"Come in."
Catherine tried the door, it was unlocked. Sara left the door unlocked? Something must have been really wrong for her to do that. She entered the apartment, Scope rasped out a short bark. "Scopie, quiet," Sara commanded from the couch, her voice raspy.
The apartment was dark except for the pale glow of the television. Sara was lounging lethargically in sweats and a T-shirt, her watchcap pulled tight on her skull, blankets up to her chin. She stared at the TV, not quite seeing the infomercial for a Perfect Steak machine, occasionally taking sips from her can of Coke.
The coffee table was littered in small items, Catherine noted. Sara's gun, disassembled like she had started cleaning it and stopped halfway through. Her pager, batteries removed. Her ID card, turned upside down so her rank and photo were facing the table's surface. Her ring, the small piece of metal the farthest item from her.
Sara looked like hell, and felt like hell, if the disassembled items were any indication.
"How are you doing?" Catherine asked quietly. Sara turned to look at her, eyes red and puffy, face in the I'm-this-close-to-tears stage.
"I'm freezing," she stated simply. It wasn't cold in the apartment at all.
"Why don't you turn up the thermostat?"
Sara rolled her eyes. "If I could, I would. But only Grissom can make the stupid thing work." She turned back to the TV. "There's nothing on at one in the morning."
"Because most people are sleeping, and those who aren't are not watching TV. Why don't you turn it off, do something else?"
Sara laughed. "Like what? Catch up on my reading? I've read everything this house has to offer. Do some chores? The bathroom's never been cleaner, I scoured the kitchen and I brushed the dog. Enough hair to coat ten Chihuahuas. The fridge is stocked. Any other ideas?"
"You could finish cleaning your gun."
The pieces of the weapon were surveyed quickly. "I didn't start cleaning it, I took it apart." Sara reached for her soda, took a sip. "There's a difference."
"Why'd you take it apart?"
"My life's falling apart, I thought I'd start with that." One corner of the brunette's mouth curled up unhappily and she shrugged. "I'm going to have to put it back together before I turn it in. . ."
Catherine's eyebrows knitted together at her statement. "You're quitting?" Quitting was the only time a law enforcement officer, including the crime lab staff, ever turned in the weapon he or she carried.
Sara raised an eyebrow. "It might hurt less than being fired."
"Sara, you are not being fired. You think Grissom would fire you?"
"He left me, didn't he?" Sara felt the tears returning, her eyes grew shiny, and she sniffed. "I never thought he'd leave," she said, voice heavy with pain. "I could've handled the suspension, I could handle being fired, I could handle quitting. And I hate myself for saying that I can't handle Grissom leaving me."
"You love him, you two practically spend every minute together. Of course it hurts." Catherine looked at the younger woman, who was trying her best to manipulate her form into as small a ball as possible to shield herself against the hurt emanating from inside. "But Sara, it's only been three days. He loves you, he's not going to be gone forever. Once he realizes.. ."
"Realizes what?" Sara snapped. "That his wife's addicted to painkillers without a good reason why, that she's untrustworthy, that she can't even run a damn case anymore, that she's a complete failure? I think he already knows."
"You are not a failure, Sara. You made a mistake and you're dealing with it. You're not a failure."
"If I'm not a failure, what am I?"
Stopped at a red light by a grocery store near their apartment, on his way from work to the hotel where he was staying, Grissom noticed something quite peculiar.
His wife was sitting on the curb, two bags of groceries slumped next to her. She had her left leg extended, her right held close to her body, she was grimacing.
He tried to bring back the numbness to cover the spike of agony he felt at seeing her and rolled down his window. "Hey," he shouted.
Sara looked around, her eyes finally settling on the Tahoe. She looked puzzled, cautious and wary, but said, "Hey yourself."
"What're you doing?" God, he sounded like a little boy, she thought, he sounded so good.
"What does it look like?" she laughed, holding up a bag. "I bought food."
"Yeah?"
A series of honks interrupted her response as the light turned green and he didn't move. "Babe, you might wanna come over here if you want to finish this conversation," she shouted.
"Fine," he grumbled, secretly pleased she hadn't told him to leave her alone, ecstatic that she had used the endearment. He pulled into the parking lot, left the Tahoe unlocked and sat down next to her. "So. . ." Grissom started.
"What are you doing down here?" she asked, breathing in deeply, capturing the Grissom scent she'd missed so much.
"Oh, me? I was just. . ." he shrugged. "In the neighborhood."
"Want to give me a ride home, while you're in the neighborhood? My knee's been killing me all day."
Grissom turned to her with concern. "Why didn't you take anything for it?"
"I'm not allowed to go near any painkillers, it's part of my 'recovery plan,'" she said, rolling her eyes. "Because, you know, Advil's so addictive."
"Come on, let's go." He rose, grabbing the two bags. She got up with a slight grimace, hobbling to the SUV.
"Thanks," she said, leaning against the counter as she watched him put the food away.
"No problem," he said, then gave the room a healthy sniff. "It's clean. Really clean."
"Oh, yeah, I know," she said off-handedly. "I was bored."
"Sare, anyone ever tell you you're obsessive-compulsive?"
