A/N: This chapter was a little more difficult for me to write. Maybe it's because my life is a tad overwhelming at the moment. :) But, once I sat down and got going, it finally clicked, and I think it turned out OK. Thanks for sticking with this story. I know it's slow to develop, but it takes time to fix what TPTB have screwed up! :) I promise it's going somewhere in the end. Oh, and thank you so much for the reviews – you guys are too kind! :)
Spoilers: "After the Show"
Disclaimer: Gosh, I wish I owned CSI: (or at least Grissom – that man is hot! :)). Where's my fairy godmother when I need her? :)
Chapter 8: InfernoGrissom couldn't seem to tear his eyes away. He'd been watching her for the better part of an hour. He studied the wisp of hair that moved slightly with each exhaled breath and examined her face in its most relaxed state. And despite a continued undercurrent of fatigue and the tremendous comfort of his recliner, he had no desire to sleep. It just seemed like such a waste of precious time when he was afforded the exceedingly rare opportunity to watch her without consequence.
But when she stirred and suddenly awoke, he smiled sheepishly as her eyes widened when they met his own. So much for no consequences, he thought. "Sorry," he muttered. "You just look so peaceful when you're asleep."
Sara smiled broadly as his cheeks reddened, and he became suddenly fascinated with the remote control that had lain unused in his hand since he sat down. Pushing herself off the sofa, she stretched leisurely, her cotton T-shirt riding up slightly to reveal the flesh of her stomach. Despite his best efforts, Grissom felt his eyes drawn to the bare skin, locking the sight safely away in his memory for further analysis at some later time before quickly looking away. Geez, Gil, could you stop undressing her with your eyes? She's going to think you're some kind of sexual predator.
Dropping her arms, Sara rapidly tugged the shirt back down over her midriff, her own cheeks pinking as she realized her exposure. Hesitantly glancing at Grissom, she wasn't surprised to find he was not looking. What did surprise her was the disappointment she felt at her apparent lack of appeal. Good grief, Sara, you're with your boss, and he's a perfect gentleman while you're evidently trying to undress yourself in front of him. And you're disappointed about the fact that he didn't notice? What is wrong with you?!?
He cleared his throat before speaking, eyes glued safely once again to the remote control, desperate for any topic of conversation that would steer him away from further humiliation. He opted for the relative safety of small talk. "Did you sleep OK?"
Thankful for the diversion, she replied quickly, "Yeah. Well, except for the fact that I'm about six inches too long for your couch. " She grinned and chanced a look in his direction.
When he met her gaze with raised eyebrows, she pressed the issue. "Griss, you're even taller than I am. Surely you can afford a real couch instead of this glorified love seat. It can't possibly be comfortable for you," she challenged.
He shrugged noncommittally. "Well, it's not really for sleeping. That's why I have a bed," he shot back, a smirk taking up residence on his face.
"Mm-hmm," she responded. "I guess that's why you were sleeping in that bed when we got here last night, huh?" She shot him a mischievous smile that softened the sarcastic tone.
His smirk disappeared behind a furrowed brow as he tried to grasp how she knew he had slept on his couch the previous evening. Seeing the confused look, she backpedaled quickly. "I wasn't stalking you or anything," she said breezily, hoping to dissipate the tension. Thankfully, his face relaxed into a smile, and she exhaled gratefully.
"I could hear the TV when Brass first knocked last night. Then, after he knocked the second time, it went off, and you opened the door a few seconds later. Since I don't figure you for the type to leave your television on when you go to your bedroom, I assumed you were asleep on the couch and didn't hear him knock the first time. Did I deduce correctly?"
The smart-aleck tone was back, and he couldn't help but return her smile as he begrudgingly nodded his assent. "Very impressive, Miss Sidle. Your investigative skills never cease to amaze me."
"Well, I learned from the best." Her tone was teasing, but he saw the sincerity in her eyes and blushed under the weight of the compliment. Her only response was to smile at the effect of her words.
After a short but awkward silence, Sara spoke again. "So what time are we heading to the lab?" At his sharp look, she amended the statement, eying him with no small amount of confusion. "Not that I'm not... um... enjoying the... uh... current arrangement."
