Needs
By Jess
Author's Notes: Yes, it's been a long time. Do you even remember this story? :) I'm sorry for the delay! I would just like to say (and this has NOTHING to do with my writing) that I'm flipping excited about the Angels winning the World Series. HOORAY! :) Moving on...
Disclaimer: See Chapter One.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: This is a post-fic for TAIE.
CHAPTER TWO: Only Happy When It Rains
I burst into the crime lab and pulled the door shut behind me. I shook my head, sending droplets of fallen rain back into the air. A thunderstorm had taken Las Vegas by surprise and it seemed as though God was against me. The fifteen-minute drive to work had taken forty and I knew Grissom would be less than pleased. I had already received one page from Catherine but my cell phone had conveniently died as soon as I set foot into my Tahoe.
I rushed down the hall to the break room. It was empty. I took a sharp right and headed to Grissom's office. I knocked shortly and burst in. He was sitting at his desk, on the phone, and with hard eyes, he pointed at his watch. I cringed and nodded. He scribbled some words on a piece of paper in front of him and pushed it across the desk. I picked it up and nodded. I was at a double homicide at the freshmen dorm at UNLV with Sara. I looked up at him and he gave me a pointed look. I took it to heart and eased out quickly.
I braved the rain again and tried to get to the college campus as quickly as possible. I found the dorm easily and O'Reilly was there to greet me. "What do we have, sir?" I asked.
"'We' have nothing. Your little friend Sara, on the other hand, has everything in her hands," O'Reilly commented.
I grinned. "Was she spitting out orders?"
"More like chewing the ass of anyone who got near the scene." He pointed to the left and we walked down a narrow hall, littered with students and police officers. "Tori Hardwood, age eighteen, gunshot wound to the head. Her boyfriend, Matt, age twenty, still has the gun in his mouth."
I grimaced and entered the room. Sure enough, a young redhead donned the floor by the window. A young man with light brown hair was on the lower bed of the two bunk beds. O'Reilly hadn't lied; the gun was resting with the nose in his mouth, his hand wrapped around the butt of it. Sara was kneeling next to the girl's body and she promptly turned when she heard us at the door.
"Nick. Hey." O'Reilly nodded at her and left.
"Hey, Sara." I stepped further into the room and set down my case. "Sorry."
She shook her head and dismissed my apology. My eyes swept over the room again, looking at the details this time. The room was abnormally neat for a college student. The blinds were drawn but flashes of lightning could still be seen through the slits. Posters of the school's fall football schedule, Tim McGraw, and the Dixie Chicks decorated the walls. The bedspread underneath the boy was yellow; the upper bunk was blue. Two desks, two computers, a small refrigerator, and a small TV accented the room as well.
I knelt by the bed. "What do you think?"
She smiled slyly and said, "I don't think he shot himself."
"Oh, yeah? Where did you come up with that?"
"Just a hunch. Care to prove it for me?"
I asked, "Did you already take pictures of him?"
"Yeah."
I took my flashlight and shone it on the boy's face. Blood, bone, skin, and hair graced the bed sheets and the wall behind him; I knew without looking the back of his head was gone. The boy's face glistened. My light revealed that his clothes were slightly darker on his chest and under his arms. I touched the shirt; it was damp. I frowned and looked around the room for a thermostat. I didn't see one. "Sara, is it hot in here to you?"
"A little, but I'm always cold. Why?"
"How long have they been dead?"
"Um, an hour and a half."
I rested back on my heels and said, "It's hot in here. I'm guessing around eighty. He was sweating before he died. His shirt is damp and his skin is, too." Sara stood and walked over to me. She knelt down next to me and looked at his face. I turned to look at her. "If he really didn't shoot himself, and someone else did, with force, maybe-"
"Maybe we can lift a print off his skin?" she asked, finishing my thought. She nodded slowly. "Quite possible." She reached over and brushed some of his hair off his face. I watched her fingers flick and retract. "Look, there's some slight bruising." I shined the light and pursed my lips. She nodded. "Yeah. I think we could do it." She nudged me with her elbow and said, "I think you could do it."
