Chapter 3

Victim of Choices

The first thing Gil Grissom saw when he got to work – other than the walls and the doors he had to pass – was the bulletin board in the hall just outside the break room. And he stopped to stare – mostly in complete dismay. Several new photos had just been pinned up, and he was seriously more than aghast that they were photos from the night before.

One photo in particular, was standing out, of Sara Sidle sitting on his lap, a drink in her hand, her arm around his neck, and laughter in her eyes as she had her cheek against his hair. As nice a photo as it was, he didn't like the implications it seemed to make, he tore it down, and looked for any other photo that might be suggestive.

Another photo of him and Sara standing at the bar, his hand was under her elbow as if he intended to lead her away somewhere. Greg must have taken that one when we didn't even know it, Gil thought angrily. He pulled this photo down also.

The only other photo that he didn't like that was upon the board was a photo of the whole team at the Chinese restaurant, but since everyone was in it, and his arm was around Catherine Willows as well as Sara Sidle, he left it there, not much could be said about that one. He shook his head and holding the two photos he'd removed, he headed towards the break room to get a cup of coffee before he started his shift. Greg was sitting there eating a yoghurt, he glanced up.

"Burn these," Greg tossed the photos onto the table,"

"I did…onto some blank discs, which I'm selling for three bucks a pop," Greg responded, he licked his spoon. "You want a copy?"

Gil frowned, "I still haven't done your employee evaluation, you know."

"Consider them burned," Greg sighed, "but I don't know what the problem with them is – they're good photos. Look at how gorgeous Sara looks in them."

"The problem is I'm in them," Gil responded, "you could have found something more interesting to photograph than me, now get rid of them."

"I don't get what she sees in you sometimes," Greg uttered, mostly under his breath, and Gil missed most of it.

Catherine Willows stepped into the break room, "was last night killer or what?" she asked with the slight slur of a hangover.

"Coffee?" Gil asked, pouring a cup.

Catherine nodded, and stood by the table glancing at the photos, she bent down to pick them up in examine them, "aw, these photos," she said grinning, "look at Sara. She's lit up."

"She was plastered," Gil reminded.

"Everyone was, except you," Catherine uttered.

"Coffee…" came a groan from the door.

The three turned to see Sara entering the break room, her eyes shielded by dark sunglasses. Her hair was still in a semblance of the style it had been last night, loose curls, only now the curls had somewhat fell out in places, and in others had become frizzy. It was obvious the woman hadn't even showered yet.

"Good morning to you too," Catherine smirked.

Greg got up, "well, I gotta go do some work, I finish in an hour," he said, "hey Sarah," he smiled brightly as he passed her, and disappeared.

"He left the damn photos," Gil uttered under his breath, "never mind, I'll dispose of them myself."

"You're a grouch," Catherine said, "hey Sara, what'd you think?" she held the photos out to Sara."

Sara took the photos and looked at them, "did I do that?" she asked, gesturing to her sitting on Gil's lap.

"Yes, I have a bruise in the shape of my house key thanks to you," Gil responded, he poured her a cup of coffee and handed it to her.

"I'm sorry…" Sara frowned, more at herself than the thought of what she'd done, as if she couldn't quite believe she'd done it at all. "God, last night is a blur," Sara sighed as she sat down, rubbing her head, she took her glasses off. She'd washed the makeup off, but Gil could see the traces of eyeliner she hadn't been able to remove.

It's good that she thinks last night is a blur, that means she probably doesn't remember what I said about going back to her apartment, Gil thought.

Cath grabbed her coffee, "I gotta go, I gotta go speak to Greg about a DNA sample from yesterday – before I forget and he goes home. See you later," she waved and disappeared out of the door.

Sara glanced up at Gil, "you don't look happy in these photos," she gestured.

"I was tired," Gil lied. "Do you have any idea how much you drank last night?" he asked.

"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me," Sara grumbled tiredly.

