Author's Note: This is a piece set after Inside the Box but before "What Lies Ahead" (a Greg-angst story I posted up here a while back). You don't need to have read Ahead to get Beneath, or vice versa. Chapter two is from Sara's point of view. Each chapter covers the same amount of time. My thanks go to rokothepas for the extensive review with suggestions. Chapter three will be Brass :)

Important: Everything before the line break is thought.

What Lies Beneath, pt 2

Leaves. Why leaves? This case is so... predictable. Guy kills girl. Guy panics. Guy puts girl in trunk of car; guy takes girl to some random place and dumps her. A new twist in the age-old tale of botched romance. End of story.

Unfortunately, Grissom doesn't have the courtesy to stab me out right and dump me elsewhere. He just jabs at me here and there, leaving a few nicked and bleeding wounds that I heal on my own volition. Also, he never dumps me, but more or less drags me around like dead weight. I'm not precious enough to him to keep, but not unworthy enough to dump. He's not done with me yet.

It seems like Grissom will never be done with me.

::sigh:: These leaves are ordinary at best. Ooh hey, what's this? Bristlecone Pine? This guy went way up a mountain. I guess I should give him props for effort. Unfortunately, the amount of area covered by the bristlecone is extensive though highly elevated. But that, mixed with the fact there are curlleaf mountain-mahogany and Rocky Mountain ponderosa pine in here as well tells us he was somewhere in a mid-range Montane zone....

Ugh, my hand is shaking again. Stop it! Stop it I say! I can't believe that day screwed me up so much! I can't stop staring at the lab windows, envisioning them blowing outwards in a shower of glass shards. The force of the explosion knocked me over, pinning me down with the intensity of heat.

Maybe it didn't pin me down. I could have gotten up, if I had really tried. I'm pretty sure. I was just too... dazed, stunned to do anything but look at Greg. His face was so full of pain and shock. I just wanted to hold his hand and tell him it would all get better, but I choked, I sat there watching him, until a coworker helped me up and more or less walked me outside to the curb.

I barely noticed my hand... All I could feel was that burning air washing over me, like a hair-dryer turned up too high. It was so swift that I wasn't burned; my skin was just irritated, hopelessly dried out.

That day disrupted me, inside and out. Order is my inner ear, keeping me upright and stable. If, ultimately, I can't control the motions of my life, then what hope do I have? If something so random disrupts my routine so thoroughly, how can I hope to maintain a sense of balance? It was an accident, a freak mishap caused by one count of carelessness and one count of routine. But yet it changed the dynamic of my life, without my permission. I've spiraled off kilter since then, ask anyone (including Brass. I'm sorry Brass.)

Why can't I let it go?

That look on Grissom's face... Oh Griss, when you held my hand the clouds of confusion washed away. I centered myself in you. Only for you to hand me over to a medic. I haven't seen that look of concern since then. Maybe you've forgotten I'm broken, or maybe you just don't care.

Nick tells me I should get some rest. Greg tries to bring me more sustaining vegetarian food, in hopes of getting me to eat. But sleep is a waste of time (according to Leonardo da Vinci... did you know I could quote da Vinci, Grissom?) and food doesn't taste as good now.

It's sort of bland. Now the food has taken on properties of my existence. Everything around here has been shades of gray lately. It's like the whole world went on mute after the... lab incident. What am I supposed to call it? The explosion? The unholy Greg-blast?

Which reminds me, I talked to him the other day, and he reassured me that there was nothing I could do to help him. Oddly, that didn't make me feel too much better, to know that both of us were helpless.

I hate feeling helpless.

That's why I can't stand spousal abuse or rape cases. I know that if I were in the situation, I would have just as little a chance of protecting myself. I know the guys (especially Griss) must think that something happened to me, some time ago, by the way I react, but I can't tell them. Being guys, they'd just pat me on the back and tell me that they'll never let anyone hurt me, or worse tell me that I have a sidearm and I can take care of myself.

Right. I do have a sidearm, yes, but when I try to take some initiative, when I try to use the weapon they gave me, I get reprimanded.

Man, I so had him.

Brass looked like he was going to blow; he seemed to be both angry and terrified at the same time. It's nice to know he's looking out for me but I'm not a little girl, I can take care of myself. I'm well qualified with my 9mm, as is required by the LVPD. Come on...

Admittedly, I never would have done that before, sweeping the room like that. This whole thing is affecting me more than I'd like to acknowledge. My order, my routine, my rhythm... my balance is gone. I'm dancing out of step to an off-beat song. But, dammit, I'm still dancin!

I keep having a mental image of myself as a marionette and Grissom as the puppeteer. The imagery invades my dreams (what few I have when I sleep so little). In some dreams I look up at him beseechingly, asking him to make up his mind. In others he snips the strings and walks away, leaving me there limp and lifeless. In one dream he just looks down on me and smiles, letting the strength of his emotion pour past his barriers and through his blue eyes. I like the third dream the best.

But dreams never come true and I am no puppet. If anything I'm an automaton, programmed only in my daily scheme. Home, shower, work, shower, home, shower, work, shower, lather, rinse, repeat. If I can just keep going, eventually, life will be worth living again. Someday life will be worth living again.

Damn these leaves.

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Sara leaned back and stretched momentarily, yawning widely. She was only getting around an hour or two of sleep a day, which qualified as a catnap in most people's books. Looking around the investigation room only confirmed her impression that her life was now swathed in neutral colors. Refocusing on the task at hand, Sara leaned back over the pile of leaves and started sorting the ponderosa, bristlecone, and mahogany.

She hugged herself in a bit, thankful for the warmth of her white lab coat and latex gloves. A small scruffing noise alerted her to an intruder, and panic mode initiated. Her head jerked up while she fought the urge to go for her gun (Brass would have a field day with that... pulling a gun inside the lab).

Sara exhaled once she saw it was her supervisor leaning on the doorframe. "Oh! Hey Grissom... I'm just working on that vegetative evidence we found in the car. Several of these leaves have a minimum altitude requirement, so that's helping us narrow down the possible dump locations."

Sara noticed he was staring at her oddly, a look of wonderment on his face, like he hadn't seen her in years. She adjusted her hair behind her ear self-consciously and leaned back a bit, her voice and demeanor both shrinking.

"Grissom... What is it?"

TBC....

Author's Note: Okay, so it begins and ends in the same place, covering the same amount of time. Next chapter is Brass, then... melee!