So many lovely reviews that I don't know where to start! I'm so glad that this story is being enjoyed… so often when I write, it's for myself, and I'm amazed that anyone else cares to read it, much less review. And the thought that someone would not only review, but REGISTER in order to review… just… wow. You humble me. Yes, there will be plenty of fluff in chapters to come. I am a hopeless, shameless romantic and I can't resist a good love story. Still, from the point where the story begins, there's a lot of trust that has to be built and a lot of burned bridges to rebuild before they can get to this point. I'm not working from an outline… just writing what feels write. Thankfully I survived to the point of spring break, so I'll have at least a few days to think and write and just try to figure out where they're going. I may not have the path clear, but they always wind up together in the end… that's just how it should be.
Again, my thanks for the reviews. You can have no clue how much they mean to me… at least as much as a week without students!
Chapter 5Sara stood beneath the scalding spray of water and let it mix with shampoo and tears.
Another one, she thought. One more child who would never get to finish being a child. She was an adult now, in the worst possible way. All innocence had been stolen from her in one bad decision, by one evil man. It was beyond unfair; it was criminal.
Grissom seemed certain that they would find the man who'd done it, but Sara was never so sure. The jerks couldn't be human, but they could sure as hell cover their tracks. Nevertheless, she had gone home just to burn off some of the energy that wouldn't settle while Greg performed his magic in the lab. She had run for almost five miles before she'd felt remotely calm enough to sit, and it had left her soaking with sweat and gritty with salt.
She stayed in the shower until the water was chilly and her skin was beginning to wrinkle. She wished she could stay there forever, with nothing but the sound of falling water around her and the unconditional safety of being locked in her own bathroom, within her own home. She knew that safety was an illusion – had seen it all to many times – but it was an illusion she needed at that moment.
Shortly after leaving the bathroom wrapped in a soft robe and her hair up in a towel, she heard her cell phone. Something about the high-pitched squeal seemed to cut through her hearing loss more than any other tone. She dug through the miscellaneous stuff on her dresser to find where she had laid the phone, and glanced at the caller ID.
Grissom.
She knew it must be important, because he was the only person she knew who liked talking on a phone less than she did. For her, it was difficult to hear. For him, it must be even worse. "Sidle."
"We got him."
Three words, and certainly not the one's she had expected.
"What?"
She could hear the laughter in his voice when he deferred. "I'll talk to you about it down at the station. Brass is going to start the interrogation in about an hour; I thought you'd want to be there."
"Damned straight!" she told him clearly, already reaching for a shirt to pull on as she dropped her robe. "I'll be there in twenty."
"See ya then," he said.
She didn't bother answering, but instead she tossed the closed phone onto her bed and fumbled through a drawer to grab some jeans. She didn't even bother with socks and shoes, grabbling sandals on her way out the door. She combed her hair at the first red light she came to, and stuck a rubber band in it while sitting at the second. She wasn't worried about her appearance – the whole team had certainly seen her looking worse – but she hated to have the soggy strands sticking to her face. In retrospect, she decided that she probably should have taken a minute more to dry her hair, but it was too late for her to worry about it.
Frankly, she wasn't sure what had her mood higher. Was it the capture of a man who deserved to be jailed, if not castrated? Was it the fact that Grissom had called her even when he didn't have to, letting her get some closure on the case? Was it just the Nevada sun, bright and hot overhead as she hadn't seen it in a long time? She wasn't sure, but she did know that she felt like she was on a roller coaster. She had been on an absolute low, was now as high as she could go, and was well aware that there would be a stomach-twisting fall on the other side of the high. There always was, but to feel this way, she would deal with it.
Sara pulled her ID from her glove compartment as she headed for the doors to the police station. A quick flash of the plastic card was all it took to get her past the officer at the desk, and it didn't take her long to find Grissom from there.