"Way too much – that's how much you had to drink. Sara, you were walking along the street with no shoes on. You fell on the dance floor, and you were knocking back double vodkas at the nightclub like they were merely water..."

"I barely remember the nightclub," Sara confessed, she sipped her coffee and made a face at the bitter taste, "there's no cream in this…" she looked into it, she looked completely pale and nauseated.

"Best way for it, I think," Gil took a seat opposite her, "so, do you remember if you had a good time last night?"

"I had a blast," Sara said, "I must have," she pointed to the photos, "certainly doesn't look like I was miserable."

"You did seem to be in a good mood," Gil sipped his own coffee, he looked away from her.

"I don't even remember getting home," Sara placed her coffee on the table and rubbed her temples.

Gil knew it was a mistake to say it before he did but somehow his mouth worked ahead of his mind, "I took you home."

"Oh…" Sara seemed a little puzzled, "oh…" she added again, "was I passed out?"

"Yes, yes you were," he lied, he felt terribly guilty now for lying to her, "you passed out after a double vodka so I took you home," He added as an afterthought.

Sara paused, then looked at him, "thanks," she said quietly, "that…was nice of you?"

Nice? Nice? Just nice? He thought as he looked at her in disbelief. Do you have any idea of what could have happened? If I'd been any otherguy you'd have woken up in that bed not so alone – I think that's more than just nice.

"You look weird," Sara said, blinking.

"Sorry, I was a million miles away," he shook his head, "Anyway, I know you're here now so there's not much I can do about it, but I want you to take a half day. You look terrible."

"Thanks, that's just what a girl wants to hear," Sara grumbled.

"I don't want you going out on the field in that condition, you're hung over, and you still stink of booze," he smirked.

"You're so flattering, did anyone tell you that?" Sara's eyes were wide with disbelief.

"All the time," Gil said, and put on a grin although he felt far from smiling at all.

"So what do you want me to do today, then?" Sara asked, she gazed down into her coffee cup somewhat dreamily.

"I want you to help me with paperwork, I have masses of it, it's all out of date and sequence and I need to get some of the priority stuff on top of that pile."

"I'm not a secretary, Grissom. I'm a C.S.I.," Sara said bluntly.

"And I'm the boss," Gil said, "and I have field work to do and I'm in a bind..."

Sara looked at him, "oh come on, you're going out on the field, but you're not letting me go because I'm hung over?"

"Hey, I told you to curb your drinking last night. You should have listened to me," he got up and passed by her, "one other thing," he stopped, "get rid of those photos – put them in the shredder or something."

"Yes, sir," Sara saluted him mockingly.

Gil had to smile, she was just as charming when she was hung over and in a bad mood. He pulled himself together and maintained a stoic expression, "I'll come check on you later, I have stuff to do."

When Gil returned from his field work, Sara was sitting in the chair at his desk in his small office, sifting through papers, she looked as if she were having a hard time reading, her eyes squinted, a frown knitted upon her forehead. He stood at the open threshold, watching her for some moments.

It took a few moments for her to realise he was there, and she glanced up, "hey," she said wearily.

"Get it all sorted?" he asked, he walked, hands in his pockets, he stood in front of the desk looking at her. It was strange, seeing her sitting behind his desk, it almost made him feel like she was his boss, not the other way around.

"Most of it," Sara gestured to a pile of folders and papers, she sighed, "would have done it all by now if I hadn't had to stop four times to go throw up," she added regretfully. "This is stuff that absolutely needs to be taken care of today," she said, she gestured to a smaller pile, "this is stuff that isn't top priority."

"Good work," he nodded.

"How could you fall behind with this?" she asked, "I mean there's five request forms for new stock in the lab from Greg alone!"

"Five…there was only four yesterday," Gil frowned, he shook his head, "fine, I'll take care of it..." he sat down upon the chair opposite her, and looked at her.

"Y'know, I don't envy you this job even a tiny bit," Sara confessed, she tucked her hair behind her ear.

