Disclaimer: I do not own CSI.

Rating: PG

Spoilers: Up to and including Snakes.

Summary: Post-Snakes, GSR

The Other Foot

True love comes quietly, without banners or flashing lights. If you hear bells, get your ears checked.

--Erich Segal

Chapter 1

"I'm sorry, Ms. Sidle. There's nothing we can do."

He was the third specialist she had seen in less than a month. And all he did was give the same answers.

It was time to just accept it.

"H-how…how long do I have before…"

"There really is no set time frame for this sort of thing—"

"How long?"

"You'll experience significant deterioration in about six months," the doctor answered solemnly.

"And then…"

"By the year's end, you'll be deaf, Ms. Sidle."


For as long as she could remember, Sara Sidle felt she had a separate self that resided outside of her body, existing solely for the purpose of keeping two steady palms flat against her shoulder blades and giving her a hard push whenever she needed it. The phantom pushed Sara at school, making sure she got top grades in every class. It pushed her in every foster home to not let the loneliness eat her alive. Every time her body screamed for rest on a rare night off, Sara would feel that push, that drive. She would splash cold water on her face and refocus on the police scanner.

When it came to Dr. Gil Grissom, the push was sometimes opposed by a string that pulled from behind, clenching her gut. Pushed, Sara would stumble into his office to blurt out her feelings, and when his mouth would open to answer, the string would pull her out almost as fast as she was pushed in.

But as she stared down at the brochure the doctor had given her for sign language and lip reading lessons at the deaf college, Sara only felt the pull. It seemed as if the string wanted to yank her clear off the western hemisphere to plant her atop Mt. Everest, perhaps, where the natural silence would be unbroken, save for the occasional yak.

She wanted to run.

So she grabbed her cell phone, pressed number one on the speed dial and held her breath waiting for him to answer.

"Grissom."

"Hey. It's Sara," she eked out, suddenly feeling embarrassment wash over her as she remembered their last encounter ended with her confessing more than she intended.

"Sara. Hello," he answered. "Did you want to talk—"

"Listen, I'm not feeling too well," she interrupted hastily. "I don't think I'll be able to come in to work tonight. I know you're short-staffed as it is, but—"

"Never mind about that," he said quickly. "Are you alright? Have you seen a doctor?"

"Uh…yes. Nothing terminal," she said, feebly attempting a joke. "Look, I'll see you tomorrow night. At work."

"Yes, Sara," Grissom breathed. "Are you sure you're okay?"

A tight-lipped smile formed on her face although he was not around to see it. "Fine. I'll be fine."


Sara searched for her keys in her overstuffed bag, listening for the musical jingle of the metal before locating the key ring and tugging it out. She slid the key into the lock slowly, noting the sound of the grooves as they chugged into the catch. It was almost sensual: fitting the right piece of metal into the right lock, turning just enough to hear a click, and then opening a door. It reminded her of sex. With the right person, with the right fit, doors – worlds – could be opened. And it all began with the perfect key for the perfect lock.

Sara showered and changed, placing the police scanner on her nightstand as she lay prone in bed. But instead of concentrating on the content of the messages passed back and forth, she focused on the volume. Sara reached over and turned it up to ten, wincing at first at the blare of the voices that echoed in her spare bedroom. She stared at the clock. In ten minutes, she lowered the volume down to nine, and continued to decrease it until she got to one, more than an hour later. It was barely audible, but Sara could still make out shreds of conversation. She closed her eyes and sighed, feeling an unexpected tear fall down her left cheek. She wondered if going deaf was like gradually lowering the volume on her life.

She would find out soon enough.


"All units! I repeat, all units report to the Sands Expo on Paradise Rd. There has been an explosion. Possible terrorist attack. I repeat, possible terrorist attack."

Sara's eyes sprang open and she pushed herself up to a sitting position, grabbing the scanner and raising the volume. She quickly memorized the dispatcher's information and dressed. All of her gear was in the hallway closet, ready for action at a moments notice. Sara donned her bulletproof vest and strapped on her gun with laser-focused efficiency. She was on CSI autopilot, the push back in full force as she loaded up her SUV and drove to Paradise Rd., flashing her ID to an officer at a police barricade.

