A/N For some reason, I have a lot to say this week. But most importantly, thanks again for all your feedback! It's always appreciated! And I'm enjoying your thought provoking questions, smryczko.
Spoilers: "No Humans Involved". Okay, in my story, Sophia and the team breakup don't exist, but I reserve the right to refer to any bits and pieces of season 5 that I want to have in my universe.
Thanks to geeklovefan for providing an authentic and entertaining entomology journal title. Suspicion is a great movie, though I apologize if I've remembered parts of it incorrectly. I love Cary Grant and I was even named after the actress Joan Fontaine.
Finally, this chapter is rated R to reflect more mature content.
Chapter 8 Disturbing ThoughtsThe next few days were quiet for Grissom. Sara couldn't stop by, as she was deeply involved with a case and working fervently on it, as if it were a personal crusade. Apparently they'd discovered the emaciated body of a five -year old child in a trashcan. He'd starved to death. Sara called each day to check in and see how he was doing, but he could tell even then that she was distracted; that the case was pulling at her heart. Even after five years, Sara hadn't learned to disconnect her emotions from the job. He could hear the stress in her voice as she briefly described the case to him.
It startled him as he realized that in addition to the looming gaps in his encloypedia -like database of printed factual material, there were alarming holes in his personal memories as well. Although the details were frustratingly elusive, he recalled that Sara had always reacted strongly to cases involving the abuse of women or children. She fought their battles fiercely. At first, he thought since she was so driven by her emotions, that she sympathized too much with the victims. As time passed, though he couldn't bring back a substantive moment, he became increasingly concerned that perhaps Sara herself had been the victim of a violent crime.
While his memory of the past year was decidedly vague, his gut insisted that it had been a difficult one for Sara. Jim's urgent phone call was strangely clear in his mind, when he relayed that Sara had been picked up for driving under the influence. At that time Brass also casually informed him that he was especially apprehensive since, a few months earlier, he'd encountered Sara at a crime scene, trying disguise alcohol on her breath with cough drops.
Feeling almost sick to his stomach, Grissom had hurried over to the station to drive her home. It was a quiet ride; they didn't talk much that night. Sara's eyes remained downcast, she was burning with shame, and he…he was scared to death. It terrified him to consider how easily she could've been involved in a fatal car accident.
Part of him had wanted to sternly lecture her that night about how incredibly stupid her actions had been. Yet another part of him was so relieved that she wasn't harmed that he longed to hold her tightly and not let her go. As an unsatisfactory compromise, neither side got to speak; he wasn't entirely sure what words might've inadvertently tumbled out of his mouth.
He hoped that counseling would help Sara deal with whatever issues were slowly eating away at her. From her work and her disposition after her vacation, it seemed like it had been effective. Now he wondered if he'd been deluding himself, seeing only what he wanted to see. He hadn't gone out of his way to ask any difficult questions. He'd been afraid of getting too close.
In the past, he'd been able to dismiss these thoughts, or at least bury them so deeply that they wouldn't trouble them. Yet, after the experiences of the last few weeks, he couldn't simply ignore his concerns. He needed more, though he wasn't sure what it was.
A tangible sense of loss overcame him as he realized that he couldn't remember when he first met Sara. It had to have been at one of his forensics seminars yet he couldn't place the location. Most likely it was San Francisco, since that was Sara's home turf. But it could've been L.A., where he had worked for several years, or even Boston, at Sara's alma mater, for that matter. He longed to be able to grasp that memory. He was certain that her beauty, along with her superior intellect and zealous enthusiasm, had fully engaged his attention.
She'd changed over the years, her energy and zest waning away. Even now, slight worry lines near her eyes emphasized her weary appearance. He wished he could obliterate whatever was troubling her, if only it were that simple.
He wheeled over to his dining table to activate his laptop computer. As futile as it might be, he was going to attempt to do some research. That morning, Catherine had taken him to his regular physician for his weekly appointment. Grissom had tried to grill the doctor about the possible extent of damage to his brain, but the man was evasive. He had the mindset that they shouldn't address the possibility yet because it was too early, the damage might heal itself. There was also no medical treatment for him to prescribe, so he refused to discuss it any further. Thus, anxious and starved for facts, Grissom turned to the Internet.
His search was slow and frustrating. Between the lack of discrimination with the sources and his inability to concentrate long, he wasn't able to proceed quickly. He had to stop torturing himself about how much faster he used to be able to comprehend and organize information. Eventually, he was able to determine that the diagnostic tool, the CAT scan, stood for Computed Axial Tomography. It used computers to essentially generate, from x-rays, a three dimensional picture of his brain for his doctors to analyze. Using this technology, they would be able to visualize the soft tissue, bones, and blood vessels of his brain.
