Grissom found Sara in the breakroom, her attention focused on the papers in her hands. She had called him a few hours ago to update him on her case, but it was the first time he had laid eyes on her since assignments, and he felt the itch of anticipation as he stepped into the otherwise vacant room.
"Hi," he said softly.
She looked up, a smile spreading across her face. Her eyes darted around automatically to ensure they were alone. "Hi," she said flirtatiously.
One word, and he was humming with need, desperate to be alone with her.
The coffee pot sputtered, and Grissom's eyes moved to it and then back to her. "Are you making coffee? I thought we were going to get out of here."
Sara smiled guiltily and held up the sheath of paper. "I just want to go through this. And check out the inventory day shift collected last week."
He frowned, his disappointment acute. It had been three days since they had managed to spend any time together outside of work, and he had been looking forward to their morning together all day.
"Are you done for the day?" she asked.
"Yeah. I just got done going over the autopsy with Doc. The rest can wait until tomorrow."
"I won't be long," she promised. "An hour or two, tops."
Before she could say anymore, Nick and Greg walked in. "Oh, good," Nick said. "You're both here. We're done for the day. Tissue samples are with DNA. The plastic from the bottom of the shaft is in Trace."
"Any leads?" Grissom asked.
Sara held up the papers in her hand. "Archie got into her online dating account. This guy seems like our best lead. I need to call Brass and get him working on a warrant to see if we can get an ID. In the meantime, I'm going to sift through their chat log for clues."
Greg grinned at her. "You know, if you're not going to let Nick set you up with one of his friends, maybe you should try online dating."
"So I can get murdered? No thanks," she shot back immediately, avoiding Grissom's questioning gaze. He was definitely going to ask about that later.
"Hey, online dating isn't all creeps and murders," Greg said.
Sara narrowed her eyes at him. "Let me guess…."
Greg smiled and spread his arms. "What can I say, I go where the ladies are."
"Is that where you met your brainless beauty?" she asked.
"No, that was a blind date. If I'd talked to her online first, I would have known ahead of time that she wasn't a candidate to carry my genius babies."
Sara laughed reluctantly. "I suppose you're on these sites too?" she asked, turning her attention to Nick.
"No, ma'am. I like to meet my ladies the old fashioned way. Besides, my parents would never understand if I brought someone home and told them we met online."
"Parents just don't get it because it wasn't an option for them," Greg said. "My parents were high school sweethearts. They have no idea what the dating scene is like, let alone the online dating scene."
Nick nodded. "My parents met when my dad was in law school. My mom worked at the library where he studied. All my siblings are married and popping out grandbabies. They can't figure out what I'm doing wrong."
"At least you have siblings to take that heat off you. My mother hears the words 'grandbaby' and gets all teary eyed," Greg said with a shudder before turning his attention to Sara. "How did your parents meet?"
Grissom felt a flush of protectiveness surge through him at the mention of Sara's parents. But before he had time to worry, she was laughing.
"Woodstock," she said with a self-conscious shrug.
"No way," Nick said. "The Woodstock? Like Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin Woodstock? Peace, love, and hippies Woodstock?"
"The Woodstock," Sara confirmed. "Apparently it was love at first sight. Three days later they drove cross country in my dad's VW van headed for a new life together in Haight-Ashbury."
Grissom watched Sara's face closely as she laughed and bantered with Nick and Greg about hippies and Woodstock. A year later, he knew, her parents would still be living in a communal apartment with half a dozen other young people, attending marches and sit-ins and toying with some light civil disobedience when they would discover that Laura was pregnant. They would abandon the Haight for a rambling rundown property an hour north that they dreamed of turning into a successful bed and breakfast. That dream would never come to fruition, and the horrors that followed in that house made the image of two idealistic young dreamers chasing the Summer of Love painfully ironic.
"My mind is blown," Nick said, shaking his head. "That is not at all how I pictured your parents."
"Wait a minute," Greg said, obviously still processing. "Your parents are hippies who went to Woodstock and lived in a van, and you went to Harvard and work in law enforcement? Please tell me you are the black sheep of your family."
Greg cackled at the irony of it, and Grissom watched Sara's face carefully as she responded. Her mouth pinched into her trademarked tight smile, playing up the moment.
"Something like that," she said, with a half shrug and a grin, sending Nick and Greg into howls of laughter. And then for the briefest second, her eyes met his, and he could see the flicker of sadness hidden by her bright smile. He wanted to reach for her, to hold her hand or put his arm around her. To be there for her the way he was finally able to be privately. Instead, he just held her gaze and hoped she understood his desire.
"What about you, Grissom?" Nick asked.
"Yeah, right," Greg said immediately. "He's not going to tell you. His parents probably met in CIA training."
