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Sara
Evidence collection was undertaken in the most unnaturally silent, electrified atmosphere Sara had ever experienced, and considering her history of unresolved sexual tension with Grissom in the first place, that was taking a lot of prior situations into consideration.
Whether or not Brass and the officer had heard Greg's outburst remained a mystery, because Grissom's expression as he returned to the lobby absolutely dissuaded any attempt at discussion.
For her part, Sara kept her careful mask of indifference in place, collecting samples and dusting over the front desk for prints. The process itself was soothing and routine, and inadvertently allowed her attention to wander.
Brass must have seen something in her face when she stalked inside, and had opened his mouth to speak when Grissom tersely strode in after her. Neither had acknowledged Greg's absence and Brass hadn't asked, but she could practically see his brain ticking over, and was relieved when he left to follow up on the missing patron.
Sara glanced at Grissom in the corner of her eye, where he was perched on the ground near the opposite wall, examining something carefully.
For some reason, she could see something off in his posture, and realised Greg's explosion had actually affected him.
He had barely spoken to her in more than a professional context since the night he took her home, and even that was limited. She had been expecting awkwardness the morning after, of course. How else would Grissom cope with such a subtle act of intimacy? But when she woke, the space beside her on the bed was empty and long cold, and it was obvious he was unwilling to face up to his brief lapse of judgement.
Since then he had emotionally shut down, as if punishing himself for feeling for another human being, and shutting off all semblance of a connection to the one who had brought it out. It hurt, a lot. But mostly it just made her very, very tired, and she felt her own defensive mechanism kicking in. She had her own ways of closing off.
She'd had all sorts of ideals, about justice and life. She had never been so personally connected to death before and it was like a punch in the stomach for all she believed in when the reality of the situation sunk in. If Nick wasn't safe- kind, endearing Nick, who saved people every day because it was what he wanted to do, then who was?
Being a CSI for her was like a way to seek constant enlightenment, to prove to herself that there was some system of justice in the world- that the bad guys did occasionally get what was coming to them. For Grissom it was his life because he had dedicated himself to something he could hide in. For Catherine it was an ambition.
Nick wanted to help people. Perhaps the most righteous reason of all. And now he was gone.
If death suddenly made life seem so menial, so utterly meaningless, then what was the point?
She started packing up her kit, retreating into the fresh night air for the silent, welcoming solace of the Tahoe, to wait for Grissom. She leant her head against the cool window, eyes scanning over the shadowy B & B and its neighbouring buildings, each with a certain level of tackiness she had long since recognised was completely unique to Vegas.
She wondered where Greg had gone. She felt a brief surge of anxiety for him, before she reasoned he had his cell phone on him, and would call if there was any trouble. She glanced at Grissom fleetingly as his figure moved nonchalantly down the front stairs, then back out into the murky street.
Well, he might, she corrected inwardly.
She felt Grissom glance at her as he got behind the wheel, before starting up the engine. She kept her head against the glass, resisting the urge to close her eyes as the steady hum of the engine soothed her into rest, unable to stifle a deep sigh as the feelings of tension and discomfort once again invaded the small space around them.
"You really think that I don't feel anything, don't you?" he said quietly.
She was so accustomed to the silence his voice startled her.
His gaze remained planted ahead on the road, and she slowly lifted hers to glance at him, blinking. She was almost sure she had imagined it.
"What do you expect us to think, Grissom?" she replied softly, once she had recovered.
He hesitated for a long moment, and she could see what he was about to say was a significant admission for him. "Just because I'm not public about my emotions, doesn't mean they're not there".
She scoffed, unable to help it, and turned back out the window. "I'm sorry, we're too public?" she hissed. "How about showing anything, Grissom? How do you think it makes us feel when our supervisor can't even show he cares when one of us dies?"
"You really believe that?"
"I don't know what to believe, Grissom", she muttered tiredly.
Silence infused the air between them again.
When she was certain the subject was closed between them again, Grissom's voice broke the stillness. "I want you to know something, Sara", he murmured, voice hoarse with emotion. "I've been doing this job for a long time. Much longer than you have. Everyone deals with the things we see in their own way. I close off because I have to. It becomes a coping mechanism and after a while, I can't help it. Nick was a member of my team and I care that he died. So don't you dare ever accuse me otherwise."
Sara swallowed, nodding slowly, because it was all she could do.
"Well maybe you should find a different way of dealing with it instead of taking it out on us."
He didn't have an answer for that, but she hadn't really expected him to. "Or me", she couldn't help but mutter under her breath. She was hardly in the mood to be sympathetic for him at the moment, when he had only regretted the small portion of compassion he had shown her.
A flicker of emotion passed over his face. He licked his lips. "Sara-"
Whatever he had been about to say was cut off by the shrill, piercing noise of his cell phone in the pocket of his jacket. Sara inwardly scoffed at its timing, turning back to gaze out at the moving scenery outside. She wondered if the universe was continually plotting against her, or if she just had really bad luck.