After grabbing her kit from the trunk, Sara quickly spotted a familiar form standing in front of the busted doors of a large white van and examining a burn pattern charred on the sidewalk in front of the Sands. He stood up straight and nodded to Ecklie on his right and then turned, immediately locking eyes with Sara.

She walked to him quickly. "Where do you need me?"

Ecklie coughed, but Grissom seemed to ignore him. "I thought you were sick."

"All hands on deck," Sara said, repeating the dispatcher's message.

"I'm happy to see your enthusiasm, Sidle," Ecklie sneered, "but I'm afraid this mess is the work of a group of idiots who have seen Ocean's Eleven one too many times. Tried to break into the casino." Having wasted enough precious time with his underlings, the assistant director of the lab sought the media to assure the city that it was once again safe.

Grissom let out a sigh and adjusted the LVPD ball cap on his head as the rest of the local law enforcement packed up to leave. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Fine. Fine."

"Listen, I—"

A faint hiss had Sara glancing over Grissom's shoulder to the van. He looked at her curiously.

Sara's eyes widened and she acted in instinct, grabbing Grissom by the arm and yanking him.

"Sara?" he said breathlessly as she tugged him.

"The fuse is still—"

The blast threw them to the ground, Grissom falling awkwardly on Sara. She felt her shoulder dislocate the moment he slammed into her, but she could do nothing more than wince before her head hit the asphalt.


She wouldn't remember the sirens or how he refused any treatment and insisted on riding in the ambulance with her, holding her hand as she drifted in and out of consciousness. She wouldn't remember him kissing her forehead as he pleaded with her to hold on.

And she wouldn't remember him whispering 'I love you' before saying goodbye.


The beam of light from the hot Nevada sun filtered through the window and hit her face. Sara never did get used to sleeping in the day. When she was growing up, the daylight hours were spent studying or working – doing anything to get ahead. She could never bear to waste time in bed. So sleeping – or at least attempting to sleep – while the sun was still out always proved a challenge.

The trill of a cell phone had her sleepily reaching over to her nightstand, but the sharp pain in her shoulder forced her to freeze and suck in a breath.

Sara opened her eyes to find herself in a hospital room, her boss passed out on the chair by her bed. She gingerly sat up, hugging her bandaged arm to her chest.

"Grissom," she whispered. He barely stirred. "Grissom!"

"Huh? What?" he said, blinking wildly.

"You're phone is ringing."

"My phone is ringing," he repeated, a bit disoriented, checking the display. "It's only Ecklie," he sighed, looking up at her. And then, as if he had just noticed, his jaw dropped. "You're awake!"

"Unless this is some weird dream, I guess."

"Do you remember what happened?" he asked, getting out of his chair to stand right up against the hospital bed.

Sara furrowed her brows and thought back.

There's nothing we can do.

By the year's end you'll be deaf.

"I, uh…not much," she told him.

"The explosion?" he asked, his fingers reaching out to stroke her chin.

"Explosion? Oh. 'All hands on deck.' I remember." Grissom looked relieved as he slid his hand into her hair before dropping it to his side. "There was a noise; the fuse was still lit."

He gently sat down on the edge of her bed, careful not to jostle her. "Sara, you pulled me away from the van before it exploded."

"I-I…I heard the noise," she explained.

"And because you did, you saved my life," he told her. "And to think I always tell you not to listen you that police scanner of yours," he said, trying to make light of it all, but failing miserably. "Sara, I'm not too good with thank yous. I'm much better at apologizing. But…thank you. I owe you—"

"You don't owe me anything," Sara dismissed. "Just…doing my job, boss. Are you alright?" she asked, all at once concerned. "Did you get hurt?"

"You broke my fall. I broke you arm."

And my heart, she wanted to tell him. You broke my heart.

But she could see he was shaken. Sara noted he was wearing the same clothes from the night of the explosion, though the calendar on the wall indicated that it was two days later. He would've died had she not been there, had she not heard the sizzle of a lit fuse.

You'll be deaf.

Sara shivered and Grissom immediately crouched down around her. "Are you cold? Do you feel okay? Get a doctor!" he called out into the hallway.

"Grissom, I'm fine," she assured him.

Nevertheless, a doctor and two nurses came to check on Sara at Grissom's insistence.

"When can I go home?" she asked, feeling claustrophobic with everyone standing around her while she lay in bed. "It's only a broken arm and a bump on the head."