He gave her a weak smile before responding. "Sara..." He had known they would need to have this conversation eventually, but that didn't stop him from dreading it. He heaved a sigh as he lifted his eyes to hers.
His face held the same stoic expression it had when he had demoted her from primary investigator on the Julie Waters case, giving the lead instead to Catherine. Admittedly, she and Nick had been co-primaries, but she felt as if the vote of non-confidence was aimed directly at her. Nicky had just happened to be caught in the crossfire. Looking at her first, he had sent the message loud and clear that he didn't trust her to handle the big case as much as he did Catherine.
When she finally remembered where she had seen that look on his face before, she felt the bitter frustration rising up inside of her, knowing already where all of this would end. "Don't tell me. I'm not going to the lab," she said flatly.
He could hear the thinly veiled anger underlying her words, and he exhaled heavily. All I ever seem to do these days is make her mad at me. But knowing he was doing the right thing strengthened his resolve, and he leveled a steely gaze at her as he spoke again. "No, you're going... if you want to."
Hearing the unspoken conditionality of his statement, she eyed him suspiciously. "But?"
Grissom maintained his control over the situation, not flinching in the slightest under her withering stare. "There are a few restrictions on your return," he admitted, without the slightest hint of remorse.
"And those would be?"
Pursing his lips, he internally deliberated his course of action. Here's where it gets tricky. Do I start with the worst condition and work my way up to the best, or vice versa? He decided fairly quickly that the more efficient path was to give her the bad news first; that way, if she rejected any condition, he would not have to tell her the remaining ones. However, he realized with a sinking feeling that he had no idea which of his conditions she would consider to be the worst. He could rank two as having an equal chance of holding that distinction. Running through them both quickly in his head, he chose one at random. "First, you're confined to the lab. No field work."
He watched as her mouth dropped open in shock. "What?!?" she asked, her voice raised slightly in disbelief. "I can't go out in the field?"
That's about what I expected. Grateful now for his years of practice at cultivating a façade of composure in the face of Sara's tirades, he nodded. Hoping logic would work, he carefully responded, "There's no way to protect you at a crime scene. Not enough control and too many variables."
She was having none of it. "Do you think you could stop with the scientific method here for just a minute? This is not one of your little experiments. We're talking about my life, my career."
He momentarily debated the meaning of her statement. Does she mean this affects her life and her career, or does she mean her life and her career are synonymous? Mentally shaking himself to clear the confusing thoughts, he replied in a softer tone. "Sara, we all want you to be safe. I can't knowingly put you in a situation I can't control, one where you'll be in danger." I couldn't live with myself if I let you get hurt, he mentally added.
Why not? You do it all the time when it comes to anything personal between the two of us. What's so different about my physical well-being? She felt the bitterness growing, and it made her defiant. "And if I refuse?" She stared at him boldly, anger flashing in her eyes, looking at him directly with her chin held high.
He returned her gaze resolutely, unwilling to let her see his lack of preparation for this unexpected turn of events. Refuse? She'd refuse? Inwardly reeling, his mind cast about frantically for an alternative with just enough of a threat to force her concession. Thinking quickly, he spoke with barely disguised anger, deliberately adding weight to the shock value of his words and praying she wouldn't call his bluff because he knew he'd never go through with it. "If you refuse, I'll suspend you for insubordination, and I'll personally drive you to San Francisco to stay with your mother until we find this guy. I'm sure she'd be more than happy to assist us, since you're obviously too rebellious to care about self-preservation."
He cursed himself for the feeling of smug satisfaction it gave him to see her eyes widen, but it nevertheless pleased him to know he had won this verbal sparring match. She tried to hold his gaze but quickly dropped her eyes to her hands. "Fine," she sighed in resignation. "What else?"
Grissom was surprised at his own response to the defeat he heard in her voice. When she conceded, he had expected to feel happiness that she had agreed to his demands, relief that she would be safe, maybe even some small connection whereby she would understand that his concern was borne at least partially out of his deeper feelings for her. But he felt none of that. What he did feel was that he had broken her spirit, and he sensed its loss keenly. This was some woman who had no fight, no fire, no passion. This was not Sara.
