Chapter Five: Ordnance Tactics
"Thank you, Ms. Sidle. You've been so nice."
Sara's head snapped up at the sounds of her name. She smiled warmly and shook the hand extended her way.
She never knew what to say at this point. Here she was, telling some kind, middle-aged woman her son had been found beaten to death for no apparent reason, his body left unceremoniously in the rain on his college campus…and this woman was thanking her. She always smiled, never able to form words. Never sure she knew the right ones.
As she and Brass jogged off of the front stoop and down the steps, the detective touched her elbow. "You okay, kiddo?"
"What? Yeah." Sara ran a hand through her hair and wrapped her arms tightly around herself as they walked through the front yard to Brass's car.
It was no warmer that morning than the previous one and she had only a light jacket. The sun was working its way into the sky but not enough to counteract the chill in the air. At least it wasn't raining.
Brass opened the passenger door of the sedan for her before stepping around to the other side of the car. He cocked his head, gazing at her with sympathetic eyes. "You looked like you were somewhere else in there. Thinking about the case?"
Sara scratched at her forehead and raised her eyebrows. No, she hadn't been thinking about the case. She hadn't been thinking about the case when she'd been working it. With her focus and attention so scattered, it was a good thing they'd gotten a lucky break. The kid's roommate had come forward and told the police his friend was rushing a fraternity and had been called away that night; he hadn't heard from him since.
Hazing. Sara would never understand frat guys. They were going to get seriously busted for this one. She'd worked in the lab all night, comparing marks and bruises on the kid's body to items in the frat house collected with the warrant Brass has gotten for her; as expected, no one was stepping forward and confessing to the assault. She'd hoped to put enough together to have some explanation or reason to give the mother, but that was the problem with her line of work: there was evidence to explain how, but never enough to explain why things like this happened.
But that hadn't been where her mind was. She hadn't even really been thinking about the tear and grief-stricken face of the mother, which was probably what Brass assumed. Under other circumstances, that's exactly what she would have been thinking about.
"Sara?"
She turned to Brass and shook her head. "No, just…thinking."
More specifically, thinking about what had happened before the start of the night's shift. Because of that, she'd had the feeling of being avoided all night long. Nick on behalf of his own bruised ego and Warrick on behalf of his friend. They were all busy, true; but it was more than that. She was sure the story had been exaggerated by the time it had reached their coworkers.
Brass reached out and patted her hand in that fatherly way he had around them. "Do you need to talk about anything?"
Sara bit her lip and leaned her head back against the headrest of her seat.
"Do you maybe have a minute?"
Grissom sat back as Sara entered his office and shut the door. She hadn't even had to think where she was going to find him. He never seemed to leave his office anymore, save for going home or driving out to scenes. Sara could have sworn she'd even seen a few techs bringing evidence and results to him now.
She sank into the chair across from him with a soft thud. She was still smiling, but it was no longer easygoing, it was forced and tight. She was trying to keep up a front, but Grissom could see through it. He always could.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Her smile widened, and when her cheeks met her eyes, she could feel tears welling. Unwanted tears of regret, confusion, and lingering frustration.
"Sara…"
"I, uh, I think I might have done something kind of stupid," she said, blinking and forcing back the tears.
Grissom slid his glasses on. Sara thought it was strange, like he was studying her. "What are you talking about?"
Sara frowned. "You didn't hear about this morning?" She was sure the news of the fight had made its way through every nook and cranny of the crime lab by now. Gossip spread like wildfire, especially with David Hodges in the building.
Grissom's expression told him that he had in fact heard, and she braced herself. "I heard that you and Nick had an argument." His voice was tentative, clearly not wanting to provoke a temperamental outburst.
"Yeah." Sara laughed uneasily, gazing down at her hands. "It was a little more than an argument."
"Sara?"
"We both…said some things." You really have turned into a piece of work lately…you're confrontational, unreasonable, irrational…you mope around here like…like what? What would she have said if Nick hadn't interrupted? Like what, Sara? Like I almost died? He'd been so angry.
You mope around here like you've got nothing to live for. You mope around here like no one cares about you. You mope around here like you don't even care about you. Nothing would have helped the situation.
Grissom smiled. Being on the receiving end of a smile from Grissom should come with a decoder. Sara wasn't sure what it was he was attempting to convey with that tiny manipulation of his mouth – it was tight and uneasy, which meant it was probably supposed to be reassuring and comforting. "You guys had a bad night. Everyone says thing they don't mean when – "
"I meant them, Grissom," Sara admitted, meeting his eyes. She didn't want him to rationalize this. She lightly set her hand on his desk. "Bad night or not. And he meant them, too."
