Chapter 36
Sara made her way back to the breakroom, hoping it would be empty this time. It was, and she sent up a silent prayer of thanks. Plopping down on the couch, she picked up a magazine and began flipping through it as a cover for her thoughts.
She wasn't really angry at Grissom anymore, she realized after a few minutes of reflection. A sort of sad resignation had replaced the rage. He didn't trust her, she didn't trust him . . . what a couple they made. She almost had to laugh. Almost.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadow approaching the doorway. Catherine the ringleader, great. Quickly flicking her gaze back to the magazine, she tried to look absorbed.
"You've gotta be kidding me, Sara. You're not reading. Do you realize you're trying to look totally absorbed in a Cosmopolitan that Greg brought in to drool over?" She smirked as Sara checked the cover with a horrified look on her face and dropped it into her lap. "So can I talk to you?"
"'Bout what?" Sara questioned warily.
"Yesterday."
Sara sighed and set the magazine back on the table. "Ok. Talk."
"I'm sorry you caught us talking about you. I won't say I'm sorry we were talking about you, because I'm not. That's what we do here - we try to solve puzzles. And you, Sara Sidle, are a big one."
Sara eyed her impassively. "Was that supposed to be an apology? Cause it didn't sound much like one to me."
"Half apology, half explanation. I am sorry that you got hurt – we never intended that. But we both know that maybe tonight everyone'll be gossiping about Nick's latest date, and maybe next week it'll be your turn to get talked about again. It's unavoidable."
"Yeah, well, I don't like it. You never see me talking behind your backs."
Catherine's mouth quirked. "And that might be why you sometimes feel like you're not part of the team. Face it, Sara, we wouldn't be human if we didn't try to figure each other out. You should try it sometime, it's fun." Before Sara could protest, Catherine quickly continued, "I don't mean vicious gossip. I've never seen any of our CSIs speak badly about others behind their backs. I just mean . . . well, like I know you all – or at least the younger guys – have discussed what I must've been like when I was dancing. They don't mean offense, they don't look at me as an object; it just fascinates them that I used to be something so different from what I am now." She shrugged. "And what fascinates people about you is your life outside of work, because none of us know jack shit about it."
Sara leaned back on the couch, crossing her legs. "I know. But I'd much rather have people come up to me and ask than exclude me and try to build their own theories."
"I'll keep that in mind," Catherine grinned, "and inform the guys next time they start yapping about you. Which they will."
"You might want to also add that if I hear that the guys have been psychoanalyzing me again without my permission, they're going to be missing some very important parts of their anatomy after I get through with them." She tried to sound serious, but a smile broke through.
Catherine shook her head, laughing. "I'll tell them that too. Now – let's try something, ok?" Sara raised an eyebrow at her. "You don't want us to talk about you behind your back, so I'm going to ask you to your face: care to tell me how a pile of Grissom's clothes got into his office tonight? Early enough, I might add, that only you and I were here."
Sara's eyes narrowed. "How would I know? Maybe you borrowed them the last time you slept with him."
"Ouch! Down, girl. First off, I've never had that kind of relationship with Grissom and you very well know it. Second, I'm not accusing you of anything – I'm asking, woman to woman, because I know it was either you or one of the day shift people. And I HIGHLY doubt Ecklie's been wearing Grissom's underwear."
Sara cracked a smile at that one. "Why would I tell you anything, when I know you're going to carry it back to the rest of the night shift?"
"And just how would you know that?" Catherine shot back. "You've never trusted me, so you really have no idea whether I spill secrets or not."
"Well, do you?"
"Occasionally," she admitted. "But not if you say to me, 'This goes nowhere, Cath. Don't tell anyone.'"
Sara mulled that over. On one hand, it would be nice to have someone to spill all this to. On the other, she didn't trust Catherine and never had. The woman was too close with Grissom. "Did you know that I overheard you pumping Grissom for information about me last night?" At Catherine's look of surprise, she smiled grimly. "Didn't think so. So tell me, why in God's name would I want to tell you, of all people, anything about me and Grissom?"
"I'm not evil, Sara. I don't know where you got this bad impression of me." She paused, thinking. "Ok, maybe I do. But honestly, I'm not a bad person, I'm not a mean person, and geez, I'm the only other woman in the freaking building – who the hell else are you going to talk to about this shit?"
"Good point. But I'm still not going to tell you what you really want to know. Yes, I left the clothes, I'll give you that. But there's no way I'm discussing how or when I got them with you."
Catherine nodded. "Ok, I'll take what I can get. But seriously, Sara – if you want to talk about any of this I'll listen, and whatever you say will stay with me. Just keep that in mind."
"Yeah. Ok, Cath. I've got stuff to do now." Having said this, she brushed past the shorter woman and escaped the breakroom.
Catherine watched her leave, smiling a little sadly. Yeah, Sara would talk to her eventually . . . in the meantime, she'd give the pair a break and stop pushing. You could learn a lot by just watching – she'd learned that long ago.
