… part 2, chapter 9 …

"Sara?" he asked quietly, his voice taut with his own emotion.

"It's true," she said softly. "I'm sorry if it hurts you, but damn it, it's the truth."

Grissom was floored. "You could have talked to me about this… You should have talked to me about this."

"Look, I tried… a few times. But you 'felt it was best'. 'Not worth the risk', remember? That was the final straw you know. You took what I told you, in confidence, and you used it against me at work. You took my personal history into consideration in a professional environment. If I had known how you'd handle it, I would never have told you." She started pacing around the doorway, the frustration and agitation she'd held for God-Knows-How-Long was bubbling out from her. "I tolerated a lot from you; I think you are quite aware of just how much I've tolerated. If not, do say so, and I'll be happy to fill you in."

Grissom hurt. His whole being just hurt. He could accept himself as incompetent when it came to relationships. He could admit that he'd been wrong with how he'd handled his feelings for Sara. However, his pride and self-esteem were seriously burning at her words. He tried hard to be a good supervisor. He cared about everyone on his team, and tried to do his best for them. But, she felt he was a bad supervisor. She'd left CSI because of it.

"I'll take that as indication you are aware," she stated when he did not reply. "Then I'm sure you see the situation you put me in. I couldn't leave; you'd do something to make me stay. And since I'm a total asshole when it comes to that, whatever you did would most likely convince me that you cared, and I'd stay. I couldn't get promoted; you felt I wasn't ready. I couldn't work the higher profile cases; you thought I couldn't handle them. And it wasn't like I had any support from higher up; Ecklie's rise into power just about killed that. So what was left for me? Babysitting Greg? Playing second fiddle to Sofia? Transferring to work for Catherine? Or even worse, Ecklie? Please, do tell me where my career was going in Vegas, because I looked, real hard, and I sure didn't see it going anywhere. I saw it staying in one place – with you, at your discretion, and at your convenience. Whatever you wanted for me, in whatever warped way you saw me on that particular day, well, that's what I was going to get. Every day, until you retired or got hit by a bus."

Hit by a bus. That's nice. Grissom was slowly absorbing her point of view. In a way, she wasn't wrong. Where was her career going in Las Vegas? Then again, he didn't think that was important to her. It never crossed his mind that she'd want to climb the corporate ladder of CSI.

"I didn't know your career was that important to you," he said softly.

"Christ, Grissom, what else do I have? I'm closer to 40 than 30, I'm single, and there aren't any real prospects of marriage or children in my future. I own nothing except my clothes and my car, and as of right now, I have no savings and no permanent home. The apartment I'm staying in is part of the internship. Once it's over, I either stay here and get my own place, or I move on." She stopped, her grief taking hold of her voice. "I have nothing," she mumbled softly. "And if I stayed in Vegas, I'd have had nothing forever."

God. Grissom didn't think he could feel any smaller or more selfish than he felt at that moment. His only defense was that he didn't know she felt this way.

"I… didn't know. And you do not have 'nothing'. You have us, the team. You have Greg and Nick and Warrick and Catherine and Brass. And me."

"Oh don't you start with that. I never had you. And I never fit in. Not like you'd have noticed, but I didn't."

"Sara…"

"'Sara…' what?" she snarled. "It's just the way things were, Grissom. Look, I'm not saying anything new here, and you know it. It's the way things were. That's life. I had two weeks to think about it while I drove clear across the damn country. I may not like how my life turned out in Vegas, but it was what it was. It was my choice to come to CSI, and it was my choice to leave."

He stared at her, lost. She was one hundred percent correct, and he'd missed it all. He hadn't seen her point of view. Part of him wondered if he'd chosen to not see her point of view; blocking it out entirely. He knew he'd gotten caught up in dealing with her as a problem; as something that could hurt him both emotionally and professionally. He saw now that he'd downright neglected to supervise her as an employee. He didn't even view her as one. He had let his emotions affect how he handled her, from day one until even just now. It was him. It was his fault.

"For what it's worth," he said softly, head down, "I'm sorry."

"I know," she said, despair in her voice and tears in her eyes. "But I had to do what was best for me, okay?"

"I… I understand," he said complacently, watching her take her card and head for the door. Then rebellion roiled up within him. "Well, no. No, I don't."

Sara paused, her hand inches from the doorknob. "Excuse me? You don't?"

