"Grissom?" she asked, poking her head out of the bathroom. He looked up
from "Applied Psychodynamics in Forensic Science" with a "Hmm?"
"Could you wash my back?" Sara asked, without a hint of innuendo. "It's covered in ink, and I can't reach to get it cleaned off." She flashed a nervous smile, tapping her fingers against the doorframe, her version of stationary pacing. "I mean, it's really bugging me, 'All finished' written back there, but it isn't coming off," she explained rapid-fire, so anxious she looked like she was about to rip the doorframe off.
"Sure," he answered cautiously, marking his page in the magazine and placing it on the couch. Sara anxious made him nervous, and he wondered for a single instant if she was on to something with the OxyContin, if it numbed this kind of behavior.
Under the shower's spray a few minutes later, he scrubbed at the imagined ink and the words Barnes had written with a loofah and peach scented shower gel as Sara stood stock still before him. "You missed a spot," she commented. "To your lower left. . .perfect." She turned to rinse off, kissed him quickly. "Thanks."
"No problem."
She looked down at the loofah. "You're going to smell like peach," she apologized. "Not very He-Man Women Hater's Club."
He shrugged. "I'm secure enough to smell like peaches," Grissom assured her. "Besides, I've always liked girls, except when I was eight."
"No one likes the opposite sex when they're eight, it's a given." She immediately thought of Sean Gregory, who probably thought that all girls had cooties, who was never going to have the chance to think differently.
"Sara, don't even go there," he warned as the sad expression passed over her face. "Leave work at work. There will be no rabbit chasing in this house."
She snorted. "Kiss me if you think that'll work."
"Oh, I'll kiss you, but only because I know it won't work." He leaned into her, but did not touch her, instead whispering, "You know, some marriage counselors suggest showering together in order to strengthen the bond."
"Right, like we need to have a stronger bond," she said with sarcasm. "Cite your source."
"Cosmopolitan." His answer had the desired effect, she exploded into laughter.
"You read Cosmo? When?" She giggled. "I don't believe this, my husband read Cosmo."
"Only once," he protested. "I was at the doctor's office, waiting for you to get done. It was Cosmo or some crap about bass fishing. Besides," he shrugged, deadpan, "I wanted to find out the secret to tighter buns."
"Grissom's a girl!" Sara sang with a smile. "Next thing I know, you'll be asking me if your blue shirt makes you look fat."
"You better be careful, or I'm going to have to show you who really wears the pants in this house. . ."
"You mean me?"
"Ooh, you're askin' for it. . ." he warned.
"Damn straight!" Sara replied with a grin. "Bring it on. . ."
"Honey?" Sara cringed at the nickname, but turned anyway with a questioning look. "Does my birthday suit make me look fat?"
"Oh, God, Grissom. . ." she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."
"Too late," he said. "Actions speak louder than words. . ."
She rolled away from him with a groan. "I don't know why I married you," she grumbled.
"Because you love me," he replied cheerfully. "And I'm brilliant."
"Why are you so damn cheerful?"
He shrugged. "Guess you just bring out the merry in me."
Sara scowled into her pillow. Why couldn't he be normal? Oh, right, her mind helpfully supplied. He's Grissom, he studies bugs, blood, and bodies. You wanted normal, you shoulda stuck with Hank. Her scowl deepened. Nine- to-five, blond-and-blue, "I can't believe you called!" twelve-year-old-boy, the most exciting thing he's ever done was be a paramedic and he can't even handle the smell of death. That kind of normal I can live without, thank you very much, she told herself. Besides, Grissom's a challenge, a puzzle, and God knows I love puzzles.
"Love you," he mumbled, finally starting to drift off.
"Me, too."
"That's good."
"I think so," she replied. He was so strange when he was sleepy. . .
"Time to sleep the perfect sleep. . ." Another yawn and he was out like a light.
