Ch. 42
Sara scanned the files in full investigative mode, knowing the answer would be in there somewhere. As she waited for the next page to load, she considered sending Grissom another e-mail message. Since he'd yet to respond to her earlier ones, she decided against it.
She let out a rueful sigh. After waiting all that time for some sort of message from him, she'd found herself hesitant to call him after his package arrived. Partially, Sara was nervous that she wasn't ready to talk to him yet, and would lose some of her hard-won emotional control. Falling apart during a phone conversation wouldn't have been a great way to renew their contact.
On top of that, she had worried about how long it had taken him to contact her. He hadn't completely retreated that time, but how would he react the next time she hurt him? At that point, Sara knew she still didn't have complete mastery over herself, and was bound to slip up and hurt him again. Would he come back again?
Despite her fears, Sara hadn't given up hope. Not answering him would have been deliberately hurtful, and that was something she wouldn't do. Finally, later that evening, she called dispatch. He had taken the night off, probably hoping she'd call him at home.
Feeling a bit cowardly, she called his office number and left a message for him on his voicemail.
"Hey Grissom. Got your package. Thanks. Hope you're doing okay. I'm heading down to Santa Barbara in the morning. I'll give you a call later, once I get settled. I miss you."
The next night, after she finished unpacking, she called dispatch again, this time learning he was at a crime scene. Sara left the next message on his home answering machine.
"Hey again. Just got unpacked. Don't know what my office phone number or e-mail will be yet, but I'll let you know once I find out. Talk to you later."
She'd immediately called back and let him know her new cell phone number. For the rest of the weekend, she deliberately continued to play phone tag, letting her voicemail handle all her calls. Grissom's responses had been equally banal and polite.
Feeling disgusted with herself, she finally broke down and sent him an e-mail message on Monday morning. It wasn't a direct conversation, so she didn't worry about losing control, and it was better than leaving inane phone messages.
"Hey,
"Miss you.
"Things are okay here. Had a good time with my folks. Really helped me to relax, get myself together. I think I should have taken that vacation offer sooner. Live and learn.
"Sorry I haven't been more talkative. Guess I'm nervous. Don't want to freak on you. I've been pretty calm lately, but with my luck, I'd lose it in the middle of telling you I'm all right.
"Don't mean to be evasive, but don't want to make you nervous.
"I'm sorry about how we parted. I didn't mean to hurt you.
"Bye."
Grissom's response had been reassuring. He hadn't pressed for any further explanations, and they continued a light conversation for the next week. Then on Monday, Sara received an auto-response that he was out of the office. A message to his personal account yielded a similar message.
It hadn't really surprised her. Every year, he looked forward to his entomology conference and he'd cut it short to check up on her. Sara decided he probably caught another one that was being held in Tacoma.
"Heard from your bug guy yet?"
Sara smiled as Jimmy Kahill hopped up on her desk, his legs swinging wildly. He had always been able to wheedle personal information out of her and was a self-appointed guardian.
"Nope. And you're corrupted."
"Corrupted or corrupting?"
"Both. Your data files are corrupted, Jimmy. That's why your model crashed," she said, pointing out the offending computer file.
"Sweet! Great timing. The receptionist just called. You have a visitor. A Francesco Redi. Another friend?" he asked, putting a teasing quality on the last word.
"Francesco Redi? He's a 17th century scientist."
"A very old friend," he replied, pulling her up from her chair. "Don't keep him waiting."
"It must be Greg," Sara said with a surprised smile. "He's always leaving pages from historical scientists."
"Greg? Crazy one? Wears latex? Couldn't take a hint?" Cahill wrapped his arm around her as they headed to the reception area.
"Yep."
"I want to met him. You go ahead and cut out early. You saved the rest of us a bunch of work. Make him take you somewhere nice. Toscani's is a good choice," Kahill said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
"Jimmy!"
Sara's laughter died when she saw Grissom watching her from across the lobby.
~~~~
Wondering if she would be upset at him for coming, Grissom was nervously flipping through flyers on the bulletin board when he heard her laughter. It caught him by surprise; it was genuine and something he hadn't heard in too long. A wave of anger washed over him when he looked up to see her in another man's arms.
He'd felt her messages had been distant and worried that he had waited too long to contact her. His anger turned to sadness as he decided she must have moved on. He automatically returned the other man's greeting after Sara introduced them, not caring if he was being terse.
After Kahill left, Grissom watched Sara carefully. She was beautiful. Leaving Las Vegas really had been good for her; she seemed happier, more relaxed than she had been in long time.
"Want to grab something to eat?" he asked softly.
Sara regarded him calmly. "Okay. Can I change first?"
"Sure. I'll follow you back to your apartment."
"Actually, I walk to work. Want to give me a lift?"