"I sometimes envy you. I hate not being able to have as much freedom in the field as I used to," Gil confessed, his voice was very monotone.

"When I passed out, did I throw up on you at all?" Sara asked.

Gil glanced over to her, "what makes you ask?"

"Just the way you're acting, you're treating me like…you're mad," she confessed. "Way I figure it, the only way you'd be totally mad at me is if I disgusted you by probably throwing up on your or something."

"I'm not mad, not at all," he stated, and he sincerely wasn't. Frustrated, maybe, especially after last night, but no, definitely not mad, he thought.

"Right…your being 'not mad' is why I'm sifting through your backlog of paperwork when I should be out there doing my job!" she stood up, suddenly she was quite emotional and Gil stood quickly too.

"That's nothing to do with it," Gil stated, he tried to remain calm, he put his hands out to gesture as if he were about to surrender, "it's because you're hung over, and I personally don't need one of my team out there on the job with a self-inflicted illness that could compromise an investigation."

"Self-inflicted?" Sara gaped.

"You drank and you drank. If that's not self inflicted, I don't know what is," he said, and a moment later, he realised he'd been a little too blunt, because she was looking blankly at him now. "Okay…maybe self inflicted is the wrong way to say it," he swallowed, he surrendered again, "self-indulged, perhaps?"

Sara simply shook her head in disbelief and walked by him completely, leaving the office without another word.

Terrific, he thought. I stepped right into an argument with her and insulted her. I might as well have called her a raging alcoholic. He turned and watched the hallway as she disappeared down it, her arms folded almost protectively, her shoulders hunched.

I don't think buying her a plant is going to gain her forgiveness this time, he realised. He took after her, catching up with her just outside of a soda machine.

"I didn't mean that," he said, "I don't know what I mean. I just…"

"Don't, okay, just don't," Sara said, "I know what you meant. That having me out there would directly look bad for you if I should screw up because—"

"It wasn't about that—" he tried to explain.

"The hell it wasn't," Sara folded her arms.

Gil hushed her by gesturing for her to be quiet, he grabbed her arm and led her back to his office, he stepped her right inside, and shut the door behind himself after entering, he looked at her, "This is about two things, Sara," he said, "Your health, and your career, and I'm concerned for both."

"My health is personal, my career is my problem. Don't 'concern' yourself about either of them," she folded her arms, standing stubborn as ever.

"Ecklie is lookin' for any reason for one of my team to mess up - to get you out of this place would make his day. He doesn't like your behaviour at the best of times and you know that from past history. I need you on my team, Sara," Gil said firmly, "I don't want to give him any reason to suspend you, or get you kicked out of here," he explained. "If that means I have to keep you out of the field because of a hangover then so be it. But at least I'll feel better knowing I'm not putting your career at risk."

"Oh, you'll 'feel better', what is that you actually saying you 'have some feeling'?" she asked defiantly.

He was beginning to lose his temper, and felt like he was losing this fight with her – and it wasn't even the kind of argument where he desperately wanted to be right. "Sara, you know perfectly well what I feel," he said heatedly.

"No I don't," she said quietly. "Tell me."

His cellular phone began to ring, and she looked at him expectantly. He reached into his pocket to answer the thing. Saved by the bell, he thought gratefully as he answered the phone.

By the time he was through with his phone call, Sara was gone from his office, he hadn't even seen her leave.

Smooth, Gil, real smooth, he thought in despair.

It was 1am when Gil had momentarily looked up from his paperwork to see Sara Sidle running past his office with her hand over her mouth. From what he'd seen of her, her face had been deathly pale. He leaned awkwardly in his chair to see her dash down the hall and disappear into the ladies restroom, then he heard the faint echoes of her throwing up.