"Cleaning does not mean I am obsessive-compulsive, Gris."
He gave her a small smile. "It does when you clean because you're bored."
"No, it doesn't," she protested. "A lot of people clean when they're bored, or when they're procrastinating. And you can just leave me alone, okay? I've been feeding your damn tarantula for a week and a half."
"Thank you," Grissom said, giving her a full-fledged smile. He turned to leave, Sara following him to the front door. "I guess I better go."
She glanced at his left hand, his ring still shining brightly on his finger. "I don't know, Gris," Sara said. "I was under the impression that you were only allowed to go if you took that ring off."
What was she doing, daring him to take it off and make their separation official? Is that what she wanted? The ring was not coming off, even if she did want him to. "I'm not taking it off," he said. "You want me to go so bad, you can take it off yourself. I won't do it."
A smile stretched across her face. "Yeah?" she asked hopefully.
"Yeah," Grissom admitted, moving quickly to change places with her, pinning her against the door. "I'm tired of my hotel room, I'm tired of hotel food, I'm tired of sleeping alone," he whispered, staring into her half- lidded eyes. "I'm tired of not seeing you every morning before I go to sleep, I'm tired of you not being the first thing I see when I wake up, I'm tired of not seeing you running a case, I'm tired of not chasing theories with you, I'm tired of not being with you."
Their lips met, slow and sweet, spending a good five minutes reacquainting themselves with each other. "So this is what it's like to kiss you," she said, arms around his neck, his around her waist. "I forgot."
"Let me remind you again," he said, and did just that.
"Oh, by the way, you're not suspended anymore," Grissom told her, Sara merely grunted her approval, and burrowed closer to him, placing a light kiss on his collarbone. It felt so good to have him back, so good to have those arms holding her, so good just to lie here in bed and not expect anything but a perfect night's sleep. It was true, you don't know what you have until it's gone, she couldn't believe it had taken her this long to figure that out.
"Grissom?" He made a questioning mumble, growing tired himself. "I love you. I mean it."
"Love you so much," he whispered. "More than all the insects on the world and more than all the people on the planet combined. More than all the money being gambled as we speak, more than the rate at which rabbits multiply, more than all the people getting married by Elvis in a drive-thru chapel. More than all the grains of sand in all the deserts and beaches of the world. More than all the hurt anyone could ever cause, more than all the strands of DNA in CODIS, more than all the fingerprints in AFIS. More than anything."
"I'm sorry about everything."
"Me, too."
"We'll be fine, though." He could hear the tinge of doubt in her voice.
"Yes, we will."
Catherine tried the door, it was unlocked. Sara left the door unlocked? Something must have been really wrong for her to do that. She entered the apartment, Scope rasped out a short bark. "Scopie, quiet," Sara commanded from the couch, her voice raspy.
The apartment was dark except for the pale glow of the television. Sara was lounging lethargically in sweats and a T-shirt, her watchcap pulled tight on her skull, blankets up to her chin. She stared at the TV, not quite seeing the infomercial for a Perfect Steak machine, occasionally taking sips from her can of Coke.
The coffee table was littered in small items, Catherine noted. Sara's gun, disassembled like she had started cleaning it and stopped halfway through. Her pager, batteries removed. Her ID card, turned upside down so her rank and photo were facing the table's surface. Her ring, the small piece of metal the farthest item from her.
Sara looked like hell, and felt like hell, if the disassembled items were any indication.
"How are you doing?" Catherine asked quietly. Sara turned to look at her, eyes red and puffy, face in the I'm-this-close-to-tears stage.
"I'm freezing," she stated simply. It wasn't cold in the apartment at all.
"Why don't you turn up the thermostat?"
Sara rolled her eyes. "If I could, I would. But only Grissom can make the stupid thing work." She turned back to the TV. "There's nothing on at one in the morning."
"Because most people are sleeping, and those who aren't are not watching TV. Why don't you turn it off, do something else?"
Sara laughed. "Like what? Catch up on my reading? I've read everything this house has to offer. Do some chores? The bathroom's never been cleaner, I scoured the kitchen and I brushed the dog. Enough hair to coat ten Chihuahuas. The fridge is stocked. Any other ideas?"
"You could finish cleaning your gun."
The pieces of the weapon were surveyed quickly. "I didn't start cleaning it, I took it apart." Sara reached for her soda, took a sip. "There's a difference."
"Why'd you take it apart?"
"My life's falling apart, I thought I'd start with that." One corner of the brunette's mouth curled up unhappily and she shrugged. "I'm going to have to put it back together before I turn it in. . ."
Catherine's eyebrows knitted together at her statement. "You're quitting?" Quitting was the only time a law enforcement officer, including the crime lab staff, ever turned in the weapon he or she carried.
Sara raised an eyebrow. "It might hurt less than being fired."
"Sara, you are not being fired. You think Grissom would fire you?"
"He left me, didn't he?" Sara felt the tears returning, her eyes grew shiny, and she sniffed. "I never thought he'd leave," she said, voice heavy with pain. "I could've handled the suspension, I could handle being fired, I could handle quitting. And I hate myself for saying that I can't handle Grissom leaving me."