Without thought, she walked up to him with a grin she knew must be silly, and gave him a very uncharacteristic hug. Arms around his neck, body pressed to his, she gave a quick squeeze and then kissed him on the cheek. When she pulled back, he looked like she had grown a third head. Now that she thought of it, an hour before, a third head would have probably been more likely than the display she'd just given.
"Sorry," she told him with another grin and an excitement that had her nearly bouncing up and down. "I just can't believe we got him this quickly.
Grissom shook his head, his expression going from pure shock to a sort of tolerant exasperation. She couldn't blame him. She knew that she must look like a ten year old kid who had been locked in a candy store for a week, but she couldn't fight it. Life had given her precious little to celebrate in the previous year, and she would take what she could get.
"His DNA was everywhere," the elder CSI told her. "And he had a record. Once Greg got us a name, the address was easy to come by. We also found a good deal of evidence in his home, from bloody clothing to our girl's school ID. It's pretty much open and shut, even if the guy lawyers-up, and that's not likely. Apparently, he's missed his last meeting with his patrol officer, so he was already in more trouble than he needed."
"He won't be getting out for a very long time," Sara agreed with a grin. The joy of making sure not only that this man paid – but that he wouldn't have the opportunity to do this to anyone else – had her so euphoric that she wasn't even noticing what was going on around her. She had missed the gathering of several officers around the door of the room, and even the presence of Jim Brass as he approached the interrogation booth with a couple of uniforms.
"Let's hope not," Brass told her with a wink.
Much to her disappointment, she was relegated to the observation area while Grissom managed the interrogation. It went smoothly, although there were several instances when he seemed to falter, as though he wasn't sure what the suspect had answered. Jim jumped into the quiet periods as though they were planned, and she doubted that she would have even noticed if she hadn't been looking for it.
As predicted, the man admitted to everything. It was almost too easy, she thought, as she exited her room and waited at the door for Grissom. He stepped out looking tired but happy, and it was all she could do to refrain from another emotional display. She was sure he wouldn't appreciate it. Still, there was something of common ground in knowing that they shared something – even something as lousy as a hearing loss – that made her feel just a little more comfortable with him. Perhaps it was just knowing more about him for once than he knew about her – she wasn't sure – but he seemed less intimidating today. He was more approachable, even if it was only in her mind.
"Dinner," she told him, clearly not making it a question or suggestion, but a demand. "You've been here all day, and I know we're both off tonight. You need food, and I'm paying."
He shook his head, obviously refusing the offer. "I just want to get some sleep," he told her.
"Fine, but get it after you eat," she argued.
"Sara…"
"No!" she insisted. "This time deserves celebrating." She glared at him for a moment before it occurred to her that he was probably trying to avoid her so that he didn't have to keep hiding his hearing loss. She could relate to that; crowded places gave her trouble as well. "We'll go to Molly's," she told him, referring to the small diner that nearly all of the CSIs tended to frequent. "I'll even call in some of the team if you want chaperones! I just… Grissom, I need to celebrate this."
She waited hopefully, and finally saw his arguments deflate as he let go a sigh. "Fine," he agreed, sounding like he was being sentenced to execution rather than a quiet dinner. "I'll meet you at Molly's in half an hour. I need to run by the lab and grab some things first."
"Fair enough," she told him, her smile back in position. Then, after looking at the dread on his face, she couldn't help but laugh. "It's okay," she told him. "I don't bite, and I won't make a pass at you. I promise."
She watched him leave without losing the smile. It was a step, she decided. They just might be back on the path to being friends. At least, if she had anything to say about it they were. Somehow, she had a feeling that he'd need all the friends he could get.
Gil Grissom took another bite of his steak and chewed in appreciation. He really hadn't realized just how hungry he was until he'd begun to eat. Across the table from him, Greg sat next to Sara and drowned his fries in at least a cup of ketchup. It looked disgusting to him, but probably no more so than his steak appeared to Sara.