He sighed and put his pencil down. This shift was becoming a nightmare. First their argument and now she was vomiting in the ladies restroom – instead of having just gone home like he'd told her to do in the first place. He glanced at his watch. There was only three more hours to their shift. He picked up his jacket from the back of his chair, packed away everything he'd been doing neatly, and he turned off the light and locked his office door. He headed towards the ladies room. He hadn't seen any other women stepping in so he had no problem with walking in unannounced.

"Sara?" he asked, he walked between the rows of stalls, Sara was in the first one, she'd left the door open, she was kneeling on the floor, her brown hair – which was now tinged in sweat – was hanging in her face.

"Go away," she groaned. A wave of nausea came over her, and she made the most God awful sound as she threw up.

Gil moved into the stall, feeling rather claustrophobic in the small space – not to mention slightly uneasy that some other woman might stumble in at any moment to see a man standing there in the ladies restroom. "I'm going to take you home," he said, "you're ill, you can't work like this."

"I'll be fine, will you just leave me alone?" she asked half breathless. Another wave hit her, she brought it up.

Gil moved a little closer, "you're not fine," he touched her back gently. "Let me look at you…" he commanded.

She raised her head, and let it settle against the cold plastic walls of the stall. She was pasty, and clammy, and she was breathing heavily. She was sitting now with her back against the wall, her legs stretched out on the floor so that they extended into the next stall. Her eyes half closed lazily, her mouth hung open.

Gil went to a paper towel dispenser and grabbed a few, then ran them under the cold water faucet of the nearest sink. He moved back to the stall, and squatted down, he put his hand under her chin to tip her head up a little, and he dabbed the sweat from her face away with the wet paper towels. He brushed away the strands of her brown hair that had stuck to her face with the perspiration

Sara's eyes closed, an expression of relief at the cold comfort of the wet paper towels upon her hot clammy flesh.

"Are you done hurling?" Gil asked, he wiped her face tenderly.

"I think so," Sara's voice was more of a whimper than a groan. She looked close to crying.

Gil used the smaller edge of a wet paper towel to wipe her mouth in a delicate fashion, he took that moment just to appreciate how beautiful her mouth was.

Strange situation, he thought dourly at himself. She's just thrown up more than I thought was humanly possible, and now you're sitting thinking of how much you'd like to kiss her. These aren't the thoughts of a perfectly sane human being, Gil.

Then, catching him by surprise, Sara put her hand to her face and began to quietly sob, she pulled her knees up to her chest, and hugged them with her free arm.

Gil felt at a loss, what was he supposed to do now? Why was she even crying in the first place? "Sara?" he said, softening his voice just a little, "What's wrong?"

He didn't want to ask her what was wrong, he wanted to pull her into his arms and let her cry upon his chest until her tears ran dry. But he was Gil Grissom. Gil Grissom didn't do such things – even when his heart was aching to. The most he could do was just ask what was wrong and leave it at that.

"I don't know, alright?" she tried to pathetically wipe her tears but more just followed.

Gil looked around absently, trying to find something to say that might make her feel better, but without knowing what the actual problem was, he couldn't find anything that would actually do any good. It was while he was looking around he noticed the pieces of ripped up photo on the floor for the first time. He recognised his own face amongst the pieces, and a piece the colour Sara's outfit had been last night.

She's ripped up the photo, he realised, he now recognised the photo to be the one of Sara sitting on his lap from last night. It was then how much he realised he hadn't really wanted to see the photo destroyed at all. Did this mean she was still mad at him for earlier? He tried to look at it logically but his emotions might have been clouding any judgement.

Gil stood up slowly, "c'mon, I'm going to take you home."

"You're still on your shift though," Sara sniffled, wiping back her tears.

Gil shrugged, he couldn't' say anything, but silently he was thinking, work is less important than your well-being. You need my attention for the moment, work can wait.

He reached down and took her arms gently and helped her up, "I'm just going to go speak to Cath and tell her to take over for me for the next three hours – you splash your face with cold water, and pull yourself together, and I'll meet you at my car, okay?" he asked.

