Author's Note: I'd like to thank everyone for their kind feedback so far, I really appreciate it. Keep telling me what you think, please, because I feel like I'm getting disillusioned with this story and I need to know if people are still enjoying it.
An Exercise in Futility: Chapter five
"Hi".
Grissom lifted his head, cocking an eyebrow slightly as Sara's gentle cadence interrupted his thoughts. She paused in the doorway, striding hesitantly into his office.
"Hey," he replied slowly.
She drew in a breath, perhaps bracing herself for whatever awkward conversation was sure to follow, sitting in the chair opposite his. She looked nice that night. She usually did. Her brunette locks coiled in loose curls around her pretty features, and her beige blouse contrasted nicely with her pale skin. She wasn't a classic beauty, or as confidently striking as Catherine was, but there was an aura of subtle beauty about her that always had the ability to draw him in, fuelling his untapped inner desire.
It was a feeling he normally ignored.
Yet tonight, now he knew there was someone out there, someone who had once loved her, who had possessed the piece of her heart Grissom would never allow himself to own, it stirred something in him, and he drank in the sight of her with something akin to envy.
Sara thought she understood him, he knew that. She thought that he was genuinely ignorant to her advances, that he was aware of their lingering attraction but it didn't plague his every waking moment.
Even the way she was looking at him now he could see it, how she gently met his gaze as if she expected him to be intimidated by her very presence. He hated that she thought he didn't feel anything for her, that he wasn't aware that he led her on with his gentle overtones or measured glances. He knew exactly what he did to her and he was sorry for it. He was sorry that he couldn't let her go, that he self-sabotaged his own efforts to finally resist her.
"How did your lead go this afternoon?" she asked politely.
He knew that wasn't why she was there, but they always retreated behind the thick veneer of professionalism. They were always safer there.
He closed his folder, lowering his glasses over the bridge of his nose. Sara was studying him with a strange, distant expression on her face, and he wondered what she thinking. "Veronique was at Club Obscure with a few friends the night before she died. We haven't been able to get their names yet. Apparently she was quite a regular there. That's about all we know".
She nodded, looking down at his paperweight silently. "So those semen samples—"
"--Have no DNA for comparison yet", he finished glibly. He frowned, hating to go down this path, but knowing that he must. "Sara… I know you don't want your… friend to be guilty, but there is a possibility that the evidence will indicate that".
Her brow furrowed impatiently, frustration fraying at her edges. "What motive does he have, Grissom?"
"Well, he was sleeping with her", he reminded her quietly. "There might be a lot of things we don't know about him".
Sara slumped back in her chair, an unusual sign of defeat in his presence. She ran a hand wearily over her eyes, obviously functioning on very little sleep. "I am going to have to get a statement from him", he reminded her after a while.
She nodded, staring distantly at his desk again. "Yeah."
He found her reaction to this case puzzling. He knew she felt a personal affinity with victims of domestic abuse, and she campaigned for those cases with unwavering strength and passion. This time someone she knew was directly involved, and it seemed like she was unable to handle it. He wondered if he was witnessing Sara Sidle's walls crumbling for the final time.
Contemplative silence was not unusual between them, but it was usually after she left him with some unintentional comment about their quasi relationship. Sara still hadn't moved from her seat, and she slowly lifted her eyes to his, shifting upright in her chair. "Do you remember your first love, Grissom?"
Grissom blinked, taken aback by the sudden question. By her tone of voice, she could have been discussing something as mundane as the weather, but her earnest expression suggested otherwise. Discussing love with Sara was a volatile concept. He cleared his throat, unconsciously tapping his pen against his topmost folder as a show of nervousness. "I don't think anybody ever really forgets it".
She smiled slightly, but he got the feeling her thoughts were far away. "How old were you when you met her?"
Grissom sighed inwardly. This was a subject he hadn't even discussed with Catherine, in their better moments. "I just finished my last year of college", he answered reluctantly.
Her eyes slid languidly over his, as if she was just returning from her distant reverie. She frowned slightly, as if considering what he had just revealed to her. That Gil Grissom really could love somebody.
Her soft tone swept over him, belying the irritation behind her next words. "Then if you even think about telling me not to get so personally involved in this case, maybe you should think about her, and then understand what I'm feeling right now".
Slowly, she rose to her feet, moving towards the door to his office. "Unless you have any objections to it, Ronnie's going to brief me on the death threats in QD."
When he typically said nothing, she nodded briskly, and disappeared down the hall. He frowned, considering what she too, had just revealed to him about her relationship with Myles.
Perhaps more than he'd ever wanted to know. Now he couldn't merely brush him off as another minor threat, a face from her colourful, yet limitlessly mysterious past. He was her first love. And even Grissom, in his introverted cocoon of isolation and eternal bachelorhood, knew the constant mark that left on the soul.
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San Francisco, California
1988
"Edith Wharton, huh?"