He nodded and escorted her to his rental car. She gave him the directions and he pulled away quietly.
"Why are you here, Grissom?" Sara asked cautiously.
"I was visiting my mother."
"She's a student here?"
"No. She runs an art gallery in Venice Beach."
"That's not exactly in the neighborhood."
"My return flight leaves from the Santa Barbara airport later tonight."
"Couldn't get a flight out of LA?"
"I wanted to see you," he said softly. "I needed to know if you … if I was too late, if you gave up on me. You seem to be awfully close to your new boss," he added quickly, hoping it didn't sound as vindictive as he thought.
Sara turned to stare at him in astonishment. He really was jealous? She thought she'd imagined it in the lobby. He actually thought she'd be able to get over him that quickly? Her anger died quickly when she saw the pain in his eyes. He really did expect her to agree. Who had hurt him like that?
"Jimmy and I have always been friends. We have a lot in common. We look for the same qualities in those we want to be involved with. Honesty. Trust. Intelligence. Humor," she turned to give him a pointed look. "Y-chromosomes."
"He's … you're not …"
"Let's just say you're more his type than I am."
Grissom had the grace to blush. "Sorry. I really thought you'd given up on me."
"Know the feeling," she said, pointing out where he needed to turn to reach her apartment's parking lot.
"Sorry. Again."
"Don't be, Grissom. I told you before, none of this is your fault. Come on in," she said.
He stared in shock when she opened the door to her apartment. 'Cell' would have been a better description. Technically, it was a studio apartment, but the entire thing was smaller than Grissom's living room. A tiny kitchenette took the corner next to the door. A folding card table, a futon, TV stand and computer desk nearly filled the main area. Two doors at the opposite end of the room apparently led to a closet and the bathroom.
Sara laughed humorlessly when she saw his reaction.
"Cozy, isn't it? Deliberate. I don't want to feel comfortable here. Make myself go out in the evenings with friends. Have to get a life somehow. Plus, the rent on this is higher than what I paid for my apartment in Vegas, and I'm not making nearly as much. Don't want to run through all my savings."
"If money's a problem, your insurance …"
"I'm not going on disability!" Sara said hotly.
"Okay, just pointing out it was there. Where do you want to go to eat?"
"Honestly, I'm not that hungry. Can we talk for a while first?"
"Sure."
Sara waved him in the general direction of the futon. After taking a seat, Grissom waited patiently for her to speak. He could tell she was nervous, as she fiddled with a recent photo of her holding a puppy. "Are you angry with me?"
"No," she whispered.
"What's wrong then?" he urged gently.
"I'm afraid."
"Of me?"
"No," she said kindly, wrapping her arms around herself nervously. She'd decided it was time to finally come clean about what had happened on the bus and see what his reaction was.
"I … on the bus," she began hesitantly.
"Sara, if you're not ready, you don't have to tell me," he said gently.
"Yes, I do. I told you it was dumb, but I'm afraid of how you'll react. Please, be honest. I need to know how you really feel about this. I … we … until I know for sure, I won't be able to go forward. I'll always wonder … it's … damn. I'm sorry. This is harder than I thought it would be."
Grissom slowly got up from the futon, waiting to see if she'd object to his moving closer. She didn't seem to notice him at all, as she wiped away her tears.
"That little boy, Grissom. He was still alive. I was holding him, and telling him he'd be okay. God. He was crying, and I had no idea what do to. He was pinned, I couldn't move him. All I could do was hold him, and promise I'd help him."
Sara started pacing the small space, trying to keep her voice calm.
"He told me he was sorry. God, Grissom, he was dying and he apologized to me. He … I … that's when Teresa started to cry. I found her under a seat. She was crying and hurt and I could help her. I … there were flames in the truck. I could smell the diesel. The smoke ….Damn."
Grissom moved closer as Sara headed to the small stove. "Want some tea? I don't have any coffee. I think I need some," she said, her voice cracking as she put a pot of water on to boil.
"I left him, Grissom" she whispered harshly. "I just left him. I never checked his pulse. I don't know if he was dead or not. God, how could I do that? I … I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to screw up. I …"
He closed the distance between them quickly, pulling her into a hug. "Sssshhh, sweetheart, don't do this to yourself. There was nothing you could have done."
She wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder. He reached up to brush a lock of hair out of her face, kissing her forehead tenderly.
"God, he thought I was his mother. He called me 'Mommy'. Do you know what it felt like, knowing that's probably the only time I'd be called that? And I left him," she sobbed.
Grissom pulled Sara closer to his body, whispering gentle endearments to her. Pulling back slightly, he reached a hand up to tenderly wipe away her tears, smiling gently.
"Thanks," she whispered sadly, trying to return his smile, but failing.
He reached up again, this time tilting her head as he leaned in to kiss her softly.