I rolled my eyes. I snapped a quick picture of the bruising across his brow. I took a sheet of lifting tape and carefully applied it to his forehead. I finished up and, two minutes later, I had three prints lifted off of his forehead. "Sara."
"Yeah?" She turned and grinned. "Nice."
We finished processing the scene. The air was heavy in the dorm room; everything seemed to be weighing down on us. With a speed that seemed unnatural to both of us, we packed up and walked out through the lobby. The storm raged on outside. Sara turned to me and said, "I hitched a ride over here with O'Reilly."
I nodded and grabbed her elbow, leading her to the very last door on the left. "What's wrong with your car?"
"It wouldn't start." She shrugged. "I don't do cars."
I smiled and said, "Wanna make a run for it?"
She looked down at our kits. I did the same. Everything was sealed and the evidence was safe. No sir, there would be no water damage on our shift. She met my eye and said, "What the hell."
I opened the door and we stepped out under the small overhang. I just grinned and took off. She was right on my tail. I took the automatic opener in my hands and punched the unlock button and the trunk button. I reached for the handle and pulled the rear door open after checking to see that Sara was not in its path. She quickly ducked underneath the covering and placed her kit on the floor. I moved to store mine next to hers but I was efficiently bumped into the rain with a swift turn of her hips. I stood, shocked, for just a moment and looked at her grinning face. I took a step forward to return to the shelter but she came forward, too, blocking my path.
I moved to the left, then the right, but her hands met my chest and pressed hard, pushing me into the downpour. I called over the din of the rain, "What are you doing?"
I glimpsed a grin as she backed up and allowed me to enter the dry area. She yelled back, "Getting you soaked!" I laughed; she had succeeded. She darted around the Tahoe to the passenger side. I stored my kit next to hers and shut the trunk. I hurried to join her in the dry safety of the car.
We both sat still for a moment, trying to adjust to our wet clothes and the stillness of the Tahoe. Finally, a laugh escaped Sara's mouth. I turned to her and grinned. She smiled back and raked her fingers through her hair. "Well, Nick, you're fun to play in the rain with. I'll give you that much."
I turned on the car and she adjusted the air vents. She turned the air to hot and sat silently as I backed out of the spot. I was driving down Conway when I spoke. "How are you feeling about... yesterday?"
She undid her seatbelt and sat up straighter. I watched her shrug off her jacket. She frowned at the wet garment and tossed it into the back. "I don't know. I haven't talked to him yet, besides him handing out assignments. I don't think I want to."
"So you're just going to leave it?"
"I'm not sure yet," she sighed, pulling at her wet tank top. "Hey, Nick, can you stop by my apartment? I don't have a change of clothes in my locker and I don't want to wait to dry."
"Yeah, sure," I replied. "Just point me in the right direction." I realized at that moment that, after working with her for over two years, I had never set foot into her personal space. I had been to Grissom's townhouse and Catherine's home. I was at Warrick's and Greg's apartments all the time. I had never seen the private Sara, the Sara that I realized I desperately wanted to learn.
I didn't try to reignite the conversation concerning her and Grissom. I frankly didn't want to hear of her torment and anguish over him. I watched through my peripheral vision her slender fingers finding my CD book, flipping through every page. She paused only to read titles. When she reached the last CD, she turned to me and smirked. "Lemme guess. You're from Texas?"
"Stereotype," I admonished.
"If you were the sole example, it'd be a pretty damn true one. Take a right at the light." She put the CD book on the floor mat again and picked at the hem of her shirt. She sighed and said, "You know, I don't mind being in the rain. The cold skin and funny looking hair doesn't bother me. It's my clothes not fitting afterward that bothers me."