Grissom reached across the desk and put his hand over hers. It felt odd there, but it was the kind of comforting offer Sara had wanted a dozen times over. She just wished it was under different circumstances. "You guys will be fine, Sara." He probably didn't know what else to say. She continued to go to Grissom for advice, even though she usually left his office more confused than when she went in.
Still, she found herself saying more. "I should have apologized," she said softly, realizing the truth as she said it. Instead of waiting for him to do it first because she wanted to deserve it.
Earlier that morning, she'd been frustrated with more than one thing, and when she had come face-to-face with Nick again outside, she felt defiant and stubborn, not ready or willing to make up.
"You will. And he will, too." Grissom was probably right; they would eventually apologize. The odds just weren't good that it would happen that night.
"I don't think he's going to want to talk to me," Sara said, glancing away. She pulled her hand out from under Grissom's.
Truth was, she didn't know what would happen if they tried to talk. She'd meant the things she'd said, and she knew they were going to hurt when she said them. She was afraid there were even more words waiting inside, more she would let out if the right buttons were pushed. There were so many things she'd wanted to say for months; everything had come out ten times harsher than she'd intended. Now that the gate that was her mouth had been opened, she didn't know what else to expect to come pouring out.
Grissom stared down at his abandoned hand, a strange look on his face. "Are you guys still working that DB?"
Sara nodded. They'd dropped off the body with Doc Robbins that morning, but hadn't gotten much else done. "Yeah. Not well," she added under her breath.
Not quietly enough. A look came over Grissom's face, that 'I'm not sure what you want me to do or say' look. It was one she knew well.
"Wh…" he started, then paused to consider his words. "Why don't you just take over the case?"
Sara opened her mouth to answer, but wasn't so sure she was going to tell him 'no.' Maybe more work would get if she wrapped up the case alone. Things were sure to be tense if she and Nick continued to work together. If they weren't around each other, then they couldn't fight.
Grissom raised a hand, figuring she was preparing to protest. "I needed you both to try to collect evidence at the scene last night, but there's really no reason to keep both of you on the case now. You're each capable of continuing alone. You're already here, so why don't you just work on it. I can give Nick a new case when he gets here."
Sara sat for a moment. She slowly nodded. Maybe a night on a different case would give her time to get herself settled, and let the fight settle itself. "Okay. Okay. Thanks."
Grissom smiled and patted her hand, which again had materialized on his desktop.
Nick, in the sour and testy mood he apparently hadn't shaken during the day, misinterpreted the situation. Sara had an unfortunately well-known history of having a unique relationship with Grissom; things always seemed to go in her favor.
Nick walked heavily into the lab, long-sleeved tee uncharacteristically untucked, hair unkempt as though he hadn't mustered up the energy to even run his fingers through it. He raised his eyebrows at Sara in greeting. At least he was acknowledging her. Sara felt that was a step in the right direction, until he walked right past her.
Sara frowned and followed him down the hall. "Nick, wait up," she said, clutching a manila file folder.
He cast a quick look over his shoulder at her hurrying to catch up and paused. "Yeah?"
Sara stopped a few feet away from him, keeping a bit of distance between them. "I, uh, got a name on last night's body," she said uneasily. She wasn't sure how to tell him she'd taken over the case.
Nick frowned and checked his watch. "Shift hasn't even started yet. You talked to Doc Robbins?"
Sara waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, I came in early."
Nick eyes her suspiciously and the folder she was holding. "How early?"
Sara aimed to smile but had to avert her eyes as Nick stared her down. "I, uh, talked to Grissom, and he said – "
"What did you do?"
Sara's eyes narrowed. He didn't sound angry, just confused, but she could feel herself already getting defensive with him. "I didn't do anything. Grissom suggested that I could finish up on this case and you can – "
Nick barked out an incredulous laugh. "I'm off the case?" He crossed his arms. "Any particular reason?"
Will you just let me finish a sentence? Sara shook her head and reached out to touch his arm and he jerked stiffly away. "Nick, it's not like that."
"What's it like, Sara? Did you tell Grissom that you don't want to work with me?"
"Hey," Sara said. "Can we not do this here?" She gestured to the few curious heads already poking out of various doors. She was embarrassed enough about the number of spectators to their previous fight.
Nick pursed his lips and nodded. He jerked his head in the direction of the break room and Sara followed, arms crossed as well.
When he reached the room he whirled on her, not even bothering to shut the door. "I'm sure there's a good reason for this, right?"
