyway.
"It's not like Vicodin, it's not making me crazy."
"So that morning before this case started, when you were sick. . ."
"Hangover," she acknowledged. "I took two, I was only going to take one."
"You could have died." The words came out more coldly than he had intended. "I could have lost you forever, you know what that would do to me?"
"I know," she choked, tears coming to her eyes for the first time. "What are you going to do?"
He sighed. "I don't know. You're right, this is grounds for dismissal, but. . ." He couldn't finish, just seeing the tears stream down her ashamed face made him want to cry. "Come here."
Sara crossed the office, head hanging like a kid who had broken a major rule and was expecting the worse. He wrapped her in a fierce embrace, resting his forehead on the top of her head. They stood in silence for a minute, his shirt soaking where her tears fell. "I can't lose you," he murmured. "We'll work this out, because I can't lose you, not at work, not at home."
His hand lay protectively, possessively, on her belly, resting just under her shirt, as they laid together on the couch watching a show on Navy SEALS on the Discovery Channel. She wasn't sure why they were watching, but Grissom seemed engrossed. They weren't more than an inch apart, but Sara felt like it was a thousand miles, even as Grissom pretended nothing was wrong, that it was a normal Saturday night.
"I talked to Catherine today," she offered, as six beefy guys lifted a thick log and carried it up a sand hill. "She gave me the name of a place. . ."
"Are you going to go?"
"Don't know," she said, her eyes not leaving the screen. "I might just go back to my parent's place for a little while, take a break. That might help."
"Whatever works." Grissom's voice sounded distant, absent, even as his hand began slow, soothing circles on her skin. She hated the way he could shut off completely and still act like he cared.
"I'm sorry," Sara said, after a few moments. "I never meant to do this to you. I never meant to hurt you."
"I hate it when people lie to me," he said, the animosity she felt rolling off of him in waves was only one step up from the wall he had put up. "And I really hate it when you lie to me." Grissom shifted to look her in the eye. "I didn't care about the pills, Sara. I was concerned, of course, but I didn't care that much. I cared that you didn't have the guts to talk to me about whatever was bothering you, that you had to do this. I cared that you had hid this from me, because I was under the impression that we could talk to each other!"
"We can," she murmured, looking away from his fierce gaze. "We are. . ."
"I thought I knew you, Sara."
"You do know me," she choked, feeling a rush of tears. How could he be so damn cold? "You know me better than I do."
"Obviously not." She cringed as the icy words hit her ears. "The Sara Sidle I know, the Sara I married, wouldn't have done this."
On the screen, a sailor said, "It's the teamwork, really. You have to be able to trust your shipmates, you have to know them, or you're dead. Simple as that."
Grissom scowled at the words, pushed himself off the couch and left the apartment, the door clicking behind him, leaving Sara shaking on the couch, fighting back tears.
Simple as that.
As the door closed with a soft click, Grissom stepped to his wife's locker. She had acted extremely suspicious when that bottle had fallen, paranoid almost, and being Grissom, he couldn't leave it alone.
He popped the lock off of the locker in an instant, years of investigating robberies had taught him exactly how to break through a combination lock. Grissom reflected, as he hunted through the locker for the bottle, that he could very easily slip from criminalist to criminal. . .without being caught.
Paydirt. The unlabelled bottle, tainted orange like most prescription bottles were, came out of the locker easily. It was about half full of white pills. Grissom shook one out and sniffed it, no discernable odor. Not mints then, he concluded. Looking it over, he noticed a brand stamped into the pill, but he didn't recognize the stamp. It looked like any other white pill he'd seen in his life, but why would she be hiding it?
Grissom turned his attention to the bottle itself, slipping the pill into an evidence bag. The bottle was pretty standard, the cap told him it had come from Walgreens. Bits of adhesive remained on the bottle, the label had been taken off recently. The question of why came again. If Sara had done it, why? She'd missed a piece, which suggested to him that she didn't care that much about people knowing what was in it. But why had she taken the label off in the first place?
The piece she had missed had the word "OxyC-" typed on it.
The pieces clicked together in his mind. OxyContin. Long term pain relief, derivative of morphine, had become more popular in recent years as a drug because when it was crushed and snorted it produced heroin-like results. Very popular in small towns. Easy to OD on. Very addictive. Names of whole towns nearly obliterated by the drug and prescription fraud raced past him. He felt dizzy, weak, trying to rationalize the reasons Sara would have it, trying to put the picture of the Sara he knew together with the picture these pills were presenting.
How had he not known?
Sara wore her heart on her sleeve and he hadn't known she was in love with him. Pills would've been a thousand times easier to keep from him. . .but, God, they were married now! Their communication had increased tenfold in the last three years, he couldn't imagine how he hadn't noticed.
Grissom told himself to slow down, to talk to her, to get the pill analyzed before he jumped to any conclusions. Act like the scientist you are before you accuse her of anything.