Grissom whipped out his cell with one hand on the steering wheel, not caring that he broke several road laws in the process. "Yeah?" he said harshly. He sighed deeply. "What is it, Catherine?"
Sara couldn't help but glance at him, face illuminated dimly in the streetlight, as he listened to his friend's long-winded explanation, and his fingers seemed to clench on the steering wheel with each word, turning his knuckles white. His whole expression darkened, and if Sara had believed Gil Grissom capable of violence, she would have been very afraid at that moment. As it was she was becoming increasingly uneasy that he was the one behind the wheel.
"I don't care", he said coldly. "Hold him on whatever charges you can get".
Sara felt a cold swell of dread overcome her, and she swallowed apprehensively as she strained to make sense of the tinny voice coming from the other end of the line. Grissom narrowed his eyes. "Fine", he barked, crushing the phone closed in his fingers.
He tossed it on the dashboard, not bothering to replace it in his pocket, and obviously realised Sara was staring at him.
He glanced at her, then back at the road. "They have a suspect", he said bluntly.
Sara could still vividly feel the cold, hard impact of steel to her cheek, and rubbed the area he had hit her unconsciously, where nary a bruise remained. She realised with cold hard dread that if it came to a court case, she would have to be the one to identify him, to describe the whole event with sickening, precise detail. She had always thought as a trained investigator remembering the scene of a crime would come easily, but to actually experience it was another thing entirely.
She drew in a deep, unsteady breath, clutching the side of her door. "Grissom, pull over the car."
He glanced at her sharply, and she drew in each coming breath laboriously. She knew she was going to start hyperventilating soon, and she did not want to be around him if she did.
"What—?"
"Pull over the car!"
He swerved to the curb, and she was briefly thankful they were still on the outskirts of Vegas' industrial suburbs as she launched out of her door, without waiting for him to cut the engine.
She slumped down onto the curb, ducking her head between her knees as she struggled to regain control of her breathing.
She heard the car door slam as Grissom followed her out, but she ignored him, staring at the bitumen until she felt the shudders running through her body stop, and she could breathe easily again.
She lifted her head, brown hair falling in a curtain around her face, and he hovered above her uncertainly.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine", she snapped coldly, not making a move to stand.
In her mind's eye she could still picture Nick's bloody, unrecognisable body perfectly, yet the suspect's face remained a blur. She wouldn't be able to identify him. She couldn't remember his face. Nick's killer would go walking free in the streets because she couldn't remember his face.
She put her hands over her face, breathing in shakily. "I can't remember him".
She could practically see Grissom frowning perplexedly, and sighed, looking up at him slowly. "Nick's… killer. I can't… remember what he looked like".
Grissom had folded his arms, and kept his distance from her, leaning carefully against the side of the Tahoe, out of fear for her reaction, or self-preservation, she wasn't sure. "You weren't the only one there."
She shook her head. "Warrick… he went down so fast, I'm not sure he would have seen anything. I… watched the whole thing, but I can't remember his face. Why can't I remember, Grissom? I saw everything".
His expression remained blank, but she could see a flicker of pain flash behind his blue eyes as he quickly looked away from her, and she realised that he did care, even if he did have trouble showing it.
He stared at something on the ground near her feet, but she stared at him intensely, waiting for him to speak.
"I think your mind probably blocked it out. It's a symptom of shock, Sara. If you see him…"
Sara inwardly retracted at the thought, and put her hand on the rough bark of the small tree behind her, hoisting herself to her feet. "What if I don't want to remember?" she hissed softly, feeling her throat tighten. She had enough nightmares already. She did not need a face to go with the pictures in her mind.
He finally looked up, staring at her with quiet intensity. "If you don't, then Nick will never get justice. Can you live with that?"
She closed her eyes, slowly stepping around him towards her door. He turned around to face her, barely moving from his position, and she found herself staring up at him, pinned between him and the car, his face so close to hers she could feel his warm breath on her cheek and smell the musky odour of his aftershave.
She swallowed. "Of course I couldn't".
His eyes pierced into hers for a long, silent moment, and she felt the tension coil off his broad frame. Her own back had unconsciously pressed up against the sleek exterior of the passenger door, and he had made no move to rectify the appropriate distance between them.
"Good", he said, at last, in a low, hoarse voice. He stepped away from her, and she felt the loss of his body heat immediately. He still stared at her with an intensity she found unsettling and exhilarating at the same time, and began to move around to his side of the car.
"We have to get back to the lab".
She hesitated, even after he climbed in on his side, frowning ever so slightly. She wasn't sure exactly what had just happened there. She almost sensed Grissom was about to reach out to her, both physically and emotionally, but he had pulled back into his shell just as quickly, like she had expected him to. Still, the moment had caught her so off guard she found herself momentarily unbalanced, and she quickly shook it off, climbing into the car beside him.
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TBC…