Thank you for your continued support. And it's always nice to hear from a new reader! Cathy.
"Hey guys, nice work on the Hatcher case," Grissom called from the doorway of the locker room, where Nick Stokes and Warrick Brown were preparing to go off shift. "Oh the tangled web we weave..." he intoned with a slight shake of his salt and pepper head.
Both men murmured their thanks. Earlier that night Detective Vega had arrested Jake and Emily Hatcher, wealthy self-proclaimed victims of a home invasion gone wrong that had resulted in the death of small time crook Len Rushton. Hatcher's business partner, Terry Evans, had also been arrested. While on the surface the case had seemed open and shut...disabled security system, known ex-con Rushton inside the home with a stolen gun next to his body...both Nick and Warrick had felt that something was off from the beginning.
Bullets recovered from the scene, one from the .45 which Nick had dug out of the doorframe where Jake Hatcher had claimed to be standing when the armed intruder shot at him, and the three from Hatcher's registered 9mm, two of which Warrick found in the walls, the third of which was responsible for Rushton's death and which Doc Robbins had removed from his chest, also seemed to support the Hatchers' story. But the behaviour of the couple themselves had triggered suspicion. They had seemed far too cool in the wake of such an incident, and their body language had indicated anger at one another.
The first evidenciary clue to the fact that the Hatchers were not being completely honest about what had transpired that night, came when Nick discovered that Jake Hatcher's clothing bore no gunshot residue, and Emily Hatcher's did, contradicting their story that it had been Jake who had shot Rushton. The couple had tried to explain the discrepancy by saying that even though they had feared for their lives and believed the shooting was justified, that Jake had insisted on making the statement that he had been the one with the gun, to prevent any possible ramifications against his wife.
It had been the wire cutters found in a drawer of the kitchen that had been key to solving the case. Warrick had matched the cutter marks to the wires of the Hatchers' high tech security system which had been breached that night. Jake Hatcher's prints were the only ones recovered from the cutters, as well as from the external security box.
Detective Vega, on the strength of the men's discoveries, had secured a subpoena for Len Rushton's telephone records. They showed multiple calls sent to and received from Hatcher's partner Terry Evans. After lawyering up, Evans had confessed that he had found proof that Hatcher was embezzling from their highly successful building and architectural firm. Rather than turn his partner in, Evans was blackmailing Hatcher. Hatcher was to sell Evans his portion of the company, for far less than it was worth, and to return the company's stolen funds, in exchange for Evans not going to police.
Wary of his partner, Evans had hired Rushton to go to the couple's home, and to exchange the papers that proved Hatcher's crime, for the money and for a signed agreement for the sale of Hatcher's interests in Evans-Hatcher Incorporated. Emily Hatcher, furious at her husband for jeopardizing their finances and her social standing, had interrupted the exchange. She had fired her husband's gun at Rushton, her second shot killing the man.
Together, they had agreed to cover up their crimes. While a shaken Jake Hatcher had taken the cutters and disabled his own security system, the cooler Emily had placed the dead man's gun...a gun that he had never even drawn...into Rushton's hand and squeezed off a single shot. Hatcher had then taken the evidence of his embezzlement and the papers for the sale of his interests to Evans, and run them through the shredder in his home office. Jake Hatcher's' cell phone records showed a single call to the home of Terry Evans, which had lasted five minutes in duration, at about the time of the alleged break in. That call had been made ten minutes before the 911 call that Emily had made from the Hatchers' land line.
Evans had confirmed that Hatcher had told him Rushton was dead, and that the couple was going to inform police that there had been a break-in. He had convinced Evans that if Rushton's true purpose in being there came to light, that Evans too would face charges of his own...blackmail and extortion. The two men had agreed to bury all of the wrongdoing, and to continue their partnership, each with a hold over the other.
It had been satisfying to both CSIs to piece together the true events.
"Hey Griss," Warrick called as the supervisor turned to go, "you hired anyone to take Sara's place yet?" His green eyes were coolly appraising.
Grissom looked from Warrick to Nick and gave a perfunctory shake of his head. "I've got someone coming in this morning for an interview though." This would be only the second one he had conducted since posting the CSI position. There had been a high degree of interest, but Gil had put off contacting the applicants, telling himself that he was only doing so because it was essential that he take his time and get the right person, the right fit for the team.
"Can't you do something, man," Nick said plaintively. "Convince Sara to stay?" His dark eyes held those of the older man.
"It's done, Nick," Grissom replied quietly. Turning his back to prevent further conversation, the supervisor strode away.
"You know, I still can't believe it," Nick said to Warrick, while he buttoned a clean shirt. "It seems like Sara's been here forever, I forget what it was like without her. I can't imagine coming in to work and her not being here any more."
