Disclaimer: Not mine, but I do own a copy of the new TV Guide for next week, which has two pages on the season finale. Actually, I don't own that copy either, I just ripped the page from my brother's subscription.
Author's Notes: This chapter doesn't have too much Greg and Sara, but I had to push through some other stuff before I could get to them. Please let me know what you think, honestly--good or bad, I can take it.
Oh, and a warning, I did drop a few curse words towards the end. I normally don't use those (in speech or in writing) but they seemed to fit, and they flowed from my fingers before I could censor them.
I didn't think I'd finish this tonight, but I'm relieved to see I did. If it would have been written earlier this evening, poor Sara may have died, luckily, I placed a call to my Mom and cried to her for an hour, then the same to both of my brothers and my sister. Needless to say, I wrote this in only about 45 minutes. I was fueled by frustration. My job is awful, well, the job's great, the people are awful. It's so much funnier when they're picking on other people, it's not that funny when it's you. Our resident clown, Sam, has always been my pal, from the day I started working as a trainee in the sheriff's office back in 1999, but he picked on me so much today that I locked myself in the file room and cried for my entire lunch hour. I'm having flashbacks of middle school every time I walk in the office. And, to top it all off, my A/C is broken, and while last week it was cool (lows in the 60s, highs in the upper 70s) this week, it's miserable. It got into the 90s today. And my brother can fix it, but he's "busy" until Friday, so my daughter and I are stuck sleeping next to this one tiny box fan I was able to find, running the risk of being robbed with the big door open and the screen door shut, and the windows wide open to let the mosquitos in.
Jenny
Six:
Greg paced the break room nervously, letting out a frustrated growl as Sara's voice mail picked up yet again. She had dialed his cell phone nearly 15 minutes earlier, and when he answered, he was rewarded with silence.
His first reaction was to panic, why would she call and not talk, nor hang up? After calling her name for several minutes, he decided to hang up and call her back.
He dialed her home phone first, which rang fifteen times before he gave up, then her cell phone, which went to her voicemail after 4 rings. He proceeded to call both numbers again, trying to remain calm. Maybe she had dialed his number by mistake and was screening her calls. Maybe her ringers were turned off so she could rest?
Of course, all positive reasoning was being clouded by the sinking feeling of doom, along with the nagging voice in his head telling him he should go check on her, she could have hurt herself, she could have been robbed, she could need help.
He decided to call her one more time, and if he didn't get an answer, he was going to go by her apartment. After all, if it wasn't an emergency and she had called him by mistake, the worst that could happen would be her telling him to leave. At least it would give him another chance to reassure himself that she was alright. Her voicemail picked up again, and he left a third message for her to call him back immediately, fear pounding in his chest.
He threw his Styrofoam coffee cup away, quickly walking from the break room to Grissom's office, fear growing in his chest. He had almost reached his destination when Grissom walked out, the two nearly colliding in the hallway.
"Good, I was looking for you. Miriam Kits, Anna Thomas's neighbor-the one who called with a possible lead-has arrived for questioning, Brass wants you to meet him down there. Sophia is waiting on a suspect from last week's B&E and I am on my way to meet Warrick at our crime scene from earlier. As soon as you're through talking to her, I want a full report, I'll have my pager and my cell." Grissom said, Greg following in step beside him as they moved towards the reception area.
Greg shook his head, "Gris, can you get Sophia or someone to cover for me with the neighbor? I--"
"Greg, Sophia and I are spread thin right now, she's working three cases. Whatever you need to do can wait until after you talk to Mrs. Kits." Grissom said, the annoyance he felt clearly heard in his voice. "Honestly, Greg, you ask for more responsibility, and as soon as I give it to you, you're backing--"
Greg shook his head firmly, interrupting Grissom, "It's Sara."
"What about Sara?" Grissom asked, the annoyance draining from his voice, concern replacing it, "What is going on?"
"I got a call from her cell, but there was just silence, and I've been trying to call her back and she's not picking up. I know she's been, er, sick for a few days, and I wanted to run by her apartment and make sure everything was okay." Greg said nervously, looking down at the ground, hoping his boss would agree to send Greg to Sara's. If one name caused a soft spot in Grissom's cold heart, it was Sara's. "It's not like her to not answer her phone."