"No. I don't. If you were doing what was best for you, you wouldn't be here. You'd be on another case. I spoke with Dr. Nave, and he claimed that although you were uncomfortable with me, you were adamant about working this. You were never slow, Sara. If you truly want to do what is best for you, you should ask for a re-assignment."

Sara stared at him, slightly slack-jawed. It appeared he'd floored her just the way she'd floored him.

"Sara," he said simply, "I will admit to the mistakes I've made. And there are many of them. But I will not stand here and take full credit for this. You could have spoken with me. You should have spoken with me. Instead you left without a word to anyone."

Resentment and ire burned bright in her eyes, but it slowed to a simmer as she walked across the room and sat slowly on his bed with a light sigh. "It was the only way," she stated.

"I disagree."

"Yeah," she said, raising her head to shoot him a dark look, "you would."

They were silent for a while, Sara sitting on the edge of his bed, while he stood by the window facing her. He finally broke the silence with a soft murmur. "I don't have a solution for this. I don't know what to do."

"Neither do I." More silence. "We have to go to work soon," she said, looking down at her watch. "Michael will want to know the results…" Sara let her voice trail off.

Grissom swore silently, eyeing the camera sitting on the table by the door. He'd forgotten to take photos. Not like he'd want to have a documented history of the past hour. "We forgot about the camera," he told her.

"Oh… right." She stood slowly and walked back to the table, picking up the small camera. She flicked a small button on the side, exposing an unused roll of film. She carefully removed it, and shut the camera back. "Jon forgot to load film in the camera. What a shame."

Grissom walked towards her, and she handed him the unused film. "And I didn't have any. A shame"

"I'll brief Mike and then I'll meet you in A-3 to document … this and review the trace for Kathleen Umbridge."

"Okay. Sara…" he said, his tone serious.

She smiled softly at him. "We can talk about it later."

"I want you to come home. To Vegas. With me."

She sighed, her expression torn. "We can talk about it later."

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Grissom conveniently disposed of the film on the way to his rental car. He felt exhausted and relieved and excited and depressed - all at the same time. He knew why she left. One mystery solved. But the regret ate at him. It really was his fault.

He'd told her why he was here. And she didn't exactly run screaming from the room, and it didn't look like was she taking herself off the case, even though he'd called her on it. Something was still there between them. He knew it, and the burden he'd felt for years was lifting. She knew how he felt now. She had to. The incident in the shower left very little ambiguity. He wanted her.

And he told her what else he wanted. He was clear – her, with him, in Vegas. Where it went from here, well that was up to her.

He arrived at her lab, noting her car was already parked in the lot. As he got out, he heard a vaguely familiar voice call to him.

"Well, well, well… if it isn't Doctor Gilbert Grissom. Hello there, Gil."

Grissom turned, his memory registering the owner of that voice. "Charlie? Is that you? What the hell are you doing here?"

An older, leaner version of the Charles Rourdan he knew was walking intently towards him. Grissom met him halfway with a half-smile, the surprise clear on his face and the gears in his head spinning. Charlie is the head of San Fran CSR. Why is he here? Sara…?

A prickle of alarm went off at the same time Charlie growled, "Some promise. You fucking bastard." Grissom barely had time to register that yes, this was his friend, and yes, said friend was extremely angry, when Charlie's very solid right fist slammed into Grissom's jaw.

Pain shot through his head and white specks flickered in his dimmed vision. "Charlie?" he asked, raising his hand to his lip. It hurt, and he tasted blood.

"I can't believe you'd even have the balls to come here. How sadistic are you? Do you want to crush her even more? Haven't you done enough?" And with that, Charlie swung at him again. This time Grissom was prepared, and he dodged a second blow. He grabbed his friend's arm, holding it tightly.

"What is wrong with you?" he said as he stared Charlie down. Long repressed instincts were returning. Grissom could handle himself in a fight. Of course, he hadn't been in one in years, but when he was younger, he'd participated in his share of battles. Particularly in high school. Bullies left you alone if you could kick their ass, and you kicked a few just to prove it. Charlie was solid and strong, but Grissom had an inch or two on him.

The two men eyed one another, Grissom's grip never wavering and Charlie's muscles tightening beneath Grissom's hand. Both were poised to strike when Sara's voice broke their standoff.

"Charles!"

Grissom turned his head towards her, immediately releasing Charlie. Charlie stepped back, looking sullen and pissed.

Sara came storming over, and after getting a quick look at a bleeding Grissom, she glared at Charlie in full fury. "I can't believe you. What the hell do you think you're doing? Have you regressed to a grade school mentality now? You're what – defending my honor?"

