She enters the building, looking for Grissom. Funny, she thinks, how she's been working in this place for so long and still doesn't have any real friends there other than him.
She looks in his office and leaves a message when she find's he is out. She has at least enough common sense not to wander the halls and be seen.
So she waits. In the creepily lit office, standing next to a row of jars filled with weird creatures both dead and alive. They tend to creep most visitors out but she has gotten used to the sight. What actually makes her skin crawl is the one image that persistantly stays in her mind- her bullet hitting officer Bell.
She's startled from her musing when she hears a deep voice muttering something unintellegible.
"Hey" she forces a smile, gaining his attention.
"I left you a couple of messages" as if to accuse him of deliberately ignoring her, a fear that is more acute than she'd like to admit.
"Oh, yeah ... I haven't gotten to them yet. Sorry." she shakes her head at his Grissomness. "You're on administrative leave, though. You should be home getting some rest." His typical approach to any situation, logical, analytical, detached. She shouldn't have been expecting anything else.
"Yeah," she smiles weakly, "I tried. But I ... can't stop thinking about this ... this Bell shooting."
He offers a simple "It's understandable." She really shouldn't have expected more.
But she has to get this off her chest, has to tell him that maybe, maybe it was all her fault. "Grissom, I think there may be a possibility that maybe ... I shot him."
At least he reacts, looks -if only slightly- surpised.
"Sofia ..." It's not a safe topic, they should not have this conversation. "we can't discuss the investigation."
She interrupts, she needs to say this, feels he has to hear it. "It's, it's something I remembered when I was giving my statement." she tells him, stepping closer so he can see the desperation in her eyes.
"Then it's already on the record." he needs to keep the distance. Otherwise they could both get into trouble.
"No, something I didn't mention." she tries to make him understand. Walking toward the desk, toward him.
"Sofia ..." she won't be cut off like this.
"Please listen to me. Bell was between me and the suspect. I was shooting over his cover, which is a violation of policy." She sees it clearly, hears the shots. Remembers. "I was, I was just trying to stay alive. But if I did it, I ..."
"Hey, Grissom, I have a question." A voice interrupts before she gets to finish. Sara, head down, engulfed in a file, enters the room. When she looks up her eyes meet Sofia's.
"Sofia?" her gaze turns to Grissom, questioning. "You're on administrative leave." She's more than surprised at the sight of the detective. It's her instant reflex to tell her off.
"I know." Sofia defends herself.
"You should not be in this building." Harsh words, but true, all three of them know. To Sofia they sound hostile and she's overcome by the strong need to justify herself.
"I was just talking to a friend." She spits out in an equal tone of voice. "If I can't talk to a friend, who the hell am I supposed to talk to?" She directs her words at the other woman who calmly holds her gaze before answering.
"Any friend outside the department." She doesn't mean to sound rude but to Sofia she does.
"And how many friends outside of work do you have, Sara?" She's angry now, irrational, but she needs to vent. "Maybe I should go talk to my mother. Oh, no, sorry. I forgot. She's a cop, too." The harsh truth of her statement makes her want to cry. There was no-one.
"I can recommend a departmental psychologist." Sara suggests in an annoingly calm manner. She knows how it feels to have nobody who will listen. The look Sofia sends her is full of despair. A psychologist is the last thing she needs. All she craves is a friend. But Grissom cannot fulfil that need and surely Sara won't offer her service.
The pain tightens in Sofia's chest. On the inside she's giving up, she takes one last look at Grissom, maybe hoping for support, support she knows she won't receive from him. Rejectedly she shakes her head, "All right, then. This was a really bad idea. I'm sorry." Then turns to leave.
She doesn't look back, doesn't wait for reactions. They are going to talk about her. Nothing she needs to hear.
She passes Greg in the halls, but brushes by him before he can say a word.
She needs to get away. Out of this place. She can't go home where the images will follow her, haunt her. But she can't stay here either.
Pulling shut the door of her car she takes a moment to consider where to go.