Sara. The woman was full of surprises. Just the fact that she'd talked him into this dinner was something he hadn't yet figured out. He had done his best in recent months to stay as far from his team as possible, lest they figure out why he was suddenly asking them to repeat themselves and determine his secret. Further, he avoided public places like the plague, annoyed at the interfering noise and the difficulty hearing others. And yet, here he was, watching Sara eat a banana split while Greg devoured a hamburger, and actually enjoying himself. He'd forgotten how quiet Molly's could be; it was one reason that the team liked it so well.
He told himself that Greg's presence really wasn't a security blanket. Sara had certainly been joking about needing a chaperone. There had never been anything romantic between them, however much moments like he'd had earlier that day – Sara pressed against him chest-to-toe with a glorious smile on her face – had become the stuff of his dreams. The thing was, he could hear her in his dreams. The same could not be said in the flesh. At least, not all the time.
But he hadn't been able to tell her no. Why was that? He supposed it had just been the pure, youthful excitement in her eyes. How long had it been since getting the bad guy had affected him so deeply? Sure, he'd been young and idealistic once, but time and experience tended to put a hard shell on an otherwise soft heart. He'd learned not to get too close because it nearly always ended in a painful disappointment. But Sara wasn't there yet. She still had room to hope, and for this one night he had needed to share it.
Greg's birthday had provided him with the perfect opportunity. He hadn't brought a gift for the party, so he'd invited Greg to come along to dinner instead. If his presence served as a buffer between himself and Sara, then that was just an added bonus. It wasn't as though he couldn't control his own thoughts and desires; but having a witness sure as hell made it easier.
"I can't believe you're eating that," he finally told her, his expression far more disgusted than he really was. "The sugar will keep you up all day."
She gave a shrug. "I'm off tomorrow. Remember?"
"I make the schedules," he reminded her. "Still, all that sugar…"
"She can use a few pounds," Greg chimed in, and then looked as though someone had kicked him – or he expected to be kicked. "I mean, you don't eat very much," he added with a blush.
"I don't need much," Sara said with a shrug. "And I do eat healthy – a lot healthier than that slab of cow you're enjoying so much."
Gil made a show of carefully cutting the medium rare steak, brandishing it before her like a sword, and then eating the chunk with a feigned look of ecstasy on his face. Sara shook her head with a smile, Greg nearly choked on a fry, and for the first time in a long time he felt almost human. He wasn't an old man who was going deaf and trying to hide it so that he could keep his job; he was just a man out with friends, enjoying a meal, and celebrating something that had finally gone right. It felt damned good.
"It's your arteries," she told him with a righteous sniff.
Greg reached over with his spoon and stole a bite from her bowl. "Um, Sara, this is the real deal. You're getting at least as much cholesterol from that ice cream as he's getting from the steak."
"Mind your own business, Mister 'make that a double order of fries'," she told him.
"I'm young… I can take it," he said with a mischievous grin.
"You're a year older now," she said as she elbowed his ribs. "Get used to it."
"I'm only a day older," he argued with a hurt expression. "It just so happens that day is an anniversary of my celebrated birth."
Grissom laughed along with them, enjoying the byplay between the two of them. They got along so naturally, very much like brother and sister. There was no tension between them, sexual or otherwise. They teased one another in good humor, beat up on one another for fun, and he knew very well that they would back one another until death. It was refreshing, really. So many friendships he saw were superficial – hell, half the friendships he saw ended in either murder or suicide – so seeing something solid between two friends was a relief. People could get along. Wonders would never cease.
And then, within the course of a moment, Gil turned to ice. He watched as their playful banter quieted, although their faces and mouths were moving as quickly and with as much animation as before. There was no tinkle of silverware in the background, and no crashes of activity from the kitchen. He couldn't hear the waitress offering something to the couple at the next booth, and he couldn't hear the sound of his own breathing. His heartbeat though… his heartbeat seemed loud enough to be heard by half of Nevada. He wasn't hearing it – not really – but feeling it as it pounded in a panicked staccato against his ribs.
