Author's Notes: I didn't mean to make it this long, I swear. The chapter just kind of ran away with itself. For those of you in doubt, this is a GSR fic (though it really is Sara centred), though I must admit I'm falling a little in love with Myles.
I can't believe of all the names I could have chosen, Myles Davies – or Miles Davies- is actually a singer. I did not know that, so I hope it can be ignored.
Gravedigger Resurrection: I can't believe we thought of the same idea! Even the nickname -cue Twilight Zone-esque music- I hope this fulfils your expectations. (And I doubt I could write it better, because I love your stories!).
Thank you for all of the feedback so far. I was amazed by the response.
An Exercise in Futility: Chapter two
San Francisco, California
1988
"Where have you been?"
The rough, condescending voice of her foster father would have scared her once, had she not been so accustomed to the sound.
He was slumped low in his easychair, a position she was sure he hadn't moved from all day. He lowered the bottle of beer from his lips long enough to glare at her, like she was at fault for his inability to move or do anything constructive.
Sara drew in a calming sigh, glancing at Paul briefly as she hefted her weighty backpack against her shoulder. "The library. I was studying."
He scoffed, tilting his head back and taking a long mouthful from the bottle. "That's new."
She continued on her way to her room, ignoring his scorn. She dumped the books on her bed, glancing down at the mess of clothes scattered in haphazard piles on the blue carpet. She had been such a meticulous person before she was moved into the system. If she had stopped to think about it, it would have worried her by how much her sense of isolation was stripping her of her personality.
The truth was, what Myles had said to her the other night, or what she could remember of it, had disturbed her enough to make her sacrifice her whole afternoon in the library. She was surprised to find how much she enjoyed the quiet solace of the building, and decided it was one method of escape she hadn't considered before now.
Her room looked presentable to the untrained eye, but having lived in it for three weeks, Sara had already found several things definitely bordering on health inspection standards. The ceiling leaked whenever it rained, peeling the wallpaper where it met the floor, and concealing hidden mould and other bacteria. She was certain the carpet alone masked the stories of many defenceless children before her; stained with the suffering they had endured from their duration with the Foresters.
Sara pulled her curly hair back into a tight ponytail, making a space for herself on the bed and lying on her back. The mattress was lumpy and uncomfortable, but her slender frame had adapted to its discomfort, and she felt herself sliding off into weary sleep.
When her eyes craned open again later, it was to the sound of distorted voices bellowing through the thin walls, and the sound of shattering glass and china. The sound wasn't unfamiliar, but there was an increased hint of fury in it that made her bolt upright on the bed.
Her hand closed around the doorknob before she could consider the ramifications of her actions, and she slid out into the hall, footfalls soundless on the carpet against Paul's drunken string of obscenities.
Her hands were clammy against her jeans as she paused in the hall just beyond the living room, and Paul's shouts became more identifiable.
"You ungrateful little shit—you got any idea how much it costs to keep you around here?"
"When you take out the booze, I'm guessing not much", Ryan's familiar voice countered hatefully.
"I'll show you how to talk to me like that—"
The sound of flesh against bone was so unmistakable Sara emerged from her haven, bursting out into the living room with her heart pounding frantically in her chest.
Ryan wasn't alone. Myles was with him, and she had to momentarily question his loyalty when he had so vehemently warned her against him a few nights before.
They stood near the messy kitchen counter, and Ryan was toppled against it, bracing himself with one hand as he cradled his split lip with the other.
Paul's eyes were bloodshot and unsteady, but he was still clearly lucid enough to deliver a painful blow. Myles grabbed Ryan roughly by the arm as he made to move forward and return it, heaving angrily.
"Don't do it, man. Don't", he insisted, broad frame surprisingly adept at holding his friend in check.
Paul chuckled scornfully, empty beer bottle crashing loudly as he kicked it with his foot on the floor. "That's right, hold him back. He's not man enough to do anything about it anyway".
Ryan surged forward, and Myles threw him back again, slamming his body with such force his back hit the kitchen cabinets, rattling the doors.
"Stop it!" Sara found herself yelling, stalking further into the room.
Paul glanced back at her, laughing shortly. "Well, look who's decided to come out of their room! That's a first. Got something to add, Sara? Go ahead, do it".
"We're fine, Sara", Ryan muttered roughly, mopping up the steady dribble of blood on his chin with the back of his hand.
