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Jim Brass's House, HendersonTurning down Jim's street, they both saw the familiar car sitting by the curb.
"Looks like you have company." Catherine said as she passed the Toyota Prius and pulled into the driveway.
"Hey, Cath," Jim started, seeing Sara sitting on his front step.
"I'll take off," she replied, reading his thoughts. Catherine wasn't surprised to see the young woman. She'd called Sara the previous day to make sure she was all right and to let her know about Jim. Sara had apologized for her reaction and Catherine understood.
"Thanks," he said, his eyes holding her gaze longer than was necessary. He wanted to say more but he'd save that for another time and place. Hesitantly, he added, "See you later?"
With a hint of mischief in her eyes she replied, "I'll stop by this evening before my shift starts—that is, if you're okay with me worrying about you. You know, just to make sure you're not face down on the floor again."
"Yeah." He looked away, feeling embarrassed about his earlier remark and knowing he deserved her rather pointed jab. "That might be a good idea."
Noticing how tired he looked in the filtered sunlight, she reached over and touched his arm. "Seriously, Jim, don't over do it, okay? I really don't want any repeats of the other day."
Shaking his head, "Neither do I." Opening the door, he slid off the seat then turned to close the door and slowly walked to the front door, pausing in front of Sara. Holding out his right hand, he asked, "You doing okay? How's the shoulder?"
Sliding her hand into his, she stood up. "It's fine."
"Wanna come inside and talk?"
"Sure."
Catherine watched until they were both inside then put the truck in reverse and backed down the drive.
oooooo
They were sitting in the living room, Jim on the sofa, Sara in the chair across from him. Looking around the room, Brass was surprised to find no trace of his previous run-in with the glass door—apart from the missing glass door and a faintly darker spot on the carpet. Apparently, Catherine had seen to the clean up—yet another thing he'd be thanking her for later.
There was an awkward silence between them and although it made him slightly uneasy, Brass refrained from making small talk. He could tell by the fixed look on her face that she was struggling to find the words but he wouldn't rush her. Experience taught him patience; she'd speak when she was ready.
Sara had rehearsed the words she wanted to say over and over on the drive to Jim's house. But sitting across from him, seeing the pain, the understanding but mostly the concern in his eyes, she felt lost again. Maybe the best way was to go with her gut; go with the simplistic.
"I'm so sorry. It was all my fault. If I hadn't argued with you, we could have been clear of the house and none of this would have happened."
It was on the tip of his tongue to interrupt her, stop her apology in mid-stream, but he'd heard enough confessions to know that this was necessary for her healing. She needed to apologize because she felt it was her fault and no amount of denial on his part was going to change her mind. Hopefully, this would be the catharsis she needed.
"I know you feel that way. I also know you'll carry this guilt with you for the next thirty years." He watched her face for a reaction, smiling when he saw the faint nod. "But you can't blame yourself. You didn't put the explosives in the house; you didn't know what was happening—just some lunatic detective trying to drag your butt away from your crime scene. If our roles were reversed, I'd probably react like you did."
She sat in silence and stared at something infinitely more interesting on the carpet.
Cocking his head to one side, he asked, "There's something else, isn't there?" One thing he'd learned over the years was how to read people; Sara had rarely presented much of a challenge for him. He might not know what she was thinking but he could always tell when she was troubled.
It took her a few more minutes before she spoke. When she did, she looked up and met his gaze, her voice strong and steady. "I thought you were dead. Those last few minutes before they pulled us free, I prayed to a god that I'm probably not on the best terms with..."
Jim absorbed what she said, took in the full meaning—that Sara had prayed for his life—and felt a warmth in his soul that he had been missing for quite some time.
"And then when they got us free, I saw it all. I saw all the blood and the men working on you and I wondered how you could possibly be alive and why it wasn't me over there. It should have been me."
"No, Sara, don't think like that because then it'd be me sitting where you are going through that same feeling of guilt and remorse only it'd be worse because I would feel like I failed you."
"Like you failed me? How?"
"Part of my job is to keep you—and Nick and Catherine and the rest of the CSI's—safe at a crime scene. I was doing my job. If anything had happened to you, well," he looked down, shaking his head, " I couldn't live with myself."
Sara saw his pained expression and knew now that he was referring to Holly Gribbs. She knew Holly's murder weighed heavily on the minds of all who were involved but especially with Jim. He'd suffered the brunt of the punishment, having been demoted from CSI Supervisor to homicide, and apparently, the brunt of the guilt as well.