Of course, the information he uncovered about head injuries was far more vague. Apparently, even a seemingly minor injury could produce major damage. The most common impairments associated with brain damage were: difficulties with memory, mood and concentration. His stomach lurched as he processed that statement; he was well acquainted with those problems.
He'd even located a website entitled the "Brain Injury Resource Center". Unfortunately, it focused more on coping with such injuries rather than diagnosing them. The site included an abundance of information and resources. Once his eyes focused on the heading 'Loss of self', he couldn't bring himself explore any further.
Had he lost himself? Or at least, the person he used to be? He tried not to think about it, but those CAT scan results proved that damage had occurred, that something was definitely wrong. He wouldn't be able to return to work like this. If his condition didn't improve, what would he do? Something mind-numbingly menial? Merely exist on disability? And doing what? What would be the point? It was too depressing to contemplate for long; he tried again to shove it out of his mind.
Yet, it kept creeping back into his thoughts.
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"Hey," Sara called as she opened his front door. She was carrying an armload of envelopes and magazines over to the dining table where Grissom was still seated. She dumped the mail on the table with a thud.
"What's all this?" Grissom peered up from his laptop. He thought he'd caught up with his personal mail.
"Your office mail. Need some help sorting?"
He eagerly took her up on the offer. Within minutes, Sara was tossing piles of junk mail into the trashcan while Grissom more leisurely perused items of a more personal nature. He opened and reviewed several letters, starting a pile on the table for important correspondence to be filed.
As he scanned his next letter, he frowned and shook his head.
"What's wrong?" His normally stoic features were registering displeasure.
He shook his head again, seemingly absorbed by his reading, so Sara sneaked over to peer over his shoulder. He could feel her hand resting on his shoulder and the faint warmth of her breath against his neck.
"Hey, you submitted an article to The Rolling Stonefly". That's a reputable journal for aquatic insects. And look," she seemed excited, "they've accepted your submission with only minor changes. Congratulations." She was smiling and squeezed his shoulder lightly. However Grissom seemed bewildered. She bent closer to him. "What's going on?" His actions confused her.
He was making a conscious effort to slow down his breathing. Sara was correct; it was an honor to have a paper accepted at this journal with only minor revisions required. While many scientists struggled with generating quality publications, they'd always come to easily to him. A question would pop into his mind; he'd investigate until he'd discovered the truth. The papers were merely a summation of his work.
Although it took time to perform experiments, record observations, and then submit articles for publication, his department encouraged it in both the areas of entomology and criminology. They enjoyed riding on the coat tails of his academic laurels and basking in the glow of his excellent scientific reputation. It didn't hurt the reputation of their department either.
His face became warm as he wondered what they would be thinking now. As he stared at the article, he had no memory of writing the paper, more or less performing any of the work. It was as if a stranger had erroneously submitted it with Grissom's name on it. Even worse, as he skimmed the article, it made no sense to him. He roughly folded the article and stuffed it back into the envelope.
Sara's proximity to him was also unnerving him, though in a different manner. He could almost smell her perfume; she was so close. He longed to touch her. Dodging her concerned glance, he said, "I'm tired. Did you bring any movies?"
"Um..yeah." Sara's eyes were still fixed upon his article, which had been shoved aside. She seemed reluctant to move away from him as well, her palm was still cupping his shoulder.
Trying to change the subject, he asked, "What did you get?"
"Suspicion with Cary Grant and Joan Fontaine. Do you remember that one?"
"No, how about you?"
"It's a first time for me. You want popcorn?" Sara offered. Microwave popcorn was part of their movie ritual.
"Maybe later, I'm not very hungry." He hoped that the movie and Sara's company would distract him from his problems.
He wheeled over to the living room while Sara turned on the TV and popped the video into his VCR. She kicked off her shoes and collapsed on the couch; she was exhausted. The worry lines around her eyes were more pronounced, dark patches rimmed her eyes, and her cheekbones seemed to stick out more prominently. She was rubbing her temples excessively, as if she had a headache.
"Did you eat?" he asked. Typically they'd have dinner together after she pulled a double shift. He wanted to ask when was the last time that she'd slept but he sensed she wouldn't appreciate that. Most likely, it'd been several days.
She answered as if she were apologizing. "Is later okay? I need to unwind some."
"Fine," he assured her.
He was also curious about the case, though, for a change, not the physical details. He was more concerned about how it was affecting Sara. However he was fully aware that she needed some distance from it. Like him, her worries were weighing her down; she needed to think about something else for a while.
He didn't want to violate the unspoken boundaries of their relationship. And there were certain things he just couldn't do without setting off a major disturbance within him. But he was hurting, and so was she. He ached to hold her, to feel her up close against him. What would be the harm in that?
"Sara, can I sit next to you on the couch?"
Her eyes opened wider, and she smiled shyly, "I'd like that.