Warrick nodded. "Yeah. I don't think I'll believe it 'til I see her turn in her badge and gun, and walk out the door for the last time."
"I guess we should do something for Sara, huh?" Nick continued. "A night out or something?" There was no enthusiasm in the suggestion, however.
"Yeah, I suppose we should," Warrick echoed dispiritedly.
Each man avoided the other's eyes, not wanting to see his own disappointment and sense of impending loss, mirrored there.
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"Do you want to grab breakfast?" Catherine asked Cecilia in the parking lot, as she paused before the big SUV.
"Thank you, but not this morning," Cecilia declined the offer. "I want to grab a few hours sleep. I told Jim I'd pick him up at the airport, just after noon." She smiled shyly at the detective's name, even though Catherine knew that Cecilia and Jim had been spending time together.
"I didn't even know he was out of town," Catherine commented in surprise, raising a finely arched brow. "It must have been a short trip, I just saw him night before last."
"He had to go to Los Angeles, to follow up on something he's working on," Cecilia told her.
Catherine felt an acute, though fleeting, sense of displacement. She had known Jim Brass for years, had worked with him closely, and counted him as a friend. Cecilia had only been here a short while, and yet she was closer to Jim than Catherine had ever been. And not just in a personal way. It seemed that Cecilia even knew more about what the detective was up to professionally.
A bittersweet envy welled up in the lovely criminalist. Catherine was happy for both Jim and Cecilia, even though their relationship was just short term. Catherine was glad to note the lightness in Brass's step, and the easing of that tension and perpetual gruffness that his worn features had so often carried. Though still as quick with a sarcastic comment, his snarky wit very much at the fore, Catherine had observed that his cynicism had receded somewhat. And there were a couple of mornings when she had come out of the lab and observed Brass and Cecilia together in the parking lot, and she had heard the co-mingled pleasure of their laughter. Normally, the instances where Jim gave unrestrained voice to his amusement, were few and far between.
Clearly, the pair were enjoying one another, and there was a closeness there that caused an ache inside Catherine, and reminded her of the loneliness of her own life. She had Lindsey, of course, and her daughter was her world. And she had her sister, and her mother too. Friends, as well. But there was no man in her life. There hadn't been anyone since Chris. Not since she had walked into his office in back of his nightclub, and found him screwing another woman. She'd had a few dates since, but there had been no one special.
"I envy you," Catherine admitted with a sad smile. She caught the startled, guilty look on Cecilia's face. "Not in that way, Jim and I have always just been friends. Though you know I think he's a great guy. I just mean...it's nice to have a man to share things with. Someone to hold." Her sapphire gaze was wistful.
"I wouldn't think you'd have any shortage of men willing to hold you," Cecilia replied with honest sincerity. "You're a smart, vivacious woman. And so beautiful. I've seen the way men look at you."
Catherine shrugged. "Thanks for the compliment." She hesistated, unsure of whether or not to continue, not wanting to sound vain, but feeling the kind of connection to Cecilia that made her want to share. "Sometimes, I think beauty isn't all that it's cracked up to be." She paused, watching for a telltale narrowing of the other woman's eyes, or some change in body language that would indicate that the writer was not receptive to hearing about how tough it was to be a beautiful woman. Cry me a river.
But Cecilia stood there, her dark eyes warm and encouraging, and so Catherine continued. "All my life, I heard from my mother about how pretty I was. She was constantly saying it to me, and saying it to other people as well. I brought home decent enough grades from school, but she never really said much about that. She was always fussing with my hair and my clothes. She even entered me in a couple of those pageant things when I was a little girl. Even when I won, I hated them! She was always telling me not to worry, that a beautiful woman would always have a secure place in the world, and that there would be a man to take care of her.
"I guess I kind of had a skewed perception of self. I hardly bothered with my studies. If I didn't walk into a room and turn heads, I don't know where I would have gotten my sense of worth. I got into dancing to please an old boyfriend. I stayed in it, partly because of the money, and partly because I loved seeing that look in the men's eyes. The desire. I never felt that it was objectifying myself, not then at least. I felt a sense of...power. It's hard to explain really."
Catherine's eyes were unfocused with recollection. Cecilia listened with interest, valuing this insight into her new friend. Catherine reached to tuck a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear, and went on. "That's how I met Eddie, through working in the club. He was a regular. A real charmer. It was one of those things...instant chemistry. Eddie was always telling me how he had an eye for beauty." Catherine laughed shortly. "Oh he had an eye for beauty, all right. And a few other parts of his anatomy as well. Only after we were married did I find out that I wasn't the only one to turn his head."