Grissom nodded, pulling out his cell and dialing Sara's number. After her voicemail picked up, he snapped his phone closed and sighed, "I'm sure she's fine. She's probably just sleeping. As soon you finish with Mrs. Kits, you can go to see Sara."
"What if something's seriously wrong with her!" Greg exclaimed, drawing the attention of Catherine and Nick, who had been coming from the other direction, deep in conversation over their current case. "Grissom, you've got to let me go!"
Catherine motioned for Nick to wait as she took a few steps closer to Grissom, "What's going on?"
"It's nothing, Catherine," Grissom said cooly, glancing down at his watch, "Greg, you've got someone waiting for you."
Greg turned towards Catherine, knowing she was usually able to talk a little sense into his dense supervisor, "Sara's been out sick for a few days. She's having some...personal...problems, and she's been really upset. She called my cell and when I answered, I just got dead air. I called her back, and she's not picking up. I wanted to go check on her, but obviously the neighbor of our victim is more important than Sara is."
"Gil, Greg, both of you need to calm down." Catherine said gently, watching as the two men began to glare at each other. "I'm about to leave anyway, I'll stop by her apartment and make sure everything is okay. Greg, you can go to your interview, Gil you can do whatever you need to do. I'll call both of you and let you know if she's okay."
Nick stepped forward, clearing his throat softly, "Cath, why don't I go? You can head on to the hotel and see if you can get some information from the manager on our case. I don't know if you going to see Sara is a good idea."
"What? Nicky, don't be ridiculous. Just because we're not best friends, doesn't mean we can't be civil." Catherine snapped, looking to Grissom and Greg for support, but seeing hesitation instead. Her left hand flew to her hip as she asked, "You all think we can't get along, even for a little while, don't you?"
Greg sighed tiredly, "Catherine, it's not like that. We all know about the blowup between the two of you earlier this year, I just don't think Sara's up for dealing with another fight."
"We were having a bad night. We've spoken, nicely, since then. It'll be fine. Nick, go on to the hotel and I'll meet you there. I promise I'll be nice." Catherine said, upset that they all thought she couldn't handle being civil with Sara for awhile. Just because they had argued didn't mean they hated each other, sometimes people argue, it's a fact of life.
"Oh, okay." Greg sighed, the disappointment and worry clear on his face, "Just call as soon as you get there, okay?"
Catherine nodded, heading in the opposite direction from the men, wondering if she had made the right decision. Apparently the others thought she couldn't handle a friendly chat with the younger woman, but what led them to that conclusion? Was it something Sara had voiced? Did her younger colleague still hold some residual anger from that night? What was she going to find when she arrived at Sara's?
By the time she backed out of her parking spot, she was starting to think she should have offered to question Greg's witness.
Sara's apartment was on the second floor of a beautiful complex, and although Catherine certainly did not miss her apartment days, she did make a mental note that if she was to move into an apartment again, it would be in a complex such as this. She knocked on Sara's heavy oak door, able to hear the faint sounds of the television coming from inside. She had seen Sara's SUV parked in the parking lot, so the possibility of Sara being away was slim, which meant she was in the apartment.
Catherine had called several times, but had not received an answer. She, like Greg, had thought maybe the phone had been turned off, but as she dialed the now-familiar number again, she was able to hear it ringing inside of the apartment. Now even Catherine was starting to worry.
There were several logical possibilities; Sara could be in the shower, she could be asleep, she could be screening her calls, she could be at a neighbor's apartment. She knocked again, her heart pounding as no movement was detected in the apartment.
She turned the knob, surprised to see Sara's door was unlocked. She would have expected Sara to be the type of person who locked, bolted, and chained her doors, especially dealing with the crazy people they dealt with every day. She slowly walked in, calling out Sara's name, getting goosebumps as she didn't receive an answer.
She shut the door behind her, calling Sara's name again, and sighing with relief when she spotted Sara in the living room, sprawled out on the couch, appearing to be asleep. At least there was no blood. She walked to the younger woman, careful not to make any sudden loud noises that could possibly startle Sara into reacting in a violent move of self defense. She reached out and shook Sara's shoulder lightly, relieved to see her skin was warm, and her chest was rising and falling, indicating that she was indeed alive. Greg would be relieved.
She noticed the cell phone laying on the floor, as if it dropped from Sara's reach during the call, and she flipped it closed, a smirk crossing her lips as it beeped, saying she had missed 17 calls. It was then that she noticed the empty beer bottles on the coffee table. The mother in Catherine slid a magazine off of the stack beside the table, resting the remaining beer, which was sweating onto the table, on the pages, so there wouldn't be a water ring left on Sara's table.
