Chapter XXXVII

Temper Temper

The chocolate induced calm that Wendy had helped her gain faded quickly. It had only taken hearing that Sheriff Atwater, ADA Ritchen and Ecklie had been in the building to completely erode her composure. Not only, she knew, in the building, but in Grissom's office. A visit from the upper brass was never a good thing, but tonight it was a personal disaster of epic proportions. Someone call FEMA or better yet, take the 'Kick Me' sign off her back. She would happily process a working meat packing plant rather then deal with Conrad Ecklie right now. Not that she ever looked forward to her heart to hearts with her personal pain in the ass.

She rounded into the locker room and tried to shake off her mood. She could handle anything that happened tonight. Anything and anyone who gave her problems would get a problem of their own and her name was Sara Sidle. She rolled her neck and repeated that over and over in her head. While she was psyching herself up she noticed the workplace safety board had been wiped clean. Someone, she hedged her bets on day shift, had blown their almost three months worth of accident free days. She chuckled in spite of herself: there went the barbecue. She smirked as she opened her locker–how Sofia had worked with Days on a daily basis for so long without losing her mind was a mystery to Sara.

She shook her head at that thought and picked up her holstered department-issued Glock from it's place on the shelf. She could smell the gun oil from its last cleaning through the leather and woven Kevlar holder. A friend had told—lectured, really—her about her gun. It wasn't a truly effective tool unless her use of it was instinctive. Drawing her gun had to be an automatic reaction on a hot scene or she wouldn't have a prayer. That was why she visited the PD gun range three days a week. She had wanted to know exactly how to handle the deadly weapon she wore strapped to her hip every night, and she did. She never had a problem with her annual firearms requalification, and she could also shoot through the center of a quarter from sixty yards. Of course, the mocking voice in the back of her head reminded her, all the shooting skills in the world couldn't help you when you didn't have your gun with you—or worse, when you were too surprised to even think about your gun.

Hazy images swam into semi-focus, scattered shards of memories from that night. The events had been pieced back together using what little she could remember and the evidence, but she wanted more. She rested her now aching head and let her loose fist thud against the cool metal of the locker. She wanted to know what was going through Natalie Davis's mind that night. What the hell had the young woman been thinking when she'd tasered her? When they had fought, what had been going through Natalie's twisted mind when she'd left her underneath that car in the middle of nowhere? Those were questions she would probably never have the answers to. It wasn't that they hadn't asked them, over and over and over again. Natalie just wasn't answering. She hadn't even blinked when Sara had walked into the small interview room at the sanitarium. The woman who had almost killed her hadn't looked like a monster. She had looked like a scrawny girl in orange coveralls that were too big for her. Her eyes had been glassy and vacant, her face puffy from drugs and institution food. The restraints had only been window dressing; Natalie's body wasn't going anywhere . The only thing she would say, on the far and few between times she had spoke since her arrival, were lines from her ventriloquist father's song. Natalie Davis, the Miniature Killer, had gone somewhere else. Somewhere far in the unreachable and lonely parts of her mind. Gone with all the answers that Sara needed.

"He-ey Sunshine." She stiffened at the sudden vocal incursion on her thoughts but she didn't jump or scream. Which was a small victory in it's self. She only looked over at the doorway where Nick Stokes stood, grinning.

She smiled a little, "Hey, Nicky."

The Texan made his way over with his usual mix of athletic grace and somewhat cocky strut. He playfully elbowed at her as he opened and rummaged into his neighboring locker. Nick whistled through his teeth as he checked his own weapon and ID. "Press is beating at the doors tonight." He looked over at her and she recognized the look in his eyes: brother, friend and confidante. She could always count on Nick.

"Are they giving you problems, Sar?"

She blew out a sigh and shrugged, "Nothing I can't handle." The lie sounded flimsy even to her own ears.

Beside her Nick chuckled, "I don't think there are many things you can't handle." He leaned against the lockers, "Just because you can doesn't mean you have to. I drove by your complex today." He let that sentence hang in the air but they both knew what he wasn't saying. Nick had seen the crowd of press that was camped out right bellow her window. "You know I have a guest bedroom that you're more than welcome to." That did make her smile and that only encouraged him to. "Big backyard for Riley to play in and I'll even refrain from grilling while you're there." She went ahead and laughed because that was what she knew he wanted.

