A/N: I really do have to apologize for the fact that it's been a week and a half since I updated. I've just been slammed at work and elsewhere and have had no time to write. Sometimes real life gets in the way of my little fantasy world. Is it a bad thing that that bothers me? :)
Thank you to all who have reviewed this story. I appreciate the feedback so much! I posted the last chapter right before the upgrade, so I'm hoping that's the reason I didn't get as many reviews with the last chapter and not just that it was not up to par. :) Consider that my longwinded way of saying, "Please review!" (even if it's no good - I promise I can take it!) :)
Spoilers: "Burden of Proof" (can you tell I liked that episode?) :)
Disclaimer: Insert your own witty "I don't own CSI: but wish I did" statement here. I've exhausted my supply. :)
Chapter 10: A Collection of EvidenceSara continued to watch him, more than a little apprehensive about his rapid breathing. When the seconds stretched toward a full minute, she could bear his silent struggle no longer. "Grissom, are you OK?" she asked, her voice unable to mask the concern.
The fight-or-flight mentality hadn't completely left him, and he desperately needed a few more seconds for its effects to dissipate. Without opening his eyes, he nodded slightly, hoping the minuscule gesture would mollify her. True to form, a determined Sara remained standing in front of him, clearly dissatisfied with his response. He had known she wouldn't be appeased easily, but he was grateful for the temporary, if too short, reprieve his nod had purchased.
Taking one final deep breath, he willed himself to speak in a normal voice as he opened his eyes to meet hers. "It takes a while for an old man like me to recover from a near heart attack, Sara." The humor had its desired effect on both of them, dispelling the tension and provoking soft smiles.
"You're not old. They say you're only as old as you feel," she said, dropping her gaze from his timidly.
"Ah," he responded, rising unsteadily from the couch. His body felt every bit of its 48 years in that instant. His knees protested in sharp pops, his back reminded him painfully of the reason he avoided sleeping on his couch, and his thigh muscles felt rubbery and inadequate to support his weight. "If that's the case, I must be Methuselah," he chuckled, as much to keep from groaning as from humor.
She smiled, grateful that he seemed to have recovered from the scare. But, as much as she enjoyed this playful Grissom and wanted him to stick around, she still felt a little guilty about her earlier actions. "I really am sorry."
His face turned serious as he looked at her. "I know." His voice was gentle, forgiving. "Just don't do it again. Please. I really don't think my heart can take it."
A little taken aback by the multiple levels of meaning that could potentially underlie that particular statement, Sara simply nodded, making the conscious choice to accept it at face value. Eager to change the subject before it got too uncomfortable for both of them, she suddenly remembered why she had come into his office in the first place. "Oh!" she exclaimed brightly. "I had a reason for coming in here. I almost forgot," she said, turning toward the files in the corner.
"Did you remember something?" her supervisor asked, his natural intellectual curiosity taking over as he watched her sort through the stack of old case files, quickly discarding two before she pulled out the one she was seeking.
Dropping the thick folder onto his desk, Sara flipped through pages until she found the case photos. Thumbing through them with ease, she stopped at one, slapping her index finger down onto it as she exclaimed, "Yes!" And, before he could react, she just as quickly shut the case file and headed towards the office door.
Grissom hated being off-balance, and everything about this case was making him feel that he was two steps behind. He'd been two steps behind Brass when the cop had showed up on his doorstep with Sara in tow, he'd been two steps behind his team when they filled him in on the case, and he'd been at least two steps behind Sara all night. He watched in silent consternation as she walked towards his door, seemingly oblivious to his request for her to stay with him at all times and his resultant mind-numbing panic when she ignored it. And, while he was angry that they were about to repeat the same drama they had just completed, he felt utterly powerless to stop it.
Thankfully, he didn't have to. When she reached the door, Sara turned toward him, one eyebrow arched, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "Coming?"
Rolling his eyes at her obvious amusement, he bowed his head to prevent her from seeing the smile that tugged at his own lips, a small sigh of gratitude escaping quietly. "Yes, dear," he muttered under his breath, preceding her into the hallway before taking her elbow to gently guide her back to the A/V lab. With eyes darting quickly towards those passing them, Grissom missed the shy smile that graced his companion's beautiful face.
