Hot Cross Buns on Steel
TEASER: Sara suffers a confinement almost as traumatic as Nick's. Well, maybe not QUITE as traumatic as "almost". More like "reminiscent of" in a sick and twisted sitcom kind of way. Response to the 7-11-05 Unbound Improv Challenge.
RATING: T for violence and language.
SPOILERS: Through Season 5.
DISCLAIMERS: In my dreams, I'm wealthy enough to make Bruckheimer, et al., an offer they can't refuse. Alas, this dream has not yet come true, so nothing except what little plot there may be here belongs to me, and I'm not making any money from that, either.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Reviews appreciated, archived at my site, and America is returning to manned space flight (may Discovery launch and return without incident)! First and last lines given, 1000 word limit for the story itself; according to MS Word 2003, I made it with 46 words to spare.
CSI CSI CSI
"Any chance this is a drug induced hallucination?" Sara and Hodges had been trapped in the cramped storage closet for over an hour and there had been no indication that anyone had noticed them missing. Her cell phone was on her desk and even if she had it with her, there was no signal in the building's central core.
The temperature in the dark, unventilated room climbed over 100. She was hot and cross and her buns hurt where she was pressed up against a steel shelving unit. She could imagine the imprint left there by the wire supports.
"Don't you like my company, Sara?"
If she had the room to raise her arms, she'd have given him a right-left cross on the chin.
"I'm sure you would find me far more entertaining and erudite than Sanders if you ever gave me the chance."
"Hodges, I'd rather be trapped in here with Grissom's entire tarantula zoo than with you."
"Lucky for me the tarantulas aren't here, then. I can't think of anyone I'd rather be trapped with. Well, Catherine, but she'd pass the time doing what comes naturally."
"Don't go there." Sara had her issues with Catherine, but she wouldn't stand by while he defamed the swing shift supervisor's character.
Even in the dark, she could see the feral glint in Hodges' eyes. "She would, you know. I've heard stories about her and Warrick that would melt the ice in your veins."
So had she, but she ignored idle gossip rather than speculate on the lives of her friends when she wanted the unattainable. "If you open your mouth one more time, Hodges, I will not be responsible for your condition when we're found."
She heaved a sigh of relief at his silence, leaving her to stew – or bake, she wasn't sure – in her own thoughts.
That led to Grissom. He had been more open than he ever had been and more tolerant of her idiosyncrasies lately. Definitely more protective, but that would fade once he stopped having nightmares about Nick. He had even told her about his nightmares.
Grissom's nightmares! The thought struck her hard enough to stagger her against the steel shelf, dislodging several items and causing an avalanche of boxes around her.
She heard Hodges scrambling around to pick up the detritus, but when his hand clamped around her ankle and crept up her calf, she kicked hard.
He crashed against the metal door, bone clanging against hollow steel, and screamed out. "Shit, Sidle! That hurt, damn it."
"Too bad, Hodges. You crossed the line and you got what you deserve. When I file the report, the fact that you removed the doorstop will make this look intentional."
"You bitch."
"Sucks to be you."
"You gave me a concussion." His voice trailed off and she heard him slide down the wall to the floor, most likely unconscious. She knew she should care more than she did, and she might later. For now, he could rot in hell with the worst of the men and women they had put away over the years.
Outside the door, Sara heard yelling. It only took her a few seconds to realize it was Grissom calling her name, then the guilt that had caused the avalanche overtook her again. She hadn't been answering her phone, her cell phone, or her pager. She wasn't at her desk to answer e-mail or the in-house instant messaging system. He must be reliving Nick's nightmare.
She pushed past Hodges to get to the door and pounded hard on it. "Grissom! I'm in here!"
"Sara! Thank God. Are you okay?"
His muffled voice was the sweetest sound she'd heard in a long time. "I am now."
"We're getting the building manager out of bed. Hang on, honey."
Honey. He must really be panicked – and alone – to have let that slip. "Grissom, talk to me?" The request came out in the way she used to ask her father to read to her when she thought he was sober.
He did, for over an hour, during which she checked Hodges' vitals every few minutes just to assuage her conscience as she calmed down.
Grissom told her about his childhood, about growing up without a father and with a mother whose hearing was completely gone by the time he was seven. He told her about the ant farms, bee hives, and tarantula terrariums that made up his social circles as a teen, and about the day he was offered the job as an LA county coroner. He told her about how much he didn't want to go to Cambridge to do the lectures where they met, but how thankful he was in the end that he went. "I can't imagine what my life would be like if we had never met, Sara."
She wondered how much more he would say, but other voices rose in the hallway, followed in quick succession by a heated argument, the repeated insertion of keys into the deadbolt, and at long last, an open door.
Hodges fell out into the hallway, but Grissom stepped over him to envelop her in his arms. Sara couldn't have said later who tended to Hodges, but someone must have because after a while she and Grissom were alone in the hallway.
Without warning, preamble or fanfare, he kissed her. A stomach lurching, heart rending kiss of such passion that she felt her knees give way under her as he held her against him.
When they parted after a long moment, he smiled down at her, let her go, and walked off without a word.
Sara stared off into space, wondering which one of them would be the first to pretend this never happened.
--Fin--