"Nick – "
"Nah," he said, expression morphing as anger became a regrettably familiar look of defeat. He shook his head. "Forget it. It doesn't matter now." He sat in a chair at the table and studied his hands.
Sara rolled her eyes. She didn't want to leave things like that. "I didn't have anything to do with this," she said loudly, as though the low volume of her voice was the reason he didn't believe her.
"It's fine," he stated in a cold, flat voice.
"Nick – "
"It's fine," he interrupted again, tone signaling the end of the conversation.
"Hey, guys."
Both CSIs turned to Warrick as he entered the room, eyes wide with an uneasy smile on his face.
Sara mustered up a smile, herself. "Hey, Warrick." Well, the conversation was certainly over now. She couldn't continue in front of Warrick. "I'll talk to you later." She risked one last quick glance at Nick, who was shaking his head, and she hurried out of the room.
Sara was walking quickly down the hall when she faintly heard a low whistle from the room.
"Is it chilly in here, or is it just me?" she heard Warrick ask.
Sara shook her head and picked up her pace, not wanting to here Nick's response. No, Warrick, she thought, it'snot just you.
Sara couldn't relay any of these happenings to Brass and continue to hope the whole thing would just blow over, so she settled for a shake of her head. "Don't worry. Everything's fine." She didn't know that it was, after the night spent at the lab, but flashed Brass a confident smile anyway.
Brass's brow was furrowed as he stuck his key in the ignition, but he accepted what Sara told him. "Okay."
Upon her return, the air in the lab was heavy and even tenser then when she'd left. Sara winced; apparently things hadn't gone as well as she'd hoped. Warrick and Nick had finished up already, and Greg was also back in the building. After two nights, he'd closed his first solo, and he flashed Sara a big grin as he passed her on the way to the locker room. He was the only one grinning.
She congratulated him, but her attention was focused on the figure she saw over his shoulder. "Bad night?" she asked Warrick, whose back was propped heavily against the wall outside the DNA lab.
He gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "Something like that." He ran a hand over his face. "I don't know what's going on with him."
Sara looked around. "Is he here?"
"Nah, he took off a little while ago. Didn't want to hang around I guess."
There was no accusation in his tone, but Sara still felt guilty.
Warrick sighed and straightened. "Ah, well. Next shift'll be better, right?"
Sara nodded. She didn't want to actually say anything and give him false hope. In her gut, she could feel things weren't going to resolve themselves so quickly.
She was right.
"Hey, Greg."
The young CSI turned at the sound of his name. Grissom was standing at the threshold of the locker room wearing his patented 'I know I look pissed but I'm really trying to seem concerned' face. Greg just hoped that face wasn't meant for him.
He bit his lip and recapped his actions during his solo case at lightning speed. He'd worn gloves at all times while collecting evidence, used the bathroom across the street when his nervousness combined with the two cups of coffee back at the lab had given him a need to pee so fierce he was sure he'd embarrassed himself. He'd labeled every evidence bag clearly, had actually probably written more on the seal than was necessary, just to be sure. There wasn't another 'G.S.' in the lab, so he hadn't needed to write out his full name. All in all, the last two nights had gone relatively smoothly. His fellow CSIs might have been able to wrap up the case in a single night but he was still learning, so he cut himself a little slack for taking two shifts to identify and track down the overzealous boyfriend who'd gotten carried away.
"Yeah?" Greg responded, pulling his jacket out of his locker and slipping it on. He was still nervous but fairly confident he hadn't done anything horribly wrong. Grissom always made him nervous, more so since he'd started working exclusively in the field.
"Have you seen Nick around?"
Greg adjusted his jacket lapels and shut his locker door. "Yeah, he headed out about an hour ago. He and Warrick wrapped up pretty early," he said with a faint twinge of jealously. "Why?"
Grissom sighed, apparently unhappy with this answer. He shook his head with obvious disappointment. "I asked him to stop by my office before he left."
Greg shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe he forgot." In reality, he knew Nick hadn't forgotten. There'd been a nearly unrecognizable look on his friend's face as he'd stalked out of the building.
"Yeah. Maybe." Grissom turned to leave, pausing for the slightest second. "Nice work on your case." His voice was quiet but Greg would have heard those words from a mile away.
He grinned in spite of himself; he had done a good job. Maybe not a quick job, but a good job. He turned to thank his supervisor, to maybe get a more detailed critique of his work on the case…only to find Grissom had already left.
Greg chewed his lip. Well, he'd gotten something. He guessed the 'nice work' was praise enough.