A small smile magically appeared on my face at Sara's insight. She didn't strike me as the type of female who would be concerned with appearance. I guess, deep down, they all worried to some degree. I allowed my eyes to sweep across her shirt. Before it had been soaked, it had been a blood red color. It was a tank top, with lace for straps. It was feminine. I wondered what other girly things Sara owned. "I like it."
"Like what?" I looked at her shirt. She looked down and smiled. "Thanks. Take a left."
I listened to the few remaining directions. I parked in an empty spot and turned off the car. I saw Sara hesitate as she reached for the door, but she swiftly continued on her way. The rain had slowed. It was a mere drizzle now. Nevertheless, we walked hurriedly to the front door. Once inside, she led the way to her apartment. Fourth floor. 439.
She slipped the key into the lock and twisted to the left. The knob turned and the door swung open. She stepped inside the apartment and moved toward the back. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll only be a minute." She disappeared down the hallway, leaving me to explore.
For someone who was often perceived as cold and offstandish, Sara's home was surprisingly cozy. The colors were rich and dark. There were no lights on so I hit a switch. Dim light fell over the kitchen. It was very atmospheric. I moved out of the kitchen and into her living area. A couch, two over-stuffed chairs, a coffee table, a television, a computer, a desk, and an entertainment center stood in their specific places, places I could tell were arranged just so. Paintings graced the walls. She didn't possess too many knick-knacks. After growing up in a house full of odds and ends, the absence struck me funny; looking around again, it fit me as typical Sara. It was right.
I walked to the entertainment center. She had a nice stereo system. I glanced at the DVD and VCR. She was missing a Play Station. I reminded myself to tease her about her lack of entertainment later. I perused the CD titles. Beatles, Elvis, Miles David, Queen, Melissa Etheridge, Blondie, James Taylor, Bob Marley. She certainly had an eclectic taste in listening choices. Below the CDs were books of fiction. Patricia Cornwell, John Grisham, Michael Crichton, Tom Clancy. She was a normal, everyday reader. I looked on the next shelf. I grinned at my findings. Here was the Sara I knew and loved. Forensic textbooks and journals met my eye. I looked on the last shelf and scoured the DVD and video titles.
"Having fun, Nosey?"
Her breath tickled my neck. I jumped and turned around. She grinned, baring her gapped teeth, and pulled at her freshly brushed hair. She wore a tank top that looked identical as the one she had just shed except for the color. The dark green brought out the myriad of colors in her eyes. I shrugged and said, "You have very interesting tastes."
She gave me a funny look. Realization dawned and she said, "You've never been here before."
I nodded. "I'm aware of that."
Her hand slipped around my elbow and she pulled on my arm. "Well, that's my kitchen. You were just in my living room." She walked down the hallway and turned on the light. "That's the guest room." I peeked into the room. It was sparsely decorated. She kept walking. "This is my bedroom." She turned and leaned against the wall. "That's the grand tour."
I smiled and looked into her bedroom. The room was large and spacious. Another door, the bathroom door, was to the left. The dominant colors were ivory and dark purple. The dresser and bed frame and bedside tables were mahogany. On a small table by the window, an orchid stood tall and alert. I inspected the plant and frowned. I remembered hearing Sara talk to Catherine about a plant from Grissom. That had been years ago. She couldn't still have it, could she?
I turned to her and smiled to hide my slight confusion. "Nice."
She laughed. "I'm glad you approve." She returned to the kitchen. "You should come by more often."
I was taken aback by her offer, her sheer forwardness. I followed her and nodded. "Yeah. I think I'll take you up on your offer." She turned to face me and she smiled. I smiled back. After a moment our smiles dropped and we stood in the kitchen, staring at each other. Beyond the rain, I swore I heard the blood rushing through my veins and, for an instant, I could hear hers too. I memorized the planes of her face, the contours of her neck, the curls of her drying hair. Under my intense gaze, her eyes dropped and she took a step back, mentioning work. I nodded, oblivious to her comment, and followed her back to the Tahoe, back to work.