Cecilia felt a pang of compassion to learn that Catherine's ex had cheated on her. The criminalist gave a crooked grin. "Eddie's not the only one who betrayed me. The problem with a man wanting you for your beauty, is that too often that's all that he's interested in. It becomes the focus of his desire for you. And when that happens...it's only a matter of time. Because there will always, always, be someone more beautiful." Catherine sighed. "And yet knowing that, I keep picking men whose interest in me is shallow. Although," she confessed, "I have to admit my choices have been a little on the superficial side too." Catherine tossed her red-gold mane. "Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever find a man that I can trust. Someone who is decent and who really cares about me for me. I'm not trying to downplay the importance of attraction. Without that, there can't be any of the other."
She sighed. "When I see you and Brass together, I think...it'd be nice to have that." Catherine's smile was tinged with sadness.
Even though the words had been meant as an acknowledgement of something special, Cecilia fought back a sense of panic and impending loss. It was nice to have what she had with Jim. Like Catherine, Cecilia had been longing for someone special to share her time and enjoy life with. And now that she had found him, Cecilia couldn't imagine not having Jim Brass in her life. She tried to focus on the fact that she would be seeing the detective again in a few short hours, but beneath the anticipation, she could almost imagine she heard the sound of a ticking clock.
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"Thanks for coming, it was nice to meet you," Grissom said in conclusion, shaking hands with the tall, thin young man. Paul Tennyson's grip was firm and confident.
"It was a pleasure, Dr. Grissom," Paul replied. "I hope to be hearing from you." He gave an easy, charming smile, his grey-eyed gaze beneath a shock of curly, auburn hair, direct.
Gil watched the young man walk away down the corridor, nodding in greeting to two of the dayshift criminalists he passed along the way. As noteworthy as Paul Tennyson's resume had been, the interview had impressed Grissom even more. Educated at a top midwestern university, among the best in his class, Tennyson had spent the initial years of his career with the Denver, Colorado, police force. He had confessed to being quite happy with their CSI unit, and said that he hadn't been actively seeking to relocate. He had only stumbled upon the job posting by accident. Tennyson had been intrigued, the Vegas lab's reputation was among the top in the nation, and the Level Two CSI had submitted an application immediately.
Tennyson's supervisor, though clearly regretful that the young man might be leaving, had been glowing in his praise. Grissom had found himself surprised to be liking Paul, and realized that he had been prepared to be super critical.
Tennyson had done his homework. He had researched stats on the Vegas lab's solve rate, all of which was a matter of public record, and on their percentage of successful court convictions, expressing his admiration. He had gone even further and delved into the ratio of cases to investigators on a yearly, and weekly basis. Noting that there was a high degree of overtime expenditures, he had made sure to be clear that he had no problem working long hours, and that he actually enjoyed being on nights. He had familiarized himself with a couple of the lab's recent high profile cases, and in addition to asking pertinent questions, made educated, thought provoking comments.
In truth, Grissom had never interviewed a more promising potential employee in his career. He couldn't have found a more ideal candidate, and he sensed that Tennyson would fit in well with the personalities of the other members of the night shift. He knew that he should sign off on this one, and prepare an offer of employment, and call the young man at his hotel before he flew back to Denver.
So why then, did he remain sitting at his desk, staring into space, long after Paul Tennyson had left his office? Why was there no sense of satisfaction in knowing that he had found a worthy replacement for Sara Sidle? Why did he keep looking for flaws that weren't there, insisting to himself that the young red-headed forensic scientist was too good to be true?
Grissom didn't know whether or not Sara had found another job yet. She hadn't said and he hadn't asked. They had barely spoken since she had handed in her resignation, only exchanging a minimum of words as their work had dictated. Gil's face grew hot as he remembered how he had accused Sara of unprofessionalism. The truth was that he had been totally caught off guard, and his normal, rational detachment had eluded him. He had reacted emotionally to the idea of her leaving, an intense and immediate sense of personal loss channeling itself into an outward display of anger and criticism.
Once he made the job offer to Paul Tennyson, it would be final. Sara would be gone. From his lab, and from his life. That reality washed over Gil, leaving him feeling an ache that he had to acknowledge. Leaving him with thoughts and emotions that he had to contemplate at last. Rising abruptly, Gil knew that he had to talk to Sara. He wasn't sure what he would say, but the time had come that he had to say something. He would try to think of what that something would be, in his vehicle on his way to Sara's apartment.
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The intercom sounded, and Sara paused last night's episode of Law and Order to answer it, wondering who could be down in the lobby. She was taken aback to hear the familiar voice.
"Sara, it's Grissom. Can I come up?"