XXXXXXXXX
Nick's thoughts were myriad as he drove back towards the lab. The DNA, hair, and fingerprint samples from each member of the Ellis family sat safely in his kit in the passenger seat, and he was eager for processing to begin. It had nearly broken his heart to see the faces of three saddened children, their mother forever taken from them. Little Madeline had reminded him so much of his youngest niece that he had even mistakenly called her Emily once, and he thought he would break down in sobs when she had looked up at him with tear-filled eyes.
It was times like those that Nick hated his job. With a passion. There were so many things to love about it – the closure you could provide for the victims, the justice you could bring for all of society, the challenge you could fulfill by solving the puzzle. But, no matter how many things you could do, you still couldn't bring the victim back. Whether or not they were killed, a part of them was stolen when they became victims, and it would be gone forever.
But this case was even more personal. This was Sara. He felt like he had known her forever, like she was one of his sisters. He had never known how to act towards his loved ones in crisis situations, so he always opted to act normally. When his younger sister Jennifer had first been diagnosed with leukemia at age 6, he was the only one in the household who hadn't treated her with kid gloves. He vividly remembered Jenny running into the house and proudly explaining to their mother how Nicky had taught her to ride his bike and how she had ridden it down the street by herself. He would never forget the withering stare his mother had given him at that moment and the tongue-lashing he had gotten from her later. But the other memories he had of that incident included a brilliant smile on his sister's face and the day a now 30-year-old Jenny had called him to tell him how grateful she was that he had treated her normally. He had long ago memorized her words: "Nicky, you always loved me for being your sister. You didn't see me as your sister with cancer."
Now his adopted sister Sara was affected by a human cancer, the same one who had destroyed Marilyn Ellis, and he still didn't know of a better way to act toward her than just like he always did. But, this time, he was not a helpless nine-year-old, and he vowed to do everything he could to annihilate this particular cancer.
Pulling into the parking lot at the crime lab, he gathered up his kit and headed inside. Dropping off the fingerprints with Jacqui, he next walked into Greg's DNA lab, only minimally surprised to find the technician was not there. Putting the samples down on the counter, he debated paging the quirky young man but decided to go in search of him instead. Turning the corner, he strode toward the layout room, stopping short at the door as he took in the sight before him.
Greg and Warrick were bent over a plethora of photographs from the Ellis crime scene, each scientist holding a magnifying glass and doing everything in their power to make sure nothing was missed. "I told you Sara was thorough," Nick spoke through a wide grin.
"You can say that again," Greg groaned. "I love her, but this is overkill." He moved his hand over the table in a sweeping gesture as he spoke.
"Hey, what do you know about overkill, rook?" Warrick teased. At the exasperated look the young man shot him, he grinned and looked up at Nick. "Can you believe this guy? Wants to be a CSI but not willing to do the grunt work."
"Oh, I'm willing," the technician amended in a slightly more submissive tone. "I just need a break from it for a little bit."
"Well, it's a good thing I brought you back some DNA and hair samples then, Greggo," Nick replied with a smile. "From each of the Ellis family members. The samples are on your counter. We'll save the rest of the pictures for when you get back," he added as the young man stood to leave.
Greg rolled his eyes but, to his credit, made no smart-mouthed statement in response.
"What'd you find out from the printer company?" Nick asked his colleague after the technician left.
"That they're closed until 5:30," Warrick retorted. "And I had to sit through one of those stupid phone trees to find out that much. 'Thank you for calling...'" he mimicked. Sighing, he said, "I hate those things."
"I noticed," his partner responded with a grin.
Glancing at his watch, Warrick said, "At least there's only a couple more hours before I can try and get some answers. We need a lead in the worst way."
Nick nodded. "Too true. Did you find anything here?" he asked, gesturing to the crime scene photos as he picked up Greg's discarded magnifying glass.
"Nope." Looking down at the scattered pictures covering every square inch of table space, Warrick sighed. "This really is overkill."
The Texan laughed as he replied, "That's the story of Sara's life, man."
XXXXXXXXX
With single-minded determination, Catherine strode toward the A/V lab, hoping to give its occupants an update on what she'd discovered from Dr. Robbins and to get their feedback on the case. She had nearly reached her destination when she saw her colleagues approaching from the opposite direction, and the sight surprised her, but only mildly. Grissom's hand rested protectively on Sara's elbow as he looked suspiciously at the activity around him, guiding her steadily toward the safety of the lab. This macho side of her friend was unexpected and... well,... sweet. And that was one word she had never thought she'd use to describe Gil Grissom. But, when it came to Sara, all bets were off. Gil, I didn't think you'd ever pull your head out of the microscope, but this is a good start. Even without the "vegetation."
