Chapter 12 - "Afraid? Of what am I afraid?"
Grissom slowly rose from his couch. His migraine had diminished, but his head still throbbed. He was supposed to be at Catherine's. Would they still be awake? Catherine would be. She was off last night; she always slept in on her nights off.
Hopefully, Sara would be sleeping. She had only had a few hours sleep before her nightmare yesterday. Thinking of her made his head throb more.
For the umpteenth time, Grissom silently berated himself for not calling Philip Kane sooner. Sara had been right when she said he had left early. His wife had an emergency appendectomy and the staff psychologist wasn't expected to be back until Friday at the earliest. He tried not to feel guilty for verifying Sara's story.
Grissom waged an internal battle with himself. He couldn't believe Sara would ever hurt herself. Nothing in her personality suggested she was at risk. She had willing contacted Philip. But if the others were concerned enough to talk to him, then there had to be a reason.
He groaned again as his stomach joined his head in complaining.
What had Mobley said? 'We both can imagine what the inside of that bus looked like.' Grissom could easily reconstruct the interior in his mind. He had plenty of experience. The trouble was he had always investigated them as scenes, after the fact. He had never been a part of one, feeling the victim's fear or desperation.
Sara was far more empathic than he was. The horror of the accident must be hell on her, he realized. When he saw the first news report, Grissom had been upset when he thought she had taken unnecessary risks. He hadn't considered the impact this would have on her.
Mobley had also said he was worried about Sara. He must have had an idea what this would do to her. The cynical part of Grissom's brain told him the sheriff was just worried about the bad press the department would receive if anything happened to Sara. The rational part of his brain told him he was being petty because Mobley had understood her better than he had.
Nothing was going to happen. He'd see to that. Somehow. If Philip didn't come in on Friday, then Grissom would visit him at home.
Groaning, he walked slowly towards the bathroom to shower. Catherine would have a better idea of what to do in the meantime.
~~~~~~~~~
Catherine had heard the sound of the tires and then the phone dropping. Heading into the living room, she found Sara collapsed on the floor. As she ran over, she realized the younger woman kept softly repeating "I'm sorry". Catherine knelt and reached out to place a reassuring hand on Sara's shoulder. She collapsed back into the couch when the brunette's elbow connected her mouth.
"Damn," she said, wiping the blood from her mouth. "Sara!"
Catherine's determined yell caused her to look up. Seeing the blood on Catherine's mouth, she realized what she had done. Her elbow hurt. Now she knew why. "Oh, God, I'm sorry, Cath. You scared me," she whispered.
"It's okay, Sara. Sorry," she said calmly. If she'd scared Sara, then she didn't want to know the name of the emotion Sara was causing her to feel. The usually calm scientist was a wreck. She was deadly pale, as if she had seen a ghost. Her breath was coming in ragged, uneven gasps. Fear clearly showed in her eyes.
Neither paid attention to the knocking.
"I'm sorry, Cath, I'm so sorry," Sara said, beginning to tremble. Making sure the other woman was watching her movements, Catherine moved to the couch, then reached down to pull Sara up beside her. She took the afghan off of the back of the sofa and wrapped in snuggly around the brunette. It was partly to comfort her and partly to trap her arms.
"Sara, it's okay. Really. Really," the blonde reassured her. "I understand. I do."
Sara shook her head negatively. Catherine reached a gentle hand to brush the hair out of her eyes. "Hey, remember me? I'm the one who had to pull her little girl out of a submerged car. I was a wreck for days afterwards. I had flashbacks. I had nightmares. Hell, I probably even took some pot-shots at co-workers who didn't deserve it," she said trying to calm Sara down.
"You never drew blood," she answered, although she wouldn't look at Catherine.
"Doesn't mean it didn't hurt. And at least you apologized," she said gently, ignoring her cell phone.
Sara fought to bring her breathing back to something approaching a normal pattern. "God, Cath, I feel like I'm going crazy. I'm moody. I'm shaky. One minute I'm fine, and then the next I'm remembering details about the accident I didn't even know I knew to be remembering," she paused, trying to parse out that last sentence. Catherine smiled at her. "I'm babbling incoherently and beating up my co-workers."
"Believe it or not, Sara, you're not crazy. You're just human. We do things like this from time to time," she told her. "You're having a normal reaction to stress. It sucks, but it's normal. It gets better, Sara, believe me."
A loud pounding on the front door finally got their attention. "Catherine! Open the door!" Grissom bellowed.
"God! Why him?" Sara muttered as she hurried to the bathroom.