Releasing a heavy breath and suddenly tired of this conversation, he abandoned his original plan of telling her the conditions individually, instead blurting them all out at once in his hurry to put an end to the discussion. "You'll be accompanied by me, Brass, Nick, or Warrick at all times when you're in the lab. You can work on this case but with eyes, no hands – you can just help review the evidence. And, when you're not at the lab, you'll stay here with me until we find this guy or until Brass makes alternate arrangements." Against his better judgment, he found himself hoping she'd get angry in response – or bitter, or sad. Anything but defeated.
But she didn't. She merely smiled weakly without meeting his eyes and nodded her consent.
"Sara..." He watched her, willing her to look up. She didn't. "I'm doing this for your own good."
"I know," she stated without emotion. "I'll need to stop by my place and pick up some things if I'll be staying here for a while, so maybe we should leave a little early." She did meet his eyes then, but the fire was gone. He nodded his assent to her statement with a sigh, and she stood slowly. "I've got to get ready for work. I'll be back in a minute."
He watched from his recliner as she left the room, rubbing a hand over his beard. He felt more tired than he had in years and, for the second time in as many days, he had no desire to work. Dropping his chin into his hand and closing his eyes, he let his mind wander. I just want to do the right thing by her. Why does it always seem to go so wrong?
XXXXXXXXX
They walked down the CSI hallway in silence, Sara staring straight ahead and Grissom casting occasional furtive glances in her direction. When she suddenly turned into the breakroom, he followed, watching her make a beeline for the coffee maker.
He wasn't sure whether he was relieved or annoyed to see Warrick sitting at the table but quickly dismissed it as unimportant. The younger man was there, and it really didn't matter how he felt about it.
"Hey," Warrick said with a grin, looking up from his newspaper as Sara breezed past. Turning his head to his boss, he said, "Hey, Griss."
"Hey," she retorted, flashing her colleague a smile that made Grissom's heart skip a beat. He felt a momentary pang of jealousy that irritated him – whether with her or with himself, he couldn't be sure – and he quickly deflected it into a more appropriate emotion. Can't you just be happy that she's smiling again? And he was, even if it wasn't directed at him. Focusing his attention on the young man, he nodded in response to his greeting.
Arriving at the counter by the coffee pot, Sara began gathering the necessary supplies. Creamer, sugar, mugs, spoons. Keeping her back to them, she asked, "War? Coffee?"
"Yeah," he responded. "Black."
Half turning toward him, she queried, "Grissom?"
Stunned that she could still be thoughtful when he had so obviously made her unhappy, it took him a moment to respond. When he didn't answer, she turned to face him fully, a questioning look on her face and an empty mug in her hand. He nodded slowly, clearing his throat to speak. "Yeah. Sug-"
She cut him off. "I know. Sugar, no cream." He cocked his head to the side in confusion, but she waved her hand at him dismissively and turned back to the coffee, leaving him to wonder how she seemed to know offhand something as insignificant as how he liked his coffee while he had only come by the knowledge that she was vegetarian when she had threatened to quit. And he knew it was his own doing.
Forcing his thoughts into professional mode, he looked down at Warrick, who was regarding him with faint amusement. Gesturing with his head, he indicated for his employee to follow him. The younger man pushed himself away from the table and trailed his supervisor to a spot just outside the breakroom door. Even though Sara already knew the conditions of her return, Grissom still wanted some measure of privacy as he spoke about it.
"I think you already know about Sara's situation," he began softly, taking in Warrick's confirmatory nod before continuing. "I don't want her to be alone at any time when she's here. I know she can take care of herself, but I want to take extra precautions. I told her that she has to be accompanied by me, you, Nick, or Brass at all times when she's in the lab."
The young CSI snapped his eyes to Grissom's, matching his boss' low tone as he spoke. "I'm sure that went over well."
Involuntarily glancing in her direction before returning his eyes to Warrick, Grissom responded, "She didn't have a choice. I need to keep her safe. And I need you to be aware of your surroundings when you're with her around here. Brass thinks the perp knows where she works."
