Sara sighed and leaned her forehead against the car window. "Grissom, it's Greg. What harm could he possibly do? You think he's going to steal my heart with his coffee or something?"
"No, Sara, I don't think that he's going to steal your heart with his coffee." Grissom ground his teeth in frustration, knowing Sara didn't understand what was going through his mind. "I'm just telling you, it doesn't exactly make me smile to see you kissing other men in the middle of work."
"Grissom! Jesus, can you get this through your thick head?" She reached over and rapped him on the side of his head with her knuckles. "I was not 'kissing' Greg. You saw the whole thing." Grissom said nothing, so Sara sat back in her seat and crossed her arms in front of her. "This is ridiculous. You're jealous. Of Greg! Greg, the entire team's little brother."
She glared at the side of his head. Grissom still wouldn't even twitch a muscle at her arguments. "Fine, Gris. Think what you want, because I obviously can't change your mind now that you think I'm a lying slut."
That got a rise out of him. Grissom jerked at the word "slut" as though she had hit him. "I did NOT call you a slut, Sidle," he growled.
"Then what exactly ARE you calling me? You just said that you don't appreciate me making out with other guys in front of you. Helloooo, that sounds to me like you're calling me loose, at the least."
"That's not what . . . oh, forget it. Forget the whole damn thing. Kiss every male who stands still long enough for you to catch him, for all I care."
Sara bit her tongue and clenched her fists to prevent one or the other from lashing out at him. She was getting nowhere; Grissom was determined to see the joking interaction in the break room as her throwing him over for Greg. Nothing she was saying could change his mind. "Well too bad for him," she decided silently. "If he wants to think that, it's his problem, not mine, 'cause I know what went on in there and I KNOW it was perfectly innocent."
As soon as he parked the car in his driveway, Sara jumped out, slamming the door. Did they have to end up fighting every time they got in the car? Maybe it was bad luck. Mentally shrugging, she let herself in the front door, not pausing to hold it for Grissom. She heard him calling her as he entered, but she ignored it, slipping into the bathroom and locking the door.
"Sara. Sara!" Grissom was knocking on the bathroom door. "Open the door, Sara. This is my house, you can't lock me out of my own property."
He jumped back an inch when Sara jerked the door open furiously. "YOUR house? Oh, that's rich, Mister 'Share my home, live with me'. Sounds to me like the rules are changing here."
"That's not what I meant," he told her wearily.
She tried for an ironic smile to hide the hurt she was feeling, but managed only a grimace. "Yeah, right. Then what did you mean, Gris? Tell me. What did you mean, if not that this was your house and not mine?"
"I don't know what I meant, ok? Just come out of the damn bathroom and let's pretend we're civilized people."
Before he had finished his sentence, the door had again slammed in his face. Sara's voice drifted through it. "Civilization's overrated." Hearing the shower turn on, Grissom retreated to the kitchen to mentally regroup.
Sara was finally starting to calm down. The hot water of the shower was washing away her tears and relaxing her tense muscles, but she still couldn't avoid the sinking feeling that this was no easily resolved squabble. It had to be fixable, she told herself. Now that she finally had him, she wasn't going to throw him away over some little jealousy argument. Was she? Oh dear. "Chill, Sidle," she ordered herself. "You're angry, so you're obviously going to blow this out of proportion." At that instant, the door of the shower opened. "What the . . . what the hell are you doing, Grissom?" she asked as her heart began to return to its normal rate.
Grissom said nothing, only climbed into the stall with her. "Grissom, stop. You can't just pop open the door lock and wander in here whenever you want." Not a word from the man facing her. Needing to feel his warmth and hating herself for it, Sara allowed herself to be embraced.
It took him a full five minutes to figure out what she was doing when he walked into the bedroom an hour later. Clothes were strewn around the room, covering the bed, the lamps, and the dresser. Was this what a Sidle tantrum looked like? He caught sight of her then. She was on the opposite side on the bed, carefully folding clothes she had selected out of the mess and stuffing them into a duffel bag. "Trying to save space?" he joked.
"No." She continued concentrating her task, seemingly oblivious to the confused man facing her.
He felt like his brain was full of mud, sluggish and confused. Something wasn't clicking here. "Then . . . what are you doing?"
Placing one more blouse into the bag, Sara finally looked at him. "This isn't working, Grissom."
"What isn't working?"
"This." She flung out an arm, encompassing Grissom, the room, and herself. "We aren't working. This isn't working."
Reality crashed into him. Sara was leaving. "Wha . . . how can it be not working? You were perfectly happy five minutes ago!"
"No, Grissom. YOU were happy five minutes ago. I was just . . . out of it. Are you getting any of this? Sex, even good sex, does not heal an argument. Yeah, you can make me forget about it for a few minutes, but what about the other 23 and a half hours?" She shook her head and began putting more clothes into her bag. "No, I guess you're not getting it. Well, get used to it. I'm not your punching bag, mental or otherwise."
"Punching bag? Sara!"
She shrugged. "Forget I said that. It doesn't matter. The point is that I'm going home." Heading off his protest, she added, "MY home. Not this place, your home. You made it clear that this doesn't belong to me." She stood up and slung the bag over her shoulder. "You know my number, Grissom. Maybe we can work this out once we're apart."