Wordlessly, Sara buzzed him in, then stood in the open doorway of her apartment, her arms folded across her chest, watching until the elevator door slid open, and Gil stepped out. He stood uncertainly for a moment in the hallway, and they gazed at one another questioningly, until the door closed behind him again and there came the rumble of the elevator's continued journey.
"Come on in," Sara said at last, stepping back to admit him entrance. Her thoughts swirled as she tried to imagine what might have brought him to her. She crossed to the livingroom, where she shut off the VCR and turned off the television. "Can I get you something?" she asked, trying to keep her tone casual, as though Grissom's appearance here was the norm, and not something rare and portentious. "Coffee? A beer?"
"No. Thanks," Grissom replied.
Sara sensed tension in his voice. Moving a stack of forensics magazines from a chair, she indicated with a nod that he should sit, before settling back onto the sofa, one slim denim clad leg curled beneath her.
"I'm not disturbing you?" Gil asked hesitantly.
Her dark eyes regarded him coolly. "Grissom why are you here?" Sara asked without preamble.
He took a deep breath, and felt a nerve twitching in his cheek. He let it out with a rush. "Sara don't go."
Sara's heart galloped in her chest, and she fought for composure. "Why? Are you having trouble finding someone?"
He shook his silvered head. "It's not that. I don't want you to go. I don't want you to go," he repeated, with emphasis. Gil felt the sweat that slicked his palms and beaded his forehead.
Sara's breath caught in her throat. How many nights had she dreamt of Gil coming to her with just such a confession? How many times had she fanatsized about him arriving at her door, and proclaiming his need for her? Too many times to recall, Sara knew. Seeing him sitting there now, clearly uncomfortable and out of his element, she could only stare back at him.
"Why not?" she asked, her voice no more than a whisper. Because I want you. Because I love you, Sara Because I can't imagine life without you.. Sara could hear the words clearly, as she had countless times in her imagination and waited for Gil to say them at last.
Grissom cleared his throat as though to speak, and then remained silent. Sara thought she saw longing in the depths of his blue eyes, and then they were guarded again, as he closed off from her. "You said one time that there was something between us...something we should explore..." His words trailed off and Gil paused expectantly.
Sara could sense what he was waiting for. For her to put into words what he wouldn't...or couldn't. It would always be that way, she knew with painful clarity. Grissom would never be able to meet her even half way. She smiled at him sadly. "And you said it was a bad idea." He winced, though her intent had not been to throw his words back at him in petulance. "You were right." Nothing had changed, Sara knew. All of the reasons she had finally admitted to herself that morning as she had watched the sun set...about why Gil Grissom was not good for her, and why her interest in him was unhealthy...still held true.
Oh, Sara still wanted him. She longed to go to Gil now, and to slip into his arms. She longed to feel his lips press against hers. Part of her wanted to make it easy for him. To let the words go unsaid, as though they were not important. To accept what little he could offer. That part of her was ready to say that he could tear up her resignation, that she wasn't going anywhere, and that she would stay as long as he wanted her to. That part of her was willing to accept so much less than she believed now that she deserved. Sara battled it back, pushing it deep down inside herself, feeling a phantom physical ache at the loss of Gil's imaginary embrace.
Grissom frowned at her in confusion, clearly unprepared for her reaction. "I thought you wanted me to..."
She held up her hand, stopping him in midsentence. "I don't want you to do anything. Nothing at all."
He sighed in frustration, shifting in his chair. He hadn't expected the calm and distant young woman who sat across from him now. Gil had thought that if he simply indicated that he wanted her to stay...wanted that as a man and not as her boss...Sara would beam her endearing gap-toothed grin at him and agree to remain. "Maybe you don't understand," he tried again, his brows knitting. "I want..." he bit down on his lower lip in consternation. "I'm willing to try. Us." There it was out. His brow smoothed a bit and he waited for her to comprehend.
"I'm not."
Grissom could hardly believe that he was hearing the words. After all of this time, after all of her overtures, Sara was saying that she didn't want anything between them. What did she want from him? Why was she leaving Vegas then?
Sara looked at him and gave a sad smile. "What I need," she told him quietly, "you just can't give. And what you have to give...is not what I want."
The self-realization was painful, and as their eyes held, Sara knew that Gil would never know how much those words cost her. With them came the final acceptance that her dreams of something between them had always been ephemeral. But there was also a sense of freedom. She was under Grissom's spell no more. Sara was able at last to face her life with the confidence that being honest with herself had given her.
As Gil stood by the elevator, pressing the button and waiting for it to arrive, he listened for the sound of Sara's door re-opening. For her voice calling out for him to wait. But it never came. And it was only when he stepped into the small, enclosed space, and began his downward descent, that Gil finally had to face that not only was Sara leaving, but now that he had reached out to her at last...she had rejected him.