Paul scoffed humourlessly, striding back into the living room, and brushing roughly by Sara on his way. "Yeah. Got plenty of other kids who can take your place. I'm sure the group home'd be happy to have you back in there".
Sara knew the group home was akin to Juvy as far as Ryan was concerned, and he sagged against the counter, wordlessly admitting his defeat. Paul made a garbled sound of satisfaction as he strode down the hall, door reverberating loudly as he retreated into his bedroom.
Sara swallowed, glancing at her foster brother in concern as he ground his teeth, glaring after Paul's departing back with a murderous glint in his steely blue eyes.
It was an expression she suddenly recognised, and it filled her with a momentary burst of fear. She realised that it would be a good idea to heed Myles' warning, and that she really didn't know Ryan well enough at all.
Myles was the first to react, reaching for some paper towels beside the sink. "Here."
He handed them to Ryan, who snatched them mutely from his hands; muttering something under his breath as he stalked past both of them, screen door slamming as he disappeared into the night.
Sara didn't want to think about where he might be going.
She lifted her gaze reluctantly to Myles, who was staring after Ryan tiredly.
"They don't usually get that bad", she said quietly.
When he glanced at her, she continued hesitantly. "The fights, I mean. Paul never normally hits him."
He eyed her, strangely attentively. "You all right?"
She frowned, surprised someone had even thought to ask her that. "Yeah… I'm fine".
He nodded, expression distant, but grimly satisfied by her response. "Good. I'm glad… you're okay".
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Las Vegas, Nevada
Present Day
There's had been a relationship of exhilarating highs and equally desolate lows; one of intense, mind-numbingly powerful physical longing and eventually, developing into one of deep, inner emotional reliance as well; a need that ran so deeply it left her struggling to recover her sense of self when they were over.
Myles stared at her, his hooded, intense brown eyes glimpsing deep into her soul. She blinked back at him helplessly, like a vulnerable child, unwittingly revealing this real self of hers, the one only he had the ability to draw out.
Her past and present violently collided as she was consumed by the sight of his handsome, older features, appraising her with silent appreciation, sliding into a gentle, gracious smile.
She felt herself momentarily slipping away from her surroundings, allowing the others to become mere shadows in the back of her consciousness; Nick, and Grissom, a man for whom her feelings were so undefinable and ill-fated.
She always knew where she was with Myles. She never had to second-guess his motives, and it was an assurance of her childhood innocence she briefly mourned for.
"Myles", she murmured softly, the name sliding between her lips like a reverent prayer.
She realised Grissom and Nick were staring at her, and straightened, forcing her thoughts to bring her back to the present.
He grinned, a motion that crinkled the lines around his eyes, accentuating the years lost between them. "Hello, Sunshine".
There was no mistaking the intimacy in the statement, and she would have blushed, had she not been so irretrievably focused on his eyes, the ones that had always read her so acutely.
Nick cleared his throat, not so subtly snapping her from her haze, and she could see the smirk of amusement tugging at his lips. She drew in deep breath, clenching her kit tightly, vowing to curtail his interest later. "Uh, this is Myles Davies. We know each other from… San Francisco."
"Nick Stokes", Nick offered politely, reaching forward to shake his hand. "Nice to meet you".
Grissom did so with much more dampened enthusiasm, accepting Myles' outstretched hand after a minor, noticeable pause.
"I'm a ranch hand here". He glanced at Nick. "I spoke to you earlier".
Nick nodded, leading Sara to believe he was filing away every comment he might have made for later reference. "You wanted to speak to us about something?"
"Uh, yeah…" His eyes flitted over Sara, and she knew he would be too distracted to make his statement while she was there.
"Why don't I, um, go help Catherine and Warrick finish up their processing?" Sara suggested quickly. "We can… catch up later".
Myles nodded, and she glanced back at Grissom and Nick briefly before continuing in the direction they had been headed, feeling her heart hammer painfully all the way.
She had reached the cool interior of the house before she realised Grissom had followed her, and she stopped in the middle of the impressively modern kitchen, glancing at him uncertainly.
If he had any personal prejudice against Myles, it didn't show on his face. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, lowering his kit to the floor at his feet.
"Nick's taking the statement", he said expressionlessly, snapping on a fresh pair of gloves as his eyes surveyed the room.
She marvelled at his inability to show any emotion, and wondered if Myles' appearance even affected him at all. Then she wondered why she cared. They were not, nor had ever been, in a relationship. She did not have to feel guilty about anything.
