Author's Note: Special thanks to Ghibli (Marlou) for her recommendation at YTDAW (as you can see I make a note of these things, considering the length of time between chapters!). And of course, to everyone who reviewed. We've hit the 100 mark!
An Exercise in Futility: Chapter eight
Las Vegas, Nevada
2005
Her office was empty, but that didn't come as much of a surprise to Warrick. He got the feeling it had become more of a burden to her than a safe haven. A reminder of her new, perhaps unwanted responsibilities instead of a symbol of her success.
After several minutes of attempting to imitate Catherine's way of thinking, he found himself ascending the cinderblock stairs to the roof, and shoving through the noisy door at their peak.
There, as he had expected, Catherine stood facing the very edge of the rooftop, blonde locks billowing freely around her face. Her back was turned to him, but he could read in the sudden tenseness of her frame that she had detected his approach, and he slowed his steps to a leisurely speed.
"You want to talk about it?"
He was aware that their relationship was strained now. Ecklie had succeeded in straining all of their relationships, when they had been such a close-knit family to begin with. Confiding in him for Catherine was no longer a confidence to an old friend, but a confidence to an employee. Their familiarity on this latest case had almost caused him to forget the permanent shift in their dynamic.
So as he expected her to, without turning her face to him, Catherine shook her head.
Warrick hesitated, feeling as if he were on the edge of something far more perilous than a rooftop. Slowly, he inched forward, coming to a halt a respectful distance from Catherine's side. She started vaguely out at the darkened horizon, as if she could somehow identify the indistinct locations among the limitless shimmer of lights.
"You know, I used to come up here when I was a rookie", she announced unexpectedly, unwilling to draw her eyes away from their current position. "I was the only woman in a field full of men and I was never going to show any of them weakness."
He smiled slightly, imaging a younger version of the woman he knew now. Yes, he could definitely see it.
"So whenever I couldn't handle a case – which was most of the time – I would come up here and puzzle it out. It was one way of coping, anyway. It gave me perspective on some difficult situations".
"Is it working now?"
She finally turned, staring at him with her haunted, glimmering green eyes before smiling humourlessly. "I had an argument with Grissom before," she said abruptly, immediately rolling her eyes at her choice of words. "Well, I wouldn't call it an argument, considering I did most of the talking and he just kind of sat there."
Warrick lifted an inscrutable eyebrow. That would certainly account for the added tension. "Sara?"
"Was part of it, yeah. But that wasn't really… I don't know what it was about".
He doubted that, but he held his tongue and let Catherine continue. The fact that she trusted him enough to speak called for his silence. "I… overreacted with Sara before. Hell, I more than overreacted. I'm not going to go back on what I said, but she didn't deserve to hear it like that. I…" She scoffed pitifully, looking upward as if the heavens could somehow offer her answers. "I don't know what I'm going to do about all of this, Warrick. I just seem to keep making everything worse."
Warrick frowned, gaze sliding over her in the dim lights. Tears glistened in her eyes, belying her earlier claim about weakness, and she furiously blinked them away.
"Sara's going through a hard time and it has Grissom distracted", Warrick said gently. "You know better than anyone that we just have to give those two their space when they're acting like this".
Catherine nodded, frowning slightly. "Yeah."
He pursed his lips awkwardly, inwardly sighing when she turned her attention back to the skyline, seamlessly joining with the dark, glittery city below. He didn't think his advice had comforted her at all, but he didn't know what else to say without crossing any invisible boundaries. For the first time, he thought he understood the tenuous balance Grissom and Sara were forced to endure every day in order to maintain their working relationship. He could pity his co-workers on a whole new level, and grimly contemplated the state of his own predicament. He didn't know what was going on with Catherine, but there had been a subtle shift in their usual playful chemistry months before their workplace changes. Catherine's promotion had put a damper on whatever might have developed, but now he couldn't help but wonder…
"You look like you're thinking hard, Warrick".
He blinked, realising that Catherine had managed to shift the focus of their conversation onto him. It was clever, and only came from someone who was well experienced at diverting personal scrutiny.
"I was just thinking about the case", he lied quietly.