Seeing the young man's nod of agreement, he continued. "Have you seen the note?"
Warrick looked over at Sara as he nodded, his own concern etched deeply into his handsome features. "Yeah," he replied grimly.
Grissom's heart rate quickened as he saw the effect the infamous note had obviously had on Warrick, and he was suddenly taken with the overwhelming need to see it. "Where is it?"
The taller man dragged his gaze back to his supervisor's face, cataloguing the worry he saw reflected there. "It's in the evidence locker," he replied, reaching into his back pocket as he spoke.
"Stay with her," Grissom commanded, turning abruptly and stalking off to find the note.
Warrick stopped him with a hand on his arm. The older man looked up at him sharply, initially annoyed at the impediment, but his face softened when he saw the notebook being extended to him. Warrick spoke quietly. "I wrote down what it said. If all you want is content, this is probably faster than having to log it out of evidence."
Taking the notebook from the young man, Grissom looked at him, hoping his gratitude was conveyed in the gaze. Warrick nodded understandingly as he clapped a hand on his supervisor's upper arm before turning to head back into the breakroom. "I'll keep an eye on her," he called softly over his shoulder.
And with that, Grissom turned on his heel and proceeded to the welcoming solitude of his office, the notebook clutched in his right hand. It wasn't until he had closed the door behind him that he realized he had forgotten his coffee.
XXXXXXXXX
Grissom was unprepared for the flood of emotions that washed over him when he read Kim's message. He had anticipated the adrenaline rush spurred by fear – had seen that fear in Brass' quick action, in Sara's anguished nightmare, in Warrick's concerned gaze. He had even expected the feeling that hit him after the adrenaline faded – had seated himself beforehand in his awareness of the impending weakness. What he hadn't foreseen was the murderous rage that swept over him like a blazing inferno, threatening to destroy everything in its path. In that instant, he had known beyond any shadow of a doubt that he could kill whoever had written that note. And, for the first time in his life, he didn't know if he could control an impulse.
He had remained in the same position – elbows planted on knees, chin resting heavily on clenched fists, eyes focused on some unseen point – for an indeterminate period of time, trying to compose himself. But, just when the inferno had been reduced to a dying ember, his eyes fell on Warrick's notebook, and the fire was stoked and blazing once more.
At long last, he pushed himself out of his chair, slamming the offending notebook shut and glaring angrily at it as he walked toward the door. Employing every ounce of his willpower, he shoved the inferno to the back of his thoughts, compelling his mind instead to focus on the task at hand. Closing the door behind him with considerably less force than he really wanted to exert, he flipped the notebook's pages idly, more for the distraction of his tortured mind than for any real purpose.
He surveyed his already assembled team when he walked into the breakroom and found the sight oddly comforting. Each one with his own strengths and weaknesses. Grissom found it strange how their strengths made them good, but their weaknesses made them better. He looked at Nick on the right-hand side of the table – reliable and solid, but with an insecure thirst for approval that pushed him to constantly improve. Moving his eyes across the table, he spotted Warrick – strong and diligent, but with a streetwise side that made him compassionate. Looking past Warrick, his gaze fell on Catherine – tough and smart, but with a firsthand experience of Las Vegas' seedier side that gave her a rare insight into the other side of the law. And then, at the far end, he saw Sara – fiery and intelligent, but with an all-consuming passion for justice that drove her to do everything in her power to help the victims. And, just like that, the inferno returned with a vengeance.
They all saw the fire flash across his face, but he quelled it rapidly, clenching his jaw as he set the notebook on the table and lightly shoved it across to Warrick. Pulling out his chair at the head of the table, Grissom sat heavily and focused his gaze on his team before he spoke, using his right hand to gesture towards them. "Where are we with this case?"
There was only one open case, but there would have been no confusion, regardless. Catherine, as the primary, answered first. "The victim is a 48-year-old housewife, Marilyn Ellis, found dead in her bedroom by her husband earlier today. We're working under the assumption that cause of death is poisoning, but Doc should have my official COD and tox screen back tonight. He did find an injection site in the popliteal vein behind her left knee. Veins in the upper extremities were basically non-existent, the result of many years of blood donations, according to the husband."
