Chapter 6
It had been more than twenty-four hours since he had dropped her off at her apartment, but Sara had received no word from Grissom. As she trudged from her bedroom to the bathroom after a few fitful hours of sleep, Sara began to seriously question what she had been so sure about only a day before. She had told him goodbye, and though he didn't seem to accept it at the time, he hadn't made any attempt to contact her. Though her head told her it was for the best, Sara felt a sickness in her stomach at the thought of not seeing Grissom again, not hearing his voice, not watching him doze off on her couch.
She shook her head as she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror: face too pale, dark circles under her eyes, hair a curly mess.
"Sara Sidle," she said to her reflection, "today is the first day of the rest of your life."
She stripped out of her fluffy bathrobe and pajamas and hopped in the shower. The jolt of hot water invigorated Sara momentarily, but the tension returned quickly as she mentally went through the list of challenges she was to face in the coming year. It was one obstacle after another: learn ASL and lip reading, find a new home, move, get used to a new city. Live life as a deaf woman. Sara shut her eyes tight and concentrated on the sound of the running water.
When she finished her shower, Sara wrapped a towel around herself and checked her reflection once more. The hot water had tinged her skin pink and her unruly hair was slicked back. The circles under her eyes were there, but less prominent.
She padded to her room and found a clean pair of pajamas to change into. All she wanted to do was crawl back into bed and wish the world away.
A knock on the door kept her from pulling back the covers.
Sara knew who it was. She didn't bother looking through the peephole.
"I thought we said our goodbyes," she told him, partially upset and partially exhilarated to see him.
Grissom stared at her, unblinking, for several moments. "I never said goodbye."
She resisted fidgeting and looked him straight in the eye. "So is that why you've come…to say goodbye, I mean."
He tilted his head and made a face. "Get dressed. We're going out."
"What? Where?"
Grissom stepped in from the doorway and took her gently by her good arm, pushing her in the direction of her bedroom. "I'm going to do what I should've done five years ago."
Sara swallowed. "What's that?"
"I'm going to show you around town."
Too stunned to answer him back, Sara had dressed quickly, drying her hair to the best of her ability. Straightening it was out of the question, so she just swooped her messy mop of curls in a ponytail and hoped she didn't look like a second grader.
He smiled at her as she walked to him. "Shall we?"
"Shall we, what?"
"Shall we go, Sara?"
"Go where?"
"You ask too many questions," he sighed, plucking her keys from inside of her bag as they walked out the door so he could lock it. "Just trust me."
Sara sat in the passenger seat of his SUV quietly. He said he was going to show her the town. How many times had she wished for that when she first arrived in Vegas? She came because he asked her. She had been up for a promotion in San Francisco when he called her to investigate Warrick's involvement in the death of Holly Gribbs. The moment Sara hung up the phone, she dropped the murder case she had been working to fly down to Vegas and help Grissom. It had seemed so simple. He told her he needed her and that was it; she was on a plane.
Sara wasn't exactly sure what she had expected from Grissom when she first arrived in Las Vegas, but she certainly didn't expect it to end up where it did. Out of the corner of her eye, she stole a glance at him. She tried to look at him objectively. He was close to fifty, graying, and not quite at slim as he used to be. He had wrinkles where his skin was once smooth. And his facial hair left something to be desired. When she first saw him with a beard, Sara was quite impressed, but as time wore on, she missed his face. His dark beard was hiding the soft skin she once touched, albeit briefly.
She sighed and dropped her hands in her lap. She was being pathetic. She had no claim on him, or his face. He was just…her boss.
"We're almost there," Grissom said, driving down Tropicana Avenue as the sun began to set.
"You know, I'm not going to bother asking. I'll just find out when we get there."
"Well, we're here."
"Hallelujah," she said dryly. "Thank the…oh…my…God."
Grissom beamed at her.
Sara shook her head. "No."
"Yes."
"Are you trying to tell me something? About your…preferences?"
He narrowed his eyes at her.
Sara stared back, but eventually relented. "I'll go, but I won't like it. Rhinestones aren't really my thing."
"Sara, Liberace was one of the great entertainers of our time..."
"And I'm sure you were right up his alley" she muttered under her breath.
"...so how better to learn about him than a museum dedicated to his…fashion sense?" Grissom continued, wincing a bit.
"So, you're a fan?"
"No. Brass told me about it. It's kitsch. We're in Vegas."
They got out of the car. "When in Rome, I guess." But something on the entrance to the museum had Sara stopping in her tracks. "Um…the museum closes at five. It's already six thirty."
Grissom grabbed her elbow and led her through the door. "Oh, ye of little faith. I know a guy. We have the place to ourselves."
"Oh joy."
It did turn out to be a joy. The pair of criminalists laughed at sheer gaudiness of it all, the sequined jumpsuits, the lavishly embroidered capes.
"How much would it take for you to wear one of those outfits?" Sara asked, nudging Grissom in the ribs as they passed a shiny white jumpsuit complete with lace cravat.
"You couldn't pay me to wear that."
"Would you wear it for world peace?" she asked.
"Sara, I don't think me wearing one of Liberace's 'outfits' will bring about world peace," he told her incredulously.
"Pretend for a minute," she said, rolling her eyes. "Would you wear one of Liberace's getups for world peace?"
"Okay…yes," he admitted. "But not, like, world peace for five minutes and then back to chaos. This would have to be everlasting world peace."
Sara giggled. "Would you…wear it for a cure for cancer?"
"Yes."
"What about athlete's foot?"
"No."
"If I needed a kidney and the only way I could get one is if you wore one of the sequined jumpsuits, including the cape and the rings…would you?"
"All right, yes. For you, yes."
Would you wear it to keep me from going deaf? She wanted to ask that, not to see what his answer would be, but to see his reaction.
But Sara kept that to herself.
"Are you alright, Sara?"
She looked up at him, a smile frozen on her face. "Yes. Fine. Where were we? Oh, you were telling me how much you wanted to try on that little pink number with the feathers," she joked as they walked down the stretch of corridor. "Now, I don't think they'd let you try on these, but I'm sure we can rent you a cute little number this is Vegas, you know that'll fit you just fine."
"I'm sure we could," he told her, his right hand momentarily passing over her back before dropping once again to his side. "We could, but we won't."
Sara laughed. "I'm having a nice time. Thanks."
"The night's not over, Sara."
TBC…