"You love him, you two practically spend every minute together. Of course it hurts." Catherine looked at the younger woman, who was trying her best to manipulate her form into as small a ball as possible to shield herself against the hurt emanating from inside. "But Sara, it's only been three days. He loves you, he's not going to be gone forever. Once he realizes.. ."
"Realizes what?" Sara snapped. "That his wife's addicted to painkillers without a good reason why, that she's untrustworthy, that she can't even run a damn case anymore, that she's a complete failure? I think he already knows."
"You are not a failure, Sara. You made a mistake and you're dealing with it. You're not a failure."
"If I'm not a failure, what am I?"
Stopped at a red light by a grocery store near their apartment, on his way from work to the hotel where he was staying, Grissom noticed something quite peculiar.
His wife was sitting on the curb, two bags of groceries slumped next to her. She had her left leg extended, her right held close to her body, she was grimacing.
He tried to bring back the numbness to cover the spike of agony he felt at seeing her and rolled down his window. "Hey," he shouted.
Sara looked around, her eyes finally settling on the Tahoe. She looked puzzled, cautious and wary, but said, "Hey yourself."
"What're you doing?" God, he sounded like a little boy, she thought, he sounded so good.
"What does it look like?" she laughed, holding up a bag. "I bought food."
"Yeah?"
A series of honks interrupted her response as the light turned green and he didn't move. "Babe, you might wanna come over here if you want to finish this conversation," she shouted.
"Fine," he grumbled, secretly pleased she hadn't told him to leave her alone, ecstatic that she had used the endearment. He pulled into the parking lot, left the Tahoe unlocked and sat down next to her. "So. . ." Grissom started.
"What are you doing down here?" she asked, breathing in deeply, capturing the Grissom scent she'd missed so much.
"Oh, me? I was just. . ." he shrugged. "In the neighborhood."
"Want to give me a ride home, while you're in the neighborhood? My knee's been killing me all day."
Grissom turned to her with concern. "Why didn't you take anything for it?"
"I'm not allowed to go near any painkillers, it's part of my 'recovery plan,'" she said, rolling her eyes. "Because, you know, Advil's so addictive."
"Come on, let's go." He rose, grabbing the two bags. She got up with a slight grimace, hobbling to the SUV.
"Thanks," she said, leaning against the counter as she watched him put the food away.
"No problem," he said, then gave the room a healthy sniff. "It's clean. Really clean."
"Oh, yeah, I know," she said off-handedly. "I was bored."
"Sare, anyone ever tell you you're obsessive-compulsive?"
"Cleaning does not mean I am obsessive-compulsive, Gris."
He gave her a small smile. "It does when you clean because you're bored."
"No, it doesn't," she protested. "A lot of people clean when they're bored, or when they're procrastinating. And you can just leave me alone, okay? I've been feeding your damn tarantula for a week and a half."
"Thank you," Grissom said, giving her a full-fledged smile. He turned to leave, Sara following him to the front door. "I guess I better go."
She glanced at his left hand, his ring still shining brightly on his finger. "I don't know, Gris," Sara said. "I was under the impression that you were only allowed to go if you took that ring off."
What was she doing, daring him to take it off and make their separation official? Is that what she wanted? The ring was not coming off, even if she did want him to. "I'm not taking it off," he said. "You want me to go so bad, you can take it off yourself. I won't do it."
A smile stretched across her face. "Yeah?" she asked hopefully.
"Yeah," Grissom admitted, moving quickly to change places with her, pinning her against the door. "I'm tired of my hotel room, I'm tired of hotel food, I'm tired of sleeping alone," he whispered, staring into her half- lidded eyes. "I'm tired of not seeing you every morning before I go to sleep, I'm tired of you not being the first thing I see when I wake up, I'm tired of not seeing you running a case, I'm tired of not chasing theories with you, I'm tired of not being with you."
Their lips met, slow and sweet, spending a good five minutes reacquainting themselves with each other. "So this is what it's like to kiss you," she said, arms around his neck, his around her waist. "I forgot."
"Let me remind you again," he said, and did just that.
"Oh, by the way, you're not suspended anymore," Grissom told her, Sara merely grunted her approval, and burrowed closer to him, placing a light kiss on his collarbone. It felt so good to have him back, so good to have those arms holding her, so good just to lie here in bed and not expect anything but a perfect night's sleep. It was true, you don't know what you have until it's gone, she couldn't believe it had taken her this long to figure that out.
"Grissom?" He made a questioning mumble, growing tired himself. "I love you. I mean it."
"Love you so much," he whispered. "More than all the insects on the world and more than all the people on the planet combined. More than all the money being gambled as we speak, more than the rate at which rabbits multiply, more than all the people getting married by Elvis in a drive-thru chapel. More than all the grains of sand in all the deserts and beaches of the world. More than all the hurt anyone could ever cause, more than all the strands of DNA in CODIS, more than all the fingerprints in AFIS. More than anything."
"I'm sorry about everything."
"Me, too."
"We'll be fine, though." He could hear the tinge of doubt in her voice.
"Yes, we will."