By
Scarlet Rose
PLOT: Greg confronts Sara about her attitude, then comes to a startling realization.
SPOILERS: Random ones for all seasons.
DISCLAIMER: I own only the plot.
RATED: PG
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is the new and hopefully improved, toned-down version. Let me know what you think. Send all constructive feedback to me. Flames are uncalled for and unacceptable, as they do not help people become better fanfic writers. Therefore, don't bother. Go pick someone else as your punching bag.
Greg Sanders yawned as he stepped into the break room, stretching and working out the kinks in his neck and shoulders. He approached and opened the refrigerator, snatching a can from the six-pack of Pepsi someone had brought to the lab a few hours ago, as well as the two slices of pizza he'd tucked away in one of the drawers. After grabbing the bottle of ranch dressing for good measure, he kicked the door shut and moved over to the table, leaving behind his lunch while he retrieved a paper plate and a few napkins. He had just settled down on one of the leather chairs, when Nick Stokes strolled into the room and called out in to him with his Texan drawl.
"Hey, Sanders!"
"Hey," Greg answered, pouring some dressing onto the plate and proceeding to dip one end of the cheese pizza into the white substance. He took a bite, then frowned horribly, immediately spitting the half-chewed pizza into his paper napkin.
Nick, who'd just poured himself a cup of Sanders' Blue Hawaiian coffee, grinned. "Oh, yeah. Warrick must've forgotten to toss that out. That stuff's old, man."
"No kidding," Greg replied sarcastically as he pushed both the plate and the bottle of spoiled ranch dressing out of sight. "Next time, I'll remember to look at the expiration date."
Still smiling good-naturedly, Stokes sank into a chair across from Sanders and took a sip of the tasty Hawaiian blend. "You know, you did a great job out on the field."
"Yeah?" Greg abandoned his disgusted expression, replacing it with a delighted smile. "You really think so?"
"Yep. Catherine was very impressed with the way you handled things. Even Sheriff Atwater was asking questions about you."
"Is that a good thing?" Sanders quipped.
"Maybe. I think you have a great future as a C.S.I., Greg."
"Well, I'm glad to hear you say that. From what I heard, you weren't too pleased when you heard that Catherine chose to work with me instead of you."
"Nah," Nick said, waving Greg off. "I was just surprised. I think the person you heard about was Sara."
"Now that doesn't surprise me. What did our cantankerous friend have to say this time?"
"Oh, you know. The usual." Stokes sighed and stretched, leaning back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head. Casually, he continued in a whiney voice, "'What was Catherine thinking, bringing Greg in on the case?' And 'Catherine knows I can do this job'."
That little... With an expression one would wear during a rousing game of poker, Sanders inquired, "Hmm. Really?" He took another bite of his pizza, this time chewing angrily.
Picking up on his friend's ire, Nick dropped his casual composure and opted for a more serious one. Leaning forward, he commented, "Listen, Greg. I know Sara can be judgmental and callous sometimes. But I think she respects you."
"No. She respects the fact that I jump whenever she snaps her fingers. If she respected me, she never would have talked about me behind my back."
"Greg!" Stokes whined, rolling his eyes. "You're not going to do anything stupid. Are you?"
"Me?" Greg gave his friend an innocent look. "Why would I do something like that? I'm just going to have a little chat with Miss Sidle, in the hopes of settling things once and for all." He finished off the slice of pizza that was in his hand, then got up and made his way toward the exit, leaving Nick to clean up the mess.
"Oh, man!" Stokes complained, then banged his head on the tabletop in frustration, knowing what Sara would do to him once she found out what he had revealed to Sanders. "Kill me. Kill me now."
Greg was livid as he stormed the halls of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, engaged in a seemingly neverending search for the elusive and ill-natured Sara Sidle. He poked his head into every lab, stopped by Doc Robbins' "home away from home", and looked inside the offices belonging to Catherine Willows and Gil Grissom. After failing to locate his former crush, he made a final sweep -- this time checking the break room -- and finally marched into the locker room.
Sidle, oblivious to the fact that she had done more harm than good, was in the middle of stuffing her dirty clothes into her duffel bag, when an voice startled her and made her jump.
"Sidle!"
