A/N: I've actually had this written for a couple of days now, I've just been too lazy to type it up and post it. But I'm really sorry for making you guys wait. So here's chapter eight. (I think.)
PS: All thoughts are in single quotes, all sign language is in italics, and all regular conversations are in quotation marks.
Chapter EightOw! Grissom glared at his mother. What the Hell was that for?
I didn't raise an idiot, Gilbert. His mother's glare was far scarier than his own. She brought you here but she won't stay for dinner? What did you do?
Why do you assume I did something?
Another glare. Gil, I've known you for fifty years.
Grissom heard the bathroom door click. Mom, can we not talk about this just yet?
"Talk about what?" Sara asked aloud.
"About you staying for dinner." Grissom grabbed his mother's hands, stilling her fingers. "Please, my mother loves to entertain. And she's never met any of my friends."
"We're not friends."
"Sara, please. Just stay for dinner. It's a free meal before you go back to Vegas. And it's not takeout on speed dial."
"Fine." Sara huffed. "I'll stay for dinner."
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Grissom hadn't lied. His mother was an excellent cook.
Grissom's mother set her fork down and looked at Sara. I'm sorry, dear. I know your name, but you don't know mine. I'm Emily.
It made sense to Sara now. The Emily that Grissom had been going to visit was his mother, not a girlfriend.
The pasta is delicious. Sara complimented Emily.
Thank you, Sara. You know, Gil never brings anyone home with him. She leveled a sly look at the two of them.
Grissom glared at his mother.
What? It's true. How long have you two known each other?
Fifteen years. Grissom replied.
'Fourteen years, 278 days, and approximately four hours.' Sara mentally corrected him.
Do you work with Gil? Emily pried.
Yes. We're both CSIs. Sara nodded.
Emily turned to Grissom, staring at his arm, which he'd used to set his napkin on the table.
Gil, what's that on your arm?
Grissom had skillfully hidden his cast from Emily with a baggy forensics jacket and he'd kept his arm under the table at dinner. But he'd forgotten and reached for his water glass.
It's a cast, Mom.
A cast? Gilbert Grissom, why on Earth do you have a cast?
I got in a car accident, Mom. That's why Sara drove me here.
Emily looked like she was close to killing her son. Finish your dinner, Gil.
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It was after midnight when Emily had forced pasta with cream sauce, German chocolate cake with fresh fruit and fudge drizzle sauce, and a cup of espresso down Sara's throat.
Sara, it's much too late for you to be out driving. Emily fussed. You can stay here. I'm sure Gil won't mind taking the couch.
I'm fine to drive. Sara protested, trying to cover her yawn.
You can't lie to me. I'm a mother. Please, stay the night.
Mrs. Grissom, I really do have to get home.
Emily nodded. You must have a boyfriend waiting for you at home.
If it were anybody but Grissom's mother, Sara might've strangled her. Nope. No boyfriend.
Husband?
No.
Emily cocked her head.
Sara's chest tightened. 'Oh, she's good.' Sara fumed. You know, I think I'll stay the night.
A slow, satisfied grin spread over Emily's face.
'Why do I have the feeling that I'm going to regret this?' Sara sighed.
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There was Nick, buried underneath the ground with the Plexiglas cover over his head. Sara tried to run to him, but an arm snaked around her waist and held her. When Sara started to feel a sharp pressure against her neck, she elbowed Adam in the ribs and broke free, running into Grissom's arms. When she looked up, Sara realized she was staring at Vincent Lurie.
Sara sat bolt upright and screamed soundlessly. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. 'I need some water.' Sara rolled out of bed and quietly opened the door. Emily might be deaf, but Grissom wasn't. Sara didn't want to risk waking him and having to converse. Tiptoeing past the couch and into the kitchen, Sara breathed a sigh of relief. She opened the fridge and looked for a bottle of water.
"Looking for something?" A rough, scratchy voice from behind startled her.
"A bottle of water." Sara replied crossly.
"In the back." Grissom reached past Sara, his warm stomach pressing firmly into her back, and grabbed two bottles of water. He handed her a bottle and leaned back against the counter.
As much as Sara longed to deny it, her traitorous heart couldn't help but notice that Grissom looked exceptionally adorable in navy boxers, a gray UCLA t-shirt, and tousled salt-and-pepper curls. He was the adorable little boy that Sara knew lingered beneath his hard exterior.
Grissom took a swig of water and Sara's eyes were drawn to the strong column of his throat. His Adam's apple bobbed and Sara swallowed hard.
"How do you know sign language?" Grissom asked quietly.
Sara was hesitant to let Grissom into her life any more. "My brother." She said simply.
"Was he deaf?"
Sara nodded slowly, hoping Grissom would leave her alone.
"How?"
"An explosion." Sara didn't elaborate.
"I'm so sorry, honey." Grissom took a step froward, presumably to give her some sort of hug.
"Don't be." She snapped acridly. "Don't be sorry for me Grissom. Just stay away from me. Leave me alone. I'm going back to Vegas in the morning. Then I'm going to sit down at my computer and write my resignation. I'm sick of this."
"Sara, don't –"
"Don't touch me!" Sara jerked her arm back. "It's way too little, way too late. I'm not your puppet. I'm not your stupid little plaything. You can't stop me from leaving this time."
"Why do you do this, Sara?" Grissom set down his water bottle. "Why do you always threaten to leave instead of staying and working things out?"
