Chapter 3

Sara turned on the faucet with her good arm and began washing her plate.

"You shouldn't be doing that."

She turned her head to see Grissom standing with his plate and glass in his hands. He swiftly took over dish duties, gently nudging her to the side.

"You don't have to do that," she told him, but to no avail. Sara just stood there, feeling useless as she watched him wash the dishes. "Look, uh…I'm feeling really tired. I think I'm going to go lay down."

"Okay," he said, putting a plate on the rack beside the sink.

Sara looked at him curiously. He hadn't budged. "And…thanks for stopping by."

"I'll let myself out when I'm done with this," he said, gesturing to the dishes.

"Uh…thanks." Sara hesitated a moment before lightly putting her hand on his shoulder for a moment before leaving the kitchen.

"We'll talk later."

She looked back at him. His eyes were on her, his face somber. Her heart couldn't help but do a flip-flop. He was so cute: sleeves rolled up, elbows deep in sudsy liquid.

"Bye, Grissom."

"Sleep well."


Sara woke up, disoriented and in pain. She decided against the prescription meds in favor of Advil. The strong stuff made her groggy. According to three Ivy League-educated, highly recommended doctors, she had roughly six months of good hearing left. It couldn't be spent high on Vicodin.

She sat by her bedroom window and looked out at the night sky. Grissom was probably out in the field, combing through a crime scene. She leaned back and pictured him in his government-issued windbreaker, teaching Greg something new. Sara smiled. She knew Grissom was where he belonged.

But it was not where she belonged, not anymore.

The smile on her face faded. Both Grissom and her work were now off limits. She'd be useless to both before the year was out.

Sara closed her eyes tight and tried her best to shake that feeling off. She needed to be proactive. She needed to do something. She grabbed a pen and pad of paper from a nearby desk.

An old college roommate had tacked up a list titled "Things To Do Before I Die" on their shared bulletin board freshman year. Sara bit her lip and scribbled out her title: Things To Hear Before I Go Deaf. She closed her eyes for a moment. It felt good to just let it out, even if it was only on paper. She had a plan again.

Sara managed a smile as she started her list.

Number 1: Hear both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans at least one more time. When she was younger, Sara didn't get much of a chance to go to the beach. No one would ever take her there. But she had a conch shell and she would hold it up to her ear and listen to the fake waves when she couldn't sleep at night. When she was thirteen, she gave it to a little girl who had just moved into her foster home. Tiny and scared, Sara knew the six-year-old needed the ocean more than she did.

Number 2: Attend a performance of Beethoven's Fifth Symphony. She managed a laugh at that, a nod to a fellow auditory-challenged human being. Ludwig's compositions used to keep her company as she studied into the wee hours of the morning while at Harvard.

Number 3: Hear Grissom tell me he loves me.

Don't get your hopes up.

Sara put down her pen. She knew she'd probably have a better chance of swimming clear across the Pacific than hearing her boss declare his love for her to her face. But then again, her roommate had "Sleep with Bon Jovi" as number six on her list.

She looked at her simple list. It summed her life and what she would miss: The safety of the waves, the friendship of the music, and Grissom.

Sara sighed. Two out of three ain't bad.


As the sunlight crept into her apartment, Sara began to feel her stomach rumble. Her cupboard was practically bare, and with a dislocated shoulder, she knew the pizza delivery guy would swiftly become her friend for the next few weeks. But it was still morning and she needed something to tide her over until her neighborhood pizza joint was open for business.

Cereal.

Her old standby. Easy, quick, cheap. It was the perfect food. Some women needed lobster dinners at fancy restaurants, but all Sara needed was Toucan Sam or Lucky the Leprechaun and she was happy as a clam.

She dressed with some care, making sure she didn't exacerbate her already injured shoulder. As she grabbed her purse, Sara heard a soft knock on the door. She peered through the keyhole and saw Grissom waiting patiently in the hallway.

Sara opened the door. "What are you doing here?"

He noted her outfit and the purse in her hand. "Where are you going?"

"The market."

"Sara, you are injured," he reminded her in slow, measured tones. "You can't drive."

"I was going to walk," she told him.

"And how were you planning on carrying your groceries?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I was just getting some cereal and milk. Most takeout places that deliver here are closed this time of day."

Grissom stepped into the apartment. "I can drive you to the supermarket. You can get some real food there. You know…fruits, vegetables."

"Yeah, I've heard of them," she scoffed.

He rolled his eyes and led her out the door. "Let's go."