She opened her mouth to say something-- and Catherine strode into the room, with Warrick moving silently at her heels.
"We finished the bedroom", she announced, blue eyes moving between them indolently.
Grissom straightened, turning his attention to her with a firm business-like efficiency. "Did you find anything?"
She nodded, gesturing to several evidence bags in her kit. "Seems like our young Miss Hollander led quite a busy lifestyle. The ALS uncovered various contributions of semen on her sheets, and that doesn't even count the toys we found in the back of her closet". She chuckled humourlessly. "Very kinky stuff. Enough to make even me blush".
Sara wondered, dimly, why Catherine felt the need to validate her sexual experience every opportunity she got. It certainly wasn't going to earn Grissom's respect—something she was more than certain Catherine wanted back.
"Plus there was the stash of X tablets in her bathroom", Warrick added, depositing his kit near Catherine's.
Grissom lifted an eyebrow. "I wonder if her parents are aware of her extracurricular activities".
Catherine scoffed. "Please. I don't think the Senator or his wife even remember they have a child. This is classic crying out for attention kind of behaviour".
"Well, according to Nick, more than a few members of staff have seen her letting nighttime visitors into the house", Grissom said.
Warrick shrugged. "I get the feeling Senator Hollander isn't here even when he is here, if you know what I mean. His office has a conference camera hooked up to his computer system and about seven outside lines. The guy wouldn't notice if a burglar came in and ran off with the silverware".
"It's an election year", Catherine noted. "He wouldn't know the meaning of a holiday".
Warrick glanced around at the vast kitchen. The four of them were gathered in one corner, and Sara estimated the size of the room alone to be about as big as her apartment. "There's something that doesn't sit right with me in this house", he admitted slowly.
"Nothing's ever as simple as it seems", Catherine agreed quietly, offering him a brief glance, and Sara wondered if she and Grissom had ever appeared that obvious to the others.
"Brass is still talking to the parents", the blonde added, gazing over their shoulder as if realising someone was missing for the first time. "Where's Nick?"
Grissom glanced at Sara, and a fleeting flash of emotion passed behind his eyes. She frowned, considering its meaning.
"He's interviewing one of the ranch hands who thinks they might know something".
He didn't mention her association with him, and she was relieved. She didn't need Warrick and Catherine's added curiosity.
Catherine nodded, accepting his statement without noticing the look pass between them. "Okay. Warrick and I are going to head back to the lab and get this evidence processed. Do you think we can get Greg in on this? It looks like it's going to be a lot".
Grissom sighed, nodding slowly. "That should be fine. I'm sure he would have wrapped up his B & E by now".
"Great. We haven't processed the rest of the house yet."
Grissom nodded, accepting her subtle order without comment. Sara was well aware they were on shaky ground here. This was technically swing shift's case, and Catherine was the one in charge.
Warrick and Catherine left the room, and Grissom glanced at her slowly. "I think we should see what Brass has to say before we finish processing".
"Okay", she said quietly, following behind him as they entered the living room.
Like the rest of the house, it was pristine and white, and in meticulous order. It looked barely lived in. The sofa was cream leather, circular in shape and ultra modern. In the middle of the room was a large LCD screen, and the floor was swathed by an expensive Oriental rug, adding the only splash of colour to the room and looking out of place in its antiquity.
Senator Hollander and his wife were seated on the sofa, facing a twin set of floor to ceiling windows that spilled light into the room, and highlighted the tears glistening on Mrs. Hollander's face. She was young, Sara realised, in her early thirties at most, too young to be Veronique's mother. It was something Brass had obviously taken into account as well, and he sat stiffly opposite the couple, attempting to convey an expression of sympathy over his gruff features.
He glanced up when Sara and Grissom neared, nodding slightly and turning back to Veronique's parents. "Senator, Mrs. Hollander, this is Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle from the Crime Lab. They're going to be some of the investigators working on your daughter's case."
The Senator glanced up at them sharply, looking incensed with rage. "I want to know who was responsible for this."
"We're going to do everything we can, Senator", Grissom said calmly.
Brass nodded, rising to his feet. "Excuse us for a moment, please".
He led them into the corner of the room, and the only other sound was Mrs. Hollander's muffled sobbing.
"They're not giving much", Brass reported tiredly. "They don't know enough about their daughter's life to give us a list of enemies. She's been a student at NYU for three years, and she comes to Vegas with her parents about once a year. According to them, she doesn't see much of them then, either".