Neither the doctor nor Grissom was persuaded by her argument. "At least three more days and then we'll see," he said, filling in a chart while a nurse fiddled with her IV.

"You don't have to stay here," she told him. "I'm sure there's tons of work to do."

"Sara—"

"Grissom, I'm not going to do anything except sit."

"But—"

"I'm fine."

He regarded her for a moment. "So I've heard."


Though Grissom seemed to spend every spare minute by Sara's bedside, the time he was at work was an uncomfortable chunk of time for Sara to be alone with her thoughts. She ran over the scenario several times in her head, each time with her hearing giving out at a different point. In six months, the faint hiss of the lit fuse would not have registered, and she and Grissom would have been in body bags had their remains managed to sustain the explosion. And had the botched casino heist taken place in a year's time, she would not have heard the police scanner at all. She'd have to learn secondhand that Grissom had died in the blast. She'd have to watch people stand up at his memorial service to speak of him. She'd have to read their lips to try to keep up with that they were saying.

But she wouldn't have been able to hear herself cry for him.

Then again, that was a sound she was already used to.

It became clear to Sara that she could not continue working, could not continue to endanger Grissom and the rest of her colleagues as her ability to hear became a distant memory. Clark County CSI's were issued guns for a reason: to help protect themselves, their co-workers, and civilians if ever a crime scene becomes unsafe. But Sara knew that a deaf woman with a gun would not make a crime scene any safer.

She had to figure out a way to quit. After briefly considering telling Grissom of her deteriorating condition, Sara shelved the idea. She could live with a lot of things – his anger, his contempt, his denial – but she could not live with his pity. She had to at least keep what little good he thought of her intact. If she couldn't be the love of his life, she could at least be an adequate CSI in his eyes.

Sara Sidle's time in Las Vegas was coming to a close.


She filled a large watering can and brought it to the windowsill, expecting to see a forest of withering greenery, desperate for a drink of water. But the leaves were still bright green and the soil was surprisingly moist. Sara shrugged her uninjured shoulder. She was immensely glad to be out of the hospital, away from the white noise, the voices hallway and beeps of the machines. Though she knew Grissom had planned on picking her up and bringing her home later in the day, when the doctor told her she was ready to be discharged a few hours early, Sara jumped at the chance. It was a win-win situation: she would be out of the hospital earlier than expected and she could begin her plans to cut ties with Grissom. It was not easy, but it was the only way to preserve her image in his mind.

There was a knock on the door, followed out by the call of her name.

Sara sighed. For some reason, she thought he'd stay away from her apartment. In all the years she had been in Vegas, he had never once visited with her. She always felt that Grissom thought of her home as off limits.

"Sara, open up."

She trudged to the door, tucking the watering can under her good arm, and turned the lock. On his face was not the anger she expected, but pure concern. "You left the hospital early."

"The doctor said I could go."

"You could've called me," he told her.

"It was nothing. I was fine."

"Sara, I – oh, let me get that," Grissom said, noticing the watering can in her arm. "I watered your plants yesterday."

"Oh…thank you."

"Are you hungry? Do you want me to order you some food? I don't think there's much in the fridge. I didn't have time to—"

"Grissom, relax," Sara ordered. The man looked like the walking dead. For the past several days he had spent his time either at work or by her side. "When was the last time you had anything to eat? Or slept for that matter?" He didn't answer, so Sara just rolled her eyes and continued. "Why don't you sit down and I'll order some Thai food, okay? Sound good?"

He nodded and walked towards the couch while Sara went into the kitchen to search for the takeout menu. She ordered his favorite and a few appetizers they could share.

"It'll be here in twenty…" Sara's voice died off as she discovered Grissom once again passed out, this time on her living room couch. As best she could, Sara guided his feet up onto the couch until he was completely horizontal before covering him up with a blanket.

She paid for the Thai food and nibbled a bit on it before putting it all in the refrigerator until he woke up. The Vicodin was making her sleepy, but rather than resorting to her bed for a nap, Sara chose the armchair next to the couch where Grissom lay sleeping. He looked so peaceful, so serene. His breathing was steady and low, and she listened to it for as long as she could, committing it to memory so she could replay it in her mind years later when the permanent silence would keep her awake at night.

TBC…