A/N: Sorry for the delay, but I went out of town for a couple of days! Thanks for the comments goes out to: catnip, Shelbers (I thought about making another grueling cliffhanger, but I was nice!), Beauty in my Breakdown, Bizy (embarrassed, maybe? I'm not sure! You'd have to ask Warrick… but you'll find out the answer to your question in a chapter or two!), Megara, Sara Duquesne, clarkson, and MissyJane. Thank you so much for taking the time to read and review this fic. I appreciate it, and I hope you like this next chapter!
---------------
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of CSI or its characters. That honor goes to the good folks over at CBS.
Title: Tears
---------------
The Sun City Diner Parking Lot
Tightly grasping the steering wheel in both hands, and her gaze unwavering from the road, Sara sped past Warrick, her brain never registering the fact that she had almost hit him. I can't believe that you said anything to him. Damn it, Sara. You should have just kept your mouth shut! What's wrong with you? Damn it, damn it, damn it. I need a drink! First the case, and now this; I know that we're not talking about life or death here, but damn it. God damn it! She continued to scream at herself, as she made a right out of the parking lot, heading back toward her own home, and toward five waiting cans of beer.
Back at the diner, Warrick growled in frustration, running an angry hand through his hair. "Damn, I shouldn't have let you leave," he muttered under his breath, following her speeding car with his eyes. "Where are you going, Sara?" he quietly asked. "Where are you running to? Are you going home?"
---------------
The Sidle Residence, earlier that week
"Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up," Sara quietly chanted to herself, as she leaned her head against the back of the couch. "Really, please pick—"
"Brass," her friend's gruff voice immediately announced.
Sara's voice hitched in her throat, as her words suddenly failed her.
"Hello?" Brass repeated, a hint of annoyance seeping into his voice. "If this is a sales call, I'm not interested," he muttered, preparing to hang up. You damn sales people never give it a rest.
"Jim?" Sara hesitantly spoke up, blinking back several tears.
"… Sara?" he asked, the annoyance instantly turning into fatherly concern.
"Hi," she whispered, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, and trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill over; but for some reason, the sound of Brass's voice was causing all of her body's defenses to begin to crumble.
"Sara, what's wrong? Where are you?" Brass kindly asked, taking note of the tone of her voice; something was certainly wrong.
"I… I'm home, and nothing is wrong. I'm staring at six cans of beer, but everything is okay," she unconvincingly told him, sniffling. "But what are you doing right now?"
"What am I doing right now?" he repeated her question.
"Yes," Sara trailed off, swallowing.
"Right now, I'm on my way over to your place. I'll be there in ten," he informed her, hanging up the phone.
Setting the phone back down on the coffee table, Sara tucked her legs underneath her body, staring at the beer. "You look so inviting," she mumbled to the cans. "And I really want to take a sip; one sip can't be that bad for me, right?" she asked, reaching toward the open can, but freezing. "What are you doing, Sara? You can't drink it... you know better than that."
Just as Sara was about to restart the battle over the beer with herself, she heard firm knocking on her front door. Hesitantly uncurling her legs, she groaned, slowly walking out of the living room and toward the door. Peering through the peep hole, she sighed, flinging the door wide open for Brass. "You didn't have to come, you know," she uneasily told him by way of greeting.
"No, I didn't," he agreed with her, stepping past her, and taking a cursory glance around the front hallway.
"I'm fine, you know," she added, her lower lip starting to quiver.
Brass sighed, not entirely sure what to say. Somehow, over the past six years, Sara had become something like a daughter to him. He loved her like he loved Ellie, and he wanted to do whatever was in his power to make her feel better. "Are you?" he finally asked. "Are you really?"
Sara started to shake her head yes, before changing her mind, and slowly shaking her head no. "I don't think so," she whispered, turning around, and heading back toward the couch in the living room. Pointing to the table, she once again sniffled, trying to hold back her tears. "I want to drink, Jim."
"I can tell," Brass dryly replied, following her into the living room, and staring down at the table. Taking a seat in the armchair across from the couch, he clasped his hands in between his legs, and carefully studied Sara's face. "So what's going on?" he quietly asked her.
Gently lowering herself back onto the couch, Sara once again tucked her legs underneath her body, her gaze directed at the floor. "I don't know," she mumbled, shrugging her shoulders.
Brass scratched his head, trying to figure out how to best respond to Sara; he realized that the wrong words would immediately shut her down, making it more difficult to help her. "Well, I'm glad that you called me, Sara," he cautiously started to say. "Although I can't do much to help you, until I know what's going on."
"I know," Sara whispered, as a single tear started to slide down her cheek. "I know you can't; and I don't know what I'm expecting you to do, either."
"Do you want me to pour the beer down the sink?" Brass asked, putting his hands on his knees in order to push himself up and out of the chair.
Sara quickly shook her head no, trying to smile at Brass. I might still need those later, she thought to herself.