"Sara, hon, wake up." Catherine said, a little louder. She had not expected to have to deal with a passed-out-drunk Sara. She shook her a little harder than before, "Sara, come on, I don't have time for this."
She got no response from the younger woman, and Catherine picked up the beer bottles, going in the kitchen to try and determine how many Sara actually drank. She was surprised to see that the three and a half she was holding was Sara's complete consumption, but her surprise soon turned to worry. 3 beers, even 4, wasn't enough to bring anyone to unconsciousness, especially someone who had been known to drink, really drink, on occasion. There had to be something she was missing.
When she walked into the living room once more, she noticed what she had overlooked the first time. Hidden between a bowl of half-eaten pretzels and the magazine Catherine had just converted to a coaster, laid two pharmacy bottles. Picking them up, Catherine tried to fight the sinking sensation in her stomach.
Sara wouldn't do anything rash, would she? Catherine was mildly disgusted to realize she didn't know what Sara would do, lately. She slid the cap off of the bottle, quickly counting the pills and checking the label, groaning when she saw the alcohol warning. 3 pills, at 50 mg each, was 150 mg, which definitely wasn't enough to do any serious damage. She slid the white pills back into the bottle, deciding to wake Sara up for her own peace of mind. She was pretty sure the younger woman was alright, after all, she was breathing normally, and besides being a bit pale, she looked alright. She grabbed Sara's wrist and felt for a pulse, which was slightly elevated, but nothing to worry over.
"Sara, you need to wake up now." Catherine hissed, shaking her again, still getting no response. Sighing, Catherine pulled the younger woman into a sitting position, relieved when she let out a low moan.
Catherine shook her again, "Sara, hon, you need to get into bed, okay?"
"Leave me alone." Sara mumbled, her head falling slightly to the side as she started to slide back into darkness.
Catherine pulled Sara to her feet, surprised to feel how heavy Sara's weight was, despite her small body, "Come on, just a few steps, okay?"
"Go away." Sara mumbled, trying to pull away, her eyes finally opening and trying to adjust, "Catherine? You're not Greg."
Catherine shook her head, "No, I'm not. He had to interview someone from the case you guys are working on." She wasn't about to admit it to Sara, but she felt so relieved to see Sara becoming more and more alert, "You shouldn't drink while taking medication, you know."
"I know." Sara said softly, trying to pull away from Catherine, but giving up as she felt dizziness wash through her, leaving her unsteady, "I wasn't thinking," She paused, the fog that had surrounded her brain lifting slightly, "What are you doing here?"
"Greg was worried, he wanted someone to check on you." Catherine replied, opening Sara's bedroom door, "Where are your pajamas?"
Sara sat on the bed, motioning to the dresser, and eyed Catherine curiously, "Why did you come?"
"Why not?" Catherine asked, "I was worried, too."
Sara shook her head, "You don't need to worry about me. Greg's just paranoid."
"You could have done some serious damage to yourself." Catherine reprimanded, tossing her a pair of pajamas, "Your prescription was for once-a-day, and you've already taken three on the first day. That's not a good start."
Sara pressed her lips together as she tried to find a response. Sighing, she answered, "One didn't seem to do the trick. It's not like it was a lethal dosage, some people are taking prescriptions higher than those three pills combined."
"Some people aren't getting drunk at home." Catherine pointed out, "Doctors know what they're doing, they measure how much you take based on your medical history, weight, condition..."
Sara rolled her eyes, "I know. I just needed to take the edge off. Overdose is better than Russian Roulette, isn't it?"
The instant the words exited her mouth, Sara wanted to take them back. It had always been a bad habit of hers to say what was on her mind without thinking it through, and while she normally controlled it well, her disoriented mind wasn't filtering as carefully as it should be. Catherine's face paled slightly, and she let her jaw open in shock, "Sara Sidle, I know I must have heard that wrong."
"I don't want to talk about it." Sara said glumly, wishing she could crawl under the covers, but knowing that after that statement, Catherine would probably crawl under them as well, just to keep the subject open. Even if they weren't getting alone, Catherine wasn't one to let a comment like that slip through the cracks, none of her co-workers were. "I didn't mean it."