Catherine studied him a moment further, shrugging when she obviously failed to decipher the true emotions fighting for release behind his deep blue eyes. "Do you think Davies did it?"
"I don't know", he admitted, frowning. "Even the evidence is circumstantial…"
"Well, unfortunately for Sara, I don't think it matters if he did it or not. The Sheriff wants a scapegoat, and Myles fits the profile. A criminal record, an illicit relationship with the victim, evidence open to interpretation… everything's there."
"Yeah. Except one thing", Warrick argued distastefully.
She glanced at him, looking weary beyond her years. "What's that?"
"Proof".
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Sara was halfway to the parking lot before Grissom even managed to react to her sudden flight path. The night air struck him with abrasive coldness, and he tucked up the collar of his shirt before quickening his pace after her, spotting a flash of brown hair as she weaved between two vehicles hindering the way to her dormant SUV.
"Sara", he called, resenting the way his tone sounded like a reprimand even as he halted abruptly behind her.
Sara stilled, hand resting against the polished rear of her car. She reluctantly turned, looking hopelessly torn as she allowed her eyes to dart over him. "I don't have time to—"
"Where are you going to go?" he interrupted flatly. "Myles had already been arrested—there's nothing you can do. We have no jurisdiction. We only go as far as collecting the evidence". He hated himself for the way he sounded so insensitive and callous. Someone she loved had been accused of murder, and he was reminding her that there was nothing she could do. She had had hope stolen from her for her entire life, and here he was, repeating the cycle.
"I know that", she snapped bluntly, frustration fraying at her edges, threatening to unwind her completely. "I can't just… You don't understand. I can't just let them do this to him".
"We always knew there were going to be political ramifications for this case—"
"Have you ever cared about a case personally, Grissom?" she interrupted fiercely.
He paused, caught off-guard by the ferocity behind her remark.
"It's not part of our job to feel for the victims, or the suspects. You know what happens to people who do."
Sara scowled impatiently, glaring at him in the glow of overhead lights like he was a piece of evidence she couldn't quite understand. He knew an emotionally standoffish boss was not what she needed right then. It didn't stop him from acting like one.
"I know that, Grissom. That's not the question I asked. I'm asking you, as a human being with emotions, not as a CSI, if you've ever felt some kind of empathy for someone during a case".
He stared at her, met her directly in the eye, and lied. "No".
Sara saw through him with an ease that was frightening, clutching her car keys at her side with violent force. "It's nice to see that you can be honest with me".
"Sara…"
"You are a hypocrite, Grissom. Do you want me to make a list of the times I can remember that you have gotten personally involved? The Anderson baby. The Strip Strangler. Lady Heather". She glared at him pointedly. "Debbie Marlin".
He shifted uncomfortably at the evidence she piled against him; not to mention the pointed reference to his prior romantic entanglement, and to the woman who shared her face. "That was different".
"Why?" she rejoined swiftly, with an awareness that made him uneasy. "What made it different? I am not stupid, Grissom. Stop treating me like I am. And stop acting like your interest in this case is out of any sort of misplaced concern for me, because we both know it's not".
Abruptly, she turned towards her car, slamming the door as she climbed behind the driver's seat, and starting the engine. Grissom watched her, remaining motionless as she backed out of the lot, staring after her as her taillights disappeared in the distance. Only then could he really process what she had just said to him. Only then could he feel disappointment, not in her for finally acknowledging the reason for their newfound tension, but in him, for failing to respond.
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"I can't believe they even let us in here."
Warrick frowned, glancing at Catherine as she idly snapped on a pair of latex gloves, flicking the light switch with an air of practiced nonchalance.
"I can't believe you told them we're collecting evidence to solidify Davies' case."
She shrugged, having seemingly regaining some of her old energy now that she had found a way to help. "We might be. They just don't need to know that we came here to clear him, not put him away".
Warrick lifted an eyebrow at her straightforward assurance, watching as she sifted through a pile of papers on Veronique's desk. "So… When did we make the decision that Myles is innocent, and not guilty?"
Catherine paused, turning to glance at him carefully. "Sara did. I'm just following her lead here".