"Then do you want me just to listen?" he tried again. Because I'm a cop, Sara; if you are looking for someone to listen to you, I can try my best, but I may not be the best person for this particular job. I'm more of a fixer; I like to actively fix problems, rather than just listen to them. Studying Sara's face, Brass tried not to frown.
Still looking at the ground, Sara slowly nodded yes, wrapping her arms more tightly around herself. "It's the Conte case," she finally admitted, as she looked up just in time to see him looking at her. "I just feel so overwhelmed. I can't help her, and it's making me feel so powerless," she concluded, as another tear, followed by a third one, and then a fourth one, finally fell down her cheeks. "I don't know what I'm missing, Jim, and it's tearing me up inside!'
Brass sighed, leaning back in the chair. "Sara, have you talked to Gil about your concerns? He's your supervisor; he might actually be able to help you with this, you know."
Sara vehemently shook her head no, as more hot, stinging tears slid down her cheeks "It's not a problem with my work, Jim; it's a problem with me. I'M the problem."
Brass raised an eyebrow, trying to process her statement. "I don't understand what you're trying to tell me."
"I don't know what I'm trying to tell me, either," she mumbled, picking the open can up off of the coffee table, and staring at it. "One tiny sip can't be that bad, though, right?" she hesitantly asked Brass, glancing over at him as if searching for permission to go ahead and drink her worries away.
"Sara," Brass cleared his throat. "I'm not going to tell you that it's okay to drink; in fact, I'm not going to tell you to dump the stuff, either. But I want you to think about this: will you really feel better about yourself, once the alcohol is gone?"
Yes. Yes, I will, she wanted to tell him; but that wasn't the truth. "No," she finally conceded, setting the can back down. "No, I won't," she mumbled, as she sniffled, her tears slowing down. "But I don't know what to do about the Conte case."
"Why don't you have someone with a fresh pair of eyes take a look at the scene? Nick, or Catherine, maybe? Sometimes we miss things in plain sight," he reminded her.
"What are you trying to say?" Sara whispered, as she started to tremble again. "Are you telling me that I'm so bad at my job, that I am missing the most obvious pieces of evidence?"
Brass again raised an eyebrow, completely confused. What's really going on here? "No, Sara, I'm not saying that," he tried to calmly convince her. "But I've lost my keys before, only to find them sitting on the table right in front of me. If this case is stressing you out, ask someone to help you; asking for help does not make you a failure," he pointed out.
Sara hiccupped, wiping the remainder of her tears away with the very tips of her fingers. "Who said that?" she quietly asked.
"I did, just now," Brass flashed her a small smile. "So call someone; call any of the CSIs that you work with."
Sara slowly nodded, as a slight yawn escaped her lips.
"And get some rest. How long have you been up now, anyhow?"
"I pulled a triple," Sara mumbled. "That's why Grissom finally sent me home."
Brass nodded, starting to stand up. "Maybe once you get some sleep, more ideas will come to you," he added. "Maybe you're just too tired to think straight right now."
Sara rubbed the back of her neck, yawning again. "Perhaps you're right," she quietly said, slowly getting to her feet.
"No, don't get up," Brass told Sara, watching her as she laid back down on the couch, curling into a tiny ball.
"I'm so tired," Sara admitted. And lonely.
"I can see that," Brass quietly replied, as he reached behind the couch for a small blanket, gently draping it over Sara's prone body. "So get some sleep."
Sara again nodded, as three days worth of sleepless nights finally caught up with her.
"Please don't leave me," Sara mumbled.
"What?" Brass asked, stopping long enough to stare down at Sara in confusion.
"Please don't leave me," she repeated, starting to drift off to sleep. "Friend… alcohol," she managed to get out, before she finally fell asleep.
Brass slowly nodded, grabbing the beer off of the coffee table, and returning the cans to the kitchen. I'd throw them out for you, Sara, but it isn't my place to do so. And I'm glad that you consider me a friend, although only you can stop yourself from drinking; I'll just try to continue to be there for you, he thought to himself, as he reluctantly returned to the living room, once again sitting down in the armchair across from her. Just take care of yourself, kid. I don't want anything to happen to you; I don't want anything to happen to you, or to Ellie, for that matter.
---------------
The Sun City Diner Parking Lot
Glancing down the road once more, Warrick ran his fingers through his hair, before making the decision to go after Sara. I don't really have a choice, do I? he asked himself, before quickly moving toward his car, and glancing up at the sky for a brief moment. You've made a real mess of this one, Warrick. You need to go fix it, and you need to go fix it, now. Climbing into his Denali, Warrick pulled out his cell phone, and hit Sara's speed dial number—number one. "Pick up your phone, Sara," he mumbled, growling in frustration when he was immediately sent to voicemail. "Sara, it's me. Call me when you get this message," he stated, before hanging up. Next, Warrick tried the lab's main number.
"Las Vegas Crime Lab," the receptionist greeted him, picking up on the fourth ring.