It was a little awkward as they attempted to get comfortable. Grissom's right ankle was broken and it needed to be propped up on the coffee table to prevent additional swelling, but his ribs were most badly injured on his left side. After some experimentation, they determined it was easier for Sara to sit on his right side and take care to avoid his cast. Sara sat down nervously beside him and Grissom reached over to put his arm around her shoulder and effectively close the gap between them. She cautiously leaned against his chest as he stroked her hair with his fingers.
Holding her felt wonderful, comforting and reassuring. He almost hoped she would fall asleep against him; she seemed so tired. And if that were to happen, he could shamelessly stare at her too.
The two of them were initially so caught up in enjoying each other's proximity, that they missed Hitchcock's cameo completely. They'd have to figure it out another time. Grissom was still leading in their contest, but Sara was excited that she was beginning to catch up.
The movie, though engaging, did little to lessen his burdens. In fact, it may have aggravated them. In Suspicion, Cary Grant plays a handsome playboy who falls for a plain country girl, played by Joan Fontaine. They have a whirlwind courtship and marry immediately. Initially, it seems like the perfect marriage, a dream come true.
As time passes by, the woman begins to wonder if her charming husband is who he appears to be. He talks about work but never appears to do any. An expensive wedding gift from her father mysteriously disappears and turns up later at a local pawnshop. Her husband starts concocting grandiose schemes and suddenly one of his supposed investors turns up dead, poisoned. After she discovers a bottle of the same poison in her own home, she begins to worry that her husband only married her for her money and is now trying to poison her.
In a climatic final scene, she's with her husband, who is driving recklessly on a mountain road. She's convinced this is it, that he's going to kill her. Instead, he pulls the car over and dramatically confesses that he's a horrible businessman who's gotten himself into trouble. Can she ever forgive him?
As the final credits rolled, Grissom remembered, "Did you know that an alternative ending was filmed for this movie, where he really does try to kill her?"
Sara chuckled, "C'mon, that wouldn't work. Cary Grant can't be the bad guy."
"Apparently the test audience thought the same thing," Grissom commented.
Sara was still sitting with her head against his shoulder. During the course of the movie, his hand had drifted from her shoulder to her waist. After a while, he finally lowered his hand to secure hers. He squeezed her hand lightly as she snuggled up closer to him. Other than turning on some lights, neither of the two of them had budged.
While the movie had Grissom mulling over his suspicions about Sara's problems, evidently it had a similar impact on her. "Grissom?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't want to sound like a nag, and I know you don't like to talk about certain subjects, but…something's bothering you. Can you tell me about it?" She tilted her head so she was able to see his face.
Grissom took a breath. Up to this point, Sara had been so wonderful not to pry into his life. She was fully aware that he highly valued his privacy; that it was difficult for him to open up with others. She hadn't lectured him about his horrendous medication mistake, nor had she brought up any of the deeply personal issues he'd spoken about that day. While she was insistent about the psychiatrist, she didn't pump him for information about those sessions either. She seemed to be letting him set the boundaries, which he deeply appreciated.
Now it occurred to him that Sara might have terms of her own that he needed to honor. He was reluctant, yet he sensed she needed the truth and that she cared deeply about it as well. She needed to know what was happening to him. He wasn't certain what the status of their relationship was, nor could he handle that at the moment. But, as hard as it was for him, it was important to take this step.
"Sara," he took another breath. "My CAT scan shows there's inflammation in my brain."
She frowned, "What does that mean?"
"Well, if it doesn't heal on its own, my problems with remembering and concentrating won't improve."
"Oh." Sara bit her lip. "What do your doctors say about it?"
"Not much. Apparently these types of injuries are a real black box. They just don't know much about them. And there's not much that can be done treatment wise. They just keep telling me that it's early in the scheme of things, it's too early to be overly concerned."
She reached across his chest to gently embrace him. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.
He was surprised, the more he talked, the easier his words flowed. "I don't know. I don't know how to live my life like this. Before my life was like a symphony. I could read the music, I could recognize the individual instruments and when they played together, it was magical. Now, I can barely read the music, I can hear a few instruments, some I can't recognize at all, and when it comes together in my head, it's just a lot of noise. It doesn't make any sense."
"I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?" she offered.
"No honey, you're already doing it. " He practically whispered as he put both of his arms around her to draw her closer, though not too close or his ribs would ache in protest. He stroked her back gently as he held her. "Are you okay Sara?"
"Yeah, I'm just tired," her voice lacked conviction.
"Did you close the case?"
She seemed hesitant to talk about it. "Yeah."
"What happened?" He began to caress her cheek with his fingertips.
She didn't want to talk about it. "It's..dumb."
"Sara," he warned.
"The boy's mom left her three kids with her sister – a working girl. The money the mom sent for the boys for food was spent on other things – a new TV, stuff like that. Brass and I found the other two boys locked in a storage facility, practically in the same condition." Tears started to slide down her cheeks.
