Title: Brighter Side
Author: ScullyAsTrinity
Disclaimer: If I was a rich girl… nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah… I wouldn't be fuckin' sitting here, writing fan fiction.
Rating: PG-13
Challenge warning:
CSIBrisbane: "No Sara, your ass is fine in those jeans," a photo of Grissom falling out of someone's wallet, vegemite, mashed potatoes, broken guitar strings…
BNLXPhile12: …I hate you.
A/N: Morgan…you are so friggin retahded. You kill me. Literally. I'm bleeding to death.
Summary: Today was going to be a good day, she could feel it, smell it, taste it.
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Today was going to be a good day, she could feel it, smell it, taste it.
Sara had found that there was a general rule that covered her mood as she was about to begin a shift: if the humor in the break room was good when she went to get her coffee, she was generally set off in a good mood. The atmosphere of the darkened room when she entered that evening was... flippant, the air crackling with what she was sure was innuendo or perhaps gaiety.
"What. In God's name. Are you Eating?" Catherine asked in horror, looking down at the crispy piece of toast slathered with chocolate-looking goo. Her mouth contorted distastefully.
Greg smiled, brown substance sticking to the sides of his mouth. "It's Vegemite. It's awesome!" He claimed, taking another bite out of the toast, chewing rather happily. Sara, on the other side of the table, frowned also.
"That's disgusting Greg. Concentrated yeast extract?" Sara shook her head in profound distaste.
He nodded, took a sip of his Blue Hawaiian and smirked. "It's great. High in vitamin B. Besides, Australians eat it."
"They're insane." Catherine commented in her telltale mocking voice. Greg whipped his head around to glare at her.
"Hey, hey. Nicole Kidman is Australian... and she's not insane."
Catherine scoffed and leaned back cockily on the countertop. "Did you see her dress at the Oscars?" It was rhetorical really because she knew no one had. "That, would definitely be evidence supporting the fact that she... like the rest of the continent... is insane."
The young CSI was appalled at her lack of secularity. "Closed minded," Greg huffed and took another large bite out of the distasteful looking concoction. Sara cringed again and grasped her mug a bit more firmly in her palm. She'd had Vegemite before, and after taking one bite had summarily vomited the contents of her already-queasy stomach.
Shaking her head of the memory, she gulped down her coffee and suppressed the urge to gag. Catherine, on the other hand, continued to rib him. "Why do you need that anyway, afraid your teeth are gonna fall out?"
"No, that's scurvy." Sara supplied, getting up to place her empty mug in the sink. "And you're thinking of vitamin C." Sara didn't see the look that Catherine gave her as she walked sprightly from the room, in good spirits, about to start her shift.
"Smart ass!" Catherine called, a hint of laughter in her voice.
"Don't listen to her Sara!" Greg called out through a full mouth. "Your ass looks fine in those jeans."
She should have been pissed but she just smiled shyly and made her way down the hall, a spring in her step. Whirling through the A/V lab to pick up a report from Archie, she continued on her pre-planned trajectory, straight to Grissom's office. Unlike Catherine, she was predisposed to knock, and did, causing his head to snap up painfully from his paperwork.
"Sara." He stated, somewhat surprised, but the better part of his voice was taken by weariness. "Come in." As per usual, he gestured to the chair and she took it, fitting her lanky frame into the confines between the cold metal and cheap plastic.
A gift, for him to look at, fit into a generic box.
"The tape we took from the convenience store, we have a glimpse, a few seconds of Patricks leaving the place around ten-fifteen, with no Nike jacket on." He looked at her, brow raised in his telltale fashion, so she continued, the hot lead burning in her hand. "Which means, if he's our killer, he had to have tossed it before he went to the store."
Sara, Grissom and Warrick had been working on the case for the better part of a week. A man's body had been found in a quarry, three miles from the strip, naked and trussed up, resembling a psycho's marionette. They'd found a rather tattered Nike running jacket in a makeshift hiding spot beneath a fantastically porous rock. Decent prints had been retrieved, and a suspect brought in, but he seemed to have an airtight alibi... that is until Sara's evidence had disrupted his place in the timeline he'd given to the detective.
And that made Grissom grin. A thrill always ran through him when he happened to find the last piece of a puzzle, the missing link. "Hmmm, shall we go pay a visit to Mr. Patricks?"
The wry and nearly dangerous smile that played over his lips caused the flush that she was wearing to creep up along her cheekbones. She nodded, nonetheless and propelled her body out of the chair, leaving his office to retrieve her coat, and her fellow CSI, Warrick.
Grissom was glad she had left, if only for a moment, for he'd recognized the flush and had nearly produced one to math. Besides, he always found particular enjoyment in seeing her stand up, watching as her body elongated and stretched, as if she was somehow over him, moving out to drape him in her skin. Watched her walk away, away, away.
Three of them, each excited for their own reasons to have such a lead, piled into Warrick departmental issue Tahoe. Though the air conditioner was on, full force, Sara could feel the flush on her skin still simmering beneath the surface. Her nerves, her emotions, for some reason, were heightened that evening. But that was fine with her, she could simply hope to pass it off as a passion for the case.
