Chapter 30
At the sound of Sara's laughter, Grissom paused in his review of the photographs spread before him. Peering discreetly over the top of his glasses, he scanned the hallway outside the Layout Room, spotting her talking to David. Presumably, they were on their way to breakfast. Again.
He closed his eyes as conflicting emotions of mild jealousy and guilt washed over him. He knew he should be happy for her. She was in a good mood today, and those had been so rare since the accident. She seemed to be making progress and Sara's recovery was the most important thing. It shouldn't matter how she accomplished it, but it disturbed Grissom to find he did care how it was done.
When he heard their footsteps approaching, he hastily darted his eyes back to the photographs. The last thing he needed was for Sara to think he had been spying on her. His head automatically turned, though, when she paused at the doorway. Their eyes met briefly, then she gave him a smile and a wave before continuing down the hallway.
Letting out a wistful sigh, Grissom smiled weakly at the friendly greeting. He started to run his hands through his hair, but paused nervously. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Catherine watching him from across the table. From her baffled expression, he gathered that she had caught the entire silent exchange.
Quickly collecting his files, he headed to his office, wincing when he heard another chortle. Grissom never realized how easily David could make Sara laugh. He wished he knew how the coroner's assistant did it. Still, if talking to David helped Sara, then he wouldn't complain.
He couldn't, considering he feared he might have set back her recovery through his own folly.
Closing his office door, he crossed the room and sank into his chair. Rubbing his temples, he once again wondered how he had managed to screw this up so badly, so quickly.
It had been 10 days since he had bumped into Sara outside the morgue and been frightened by her condition. Ten days since her unexpected kiss had sent his heart and imagination racing.
But it had only been eight days since he had potentially destroyed any chance he had with her. It only took one mistake, but Grissom recognized it had been a serious one.
Despite her assurances, Sara's haggard appearance that night had shocked him. Grissom had thought things would have started to improve for her, but her condition had seemed to have worsened. He found himself worrying about her through the rest of shift. As much as he wanted to check on her, he forced himself to keep his distance.
When he saw her message the next evening that she would be taking sick leave, part of him was glad. She had obviously been tense the night before and he thought the rest would do Sara good. His panic rose when he read the next message. It was from Philip Kane, stating that she wasn't to return to work for a minimum of three days.
Grissom had spent the night worrying about how serious her condition really was, if Kane had felt the need to order her to rest. He wanted to call, but doubted she would appreciate the gesture. Sara could easily contact him if she needed - or even wanted - to. Still, he couldn't stop worrying.
Eventually, he found himself at her apartment door on Wednesday morning. He just needed to see her, then he'd leave. As he suspected, Sara wasn't pleasantly surprised to see him when she finally opened the door. His apology and explanation that was worried had done little to modify her mood.
While she did look better, he didn't take very much comfort in that. About the only way her earlier appearance could have been worse was for her to have been on one of the morgue's slabs. Still, it had been enough to reassure him and he had been prepared to accept her statement that she was fine.
The empty bottle of alcohol and the open pill container changed everything.
From his position in the doorway, he could just make them out on the breakfast bar. As a cold sweat broke out, he automatically pushed past Sara and walked into her apartment. Grabbing the pill container, he recognized the prescription as a sedative. His stomach churned when he saw it was also empty.
The nature of his fear changed when he saw Sara's fierce expression. Grissom had thought he had seen her mad before, but nothing had prepared him for that exchange that followed.
Grabbing the pill bottle from his hand, she pointed out that it was only a two-day supply, filled the day before. She had then shown him the second dosage still in her hand, explaining Kane insisted she had to rest, even if had to be drug-induced. Stomping across the room in disgust, she then had dug out the bottle of sleeping pills from her bag, thrown them at his chest and dared him to open the bottle and count them. When he had shaken his head and moved to apologize, she crossed the room again to stand directly in his face. Exhaling harshly, she asked if he could smell alcohol, explaining she had dumped the rum earlier so it wouldn't be a temptation.