The next night certainly didn't feel any better. For the first time in a long time, possibly ever, not a single sound was to be heard coming from the break room of the crime lab as the graveyard shift prepped for the night ahead. The screen of the television was black, the controller and games of the Playstation put away, untouched for days. Four figures sat in silence, hands clasped in their laps or in front of them, occasionally loosening long enough to pick up a coffee cup. And not a brew from the lab-supplied grounds; this was the good stuff. Catherine could smell it from the hall. For some reason, Greg was feeling gracious.
Upon entering the room it took all of two seconds for Catherine to understand why Grissom had asked her to handle the night's assignments. He didn't want to be the one to decide the next two contestants on CSI Feud.
Catherine stood at the head of the table and surveyed her team. All but Grissom were present, having graciously opted out of this painful process. It was just as well; she was going to be working with him herself on an assault at the Tangiers. Sara and Warrick were seated on one side of the table, Nick and Greg on the other.
Sara and Nick were still avoiding eye contact with each other. Evidently the whole 'talking things over' thing hadn't happened yet, or if it had, it hadn't gone over well. Catherine wasn't too worried about it. She knew the two would never let their friendship become seriously jeopardized over something so stupid. Still, she didn't think they were ready to be working together alone just yet.
Sara wasn't the only one Nick wasn't meeting eyes with. No matter how intensely Warrick was staring at him, Nick was stubbornly refusing to look across the table, choosing instead to stare at the coffee cup in front of him. Catherine wasn't sure what was going on with the two them now, but when Nick finally raised his head and faced her, she could almost feel the confusion and uneasiness radiating from his eyes.
Two cases, four CSIs. A first grader could have told her how to hand them out.
"Okay, guys," Catherine said, looking down at the two slips of paper in her hands. "We're going old school tonight." She waved her arm out at them. "Buddy up."
No one moved. Nick resumed staring at the cup. Sara inspected a fingernail. Warrick studied his hands. Greg looked around at the other three like they were alien invaders.
Catherine smiled tightly, studying their self-assigned seating chart. It was probably going to be the safest bet to get through the evening smoothly. "Okay…Warrick and Sara, take a 419 at Woodbridge Park. Nick, Greg, another DB at the park behind Walnut Grove Middle School."
"Both scenes are parks," Sara offered, looking up from her nails. "Do you think the crimes are related?"
Catherine raised her eyebrows and handed one slip to Warrick, the other to Greg. "You tell me."
"You know, I could really go for a five-car pileup right about now. A gang shoot-out, something."
Gil looked up at Catherine with a genuinely horrorstruck expression.
She straightened from where she'd leaned against the doorframe. "Not like that," she amended quickly. "Just…" Catherine sighed, crossing the room, and leaned a hip against his desk. She shook her head ruefully. "Just something to get everyone together again."
Gil nodded absently, but his attention had already been redirected to his computer.
Catherine sighed, frustrated. "Well, you're certainly not helping matters any, sitting here in the dark all the time."
"I'm not sitting in the dark."
"You sure?"
Gil rolled his eyes. "I should have seen that coming."
Catherine shrugged and smiled, but it was short-lived. She really needed some help from him here. "Well, you need to be out there with me." She was nearly pleading with him. "You can't keep shutting yourself in your office and pretending things aren't falling apart out there," she said, gesturing to the door.
"I think you're overreacting."
Catherine's eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms, jerking her head. "Go out there. Go out there, and look at Nick and Sara. At Nick and Warrick." At Nick and yourself, she added in her head. "And tell me I'm overreacting."
Gil sat forward in his chair, resting his arms on his desktop. He stared at her patiently. "They had a fight, Catherine. They'll be fine. Time heals all wounds."
"No," Catherine said, waving a hand at him. "No, it doesn't. Sometimes, time rips wounds open and shreds them into tiny pieces and then you sit in here and expect me to pick it all up and put it back together." She said it in a rush, in a single breath. She waited for his response, hoping he would give her something to work with, some support or encouraging word that he wasn't going to let their team, their family, fall apart.
"Catherine…"
That was all he had to say. He trailed off, his mouth still open, and chose uncomfortable silence. She had taken it too far for Gil Grissom to offer her anything intelligible.
Catherine tapped her fingertips on his desk, not meeting his eyes. "Let's get going. Scene's not going to process itself."
She turned to leave, hearing another quiet sigh from the man as he rose to follow her out to the crime scene; the only reason Gil Grissom seemed to be able to drag himself out of his office anymore.
To be continued...