Grissom hid a smile, and gave Greg a hard look. "If you're right, then I'll have to kill you."
Greg started to laugh, then hesitated as if he wasn't quite sure if Grissom was joking.
"Not today, please," Sara said, holding up her stack of papers. "We've got enough murders around here to solve."
With that, they were back in the present, and Nick and Greg said their goodbyes and headed out. He lingered for just a moment, loathe to leave her.
"Don't stay too late," he said, nodding toward the papers in her hand.
She nodded in agreement, and he turned and made his way out of the lab and into the parking lot. He waved goodbye to the guys, then he slid into his car and headed for home.
He hoped Sara wouldn't be long, but it wasn't a bad idea to be seen leaving separately. Mostly, they hid their relationship in plain sight. Rather than drawing attention to their relationship by staging fights or fabricating stories of dates with other people, they just acted as normal as possible, and failed to make any references to their life together outside the lab.
It was a trick he had learned from Sara. His secretive nature was a thing of legend in the lab, but truthfully it was Sara who managed to hide the most. She was as ferociously private as he was, but rather than making a point of refusing to share personal details, she was quick to share stories and information that were true but of no consequence. The more he learned about her past – and the more he watched her handle conversations like the one in the breakroom – the more he understood that she had perfected the art of appearing to be an open book. And because she appeared so comfortable sharing, and no one suspected anything lay deeper, the secrets that mattered stayed hidden.
For years, even he had been oblivious to her tricks. She was more open with him than anyone in her life, waiting patiently for moments alone with him to share half truths that she hid from the rest of the world. But it was only recently he had begun to uncover the other half.
Last month, she had been browsing through the books on his living room shelves, running her finger along the spines, making comments and asking questions about some of the more obscure titles, when she came across a dog-eared copy of Moby Dick. He had watched as she pulled it from the shelf and contemplated it.
"One of my all-time favorites," he said, inviting conversation, suspecting it was one of hers too.
"I read it for the first time in fifth grade," she said quietly.
"You freaked out your teachers with your artistic rendering," he said, parroting the story she had told him years ago at a crime scene.
She had hesitated, and then looked up to meet his gaze. "That drawing got me moved out of my first foster home. It was only about three months after my dad died. They had two little girls of their own. And they were really nice to me. It was a good placement. I was lucky. I didn't realize it at the time, but they were one of the good ones."
He had nodded quietly, listening carefully and giving her room to tell the story at her own pace. This was the first time she had ever spoken to him about any of her foster families. She had talked sometimes about her years in the system, but only as a whole. He knew that she'd been in twelve homes in five years — some better than others. He knew she had stayed with some of them for up to a year at a time, and some for just a few weeks, the families blurring together over the years until they were nameless and faceless. And he knew that she spent her final year as a ward of the state in a group home for teen girls before filing for emancipation at sixteen and matriculating to Harvard.
He knew only the outline of this time in her life, the details still locked away inside her.
"I was a mess," she said with a shrug. "Withdrawn. Barely speaking. I buried myself in books. That was my escape. They had this huge home library and let me read anything I wanted. We didn't really have books at my house growing up. I used to borrow stuff from the library at my elementary school. But they were kid books. This was the first time I had access to books that meant something to me."
He couldn't imagine a home without books, and his heart broke for her all over again at that tiny detail.
"I read To Kill a Mockingbird. Jane Eyre. Little Women. The Count of Monte Cristo. And…Moby Dick. That night, after my teacher called them in for a conference with the guidance counselor to discuss the drawing, they called my social worker and asked for a transfer. They thought I was asleep, but I…never slept much, even then. I heard them on the phone. They were worried I was a danger to their kids. Or a bad influence on them. They said I was…not an appropriate fit for the home."
His stomach ached for that little girl, barely ten years old and so lost and alone, carrying the judgment of the world for her mother's actions.
The night she had finally told him her darkest secret, she had cried and asked if he thought there was a murder gene. Twenty years later, and she was still worried she carried that darkness inside her.
He had tried to find the words to tell her how terribly wrong that family had been, how much they had missed out on. He wanted to tell her that she was the perfect fit for his home, for his heart. But the words had tangled on his tongue and sounded hollow in his own ears. Finally, he had taken the book from her hand and led her to the bedroom, where he showed her all the things he couldn't say.
Afterward he held her, his hands mapping her body gently, until she fell asleep in his arms, more peaceful than he had ever seen her.
So often in his life, he felt like a failure, like he was missing some fundamental component of humanness, unable to connect with the people around him. But Sara had changed that. She was different. And he was different with her. He still felt all the time like he was floundering, like he had no idea what to do. But moments like that, when his touch was able to bring her peace and soothe away past hurts, he felt born anew into a whole person.
