Part Four - Realisation

(Blood Lust)

Sara looked neither left nor right as she made her way to the ballistics lab, though she may have uttered a few colourful names underneath her breath, all of them directed at Grissom. She knew she was probably being childish, but she'd wanted to be there when he was testing the gun, the case that they were working on getting more interesting by the minute. It wasn't such an unrealistic expectation either she told herself, because after all, they'd found the damn gun together, the least he could do was keep her apprised of what he was doing about it.

The second the thought formed in her head, she changed her initial assessment about maybe being childish. She was definitely being childish, and she forced the thoughts to the back of her mind. After all, the case was hot, he was running with the case, and she did it with him all the time. Dimly, she recalled flinging those same words at Warrick once upon a long ago, and mentally sent an apology his way.

By the time she got to the ballistics lab, she was able to speak coherently, even normally, without a trace of rancour. Almost. "You know, you could have waited for me," she said, seeing Grissom seated at a microscope, looking just as Catherine had described him, meditating on the revolver, not even looking up.

Look up he did though when he heard her voice, pushing away from the bench. "Take a look at this," he said, and she did as she was asked, without question.

"Looks like burnt skin," she said, and Grissom concurred.

"I think maybe someone palmed the cylinder gap."

Sara had a sudden mental image of someone, a youngster, inexperienced with weapons, holding the gun, hissing in pain as the heat of the barrel scorched their skin. It had happened more than once, she knew that; she'd seen it. "Todd Branson had GSR on his jacket," she reminded Grissom. "If we could get his DNA off this revolver, we could tie him to this."

It was a significant lead, and she didn't understand why he wasn't more excited. "Burnt skin is useless for DNA," he told her, and she felt a smile coming to her face, because she knew something that he didn't, a rare enough occurrence.

"Yeah, but what about sweat?" she asked, noting how he kept his face perfectly neutral. "There's a 17% chance of DNA recovery from the shooter's perspiration."

"17%?" He echoed her figure, and she felt a smile bubbling up inside her, fought to keep a straight face.

"Yeah. New paper out of Australia. You haven't seen it?" His face was still blank, so she did what she did best, recite statistics. She'd copped a lot of grief for it over the years, mostly from Nick and Warrick, but she'd always had an affinity with numbers, could remember obscure figures with no trouble at all. "17% chance of DNA recovery from the grip of a gun," she intoned. "67% chance from a cigarette, 32% chance from the brim of a hat." And then, just for fun, in the hopes of catching him off guard, she followed up with, "Would you like a copy?"

How she managed to keep a straight face, she didn't know, but Grissom didn't hesitate. "I don't need one. I have you." He took a beat, leaving that to sink in, before adding, "Swab the pistol grip; get it to DNA."

With that, he stood up and walked off, leaving her shaking her head as she sat down to do her job. Swabbing a pistol grip wasn't exactly the most strenuous of activities though, it gave her plenty of time to think about what he'd just said to her.

"I have you."

What the hell had that been supposed to mean? Had it come from Nick or Warrick, she would have dismissed it as a joke, it would have been impossible to do anything else. They would have been smiling as they said it, smirking at the very least, their eyes dancing with devilment. Grissom's face though, had remained inscrutable, his tone could have fit a thousand different adjectives, rendering his meaning unclear.

But it wasn't the first time that he'd done something like that to her, thrown in a phrase out of nowhere that she had no idea how to take.

"Since I met you."

"You sure know how to light up a room."

For God's sake, he'd sent her a plant to stop her leaving. He'd told her that she deserved to have a life, but had gotten snippy with her when she'd got one.

How was she supposed to fathom this man?

It wasn't, she remembered, even the first time he'd done something like that while on this case. She wasn't even supposed to be at a crime scene that day, she was supposed to be at a forensic anthropology seminar. Not that she was heart-broken about missing it, it wasn't like she was at a vineyard in Pahrump on a date or anything, but what she'd said to him was true. The seminar was required, and she was down to take it. It was part of the continuing education program, and she'd have to make it up at a later date, but Grissom hadn't taken any of her excuses. Instead he'd told her that everyone else was someplace else, he'd run down the particulars of the case, and he'd followed it all up with three little words that had had a sense of déjà vu wrapping itself around her shoulders like a warm blanket.

"I need you."

