Dreams Call Out to Me
Disclaimer: CSI belongs to Anthony E. Zuiker, Carol Mendohlson, Jerry Bruckheimer, CBS and so on and so on. In other words, not me.
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Sara's eyes took in the ghostly reflection of her childhood, softly tracing every familiar detail with her haunted, well-acquainted gaze.
The bruises colouring the children's upper arms, barely concealed by the thin, gauzy fabric of their clothing. The faded, fraying furniture, and uncovering blotches of blood on it with the luminol that time would never hide. A defensive, angry husband, a quiet, submissive wife with her own bruises, some physical, others hidden behind her stricken dark eyes.
A simple case, yet one that affected Sara much more deeply than country-skipping serial killers, or massive convenience store robberies with multiple fatalities. A case that ran a personal tangent within her soul, and which worked through her outer cracks of composure, bringing her one step closer to the brink every day.
"Hey".
She jerked, lifting her eyes quickly when she realised Grissom's warm hand had closed on her shoulder, and glanced down, noting that she had paused in the middle of her evidence collection, and stood listlessly in the middle of the room, luminol clutched limply in one hand.
She shook her head, wiping away the barrage of unwelcome images. "Sorry. I… got a bit distracted."
He nodded, eyeing her with inscrutable interest. "I noticed." She often wondered what went on in his head, what he was thinking when he stared at her so intently. Was it lust behind those void, powerful blue eyes? Or perplexity, a need to study and unwind her like another of his intricate word puzzles?
"Do you need a break?"
She blinked at him, and he stared back at her, clearly expecting her refusal. It meant something that he asked anyway. She surprised him. It was fun to surprise him, exceed his expectations. It was something she had once savoured, a challenge she had readily undertaken. Now she was just tired, and his approval was the last thing on her mind. She slowly nodded her head. "Yeah. I think I do".
She mutely handed him the bottle of luminol, stripping off her gloves and dropping them onto the open lid of her field kit, striding past him and slipping gracefully through the open sliding door.
The night air was cool and refreshing on her cheeks, briefly staggering her with its force. She crossed the wide expanse of backyard, rounding a looming barn-like structure, finding her solace against an adjoining chain link fence, gratefully sagging against its straggly structure.
Her fingers slid into the pocket of her jacket, and she fingered the lighter she kept there, an object for her idle hands.
Her gaze took in the backyard; the fields long void of animals and overgrown with weeds, wondering what life had been like here in happier times.
She wondered what childhood was like for them now. She knew what it was like to be stripped of your innocence, denied a nurturing childhood she now knew she had deserved. She felt a sting of guilt for missing her mother, and a flare of disloyalty for mourning her father. They were all she had ever had. The only childhood she had ever known.
Sara flicked the lighter on in the darkness, eyeing its flickering flame with deep, childlike fascination. She wondered if she would ever be able to offer a life to a child. She knew she was universally known as a workaholic, the last person anyone ever expected to yearn for motherhood, but she thought about it, sometimes. If they saw the warmth of her apartment, the splash of rich purple and gold, they would realise there was much more to Sara Sidle than what reached the surface. That she was warm and had womanly desires as much as anyone. Perhaps more so.
Her gaze remained fixated on the light as it slowly died, and she distantly became aware of shoes crunching on dirt and gravel, rounding the barn to disrupt her peaceful abode.
She flicked the lighter closed, eyes distant and unfocused, and felt the presence near, and come to a gradual halt beside her, not quite brushing against her, but radiating warmth through their proximity.
"Greg's taken the wife back to the lab for processing", he noted quietly, gently invading on her silence. "Family services have taken the children into protective custody. Brass says there's no hurry to question the husband. We have enough to hold him".
She nodded dimly; thankful she had been absent long enough to miss the sight of the children being taken away. She knew what that felt like. At least they still had a mother when this was over.
She glanced down, flicking on the lighter, snuffing its flame again with equal finality.
"I thought you gave up smoking", he noted, almost absently.
Sara didn't meet Grissom's gaze, wondering if there was condemnation in that statement. She knew she disappointed him enough already. "I did", she answered, fingering the lighter vaguely in her hand. "I just like to have a reminder sometimes".
He remained silent, and she wondered why he was still standing there, and why he was letting her so easily off the hook.
"Don't we have to get back to the lab?" she asked at last, but made no conscious move to retreat from their solitude, or return to their Tahoe at the front of the property.
She felt Grissom shake his head. "There's nothing much more to do; save paperwork. Anymore questioning can wait until tomorrow. I'll drive you home, if you want. You look like you could use some rest".
She didn't take offence to the offhand remark, or read too deeply into his concern. She didn't move, and neither did he, each staring quietly out into the blackened fields.