Then she got angry.
In the past he had presumed that someone who repeatedly swore either lacked intelligence or had a stunted vocabulary. Sara's colorful combinations of damnations permanently shattered that illusion.
In no uncertain terms, she had let him know what she felt about his not respecting her wishes to keep his distance and of forcing his way into her apartment. She was livid that he thought she would try to kill herself, that he thought so little of her, that he apparently had no trust in her.
Grissom had known he was wrong and he had tried repeatedly to apologize. But every time he tried to speak, it only made Sara angrier. Half-fearing he was going to trigger a stroke, he left her in the middle of a loud curse, backing out of her apartment, his hands held out in surrender.
After taking a few minutes to calm his nerves, he had headed home, wondering if Sara would ever speak to him again. Or if he even wanted to hear what she would say if she did decide to talk to him. He had had no idea how to apologize for his error.
He hadn't realized the full extent of his mistake until the next shift. Heading into the locker room, he had overheard Nick explaining his earlier conversation with Sara to Warrick. He had explained that their concerns were terrifying Sara. Grissom had closed his eyes sadly at that piece of information, but it at least helped to explain why she needed space.
When Sara had returned to work on Friday night, she seemed much better. Her complexion wasn't as pale and there was less tension in her posture. He had given her a hopeful smile when she passed him in the break room, but she had ignored him. Grissom was certain Nick and Warrick had actually smirked at her action, but found he really didn't care.
He saw her twice more in the hallways that evening, but her reactions were equally distant. It was surprising when she had shown up at his office door at the end of shift. Instead on being angry, she seemed deeply hurt.
"I probably should apologize for yelling at you, but, dammit, it's your fault. I warned you to stay away." She had started to leave, but paused briefly. "Do you have any idea how much I hated myself after you left? I meant what I said, Grissom. It kills me when I do that do you, but I can't control it."
If she had heard his apology, she didn't stop to acknowledge it.
Despite his fears and her damnations, Sara didn't appear to hate him. She had even deliberately sat next to him when she had joined the team for a group breakfast. While she didn't speak to him, she did pointedly stare down Nick when he had flashed Grissom an angry look. The exchange had been confusing, but it had also given him hope that at the very least he had been forgiven.
He had grudgingly admitted that he wouldn't blame her if she didn't, but one snippet from her earlier angry discourse made him somewhat optimistic: 'When are you going to learn to trust me?' It could be interpreted to mean she was willing to give him another chance.
Now, he was utterly confused. Obviously, he had overreacted in her apartment, but that hadn't been intentional. It was an action borne from fear. And he probably shouldn't have gone there in the first place. Still, he didn't think he was entirely to blame. Sara had said she wanted space, but she was the one who had kissed him. Wasn't it easy to confuse that for a sign he could get closer?
Letting out a sigh, he returned to rubbing his temples. Sara was direct. She had said she would tell him when he could get closer. When the permission came, it would be verbal, not hidden in a kiss.
Unfortunately. That kiss, while brief, had held the promise of so much more, he recalled wistfully.
"Is there any special reason why you keep getting that goofy grin on your face?"
Warily, he looked up to watch Catherine leaning against the doorframe. He didn't know why he was surprised that she'd walk into his closed office. She certainly had no objections to entering his home uninvited. She may be the only person on the team currently talking to him outside of necessity, but he really wasn't in the mood for company.
"What?"
Raising a challenging eyebrow at his harsh tone, Catherine closed the door and walked over to his desk.
"For the past week, actually longer, you'll get this look on your face, like you're remembering something, and then you'll get this great, big goofy grin."
"I do not get goofy grins."
Catherine smirked. Despite his blunt attempt at a rebuttal, his blush gave him away. She watched him carefully. Something was up, but she was damned if she could figure out what was going on. Nick had explained that Sara had said she wasn't upset with Grissom and wanted them to back off. While the guys seemed hesitant, she was ready to take the younger woman at her word on both counts.