Grissom pulled into his designated parking spot in front of his townhouse and smiled when the man on the sidewalk gave him a friendly wave. Ben Jackson had lived three doors down long before Grissom had moved in ten years ago, and had been the first to stop by and welcome him. The elderly Black man was the closest thing Grissom had to a friend in the neighborhood. They didn't socialize exactly, but Ben was a huge baseball fan, and they usually stopped to chat a few times a week during the season.
Grissom climbed out of the car and said hello, taking a step back as the enthusiastic dog at the end of the man's leash leapt at him.
"Down," the man said, ineffectively tugging at the leash.
"He's fine," Grissom said, scratching the boxer behind the ears. The dog was much calmer now that he was getting some attention.
Grissom wasn't sure how old Ben was, but he had already been retired when Grissom moved in. He'd had another boxer back then – a placid, slobbery fellow named Satchel. Grissom didn't know if it was just temperament, or if Ben had devoted more time and energy to training back then, but the puppy he'd gotten to replace Satchel three years ago was now seventy pounds of mayhem.
"I'm trying to get him some exercise before the game comes on, so he'll leave me be while I watch," Ben said, giving the dog an exasperated but fond smile.
Ben never missed a Braves game, and often insisted that televising their games on TBS was the greatest service Ted Turner had done for America. Ben had lived in Atlanta all his life, before moving to Vegas when he retired twenty years ago. His second wife had been from Vegas and had wanted to come home. But she only lived another three years before succumbing to cancer, and Ben had been living alone with a succession of boxers named after baseball legends ever since. Grissom had been inclined to feel sorry for him when they first met, and he heard his story, but it quickly became clear that the man had a far more active social life than he did, and didn't want for company.
"How are they doing?" Grissom asked. "They gonna make the playoffs?"
Ben scoffed. "Not the way they're playing. It'll be a damn shame if they blow this season. It's been fifteen years since another team won the division title."
"Is Maddux pitching today?" he asked, starting to think he might watch the game while he waited for Sara to arrive.
"No, Smoltz. He's been hot lately, so let's hope he can take care of the Phillies." Ben went on about the pitching rotation for a while, and Grissom half listened while petting the dog. Despite his lack of manners, he was a sweet, friendly dog who seemed eager to please.
Grissom had always liked dogs. His mother hadn't approved of animals in the house when he was growing up, and he always swore he'd get a dog of his own eventually. But once he was in a position to do so, it seemed cruel to get a pet when he worked such long, unpredictable hours.
"Well, well," Ben said, looking over Grissom's shoulder, a grin spreading across his face. "If it isn't your lady friend."
Grissom turned just in time to see Sara's silver Prius pull into the empty spot beside his car. She opened the door and climbed out, shooting him a sweet smile.
"I thought you were working late," he said with a grin, as she approached.
She shrugged. "I decided it could wait."
He was grinning like a fool, and he didn't care one bit. He reached for her, and she walked into his embrace. He rested his hand on the small of her back and drew her in, his heart stuttering at the feel of her in his arms after three long days. She kissed his cheek and then withdrew, taking a step away from him and turning her attention to Ben.
"Hello, Ben. How are your Braves doing?"
"They'd be doing a whole lot better if they won some games," he said, eliciting a laugh from Sara.
The dog had been straining at his leash since Sara emerged from the vehicle, and finally succeeded in jerking the leash from his owner's hand. In a single bound, he had both front paws on Sara's stomach, knocking her back. Grissom's hand flew to her back immediately, steadying her.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine," she said with a laugh, gently pushing the dog back until he dropped his paws back to the ground. Then she crouched down and gave him a brisk scratch around the ears and neck. "I'm happy to see you too, Hank."
Once the dog had his fill of her attention, she stood and handed Hank's leash back to Ben.
"I better get going before it gets any hotter," Ben said. "It's going to be another scorcher."
Sara frowned. "I know. I was hoping to get in a run, but it's already too hot. I'll have to go tonight before work."
"You be careful running at night," Ben said. "I know it's a safe neighborhood, but…well, I don't have to tell you."
"I'm careful," she promised, without the edge of defensiveness she often had.
"All right," he said. "You kids have a nice day. We'll see you around."
He gave a little wave as they headed down the sidewalk, Hank tugging him along, and Grissom turned to Sara to find her grinning at him. He extended a hand to her, but she held up her hand and took a step back. "Let me grab my bag."
She walked to the back of her car and pulled a duffle bag from her trunk. When she rejoined him on the sidewalk, he reached out and caressed the back of her arm, his hand resting at her elbow as he led her to the front door.