That's all for now. I'll try to update soon. :)
By Jess
Author's Notes: Yes, it's been a long time. Do you even remember this story? :) I'm sorry for the delay! I would just like to say (and this has NOTHING to do with my writing) that I'm flipping excited about the Angels winning the World Series. HOORAY! :) Moving on...
Disclaimer: See Chapter One.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: This is a post-fic for TAIE.
CHAPTER TWO: Only Happy When It Rains
I burst into the crime lab and pulled the door shut behind me. I shook my head, sending droplets of fallen rain back into the air. A thunderstorm had taken Las Vegas by surprise and it seemed as though God was against me. The fifteen-minute drive to work had taken forty and I knew Grissom would be less than pleased. I had already received one page from Catherine but my cell phone had conveniently died as soon as I set foot into my Tahoe.
I rushed down the hall to the break room. It was empty. I took a sharp right and headed to Grissom's office. I knocked shortly and burst in. He was sitting at his desk, on the phone, and with hard eyes, he pointed at his watch. I cringed and nodded. He scribbled some words on a piece of paper in front of him and pushed it across the desk. I picked it up and nodded. I was at a double homicide at the freshmen dorm at UNLV with Sara. I looked up at him and he gave me a pointed look. I took it to heart and eased out quickly.
I braved the rain again and tried to get to the college campus as quickly as possible. I found the dorm easily and O'Reilly was there to greet me. "What do we have, sir?" I asked.
"'We' have nothing. Your little friend Sara, on the other hand, has everything in her hands," O'Reilly commented.
I grinned. "Was she spitting out orders?"
"More like chewing the ass of anyone who got near the scene." He pointed to the left and we walked down a narrow hall, littered with students and police officers. "Tori Hardwood, age eighteen, gunshot wound to the head. Her boyfriend, Matt, age twenty, still has the gun in his mouth."
I grimaced and entered the room. Sure enough, a young redhead donned the floor by the window. A young man with light brown hair was on the lower bed of the two bunk beds. O'Reilly hadn't lied; the gun was resting with the nose in his mouth, his hand wrapped around the butt of it. Sara was kneeling next to the girl's body and she promptly turned when she heard us at the door.
"Nick. Hey." O'Reilly nodded at her and left.
"Hey, Sara." I stepped further into the room and set down my case. "Sorry."
She shook her head and dismissed my apology. My eyes swept over the room again, looking at the details this time. The room was abnormally neat for a college student. The blinds were drawn but flashes of lightning could still be seen through the slits. Posters of the school's fall football schedule, Tim McGraw, and the Dixie Chicks decorated the walls. The bedspread underneath the boy was yellow; the upper bunk was blue. Two desks, two computers, a small refrigerator, and a small TV accented the room as well.
I knelt by the bed. "What do you think?"
She smiled slyly and said, "I don't think he shot himself."
"Oh, yeah? Where did you come up with that?"
"Just a hunch. Care to prove it for me?"
I asked, "Did you already take pictures of him?"
"Yeah."
I took my flashlight and shone it on the boy's face. Blood, bone, skin, and hair graced the bed sheets and the wall behind him; I knew without looking the back of his head was gone. The boy's face glistened. My light revealed that his clothes were slightly darker on his chest and under his arms. I touched the shirt; it was damp. I frowned and looked around the room for a thermostat. I didn't see one. "Sara, is it hot in here to you?"
"A little, but I'm always cold. Why?"
"How long have they been dead?"
"Um, an hour and a half."
I rested back on my heels and said, "It's hot in here. I'm guessing around eighty. He was sweating before he died. His shirt is damp and his skin is, too." Sara stood and walked over to me. She knelt down next to me and looked at his face. I turned to look at her. "If he really didn't shoot himself, and someone else did, with force, maybe-"
"Maybe we can lift a print off his skin?" she asked, finishing my thought. She nodded slowly. "Quite possible." She reached over and brushed some of his hair off his face. I watched her fingers flick and retract. "Look, there's some slight bruising." I shined the light and pursed my lips. She nodded. "Yeah. I think we could do it." She nudged me with her elbow and said, "I think you could do it."