Sara sat down on the hard bench and tugged Nick down to sit beside her. They both nudged their lockers closed with their feet.

"I can't run away from the press. They'll find me and then your house will be swarmed."

Nick shrugged, "We'll bounce you around then. Between me, Greg, Warrick and everyone, they'll never find you."

Sara only wished that was true. "We don't know how long this is going to go. Their interest might fade tonight or three months from now. As long as Alex is in Vegas and especially while she's under investigation, my life is going to be a sideshow."

They fell silent for a minute, and then Nick started to speak again. He sounded more serious now. "Alex Dupree." He let out a low whistle. "She's the one who sent you flowers, huh."

Sara stared down at the floor. She and Nick hadn't had debates or even conversations on this particular subject. The few times the subject of homosexuality and alternative lifestyles came up, the best Nick had come up with was that he simply didn't get it. As her private life was private, she had never tried to explain it to him. She looked at him, telling herself she was ready for anything he had to say, and knowing that she really wasn't.

Nick twiddled his thumbs for a minute. "So are we talking a three step drinking binge, crying jag then moving on break-up or something more serious?"

Sara blinked, she hadn't been prepared for that. She pondered how much she should tell him. " We were together awhile and it wasn't a pretty break-up. There was definitely drinking and some crying. She was half the reason I came to Vegas and now she's here too." Sara sighed and shrugged uncomfortably and waited for him to say something, anything.

"She broke your heart, huh?"

Sara shrugged, still wondering exactly what was going through her friend's mind. "Yeah."

There was more silence, then Nick squared his shoulders and Sara prepared for the worst. "So I can't hit her because she's a girl, but I can be your bodyguard."

Sara couldn't have been more surprised if he'd started riding a unicycle and singing the North Korean National Anthem. "Um, thank you?"

Nick chuckled, "Don't get me wrong, I still don't get the whole gay thing. I mean I really don't get that Brokeback Mountain, ya'll are here and you're queer stuff." Sara nodded mutely and Nick continued, "But you're Sara. What the hell would I do without you around? Besides, I already sort of got a call about this whole situation."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Ecklie already?"

Nick let out a loud laugh. "Not quite. Karen read about it on the Internet, apparently, and immediately called me. She woke me up in the middle of the day and yelled at me. Body parts were threatened."

Sara raised a brow. "Karen—your sister, Karen?"

Nick nodded soberly. "It turns out that Al, have I told you about Al?"

Sara pursed her lips in thought for a moment. "Pediatrician Al, the apparent love of her life, yeah, you mentioned him."

Nick ran his hands over his close cropped hair. "As it turns out, Al is short for Allison."

All Sara could come up with was, "Oh."

Nick threw his arm over her shoulder. "So I have my marching orders from one of my favorite girls to watch over another one of my favorite girls, and you know me, anything to make a lady smile."

Sara let out a snort of laughter. There were obviously several issues that Nick and his large Republican family from Texas were working through, but in the end, she knew it would all turn out. Nick was Prince Charming and he had the Fairy Tale family and one day he would get his happy ending. She gave him a one armed hug. "I will keep that in mind, Nicky, now let's go rob Greg of his coffee before shift starts." She was rewarded with a classic Stokes smile.

She would have declared her mood completely recovered and going strong, but for the fact that Grissom was standing in the hallway beside his office, obviously waiting for her. Sara sighed; it was going to be a roller coaster night.

Gilbert Grissom had been having a rather turbulent day himself, and he was positive that it was not going to improve as the night went on. He'd known that Sara was in the locker room, and rather than go in, he'd decided to wait for her exit. She came out with Nick and as soon as she saw him, her face went cold and stiff. He could almost hear the loud clatter of the shutters going down in her eyes. He had been getting this treatment, the same treatment Sara used with suspects, since that night. She motioned Nick on and the younger man reluctantly left her. How had he become the bad guy here? Gil frowned and waited until Sara was closer to walk back into his office. He knew she would follow just like he knew she would leave the door open. It was, Gil mused, an unwritten rule now. He and Sara were never alone, and if they were the only two in a room, the door was always open. He sat behind his desk. Not because he felt particularly formal, but he knew that Sara would want something tangible between them, separating them. A physical object to break up the vast amount of history and space that had come between them. It was space, he knew, that was full to the brim with things she wouldn't say, things he wished he'd said and things neither of them would mention. It was better this way, but it still hurt.