"Do you ever wonder why they stay?" she murmured, unconsciously folding her arms around her midsection to generate some mediocre of warmth. "The women, I mean. They have children, but they let them suffer because it's easier that way".
Grissom was silent, as if contemplating her question. "Isn't that a reason?"
She glanced at him finally, allowing her cocoa-coloured eyes to meet his in the dim light pooling from the distant house. "It's an excuse", she said quietly after a moment, looking away again when she saw the intent frown marring his features.
"I think they really believe that they can change their husbands. That things will become better because they stay. I think that's what makes it the saddest thing of all".
He nodded, mutely, accepting her words. "They allow themselves that delusion."
Sara was tired; she could feel it all the way down to her bones. She leant her head back against the fence, sagging into it with all of her weight.
"Do you ever wonder what it would be like to have kids?" she pondered quietly, seemingly out of the blue. She wasn't really expecting an answer, but she spoke anyway. "Wouldn't you put everything first for them? Wouldn't everything else just seem meaningless in comparison?"
He surprised her, drawing in a breath quietly. "I think I'm a little past the stage to answer that".
She glanced at him, frowning faintly and pulling back from the fence a little. "You don't know that. Things can easily change in a few years."
He smiled slightly, strangely indulgent. "Sara…"
She looked away. "I want kids", she confessed softly. For once, she didn't care how uncomfortable the admission would make him. She was too preoccupied to consider it. "People don't think that, but I do. I always kind of thought all of that would just fall into place one day. That I would change my mother's cycle".
Grissom sighed. "There's still time, Sara".
She glanced at him, smiling dimly. "Don't be stupid, Grissom".
She felt her hair partially curtain her face as she glanced down at her lighter again, moving it idly between her fingers. "My brother has kids. Have I ever told you that?"
"No", he said, softly, voice that low, soothing cadence that she all too often heard in her dreams.
She nodded. "He's a good father. I guess he got past the 'murder gene'".
"Sara".
Grissom moved away from the fence, striding around to stand in front of her. When she met his blue eyes, he looked strangely troubled. They locked with hers, and her stomach fluttered with the familiar hoard of butterflies that surged to life whenever he looked at her that way. She ignored it.
"You are a good person. You could never be a murderer".
She frowned, strangely touched by his gauche attempt to comfort her.
"And I think that you would be a very good mother", he added tenderly.
She blinked, surprised by the unexpected compliment. She drew in a breath, and didn't realise she was still moving the lighter until Grissom's warm hand gently closed over hers, stopping the rhythmic motion. Her eyes trailed down to their joined hands, and she swallowed, frowning slightly. "Grissom…"
His thumb softly stroked the back of her palm, and her flesh tingled from the contact. She stared up at him, uncertain as to what he was doing. His eyes locked on hers with such startling intensity and desire, she merely stared back, unable to move as he stepped closer to her, bridging the almost non-existent gap between them, clutching her hand and guiding it against his chest.
His other hand lifted in the darkness, lightly touching her cheek, and he slid his index finger down the slope of her soft skin.
"Sara…" he murmured softly, sadly, voice hoarse and raspy with long-restrained regret.
She felt her heart hammering in her chest, wondering if she was dreaming, or if she had really just evoked this kind of unexpected reaction in him.
His breath tickled hers, and he slowly, leant forward and kissed her, mindless to their location and all of his previous reservations.
She wondered if he was ignoring them in the heat of the moment, and decided she didn't care. She felt a surge of desperation and tears well up in her, and gave into the warm comfort of his lips, opening her mouth to him, allowing him to press her into the fence.
Her back grazed the wire links, and she barely felt it, caught up in the sensation of his hands and his lips. His beard roughly caressed her cheek, a sensation she had yearned for since he grew it, and his fingers threaded through her hair, guiding her more strongly into him.
After several breathless moments, he pulled away, and pressed his cheek against hers, breaths brushing against her neck.
She swallowed, shivering and closing her eyes, wondering when reality would surface on his spontaneous action, and he would blame her for his brief lapse of control.
The moment didn't come, as he slowly stepped away, not releasing her hand. Sara continued to stare at him, feeling a tear trickle slowly down her cheek.
"Hey", he said softly, eyeing her in genuine concern. "What's wrong?"
Sara shook her head slowly, blinking her tears away. "Nothing", she whispered, smiling weakly. "I just didn't expect that, that's all." She swallowed, forcing the words from her lips. "I… I don't want you to pull away, Grissom. I don't think I could handle it".
He held her hand more tightly, glancing around as if remembering where they were for the first time. "I won't pull away, honey", he said gently, conveying the affection he felt through his eyes. "I promise".
She slowly pulled away from the fence, allowing him to tug her forward. To talk. To work. Wherever. She would follow him anywhere, like always. Only this time was different, because she knew she had a piece of his heart too. And maybe everything else would just fall into place.
FIN