Disclaimers: see Ch. 1; acknowledgments, see Ch. 7. Attention: this chapter includes mention of rape.
It was the gasp that did it.
Sara stared blindly at the curtain, and the dim movement beyond it. The faint, quickly muffled sound of pain, already lost beneath the rustle of cloth and plastic, replayed itself inside her head. Sara had already seen the victim, one Linley Parker--seen the bruises, the contusions, the blood...the blank agony in the eyes. And she really, really didn't want to see it again right now.
She turned away as Catherine came up. "I'm gonna...take the SAE kit to Greg," she told her colleague, struggling to maintain a level tone.
"You don't want to take the statement?" Catherine asked.
"Do you mind?"
Puzzlement flickered in Catherine's eyes, but she asked no questions. "No," she replied, and the nurse emerged with the kit.
Sara couldn't help thinking of it as running away, as she strode briskly to her SUV. But it was just one thing too much; one brutality too many, heaped up on the cases she couldn't forget, the ghosts that haunted the back of her mind and came forward when she slept. After Madelyn, it was just too much. Catherine could take the statement, and would do it well, and if for once Sara didn't want to throw herself into the center of this particular quest for justice, that was her right.
But it still felt like cowardice.
She did watch, later, as Linley described her attacker's face to the sketch artist. Catherine had said that their victim had been unusually calm during the statement, clearheaded, even dry. Now she sat sober in the glass-walled room, looking more pensive than upset, recalling details. But whatever elegance she put on for her job as a pit boss was gone, leaving her hair straggling and her face swollen. One hand played at her throat as though holding still was too much to attempt.
Sara stood, arms crossed, and listened. The artist was good, but Sara wanted to hear the details straight from Linley.
She didn't have to turn when Grissom came up to stand behind her. He didn't have to speak. She cocked a brow without looking away from the two women on the other side of the glass. "What?"
"How many vacation days do you have on the books?"
Sara cast her eyes up, trying to remember. Grissom had done some finagling when they'd returned, and her days in California had been put down as compassionate leave. "About...ten weeks, I guess." She looked over to him. "Why?"
"I think you should take a week or two," he said, his tone of voice making it a little more than a suggestion, and putting her on the defensive for the first time since they'd come back to work.
"I'm still on the case," she protested. "I just didn't do the interview for once in my life."
He nodded, pursing his lips and glancing away. Feeling a bit mischevious, she turned the question around. "When was the last time you took a vacation?"
Grissom didn't answer, and she looked over at him, unable to keep the slight hint of smugness from her mouth. "Never, right?"
She expected him to argue, but instead he just shrugged. "Okay," he conceded, and left her to her vigil.
The lights were going down. Grissom walked down the aisle as fast as he could without spilling his popcorn, and dropped into his chosen seat just as the screen flickered with light. The theater was almost empty, which was just the way he liked it, though he usually tried not to be late. Nothing like a double feature to take up a slow weekend. And to take his mind off the loss that ached so much. It wasn't silent film, but it would do. One thing about Vegas--there were films at almost any time of day or night, which made it easier on those working the night shift. Switching to a day schedule for just the weekend got to be tiring after a while. He'd have to do it for a bit when he went back out to California again, but that wouldn't be for another month yet.
The Russian film was subtitled and interesting, and Grissom munched his way through his popcorn, squinting at the letters on the screen and concentrating on the plot. Something kept nagging at the corner of his mind, but he didn't pay attention; whatever it was would keep until the film was through.
When the lights came up for intermission, he took a look around the theater. There was only a handful of people there, most of them further forward than he was sitting. Two or three got up, and Grissom's brows rose as one person several rows ahead of him--and the reason for his mental itch--suddenly became clear. He'd know that slender form anywhere. Sara.
She edged her way to the aisle further from him and strode out without glancing over to where he sat. Grissom watched her go, remembering her mentioning that she went to movies, and wondering how they'd never run into each other before. And then he rose in turn to go out--he had to hit the men's room before the next feature.
When he returned, Sara was back in her seat, and he crossed over to the far aisle and paced down it towards her. As he neared, a gleam of light at the crown of her head caught his eye, and he stepped closer to get a better look. What he saw made his heart twist a little; not in pain, exactly, but in a sudden, renewed sense of the relentless press of time.
