Implied Connections
Chapter 2 – Conflicting Opinions
By: Braidless Baka
Disclaimer: Heh… the fight for Greg continues ^_~ (Still don't own him… or CSI… now, let's move along shall we? ^_~)
A/N: I apologise about that fact that this is about as much Sara as you will see for a long time. She and Warrick are the hardest characters for me to write… although you should expect some of Sara musing to herself round about chapter 5 or 6 ^_~ So, be a responsible reader and review ^_^;;
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"But this is insane!"
Nonplussed, Grissom watched as Sara glared at him over his desk. He kept her fiery gaze, his own gaze level over the top of his glasses. "Not insane Sara," he said eventually. "Sensible, maybe."
"Grissom, I was never there! I didn't do it!"
Quietly, Gil sighed. He knew she hadn't done it. Everyone in his team knew it. But the evidence doesn't lie. It never had, and it will never start. And that meant there was an explanation for the presence of Sara's hair and her, usually unworn, sneaker prints. There were three options. The first, the one that was immediately discarded, being that Sara actually had been in the house. Whether it was before or after the homicide was almost irrelevant. She said she had nothing to do with it, and he believed her. The second, again unlikely, was that they'd gotten there accidentally. Her hair snagged something that was then taken to the crime scene. That didn't explain the shoe-prints, but it was still possible.
The third, and in Grissom's mind the most likely, was that the evidence had been planted. So it wasn't lying, it just had a different story to tell.
"Are you even listening to me?"
He hadn't been, but without missing a beat Grissom nodded, able to guess what she'd been talking about. "It doesn't matter whether you were there or not Sara. It would be serious misconduct if I didn't give you a suspension. And you know it."
"I've been framed!" she declared, slamming an open palm on the table, making a slapping sound against it, more in frustration than in an attempt to be intimidating.
"Perhaps."
"Perhaps?!" Sara paused then, her mouth open in disbelief. "You don't seriously think…" She paused again, apparently speechless. Then, glaring, she turned with a mutter. "I don't have to put up with this."
"No," came Grissom's clipped tone, suddenly on a calculated defensive. "No Sara, you don't. But you do have to sit this one out. At least a week."
She turned back to him, her short hair flicking out angrily with the movement. "A week?! And what am I supposed to do for a week?"
"Go home?" Grissom suggested with a shrug. "Watch TV? Relax?" He paused. "Maybe sleep?"
"Funny Grissom. Real funny."
"Glad you think so." After a pause, Gil continued. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry. But you and I both know this is the only way nightshift can keep the case. You can't work on a case that incriminates you Sara. Don't you remember why you came up here in the first place?"
That statement stopped the woman, angry as she was. He was right. They did both know it. But that didn't make the thought that she was being framed any easier to take. "Sure, I remember. But that was different."
"Only marginally so."
They watched each other carefully. Waiting for someone to say something.
Finally Sara caved. "A week. I'm holding you to that."
"A week before I tell you whether you have to take another week."
For an instant Grissom thought she was going to argue. But then she just shook her head. "Fine. But still, a week. Just one."
"Just one."
"All right." Sara sighed, standing straight from her aggressive stance over Grissom's desk. "I can handle a week."
"You're sure about that?"
Sara smiled at what was obviously a joke. A shaky smile. A smile that said she was only doing it to keep the peace, and that she was physically screaming inside. But a smile none-the-less. "Not really. But I can try, right?"
Grissom nodded, rising from his desk, indicating that their business was finished. He wanted to get to the bottom of this quickly, to get Sara back to work.
Sara understood the gesture as well, her smile still clinging to her face. "Well, I'm going to go home now."
Grissom nodded. "You should."
There was a brief pause between them for a moment, which was sharply shattered as Nick, of all people, knocked on the door. "Hey, Griss?" He looked in to see them, Sara looking shaky, and Gil looking at Nick questioningly. Nick continued, his tone cautious. "I'm not interrupting anything am I?"
Grissom shook his head. "No, what is it?"
"There's a woman at the front desk. Rachel Simmons." He paused. "You know her?"
Grissom nodded, trying not to look at Sara as he spoke. "Our temp."
Nick clicked at that point, nodding in a silent "Oooooh".
"Temp? Like, my replacement?"
"No Sara." Grissom's words were plain. "You're not being replaced, because you'll be back in a few weeks."
"Sure."
Nick moved to let her past as she left. She wasn't upset anymore, she was angry. Quietly, Nick watched her move swiftly up the corridor before turning to Grissom with a low whistle. "What's up with her?"
"She's just been suspended Nick," said Gil curtly. "She's entitled to be upset." He paused for a moment, his filing-cabinet style brain ordering what had just happened. "For now, let's just go meet Ms. Simmons." After they'd taken a few steps up the corridor, Grissom continued, "How did she seem to you?"
"What d'you mean?"
"Well, nervous? Agitated? A nice person?"
Nick shrugged. "She seemed eager to get on with the job. It's not like I got to know her intimately."
"I'd hope not. I doubt that'd be appropriate."
Nick's face held something that could be likened to a smirk as he replied. "You think so?"
"I know so, Nick."
"Well, damn. You got me there, Griss."
"I've been trying so hard. It's about time it paid off."