Sara gave an unsure nod, and watched him leave the ladies restroom.

Gil found Catherine in the lab with Greg Sanders, they were discussing an important piece of trace evidence that Greg was processing.

"Cath," Gil said as he stood at the threshold, he let his shoulder rest against the door frame, and he looked at her plainly.

"Uh huh?" Catherine asked, she glanced over her shoulder at him.

Gil gestured for her to come over, and he waited until she was only inches away. He spoke in a very low, careful voice, so that even Greg couldn't hear. "Sara's been sick for the better part of the day," he said, "I'm gonna go take her home…"

"Will you be back?" Catherine asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No," Gil responded, "I'm gonna stick with her for a while and make sure she's okay – so I want you to take over in my absence."

"But we're short staffed enough as it is!" Catherine gaped.

Gil gave her the look that said he didn't want to hear it, "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, and without another word, he left her standing there looking somewhat dazed – or perhaps it was angry, he wasn't really sure and to be honest, he wasn't sure he cared either.

By the time he had gotten to his car, Sara was already there waiting for him, she looked just as pale in the moonlight as she had under the harsh lights of the womens restroom.

"Did you speak to Cath?" she asked in a hoarse voice.

Gil gave a nod, but said nothing. Unlocked the car from the passengers side, and opened the door for her.

Sara got in, but she was watching him all the while, and that feeling of scrutiny came upon Gil again. He would have loved to momentarily know what was going through Sara's mind whenever she looked at him so closely.

Gil closed the door for her, and they glanced at each other briefly through the tinted glass window of the passenger side door. He tried to ignore how tense that made him feel. When she looked at him in that way, he wanted to give up everything he'd ever believed in and take his chances with her.

He climbed into the drivers seat, "if you feel like you're going to throw up again just tell me and I'll stop the car," he said softly, he reached to pull on his own seatbelt, but stopped, seeing she hadn't even put hers on. Either she wasn't really noticing anything or she had a death wish.

Gil sighed, reached over and grabbed the seatbelt at her side, and pulled it across her, "you'll be home soon," he said as he clipped it into place. He then pulled his own seatbelt on, and started the car.

Sara was silent during the whole journey. Gil got the impression that if she tried to speak she might be more likely to vomit. Or maybe, her silence was deliberate, maybe she was making a point – he was quite unsure if this might be the case.

When he parked outside her apartment, she remained still, staring into space as if she didn't even realise where she was.

"Sara, what's going on?" Gil asked, he switched the engine off and turned around to look at her. When she turned to look back at him he tried desperately searched her eyes for some kind of answer, but found nothing other than a vacant stare. "I'm beginning to worry," he confessed.

"Is that another confession that Gil Grissom actually feels things," Sara asked quietly, she looked away once again, she was staring down at her hands, picking at her fingernails.

"Sara, we talked about this…"

"No, we didn't…" she unclipped her seatbelt suddenly, "I talked about it – I've tried to talk about it many times. You're the one who snubs every discussion. You practically snuff them out like a candle."

Gil hated to admit even to himself that she was right. He had done exactly that. Any time she wanted to try and talk about what their mutual feelings were, he had a tendency to change the subject, or drop it completely.

"Last night, I almost thought things were different," Sara said, "I had thought…maybe…just maybe, if I could get you away from work, and get you to stop talking about work, and stop thinking about work, then maybe you'd start to realise there's more to life," she confessed without even glancing back at him.

Gil blinked at her, he didn't like where this conversation was about to go. He wanted to get out and run, he wanted to scream to drown out her voice. He wanted to pretend he didn't hear her words as he knew they were coming.

"Last night, I thought for a moment, I could see work beginning to drain out of you and life beginning to sink in," her voice was full of emotion, her eyes were searching the space as if looking for something, as if she were seeing the words on a sheet of paper rather than drawing them out of thin air,

"for the first time, I believed almost for one split second that you were actually giving in," she added, her voice now distant.