Catherine rolled her eyes, "You wouldn't have said it if you didn't mean it. You can talk to me, Sara. You can trust me."
"Yeah, right." Mentally, Sara was screaming at herself to keep her brain-to-mouth filter on, knowing that if she spoke the first things that came to her mind, she and Catherine would probably end up physically fighting before the night was through. Even though she wanted to stop herself, the haze surrounding her brain wouldn't allow it, and in a half-drugged, half-drunk stupor, she snapped, "You'd tell everyone. We all know you are a gossip."
Catherine didn't react as Sara expected, instead, she sat next to Sara on the bed, "I know everyone thinks I'm a gossip, since I know everyone's business. But I can keep a secret, I keep a lot of secrets. Sometimes it just feels better to get things off of your chest. We'd all miss you if you were gone."
"Give me a fucking break." Sara snapped, her body tingling with sudden anger, instantly alert and on edge. "You, Nicky, and Warrick wouldn't even know the difference. Grissom would be relieved he didn't have to do the love-hate thing anymore, Sophia would be overjoyed that she was the only woman on shift. Greg would miss me, but he'd move on too. I know you care, don't get me wrong, but I wouldn't go as far as saying you'd miss me. We rarely see each other as it is. Give me a break, Cath, just give me a fucking break."
Sara was now pacing the room angrily, her entire body shaking from the emotions racing through her body. She felt so out of control, so livid, and she couldn't control an ounce of it. She knew there was no logical reason for her to be so bitter and angry, yet she couldn't stop the words that flowed from her mouth, she couldn't stop saying things she knew would hurt Catherine, as much as she wanted to stop them.
"You act so high and mighty, Miss-I-Got-A-Promotion-And-Now-I'm-The-Boss. It makes me sick. Sure, you've been here for years, but you blew up the fucking lab! And then you move to a new shift, with the only two people I can confide in, and I'm stuck with Greg and Sophia, the dumb twit and the new kid, and Grissom, who is emotionally brain-dead. Sure, Greg grew on me, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm left with the crappy team, the oblivious supervisor, and everyone else gets to be happy and move on. I'll be a stupid CSI 3 working grave until the day I die. And when I think of it that way, I'd rather it be sooner than later."
She spun around, cutting Catherine's comeback off, pointing her finger at the other woman, "Don't tell me you've never considered it. You were a dancer, you were a coke-head, don't you even try and deny it because I know it's true, and you went through hell in your marriage, just to leave you a single mom who never gets to see her kid. Don't tell me you've never thought about it! Guess what, Catherine, you can think you'd miss me all you want to, and you can try to guilt me into changing my mind, but the fact is, no one would even notice I was gone. And sure, I will get over my mood, and I probably wouldn't kill myself anyway, but it's not going to be because you don't want me to, or because Grissom doesn't want me to, or even because Greg doesn't want me to. It's about me, now. Okay? I'm tired of pretending anyone else on this lousy Earth gives a damn about me."
Her anger was starting to lose a bit of it's momentum, the fatigue settling in once more, leaving her physically and emotionally drained. This mood swings were killing her, making her feel crazier than she already felt.
The silence was louder than Sara's ranting, and after a few moments, Catherine couldn't take it anymore and asked, "Why do you think no one would care? I thought we were your friends?"
Sara turned to face Catherine, her eyes shining with tears, although her cold voice was steady, "Friends? Friends call each other just to visit. Friends notice when things are wrong. There was a time when I'd miss two days of work and Warrick and Nick would both call to check on me. There was a time when I would have been interrogated by my friends if I spent every day crying in the locker room. A friend would have called to check on me when I had a weapon held to my throat by a crazy suspect. None of us are friends. Maybe, at some point, we were, but not anymore. We work together, we all make nice and try to get along, but all of the feelings are gone. You don't notice that? Are you really that oblivious? Here I was, thinking you noticed everything. How did you get to be a Miss-Know-It-All without being observant?"
"Sara, you're being irrational. Sure, it's different with people working separate shifts, but it doesn't change friendships. People don't just stop being friends." Catherine reasoned.
She was worried for Sara, she had never seen the younger woman so worked up and upset, so bitter and angry. It was a side of Sara she definitely didn't want to see again, and with each moment that passed, her uneasiness multiplied exponentially.
Sara shook her head, "See, maybe that's how it works when you're beautiful, smart, and adored. But where the rest of us live, below your line of standards, apparently, it happens all of the time."