"Is he a viable suspect?" Grissom questioned, the impassive exterior easier to maintain when evidence was being discussed. His quick mind catalogued the rapid-fire information she had presented, leaving the real processing for his time alone with his thoughts.
"Possibly, but I don't think so," she replied. "He seemed like a pretty reliable witness. Cooperative. Greg does have a hair we found at the scene, though. No skin tag, but we could at least do a visual comparison if we can get a sample of his hair voluntarily."
"OK," said Grissom. "Warrick?"
"Nothing from the vacuum cleaner bag that shouldn't have been there," he said, casting an apologetic glance in Sara's direction and earning a brief nod in return. "Greg's working up the DNA from the dishes Sara found in the sink. He still needs to run it through CODIS. And Jacqui's got some good prints but no hits on AFIS. Six different prints, to be exact. I figure each family member's in the mix, but that still leaves us an unknown. Maybe our perp. And she hasn't processed the note yet, so we'll have to wait and see on that."
Grissom flinched at the mention of the note, but the younger CSI wasn't finished. "Best news, though? Ronnie finished a little while ago. The note's computer-generated from a laser printer, evidently high-quality. Like, industrial grade. He got me the name of the manufacturer, and I talked to them this afternoon. They only deal with big businesses. Hotels, hospitals, banks, places like that. Ronnie said there was very little wear on the ink pattern, which made him think this printer must either be new or not used much. I'm gonna call up the dealer again and see if I can find out some of their more recent clients in this area. Maybe it'll give us some leads."
Grissom smiled approvingly. A lead. That would be good news. "Good work, Warrick. Nicky? Did you get in on this case, too?"
Nick nodded. "War kinda pushed me into it. I've been looking at the crime scene photos, but I'm not done yet. Sara is... ahem... shall we say, thorough?"
He turned his head away from his boss to grin at her, and she playfully shoved his arm in retaliation. "Shut up," she retorted with a smile. "I'm cautious, OK? I don't want to make a mistake."
"Sounds like somebody else I know," he muttered meaningfully under his breath, gesturing toward the head of the table with his eyes and smirking at her death glare. Directing his next statement to Grissom, he spoke louder. "I should be finished pretty soon."
The supervisor had watched the exchange with mild amusement and a little confusion, but he dismissed it as banter between colleagues. "You can finish later. If the family is OK with it, I need you to go out to the Ellis home and try to get prints and DNA samples for comparison. Sounds like they might be willing to cooperate."
"Sure thing, boss."
Looking to the end of the table, his eyes settled on Sara's, and he felt the inferno begin to blaze again. I will kill anyone who tries to hurt her. He struggled desperately to regain his control, and his voice was strained as he said, "Sara, you're with me. You've obviously been involved in the investigation of one of our perp's cases before. We need to look over the photos of the body and see if it triggers you to remember something that might lead us to a connection." Seeming to read his emotions, she merely nodded her agreement.
Glancing around the table once more, he directed himself to the room in general. "Let me know what you find out." Knowing they had been effectively dismissed, Catherine, Warrick, and Nick filed out to complete their respective assignments.
Grissom turned to face the room's sole remaining occupant as he stood, surprised when she got up and walked towards the counter behind them. He looked on in confusion as she expertly poured coffee into a mug sitting on the counter, and his face registered his shock when she turned and handed it to him. She smiled at his dumbfounded expression, saying simply, "You forgot this earlier."
"Thanks," he replied sincerely, conveying his gratitude with his eyes, thankful as much for her kindhearted gesture as for the liquid itself. With a sigh, he remembered the job they had to do. "You ready for this?" he asked, torn between his concern for her emotional health if she completed the task he'd assigned her and his worry for her physical safety if she didn't.
When she met his gaze, he knew there had been no need to worry. The fire in her eyes had returned, matching his own inferno in its intensity. There was no trace of defeat in her voice, and he heard nothing but her passion when she responded to his question. "Ready." And all was right with the world once again.
TBC...