Sara Sidle stretched her long legs out in front of her. She leaned back in her lawn chair, the ancient metal frame groaning in protest. Her apartment balcony was tiny, but it faced east, and afforded her a lovely view the sun rising over Frenchman's Mountain. The ice in her drink shifted -- soda, just soda -- a gentle tinkling sound, somehow at once both comforting and disquieting. There was a time when her glass would have held something more potent. And after a night like last night …
It was another domestic violence death, an abused woman beaten to death, right in front of her three small children. If ever there was a time for a drink… Sara sighed. She was never going down that road again.
How had she let things get that far? It was just a well-deserved indulgence; she used to tell herself, something to help unwind after a hard night's work. She'd come home, slide on an old t-shirt and her comfiest faded jeans, and kick back on the balcony with a drink. Or two. Sometimes it took more than a few drinks to obliterate the images: bruised faces, bloodied limbs, broken bodies. It was just all too familiar, the same old story she'd heard time and again.
It was my fault; I forgot to pick up the dry-cleaning. He's going through a tough time at work. It only happens when he has a few drinks too many.
It never failed to amaze her, what people could do to each other. And what they could forgive each other. And tonight was no different. The officer on the scene had told her they had been called out to the Sutter home over a dozen times, had even taken Mr. Sutter in a few times for domestic violence; but she always took him back. And now three children were without a mother or a father…
And then there was that night, the night they closed the Linley Parker rape case. The DUI. Grissom. Just the memory was enough to make her face hot with shame…
Grissom walked over and sat down next to her. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. She heard him let out a sigh, then he reached over and took her hand. He spoke to her softly." Come on. I'll take you home."
From down on the street, strains of music drifted up to the balcony. Suzanne Vega's Caramel.
Caramel…that was what Grissom's voice was like. Not his work voice, the voice that left CSI's and lab techs quaking in their boots. That voice. The voice he used only with her. Deep and sinuous, washing over her, as smooth and soft as silk.
Not that Sara had heard that voice recently. After that night, Grissom had been supportive, setting her up with a peer counselor, making sure she had all the time off she needed, explaining her absence as an impromptu vacation. But that was May. Now it was September, and everything was changing. Half her team transferred to the swing shift. A new CSI on graveyard. And Grissom… He'd been so distant lately, occupied with other things. What she wouldn't give to hear that voice again.
The doorbell chimed, startling Sara from her senseless reverie. Who would be ringing her bell this early in the morning? She cross the living room opened the door, peering through the space over the chain. "Grissom???" she blurted, her voice revealing her surprise. "Hold on a second while I take off the chain" Sara slid the door shut, using the time it took to unhook the chain to compose herself. Grissom. Here. At her apartment. She took a deep breath and swung opened the door. "Please, come in." stepping back to let him enter.
"Good morning, Sara. I just got in the new issue of the Journal of Forensic Science, and I wanted you to see this article on Beaudoin's new "Oil Red O Stain" method for developing latent prints." Grissom glanced around the room, as if belatedly realizing that Sara might not be alone. "I hope I'm not intruding."
"Not at all, I was just sitting out on the balcony, taking in the last of the sunrise," she said, leading Grissom across the room to the balcony doors. "The apartment might not be much to look at, but the view is spectacular," she said, laughing a bit uncomfortably.
Grissom followed her out and stood at the railing, taking in the view of the mountain. Sara sank back down into her chair, picking up her glass from the ground, a distraction from the fact the Grissom was actually here, alone with her on her tiny balcony.
"Did you know that there is series of tunnels that run through Frenchman's Mountain?" he said. "In 1940, a 15-year-old boy went out on his bicycle to explore the area, and disappeared. His bike and a half-eaten lunch were found, but the boy was never seen again."
Sara sat back and grinned. "Is there no end to the morbid knowledge you possess, Grissom?
"The possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery. There is always more mystery," he said as he turned away from the view to face her. "Anais Nin," His eyes fell to the drink in her hand, and his body stiffened. "So, how are…things going?" he inquired gently.
Finally, there it was. That voice. But it was all wrong. She knew the reason behind it. Grissom thought she was drinking again. She felt hurt and anger rising up in her chest.
"Things are going fine. We were able to match the ex-husband's bowling trophy to the size and shape of the victim's wounds, and to flecks of chrome plating found in her wound tract. The guy confessed. But that's not what you meant, is it?" She raised her glass into the air haphazardly, "This is just soda, but if you'd care to take a sip to confirm that, be my guest." she said coldly.
Grissom sighed. "Sara…"
"I told you before, I'm not a drunk," she reminded him, folding her arms across her chest, as if to shield herself against a blow. "That thing that happened, it wasn't because I have a drinking problem, it was because…" Sara stopped and shook her head. "You know, why am I even trying to talk to you about this now. I've been trying to talk to you about this ever since I got back, but you couldn't even find a minute to sit down and listen to what I had to say. So much for your being 'concerned' about me." She felt tears gathering behind her eyes, and turned away, desperately trying to get a hold on her emotions. Grissom was always saying she was too emotional. Well, that was easy enough for him to say. Nothing seemed to get to him these days. He even rolled over, seemingly without a fight, when Ecklie broke up the team. If only she could be so detached.
"Of course I'm concerned about you," he said, his voice shifting into teaching mode. "I am your supervisor. It is my job to be concerned about anything that might negatively affect one of my CSIs."
Sara spun back around to face Grissom. "One of your…!" Inexplicably, Sara suddenly felt calm. As if her heart had compacted into a solid mass of stone. Her eyes grew dark and impassive, as cold and hard as glass. "Right. That's what I am. One of your CSIs."