Oh yes, it was passion, but not for the case.
She had spells like that. From time to time, she'd find herself wanting completely. Needing helplessly, and not knowing how she came to be.
"Brass meetin' us there?" Warrick asked, taking a sharp left, snapping Sara out of her reverie. So, she nodded and looked out the window and sat in silence until they arrived at the man's dilapidated home.
It was Brass who initially knocked on the door, warrant firmly clutched in his mitt of a hand. When no one came to the door and they all exchanged irritated glances, Brass knocked again. "Las Vegas PD, we have a warrant to search the premises."
Sara shifted backwards and came into contact with Grissom's hand. It brushed against her lower back and she shivered, she shifted forward again, just as the door in front of them swung open to reveal an incredibly disheveled looking excuse of a man.
His potbelly hung out from under a soiled wife-beater, and the air that filtered out of the house was almost as pungent as the scent that reeked from his body. Both Sara and Warrick swallowed their gag as Jim turned away and Grissom spoke. "We have a warrant for your house Mr. Patrick."
Gil's eye searched the man's face. Unshaven, red eyes, and he was rocking, his center of balance seemingly gone from him. "You want some?" Mr. Patrick asked, holding out a plastic bowl to the CSI. Grissom looked at the contents wearily. The man was clearly stoned out of his mind.
"No sir, we need to get into your house, this officer is going to put you under arrest, you're going to go with him." Brass stepped forward at Grissom's word and put on a stony face. The man dropped his bowl of mashed potatoes on his foot and it spilled out onto Brass's shoes; the detective rolled his eyes and grabbed the man by the wrist, ushering him out onto the porch.
The three CSIs stepped into the house and adjusted to the dim light. "This, is disgusting." Sara stated, thought she still had adrenaline pumping through her veins, spurring her through the house.
They steadily sifted through the contents of the rooms. Warrick had produced a bit of guitar string, broken off at both ends, fitting the ligature marks on the neck of the victim. A thrill ran through her at that too, finding the potential murder weapon. A few prints were taken, and Grissom had come across the victim's stolen wallet, his car keys and his cufflinks.
A mountain of evidence to bury him under.
So the three CSIs left, after having processed the house in record time, and headed back to the lab, to take part in the interrogation.
Grissom had held the door open for Warrick and Sara and as she had passed by him, her arm brushed hers. Another tingle ran through her at that and she grinned.
There were three things in the world that she loved: Finding a key piece of evidence, bagging criminals... and Gil Grissom. And she'd gotten all three in one day. Oh yeah, Sara Sidle was high on life, endorphins propelling her body through the necessary motions.
The suspect confessed, and Sara smiled and Grissom saw her smiling and nearly did the same.
Warrick popped into the observation room. "Hey guys, breakfast on me." And then he was gone, leaving Sara and Grissom to wait for Brass. Arms crossed over her chest, she turned to him, still smiling slightly.
"Breakfast?"
Grissom nodded slowly and looked away. "Yeah."
Again, he watched as she left, hips swaying in front of him; he, wishing he could place his hands on them, simply to feel the heat, the movement. But Gil sighed, and swallowed and walked back to his office to gather his things.
They'd all met at their usual diner and ordered their usual breakfast, and talked about the usual mundane things. Sara pushed some scrambled eggs around on her plate, and Grissom watched her do it, wishing he was the eggs, then berating himself for wishing he was the eggs.
When it came time to pay, Sara insisted that Warrick let her pay at least the tip. He fought her on it, but she won out. She pulled her wallet from her back pocket, much like a man would do. Sara Sidle wasn't one to carry around a purse, it was a just an added hassle.
She extracted seven dollars and placed them on top of Warrick's money, and shifted her body to slip her wallet back in when she realized that Grissom was staring down at an old piece of newspaper that had fallen from her wallet. Her eyes grew wide, but she said nothing, and Warrick got up to pay the check.
"I, uh..." She stuttered, and his head turned, his eyes meeting hers. He was confused, and looked rather sad. I his hands he held a newspaper clipping, of himself. He wasn't looking at the camera; in fact, he didn't even remember the picture having been taken. In his hands was an evidence bag, and he was adorned with his 'forensics' cap.
He was sweaty and windblown and looking rather haggard... but she'd keep him in her wallet. Slowly, he handed the picture back to her, not bothering to question it. She took it, eyes cast down and put it back in her wallet, and her wallet in her pocket.
They didn't have to worry about the awkward silence that was bound to follow because Warrick chose that moment to return to the table. So, with that, they all got up to leave.
But as Sara was walking towards the door she felt Grissom's hand cover her lower back and usher her out the door. For a moment, she thought it was a mistake, but he kept it there until they had reached their cars.
She climbed into her SUV after saying goodbye to the two of them, and noticed that Grissom watched her as left. He stood outside of his car and just watched as she drove out, a smile on his face.
Something, for some reason, had shifted. Something had been altered. And Sara smiled, feeling warm and open and even more lighthearted than she had been feeling at the thought of shift.
Oh yes, yes it had been a very good day.