She sank onto the bed, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill over, "Did you know I was pregnant?"
"You're pregnant?" Catherine asked, her head whipping around to the brunette, "Since when?"
Sara shook her head, her anger now fully deflated and replaced with the heavy burden of grief, "I was, until earlier this week. 17 weeks, and I had a miscarriage. See, a friend would have known that."
"Who knew? Why didn't anyone tell me? Grissom didn't mention anything--" Catherine's questions were fired in rapid succession, this revelation explaining a lot about Sara's mood. If she had just lost a baby, she'd probably be just as emotional, just as devastated, just as angry and bitter as Sara was behaving. She reached out to touch Sara's arm, her feelings slightly hurt as Sara flinched and pulled away. She took a deep breath, knowing that this was hard for Sara, that she shouldn't take it personally, then waited for Sara to continue speaking.
Sara shook her head, looking down at the floor, "Grissom didn't know. I didn't even know until recently. Greg said he knew something was up, but he hadn't put the pieces together. I suspected, but didn't want to face the truth of it until just a few weeks ago." She exhaled heavily, her chest once again stabbing with pain, "I'm sorry, I didn't meant to yell at you. I've been feeling so...crazy...lately. I can't seem to get my head on straight."
Catherine sighed, reaching out and touching Sara's arm gently, "Your body is going through a lot of changes, you are going to be acting irrational and crazy until your hormones go back to normal. You just need to try and focus on the good things, whether you believe it or not, we would all be devastated if something happened to you. You shouldn't be alone right now, not like this."
"I just want to go to bed." Sara said softly, pulling away from Catherine so the blonde wouldn't see her tears. She couldn't break down in front of Catherine, not after blowing up seconds earlier. Where had that come from? That was so unlike her...of course, she had been doing so many things that was very unlike her lately. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she realized how stupid she must look right now. How did she get into these messes?
Catherine handed Sara the pajamas once more, "Change, I'll call my Mom and tell her that I'll be home later, and I'll stay to help you if you need anything. You should be resting."
"I'm fine, Cath." Sara said quickly, her automatic response to any statement that would indicate otherwise. Seeing Catherine's incredulous look, she amended her statement, "Okay, I may not be fine yet, but I will be. You don't have to stay, go home to your daughter."
Catherine shook her head, "No, I would feel awful forever if I didn't do this. Consider it a peace offering for that fight a few months back, okay? Change, go to bed, get some sleep, and when you wake up I'll fix breakfast, okay?"
"You really don't have to do this." Sara insisted, although her body craved the feeling of being taken care of. It had been so long since someone had taken care of her, save Greg the night of the miscarriage, and she had to admit that it felt nice, having someone do exactly what she pictured a mother doing. She had never been babied or really cared for, she and her brother looked out for themselves, their parents were too busy with their lives to take care of their children the way children were supposed to be taken care of.
As Catherine went into 'mother mode' and started dishing out orders about resting and drinking fluids and taking pain medication (after seeing Sara stiffly bend down to pick up the pajama bottoms she had dropped), Sara started to relax. For as often as Sara had pictured whacking Catherine's head right off her shoulders for being pushy and condescending, when it was being directed towards her in this manner, it was sort of nice.
As she settled down in bed, her emotional outburst leaving her completely drained and desiring another Zoloft, she couldn't help but wish Greg was there with her, because as much as Catherine made her feel warm and cozy, Greg made her feel sane. She looked at the clock as her eyes closed, relieved that his shift would be over in just a few short hours, and hoping he'd come by her apartment before going home.
On the other side of the apartment, Catherine began to tidy up Sara's living room and kitchen, her cell phone against her ear as she dialed Grissom's number. Sure, Greg had begged to be called, but before she reassured him that Sara was alive and kicking, she felt the urge to inform Grissom of the situation.
She had seen women on the edge before, when she was dancing it was a common theme among the girls at the club, but she had never pictured Sara in that position. The cold, bitter, detached look had frightened her, and while opening up and releasing some of her anger had seemed to help the younger woman, it was obvious she was still struggling with the demons inside of her. She knew Sara wouldn't let her get close enough to really help, but she also knew that if someone didn't, Sara's saga would not have a happy ending.
TBC- Coming up, Sara and Greg have a heart-to-heart, which leads to a co-ed shower...you'll read the next part to find out what I mean...