If it was OxyContin, she hadn't gotten it for legitimate reasons. She never complained of migraines, of pain in her knee. . .the arthritis medication pretty much took care of that. Who would prescribe it to her? At any doctor's office, she would've had to tell them about the Vicodin she had been on before, the withdrawal she had suffered from that. . .
She had lied to him. It pounded through his system with every beat of his heart. She had lied to him.
"What the hell is this, Sara?" Grissom asked, holding up the bottle, rattling the pills inside. She lied to me.
She blanched, swallowed hard before asking, "Where'd you get that?"
Deer-in-the-headlights didn't describe her expression nearly enough. "Good question," he snapped, the betrayal rocketing through him again. "Where did you get them?"
"Gris. . ." Sara couldn't get her tongue and jaw to cooperate with her to tell him another lie.
"Are you snorting it?" He couldn't remember her sniffling much recently, not like Catherine had when he first met her, when she was still caught in the cocaine trap. "Damn it, are you snorting it?"
"No," she said quietly, and looked away from him.
"What the hell are you doing with OxyContin, Sara?" Her head shot up, a look of disbelief and entrapment on her face. "Greg ran a sample, it's Oxy," he confirmed. "How long? How long have you been taking it?"
"Just before the start of this case," she mumbled, looking somewhat betrayed. You have no idea, sweetheart. You only think you're feeling betrayal right now, you aren't sitting over here.
"How long before?" he demanded.
"Six weeks," Sara murmured, averting her eyes.
"You've been taking it for three months!" he exclaimed, disbelief tainting his words.
"Not every day," she protested. "Just when I need it."
"Why do you need it?"
"It numbs everything," she admitted hesitantly. "It makes things go away."
His voice cracking, the heartbreak in his eyes finally showing through, Grissom asked, "Why didn't you tell me?"
She laughed sadly. "Grissom, you think I don't know you're holding grounds for immediate dismissal? I wasn't going to tell you."
"You're getting it from a doctor?"
She closed her eyes and nodded. "I told her I was having migraines."
"Why didn't I know?" The question was completely rhetorical, but she chose to answer anyway.
"It's not like Vicodin, it's not making me crazy."
"So that morning before this case started, when you were sick. . ."
"Hangover," she acknowledged. "I took two, I was only going to take one."
"You could have died." The words came out more coldly than he had intended. "I could have lost you forever, you know what that would do to me?"
"I know," she choked, tears coming to her eyes for the first time. "What are you going to do?"
He sighed. "I don't know. You're right, this is grounds for dismissal, but. . ." He couldn't finish, just seeing the tears stream down her ashamed face made him want to cry. "Come here."
Sara crossed the office, head hanging like a kid who had broken a major rule and was expecting the worse. He wrapped her in a fierce embrace, resting his forehead on the top of her head. They stood in silence for a minute, his shirt soaking where her tears fell. "I can't lose you," he murmured. "We'll work this out, because I can't lose you, not at work, not at home."
His hand lay protectively, possessively, on her belly, resting just under her shirt, as they laid together on the couch watching a show on Navy SEALS on the Discovery Channel. She wasn't sure why they were watching, but Grissom seemed engrossed. They weren't more than an inch apart, but Sara felt like it was a thousand miles, even as Grissom pretended nothing was wrong, that it was a normal Saturday night.
"I talked to Catherine today," she offered, as six beefy guys lifted a thick log and carried it up a sand hill. "She gave me the name of a place. . ."
"Are you going to go?"
"Don't know," she said, her eyes not leaving the screen. "I might just go back to my parent's place for a little while, take a break. That might help."
"Whatever works." Grissom's voice sounded distant, absent, even as his hand began slow, soothing circles on her skin. She hated the way he could shut off completely and still act like he cared.
"I'm sorry," Sara said, after a few moments. "I never meant to do this to you. I never meant to hurt you."
"I hate it when people lie to me," he said, the animosity she felt rolling off of him in waves was only one step up from the wall he had put up. "And I really hate it when you lie to me." Grissom shifted to look her in the eye. "I didn't care about the pills, Sara. I was concerned, of course, but I didn't care that much. I cared that you didn't have the guts to talk to me about whatever was bothering you, that you had to do this. I cared that you had hid this from me, because I was under the impression that we could talk to each other!"
"We can," she murmured, looking away from his fierce gaze. "We are. . ."
"I thought I knew you, Sara."
"You do know me," she choked, feeling a rush of tears. How could he be so damn cold? "You know me better than I do."
"Obviously not." She cringed as the icy words hit her ears. "The Sara Sidle I know, the Sara I married, wouldn't have done this."
On the screen, a sailor said, "It's the teamwork, really. You have to be able to trust your shipmates, you have to know them, or you're dead. Simple as that."
Grissom scowled at the words, pushed himself off the couch and left the apartment, the door clicking behind him, leaving Sara shaking on the couch, fighting back tears.
Simple as that.