Sara's eyes flashed as she spoke, and Grissom wondered whether they were reflecting pain or anger at the story she was telling. ". . . So I've already done that more than once, and I'm not going to sit around and deal with it again. 'Been there, done that,' so to speak."
Grissom was trying to absorb the facts coming out of her mouth. It was hard to believe that Sara, strength embodied, had had a string of controlling boyfriends before she moved to Las Vegas. "But none of them ever, uh . . . you didn't let them hit you?" He didn't want to ask - the thought was repugnant – but he needed to know. Strong as she was, Sara was still delicately built, and the thought of a fist crashing into her made him want to cry.
"No. I'm not stupid, Grissom; I know the signs. I may have gotten smacked around mentally, but none of them ever touched me with their fists. That was why I was so shocked that I hit you tonight. I've never, ever wanted to use violence against someone who hasn't used violence against me first. And I'll have you know," she added, "that no woman 'lets' a man hit her. You think they enjoy it? That they sit around saying, 'Oh gee, I'm bored today – I feel like getting a broken cheekbone'?" She shook her head. "You should know better."
"I do. I mean, I said that wrong. I didn't mean it to sound like you would sit still while someone hit you." He sighed. "Why didn't you ever tell me any of this, Sara? You knew I was there and that I would have protected you, but you never told me about the men in the past or the ones you dated when you knew me."
She shrugged defensively. "It wasn't any of your business. I didn't need you to protect me; I did fine protecting myself. Besides, I was younger and stupider – who do you think I would have chosen: the wonderful man who ignored me and made me feel like a kid, or the not-so-wonderful men who made me feel special?" When Grissom didn't answer, she sighed. "Like I said, it wasn't your business anyway. If you or anyone else had found out, no one would have respected me at work. I dealt with it myself, and I broke the chain. Or so I thought, until you started with the possessive act."
He was taken aback. She was grouping him with those others who had mistreated her? "Sara, you know I'm not like that. I don't want you to believe that I think you belong to me and not yourself."
"People change, Gris. Once upon a time when we were friends in California, I would have been sure you'd never think that. Now I've had experience with the world. I still don't want to think that you'd treat me that way, but I can't rule out the possibility. They all started out nice, then they tightened their grip bit-by-bit. So I keep my eyes open and my mind clear; I can't afford to make assumptions about men."
Grissom was silent for a few minutes, thinking. "The abusive husbands, the injured women . . . this explains a lot about your reactions to the job, Sara." She nodded, saying nothing, and he continued, "What can I do to prove myself? I thought you trusted me, but now you've knocked me completely off balance. I don't want to own you; I want you to, I don't know, to let me spend my money and time making you happy."
"It makes me happy just to spend time with you. But I can't deal with you trying to monopolize me. You should know by now that I'm not going to sleep around whether I'm dating you or not. I do have some self-respect, and a strong sense of what's right. You need to trust me before I can completely trust you." She leaned her chin against her palm, eyeing him sideways. "It takes too much out of me to worry about this. The others I could deal with, but if I find that you're like them, too . . . I'm afraid one of two things will happen. Either I'll have to leave – both you and Vegas – out of fear, or I'll end up one of those women who say, 'I love him too much to leave him, no matter what he does'."
"If you ever decide that you'd be happier without me, Sara, I want you to tell me. I'll let you go, no questions asked. I don't want you to feel like I'm holding you in place. Just please, don't disappear, and don't you dare stay silent and 'endure'. I want you to know now that I'd rather see you happy without me than unhappy with me, no matter whether I'm happy or not."
Sara's tension was starting to drain out of her; she even managed a small smile. "I'll write that down, Romeo. You know, I ought to tell you secrets more often if it will always get you to declare your undying love for me. I feel like I'm in a romance novel – but a good one!"
Grissom harrumphed and playfully poked her in the arm. He drew his hand away as though Sara's arm were a hot stove as soon as he realized what he had done, and looked fearfully at her. "It's fine," she assured him. "I won't break. You're allowed to touch me, I promise. In fact, if you stop touching me, I'll be one very cranky woman." That got a smile out of him, and she breathed a sigh of relief. "Don't be afraid of me, either, Gris. Fear has no place on either side of a relationship – if I've learned one thing through the years, it's that."
He nodded, but she could tell that he was going to be walking on eggshells around her for a long time. This was why she hadn't wanted to tell him in the first place. She supposed it was her task now to distract him from the feeling that she was some delicate female. "Hey Gris?"
"Yes?"
"You didn't, like, throw out my stuff or anything, did you? Cause you know, if you did then you'd have to take me shopping for more clothes – and god knows neither of us would enjoy that." She grinned at the look on his face.
He snorted. "No, Sidle, I didn't. Would you believe me if I told you that I cried into one of your nightshirts every night?"
"Not unless I saw it with my own eyes."
"Why don't you come home, then, and see for yourself what I've been doing while you were gone?"
Sara nodded and touched a finger to his slightly bruised cheek. "Yeah . . . let's go home. I like your shower better, anyway."