"Catherine! I'm calling for backup! I'll ..." he stopped when Catherine opened the door. She stared at his hand; it was resting on his gun.
"What happened? I heard you yell. Are you hurt? Where's Sara? Is she okay?" Grissom asked, quickly stepping into the doorway, his eyes scanning frantically.
Catherine suppressed her laughter. His series of questions had come out as a single non-stop statement. It was a telling action from the usually stoic man.
"I spooked Sara. I didn't really yell. I made accidental contact with her elbow. She's in the bathroom. She's a mess. Come in before the neighbors call the police," she said, pulling him the rest of the way in.
"Catherine, what's going on?" His tone was clearly concerned. He led her into the kitchen where he soaked a towel with cold water. She took it when he moved to wipe up the blood.
"Sounded like there was an accident up the road. It must have spooked Sara. I came to check on her and didn't think. Came up behind her. I spooked her more. She accidentally hit me. She's in the bathroom," Catherine explained in more detail, gingerly wiping up the blood. "She's upset, Gil, and I think she's embarrassed that you caught her in this mood."
"Sara hit you," he whispered.
"Relax, Gil, she didn't mean it. Come on. Given the severity of the accident, all the stress the media attention is causing and her lack of sleep, I think it's perfectly understandable," she said, tilting her head to observe her friend. "You really are worried, aren't you?"
Grissom turned to look at her in surprise. "Catherine, I was ready to agree with Nick that there's no reason to worry. You're the one who sided with Warrick," he snapped. He wasn't able to hold her glare. Why did people think he was uncaring? "Of course, I'm worried. First Warrick, then you and Brass, then Al."
"What about Al?" Catherine inquired. Someone else noticed troubles?
"He came by after you left. There was an ... incident ... in the morgue earlier. It was enough to make Doc worried," he explained.
"What kind of incident?" Catherine said, trying to keep her voice calm.
"I really don't know. Sara came down and asked if all the kids were dead before the fire. Al said something must have happened that made her worry she left one of them behind," he said, running his hands through his hair. "I don't know what to do. I don't want to do anything wrong."
Catherine gave her friend a look of pity. He'd never bear the guilt if anything happened to Sara. "It's okay, Gil. She'll be fine. Be patient," she said, giving his hand a friendly squeeze.
This was the position Sara found them when she exited the bathroom later.
"Didn't realized this was where you spent all your free time, Grissom," she said shortly.
"Yeah, right," Catherine snorted derisively. "Like that would ever happen." She just shrugged at Grissom's hurt expression. At least now he understood her earlier comment about his tone of voice when denying a relationship with Sara.
She watched as Sara and Grissom just stared at each other. Maybe they would talk in a more private setting. "I've got to check on the wash, guys. Behave while I'm gone," she said, ducking back into the laundry room.
Sara stood leaning against the counter, arms crossed angrily across her chest. Her wet hair and pajamas ruined the image she was trying to project. Neither spoke.
Grissom was unsure what to say. He was afraid to speak. His heart was still racing. He thought he had heard Catherine yell. No one answered his knocking, then she wouldn't answer the phone. Finding her bloody didn't help his nerves any. Facing an angry Sara wasn't reassuring, either.
"Why are you here?" Sara finally broke the silence. Her voice was oddly calm.
"I wanted to talk to Catherine," he said. "And I wanted to check up on you."
"Really," she said, her tone carrying her disbelief.
"Yes," he said, giving her a kind smile. "I'm worried about my friend. Is that so hard to believe?"
"From you? Now? Yeah, it is," Sara answered honestly. She rolled her eyes at the look of hurt that crossed his face. "Grissom, you practically ignore me for a year, and when you do pay attention to me it was almost always to jump down my throat. You've spent more time with me, said more nice things to me, in the last two days than the past twelve months combined. Yeah, I'm suspicious," she said.
Catherine crept back into the room. She hadn't expected the conversation to take this turn. "Hey, guys, it's getting late. Sara, why don't you get some sleep? Don't tell me you don't need it. I have a kid; you can't win that argument with me," she said, grabbing Sara by the arm and dragging her to the bedroom.
Sara closed the door before the other woman could make any comments. Catherine gave a short growl of frustration. She debated entering the room, but decided it would be better to give Sara some room for time being. When Catherine came back into the kitchen, Grissom had already shown himself out. The blonde let out a loud sigh. Now she had both of them to deal with.
