Maggie Danver agreed to meet with them, so Grissom and Sara headed for the interrogation room.
Two flights of stairs and four turns through the hallways. Grissom didn't know how many times he'd traversed that route, from the morgue to the interrogation room. His stomping ground, so to speak. He was comfortable here.
Inside the interrogation room was another story. He wasn't sure what Sara intended to say to Maggie Danver and it worried him. It wasn't that he didn't trust Sara. He trusted her more than most. Usually they were on the same wavelength and she instinctively followed a course of action he was drawn to himself. But he didn't like flying blind.
"You know what you're doing."
She stopped and considered this, her eyes sweeping over the hallway, alighting briefly on a water fountain, a clock, the door of the interrogation room. Grissom realized she wasn't seeing any of these things. Sara was looking inward, thinking, figuring things out. He wished he could see what she did.
"No. Not anymore," she said after a long silence, finally returning her gaze to him.
"Well, that's the first step."
"What is?"
"Admitting that we don't know what we're doing."
"I thought the first step was admitting that we are powerless over our addictions?" She raised a cool eyebrow at Grissom, who responded with an arch in kind. "Sometimes I tag along with Warrick to his meetings."
"Might not Workaholics Anonymous be more appropriate?"
"Nah. Warrick's a gambler, remember?" She flashed a smile to light up a room. "Shall we?"
"Lead the way."
"Glad you finally decided to join us," Brass groused, shoving his hands into the pockets of his wrinkled trousers before gravitating toward one corner of the interrogation room.
"Sorry, Brass. We just stopped into see Doctor Robbins and he gave us some very inter—" Sara stopped abruptly, the words losing momentum and dying in her throat.
Grissom followed her line of sight and found himself looking at a man whom he assumed was Maggie Danver's husband. He was unremarkable, with brown hair and a slightly larger than average build. Grissom guessed by the way he moved that he used to be a really skinny guy who had bulked up at the gym. The gym would be important to him, as would his appearance. His suit was expensive—tailored—but his shoes were scuffed.
*Gotcha,* Grissom thought. A man trying to change his image, from weakling to tough guy, from working class to ruling class undone by his shoes.
This profile completed in seconds, Grissom turned back to Sara, who stood frozen near the door.
*Like a deer in the headlights. *
"Sara." Danver's voice was calm, quiet. He almost seemed amused.
"Marc." Sara looked from Marc Danver to Grissom then back again, and Grissom was struck by the look of desperation on her face and the tension in her body. "I'm sorry, I have to go," she said, bolting for the door. It happened fast, before Grissom could protest, before Brass even noticed the tension in the room.
"We knew each other, a long time ago," Marc said, the cocky smile returning. "She's gained weight. Probably because she doesn't have anyone at home to watch it for her."
Grissom puzzled over this remark, studying first Marc, then Maggie. Maggie had folded herself into her chair and beside this larger than average man she looked very small. Vulnerable and almost scared. Grissom wondered again if she could have done what the evidence was saying she did. He made a mental note to check farther into Marc Danver before leaving the interrogation room in search of Sara.
-----
"Boss, she's in there." Nick gestured to the co-ed locker room. "But there's definitely something wrong. She damn near put me through the wall because I didn't get out of her way fast enough."
"I'll take care of it."
"Hey, Gris, don't you think I should get Catherine? I mean she's better at people. Living ones, at least."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Nicky." Grissom shook his head and opened the door to the locker room. He poked his head inside, ducked as an unidentifiable object came flying at his head, withdrew, and closed the locker room door. "Maybe getting Catherine's not such a bad idea," he said, dialing his cellphone as Sara continued to take out her frustrations on the unsuspecting items inhabiting the locker room.
"No dice, Grissom. No way are you getting me back to the lab right now to deal with a personal problem. No way."
"Catherine. I need you."
Catherine sat up in bed, amid protests from her muscles and her bed partner. "Grissom" She sighed. "It would be better if you handled this on your own. I'll get out of bed for you, I'll come down there in my pajamas if you need me to, but Sara doesn't need me."
"You're not wearing any pajamas."
Catherine laughed, eliciting a grunt from the sleeping form beside her. "And that's why you make the big bucks."
"I'm not sure what to say to her, Catherine. I don't even know what's wrong."
"Then that's your first question."
The locker room was quiet, but Grissom would have felt better had he been wearing protective gear. A facemask, elbow pads, maybe a cup. He glanced around the room, ever conscious of the risk of randomly flung objects hurting him.
He found her in the back corner, underneath the small window. The Las Vegas sun was pouring in and he suddenly realized they'd be on shift for a very long time. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and her head was bent down, her hair hanging in waves across her face.
"Sara."
"I'm fine." She lifted her head, defiance gleaming in her eyes.
Grissom chuckled. "Sara" he said again, searching for the right words. "Do you want to uhh talk about it?"
At least she laughed. She laughed like it was the funniest thing she'd heard in a long time and she laughed until tears were streaming down her face and Grissom knew that she wasn't really laughing at all. He sat down next to her, awkwardly, and gently held her as she cried.
It wasn't more than a minute or two before he could feel Sara gathering her strength and pulling herself back together. He surveyed the damage to the locker room—nothing too serious, although Greg would be upset she broke his Magic 8 ball. A quick check of Greg's open locker assured Grissom that the Seamonkeys were okay, at least.
He turned back to see Sara roughly wiping her eyes on sleeves of her shirt.
"Are there days when it's too much for you, Grissom?"
Grissom sighed heavily. "All the time. But I just keep reminding myself of one thing."
"Okay, I'll bite. What's the one thing?"
"Everyone around me is having a worse day than I am."
With that, she really started laughing. He enjoyed the sound of it for a little while before speaking.
"Shift's over. You should go home. Can I drive you?"
"Okay. But not home," she said, thinking of the stack of crime books and the cat she had waiting for her.
"Then where?"
"Breakfast?""
They'd gone to a little diner a few miles down the strip. It was called Mom's, which bothered Grissom.
"Never eat at a restaurant called Mom's', never play cards with a man named Doc and never lie down with a woman with more troubles than you." He'd said.
"Don't worry Grissom, I don't want to sleep with you," she'd joked over their vegetarian omelets. He'd ordered it on his own, which surprised her, because she didn't expect that he'd remember her preferences, let alone bend to respect them.
"You want to talk about those troubles?"
"Maybe later."
"You want to be alone for a while?"
"No. Not really."
"Okay."
They'd gotten into Grissom's Tahoe and Sara was curled up, asleep before they'd gone a mile. He marveled at how still she could be.