It was peculiar to watch Grissom push a cart through the aisles of her local supermarket, asking her what she liked and then quickly taking it off the shelf before she could stretch her good arm to reach for it. She bit back a smile as she watched him load a thin plastic bag with apples, his thick fingers struggling to tie a knot at the top of the bag. Sara didn't even notice when they got to the toiletries aisle, she was enjoying watching him so much.

He coughed and blushed. "Do you, uh, need anything here?"

She almost laughed. "Not for another two weeks."

Grissom nodded and continued to push the cart. It felt nice doing something so utterly conventional with him. Normal for the two scientists was picking trace fibers off a dead body or grounding up maggots to test for DNA. That was practically passé. But finding the perfect pineapple was a moment to savor.

And savor it Sara did.


He insisted on carrying all of her bags to her door and helping her put away the groceries.

"You don't have to, you know."

Grissom didn't bother to answer her as he tore open the bag housing the apples and put them in a nearby fruit bowl on the counter. She had said the same thing when he paid for her groceries, when he loaded them into the car, when he carried them up the stairs.

"Grissom, I'm a big girl," Sara reminded him as she put the milk in the fridge. "You don't need to baby-sit me."

He sighed. "I'm not babysitting you. I'm helping you," he clarified. "You've got one working arm; you've been in an accident."

"You see people worse off every day. Do you by them their groceries, too?"

"That's different. We're friends."

She couldn't help but grimace. "Right." Sara turned back to the fridge and shrugged. "Where's the juice?"


He watched her eat her cereal from across the table while he sipped his coffee. "I thought Trix were for kids."

"You're hilarious," she drawled, not bothering to look up from her bowl.

"I want to talk about what you said earlier."

Sara knew what was coming. It was inevitable. You tell your boss you're thinking of quitting in passing, and he's eventually going to bring up the subject while you're enjoying reading about the misadventures of the Trix Rabbit on the back of a cereal box.

"So talk," she said.

"I don't think you should leave," Grissom said simply.

Sara raised her brows. "Really? Well, that's settled then. I'll be back to work tonight."

"I never realized how sarcastic you are."

"Well you learn something new every day." She picked up her bowl and brought it to the sink. "Grissom, I know you don't want the team split up any more than it already is, but believe me, you'll catch a hot case and you won't even notice I'm gone. You'll be way too busy."

He looked hurt. "That's not true."

Sara sat back down in her chair. "Maybe not at first, but…eventually." She propped her chin up on her good hand. "I'm just a girl who works with you. Plenty more where that came from."

Grissom narrowed his eyes, his mouth agape. "Sara…" he breathed.

She shook her head, tilting it to the side. "It's true, Grissom. You've worked at the lab, what? Twenty years? You must've seen dozens of employees come and go. Can you remember all of their names?"

"Sara, that's not the point--"

"Isn't it?" she asked.

"I'd remember you."

"I know you will."

He shook his head, confused. "Then why? Why leave?"

"It's…time," she told him, praying her voice remained steady.

"And that's all the answer I'm going to get?"

She vigorously rubbed her temple. "That's the only answer I've got," Sara lied.

"It's a bullshit answer," Grissom spat out.

She knew he was right. He usually was. But there was no way Sara was going to lay her cards out on the table. There was too much at stake. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I've disappointed you…in a lot of ways," she said, staring down at her lap. "But I can't be what you want me to be right now."

Sara noticed him shift in his chair. His face had softened as his eyes wandered over her. Before she began to squirm under his gaze, she picked up her coffee cup and brought it to her lips.

"Why don't you go inside? I'll…finish the dishes."

"If you ever feel like quitting, I'll hire you as my housekeeper."

Grissom managed a smile and Sara took her coffee cup into the living room. She grabbed the remote and turned on the television, changing channels before settling on "The Wizard of Oz." It was just starting and Dorothy was still in the sepia-toned Kansas, fighting with the tyrannical Mrs. Gulch for her dog.

Grissom eventually wandered into the room, parking next to Sara on the couch. He smelled of Ivory dish soap. They watched in silence as the tornado swept through the countryside, depositing the dreaming Dorothy into Oz.

"That's kind of how I felt when I first got to Vegas," Sara confided as they saw Judy Garland take her first steps onto the yellow brick road. "Everything was so colorful, so flashy. It was a big, strange place and I didn't know anybody."

"You knew me," Grissom reminded her.

"You were always hiding behind the curtain."

TBC…