In Lindsay's room, Sara sank to the floor and leaned against the door. It didn't have a lock, but she doubted Catherine would have the strength to force it open. She just wanted to be alone
Grissom slowly rose from his couch. His migraine had diminished, but his head still throbbed. He was supposed to be at Catherine's. Would they still be awake? Catherine would be. She was off last night; she always slept in on her nights off.
Hopefully, Sara would be sleeping. She had only had a few hours sleep before her nightmare yesterday. Thinking of her made his head throb more.
For the umpteenth time, Grissom silently berated himself for not calling Philip Kane sooner. Sara had been right when she said he had left early. His wife had an emergency appendectomy and the staff psychologist wasn't expected to be back until Friday at the earliest. He tried not to feel guilty for verifying Sara's story.
Grissom waged an internal battle with himself. He couldn't believe Sara would ever hurt herself. Nothing in her personality suggested she was at risk. She had willing contacted Philip. But if the others were concerned enough to talk to him, then there had to be a reason.
He groaned again as his stomach joined his head in complaining.
What had Mobley said? 'We both can imagine what the inside of that bus looked like.' Grissom could easily reconstruct the interior in his mind. He had plenty of experience. The trouble was he had always investigated them as scenes, after the fact. He had never been a part of one, feeling the victim's fear or desperation.
Sara was far more empathic than he was. The horror of the accident must be hell on her, he realized. When he saw the first news report, Grissom had been upset when he thought she had taken unnecessary risks. He hadn't considered the impact this would have on her.
Mobley had also said he was worried about Sara. He must have had an idea what this would do to her. The cynical part of Grissom's brain told him the sheriff was just worried about the bad press the department would receive if anything happened to Sara. The rational part of his brain told him he was being petty because Mobley had understood her better than he had.
Nothing was going to happen. He'd see to that. Somehow. If Philip didn't come in on Friday, then Grissom would visit him at home.
Groaning, he walked slowly towards the bathroom to shower. Catherine would have a better idea of what to do in the meantime.
~~~~~~~~~
Catherine had heard the sound of the tires and then the phone dropping. Heading into the living room, she found Sara collapsed on the floor. As she ran over, she realized the younger woman kept softly repeating "I'm sorry". Catherine knelt and reached out to place a reassuring hand on Sara's shoulder. She collapsed back into the couch when the brunette's elbow connected her mouth.
"Damn," she said, wiping the blood from her mouth. "Sara!"
Catherine's determined yell caused her to look up. Seeing the blood on Catherine's mouth, she realized what she had done. Her elbow hurt. Now she knew why. "Oh, God, I'm sorry, Cath. You scared me," she whispered.
"It's okay, Sara. Sorry," she said calmly. If she'd scared Sara, then she didn't want to know the name of the emotion Sara was causing her to feel. The usually calm scientist was a wreck. She was deadly pale, as if she had seen a ghost. Her breath was coming in ragged, uneven gasps. Fear clearly showed in her eyes.
Neither paid attention to the knocking.
"I'm sorry, Cath, I'm so sorry," Sara said, beginning to tremble. Making sure the other woman was watching her movements, Catherine moved to the couch, then reached down to pull Sara up beside her. She took the afghan off of the back of the sofa and wrapped in snuggly around the brunette. It was partly to comfort her and partly to trap her arms.
"Sara, it's okay. Really. Really," the blonde reassured her. "I understand. I do."
Sara shook her head negatively. Catherine reached a gentle hand to brush the hair out of her eyes. "Hey, remember me? I'm the one who had to pull her little girl out of a submerged car. I was a wreck for days afterwards. I had flashbacks. I had nightmares. Hell, I probably even took some pot-shots at co-workers who didn't deserve it," she said trying to calm Sara down.
"You never drew blood," she answered, although she wouldn't look at Catherine.
"Doesn't mean it didn't hurt. And at least you apologized," she said gently, ignoring her cell phone.
Sara fought to bring her breathing back to something approaching a normal pattern. "God, Cath, I feel like I'm going crazy. I'm moody. I'm shaky. One minute I'm fine, and then the next I'm remembering details about the accident I didn't even know I knew to be remembering," she paused, trying to parse out that last sentence. Catherine smiled at her. "I'm babbling incoherently and beating up my co-workers."
"Believe it or not, Sara, you're not crazy. You're just human. We do things like this from time to time," she told her. "You're having a normal reaction to stress. It sucks, but it's normal. It gets better, Sara, believe me."
A loud pounding on the front door finally got their attention. "Catherine! Open the door!" Grissom bellowed.
"God! Why him?" Sara muttered as she hurried to the bathroom.