"Or they don't see much of her", Sara muttered.
Brass shrugged. "They showed me the death threats, which had been considered as a harmless political ploy until now. The Senator thinks she's just being targeted because she's his daughter. I bagged them".
He held forward the evidence bags, which Sara accepted mutely.
Brass continued. "Veronique's mother died when she was fifteen. Senator Hollander thinks she's been difficult ever since. He married his current wife about the time Veronique went off to college".
"Driving an ever bigger wedge between him and his daughter", Grissom mused.
Sara glanced over at the woman, who appeared genuinely distressed. She frowned slightly. "She seems pretty upset."
Brass shrugged. "Seems a little too forced, if you ask me. I've seen enough parents loose their kids to know when I'm seeing a show".
Sara frowned thoughtfully. "Well, if it is fake, I wonder what they're trying so hard to hide".
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Sara wiped her hand absently across her brow as she loaded several evidence bags into the back of Grissom's Tahoe, feeling the sticky perspiration collecting at the nape of her slender neck.
"So. The men have got you doing manual labour now, huh?"
She glanced around, swallowing hoarsely when she realised Myles stood casually behind her, watching her work. She had almost allowed herself to forget about his presence, immersing herself in the mundane simplicity of her job.
She smiled dimly, lowering her gaze to number several bags with marker, masking the sudden flutter of nervousness that overcame her.
"I was wondering if I was going to see you again before I left".
He shrugged loosely, smiling with that easy, rare grin of his. "I've been around. I wanted to wait until your colleagues were gone. I didn't think you'd want us catching up with them looking over your shoulder".
She glanced at him, realising he had the same ability to understand her that he always had. She had often tried to minimise their relationship as some minor high school crush in her memory, but seeing him in front of her now, in the flesh, made her know it had been anything but.
"How are you?" she asked softly, keeping her gaze fixed on her hands as she worked.
She saw Myles shrug vaguely. "I'm fine. I always am."
He leant against the rear of the car beside her, making it impossible for her not to stop and look up at him. "How about you? I haven't seen you since you rode off to Harvard in a blaze of glory."
She felt a smile tug at her lips at the picture he painted. "I'm really good. I've made a life for myself here".
"I can see that", he agreed amiably. "So this is what little Sara Sidle grew up to be. An investigator. Solving crimes. I like it. It has some kind of poetry to it".
Sara glanced down again, depositing the last of the bags in the tray. "How long have you been in Las Vegas?"
Myles folded his arms. His strong, lean arms bristled with hidden strength, and she drew in a breath, wondering at this lingering attraction. Was it because they had always seemed so unfinished? Was it because… Grissom frustrated her so much, unrelenting in his determination to keep distance between them?
"About four months", he answered. "But if I'd known you were here, I would have looked you up a lot sooner".
"I'll bet", she answered, somewhat cynically, lowering the trunk of the car with a slam.
Myles lifted an eyebrow. "Sunshine… You know that was all for the best. There's no point rehashing the past".
Sara sometimes wondered if she lived in the past. She nodded, turning to him reluctantly. "I know. You're right".
Myles studied her, leaning away from the car thoughtfully. "So am I allowed to see you? Or is that against your supervisor's rules?"
He jerked his head behind pointedly them, and she glanced around, gaze fixing involuntarily on Grissom's steadily approaching figure.
She wondered how Myles had already worked out that Grissom was her supervisor—unless Nick had mentioned it. Maybe he was the one who was supposed to be the investigator.
"No, it's fine", she said. She retrieved a piece of paper from her pocket, scrawling out her address and phone number with such speed she hoped it was discernable.
Myles smiled, perhaps too knowingly, as Grissom drew to a halt beside them.
"Ready to go?" he asked smoothly, eyes shifting between them briefly.
Sara nodded quickly, gaze wavering uncertainly over Myles as she was filled with a sudden, newfound discomfort, wondering if she should introduce them again.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Grissom", Myles offered politely, nodding his acknowledgment and saving her the dilemma. He met her stare meaningfully, holding it for a moment longer than necessary. "Later, Sunshine".
He strode off towards the stables with a relaxed ease that she envied at that moment, and Sara swallowed, feeling drawn by the pull of Grissom's gaze. His expression was unreadable, and he met her eyes for a split second before they flickered away just as rapidly.
"Let's go".
She followed him into the car, wondering dimly if his terse response was out of jealousy, or because she was now unwittingly guilty of the very same crime Catherine had slighted him for.
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