He smiled faintly, securing his own gloves, before turning to examine the other side of Veronique's massive, blue swathed bedroom. Catherine was making a conscious effort to regain Grissom's trust and mend her fences with Sara, and it reassured him immensely. Maybe there was still hope after all.
Veronique's bedroom, like the rest of the incredible ranch house, was twice the size of what would be considered a normal counterpart, with ceilings that stretched high above the walls, ensuring its added sensitivity to the surrounding desert climate. Posters of contemporary rock artists and punk bands littered the walls, and DVDs and books lined the shelves, as well as pictures of her many friends. Warrick frowned, fingering a frame briefly, taking in the unguarded, happy Veronique in a party setting. The picture her parents and employees painted did not match with the young girl he saw. They needed an accurate depiction if they were to understand their crime, and her friends were the ones who could provide it. They just needed to find out exactly who they were, first.
He allowed his eyes to drift over to Catherine, crouched over a scattered pile of books on the floor. She had recovered from her minor breakdown earlier that night, but an added vulnerability had replaced her usual confidant demeanour. He understood that Grissom felt a more pressing responsibility towards Sara, considering that she still worked for him, and Catherine didn't. However Warrick thought years of friendship should count for something, but apparently, they didn't.
He felt a loyalty towards Catherine, not only because she was his boss, but also because they had a lasting friendship and he understood that things in her life hadn't been easy. Grissom had the same awareness, and yet he refused to see how he was hurting her. Sometimes, he wished that Grissom would make an effort to understand his people, and be the mentor he knew they all thought him as.
He sighed, sliding his index finger over the books on the shelves, noting the diversity in their titles. "What did Veronique actually major in?"
Catherine flipped open the cover of one title, furrowing her brow slightly. "Politics, I think".
Warrick lifted an eyebrow. Apparently she had felt some affinity with her father, if she was willing to follow in his footsteps. He wondered what had changed. "I guess he had her foot in the door, with that one".
"Mmm." She straightened, brushing off her slacks. "Apparently she was a pretty smart girl. Her father told Brass she excelled in all of her classes".
"Hey", he said, glimpsing a black leather bound diary peering out from the edge of the bookcase. He slid it out, quickly thumbing through its contents. "Bingo".
"Day planner?"
"Yeah. There's some phone numbers in here too. We can get Brass to send some uniforms to check them out".
"What does it say the night before she died?"
He frowned, skimming through the last week until he found the correct day. "10:00am- Adonto's. 12:30pm- L at Tangiers. Mt. Claire and Richie. 9:00pm- Meet Ronnie at WP. Bring $$".
Catherine furrowed her brow. "Girl code. Great. Too bad we can't show it to Sara. She's usually pretty good at this stuff".
"Okay, well, she obviously had lunch at the Tangiers. Adonto's…"
"--Is a hair and nail place in Henderson," Catherine finished. He gave her a look, and she blinked back at him coyly. "What? I still find the time to pamper myself occasionally".
He chuckled lightly, flipping over the page. "WP? What's that?"
"I don't know, but she was scheduled to be there about an hour after she was seen at that society club. Didn't the witness there say she was on something when he saw her?"
"Yeah."
"Maybe she was getting ready to make another deal. And maybe 'Ronnie' was her dealer".
Warrick pursed his lips with a grim sort of purpose. They had a lead. They just didn't know if it was the right one yet.
"Maybe… he was her killer".
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Sara didn't know where she was going, but she regained her senses enough to acknowledge the irrationality in her actions and pulled over, kicking up a haze of dirt under her tyres.
She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against the steering wheel as the engine shuddered to a halt, unbuckling her seatbelt and listening dully to the click as it snapped back into place. She couldn't believe what she had just said to Grissom. After everything he had done, to support her and protect her job, she had thrown his kindness back in his face.
Myles did this to her. She thought it was love that made her irrational the first time around, but now, she knew better. She had no doubt that he was innocent, but that didn't mean he was safe to be around. He attracted trouble with more ease than a prize stallion ploughing its way through the Kentucky Derby, and now, he was dragging her along for the ride.
She had loved him, with all the gentle ease of her seventeen-year-old heart. He had saved her from herself, and now, she had to return the favour.