"Catherine! I'm calling for backup! I'll ..." he stopped when Catherine opened the door. She stared at his hand; it was resting on his gun.
"What happened? I heard you yell. Are you hurt? Where's Sara? Is she okay?" Grissom asked, quickly stepping into the doorway, his eyes scanning frantically.
Catherine suppressed her laughter. His series of questions had come out as a single non-stop statement. It was a telling action from the usually stoic man.
"I spooked Sara. I didn't really yell. I made accidental contact with her elbow. She's in the bathroom. She's a mess. Come in before the neighbors call the police," she said, pulling him the rest of the way in.
"Catherine, what's going on?" His tone was clearly concerned. He led her into the kitchen where he soaked a towel with cold water. She took it when he moved to wipe up the blood.
"Sounded like there was an accident up the road. It must have spooked Sara. I came to check on her and didn't think. Came up behind her. I spooked her more. She accidentally hit me. She's in the bathroom," Catherine explained in more detail, gingerly wiping up the blood. "She's upset, Gil, and I think she's embarrassed that you caught her in this mood."
"Sara hit you," he whispered.
"Relax, Gil, she didn't mean it. Come on. Given the severity of the accident, all the stress the media attention is causing and her lack of sleep, I think it's perfectly understandable," she said, tilting her head to observe her friend. "You really are worried, aren't you?"
Grissom turned to look at her in surprise. "Catherine, I was ready to agree with Nick that there's no reason to worry. You're the one who sided with Warrick," he snapped. He wasn't able to hold her glare. Why did people think he was uncaring? "Of course, I'm worried. First Warrick, then you and Brass, then Al."
"What about Al?" Catherine inquired. Someone else noticed troubles?
"He came by after you left. There was an ... incident ... in the morgue earlier. It was enough to make Doc worried," he explained.
"What kind of incident?" Catherine said, trying to keep her voice calm.
"I really don't know. Sara came down and asked if all the kids were dead before the fire. Al said something must have happened that made her worry she left one of them behind," he said, running his hands through his hair. "I don't know what to do. I don't want to do anything wrong."
Catherine gave her friend a look of pity. He'd never bear the guilt if anything happened to Sara. "It's okay, Gil. She'll be fine. Be patient," she said, giving his hand a friendly squeeze.
This was the position Sara found them when she exited the bathroom later.
"Didn't realized this was where you spent all your free time, Grissom," she said shortly.
"Yeah, right," Catherine snorted derisively. "Like that would ever happen." She just shrugged at Grissom's hurt expression. At least now he understood her earlier comment about his tone of voice when denying a relationship with Sara.
She watched as Sara and Grissom just stared at each other. Maybe they would talk in a more private setting. "I've got to check on the wash, guys. Behave while I'm gone," she said, ducking back into the laundry room.
Sara stood leaning against the counter, arms crossed angrily across her chest. Her wet hair and pajamas ruined the image she was trying to project. Neither spoke.
Grissom was unsure what to say. He was afraid to speak. His heart was still racing. He thought he had heard Catherine yell. No one answered his knocking, then she wouldn't answer the phone. Finding her bloody didn't help his nerves any. Facing an angry Sara wasn't reassuring, either.
"Why are you here?" Sara finally broke the silence. Her voice was oddly calm.
"I wanted to talk to Catherine," he said. "And I wanted to check up on you."
"Really," she said, her tone carrying her disbelief.
"Yes," he said, giving her a kind smile. "I'm worried about my friend. Is that so hard to believe?"
"From you? Now? Yeah, it is," Sara answered honestly. She rolled her eyes at the look of hurt that crossed his face. "Grissom, you practically ignore me for a year, and when you do pay attention to me it was almost always to jump down my throat. You've spent more time with me, said more nice things to me, in the last two days than the past twelve months combined. Yeah, I'm suspicious," she said.
Catherine crept back into the room. She hadn't expected the conversation to take this turn. "Hey, guys, it's getting late. Sara, why don't you get some sleep? Don't tell me you don't need it. I have a kid; you can't win that argument with me," she said, grabbing Sara by the arm and dragging her to the bedroom.
Sara closed the door before the other woman could make any comments. Catherine gave a short growl of frustration. She debated entering the room, but decided it would be better to give Sara some room for time being. When Catherine came back into the kitchen, Grissom had already shown himself out. The blonde let out a loud sigh. Now she had both of them to deal with.
In Lindsay's room, Sara sank to the floor and leaned against the door. It didn't have a lock, but she doubted Catherine would have the strength to force it open. She just wanted to be alone