Personally, she was happy Sara had started to chafe under their constant care. As far as she was concerned, Catherine thought it was the best indication that she was recovering. Sara was too independent to tolerate coddling. It was one thing to offer support, but she had to get through this herself. The more Sara exerted her own will, the happier Catherine was.
As far as Grissom went, they obviously had reached some sort of understanding. She doubted she wanted to know what it was. Their dynamic was too bizarre under normal circumstances. But Grissom had just left the middle of an examination without a word. Something had gone wrong for him to get that distracted. Recalling a comment about fool and angels - and knowing she was no angel - she pressed ahead.
"I'll take a photo next time."
"Fine. Is there any special reason you're here?"
"Nah, not really. Just wondering if I could have those files back. One of us should probably finish this case."
"What? Oh, sorry," he muttered, pushing the files across the desk. He glared when she didn't move to leave. "Don't you have a kid to get to?"
"At her grandma's. Nice of you to suddenly start caring."
He didn't answer, but turned away quickly. Catherine thought she had briefly caught a look of raw pain in his eyes.
"Gil, are you okay? Getting a migraine?"
"No. I'm fine," he said pointedly.
"Yeah. And I'm the Easter Bunny."
"Then maybe you should just start hopping down the bunny trail," he exclaimed, pointing to his office door.
Catherine raised her eyebrows again. Something was definitely wrong, she decided. "Sorry, no can do. That's Peter Cottontail's gig. Copyright issues, whole nine yards."
He grunted, closing his eyes and rubbing his hands across his face when he heard his friend let out a long sigh.
"How did you screw up this time?"
He opened one eye and peaked through his fingers, but didn't respond.
"Do you want to fix it?" Catherine waited until it was clear he wouldn't answer. "Do you even have any idea how to fix it?"
"No."
She walked over and pulled him out of his chair. His tone had been too dejected to ignore. "Come on. Let's eat. You can tell me everything that happened while you cook."
At the sound of Sara's laughter, Grissom paused in his review of the photographs spread before him. Peering discreetly over the top of his glasses, he scanned the hallway outside the Layout Room, spotting her talking to David. Presumably, they were on their way to breakfast. Again.
He closed his eyes as conflicting emotions of mild jealousy and guilt washed over him. He knew he should be happy for her. She was in a good mood today, and those had been so rare since the accident. She seemed to be making progress and Sara's recovery was the most important thing. It shouldn't matter how she accomplished it, but it disturbed Grissom to find he did care how it was done.
When he heard their footsteps approaching, he hastily darted his eyes back to the photographs. The last thing he needed was for Sara to think he had been spying on her. His head automatically turned, though, when she paused at the doorway. Their eyes met briefly, then she gave him a smile and a wave before continuing down the hallway.
Letting out a wistful sigh, Grissom smiled weakly at the friendly greeting. He started to run his hands through his hair, but paused nervously. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Catherine watching him from across the table. From her baffled expression, he gathered that she had caught the entire silent exchange.
Quickly collecting his files, he headed to his office, wincing when he heard another chortle. Grissom never realized how easily David could make Sara laugh. He wished he knew how the coroner's assistant did it. Still, if talking to David helped Sara, then he wouldn't complain.
He couldn't, considering he feared he might have set back her recovery through his own folly.
Closing his office door, he crossed the room and sank into his chair. Rubbing his temples, he once again wondered how he had managed to screw this up so badly, so quickly.
It had been 10 days since he had bumped into Sara outside the morgue and been frightened by her condition. Ten days since her unexpected kiss had sent his heart and imagination racing.
But it had only been eight days since he had potentially destroyed any chance he had with her. It only took one mistake, but Grissom recognized it had been a serious one.
Despite her assurances, Sara's haggard appearance that night had shocked him. Grissom had thought things would have started to improve for her, but her condition had seemed to have worsened. He found himself worrying about her through the rest of shift. As much as he wanted to check on her, he forced himself to keep his distance.