She couldn't go to the police station. Grissom was right about that. As a CSI she had no reason to be there, and as a civilian, even less. She could only hope that they would release him on bail, and they could clear his name by bombarding the defence with evidence.
As if on cue, her cell phone trilled in the darkness, and she took several moments to right herself and fumble across the passenger seat to find it.
"Sidle".
"Sunshine. You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice."
She closed her eyes, feeling tears well in her throat. "Yours too", she rasped, but she thought that might be a lie.
"You might have heard I've got myself in a tight spot".
"I heard", she answered, and her voice was tired.
"They said they could let me out on bail… I can pay you back, Sara. I have money hidden away".
"I'll be there in twenty minutes".
There was a long pause, and she heard the faint bustling sounds of the police department. Sounds she was once used to, sounds she had been part of. A well-oiled machine delivering justice to the city of Las Vegas. Now she was on the other side, and they were a foreign, enemy force. She was seventeen again, a poor, insignificant foster child with no hopes, ambitions, or future.
"Thanks, Sara".
She knew he was serious, when he used her first name. She knew he was sorry. It didn't make her feel any better. "Sure. I'll see you soon". She clicked her phone closed and dropped it on the upholstery, barely looking as she heard it thud and slide onto the floor.
She needed help. Badly. And she had just turned her back on the one person she would normally go to.
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San Francisco, California
1988
The carpet was coarse, and irritated the sensitive skin of her cheek. She blinked, feeling the throbbing in the base of her skull almost immediately, and the foul taste in her throat. She wanted to vomit, and rolled on her back, breathing in until the feeling of nausea passed.
She felt strangely secure in her surroundings, and it took her a moment to remember why. Warmth circled her arm, and she glanced down, seeing Myles' fingers tangled with her own. He was half upright against the sofa, head lolling on his side, weary features encumbered by slumber.
Sara blinked, watching the silent flicker of his eyelashes for a moment, straightening to a sitting position. They had kissed. There was… something, after all. He had stayed with her all night, even when she passed out on his floor.
Carefully, she extracted her fingers from his grasp, savouring their roughness. She realised that she didn't even know what he did, where he worked. She thought he might use his hands. They were the hands of a labourer, hands that knew hardships and pain, and persevered.
She winced as she rose to her feet, taking in the shards of sunlight playing over the cream carpet and illuminating her feet. She couldn't leave him after this, but she didn't know what she would say to him. Awkwardness was sure to follow. After all, in the light of day, would his choice really look so appealing? Would he regret what he had told her?
Cradling her arms mournfully by her sides, she noiselessly crossed the room, careful not to make a sound that would wake him. She was halfway to the door when it flew open, and Ryan appeared, looking mightily dishevelled.
"Myles, we have to—"
He stopped short at the sight of her, and she could quite easily imagine what she must have looked like. His eyes darted slowly over her shoulder, and she felt Myles shift to his feet behind her.
"Screwing my sister, Myles?"
"She's not your sister", Myles answered bluntly, taking several steps forward until he was beside her.
Ryan lifted an eyebrow, and Sara thought she detected an odd assortment of emotions rippling behind his exterior. He wasn't jealous, but he looked possessive. She thought she was finally catching a minute glimpse of the true relationship between Myles and Ryan. They weren't friends, and animosity lingered not far beneath their affable surface. Myles owed Ryan something, of that she was sure. Ryan, meanwhile, wanted Myles to have nothing that he perceived belonged to him. Including her.
"We have to talk", Ryan said abruptly, and there was no request in the statement. Myles glanced at Sara, his regret palphable. She smiled reassuringly, and for a moment she was tempted, his soothing, warm brown eyes begging her not to go.
Their sway was not enough to win her over, and she took a small, firm step back, wanting nothing more than to leave the room, and escape their strange dynamic.
"I have to go anyway."
Myles opened his mouth, and for the first time since she knew him, he looked troubled, caught, and unable to control what went on around him with his smooth words or eloquent charm.
She realised they really were two of a kind.
Offering him another, small smile, she backed away, and left him behind. She wanted to stay, and she knew he wanted her to stay too. But what she wanted and what she got were always two very different things.
It was the first of many lessons she would learn, in her relationship with Myles.
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