Sara lay awake for an hour, thinking about Sean Gregory, wishing Grissom hadn't flushed the OxyContin down the toilet all those weeks ago. This case would be so much easier to deal with if. . .No, she told herself. You are not going to go fake chronic back pain to a doctor you've never met to get a sample of something you don't need. But God, it would make this easy. . .You don't need easy, remember? You like challenges.
Besides, you promised him. . .
I won't do it, she thought, with a glance to the man sleeping beside her. I'm not going to get up and get dressed and hunt through a phone book to make an appointment with a new doctor and go through a whole new physical where I have to remember to cringe at exactly the right moment just to get a sample of something that I have to hide just to feel like me again. I won't do it. I promised him. I can't hurt him.
I won't do it.
I can cancel, she thought. If I leave right now, I can make it home and he'll never notice I was gone. I can cancel.
"Sara Sidle?" If I don't answer, they'll think I'm a no-show, and they'll forget I had an appointment.
"That's me," she heard herself say, standing with a grimace that was just perfect, not too hard and not too soft, just the right mix that shouted chronic pain.
I can lie, say it's not so bad, I can take two Advil and I'm okay. . .
The steering wheel made an excellent keyboard as she anxiously tapped out her letter of resignation, glancing furtively as the prescription sitting in the passenger's seat. The glare of the pharmacy's lights washed the car in a guilty, desperate light.
I won't do it. I won't go in, I won't get this filled out, I won't take one or maybe two, I won't.
I will aim the car towards the gym and work out all this festering crap on a punching bag, I will be healthy, I will not give Grissom a reason to fire me and leave me.
I won't go in.
She hunted frantically through the drawer, knee killing her as she knelt on the stiff rug of their bedroom. Where the hell was the bottle? She'd just put it there yesterday, where were the pills? I need it I need it I need it, her brain shouted desperately. Where are they?
"Looking for these?" His tone froze her in place, the chill rushing over her and settling in her bones. "Sara, turn around."
"I was just getting a. . .shirt," she said, whirling around with a handful of material and a mouthful of excuses. "See?" She held it up for him to see.
"Get up," he commanded, cool as a executioner. She obeyed slowly, not meeting his eyes. "I don't know what to say to you right now."
"Then don't say anything."
"Damn it, Sara! You promised me, you fucking promised me you stopped this shit!" At her deer-in-the-headlights look, Grissom continued furiously, "The doctor called, wondered if your back pain," he uttered her excuse with disgust, "was any better with the OxyContin. You wanna call her and tell her why your husband didn't know about any back pain?" The word 'husband' came out like a curse, and she pulled back from the rush of anger.
"I don't believe you," he spat. "My God, how am I supposed to trust you on a case when I can't even trust you on this?"
"Grissom. . ." she trailed. "I love you." The words sounded just as forged as her back pain.
"You love me?" he asked incredulously. "You love me? What about your job, you love that?" At her cautious nod, he continued with, "Apparently not enough. You're suspended."
"What?" Sara exclaimed, knowing that he had good reason, that he really should have fired her a long time ago, and she should feel lucky she was only getting suspended, but the anger and disbelief still bubbled up.
"Suspended."
"But the Gregory case, my Suit case. . ."
"Are no longer your responsibility." He stalked out of the room angrily.
"Grissom, wait!" His hand paused on the knob of the front door. "Where are you going?" she asked, sounding like the paranoid, jaded, lonely wife they'd both seen on TV a thousand times.
Grissom inhaled sharply, but did not turn. "I don't know," he said to the door after a long, painfully silent moment. "I'm not sure when I'm coming back."
As the door closed behind him, Sara slumped to the floor, her back resting against his side of the bed. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she held on to herself tight, bracketing herself against the racking sobs which hit her like a summer thunderstorm. Overwhelming desolation and guilt coursed through her, the emotions as much a part of her as the DNA in her cells. She had known this was going to happen, damn it, she had known and gone ahead with it anyway. She found her mind in the parking lot of that pharmacy, watched herself not go in, wished violently that she had followed her thought of I won't do it.