I rolled my eyes. I snapped a quick picture of the bruising across his brow. I took a sheet of lifting tape and carefully applied it to his forehead. I finished up and, two minutes later, I had three prints lifted off of his forehead. "Sara."
"Yeah?" She turned and grinned. "Nice."
We finished processing the scene. The air was heavy in the dorm room; everything seemed to be weighing down on us. With a speed that seemed unnatural to both of us, we packed up and walked out through the lobby. The storm raged on outside. Sara turned to me and said, "I hitched a ride over here with O'Reilly."
I nodded and grabbed her elbow, leading her to the very last door on the left. "What's wrong with your car?"
"It wouldn't start." She shrugged. "I don't do cars."
I smiled and said, "Wanna make a run for it?"
She looked down at our kits. I did the same. Everything was sealed and the evidence was safe. No sir, there would be no water damage on our shift. She met my eye and said, "What the hell."
I opened the door and we stepped out under the small overhang. I just grinned and took off. She was right on my tail. I took the automatic opener in my hands and punched the unlock button and the trunk button. I reached for the handle and pulled the rear door open after checking to see that Sara was not in its path. She quickly ducked underneath the covering and placed her kit on the floor. I moved to store mine next to hers but I was efficiently bumped into the rain with a swift turn of her hips. I stood, shocked, for just a moment and looked at her grinning face. I took a step forward to return to the shelter but she came forward, too, blocking my path.
I moved to the left, then the right, but her hands met my chest and pressed hard, pushing me into the downpour. I called over the din of the rain, "What are you doing?"
I glimpsed a grin as she backed up and allowed me to enter the dry area. She yelled back, "Getting you soaked!" I laughed; she had succeeded. She darted around the Tahoe to the passenger side. I stored my kit next to hers and shut the trunk. I hurried to join her in the dry safety of the car.
We both sat still for a moment, trying to adjust to our wet clothes and the stillness of the Tahoe. Finally, a laugh escaped Sara's mouth. I turned to her and grinned. She smiled back and raked her fingers through her hair. "Well, Nick, you're fun to play in the rain with. I'll give you that much."
I turned on the car and she adjusted the air vents. She turned the air to hot and sat silently as I backed out of the spot. I was driving down Conway when I spoke. "How are you feeling about... yesterday?"
She undid her seatbelt and sat up straighter. I watched her shrug off her jacket. She frowned at the wet garment and tossed it into the back. "I don't know. I haven't talked to him yet, besides him handing out assignments. I don't think I want to."
"So you're just going to leave it?"
"I'm not sure yet," she sighed, pulling at her wet tank top. "Hey, Nick, can you stop by my apartment? I don't have a change of clothes in my locker and I don't want to wait to dry."
"Yeah, sure," I replied. "Just point me in the right direction." I realized at that moment that, after working with her for over two years, I had never set foot into her personal space. I had been to Grissom's townhouse and Catherine's home. I was at Warrick's and Greg's apartments all the time. I had never seen the private Sara, the Sara that I realized I desperately wanted to learn.
I didn't try to reignite the conversation concerning her and Grissom. I frankly didn't want to hear of her torment and anguish over him. I watched through my peripheral vision her slender fingers finding my CD book, flipping through every page. She paused only to read titles. When she reached the last CD, she turned to me and smirked. "Lemme guess. You're from Texas?"
"Stereotype," I admonished.
"If you were the sole example, it'd be a pretty damn true one. Take a right at the light." She put the CD book on the floor mat again and picked at the hem of her shirt. She sighed and said, "You know, I don't mind being in the rain. The cold skin and funny looking hair doesn't bother me. It's my clothes not fitting afterward that bothers me."