With a scowl marring her features, she whirled around to face the man who had offered such a rude, unfair, and abrupt greeting. Standing in the doorway, with his arms folded across his chest, was none other than Sanders, one very ticked-off D.N.A. expert.
"Excuse me? What's your problem, Greg?" Sara queried.
Greg took several strides, stopping when he was standing inches away from her. "How could you trash me behind my back? Did you honestly think I wouldn't hear about it?"
"Listen, Greg. I don't know what you heard, but--" Sidle tried to step around him, only to have him block her way every time.
"Oh, really? Funny, considering you're so smart. But in an effort to be nice, I'll let you in on what's going on. See, a little birdie told me about all the stuff you've been saying behind my back."
"I--"
"What's wrong, Sara? Too chicken to say something to my face, so you had to whine to my best friend about how you really feel about me?"
"Greg, I--"
"Or maybe you derive some sick pleasure in making fun of other people? People who are clearly more capable of doing a job that you've had for years? People, I should add, who are a lot more professional than you'll ever be? What's the matter, Sara? Are you intimidated by a 'lowly lab tech'? Just couldn't handle the fact that maybe -- just maybe -- I'm better than you? Is that it?"
Sara's scowl worsened and her eyes narrowed in contempt. How dare he? How dare he make a fool out of her? Why would Sanders believe, let alone insinuate, that he was better than her in any way, shape, or form? She'd been a C.S.I. for nearly a decade, having trained with the best of the best. Gil Grissom himself had begged her to join his team after Holly Gribbs' untimely demise. Who was Greg to suggest that she was incapable of handling cases professionally? "You don't know what you're talking about," she snapped.
Sanders raised an eyebrow, amused by Sidle's lame comeback. "Don't I? Come on, Sara. I heard about all that stuff you pulled when that girl was found near Lake Mead. You were so convinced that the boyfriend did it, that you refused to listen to reason. You ignored Nick every time he insisted that the boyfriend was innocent. And I'll bet you still think the boy's guilty. Do you know what's pathetic, Sara? The fact that you continue to chase after Grissom, even though he wants nothing to do with you."
Sara blinked away the tears that were welling in her eyes. Greg continued, not really caring that he was inflicting emotional damage upon the woman he used to lust after. "That's right. I know about your little crush on him. I even heard about your attempt at asking him out. And do you know why he refused you, Sara? It's the same reason why Hank cheated on you. You're pathetic, manipulative, judgmental and malicious,. I'm ashamed to admit that I once had a crush on you. But believe me, Sara. The moment I found out who you really were, I lost all interest in you."
"Stop it," Sidle ground out through her teeth.
But Sanders' ranting didn't stop. "I may be a 'lowly' lab tech, but I'm ten times the human being you'll ever be. I care about people. Do you know why I became a criminalist, Sara? It wasn't because of my love for science or solving puzzles. It was because I wanted to help victims find closure. You, on the other hand, care about one thing and one thing only: making yourself look good, in the hopes that one day, Grissom will see you in a different light."
"Stop it!" Sara demanded, putting more force behind her words.
"Guess what, Sara? That's never going to happen. We all know what you're really like, and that's why you're never asked to join us when we hang out on the weekends. We don't want to be around you."
"STOP IT!" she screamed, unable to take Greg's verbal attacks a moment longer.
It wasn't true. It couldn't be true. She wasn't like that. She had never been like that. She cared about people, just as much as Sanders, Nick, and the other C.S.I.s put together. And it wasn't her fault she had a hard time trusting men. Look at what had happened to her. Her father had been an abusive drunk who beat her mother, who -- in turn -- was arrested for his murder. Her brother had become a drug addict, resulting in him being kicked out of the house, meaning that his sister would never see him again. Her relationships with men had always ended miserably. Her best friend had been the victim of a brutal sexual assault that had left her broken, both emotionally and mentally. And finally, when she decided to take a chance at love again, Hank Peddigrew had cheated on her. Add to onto that the fact that Grissom had so callously rejected her...