If Grissom only knew how much she wanted to take it back. . .
TBC
"Could you wash my back?" Sara asked, without a hint of innuendo. "It's covered in ink, and I can't reach to get it cleaned off." She flashed a nervous smile, tapping her fingers against the doorframe, her version of stationary pacing. "I mean, it's really bugging me, 'All finished' written back there, but it isn't coming off," she explained rapid-fire, so anxious she looked like she was about to rip the doorframe off.
"Sure," he answered cautiously, marking his page in the magazine and placing it on the couch. Sara anxious made him nervous, and he wondered for a single instant if she was on to something with the OxyContin, if it numbed this kind of behavior.
Under the shower's spray a few minutes later, he scrubbed at the imagined ink and the words Barnes had written with a loofah and peach scented shower gel as Sara stood stock still before him. "You missed a spot," she commented. "To your lower left. . .perfect." She turned to rinse off, kissed him quickly. "Thanks."
"No problem."
She looked down at the loofah. "You're going to smell like peach," she apologized. "Not very He-Man Women Hater's Club."
He shrugged. "I'm secure enough to smell like peaches," Grissom assured her. "Besides, I've always liked girls, except when I was eight."
"No one likes the opposite sex when they're eight, it's a given." She immediately thought of Sean Gregory, who probably thought that all girls had cooties, who was never going to have the chance to think differently.
"Sara, don't even go there," he warned as the sad expression passed over her face. "Leave work at work. There will be no rabbit chasing in this house."
She snorted. "Kiss me if you think that'll work."
"Oh, I'll kiss you, but only because I know it won't work." He leaned into her, but did not touch her, instead whispering, "You know, some marriage counselors suggest showering together in order to strengthen the bond."
"Right, like we need to have a stronger bond," she said with sarcasm. "Cite your source."
"Cosmopolitan." His answer had the desired effect, she exploded into laughter.
"You read Cosmo? When?" She giggled. "I don't believe this, my husband read Cosmo."
"Only once," he protested. "I was at the doctor's office, waiting for you to get done. It was Cosmo or some crap about bass fishing. Besides," he shrugged, deadpan, "I wanted to find out the secret to tighter buns."
"Grissom's a girl!" Sara sang with a smile. "Next thing I know, you'll be asking me if your blue shirt makes you look fat."
"You better be careful, or I'm going to have to show you who really wears the pants in this house. . ."
"You mean me?"
"Ooh, you're askin' for it. . ." he warned.
"Damn straight!" Sara replied with a grin. "Bring it on. . ."
"Honey?" Sara cringed at the nickname, but turned anyway with a questioning look. "Does my birthday suit make me look fat?"
"Oh, God, Grissom. . ." she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."
"Too late," he said. "Actions speak louder than words. . ."
She rolled away from him with a groan. "I don't know why I married you," she grumbled.
"Because you love me," he replied cheerfully. "And I'm brilliant."
"Why are you so damn cheerful?"
He shrugged. "Guess you just bring out the merry in me."
Sara scowled into her pillow. Why couldn't he be normal? Oh, right, her mind helpfully supplied. He's Grissom, he studies bugs, blood, and bodies. You wanted normal, you shoulda stuck with Hank. Her scowl deepened. Nine- to-five, blond-and-blue, "I can't believe you called!" twelve-year-old-boy, the most exciting thing he's ever done was be a paramedic and he can't even handle the smell of death. That kind of normal I can live without, thank you very much, she told herself. Besides, Grissom's a challenge, a puzzle, and God knows I love puzzles.
"Love you," he mumbled, finally starting to drift off.
"Me, too."
"That's good."
"I think so," she replied. He was so strange when he was sleepy. . .
"Time to sleep the perfect sleep. . ." Another yawn and he was out like a light.