Licking his bottom lip, he said, "I don't remember much about what happened. Maybe that makes me the lucky one, you know? I can only guess how hard it must be for you. I know it's been a little hard for me just knowing how close I came to packing it in." He tried to cover his own unsettled emotions with a nervous smile.
Sara looked away again. "I try to get the images out of my head but at night, when I close my eyes, I see everything all over again."
Brass understood. "If your nightmares are anything like mine, I figure we'll both be spending quality time with a shrink for a while." At a loss for what else to say, he could only add something that had been on his mind since seeing Ellie at the hotel. "You know, we both got a second chance. Maybe we should take a look at some of those things in our lives we need to put right."
Sara nodded. She had done a lot of thinking, a lot of looking at her life, at the mistakes she'd made, at the path she was taking. Too many things were becoming obvious, too many problems unresolved. But every time she tried to move forward, something or rather someone, always held her back.
Grissom
He was her splinter, her little sliver of wood that got under her skin and drove her crazy. And no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't get that splinter out. Maybe she didn't want to. Just as Catherine seemed to be spending a whole lot of time with Brass, Grissom had been much more attentive to her since the incident. While she had enjoyed the attention, she knew it wouldn't last. It never did. He'd wait until she back to normal, back to dependable Sara Sidle once again and then retreat into himself like he always did.
"Look, I think we're all having trouble dealing with this—just in different ways." He thought of Catherine and wondered if Nick was going through the same feeling of guilt. "Some of them are just more obvious than others."
Once again her thoughts drifted to Grissom. "Yeah, that's true." Catching Brass's eye, she smiled. He knew; he always had.
Brass was the quiet observer; the one other's often dismissed. But behind that bland expression, he was always watching, always listening. No, Jim Brass never missed much.
And right now Sara was using her powers of observation on him. Although he looked much better than the last time she'd seen him, she could still see the lines of pain and fatigue edging his eyes, his mouth She knew he wouldn't complain nor would he ask her to leave. He'd leave that decision to her.
"I should probably go. Let you get some rest."
As much as Jim enjoyed Sara's company, he didn't protest. The day's activities had already taken their toll on him, wearing him down and making him realize just how little energy he had. Not to mention he hadn't taken any pain meds since he left the hospital and his back was starting to hurt.
"Do you need help with anything? Can I get you water or something?" Sara was already on her feet and moving towards the kitchen.
"Water would be good, thanks." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the blister pack and popped out two pain pills. These were different than the others; hopefully, they wouldn't mess with his head.
Sara returned a minute later open bottle in hand then watched as he swallowed the medicine and washed it down. "Are you going to be okay? I can stay…if you need me to."
"Nah, I'm fine. Just need a little help getting up." Once he was on his feet he didn't let go of her hand. "We're both gonna be okay. It just takes a little time, you know?" He drew her into an awkward hug.
Sara gently hugged him back. "Yeah, I know. By the way, I never said thanks for dragging my butt out of there."
"Any time, Sara. You know I always got your back."
"Yeah, Jim, I know. Just remember, sometimes you need someone to watch yours."
He looked at her curiously, hiding his confusion with a smile. Did she mean Catherine or was it something else? Whatever Sara meant, she didn't elaborate and he didn't ask.
She gave his arm a gentle squeeze then let herself out the front door with a wave good-bye.
Jim watched the door close then ambled down the hallway to his bedroom, still wondering what Sara meant. Standing in the doorway, looking at the neatly turned down bed covers and the pile of pillows, it took him a few minutes to realize this wasn't the way he'd left things. Catherine had struck once again. Shaking his head, he couldn't help but smile even through the nagging fatigue. She really was looking out for him. Why couldn't he just accept it? In the dark corners of his mind, he knew why.
He could give himself a plethora of excuses but the truth of it was, Jim Brass was scared. Nancy had left invisible scars twice as long as the ones he now had. She cut him so deep, he was afraid of exposing himself to that kind of hurt ever again. He knew Catherine wasn't anything like Nancy but the thought of getting burned that badly again kept him guarded nonetheless.
Sitting on the bed, too tired to even attempt to change clothes, he kicked off his shoes and swung his legs onto the bed then eased his back onto the pillows. It wasn't the most comfortable way to sleep but he'd gotten used to it and for now it was the only option he had. Besides, he was too tired to really care.
Closing his eyes, he tried to think back on his conversation with Sara, on whether she was really okay, but soon enough his thoughts ran into one jumbled mess as he drifted off to sleep.
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To be continued in Chapter 12