Sara's head snapped up, blinking stupidly in the mid-afternoon sunlight at the familiar hovering presence. "What?"
"The book you're reading? Edith Wharton?"
Sara glanced down again, attempting to refocus her fuzzy concentration on the page she had remained fixed on for the last fifteen minutes. It was a futile endeavour. "Oh. Yeah. Right".
Myles slumped down onto the lawn beside her, glancing up at the heavy trunk of the massive oak tree sprawled across half of the Forrester front yard. It was a favourite place of hers, to sit, to escape from the bleak reality of her limited world. "So. Did you visit her?"
Sara sighed, closing the book on her folded legs. English wasn't really her strong suit anyway. "Yeah. I saw her".
She wasn't quite sure if she regretted confiding in Myles or not. He hadn't advertised it, brandishing the childhood label she'd learned to live with long ago, but she's also learnt that knowledge equalled power. She wasn't sure if she should have given that to him so easily.
Myles nodded at her stilted response, obviously not attempting to pry. "How did it go?"
She shrugged, leaning back against the tree, ignoring the protruding roots as they dug into her thighs. He sounded genuinely concerned, but she had to ask herself why he cared so much. "Fine. She… just wanted to check up on me. See how I was doing here".
"What did you tell her?"
She scoffed, brushing off her worn jeans as she rose to her feet above him. "What do you think I told her?" she reiterated ironically. "I lied."
He nodded; remaining sprawled on the ground, arms supporting his weight as he leaned back casually. His eyes took on a serious quality, and she tilted her head at him cautiously.
"Listen. I came here to ask you if you were going out with Ryan tonight".
Sara shrugged. If she was perfectly honest with herself, the thought of loosing her despair in the bottom of a few bottles of beer was brightening up her otherwise lacklustre weekend.
Myles nodded, smiling humourlessly at her silence. "Yeah. I thought so".
She frowned. She was getting sick of his big brother routine. She certainly didn't need to rely on anyone, least of all someone she couldn't quite get a read on. "You are, aren't you?" she snapped pointedly, snatching her other books brusquely from underneath the tree. "What the hell business is it of yours, exactly?"
"I'm just trying to look out for you".
"Well, as much as I need your help, I've taken care of myself this long. I'm sure I can do it a little longer."
Myles sighed, looking down at the uneven patches of grass, furrowing his brow grimly. "There's nothing wrong with letting somebody help you, Sunshine".
Sara narrowed her eyes. Her self-preservation instincts were coming on strong. "Thanks, but I'm doing just fine on my own".
She stalked swiftly into the rundown house, a place she would never be able to refer to as home, irritated by his unexplainable hero-complex, and his constant attempts to drive a wedge between herself and Ryan. Ryan wasn't an ideal foster brother, but he protected her from Paul and his wife and that was an automatic code of honour in their way of life.
After a while, she heard a motor rev and the roar of Myles' car as he sped off down the street.
It wasn't until much later that she remembered Ryan was visiting someone halfway across town, and Myles had no other reason to come to their house… except to see her.
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Las Vegas, NevadaPresent Day
Horses moved swiftly across the barren field, graceful, limber feet carrying them across the earth with a freedom she briefly envied, resting her slender arms on the wooden posts, watching the beautiful creatures with indulgent fascination.
She took in the dusty, bleak desert atmosphere. It reminded her dimly of childhood visits at Sam's ranch, a memory now tainted with the knowledge of his true role in her life as absentee father.
Catherine sighed, flicking her blonde hair absently over her shoulder, glancing back as Warrick strode up to meet her.
His blue eyes hovered over hers briefly, his own movements graceful and measured, possessing a sort of raw sensuality she found secretly appealing.
"Senator Hollander refused to give his horses up to animal control", he announced, coming to a stop beside her. He turned his head, glancing out in the direction she had stared, cool counternance belying any effect their surroundings might have had on him. "They're in an enclosure over there. He said we can examine them on his property".
He was such a copy of Grissom sometimes it frightened her a little. She loved Grissom, even if their current cold spat was a particularly nasty one and her wounded pride was fragmenting their already fragile relationship, but Warrick was the other sole constant in her life. He was warm where Grissom was often seen as cold. He was empathetic like Sara and Nick without the extra baggage. He came from a background he wasn't proud of, like her, and worked past it to be the best that he could be.
"Well", she said in response, rolling her sleeves up irritably from the subversive heat. "That's just peachy. This investigation gets more complicated every minute".
"Don't I know it", he agreed quietly. They started walking down the narrow slope towards the distant enclosure, and Warrick unconsciously guided her path with one hand on her elbow.
His hand was warm and rough, and she allowed her eyes to drift down, and admire the difference between their textures.
"So, how are we going to go about this, exactly?"
They paused outside the small paddock, where the four animals involved in trampling Veronique Hollander's corpse grazed carelessly.
