Title: Scipio Aemilianus
Summary: "We have made a desert and called it peace." (G/S implied, Grissom POV)
Author's Notes: Okay, so the final line of this story isn't mine. Kudos to Roman General Publius Scipio Aemilianus for having made such a great comment after destroying the Carthiginian civilization. Try explaining that one.
Disclaimer: I'm only playing with them. I promise to return them without too much damage. At least, that's my intention.
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When I first met Sara Sidle, I felt the strongest sensation of lust I had ever felt. True, she was lovely… long, long legs, chestnut hair, a great smile. But it was her dark eyes that captured me. They seemed to be the only sign on an otherwise neutral face of the intensity of her nature. I noticed them as she sat in the front row of a lecture, intelligent and questioning. There was an almost hero worship to that gaze. And when she looked at me like that… I still don't have words.
She hasn't looked at me that way in awhile.
It used to be that she would walk into a room and look for me. Now her gaze doesn't even flicker as it passes me by. Not that many years ago there was the look of friendship, admiration, respect. Then if grew more and more often to be a look of pain. But now… there's nothing. Not even disappointment, the last of the emotions to flee.
It was what I desired, for the good of all involved. A safe middle ground, not unfriendly but lacking the unity that had once allowed us to work together seamlessly. Even my wittiest repartee is no longer rewarded with a grin or laugh. Cool, but not cold, we keep ourselves apart.
Yet, to have met and worked with this woman was the chance of a lifetime. Very few people would ever say they knew someone as bright as she is. Our friendship was once as vivacious and green as the vegetation of Golden Gate Park, where we would walk when I was in town. But time and experience has dulled it, as was inevitable.
As the team leader, I have to be aware of the team dynamic, know what's going on in the lives of my CSIs. Jim has sent too many pointed looks my way of late, and I know I must be slipping. No doubt the biggest problem lies with Sara. I have kept her in my peripheral vision, because every time she crosses my sight the need for her returns. This need is dangerous, and I try to ignore it.
She used to argue with me if she thought I was wrong. Pull me into a debate I wasn't always prepared for. Now I ask her a question, and she answers in that quiet, wounded voice of hers. Never thinking, never questioning. Just silently processing evidence in an inane routine. One of these days she'll slip; she's human, just like anyone else. And I'll be so caught up in avoiding her to see; my only hope lies in the thought she may look to me for help once more.
There's a box in the car, filled with copies of letters exchanged and photos taken. The originals are in the back of a closet, packed away. I briefly consider returning; the temptation to take out the copies, tear them to bits and watch them blow across this lonely expanse of land in the outskirts of Las Vegas is strong. But I cannot let them go, and I shouldn't let them stay.
I will go back to the lab tonight, and I will speak to her. Hope will not allow me to admit what I already know: that I will extend a hand, call her name. And she will turn around or look up from a journal, tell me that the report's already on my desk. And I will hesitate to correct her, and she will turn away again.
I kick at the dirt, momentarily enraptured by the delicate beauty of the flying sand. This is us. We have made a desert and called it peace.
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Well, if it's lame, I'd like to know. :-) Feedback appreciated.
