Disclaimer: Again, CSI is not mine. The lines aren't mine. Everything in between them is mine. And my truck, it's mine. I've got the title for it and everything.
Rating, Beta Props, etc. – See Chapter 1.
A/N: I'm feeling guilty about blowing the word limit in the last chapter. But getting to that last line about the pieces in the air was difficult. Not particularly fond of that last line, but hey – I made it work, somewhat. Hope someone out there is enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it. It is so much fun to yank Grissom's chain.
First and last lines of the YTDAW Improv challenge were provided, and are italicized. Microsoft Word says 2,094 words, but if you take out this A/N and the comment at the bottom, and include only the story, it's 1,943. So I'm close.
"I need an engagement ring," Sara said as she strode into the analysis room, firmly planting two photographs on top of the paperwork Grissom wasn't even reading. "This," she said, pointing to the photo on the left, "is from her autopsy photos. Notice the indents on her left ring finger. And this," she said, pointing to the photo on the right, "is from a photo album her bedroom." The second photo had a young, scruffy-faced man wearing a huge cowboy hat down on one knee in someone's living room, holding a small ring-like object in his hand. The clarity wasn't that great, but it did look like a ring. A younger and very much alive version of their vic was staring dumbly at the cowboy in pure shock.
"There's no ring at the scene, and none in her personal belongings. Her mother says that Tex here broke it off with her about a week ago. My guess is that it's the other way around, and this guy," Sara barked, jabbing her finger at the photo, "didn't want to lose her, so he made sure no other man would have her."
Grissom blinked slowly, and studied the photographs in front of him. He stared at them for a while.
Sara groaned in impatience. "I want a warrant. To search the ex-fiance's house and find that ring. If we can't get that, we should check the local pawn shops to see if he hocked it."
"Oh, yes. Try the pawn shops." Grissom said, clearly distracted. "Take Greg with you."
"Grissom, I need you to get the warrant from Brass."
"I will."
Sara stared at him strangely, and not for the first time. She still didn't know if it was him last week at the Black Velvet, and when she'd asked Nick, he said he hadn't seen Grissom at all. But something was definitely off with him. Sara hadn't asked how Warrick had managed to get approval again, but he had, and ever since then Grissom had been weird. Well, weirder than normal.
"Grissom," she asked softly, "is something wrong?"
He responded with more blinking, and a soft "Hmm?" But Sara detected the hint of sarcasm in his voice, and suddenly she realized he was deliberately behaving this way. She reviewed his behavior quickly in her mind, and yes, he was taunting her.
"I said, 'is something wrong.' And clearly, something is wrong."
Sara watched as Grissom tried to suppress the scowl that was slowly taking over his face. Okay, so he's not a happy camper. Big deal.
"So," she pressed, "what is it? You always said you had an 'open-door' policy and we could always come to you with questions. Well, I've got a question, and I'd like an answer." Sara knew she was being snotty, but she was frustrated with Grissom's attitude lately. "This is about my singing, isn't it?"
Grissom said nothing, but his scowl deepened and Sara saw he was attempting to reign in his temper. I don't believe him. He doesn't like me singing. He's such a damned hypocrite.
"Go ahead," she stated. "Say it. Say you don't like me singing at the club with Warrick."
Grissom's eyes narrowed as he lowered his glasses and met her gaze. "I do not like you singing at that club with Warrick."
"Okay, why?"
"It's beneath you."
"What? Excuse me? It's 'beneath me'? I'm damn good and you know it, and I'm making a small fortune in the process. And it doesn't interfere with my work one bit. If anything, work is easier because of it. So please do explain, how is it 'beneath me' to do something that I love?"
Grissom sat in stony silence.
"Oh no, you can't go dropping words like that without a logical explanation to back it up. That's a total cop-out and 'beneath' you."
He squared his shoulders with her. "You are nothing but a cheap distraction for a bunch of sex-crazed losers who enjoy every bit of attention that you throw them as part of your little 'act'. They aren't there to listen to you sing; in fact they probably could care less what you sound like. They're there to watch you prance around on a stage in sexually enticing clothing most commonly worn by upscale call girls."
Sara's face froze in horror. "You fucking bastard." And she slapped him hard across his pompous arrogant face. Her eyes welled with tears, and she fled the room. Grissom eyes burned with an icy fire as he watched her leave.
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He sat in his office, alone, his cheek throbbing. Sara hadn't held back. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so blunt. But really, that's all she was, a beautiful siren to distract lonely men from their problems for a few hours. It was obvious that she wasn't drawing a mixed crowd, a family crowd. She was drawing in a male crowd. All who had eyed her like she was a Sunday all-you-can-eat buffet. The sooner she realized the reality of the situation, the better.
She was beautiful. And she was a siren. Grissom found her voice hypnotic; it now haunted his dreams. It was no wonder that place was packed when he'd arrived. He was sure that now many men shared the same dreams he did, and the thought made Grissom's blood boil.