A small smile magically appeared on my face at Sara's insight. She didn't strike me as the type of female who would be concerned with appearance. I guess, deep down, they all worried to some degree. I allowed my eyes to sweep across her shirt. Before it had been soaked, it had been a blood red color. It was a tank top, with lace for straps. It was feminine. I wondered what other girly things Sara owned. "I like it."
"Like what?" I looked at her shirt. She looked down and smiled. "Thanks. Take a left."
I listened to the few remaining directions. I parked in an empty spot and turned off the car. I saw Sara hesitate as she reached for the door, but she swiftly continued on her way. The rain had slowed. It was a mere drizzle now. Nevertheless, we walked hurriedly to the front door. Once inside, she led the way to her apartment. Fourth floor. 439.
She slipped the key into the lock and twisted to the left. The knob turned and the door swung open. She stepped inside the apartment and moved toward the back. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll only be a minute." She disappeared down the hallway, leaving me to explore.
For someone who was often perceived as cold and offstandish, Sara's home was surprisingly cozy. The colors were rich and dark. There were no lights on so I hit a switch. Dim light fell over the kitchen. It was very atmospheric. I moved out of the kitchen and into her living area. A couch, two over-stuffed chairs, a coffee table, a television, a computer, a desk, and an entertainment center stood in their specific places, places I could tell were arranged just so. Paintings graced the walls. She didn't possess too many knick-knacks. After growing up in a house full of odds and ends, the absence struck me funny; looking around again, it fit me as typical Sara. It was right.
I walked to the entertainment center. She had a nice stereo system. I glanced at the DVD and VCR. She was missing a Play Station. I reminded myself to tease her about her lack of entertainment later. I perused the CD titles. Beatles, Elvis, Miles David, Queen, Melissa Etheridge, Blondie, James Taylor, Bob Marley. She certainly had an eclectic taste in listening choices. Below the CDs were books of fiction. Patricia Cornwell, John Grisham, Michael Crichton, Tom Clancy. She was a normal, everyday reader. I looked on the next shelf. I grinned at my findings. Here was the Sara I knew and loved. Forensic textbooks and journals met my eye. I looked on the last shelf and scoured the DVD and video titles.
"Having fun, Nosey?"
Her breath tickled my neck. I jumped and turned around. She grinned, baring her gapped teeth, and pulled at her freshly brushed hair. She wore a tank top that looked identical as the one she had just shed except for the color. The dark green brought out the myriad of colors in her eyes. I shrugged and said, "You have very interesting tastes."
She gave me a funny look. Realization dawned and she said, "You've never been here before."
I nodded. "I'm aware of that."
Her hand slipped around my elbow and she pulled on my arm. "Well, that's my kitchen. You were just in my living room." She walked down the hallway and turned on the light. "That's the guest room." I peeked into the room. It was sparsely decorated. She kept walking. "This is my bedroom." She turned and leaned against the wall. "That's the grand tour."
I smiled and looked into her bedroom. The room was large and spacious. Another door, the bathroom door, was to the left. The dominant colors were ivory and dark purple. The dresser and bed frame and bedside tables were mahogany. On a small table by the window, an orchid stood tall and alert. I inspected the plant and frowned. I remembered hearing Sara talk to Catherine about a plant from Grissom. That had been years ago. She couldn't still have it, could she?
I turned to her and smiled to hide my slight confusion. "Nice."
She laughed. "I'm glad you approve." She returned to the kitchen. "You should come by more often."
I was taken aback by her offer, her sheer forwardness. I followed her and nodded. "Yeah. I think I'll take you up on your offer." She turned to face me and she smiled. I smiled back. After a moment our smiles dropped and we stood in the kitchen, staring at each other. Beyond the rain, I swore I heard the blood rushing through my veins and, for an instant, I could hear hers too. I memorized the planes of her face, the contours of her neck, the curls of her drying hair. Under my intense gaze, her eyes dropped and she took a step back, mentioning work. I nodded, oblivious to her comment, and followed her back to the Tahoe, back to work.
That's all for now. I'll try to update soon. :)