That thought brought a smile to her face, but she covered quickly by calling out to them. "Hey."
"Hey, Cath," Sara responded, moving fluidly past her into the lab with a thick case file in hand. The blonde looked at Grissom with arched eyebrows, but he merely shrugged as he responded, "She hasn't told me what she's found either." He looked at Sara as he spoke, the slightly accusatory tone in his voice just loud enough to reach her ears.
She grinned as she glanced up at them. "Stop whining. I'm about to tell you," she said as she opened the folder to the page she had previously found, pointing with a slender finger to a particular photograph. "Come and look."
Grissom narrowed his eyes at the brunette in mock disapproval before returning his gaze to Catherine, gesturing with his head for her to precede him into the room. She complied but allowed him to walk ahead of her towards the table, wanting to observe the interaction between her colleagues. She watched as Sara lifted her eyes to meet Grissom's, a hint of a smile playing at her lips, and he smirked in return. The tension that had recently loomed over the pair like some great, gloomy cloud was gone, at least for the moment, and it pleased her immensely to see that each of them seemed happy to be in the presence of the other.
You didn't have to be a rocket scientist to see the mutual attraction between Gil and Sara. Their flirtatious banter had often been the subject of water-cooler gossip around CSI, and an office pool had long ago been started regarding the date of their eventual "hook-up," as Greg had so charmingly phrased it. Warrick and Nick even had an ongoing bet as to the circumstances surrounding said rendezvous – with Warrick believing the two would get into a massive fight that would end with their passions being channeled into some very physical activity, and Nick opting for the more romantic notion of a tearful Sara receiving a little more than just comfort from her boss.
But Catherine could see that the feelings between the two went much deeper than mere physical attraction and had steadfastly refused to participate in adolescent discussions and wagers regarding her best friend's inability to express his feelings to a woman he so clearly cared about. She had done what she could to help advance their relationship, but Gil had never responded well to being pushed, his obstinacy sometimes downright frustrating. So she had, for the most part, observed from afar, pushing only when necessary and silently hoping that eventually the two of them would come to realize what she had known for a while – that they adored each other.
"Cath? Care to join us?" Grissom's sarcasm broke through her reverie, his cocked head and raised eyebrow almost comical as he eyed her with curiosity.
She smiled with exaggerated sweetness. "Why, yes, sir," she remarked, crossing to the table quickly.
Sara turned the folder slightly to give the blonde a better view of the photograph in the case file. "This is from an unsolved case from two years ago. Anything look familiar?"
The older CSI peered closely at the picture, recognizing immediately what had caught the brunette's eye. She responded excitedly. "Yeah! Her wrists are tied the same way our vic's were."
"Exactly," Sara replied, pressing a button on the computer to display the photo of Marilyn Ellis' body on the overhead screen. "See," she said, walking towards the wall to point as she spoke. "The material is not the same – our vic was bound with pantyhose, this one was tied with fishing net – but both sets of bindings are looped across each wrist in a similar figure-eight pattern."
She looked back at Grissom as she finished, trying to judge his reaction to this new information. He stroked his bearded chin thoughtfully, looking closely at the screen.
It was Catherine who spoke first. "What do you think, Gil?"
When he turned to look at her, the blonde saw the fiery undercurrent in his eyes before he brought it quickly under control. When he spoke, his tone was clipped and almost angry, but somehow she knew it wasn't directed at her. "I think we've just found another of our killer's victims."
She nodded and watched, fascinated, as his eyes became fearful. He swung his head around rapidly to face Sara and asked, "Was this your case?"
"No, actually, it was pretty serendipitous that I even knew about it," the younger woman replied. "It was in the stack of cold cases I took home with me a couple of days ago. There was something about it that just didn't sit right with me," she mused thoughtfully.
"Hmm," Grissom replied. He offered no further verbal elaboration, but his mannerisms spoke volumes. He was bothered by something but was either unwilling or unable to express it.