"There's nothing left to work out, Grissom. You can't seem to get it through your thick skull that I am a person. And I used to be your friend. Now, somehow, I'm not even worth speaking to anymore, except to yell at. Well that's exactly the type of abusive relationship my parents had and I'm not going to be my mother. I'm being the adult here and doing both of us a favor. That's why I'm leaving."
"Sara, you know damn well that's not why you're leaving. You say you're leaving just so I'll pay attention to you!" Grissom retorted.
Sara's face was turning red with unbridled fury. "That's a prime example Grissom." Sara clenched her water bottle. "My vegetarianism may seem like such a small thing to you, but it's a big part of me. We've known each other fifteen years and you can't be bothered to remember something so important about me? Jesus Christ, Nick's goddamn mother remembered that about me and I've met her maybe once."
"It's not like that, Sara. That case was tough for me. My mind was elsewhere."
"It wasn't just that case, Grissom." Sara sighed. "It's all the time."
Grissom had no answer for that. "I'm sorry." He hung his head.
Sara yawned. "It's late. I should go to bed."
"Sara, wait." Grissom called.
She paused.
"I don't want to hurt you anymore." He said softly. "I don't want to have to get a candy striper to lie that I'm on my deathbed so that you'll speak to me."
"You never had to lie." She blinked rapidly, trying to prevent the tears from slipping over.
"Would you have come to me otherwise?"
Sara kept her back to Grissom as she answered. "Haven't I always?"
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Grissom tossed and turned getting tangled in the quilt. He glanced at the clock over the fireplace mantel. The red numbers tauntingly informed him that it was three in the morning. Far too late for a halfway decent night's sleep and too early to get up and start the day.
Grissom peeled back the coverlet and slid out of bed. He padded down the hall and gently pushed Sara's door open. It was wrong, and he knew it, but it felt so good. It felt wonderful to watch her sleep, hair spread out like a halo on the soft white pillowcase.
He pushed the door open a little further and a little more and before he realized it, he was standing next to her bed. Tentatively, Grissom reached over and pushed Sara's hair back slightly. Not wanting to disturb her, Grissom pulled his hand back.
He tugged the blanked up over her shoulders and stared for another long moment before he exited the room and carefully shut the door behind himself.
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"Brass, what have we got?" Warrick pushed open the to the school's gym.
"Dead cheerleader." Brass' blank look suggested that he'd seen far too much and a dead cheerleader was just par for the course. "Coroner just pronounced."
"Thanks."
Nick poked his head into the ladies locker room. "He, 'Rick…We've got another one." He walked carefully towards the body. " Oh my God." Nick caught sight of a faint rise and fall of the chest. "I need medics! There's a live one!"
At his shout, a team of paramedics rushed in.
Nick stepped back to let the medics do their job. "Please call us when you get to the hospital, okay guys?"
"Sure thing, Stokes." The captain nodded.
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True to his word, Captain James had phoned the CSIs the minute the girl had woken up. Nick and Warrick had driven to the hospital and were now dealing with a nurse who didn't seem to believe that they were CSI.
"Here's my badge!" Warrick thrust his ID at Nurse Evil.
"This looks doctored." She squinted, holding the badge up to the light.
"Agnes." A younger, blonde nurse scolded the crotchety old nurse. "These men are really CSI. Captain James said they'd be by. They're here to see Amy Paxton. I'll show them."
The nurse personally escorted them to Amy's room. "Her mother is expecting you."
"Thanks." Warrick pushed open the door. The young woman by Amy's bed stood. Warrick's jaw dropped.
"Kelli?"
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"Bye mom." Lindsey slammed the door shut and stepped out onto the grounds Shale Ranch, just outside of Las Vegas.
"Have a good time at riding lessons." Catherine had been at first reluctant to accept the cars and the horse and the money from Sam, but maybe giving Lindsey somewhere to go, somewhere to vent her frustrations would be good for the younger girl.
Lindsey waved and trotted off, every inch the perfect cowgirl. She'd insisted on Western riding lessons, finding English too prissy for her tastes. She blended in perfectly in her well-worn stretch jeans, short sleeve button-down top, black riding boots, and black helmet tucked under her arm. Catherine watched as a tall brunette slapped Lindsey on the back and led her into the barn to say good morning to the horse Sam had bought.
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"You must be Lindsey." A tall brunette, towering over Lindsey at around five foot eleven, guessed.
"That's me." Lindsey couldn't help but feel jealous of the girl's delicate, petite features, clear porcelain skin, and clear gray eyes.
"I'm Sophie McAllister." She clapped a hand over Lindsey's shoulder. "C'mon, I'll introduce you to Ben. He's the riding instructor."
Sophie pulled Lindsey along to the lounge where the rest of the riding students resided. Apparently, despite Sophie's sophisticated looks and height, the girl was only a young sixteen. Ben, the riding instructor, commanded the attention of every female in the class. Not just because he was the instructor, but because he was built tall, like Sophie, six three, Lindsey guessed, with wavy brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. And the muscles. Even a loose riding shirt couldn't disguise the six-pack and firm biceps on Ben.
"Lindsey Willows, Sophie McAllister, Cara Whitman, Daisy Delero, and Andrea Tyson, you're with me." Ben glanced up from his clipboard.
Sophie and Lindsey turned to each other and made swooning motions while Ben had his back turned. Lindsey grinned. So far, her first day of riding lessons were turning out to be rather pleasant.
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A/N: So. Sara's brother was deaf. Explains how she knew how to sign. How did you feel about Grissom and Sara's conversation or the ever-calculating Grissom? What did you like and what didn't work? As always, I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter, as I very much enjoyed writing it!