"That's pretty scary. Are the other boys going to be okay?"
She nodded, trying to fight her tears.
He wasn't sure how to handle this. He'd never let himself get so close to another person. Yet, he sensed that trying to suppress all that emotion was futile. "It's okay. Let it out. Don't fight it anymore," he crooned.
She surrendered and began to sob. He held her as she cried. "I don't get it, I don't understand why people can treat their children like garbage."
"I know," he murmured as she cried.
As her sobs began to subside, she said, "You must think I'm a complete idiot for getting so involved in this case."
That took him off guard. "Why would I think less of you for caring?"
She explained, "You never have that problem. It always seemed like you were strong and I was weak."
He had to think about that, for his interpretation had changed over the past weeks. "I wouldn't say that. You have a big heart Sara. You feel things intensely. That scares me. With the highs, come lows. I tend to be more level, which can be dull, but more predictable." And safer, he mentally noted. At least, the old Grissom was like that, he wasn't so sure about this new man.
"During the investigation, I interviewed some kids at a foster home. They weren't treated the greatest, but the kids assured me that the lady was one of the better foster moms."
He was curious as to the significance of this reference yet he respected Sara and let her set the pace. He did what he did best, he waited.
After a moment, she confessed, "I've never told anybody this before, but I had some problems with my family. I was in foster care for a while."
His eyebrow arched as he continued to massage her back.
She mumbled into his chest, with hoarse tones. "It was rough. It sometimes made me feel like damaged goods. Like I wasn't good enough to be loved and treated nicely."
He waited for more but it didn't come. He found himself in the strange position of yearning to know what had happened to her, yet he was frightened by that information as well. "What happened with your family?"
She considered it, and then glanced up and replied, "Sorry, I can't talk about that right now." She quickly added, "Please don't be mad at me." She was afraid of offending him.
"Of course not. Whenever you're ready," he rapidly replied.
They sat with their arms around each other for a while. The videotape had played all the way through and automatically started to rewind, so the Discovery Channel came on. Grissom and Sara weren't overly interested in selecting another channel, or paying attention to the current one. It was background noise.
Being so close to her, he was tempted to ask her about something else. He wasn't sure he could handle the answer, but he needed to know. "Honey, what happened at the hospital?"
"I…not now, please." Then she burrowed her face deeper into his chest.
-
He was kissing Sara. He couldn't remember exactly how he'd gotten here, presumably they'd fallen asleep together, still he honestly didn't care. He was lying beside her in his bed, kissing her, feeling her soft lips against his. The contact sent a surge of adrenaline coursing through him. He roughly pulled her closer to him, needing to feel as much of her as humanly possibly. He continued to kiss her, parting her lips to explore her mouth with his tongue, as his hands roamed about her body. He discovered the edge of her shirt and boldly slipped his hands beneath it to caress the incredibly smooth flesh of her abdomen.
Sara wasn't objecting to any of his actions. In fact, her enthusiastic response was exciting him even more. It was going too fast, he was practically fully aroused; he was losing control of himself. Sara was driving him wild, just the smell of her made him hard with desire. He yearned for her and he ached to be inside of her. Fortunately, she seemed as fixated on the fast pace as he did, meeting his kisses with equal fervor, if not more.
Their hips ground against each other as their hands explored and caressed each other's bodies. He found himself wishing he could easily remove his pajamas and suddenly they were convinenantly gone. As Sara moaned and her body writhed, it only served to increase his ardor. He needed to be in her, now.
"Sara," he asked hoarsely, briefly regretting the quickness of their coupling for he wanted to prolong their passion. But he just couldn't hold back any longer.
"Yes," she begged as she pulled him closer and began to shower kisses on him.
He rolled on top of her to slide himself between her legs. The dampness of his reception revealed that she was more than ready for him. Sheathed within her, he began thrusting as her body arched to meet his in rhythm. Her screams of pleasure caused him to increase his pace until he reached his climax. "Oh God," he moaned. "I love you Sara," he gasped as he collapsed against her. When he tried to kiss her again, she wasn't there. His eyes flew open.
What the hell?
He was in his bed, alone, wearing his pajamas. His heart was thudding a mile a minute and his body was drenched with sweat. He was breathing so hard that his chest was aching.
A dream? But what a dream, it had seemed so incredibly real.
He had fantasized about Sara before, if he was being honest, dozens of times. In fact, he purposely had to substitute an anonymous sex symbol into his fantasies because they were starting to interfere with his working relationship with Sara. Of course, he'd had sexual dreams about her before, but none so vivid and powerful as this. He'd actually had an orgasm rather than waking up incredibly frustrated and annoyed.
He started to shake when he realized what he'd proclaimed to her. The opposing faction within him, that had been so meek for the past few weeks, was loudly voicing its concerns. It was terrified.
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