Chapter Ten
She remembered Grissom's calm voice always with her, whispering reassurances and what to him must have been words of comfort. How this attack would give them strong evidence against their killer, how she would have broken the case.
She didn't have the strength to punch him.
But behind the words she could see his eyes, gentle, worried and caring. Loving.
She let him do the evidence, taking fibres, photographing her bruises, and feeling the lump at the back of her head. He tried to look calm, but she could see rage in his eyes.
"Why was the fridge door open?" he asked suddenly, scraping under her fingernails.
"I slammed it in his face," she replied, a hint of pride in her voice.
He raised an eyebrow as he held up the tiny swab. "Glitter."
"The girl. She had a bracelet on her, you know, glittering. Butterfly bracelet. He carried me to the bed…" her voice faltered slightly, but she plunged on ahead. "She looked down at me and she touched my hand. I tried to grab for her, but I felt so woozy…"
"You did real good, Sara," he praised her, gathering his kit. "I'm gonna get this to Nick, then I'll be back."
She nodded, watching him retreat and leaving her in the cold, sterile room. A nurse came in, fussing about, uttering reassuring phrases. Sara didn't want to hear them from a nurse. But the words seemed to build up, pounding more and more loudly, dragging her own.
And then she was in the flat again, killer coming at her, thinking she would die. Terror filled her and she wanted to weep. There was no mercy in his eyes. And then… and then…
Arms embraced her, and she slumped against Grissom's chest, clinging to him. He said nothing, merely held her as she cried.
"I'm sorry," she finally muttered, easing away from him some.
"Don't be. You had a nasty shock."
"I don't want to stay here," she whispered.
"Okay." He took her hands in his. "Do you want me to call someone?"
"No."
He nodded, as if expecting it. "Your apartment is still a crime scene. Warrick and Catherine are combing it. You can… Stay with me, if you like."
His offer sounded hesitant, but she nodded nevertheless.
"I'll get Catherine to bring you some clothes. Nick?"
Nick peeked in, and she wiped away some tears. His face was all understanding.
"Get back to the lab and guard Linman's eyes with your life. I don't want Ecklie to get them," Grissom ordered. "That murder is linked with our two, and the eyes appeared on our crime scene."
"Understood. Take care, Sara," Nick said gently. She nodded.
"I'll call Catherine," Grissom told her, putting a hand on her shoulder reassuringly.
And then she was alone again, just her memories and her.
II
"Dad?"
"Got to sleep, Hannah," he told her again, staring into his wine.
"I don't want to."
"Go to bed. Just leave me alone."
"Daddy, please…"
He couldn't look at her. Couldn't look into her eyes. She had seen him. She had seen him ready to kill. She had prevented the kill just with a look. There was no tale he could tell her that would change it. He couldn't explain it away. She might be a child, but she was smart. She had seen death before.
He shivered.
"You left your eyes," she said quietly.
"Please go to bed, Hannah. Please. I need some peace."
She must have finally given in, for moments later he heard her light footsteps up the stairs. He waited till all had fallen silent until he finally let go of the gun he'd been clutching. It fell to the ground with a soft thump, the carpet absorbing most of the sound. Drops of wine had fallen also. Those would never come out. Much like blood.
He clutched his head in his hands, angry, frustrated, hurting. His nose pounded with pain, it was probably covered in blood. He hadn't looked.
But even now, he still desired the kill. Even now…
Tears fell to the carpet. He didn't try to hinder them, but he had no idea why he cried. Not for the dead. Not for the living.
For all those stuck somewhere in between, dying so slowly they thought they still lived.
For him.
He gulped down air as if he was drowning and in desperate need. He wanted to scream, but had not breath, no strength.
"It's okay, daddy," Hannah whispered. He hadn't heard her come, and jerked up at her touch.
"Hannah…" he pleased.
"It's okay," she said, sounding like her mother so much his heart ached. "You can cry, daddy."
He leaned into her hands and cried and cried until there were no tears, only silence and the urge and no peace. Never any peace.
II
Grissom's house seemed very much like him. Large, cool, filled with many a strange thing and the telltale signs of a scientist. Very much like Grissom. She felt intrusive, like the only sound in a silence.
She watched him make tea silently. He didn't look much at her, as if he sensed she needed space. His lack of attention to humans had never ceased to amaze her, yet sometimes he seemed strangely aware of unspoken emotions.
An enigma wrapped in a riddle. She had thought coming to work at the Las Vegas lab would help her understand him, if anything, she understood less.
"Hey," he said softly, handing her a mug. "You look tired."
"Well, you know, big day. Kissed my boss, was targeted by a killer with a kid, almost got killed…" she halted, biting her lip. Grissom looked at her in a way she couldn't decipher, taking off his glasses hesitantly.
"Sara…"
She stared helplessly at him as he edged closer, easing the clutched mug out of her hands and onto the table.
"It's normal," he whispered, lifting a hand to her cheek. She leaned into the caress, his hand warm against her skin. "Studies of victims of violent crime show that…"
"Grissom, could you ever just… Be a human and not a scientist?" she interrupted. He looked confused, as if she had just sprouted into ancient Greek. Even though he could probably speak it perfectly.
"No," he replied quietly. "Science is life. To be human is a science."
His face was open and gentle, no riddles. He believed these things, she realised. Sometimes he reminded her of a child not yet taught how to speak, communicating only through drawings, or in Grissom's case, the science, the cases, the job.
She brushed her thumb over his lips, slowly, teasingly. He leaned into her neck, beginning a trail of kisses upwards that left her breathless. Gently, he eased the pain from her bruises, taking her senses elsewhere. Kissing was a science, she decided, and Grissom knew it well.
He eased away from her after a while, looking slightly flustered.
"I don't want to… You've been through a lot, and… Um… I don't want to…You need to sleep."
Even as he said it, she felt her eyes close, the struggle to stay open too much. She tried to protest, but the words sounded hazy.
"Come on," he said gently, easing her up from the couch. She leaned against him, staring at the floor as they walked. Not bad. He was a good cleaner.
Soft sheets greeted her, and she fell into the offered embrace of the bed. A moment later, she felt soft lips against her own.
"You're safe now," he whispered, but she wondered if he said it to her – or himself. She tried to smile, but already her body felt distant and wouldn't obey. Sleep teetered at the edge of her consciousness, readying to storm in and conquer.
She felt Grissom's eyes on her, as warm as any blanket. Her mind felt blank, peaceful, shielded.
Sleep came.