A Grissom/Sara angst piece that may or may not make sense, depending on how many times you read it. Enjoy.
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"Hey," she said, her hip pressed against the doorframe as her hand snaked upwards, caressing the raw wood that was covered in thin, peeling paint. It was almost erotic the way she looked at him, but he knew better than to let his mind drift there. Especially not during a case.
He turned back to the body. He had seen many bodies before, had examined all kinds in the brusque professional manner that his job demanded of him. Each time his heart went out to the victim's families -- those at home grieving the loss of an uncle or a daughter or a brother. But over time those mental notes of condolence had become an afterthought, barely registering in his brain before he moved onto more important matters. That was why he loved her -- she kept him alive. She made him forget about the evidence collection for just a brief moment. She let him feel sympathy for the victims and their families without letting him get too distracted. Now all those feelings she had awakened in him were suddenly surfacing as his breath caught in his throat, standing above the body.
"What's new?" She asked, entering. He looked up, meeting her inquisitive gaze.
"Nothing." He didn't want to get distracted, not now, not while he was busy. His mind told him he was getting attached to the case, and that he realized, but for once he didn't care. He knew she would use I-told-you-so (none of us can stay detached for long, she had said, but he didn't believe her then) to hide what she really meant to say (I-knew-you-could-do-it (it makes you feel like dying inside (when you get attached) but it keeps you alive, she had said after that, and he didn't believe her then either)).
"Why do you get so mad when you get emotionally attached to a case like this?" She finally asked in one big breath, and he let his gaze fall.
"I don't want to get sidetracked because of some sadness I feel for someone I've never known." He recited, and she looked at him sadly, as if he should have known better than to give her a textbook definition of his feelings in such an emotionless manner. And he should have known not to do that by now.
She paused as the silent tension heightened. "Would you stay the same way if I had died?"
He didn't know how to react to that.
The tweezers were held poised and ready in his hand.
"Grissom," came a voice from somewhere, "you can't let your feelings get in the way of this. It's still a case."
Would you stay the same way if I had died?
He cleared his mind and began to lift the fibers from the tangled web of her hair. When he was done he went outside and sat on the bench, waiting for her to follow behind him and comfort him.
And then he remembered that she was still lying on the table inside the autopsy room, and he got up and walked away instead.