Sara's smiling face turned to his, and she must have caught his look of fear. Her expression became more serious, and to his great relief he was able to pick out the words she spoke. It was almost as though she was enunciating the speech just for his benefit.
"You look tired. Should we get the rest of this to go?"
"Please," he answered. Then, in a desperate plea for time, "If you can take care of this, I'm going to the restroom."
She nodded. "I've got you covered."
He saw a confused expression on Greg's face, but he didn't stick around to deal with it. Instead, he made his way to the restroom and carefully locked himself into one of the two stalls until he was able to breathe normally again. He replayed the events of the last few moments in his mind, wondering if they suspected. One of the greatest hazards of working with a team of trained investigators was that hiding anything was a virtual impossibility.
Vaguely he wondered just how long he could hide in the restroom until Greg and Sara became suspicious. He hadn't looked at his watch when he'd come in, so he didn't know how long he stood there until he heard his name called.
"Grissom?"
He gave a relieved sigh at the sound of Greg's voice. "Here," he said simply. "Give me a minute."
"You've been in here ten," Greg told him with a concern that was far more serious than Greg's traditional demeanor. "You sick?"
"A little," Gil lied, but only partially. This entire experience had only served to make him nauseous. "I'm just over-tired," he explained. "I should have gone home. I'm too old to pull double shifts and then party afterwards."
"I'll tell Sara you're okay," Greg said. "I don't think she'll leave until she sees you, though."
Of course she wouldn't, especially after he'd told Greg he was sick. What the hell had he been thinking? His lies had become so automatic and subconscious that he didn't even mentally check them for consequences before blurting them out. He sighed again – an unnerving habit of late – and opened the door to the bathroom stall. He didn't have to fake the cold sweat which he washed from his face in the sink, and a single look in the mirror told him that his pallor would be interpreted as illness as well. It was amazing how fear and sickness closely resembled one another.
"Can I get you anything?" Greg asked.
Grissom startled; he'd forgotten the younger man was still there. Taking him at his word, he'd expected him to go talk to Sara.
"I'm fine," Gil told him as he dried his face with a paper towel. "I'm on my way out."
Greg gave a nod and then left the room. Gil took a couple of deep breaths to fortify himself – that had simply come too close – and left the room as well. Not surprisingly, he found Sara waiting outside the restroom with foam boxes and a concerned expression.
"Thanks," he told her as he reached out for her to hand him his box.
Sara shook her head. "No, not this time," she told him cryptically. "You're as white as a ghost. I'll drive you home."
"Sara…"
She glared at him, and any gratefulness he'd felt at her clear formation of words in his time of need was entirely extinguished. "For once, will you just stop being the boss and try letting someone help you?"
He stood for a moment, his stomach churning. He didn't know if it was the nerves which had developed, his lack of sleep, or perhaps the unaccustomedly rich meal, but he was legitimately sick now. "Fine," he muttered.
She gave a nod that looked entirely too self-satisfied, and he preceded her to his Tahoe. He didn't have to be told to give her his keys, but did it on his own. Her look of approval made him feel like a child, but he was too queasy to care. A throb had begun behind his eyes, and suddenly he realized just where the sick feeling had come from. When he closed his eyes he saw sparkling, moving dots.
A migraine. This was just what he needed. It shouldn't have surprised him – stress had always triggered them for him – but he couldn't help but be bitter about the ironic timing. It was bad enough that his hearing was in and out, but his vision would be the same way if he didn't get to his medication.
Sara had already gotten in the vehicle, and she leaned between the bucket seats to find something behind her. He resisted the urge to tell her to hurry, and was grateful when she sat back up and handed him two large, plastic evidence bags. "If you puke, use the bag," she told him. "Just pretend you're on an airplane."
In spite of the situation, his embarrassment, and the nauseous pain he was feeling, Grissom cracked a smile. Only Sara would be high-and-mighty enough to tell her boss to puke in a bag when he was in his own car.