Grissom found this interesting. Sara knew Charlie was upset at him, and she knew why.

She continued. "I told you to let it go. I specifically asked you to let it go. And this is how you keep your promises? Need I define for you the word 'hypocrite'? Or 'drama queen'?"

Charlie scowled, but said nothing. Sara turned, and focused her attention on Grissom, examining the blood and the redness on his cheek. It had been a solid hit, and Grissom suspected his jaw would be rather colorful by the end of the shift. She said nothing, and turned back to Charlie. "Take him inside and clean him up. If he files an assault charge on you, it's your own damn fault. And do not let Mike see him like that. I don't need the questions." She turned and stormed back into the building.

Charlie looked at Grissom, the anger still prevalent, but the rage residing. "You heard her. Let's go."

He followed as Charlie took him into a side room off of the kitchen area, and grabbed a first aid kit out of a cabinet. "I'm not apologizing," he stated bluntly. "You deserved it."

"Yes," Grissom replied, "I did."

Charlie raised an eyebrow at that as he handed Grissom some mild antibiotic cream, some gauze pads, and a small hand mirror. "So you admit it."

"Yes," Grissom said as he examined his face. His lip was split, all right. And his jaw was going to be sore. He rubbed it softly. OW.

"I should have clobbered you for taking her away from my lab."

"Tomorrow is another day."

Charlie smirked at that, and then frowned. "You cannot weasel your way out of this one. You broke your word. I trusted you. I trusted you would take care of her."

"Charlie, it got complicated."

"Bullshit. You let it get complicated."

"I thought I could handle it."

"Well, obviously you thought wrong, because now she's a wreck."

A wreck? "She seems to be doing all right. She left Vegas, after all."

Charlie continued to frown. "I couldn't even get her to resign. She would only do a leave of absence," he murmured, mostly to himself.

"You brought her here?" Grissom asked, his voice echoing into the common area. He looked around cautiously, wondering if anyone had overheard his outburst. He continued in a harsh whisper. "You brought her here? To this hell hole? Are you insane?"

"Hey," Charlie growled in defense, "this is my hell hole you're so graciously slandering."

Grissom paused, stunned. "You work here?"

"Yup."

"What happened to San Francisco? You were the head of their lab!" Grissom was shocked. Charlie was, in most instances, a good leader and a decent guy. His lab wasn't as highly ranked as Vegas, but it consistently made the top twenty, if not top ten in the country. And Charlie loved his job and loved California.

"I retired." Charlie was very simplistic about this, like it was an everyday occurrence for him to just up and leave everything he'd ever known.

"You… retired."

"Yup, and now I work here part-time. Just call me Charlie the Consultant."

Grissom tried not to gape. "Forgive me, but… why?"

"I settled down."

Omigod, it's a woman. "You met someone."

"Yes, I did. Well, she finally met me. It was all very intense and dramatic; you truly missed all the fun. You really should have stayed in California."

Vague memories returned to Grissom. "The DA. Blonde. Long legs."

"You knew?"

"A little birdie told me." Grissom watched as Charlie quickly realized who the little bird was.

"Her name is Irene. She was involved in… something. An incident. It made her rethink her career, and her life. It's a part of how we met, so to speak. A year afterwards, she packed it all up and came out here. Said she loved New England winters. Said she wanted seasons. She also wanted a vineyard and a horse farm. Just like north of Napa, only here. So that's what I gave her. Although, to be honest, she paid for most of it. She's, uh… well, she made a helluva lot of money as a DA."

Grissom knew Charlie wasn't hurting as head of the lab, either. "You gave it all up. For her."

Charlie stared intently at him. "Yee-up."

"No regrets."

"Not a one. I'd do it again today, and tomorrow, and every single day from now until the day I damn well croak."

Grissom eyed his old friend warily.

"Okay," Charlie agreed. "I miss it a little. I miss the bay, and the food, and my team. And the locals here are a little weird. Way too uptight. But our place, it's gorgeous. And, it's worth it. She's happy here. She plays with her horses and her grapes, and she cooks these ritzy exotic dinners that most of the time taste like grass, and… she's happy." To look at him, you'd think Charlie was talking about ballistics results on the hottest case of the century. Clearly, his new girlfriend, or wife, or whatever she was, made him happy as well.

"I'm happy for you," Grissom said sincerely before changing his tone to a more somber one. "Why'd you bring Sara here?"