Sara came into his office, her face blank and her posture rigid. He knew Sara, could read her every mood. He recognized the shirt she wore, it was one of his favorites. He could smell the light powdered musk of her deodorant and the alluring spice of her herbal conditioner. Her presence brought an ache with it, one that he both craved and despised. Everything had changed. They were no longer friends, no longer lovers, they could still work together, but there was nothing beyond that. She hadn't spared him anything, but that was what he had wanted.

Gil sat in his chair, "Sit down, Sara." She did sit, but she didn't relax or even smile.

"What can I help you with tonight, Grissom?" Her voice, usually warm and almost musical, sounded cool and clipped. She was stressed, he could tell, because despite her conscious efforts, her coastal California accent was stronger, more pronounced.

He needed to get this over with. This, of course, entailed several things. There were many independent and equally vexing issues at hand and he had to address them all. The logical starting point was, of course, her involvement with Alexandra Dupree. Her previous relationship with the woman made it impossible for Sara to be neutral.

"Why didn't you tell me about her?" She hadn't, in the two years they'd been together and in the decade they'd known each other, ever mentioned the other woman. Sara was entitled to her privacy, he knew that, but he couldn't help but ask.

Across from him, Sara only shrugged. "It never seemed that important."

Gil Grissom was anything but stupid. He knew he was being dismissed, and that was something he could not allow, not this time. "Well, it's important now." Sara shifted in her seat and raised a thin brow, but said nothing. He folded his hands on his cluttered desktop. "I need to know where your loyalties lie." As soon as the words had come out of his mouth, he knew he had misspoke.

"My loyalty?" Sara's voice was harsh and it sounded almost forced. "I work for the LVPD and the lab, just like I always have."

Grissom found himself rubbing his forehead, an unconscious action to ward away the migraine that he could feel coming on. "I know that, the higher ups—"

"Ecklie." Sara's voice was positively glacial. She crossed her legs across from him and leaned back in the chair. "Don't mince words, Gilbert, I know Ecklie, Atwater and Ritchen just left."

He nodded, slightly annoyed at how fast gossip traveled, "Then you understand my position. I'm going to have to reassign you." He shuffled through some papers on his desk. "You and—" He paused for a moment to think, "Nick can take the suspicious circs out in Henderson." She took the indicated assignment slip, but didn't look especially happy about it.

"Anything else?" Again, her words were to the point and completely devoid of the warmth he associated with her. He didn't want it to be this way, but what else could he do?

"I think it goes without saying that you need to avoid the press and Miss Dupree."

Sara's eyes narrowed and he watched her body stiffen. "You said it anyway."

Grissom knew he was walking a very thin line, which was why he'd never enjoyed his job as a supervisor. "Sara, this is just policy. It's nothing personal. I would ask the same from Catherine or Warrick or anyone else."

Gil Grissom would freely admit that his people skills were subpar. He would also confess to the fact that he had made several miscalculations during his two-year relationship with Sara. It did not, however, take an expert to see and understand that he had just made a critical, irreversible error in judgment.

Sara stood up so quickly that her chair teetered on two legs for a moment, threatening to fall. "No, you wouldn't." Grissom opened his mouth, but Sara cut him off before he could get the first sound of a syllable out. "You didn't recuse Catherine the several times that Sam Braun came under investigation, even when it cost a murder conviction. You let her work Eddie's supposed rape case and even though you gave his murder to me, you let her run all over me." She threw up her hand to cut him off again, "Not to say that Catherine is the only one. When Warrick was way too close to that drive by case in his neighborhood, you let him continue." She let out a breath. "This isn't the lab policy, Gil, it's you."

"It's not like that."

Sara's dark eyes met his and he could see the fury blazing them. "I didn't say a word when we found you cuddled up with that Dominatrix while she was under investigation, any of the three times it happened. The minute, though, I get in a tight spot, it turns into rules and policy and politics."

He winced because her voice's pitch and volume would certainly send her venomous words bouncing down the halls.

Sara didn't say anything else though. She threw up her hands and turned. "You know what, forget it. I have a case to work."

Grissom watched her storm out and slam the door; and all he could bring himself to do was remember that this was all for her own good. That didn't make it seem right, or hurt any less.

