Chapter XVIII

Second Place Hearts

"Lean on me, Babe."

She heard about it almost as soon as it had happened. She left the test running and she went as quickly as she could. Catherine was in the break room, sobbing against Warrick's chest.

It should not have hurt her, but it did. It was a deep hurt, an ache that would stay with her for a long time. Wendy Simms watched Warrick Brown comfort Catherine Willows. He was there for her in the beautiful woman's hour of need. She had turned to him for support and comfort. She turned her back on the break room and on the couple. There was no room for her there.

She had known from the beginning. What she and Catherine had, it wasn't serious, and it wasn't built to last. They hadn't been partners, or even a couple really. They'd been fuck-buddies. She had been a comfort-lay for Catherine. A warm body to fill an empty bed, nothing more. Crudely put, she had been one step up from Catherine's hand.

It shouldn't hurt. It did though. She went back to the DNA lab. Sheets spit out of the printer and electronic blips and beeps sounded off, results that needed her attention. None of it permeated Wendy's senses.

She'd been swept away by the fantasy of a relationship with Catherine Willows. From her 'bitch heels' to the down right sexy reading glasses, Catherine was a Venus. She had a perfect body, and a beautiful smile. She was smart, kind and witty. She had an aura about her, power and sex appeal. She was the entire package plus some. A dream given form. Hard core investigator and loving mother. Good friend and an amazing lover. She had ensnared Wendy's senses and captured her attention from the very first time they'd met. She'd been caught by Catherine's bewitching spell and had happily followed her pied piper's lead.

Maybe it wasn't her fault, Wendy rationalized. How could anyone not fall at least a little bit in love with Catherine Willows? Catherine had grabbed her by the heart and, just like the cup on the floor of the lounge, she had shattered it.

She understood how a wonder-struck hooker felt when her 'caring' John left to go home to his wife and children. She couldn't blame Catherine. She loved her too much to do that. No, Catherine had never pretended that it was anything but casual and Wendy had played along. She should have known better, but she couldn't say no. Her heart had been half in when they had started. Now she would just have to collect the pieces and try to move on.

The tests kept coming in, results kept popping up, emails needed to be answered, phone calls needed to be picked up. It all passed by Wendy. She rested her head in her hands and in the DNA lab, she allowed herself to cry. She cried not for what she had lost, but for what she had never had.

"Lean on me, Love."

Sofia's words, though directed at the woman wrapped in her arms, hit him like a train going full speed. How had he missed it? Sara and Sofia? There was no mistaking the evidence. Sofia had Sara wrapped in her arms. It was something that he himself had always been too afraid to do. He'd always been too afraid to take that step. That final step from friendship to intimacy.

Love was not simple, it was not logical, it was not predictable. It was a messy state of affairs that he had tried to convince himself he did not need.

He understood now, how Arthur had felt, when he saw Guinevere in Lancelot's arms. Like the mythical King, he had claimed a beautiful queen for his own and brought her to his Camelot. He had made the same mistake, though; he had left her to fend for herself. Cold and alone, she had found a knight in shining armor to champion her, to love her with a passion that he could never truly give her.

He had damned Sara to a life of loneliness and cold science. Sofia brought her love and warmth. How could he compete and how could he complain? Like a foolish gardener he'd left his rare and beautiful rose bush alone and untended, but like all strong and beautiful things do, it had found its own path up the trellis and had bloomed anyway.

He left them there, in the morgue; there was no room for him there. He found himself at a loss. He wandered the labs that he had called home for so long. He found himself circling back to her, though.

Gilbert Grissom stared down at her desk. It sat in the crowded and chaotic bullpen that all the CSIs without their own offices shared. There were little bits of Sara scattered across it. In the corner, almost hidden between the 'in' and 'out' boxes was a small collage style picture frame. One picture was of Sara, Nick, Warrick and Greg. He wasn't sure when it had been taken, but he was not surprised by its presence. The next picture, though, did surprise him. It was of Sara and a young girl. They were both dressed as pirates. It took him a few moments to place the face. The white blonde hair and the haunted eyes behind the costume finally clicked through. Sara had taken Brenda Collins trick-or-treating. The third photo was of a younger Sara and Dr. Parker. They were tan and smiling. They had Marti-Gras beads around their necks and half-empty Hurricanes in their hands. The fourth and final picture hurt him just a little bit more. It was of Sara and Sofia, together. They were standing in front of a giant Ferris wheel and Sofia had a stuffed bear tucked under her arm and Sara's hand in hers.

He glanced around and looked at the rest of the desk. The picture was too painful to dwell on for too long. A half sheet of notebook paper was covered in her complicated and scrawled shorthand. Notes that only Sara could de-code and understand. Her month-at-a-glance calendar also had some note and her days off were boldly marked and even occasionally highlighted.

Finally in the middle of the desk there was a folder and inside it were the photocopied pictures of the girls who had been killed.

He returned to his office and shut the door. Grissom could hear the scampering and other subtle sounds of the insects that he tended to. There was paperwork scattered haphazardly across his desk and his answering machine flashed obnoxiously at him. He took off his glasses and rubbed at the painful headache.

He wasn't crying, but Gilbert Grissom was in mourning. Not for what he had lost, but for what he had thrown away.

Author's Note: Wendy has been exeptionally hard to write. I've not really seen enough of the sixth season to get a good hold on her. As some people guessed earlier, she fell for Catherine. Big teary-eyed 'aaw' for Wendy. Please note, this is not Cath bashing. Catherine thought it was casual. Had she known Wendy really did have a THING for her, she would have let her down easily or something.

I am not good with Grissom. I don't like him, sorry, but 'tis the truth. I don't like GSR (like that's a news flash) but this scene needed to be written. I tried to climb in his head and grope around a bit, I hope everyone likes it.

Additionally, it was pointed out to me that Sara's doctor-story had a big gaping hole of non-sensical rambling in it. She was not in her second year of Med-School, she was in the second year of her Residency, which comes after. I will eventually go back and change that, but for now I'll do a patch-job later on down the road to explain that whole thing a bit more clarity and less 'pulling it out of thin air'