Gil watched her, feeling helpless to do much else. Her hands were trembling, her skin shimmered from perspiration, her eyes in this darkness were like two inkwells, and were incredibly fevered.

Giving in? What is she talking about? Gil felt a sudden rush of horror sweep over him.

Sara finally turned back to him, "And then…tonight, when I told you I didn't remember how I got home…you looked…relieved…" she swallowed, "relieved…" she said again, "like if I remembered you'd be mortified…like it would be a living nightmare…"

He was speechless, and now realising how incredibly foolish he'd been to believe she wouldn't remember. At the same time, he was incredibly curious to understand, with so much alcohol in her system how had she been able to remember anything at all? He wished there was a button on his dashboard that would make him shrink into nothingness just so he could escape how utterly humiliated he was beginning to feel.

"You were…relieved," she said again.

Gil remained silent, he looked away from her, and stared at the steering wheel, his mouth was open, but he couldn't seem to find any words whatsoever to respond with. She was right. He had been relieved when he'd thought she didn't remember, and now, he was mortified that he knew she did.

"I might have been so drunk I could barely stand straight, but I remember so vividly…" she was talking through gritted teeth now, "how when you leaned close and talked into my ear about how we could go back to my apartment – together – that I felt like I'd just won the emotional lottery. I'd never been so blissfully happy before as I was right then."

He was torn between the two halves of himself. His head screamed that he needed to get out of this situation, and his heart screamed to be in it – because it was something. It was an emotional exchange, and it could go further if only he'd say the right words – or if only he could actually say anything at all.

He turned back to her again, his expression guilty. He wasn't sure how to react to any of this anymore, so he tried to remain indifferent.

"I can still remember the tingles I felt when I moved over to unbutton your shirt in the cab and you told me I had to wait. I remember feeling like a teenager again as I held your hand…your fingers twined with mine," she swallowed.

Gil swallowed too – swallowed the emotion back before it could surface, he was afraid if it did he might speak his true feelings.

"I remember the rapture I felt when I kissed your throat…I know even you had to have felt something then…"

I did, Gil thought dejectedly. I really did. If only I had the guts to tell her that.

Sara opened the door of the car and climbed out, "it wasn't even about the fact that I thought we might have sex that made me accept when you suggested we go back to my place. It wasn't about that at all…it was about the thought that maybe I'd wake up, and you'd just be there, and that from that moment on every time I did wake up you'd be there," her eyes were glistening with tears, but were full of a dangerous ferocity and passion he'd never seen before.

Gil tried to speak, but couldn't get anything out. He was tongue tied, and helpless. His heart

"But I woke up alone…and that reminded me…of how stupid I had been – to believe for one minute that you'd actually been brave enough to make a decision that didn't involve hiding behind a microscope!" she cried at him, her voice full of fury, "I felt so incredibly foolish! I would have given you anything last night. Anything – and you knew it. And it was just a stupid game to you, wasn't it? You played it to get me out of there because you didn't want guilt of leaving me there – which is so typically you. You didn't want to 'feel' at all. But cruelly you let me feel even more for you than I usually let myself and you were counting on me not remembering. But I do, Grissom. I do."

Gil finally found words within himself, and they were just full of empty excuse. "I just wanted to get you home safe, that was all. I was just…a victim of choices…bad choices…but…I never meant to hurt you…"

"Well you did," she slammed the door, but it merely gave the same lifeless thud it always did.

Sara had left him sitting in the parking lot alone, she disappeared into her building, the buildings back entrance door slammed shut behind her.

Gil sighed and looked down at the steering wheel again, knowing right then how much he had really truly messed everything up with one bad decision. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to apologise for this, and he wasn't sure she'd ever be able to forgive him, either.

Sighing, he started up the car and pulled out of the parking lot. Her words kept running through his head over and over again.

'You let me feel even more for you than I usually let myself'.

'You were counting on me not remembering'.

'But I do, Grissom, I do'.