Sara scanned the files in full investigative mode, knowing the answer would be in there somewhere. As she waited for the next page to load, she considered sending Grissom another e-mail message. Since he'd yet to respond to her earlier ones, she decided against it.
She let out a rueful sigh. After waiting all that time for some sort of message from him, she'd found herself hesitant to call him after his package arrived. Partially, Sara was nervous that she wasn't ready to talk to him yet, and would lose some of her hard-won emotional control. Falling apart during a phone conversation wouldn't have been a great way to renew their contact.
On top of that, she had worried about how long it had taken him to contact her. He hadn't completely retreated that time, but how would he react the next time she hurt him? At that point, Sara knew she still didn't have complete mastery over herself, and was bound to slip up and hurt him again. Would he come back again?
Despite her fears, Sara hadn't given up hope. Not answering him would have been deliberately hurtful, and that was something she wouldn't do. Finally, later that evening, she called dispatch. He had taken the night off, probably hoping she'd call him at home.
Feeling a bit cowardly, she called his office number and left a message for him on his voicemail.
"Hey Grissom. Got your package. Thanks. Hope you're doing okay. I'm heading down to Santa Barbara in the morning. I'll give you a call later, once I get settled. I miss you."
The next night, after she finished unpacking, she called dispatch again, this time learning he was at a crime scene. Sara left the next message on his home answering machine.
"Hey again. Just got unpacked. Don't know what my office phone number or e-mail will be yet, but I'll let you know once I find out. Talk to you later."
She'd immediately called back and let him know her new cell phone number. For the rest of the weekend, she deliberately continued to play phone tag, letting her voicemail handle all her calls. Grissom's responses had been equally banal and polite.
Feeling disgusted with herself, she finally broke down and sent him an e-mail message on Monday morning. It wasn't a direct conversation, so she didn't worry about losing control, and it was better than leaving inane phone messages.
"Hey,
"Miss you.
"Things are okay here. Had a good time with my folks. Really helped me to relax, get myself together. I think I should have taken that vacation offer sooner. Live and learn.
"Sorry I haven't been more talkative. Guess I'm nervous. Don't want to freak on you. I've been pretty calm lately, but with my luck, I'd lose it in the middle of telling you I'm all right.
"Don't mean to be evasive, but don't want to make you nervous.
"I'm sorry about how we parted. I didn't mean to hurt you.
"Bye."
Grissom's response had been reassuring. He hadn't pressed for any further explanations, and they continued a light conversation for the next week. Then on Monday, Sara received an auto-response that he was out of the office. A message to his personal account yielded a similar message.
It hadn't really surprised her. Every year, he looked forward to his entomology conference and he'd cut it short to check up on her. Sara decided he probably caught another one that was being held in Tacoma.
"Heard from your bug guy yet?"
Sara smiled as Jimmy Kahill hopped up on her desk, his legs swinging wildly. He had always been able to wheedle personal information out of her and was a self-appointed guardian.
"Nope. And you're corrupted."
"Corrupted or corrupting?"
"Both. Your data files are corrupted, Jimmy. That's why your model crashed," she said, pointing out the offending computer file.
"Sweet! Great timing. The receptionist just called. You have a visitor. A Francesco Redi. Another friend?" he asked, putting a teasing quality on the last word.
"Francesco Redi? He's a 17th century scientist."
"A very old friend," he replied, pulling her up from her chair. "Don't keep him waiting."
"It must be Greg," Sara said with a surprised smile. "He's always leaving pages from historical scientists."
"Greg? Crazy one? Wears latex? Couldn't take a hint?" Cahill wrapped his arm around her as they headed to the reception area.
"Yep."
"I want to met him. You go ahead and cut out early. You saved the rest of us a bunch of work. Make him take you somewhere nice. Toscani's is a good choice," Kahill said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
"Jimmy!"
Sara's laughter died when she saw Grissom watching her from across the lobby.
~~~~
Wondering if she would be upset at him for coming, Grissom was nervously flipping through flyers on the bulletin board when he heard her laughter. It caught him by surprise; it was genuine and something he hadn't heard in too long. A wave of anger washed over him when he looked up to see her in another man's arms.
He'd felt her messages had been distant and worried that he had waited too long to contact her. His anger turned to sadness as he decided she must have moved on. He automatically returned the other man's greeting after Sara introduced them, not caring if he was being terse.
After Kahill left, Grissom watched Sara carefully. She was beautiful. Leaving Las Vegas really had been good for her; she seemed happier, more relaxed than she had been in long time.
"Want to grab something to eat?" he asked softly.
Sara regarded him calmly. "Okay. Can I change first?"
"Sure. I'll follow you back to your apartment."
"Actually, I walk to work. Want to give me a lift?"