Sara lay awake for an hour, thinking about Sean Gregory, wishing Grissom hadn't flushed the OxyContin down the toilet all those weeks ago. This case would be so much easier to deal with if. . .No, she told herself. You are not going to go fake chronic back pain to a doctor you've never met to get a sample of something you don't need. But God, it would make this easy. . .You don't need easy, remember? You like challenges.
Besides, you promised him. . .
I won't do it, she thought, with a glance to the man sleeping beside her. I'm not going to get up and get dressed and hunt through a phone book to make an appointment with a new doctor and go through a whole new physical where I have to remember to cringe at exactly the right moment just to get a sample of something that I have to hide just to feel like me again. I won't do it. I promised him. I can't hurt him.
I won't do it.
I can cancel, she thought. If I leave right now, I can make it home and he'll never notice I was gone. I can cancel.
"Sara Sidle?" If I don't answer, they'll think I'm a no-show, and they'll forget I had an appointment.
"That's me," she heard herself say, standing with a grimace that was just perfect, not too hard and not too soft, just the right mix that shouted chronic pain.
I can lie, say it's not so bad, I can take two Advil and I'm okay. . .
The steering wheel made an excellent keyboard as she anxiously tapped out her letter of resignation, glancing furtively as the prescription sitting in the passenger's seat. The glare of the pharmacy's lights washed the car in a guilty, desperate light.
I won't do it. I won't go in, I won't get this filled out, I won't take one or maybe two, I won't.
I will aim the car towards the gym and work out all this festering crap on a punching bag, I will be healthy, I will not give Grissom a reason to fire me and leave me.
I won't go in.
She hunted frantically through the drawer, knee killing her as she knelt on the stiff rug of their bedroom. Where the hell was the bottle? She'd just put it there yesterday, where were the pills? I need it I need it I need it, her brain shouted desperately. Where are they?
"Looking for these?" His tone froze her in place, the chill rushing over her and settling in her bones. "Sara, turn around."
"I was just getting a. . .shirt," she said, whirling around with a handful of material and a mouthful of excuses. "See?" She held it up for him to see.
"Get up," he commanded, cool as a executioner. She obeyed slowly, not meeting his eyes. "I don't know what to say to you right now."
"Then don't say anything."
"Damn it, Sara! You promised me, you fucking promised me you stopped this shit!" At her deer-in-the-headlights look, Grissom continued furiously, "The doctor called, wondered if your back pain," he uttered her excuse with disgust, "was any better with the OxyContin. You wanna call her and tell her why your husband didn't know about any back pain?" The word 'husband' came out like a curse, and she pulled back from the rush of anger.
"I don't believe you," he spat. "My God, how am I supposed to trust you on a case when I can't even trust you on this?"
"Grissom. . ." she trailed. "I love you." The words sounded just as forged as her back pain.
"You love me?" he asked incredulously. "You love me? What about your job, you love that?" At her cautious nod, he continued with, "Apparently not enough. You're suspended."
"What?" Sara exclaimed, knowing that he had good reason, that he really should have fired her a long time ago, and she should feel lucky she was only getting suspended, but the anger and disbelief still bubbled up.
"Suspended."
"But the Gregory case, my Suit case. . ."
"Are no longer your responsibility." He stalked out of the room angrily.
"Grissom, wait!" His hand paused on the knob of the front door. "Where are you going?" she asked, sounding like the paranoid, jaded, lonely wife they'd both seen on TV a thousand times.
Grissom inhaled sharply, but did not turn. "I don't know," he said to the door after a long, painfully silent moment. "I'm not sure when I'm coming back."
As the door closed behind him, Sara slumped to the floor, her back resting against his side of the bed. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she held on to herself tight, bracketing herself against the racking sobs which hit her like a summer thunderstorm. Overwhelming desolation and guilt coursed through her, the emotions as much a part of her as the DNA in her cells. She had known this was going to happen, damn it, she had known and gone ahead with it anyway. She found her mind in the parking lot of that pharmacy, watched herself not go in, wished violently that she had followed her thought of I won't do it.
If Grissom only knew how much she wanted to take it back. . .
TBC