It was a strand of silver hair.
Sara tossed a kernel of popcorn into her mouth, idly staring at the blank screen and waiting for the next film to begin. It had been a while since she'd been to the movies, but the foreign double feature seemed like the thing to take her mind off the Stevens and Parker cases for a while. Movies did that for her, allowing her to suspend reality for a while, to give her brain and soul a break from the endless delving into other people's troubles.
Of course, these days she was going alone, which wasn't half as much fun as having someone along to discuss the plot with, but given the previous alternative, solitude suited her just fine.
"Mind if I join you?"
Sara's head snapped around, her mind momentarily stumbling over that voice in this place. Grissom stood in the aisle three seats from hers, head cocked to one side, watching her with mild inquiry.
Taken aback, Sara thought briefly of refusing him, but it seemed petty somehow. "Sure, if you want."
She expected him to sit one seat over, but instead he picked up her jacket from the seat next to her and sat in its place, dropping the jacket in the seat on his far side. She sat stiffly, uncertain what to make of his sudden appearance.
"Did you like the first film?"
Sara glanced over, but before she could answer the lights went down again, and she heard Grissom sit back with a contented sigh.
If she'd imagined the situation, Sara would have thought it would be impossible to concentrate on a movie, any movie, while sitting next to Grissom in the dark. But it turned out to be easy. Again, the tension went into abeyance, and they watched without words, only sharing a chuckle or a snort from time to time; Sara found herself grinning when Grissom made smothered noises at the insects in one scene, and wondered if he was pleased at the sight of them, or annoyed because they were not found in that location in real life. At some point she remembered her popcorn, and in ingrained politeness put it in the cupholder between them, and then was torn between amusement and annoyance when Grissom ate more than his share. She finished her soda and began sucking on the ice, and when she shivered, Grissom startled her again by fishing up her jacket and draping it gravely around her shoulders.
Unfortunately, the tension returned when the lights did, at least for her. Sara looked over at her unexpected companion and wondered what on earth he was doing there with her. Ease at work was one thing, and kind of a relief; his seeking out her presence outside of work was another thing entirely. I...I wish... The thought was amazingly bitter. I wish he wouldn't. All it does is make me think of what I can't have. And once again she cursed the spark between them that had ruined their friendship.
Grissom turned to her, his face open and relaxed and his lips parting, but as he took in her expression the shutters came down, and he appeared to change his question before he spoke it. "What did you think?" he asked mildly.
Sara wrenched her mind back to the movie. "I liked the first one better," she admitted. "Romantic comedy's not really my thing."
They discussed the films in a desultory fashion as they strolled out of the theater, maintaining a careful distance between each other. In the parking lot Grissom walked Sara to her car; she briefly considered arguing, but decided to indulge him in his old-fashioned gallantry, thinking dryly that it was easier than a heated discussion. And it let her enjoy his presence just that much longer, even as she hated herself for it.
When they reached her vehicle, Grissom opened his mouth again, as though he were going to ask her something, then gave a tiny shrug. "See you tomorrow night," he said, and walked towards his own car. Sara watched him go for a few seconds, trying to fight back the ache in her chest, then got into her car. Maybe sleep would ease her.
If I can sleep.
Grissom sat in his car and watched Sara drive away, and then just stared at his steering wheel, feeling depressed. I thought we were getting along again. He'd really enjoyed watching the movie with Sara, and if he'd had the occasional adolescent impulse to put his arm around her shoulders, it was easy enough to smother; he didn't want to shatter the fragile bond they were starting to rebuild.
And then he'd turned to her, and seen not enjoyment on her face, but pain. She'd hidden it quickly enough, but he knew it was there.
She doesn't trust me any more. The thought hurt. Grissom knew quite well that Sara had little reason to trust him now, but in California he'd thought that the old link still held, that she still saw past his evasions and silences to the real him, the man who had once earned her trust.
Have I really screwed things up that badly?
Eventually he turned on the ignition. Sitting in the parking lot would mend nothing.
See Chapter 10