Then it hit her. She was like that. She fit Greg's description perfectly. She'd been a callous, abrasive, scared little girl for a majority of her life. Her professional attitude had always been thrown out the nearest window whenever the case involved a woman, and she'd always assumed that -- no matter what the evidence was telling her -- the man in said woman's life was to blame. Stokes had tried so hard to tell her that Mark Young had died saving, rather than murdering, Sophia Renatta. But she didn't want to listen. To Sidle, virtually every man she'd met was abusive and untrustworthy. This was something she'd decided at an early age, when her father first revealed his violent streak. It was something she hoped would change, but she doubted that change was possible. Her lack of trust when it came to men would probably stay with her for the rest of her life, no matter how much she wanted things to be different.
And no wonder her co-workers didn't want anything to do with her. She hadn't given them a reason to like her. When she'd first started working at the L.V.C.L., she'd been abrasive and judgmental toward Warrick, assuming that he was a young man whose gambling addiction had overpowered his ability to do his job. And when he'd been videotaped entering a casino, Sara'd jumped to the wrong conclusion: that he had gone there to gamble. Instead of confronting Brown upfront, she'd snuck around behind his back, not-so-subtly prodding Grissom to fire Warrick when he had the chance. Thankfully, though, a little boy had told her the truth and she had formed a new respect for the older C.S.I. Her respect for him had been put to the test a little over a year later, when Gil had selected Brown -- not Sidle -- to be acting supervisor. Once again, she had gone behind Warrick's back, sneaking a peek at evidence before he'd had the chance to process it. And once again, Brown had put her in her place.
Then there was Catherine. As much as Sara hated to admit it, the older woman had every reason to dislike her. After all of those thinly-veiled insults Sidle had thrown at her during the Julie Waters murder investigation, she was amazed that Willows hadn't beaten the ever-living tar out of her. And it hurt, because there were times when Sara actually respected the older criminalist. She was ten times the woman Sara would ever be. Things between them had settled down until, however, the murder of a Russian mail-order bride had taken place. Sidle had rightfully been appalled at the controlling nature the victim's husband displayed. However, she had taken things too far during the interview, attempting to intimidate the suspect and being completely unprofessional. Things had escalated shortly thereafter, when Catherine had confronted Sara in the hallway, for all the lab to hear. Willows had thrown her fair share of insults, but Sidle was without excuse when she reminded of her failed marriage to Eddie. She knew how sensitive Catherine was when it came to her late ex-husband. But at the time, she just didn't care. She had a point to make. She was right. And she didn't care how she got that point across. Ever since then, they'd been walking on egg shells around each other, and each one doubted whether they'd ever truly get along.
Finally, there was Sanders. Sara hadn't made it a secret that she thought he was a lowly lab tech. She'd looked down at him every chance she had, yelling at him whenever the D.N.A. test results weren't processed quickly enough or when they didn't tell her what she wanted to hear. She'd carelessly stepped on his feelings for her, too caught up in pursuing a man who was out of her reach. She'd given him no reason to think that they could be something more than colleagues, and she deeply regretted that. Then she remembered how she'd reacted when she had caught three high school elitists talking about her behind her back, and it all became so clear to her. She knew exactly how Greg felt, and she hated herself even more for subjecting him to that torture.
Sanders could tell that his words -- although having inflicted severe emotional distress -- had finally triggered something inside of Sidle. And for the first time, he felt genuine sympathy for her. Not just because he had wounded her, but because he finally realized just how lonely her life had been. She didn't have the benefit of going home to a person who loved her. She obviously never knew what it was like to have friends. Real, true friends, on whom she could depend. In fact, the only companion she'd had was science and a gold fish that died three weeks after Sara had adopted it.
Finally, his anger subsided, then was replaced with nothing but compassion for her.
She leaned against the locker, breathing hard, staring at the wall behind Greg with tears in her eyes. His words had slowly chipped away at the walls she'd so carefully constructed around her heart, leaving it exposed for the world to see. No longer could she portray herself as a strong, confident woman who didn't need other human beings to make her happy. Sanders knew the truth. He knew that she was a fragile, weak, self-loathing human being who wanted nothing more in the world than to lean on the shoulder of a friend and finally allow the floodgates to open. And so, it came as no surprise to her when she allowed herself to be swept into Greg's embrace. She clung to him for dear life, latching on to his jacket and squeezing hard, until her knuckles turned white.
And as Sanders held her, Sidle felt -- for the first time -- that she could finally let her guard down completely and show her true self to the world.