Warrick leant against the wooden posts, glancing at her to wait her opinion. He deferred to her supervision with a quiet respect that she appreciated. She felt like he understood how difficult the sudden transition was. She remembered the day Grissom left him in charge of nightshift with Nick and Sara, and decided perhaps he did know how it felt. Friends and colleagues one moment, boss and employee the next.
"Do you think maybe we need an animal handler or… something?"
He looked adorably dubious, and she climbed up onto the fence, sliding over to the other side with graceful ease. Her body wasn't as limber as it once was, but the familiar movements of the exotic dancer in her weren't far away.
"City boy", she teased, approaching one of the horses with confidence born from years of experience. "They won't do anything to hurt us, will you boy?" she said soothingly, allowing her hands to slowly travel over its velvety nose.
She felt Warrick's gaze on her, fascinated, as she lifted the front hoof of the magnificent animal, examining the shoe for any hints of trace evidence.
"Hey, can you get my kit in here, Warrick?" she asked humorously, feeling a smirk pull at the corner of her lips.
Warrick ducked through the fence, hefting her kit and depositing it at her side. He removed a pair of tweezers, handing them to her as she continued her inspection.
Their hands brushed briefly, and she shot him a smile, before bending to carefully retrieve a small shred of fabric. "Doesn't look like our girl's", she noted, holding it up for him to see as she released the horse's leg.
Warrick nodded, glancing at it thoughtfully. "Maybe our suspect got involved in a struggle".
"And then released the horses to hide the evidence", she agreed, shaking her head.
She checked the horses other shoes, then took several moments in her attempt to attract the next one, a beautiful white Arabian. Its soft coat glistened in the brilliant overhead sun. She could see the Senator had gone to great lengths to protect its vulnerable coat, and ran her hand over its side gently.
"So how do you know so much about horses?" Warrick asked idly, watching her as she examined this ones hooves too.
"Come on, Warrick", she said with a grin, feeling a foreign playfulness colour her actions. "I was the girliest of the girls. Pony club."
He laughed, a short, low sound that sent shivers down her spine. "How could I miss that one? Has Lindsey gone through that phase yet?"
She thought of Sam, and his tempts to win his granddaughter's loyalty through riding lessons and pretty gifts. "You might say that", she answered, smile disappearing as a quiet sigh escaped her lips.
Warrick nodded, obviously sensing he had stepped into some taboo territory. He cleared his throat. "So, what do you make of this Davies guy, anyway?" he said after a while, broaching a less uncomfortable topic. "The one from Sara's heyday?"
Catherine shrugged, patting the horse on the rump as she released it reluctantly. "I honestly don't know what to make of it, Warrick".
"Hmm. She's got a few secrets though, that girl", he mused vaguely; leaning back against the pine post as he labelled the evidence she had collected.
"We all have secrets", Catherine commented dryly. She sealed the evidence bag, returning to crouch over her kit as she placed it safely inside.
"Yeah", he agreed, lifting his eyebrows in silent acknowledgement. "Sara though… you have to admit… there's something up with her lately."
"Please", she replied impatiently. It was not within her ability to be sympathetic about Sara. "There's always something up with her".
She realised that they had finally reversed roles. Catherine had always been the one on Grissom's side, and Sara was now in that position. She wasn't quite sure how they had developed that sudden bond, but it bothered her, more than she was willing to admit.
"This guy, though, you said so yourself he has a criminal record", Warrick persisted quietly. She wondered why. He wasn't one for gossip, so she could only assume he was concerned for his friend. He had been perhaps the most adverse to Sara, when she first arrived on the scene. Nowadays, at least until recently, they were reasonably close. "You think she's got a bit of a wild past somewhere in there?"
Catherine grinned. She couldn't help it. "Sara?" she rejoined disbelievingly. "Miss. Straight and Narrow? I… don't think so, Warrick".
He shrugged loosely, but she could see he wasn't so convinced. "We've known her, what, five years now? How much do we really know about her? She's goes out for a beer with us, sure. She's close with Greg and Nick, so I don't know what she tells them, but I don't think we know her as well as we think we do."
She sighed, silently agreeing with his unexpected insight. He was right. Their extended family, or what was left of it, was even more distanced than when they started.
"Yeah", she murmured, and suddenly it hit her. She realised why Grissom was acting so strangely lately. She was generally very insightful on the behaviour of others, yet she was so involved with her own newfound difficulties, it had never even occurred to her. She had found it odd when he had suddenly defended Sara over her for her behaviour prior to her suspension, but she had never really thought about it properly until now.
He knew something they didn't. He knew something about Sara.
She paused, slowly rising from her crouch on the dusty ground. Grissom's best friend would have badgered him until she had exactly what it was he knew, and then guided him on how to address it-- but his colleague resisted taking any action. After all, it was none of her business, was it? So why did she suddenly feel like she had a huge burden on her shoulders?
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