"Susan, hi," he tried to smile. Four rings? I'm in a bit of a rush here! "This is CSI Warrick Brown. Has CSI Sara Sidle walked past you, yet?" he calmly asked her.
"No, Warrick. I haven't seen her all day!" she cheerfully replied.
Warrick sighed. "Okay, well if you see her, please tell her that I'm looking for her," he muttered, before hanging up. With one final "damn," he peeled out of the parking lot, heading toward Sara's home. "That's the only other place that you'll run to," he said, trying to assure himself of that fact. "So that is where you have to be. I know it."
---------------
The Sidle Residence
The moment that Sara returned home, she tossed her keys on the small table by the door, and quickly walked into the kitchen. Although what occurred at the diner would be fairly minor for most people, Sara had put herself out there, and had felt mortified by what had happened; in her mind, she was not only rejected by Warrick, but her friend, Greg, also knew about it. And if Greg knew, that meant that Lucy knew, which meant that Sandra in accounting would soon know, followed by Cheryl in Personnel, followed by everyone else in the entire lab. By tomorrow morning, everyone would know that Sara Sidle had been rejected by Warrick Brown, and that, coupled with her already perceived failures as a criminalist, was enough to make an already emotional individual feel even more emotional and upset.
"Where are you?" she mumbled to the beer, rummaging around in the refrigerator for the five still unopened cans of the cool liquid. "I should have thrown you out when I had the chance, because now I'm going to drink every single one of you. And more, if I have to," she continued to rant at the beer. "I'm going to be numb by the end of the night, so help me God!"
Roughly pulling one of the cans out, Sara slammed the refrigerator door shut, pulled the tab on the can, and set the slightly fizzing beverage down on the kitchen countertop. Staring out of the window for a brief moment, she sighed, before rubbing the back of her neck, and slowly heading down the hallway to her bedroom.
Glancing at her closet, Sara quietly took out a pair of sweat pants and an old t-shirt, slipping out of her work clothes. "I don't understand," she mumbled to herself, donning the new pair of pants. "You didn't want to drink this morning, so what changed?" she asked herself, bending down to pick up the t-shirt. "Rejection. That's what happened," she sniffled, pulling the shirt over her head and shoulders, and dejectedly standing in the middle of her bedroom. No one wants you. Not Hank, not Grissom, not Warrick, not your father. No one wants you, because you're such a—" she was unable to finish the thought, as a fresh wave of tears started to wrack her body.
Taking a deep breath, Sara allowed her body to shake, as she stumbled toward the living room, her vision blurring from the tears. What the hell is wrong with me? she once again asked herself, throwing herself down onto the couch. Seriously, why the hell am I so depressed? This is insane. Wait a minute, her face froze as a new possibility hit her. What if I AM insane, just like HER? What if that's what is wrong with me? She started to cry even harder, wishing that she had had the foresight to bring the beer into the living room with her, before she laid down on the couch. I want to be numb, she licked her lips. I want to be numb, and I don't want to feel a thing.
Resting her head against the armrest of the couch, Sara took another deep breath, trying to steady her extremely frayed nerves. Moments later, however, her eyes snapped open, when she heard knocking at her front door. Puzzled, Sara wiped the remainder of the tears from her face, stood up, ran a hand through her disheveled hair, and slowly shuffled toward the door. Glancing through the peep hole, Sara once again froze, when she saw who was standing there.
"C'mon, Sara," Warrick knocked a bit louder. "I know you're in there. Please, just open up the door!" he said, the worry very evident in his voice. "Please, we need to talk!" With one of his fists still poised over the door to knock again, Warrick took a step backwards, when he heard the lock turn, and someone start to rattle the doorknob.
Sara anxiously fiddled with the doorknob once more, trying to determine whether or not she really wanted to let Warrick inside of her apartment. It was obvious that she had been crying, and the beer can was still sitting out on the kitchen table. She looked like a mess, and she wasn't positive if she wanted Warrick to see her in such a state. But at the same time, Sara was well-aware that Warrick would not leave her alone, and that he would not walk away, until he had had a chance to speak with her. So trying to muster up a smile for him, she slowly pulled the door wide open, stepping aside so that he could pass by her.
When the door was open enough for Warrick to slip into the apartment, he hesitantly did so, his eyes widening, when he took in Sara's appearance. "Damn, girl," he whispered, immediately noticing her tear-stained face. "What's going on?" he quietly asked. Because I know that this can't all be because of me… can it?
Anxiously shifting from foot to foot, Warrick's question was all that it took for a new wave of tears to hit Sara. Her body starting to tremble, she stared at the ground, unable to answer his question through her sobs.
"Damn," Warrick whispered again, as he immediately stepped further into Sara's apartment, shutting the door behind himself. Holding his arms open to her, he waited to see what she would do.
With only a moment of hesitation, Sara quietly walked into his arms, sobbing into his chest.
I don't know what's really wrong, girl, but it's okay, Warrick wanted to tell her, wrapping his arms tightly around her. It's okay; I'm here now.
---------------
TO BE CONTINUED