When he saw her message the next evening that she would be taking sick leave, part of him was glad. She had obviously been tense the night before and he thought the rest would do Sara good. His panic rose when he read the next message. It was from Philip Kane, stating that she wasn't to return to work for a minimum of three days.
Grissom had spent the night worrying about how serious her condition really was, if Kane had felt the need to order her to rest. He wanted to call, but doubted she would appreciate the gesture. Sara could easily contact him if she needed - or even wanted - to. Still, he couldn't stop worrying.
Eventually, he found himself at her apartment door on Wednesday morning. He just needed to see her, then he'd leave. As he suspected, Sara wasn't pleasantly surprised to see him when she finally opened the door. His apology and explanation that was worried had done little to modify her mood.
While she did look better, he didn't take very much comfort in that. About the only way her earlier appearance could have been worse was for her to have been on one of the morgue's slabs. Still, it had been enough to reassure him and he had been prepared to accept her statement that she was fine.
The empty bottle of alcohol and the open pill container changed everything.
From his position in the doorway, he could just make them out on the breakfast bar. As a cold sweat broke out, he automatically pushed past Sara and walked into her apartment. Grabbing the pill container, he recognized the prescription as a sedative. His stomach churned when he saw it was also empty.
The nature of his fear changed when he saw Sara's fierce expression. Grissom had thought he had seen her mad before, but nothing had prepared him for that exchange that followed.
Grabbing the pill bottle from his hand, she pointed out that it was only a two-day supply, filled the day before. She had then shown him the second dosage still in her hand, explaining Kane insisted she had to rest, even if had to be drug-induced. Stomping across the room in disgust, she then had dug out the bottle of sleeping pills from her bag, thrown them at his chest and dared him to open the bottle and count them. When he had shaken his head and moved to apologize, she crossed the room again to stand directly in his face. Exhaling harshly, she asked if he could smell alcohol, explaining she had dumped the rum earlier so it wouldn't be a temptation.
Then she got angry.
In the past he had presumed that someone who repeatedly swore either lacked intelligence or had a stunted vocabulary. Sara's colorful combinations of damnations permanently shattered that illusion.
In no uncertain terms, she had let him know what she felt about his not respecting her wishes to keep his distance and of forcing his way into her apartment. She was livid that he thought she would try to kill herself, that he thought so little of her, that he apparently had no trust in her.
Grissom had known he was wrong and he had tried repeatedly to apologize. But every time he tried to speak, it only made Sara angrier. Half-fearing he was going to trigger a stroke, he left her in the middle of a loud curse, backing out of her apartment, his hands held out in surrender.
After taking a few minutes to calm his nerves, he had headed home, wondering if Sara would ever speak to him again. Or if he even wanted to hear what she would say if she did decide to talk to him. He had had no idea how to apologize for his error.
He hadn't realized the full extent of his mistake until the next shift. Heading into the locker room, he had overheard Nick explaining his earlier conversation with Sara to Warrick. He had explained that their concerns were terrifying Sara. Grissom had closed his eyes sadly at that piece of information, but it at least helped to explain why she needed space.
When Sara had returned to work on Friday night, she seemed much better. Her complexion wasn't as pale and there was less tension in her posture. He had given her a hopeful smile when she passed him in the break room, but she had ignored him. Grissom was certain Nick and Warrick had actually smirked at her action, but found he really didn't care.
He saw her twice more in the hallways that evening, but her reactions were equally distant. It was surprising when she had shown up at his office door at the end of shift. Instead on being angry, she seemed deeply hurt.
"I probably should apologize for yelling at you, but, dammit, it's your fault. I warned you to stay away." She had started to leave, but paused briefly. "Do you have any idea how much I hated myself after you left? I meant what I said, Grissom. It kills me when I do that do you, but I can't control it."
If she had heard his apology, she didn't stop to acknowledge it.
