Locker room, 3:15 AM
Crunch. "Ow! Shit!" Sara cursed at the pain when her fist connected with the locker room wall, then cursed Grissom and Brass for making her angry enough to punch said wall. She shook her hand in a vain attempt to dispel the pain. Looking at the injured appendage, she realized that her pinkie finger was in a rather . . . unnatural position. Eh, screw it. She'd splint it up when she got a minute.
At the sound of flesh striking something hard, Warrick popped his head around the bank of lockers and sized up the situation. Angry Sara, not good. He ought to make an escape while she still didn't know he was there. Yeah, he decided, that would be the best strategy – but he couldn't leave her with what appeared to be a broken finger.
An Ace bandage came flying over the lockers and hit Sara in the head. She whirled around to catch the person who had thrown it at her, but the locker room was empty. "Whoever you are, this better not get out or you are DEAD!" she yelled in the direction that the bandage had come from. No answer. She stuffed the bandage in her pocket, figuring if the finger actually started to swell, she'd wrap it. Putting it on now would just make people ask her what she had done to her hand. Instead, she ran it under cold water for a few minutes, gritting her teeth as she tried to dry her screaming hand. "Mind over matter, Sara. And besides, you know this is your own fault." She allowed herself a minute or two more to lean against the wall and put herself back together and then headed back to the interrogation. Damned if she'd let Cuffet see that he'd gotten to her.
Interrogation room, 3:15 AM
Only Brass's firm grip on his arm stopped Grissom from going after the arrogant man sitting across from them. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he snarled, shaking off his friend's hand. "Do you think if you're mean enough we'll let you out of here? Not on my watch, bud."
Brass nodded, adding, "Didn't anyone ever tell you that you're supposed to be nice to the cops who handle you? That way we may put in a good word with the DA." He grinned. "No such luck for you, Cuffet. You, my friend, are under arrest for breaking and entering and theft. And you're gonna get convicted for exactly that."
"What? You can't arrest me, you have no evidence! I didn't do it!" Cuffet jumped up from his seat, pointing an accusing finger at the two men. "This is . . . this is . . . police brutality!"
Sara chose that moment to come back into the room and heard only the tail end of his ranting. "I'll show you police brutality, you little worm. Just give me the chance." She raised her chin defiantly, then turned to glare at the other men. "Apparently we're done in here?"
Brass gulped. He'd never had Sara's wrath directed at him before. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, we are. I just need to read him his rights." He did so and made a quick exit from the room, dragging Cuffet behind him.
Sara sat down across from Grissom and regarded him coolly. He ought to be used to it by now, Grissom figured, but every time she gave him that look it still made him want to hide under the table. "Uh . . ."
Sara wasn't in the mood for him stalling. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"I, um, well you know, Sara, you can take care of yourself. You've proved that often. So I just figured that, uh, you might not want me or Brass to butt in on something small like Cuffet insulting you."
She was not impressed. "So you decided it'd be a good idea to sit there and just watch as he tried to attack me and my credibility? You thought that was the best choice?" Grissom nodded meekly. "You ass! Yeah, Grissom, I can take care of myself, but it'd be nice to have you stand up for me in front of suspects who throw words like 'butch' and 'some chick' at me." She narrowed her eyes. "Where the hell have you been for the past three years to not know that insulting women – especially me to my face - is the easiest way to piss me off?"
Grissom shook his head. He'd never known that. Bad sign, he supposed. He was living with this woman and didn't know all of her pet peeves yet? "I'm sorry, Sara. I can't always know which times you want me to interfere and which times you don't. I'm sorry. There, I said it again. Am I forgiven?"
Sara sighed. "I'm still pissed, but I mostly forgive you. I'm just angry at that bastard and at the situation. Why the hell didn't Brass say anything?"
"Same reason as me, except he's actually scared of you. I just pretend to be." He offered her an impudent grin. "Besides, these days he defers to me when it comes to you, my dear." Sara's hands were folded carefully together and Grissom reached for one, trying to make some contact to make sure she wasn't still angry. He was surprised when Sara jerked her hands away and put them under the table. "You don't want me to touch you?" Sara said nothing, only continued looking at him with expressionless eyes.
"What, Sara?" He glared back at her. "You're going to have to spill it eventually. What, do you have a broken nail or something?"
"I cannot believe you!" she exploded. "What is it with you? 'Is it the hamburger thing?'" she mimicked, "and now 'do you have a broken nail?' Way to trivialize my problems. Man, sometimes I wonder what I see in you."
"Show me your damn hands, Sara."
Without a word, Sara pulled her hands out of her lap and placed them flat on the table. After a few seconds she put them back under the table. "There. Happy now?"
"You've got a broken pinkie."
"How the hell would you know? You sat in here looking pleased with yourself while I was in the locker room punching things."
He got up and walked over to her, pulling her up to stand in front of him. Taking her hand in a gentle grip, he examined it. "Looks broken to me, even if I wasn't there when you did it." He shook his head angrily. "Do you not care about yourself at all? At least put a splint on it!"
She took back her hand. "Shut up, okay? You don't know shit about me." Grissom gaped, unable to hide the hurt on his face. "Okay, fine, you know me better than the other people at CSI. But you don't act like it most of the time."
"I'm trying, Sara. I really am. You, of all people, should know that I haven't been close to a woman in years . . ." He was cut off as Sara's bad hand closed around his throat – not hard enough to injure him, but hard enough so that he got the point. With her other hand, she fingerspelled "h-e-a-t-h-e-r" and fixed him with an accusing look.
"Yes, Sara, I spent time with Heather, but that means nothing now, and I've told you that a million times."
"Oh for god's sake, let's not start this argument again. You screwed around and I still hate it. We both know that. End of story. My point now is that you don't have a leg to stand on when it comes to not having experience with women."
Grissom was out of explanations. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a quick hug, then dropped a kiss on the top of her head. They fit together perfectly, he thought – she was just the right height for him. "Next time I'll beat him up for you, ok?" He felt her nod against his chest and mumble something resembling "ok."
"Good." He lowered his voice. "Don't ever think I don't love you, Sara . . . even if I act like an ass." He hugged her again, eyes open this time. As he scanned the hallway, his gaze collided with Ecklie's. The man was standing outside the door, watching them.