Charlie paused before answering. "That wasn't entirely my doing, but I've known she's been unhappy for a while now. I kept presenting her with the opportunity to leave, and she always said no. Still, I kept asking. And one day, she said yes. But on her terms – it was to be temporary only."

"So, you know about… things."

"Yes," he mimicked sarcastically, "I know about 'things'."

"Thank you for being her friend."

"I'll bite my tongue on that one and just say you're welcome. Are you here to try to drag her back to Vegas?"

It was Grissom's turn to be cheeky. "Yup."

"Smart ass. She won't go. She's done. I know it."

"I intend to be persuasive."

"I won't let you take her again. You hear me? Do you have any idea how much you upset her? Do you honestly know what you've done to her?" Charlie was agitated again, and Grissom said the only thing he could think of to calm him down.

"I love her."

Charlie looked like he was going to pound Grissom into a pulp, but after a moment, his face relaxed and he sat back into his seat with a soft sigh. Grissom was still lost in his own surprise; that he'd actually admitted he loved her. He'd said it. Aloud. Charlie could have beaten him senseless, and Grissom wouldn't have even realized it.

A few moments passed before Charlie spoke again. "I should have known. You have a realfunny way of showing it."

Grissom looked away. "I didn't want it. I … didn't know how to handle it. It was too much. But I'm here now. I'm here."

A cough interrupted their conversation. Sara was standing in the doorway.

Oh shit. How much did she hear? Both men thought the exact same thing, and both looked as guilty as sin.

"Talking about me?" she asked, with a hint of superiority. She knew they were, and they said nothing to the contrary. They said nothing at all.

"Ah… you're partners in crime again. Male dominance rituals at their finest. Well, when you both are done with your testosterone moment, I'll need Grissom in the analysis room with me, and you, my unwanted protector, in the lab with trace. The results aren't back yet from Kathleen's wrists and I want that expedited. Go hover until you get something." She turned to Grissom. "I want the exact tape that was used."

Grissom just stared. Authoritative tonight, Miss Sidle?

Charlie was less tactful. "Awful bossy, aren't we?"

"Clearly someone around here needs to take charge of this investigation, since you two are too busy pummeling one another and then bonding over the whole thing." And with that, she strode away, leaving two slightly mollified men in her wake.

What they missed was Sara's immediate dash to the ladies room, where she crammed herself into a stall and tried to keep from hyperventilating. And crying. And barfing up her breakfast. And smashing her head against the wall until she passed out. What they missed was that she overheard more of their conversation than they could ever imagine. A lot more.

oooooooooooooooooooooo

Shift ended for Grissom around 6:30 a.m. He and Sara had spent quite some time eliminating suspects from their list. Charlie had pitched in, and the three of them had a semi-useful brainstorming session late in the evening. There was still some significant tension between Grissom and Charlie, and Sara was unusually quiet, but it was an evening, and now it was over.

As Grissom stepped into the elevator of the hotel, reviewing the events of the day in his mind, he was joined by a young man clad in a nondescript blue jumpsuit. The oval patch bore the name "Daniel". He carried a large bucket with him, filled with miscellaneous objects that Grissom didn't notice. Most were hidden by the various tools hanging in the pouch that fit around the rim of the bucket.

The young man studied Grissom. "So, how does the other guy look?"

Grissom blinked and turned to focus his attention on Daniel. "Hmm? Oh, he looks a little better," he said, lifting his hand to his face and touching his jaw gently. Still sore. He wondered how bad the bruising was going to be.

"Hey, better luck next time."

Grissom shrugged. "Hopefully there won't be a next time."

The elevator emitted a soft chime; they'd reached the 12th floor, and the young man hefted his bucket.

"See you around," Daniel said as he exited the elevator.

"See you," Grissom replied politely. His mind wandered back to the events of the evening as he rode the elevator to his floor.

Grissom would seriously regret that he didn't pay more attention to his companion in the elevator that night. Maybe he could chalk it up to old age, or lack of sleep, or the overwhelming stress that he'd been under since he'd arrived in Connecticut. There was no question that Grissom was mentally exhausted at a minimum, so it was understandable that he didn't notice that the majority of the tools were electrical tools, and that they were accompanied by rolls of colored electrical tape stuffed into the pouch pockets. It was almost, but not quite, acceptable that he missed the white bottle with the blue cap that was centered between some clean terrycloth rags and bundles of wire. The bottle, whose label, although partially obscured by the rags, read 'CLOROX'.

… end part 2 …

... continued part 3 ->