Those were the three words that she'd heard in her San Francisco apartment a little over two years ago, the words that were responsible for getting her to Vegas in the first place. She never would have left were it not for those words, and the memory of them had been enough to get her to stay when he'd asked, in the hope that, with the student/teacher barricade from the seminar removed, they could be more than friends.

Two years ago, she'd smiled down the phone and asked, "How can I help?" and when she'd heard them again, she'd done the exact same thing.

There had, she realised now, been one big difference, and her hand stilled, the gun only partially swabbed as the thought threatened to bowl her over.

Two years ago, those three little words had left her giddy as a schoolgirl, hopeful and expectant that her life was about to change.

One year ago, those other words, "Since I met you" chief among them, had sent her into a tailspin, one where she wondered if he was finally coming around, if he was noticing her as more than just a co-worker, if he might finally make a move on her.

But he hadn't.

And now, hearing those words - "I need you," "I have you" - it didn't have that effect on her anymore. Oh, she smiled, in part because of the memory, in part because it was nice to hear - words of appreciation from Grissom were few and far between, no matter how vague the context - but she didn't feel the urge to deconstruct every syllable, every minute distinction in the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes.

Was she puzzled over it, did she wonder if he meant anything by it?

Yes.

Was she going to lose sleep over it?

No.

Slowly, carefully, yet almost mechanically, she finished swabbing the gun, putting the bindle into an envelope and writing the label as neatly as she could, pleased to note that her hand wasn't shaking, though her heart was beating a mile a minute, the force of her revelation still coursing through her.

She wasn't sure when it happened, but somewhere in the last few months, she'd got over Grissom.

She'd told herself that she was, after all, while it wasn't serious, she was dating Hank, but she'd never really believed it, not in her heart. This was different though, this was knowing it for sure with every fibre of her being.

And she smiled as she set off for the DNA lab, because it felt good.

A familiar voice calling her name startled her out of her reverie, and she turned curiously, still with the smile on her face, and she felt it grow wider when she saw Hank. "Hey," she said. "You got my message?"

He nodded, jogging up to her. "I thought this seminar was super-important, couldn't be missed?" he asked, and she shrugged.

"You know Grissom," she said, holding up the envelope. "Nothing's more important than the case." She felt the urge to roll her eyes, and was only partially successful in restraining it, catching herself mid-roll.

Hank didn't miss the look, chuckling to himself before eyeing her seriously. "So um… you gonna be working non-stop?" he asked then, jamming his hands in his jacket pockets, looking at her with tilted head. His lips were twitching as if he was keeping back a smile of his own, and she had the strangest idea that she knew what he was going to say next. "Or will you be free to get something to eat later on?"

Sara pretended to ponder it for a moment, though she already knew her answer. There was plenty to be done on the case, but she was certainly entitled to a dinner break; she'd worked through enough of them after all. "I think I can fit you into my schedule," she finally told him, not bothering to hide her smile when she answered, and Hank didn't try to hide his after that either.

"I'm on my break in two hours," he said, checking his watch. "I'll meet you outside?"

She nodded, already taking a couple of backward steps. "I'll see you then."

Once he'd turned, making his way down the hall, she took a couple more backward steps, moving in the direction of the DNA lab, yet not losing eye contact with him immediately. When she realised what she was doing, she turned, checking left and right for other workers, but to her everlasting gratitude, there seemed to be no-one around who would report to the others that she'd been staring after her boyfriend with a sappy smile on her face. Nick and Greg would have a field day with that one, and her cheeks burned at what they might come out with.

She'd taken a lot of heat from various people around the lab about her relationship with Hank, and she'd always downplayed it. Not that that had been hard; for a long time, there hadn't been much to downplay, and she'd still been holding a torch for Grissom.

But now they were dating, and she was over Grissom.

The scientist in her, the analytical mind, whirred to life, wanting to know just what that meant for her, for them, but she shut it down firmly, telling herself that it was too early to begin thinking like that. Hank was a nice guy, she had fun with him, and that was more than enough for now.

For later? Something might happen, and if it did, fine. If it didn't, well, that was fine too.

That much settled, she walked in the door of the DNA lab, giving Greg her best and brightest smile. "Greg," she said, placing the evidence envelope between them, leaning on the bench and turning on all the charm she could muster. "Have I ever told you that you're a DNA genius?"