Despite his fears and her damnations, Sara didn't appear to hate him. She had even deliberately sat next to him when she had joined the team for a group breakfast. While she didn't speak to him, she did pointedly stare down Nick when he had flashed Grissom an angry look. The exchange had been confusing, but it had also given him hope that at the very least he had been forgiven.
He had grudgingly admitted that he wouldn't blame her if she didn't, but one snippet from her earlier angry discourse made him somewhat optimistic: 'When are you going to learn to trust me?' It could be interpreted to mean she was willing to give him another chance.
Now, he was utterly confused. Obviously, he had overreacted in her apartment, but that hadn't been intentional. It was an action borne from fear. And he probably shouldn't have gone there in the first place. Still, he didn't think he was entirely to blame. Sara had said she wanted space, but she was the one who had kissed him. Wasn't it easy to confuse that for a sign he could get closer?
Letting out a sigh, he returned to rubbing his temples. Sara was direct. She had said she would tell him when he could get closer. When the permission came, it would be verbal, not hidden in a kiss.
Unfortunately. That kiss, while brief, had held the promise of so much more, he recalled wistfully.
"Is there any special reason why you keep getting that goofy grin on your face?"
Warily, he looked up to watch Catherine leaning against the doorframe. He didn't know why he was surprised that she'd walk into his closed office. She certainly had no objections to entering his home uninvited. She may be the only person on the team currently talking to him outside of necessity, but he really wasn't in the mood for company.
"What?"
Raising a challenging eyebrow at his harsh tone, Catherine closed the door and walked over to his desk.
"For the past week, actually longer, you'll get this look on your face, like you're remembering something, and then you'll get this great, big goofy grin."
"I do not get goofy grins."
Catherine smirked. Despite his blunt attempt at a rebuttal, his blush gave him away. She watched him carefully. Something was up, but she was damned if she could figure out what was going on. Nick had explained that Sara had said she wasn't upset with Grissom and wanted them to back off. While the guys seemed hesitant, she was ready to take the younger woman at her word on both counts.
Personally, she was happy Sara had started to chafe under their constant care. As far as she was concerned, Catherine thought it was the best indication that she was recovering. Sara was too independent to tolerate coddling. It was one thing to offer support, but she had to get through this herself. The more Sara exerted her own will, the happier Catherine was.
As far as Grissom went, they obviously had reached some sort of understanding. She doubted she wanted to know what it was. Their dynamic was too bizarre under normal circumstances. But Grissom had just left the middle of an examination without a word. Something had gone wrong for him to get that distracted. Recalling a comment about fool and angels - and knowing she was no angel - she pressed ahead.
"I'll take a photo next time."
"Fine. Is there any special reason you're here?"
"Nah, not really. Just wondering if I could have those files back. One of us should probably finish this case."
"What? Oh, sorry," he muttered, pushing the files across the desk. He glared when she didn't move to leave. "Don't you have a kid to get to?"
"At her grandma's. Nice of you to suddenly start caring."
He didn't answer, but turned away quickly. Catherine thought she had briefly caught a look of raw pain in his eyes.
"Gil, are you okay? Getting a migraine?"
"No. I'm fine," he said pointedly.
"Yeah. And I'm the Easter Bunny."
"Then maybe you should just start hopping down the bunny trail," he exclaimed, pointing to his office door.
Catherine raised her eyebrows again. Something was definitely wrong, she decided. "Sorry, no can do. That's Peter Cottontail's gig. Copyright issues, whole nine yards."
He grunted, closing his eyes and rubbing his hands across his face when he heard his friend let out a long sigh.
"How did you screw up this time?"
He opened one eye and peaked through his fingers, but didn't respond.
"Do you want to fix it?" Catherine waited until it was clear he wouldn't answer. "Do you even have any idea how to fix it?"
"No."
She walked over and pulled him out of his chair. His tone had been too dejected to ignore. "Come on. Let's eat. You can tell me everything that happened while you cook."