He nodded and escorted her to his rental car. She gave him the directions and he pulled away quietly.
"Why are you here, Grissom?" Sara asked cautiously.
"I was visiting my mother."
"She's a student here?"
"No. She runs an art gallery in Venice Beach."
"That's not exactly in the neighborhood."
"My return flight leaves from the Santa Barbara airport later tonight."
"Couldn't get a flight out of LA?"
"I wanted to see you," he said softly. "I needed to know if you … if I was too late, if you gave up on me. You seem to be awfully close to your new boss," he added quickly, hoping it didn't sound as vindictive as he thought.
Sara turned to stare at him in astonishment. He really was jealous? She thought she'd imagined it in the lobby. He actually thought she'd be able to get over him that quickly? Her anger died quickly when she saw the pain in his eyes. He really did expect her to agree. Who had hurt him like that?
"Jimmy and I have always been friends. We have a lot in common. We look for the same qualities in those we want to be involved with. Honesty. Trust. Intelligence. Humor," she turned to give him a pointed look. "Y-chromosomes."
"He's … you're not …"
"Let's just say you're more his type than I am."
Grissom had the grace to blush. "Sorry. I really thought you'd given up on me."
"Know the feeling," she said, pointing out where he needed to turn to reach her apartment's parking lot.
"Sorry. Again."
"Don't be, Grissom. I told you before, none of this is your fault. Come on in," she said.
He stared in shock when she opened the door to her apartment. 'Cell' would have been a better description. Technically, it was a studio apartment, but the entire thing was smaller than Grissom's living room. A tiny kitchenette took the corner next to the door. A folding card table, a futon, TV stand and computer desk nearly filled the main area. Two doors at the opposite end of the room apparently led to a closet and the bathroom.
Sara laughed humorlessly when she saw his reaction.
"Cozy, isn't it? Deliberate. I don't want to feel comfortable here. Make myself go out in the evenings with friends. Have to get a life somehow. Plus, the rent on this is higher than what I paid for my apartment in Vegas, and I'm not making nearly as much. Don't want to run through all my savings."
"If money's a problem, your insurance …"
"I'm not going on disability!" Sara said hotly.
"Okay, just pointing out it was there. Where do you want to go to eat?"
"Honestly, I'm not that hungry. Can we talk for a while first?"
"Sure."
Sara waved him in the general direction of the futon. After taking a seat, Grissom waited patiently for her to speak. He could tell she was nervous, as she fiddled with a recent photo of her holding a puppy. "Are you angry with me?"
"No," she whispered.
"What's wrong then?" he urged gently.
"I'm afraid."
"Of me?"
"No," she said kindly, wrapping her arms around herself nervously. She'd decided it was time to finally come clean about what had happened on the bus and see what his reaction was.
"I … on the bus," she began hesitantly.
"Sara, if you're not ready, you don't have to tell me," he said gently.
"Yes, I do. I told you it was dumb, but I'm afraid of how you'll react. Please, be honest. I need to know how you really feel about this. I … we … until I know for sure, I won't be able to go forward. I'll always wonder … it's … damn. I'm sorry. This is harder than I thought it would be."
Grissom slowly got up from the futon, waiting to see if she'd object to his moving closer. She didn't seem to notice him at all, as she wiped away her tears.
"That little boy, Grissom. He was still alive. I was holding him, and telling him he'd be okay. God. He was crying, and I had no idea what do to. He was pinned, I couldn't move him. All I could do was hold him, and promise I'd help him."
Sara started pacing the small space, trying to keep her voice calm.
"He told me he was sorry. God, Grissom, he was dying and he apologized to me. He … I … that's when Teresa started to cry. I found her under a seat. She was crying and hurt and I could help her. I … there were flames in the truck. I could smell the diesel. The smoke ….Damn."
Grissom moved closer as Sara headed to the small stove. "Want some tea? I don't have any coffee. I think I need some," she said, her voice cracking as she put a pot of water on to boil.
"I left him, Grissom" she whispered harshly. "I just left him. I never checked his pulse. I don't know if he was dead or not. God, how could I do that? I … I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to screw up. I …"
He closed the distance between them quickly, pulling her into a hug. "Sssshhh, sweetheart, don't do this to yourself. There was nothing you could have done."
She wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder. He reached up to brush a lock of hair out of her face, kissing her forehead tenderly.
"God, he thought I was his mother. He called me 'Mommy'. Do you know what it felt like, knowing that's probably the only time I'd be called that? And I left him," she sobbed.
Grissom pulled Sara closer to his body, whispering gentle endearments to her. Pulling back slightly, he reached a hand up to tenderly wipe away her tears, smiling gently.
"Thanks," she whispered sadly, trying to return his smile, but failing.
He reached up again, this time tilting her head as he leaned in to kiss her softly.