I apologize for the lack of updates. I've been kind of sick, and that always seems to cause creative difficulties for me. Hopefully this will make up for it; I'm posting three chapters tonight and I'll try to get the final part of this story up as soon as I can. I hope you all are still interested…
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Sara stalked furiously out of the crime lab, a duffel bag full of her belongings crammed under one arm. It felt strange to be headed for her car at this time of evening, in cool twilight, just as night was falling. Usually she was working now, the responsibility of a case weighing her down, heavy on her mind. If she was outside it was in the field; wearing her CSI vest, protected by the large FORENSICS on her back, shielded behind a badge. But the badge was gone now, and she was the one who had thrown it away.
She reached her car and unlocked it, climbing quickly inside. It was only then that she allowed herself a moment to clutch the steering wheel and take a few deep breaths. The anger was still strong, of course, closed tightly like a fist in her stomach. But she was also suddenly experiencing another, more surprising feeling: one of vulnerability as the reality of her actions closed in. She was used to having a purpose. Leads that needed to be tracked and evidence to be processed. She had just left her job in the middle of a shift, and now that purpose was gone. Sara didn't have to be anywhere, or do anything. To be so abruptly unburdened made her feel lightheaded and oddly unbalanced. It was unstable, dangerous like the edge of a precipice. It might have been exciting, if the circumstances were different, if she weren't so incredibly pissed off. She slammed the palm of her hand hard into the steering wheel; it stung fiercely, and she let out her breath in a choked huff. Dammit.
She drove home as the sun went down and Vegas slipped into neon-lit night. Inside her apartment she dropped the bag and paced around the floor, biting her lips, rife with energy. She didn't know what to do with herself. She felt jumpy, disconnected, jangled; she couldn't sit still. Finally Sara decided that a run would be best. Ever since the police marathon, she'd found that when she got this way, running seemed to help. After changing into a sports bra and sweats, she put up her hood and jogged off down the street. She followed her usual route; four blocks up, ten over, four down, and ten back. Sara ran hard, letting her feet pound the quiet residential sidewalks, air rushing cold and painful in her throat, making it burn. The pain was good; it cleared her head, made her finally feel sane and grounded again. She arrived back at her apartment gasping for breath, shaky, red-faced and slightly feverish. Her fingers and the tips of her ears were numb; she knew it wasn't good for her to go running in the chilly winter air, but she'd needed it. Calmer, Sara took a long, warm shower and toweled her hair to damp-dry, then changed into flannel pajama pants and a zip-up fleece hoodie. She turned up the heat. Finally she made herself a mug of strong tea and curled up on the couch to think.
Sara's wrath over Ecklie had cooled, but she found that it hadn't left regret in its wake. She wasn't sorry for what she had done in Ecklie's office. She didn't even need to waste time feeling indignant. The man was a lying asshole, and he'd merited everything she'd said to him. She deserved at least to have a little control over her own fate; she wasn't going to be a pawn in some game of shuffle-the-CSIs. She didn't intend to apologize or to go along with any of Ecklie's other demands. She had her pride.
But then there was the situation with Grissom.
The thought of him made her heart clench, and sparks of anger reignited. She didn't care what Ecklie thought of her, but any problem involving Grissom was instantly personal and difficult. In her mind, Sara ran carefully over the scene in Grissom's office. His bitter response had truly surprised her; she'd thought they were on the same page. That instant just after Ecklie's announcement, when Grissom's eyes had met hers… She had felt their connection, seen sadness, grief. In his moment of shock, he'd forgotten to be guarded. Sometimes she thought she only imagined such things with Grissom, reading more into them than there actually was. His blink-and-you'll-miss it moments of open emotion always left her second-guessing herself, thinking that she must have had a hallucination. But this time she was certain. The intensity of that moment was burned into her brain.
She was unsure of how, only a few minutes later in Grissom's office, everything had gone so wrong between them. She had been hoping that they could put their heads together, strategize over how to circumvent Ecklie and prevent the transfer. She'd considered taking the issue up with Human Resources, or even the director of CSI. But Grissom's response had felt almost like a physical slap in the face; he'd sided with Ecklie. Without Grissom on her side, how could she hope to stay on the night shift? Sara's already powerful anger had combined explosively with deep-seated feelings of wounded betrayal. And in a split-second decision, she had taken things further than she'd intended. Grissom's expression of openmouthed surprise when she'd tossed down her badge, his too-shocked-to-speak eyebrow raise as she'd walked out the door, had almost been gratifying enough to justify her actions.
Her throat had felt sore and swollen with hurt as she'd marched into the locker room and blindly thrown her things into the bag. A part of her kept expecting him to appear, say something more. But the more she thought about it, the less likely that seemed. It was nearly impossible for her to picture Grissom chasing her through the halls of CSI, begging her to stay. And sure enough, she'd made it out the door without seeing him again.
So here she was. Badgeless, and jobless, and thinking fruitlessly about Grissom. Again.
Sara sighed with exhaustion and thumped her empty mug on the coffee table. Her feelings for Grissom were so complicated at this point that she couldn't make sense of them. She always ended up frustrated and emotionally tangled when she tried. Maybe this was for the best- maybe it was fate's way of telling her to get out of Vegas. A surge of strength rose up through her; she squared her shoulders and set her jaw. She could handle this. She would take a deep breath and push forward, because that was what she always made herself do. She had never forgotten something her foster mother (one of the good ones) had said. "Sara, sometimes all you can do in life is just get through it."
She had made her choice. Perhaps it had been in haste, but she would live with it. The demand for CSIs was high. She'd find a new job right away, reclaim her sense of purpose. She tried to ignore the little part of her that piped quietly that it wasn't quite so simple. That it wasn't all about the job. The thought of this afternoon's angry conversation being the last she'd ever have with him was what perpetuated the dull, painful ache inside of her chest.