Catherine had gone to each and every CSI, tech, and aide in the building and had confiscated at least eleven different copies of the Fremont Times. She had been somewhat surprised, at first, to find out that David Hodges didn't have one. Before she could comment on his sudden achievement in tact, Wendy informed her that she had already trashed his copy. Unfortunately Hodges wasn't the only person who had found the article interesting. Three of the copies had the large full color photo clipped out. Even when she and Sara were on the outs, which was more often than not, she wouldn't have done that. Disgusted down to her core, she contemplated calling Jim to make sure all the copies that had found their way over to the PD headquarters were made to disappear too. After a moment, with phone in hand, she decided that he was probably already three steps ahead of her on that front. She had noticed that Ritchen had taken a copy with him. She shuddered and hoped like hell that the sleazy creep was taking it for professional reasons. Then again, Catherine almost gagged, better Ritchen than Ecklie.

She balanced the dozen papers, her cell phone and her disappointingly empty coffee cup and hoped her arms didn't fail her. She could see her office door and was almost there when a door slammed behind her. She turned just in time to see Sara storming out of Grissom's office. Catherine frowned; Grissom had obviously delivered his message with his usual flair of social awkwardness and dead philosopher quotes. "Sara." The obviously furious brunette didn't even blink. Determined to stop Sara before the press or worse, Ecklie, saw her, she juggled her cell and cup and reached out to touch Sara's arm as she passed. "Sara."

The brunette jerked to a stop and turned. Catherine was shocked to see tears on the brink of falling in Sara's eyes. "Jesus are you, okay?" She tugged on her arm. "Come on in my office and cool down." What worried her more than the temper or the tears was the fact that Sara followed her with no argument. Catherine closed the door behind them so Sara could have privacy to cry or vent or just sit quietly. She threw the papers on her desk and sat down in the chair beside Sara. "You okay?" Sara's attention, though, was not on her. Catherine followed the other woman's gaze and winced.

"It's not what it looks like." She might as well have said nothing at all. Sara's eyes had gone almost completely black and her cheeks and neck were scalded red with anger. Her hand gripped the edge of the arm rest and Catherine could see the veins pop.

"I hope you're happy." Sara's voice was barely above a whisper.

Catherine blinked, "Sara, I—"

Sara didn't let her finish. "You've wanted this case since it broke and now you have it." She stood up, visibly shaking with anger. "I have a scene to go work."

Catherine got to her feet. "You're not leaving like this." Sara turned back around and fixed her with a look that made Catherine want to take a step back. Sara's eyes flickered and Catherine was momentarily mesmerized. The brown of Sara's eyes contained both arctic ice and hell fire. It was like looking at a frozen sun.

"I know," Sara's voice was strangely calm, "that we're not friends, but I didn't think—" She stopped and silently tightened her fists over and over again. "I never thought you would do this to me." Sara shot a glare at the papers. "Everything that's happened and I thought—God, I never thought you would stoop this low."

Catherine put her hands on her hips. "Excuse me? I think you need to get your facts straight."

Sara ran her fingers through her loose hair, pushing it away from her face. "Oh, I know my facts. I know that you are an amoral," she took a step closer so the two women were almost nose to nose, "overly ambitious bitch." She stepped back and threw her hands up. "And I am obviously," Sara grabbed one of the papers, "just here for entertainment purposes right now." She threw the papers at Catherine and they both watched them flutter to the floor. "So I'm out of here."

Catherine was silent for a second, the second that it took for Sara to wrench the door open, then said the only thing that came to mind: "Are you out of your damn mind? I hope you are because otherwise I am going to love getting your ass fired."

Sara turned back around, her body half out the door. "That's you, Cat, always finding the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow." She shook her head, "Y'know, maybe I am out of my mind. Maybe I just went off the deep end, but I think I am entitled."

Catherine raised her chin. "That's your problem, Sidle. You think the world and we owe something. You think you're entitled because you're fucking the right person at the right time. Wake up, Princess, the world doesn't work that way, and I'm sure as hell not going to let you walk away from this."

Sara took the extra step that put her in the hall. "Just try to stop me."

Then Sara was gone and Catherine sat back down, completely numb with anger, and, when she finally got her temper in check, dread of whatever happened next. It wouldn't be good, and this time she wouldn't lie to herself: it was at least partially her fault.

"Fuck."

Author's Note: This update would have come sooner but life, computer failure, and a full sized truck impacting my drivers side door delayed it a bit.