Catherine watched him closely, knowing he was struggling with the sixth sense that was the source of his current discomfort. He rarely gave voice to his intuitions, believing them to be akin to voodoo in their scientific merit. And she knew better than to press. Whatever it was would come out in due time.
She opted instead to refocus on the case, picking up the file. "So who is this new vic? Or this old vic, I should say." Flipping to the beginning of the folder, she read, "Ally Shea, age 28. Found dead in her apartment in August 2002 with a puncture wound and related bruising in the neck area. Cause of death...," she paused as she flipped to the coroner's report, "...was cardiac arrest due to the injection of a lethal amount of sodium chloride into the carotid artery. Well, isn't that interesting," she commented, remembering for the first time why she had come here in the first place. She still hadn't told them the results of the Ellis autopsy.
Grissom looked at her curiously. "Why 'interesting'?"
"Well," Catherine replied, flipping through a few more pages in the Shea file before closing it and dropping it back onto the table. "Because Marilyn Ellis was killed by the injection of a lethal amount of sodium hypochlorite."
"Bleach?" he asked, incredulous.
"Bingo," she replied. "Ugly way to die, huh?" Catherine shook her head sadly. She didn't want to be the one who had to tell three kids their mother had died in such a horrible way. Mentally shaking herself to clear the thoughts, she continued, "But what's really weird about the Ellis case is that the bindings aren't very restrictive. They're loosely placed and wouldn't have done much to restrain her. And it looks like this vic is the same way."
"Yeah, I noticed that, too," Sara replied. "You wouldn't just let somebody inject you in the carotid artery. Drugged, maybe?" She flipped through the file to find the toxicology results on Ally Shea.
Catherine shook her head. "Nothing but bleach found in Marilyn Ellis."
Sara nodded her acknowledgment as she continued to page through the Shea file. When she found the tox screen, she looked up at her colleagues. "The only abnormality was trace amounts of fluoride. Does that mean anything to either of you?"
Catherine shook her head quickly, but Grissom's brow furrowed in thought. Finally, he shook his head slowly and shrugged. "Too much oral hygiene?" he joked, prompting smiles from his female companions.
"There's no such thing as too much oral hygiene," Sara quipped without missing a beat. "But it's good to know our resident genius can be wrong on occasion." She flashed a winning smile and winked at him as Catherine looked on in fascination, ecstatic to see the playful interaction between the two.
He grinned as he shook his head, knowing he'd been bested. "Getting back to the case..." he said, looking with mock disapproval at Sara. "So, if the victims weren't bound or drugged, how did our killer inject them?"
The two women contemplated for a moment before Sara replied, "Did they know the perp? And trusted him enough to allow him to inject them?"
The blonde looked skeptical. "It's possible," she replied. "There was no sign of forced entry at the Ellis house."
Sara flipped through the Shea file again before responding. "None here either."
The older female still wasn't convinced. "But why would they let him inject them? What did they think he was giving them?"
The brunette shook her head in frustration and replied honestly, "I don't know."
Grissom interjected, "It still brings up an interesting point. How did the killer get into the victims' houses? Cath, cross-reference the victims' phone records for the last month or so before they died. See if there are any numbers that show up on both sets." He shrugged and said, "It's probably a long shot, but maybe we'll get lucky."
"I'm on it," she replied, turning to leave. But, before she walked out, she had to speak her peace to her younger counterpart. If nothing else, she wanted Sara to know how concerned she had been – how concerned they all had been – for her. "Sara," she started, waiting for her colleague to look up before continuing. When she did, Catherine realized that a lengthy discourse on how much they cared about her was neither her nor Sara's style. Deciding brevity was the more befitting approach, she said simply, "Take care of yourself, OK?" Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked out without a backward glance.
Sara stared at the empty doorframe for a second longer before returning her attention to the Shea case file. She was touched at the obvious concern for her that each of her colleagues had displayed – Brass, Warrick, Nick, Catherine, even Grissom. They had all shown her in their own ways that they cared about her, and she felt herself beginning to get emotional. She couldn't allow that, not here and certainly not in present company. Exhaling heavily, she forced her attention onto the case file with no small amount of effort.
Grissom watched her closely, taking in the weary sigh and the slumped shoulders. Glancing at his watch, he was surprised to see that shift had ended an hour ago, and he quickly came to a decision. "Sara," he said. When she looked up at him, he smiled and nodded towards the door. "It's late. Let's go home."
TBC...