He was jealous. He knew it. He was jealous of Warrick, of the faceless men at the club, and of the dresses Sara wore that caressed her skin in ways that boggled his mind. And he was angry, especially at her. Angry at her for taking his words from years ago seriously. Angry at her for moving on, and getting a life outside the lab. Angry that she was happy, and that she had found that happiness without him.
A harsh knock on his door focused his attention on the woman striding towards him. He frowned. This wasn't going to go well.
"You told her she was goddamned prostitute?" Catherine hollered into his face. "Are you fucking insane?" She paced quickly in front of him. "Sara's in the locker room, packing up her stuff. She's beyond upset. I've never seen her so upset. She's shaking, and she's most likely hyperventilating. She keeps making these hiccup-y noises. Warrick and Nick are in there with her, trying to calm her down, and you'd better bolt out of here soon, because I think Warrick's going to beat your ass to a pulp. What were you fucking thinking?"
"I told her the truth. That crowd at that club is only there because of how she dresses, and the 'act' she taunts them with."
"I can't believe you. You've truly outdone yourself. Are you deaf? Did you not hear her?"
Grissom shot Catherine a violent glare. She, of all people, should know how he felt about deafness.
"Oh no," she said defiantly, pointing a finger in his face, "don't you dare play that card. Don't even think about going there."
"Then you shouldn't have 'gone there', either."
"Boo-hoo. Poor sensitive Gil got his feelings hurt. My ass, pal. You're going to have to get used to the fact that she's moved on. She's got a life now, outside of this lab. You can't expect her to agree to living like a hermit with you when you won't even tell her how you feel. It's obvious you've got a problem with her singing. Get over it, or tell her why it's a problem. Tell her the real reason."
Grissom glared at Catherine. She didn't understand. The tension between them was mounting.
Catherine took on a haughty tone. "My suggestion to you is to get your stupid self out of this lab, and over to her apartment, where you'd better beg for her forgiveness and explain to her why you are acting like a complete and total idiot. You'll be lucky if she doesn't quit."
"I could have her fired," Grissom stated. "She assaulted me."
"She assaulted you? What'd she do, smack you upside your obnoxious head?"
Grissom simply nodded, and was caught unaware as Catherine's hand whipped from her side to repeat Sara's performance from earlier. SLAP. Grissom made a mental note. Catherine was just as strong as Sara.
"How's that for assault, you asshole? Now you can fire me too." And Catherine stormed out of his office, leaving him standing there with his hand once again touching his face. If he didn't have a bruise develop, it would be a miracle.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
It was daylight when Sara walked into The Black Velvet Lounge, and the familiar dark ambience of the place had been replaced by harsh white lights and opened windows. A maid was vacuuming the mottled red carpet, and Sara noticed the stains that weren't visible at night. Some carpenter-looking types were on stage, building some type of skyline backdrop. Sara hoped it wasn't for her and Warrick.
She walked straight to the back, to Sam's office. She caught the scent of his Marlboro's halfway down the hall, and smiled to herself. He's here. She knew what she was going to say was most likely going to piss him off, but she didn't know what else to do. She'd told Warrick, and he'd been vehemently against it. But she was stubborn and pig-headed in her own right, and right now, this was what was best for her. He'd left her apartment angry, and Sara regretted that. Hopefully he would get over this.
Sara stood in Samuel Clemson's doorway, watching again as those bratwurst fingers delicately lifted the treasured cigarette. "Sam," she said firmly to get his attention.
He turned to her, surprised. "Miss Sara. This is a pleasant surprise. What brings you here… wait, is something wrong?"
"Sam, I've got to leave town for a while. A month or so. It's a personal matter I need to attend to."
Sam scowled deeply. "I knew you wouldn't stay. You're moving on right? You and Brown got a better gig someplace else? I'll double whatever they're paying you."
Guilt panged at Sara. "No. No, Sam. It isn't like that. And Warrick is upset about this too. This is something personal with me; I need to get away for a bit."
Sam looked at her with deep-set milky brown eyes, the years of smoke and drink and life creasing his face. "Is this about a guy? Are you on the run? If some guy hurt you, particularly some guy from here, you let me know right away and I'll have him taken care of." He paused. "You didn't get yourself knocked up, did you babe?"
Sara smiled softly at Sam's warped sense of concern. "No, Sam, really. It's nothing like that. I just need a little time to get some other parts of my life in order."
"There's nothing I can say to make you change your mind, is there," Sam said, defeated. Sara knew he was going to lose a bit of money over this.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'll be in touch."
Sam frowned, his disappointment written deep on the lines of his face. "Take care of yourself, Miss Sara."
"I will," she said as she walked away from his door. She heard him get up and close it softly behind her. She walked backstage, and studied the small place that had become like a second home to her. It looked different with the house lights on. Less cozy, more stark, almost shabby. The wool curtains looked ragged and threadbare. Perhaps Grissom was right. Perhaps this wasn't what it seemed.
One of the carpenter-types interrupted her thoughts with a sharp yell to his co-worker. "Hey! Don't get any paint on that!"
… continued next chapter ->