Grissom stared straight ahead as he walked beside the janitor. He wanted this case wrapped up, was worried for his colleague's mindset. Sara had started the shift in her typical eager manner but something had changed.
He'd noticed in the Denali that she was quiet and had called her on it. She'd said very little and he let it pass. After all, everyone was entitled to an 'off' night, even Sara.
The hospital's smell nearly turned his stomach; he didn't know if it was the mix of antiseptic and prescriptions or from the intangible but nonetheless unmistakable aura of madness that surrounded the brick building.
The hours had dragged by as he and Sara painstakingly perused every squared inch of the victim's room, the hall surrounding him, the video tapes of him being constrained—all of it.
He just wanted to wrap it up and see that the victim got what little justice could be derived from pinpointing a madman as the killer.
The janitor's shocked exclamation and the sound of fumbling keys jerked Grissom from his reverie. He peered through the shatterproof glass separating him from Sara. Sara and the madman holding a pottery shard to her neck.
Open the door—he told the janitor softly, barely aware of saying the words.
Sara looked at him through the glass, eyes wide with a panic he'd remember in his thoughts always. Her lips formed his name, a silent entreaty and a condemnation.
Why had he left her alone? He'd known this building housed mentally ill sexual deviants. He hadn't thought, he just hadn't thought. Now Sara was paying the price.
His Sara. She who was so like him in so many ways. At the mercy of a madman and he couldn't get to her. Was forced to watch.
The blood sprayed on her clothing and he wanted to puke. He often saw her with blood on her, it came with the job. But having someone threaten her life and then slit their throat that close to her was more than Grissom thought he'd ever have to handle.
After it was over all he wanted to do was hold her, but he didn't dare. Not here, not while they were on the clock. She must blame him for leaving her alone, putting her in that position.
I'll never let her out of my sight on a scene like this again, Grissom vowed to himself. He'd not lose her like they'd lost Holly Griggs. That was horrible but to lose Sara would be so much worse. It would be like losing a part of himself; the very best part, the part that kept him alive. Without Sara, he was all bugs. He knew that, had always known. It was one reason he spent so much time at work, knowing that she always arrived early and stayed late. He had to be there, make sure she took care of herself.
He'd brought her to Vegas—she was his responsibility. He'd always felt that way and had never questioned it. It just was.
He knew he'd done a horrible job with that responsibility lately. He asked himself for the ten thousandth time why the girl stayed. Why did Sara stay in Vegas? Was it because of her career? With her skills she could work anywhere and he was thankful to have her; her dedication and zeal for the job mirrored his own and he respected that. But she certainly didn't have any other ties to the area.
He remembered that phone call he'd made years ago, asking her to come help him with an investigation. Holly Griggs's murder. She'd done such a good job on it, he'd prayed she'd accept his offer of a job. And she had.
Then he'd had to watch her flirt with Nicky. It had frightened him, frozen his gut, thinking of Nick and Sara together, as a couple. Nick touching her, holding her. Thankfully, they'd become the best of friends. Now Grissom loved watching her tease and torment the affable Texan.
He knew Sara had trouble relating to people and he was glad she'd bonded with Nick. And though he'd worried about her relationship with Cath and Warrick, they'd settled into a comfortable rhythm that made for a great work environment.
The only spoke in the wheel was him. He knew it, knew Sara felt more for him than simple friendship. He felt the same about her. She was his Sara. His light. The way she smiled at him over some scientific discovery tightened his gut and narrowed his world to only her.
Now he only wished he had let her see that years ago. Maybe then Hank the jerk wouldn't have entered the picture, maybe she wouldn't have stopped making those little gestures that said he, Grissom, was someone special. He missed those gestures. One of his favorite memories involved sitting up outside the lab one night with a dead pig checking the decomposition rate. She'd brought him a blanket, settled it around his shoulders, and given him a thermos of coffee. She'd stayed with him all night.
He'd wanted to wrap her up in that blanket with him. The intensity of that want scared everything that was holy out of him. He'd never felt that intensity for anyone. Only Sara. And tonight he'd wanted to throw himself through that glass window to get to her. To rip her away from that bastard and hold her as close as he could. If he could break the glass, he'd do it barehanded to get to her. But he knew the glass was designed to resist that very thing. Designed to separate the dangerous from the rest of the world. And now Sara was on the wrong side of that glass—and he could do nothing but watch, but wait.
Five years between that night and tonight. Five years he'd thought about and wanted to hold her.
This wasn't something that was ever going to go away, Grissom realized for the first time. A part of him had somehow simplified his feelings for the woman as being lust, infatuation even. He knew better now.
Having reached his final—if delayed—conclusion, he had no clue how to proceed. Sara hadn't made any overt moves in his direction in nearly two years. Since before Hank the EMT even. Had her feelings changed? What were her feelings exactly?
Grissom was ashamed to admit it, but those of feminine gender had always baffled him, Sara more so than most. He'd been her teacher and had been thrilled to find someone so consumed with the same passions he possessed. He'd initially mistaken her advances for enthusiasm.
After she'd come to Las Vegas he'd chalked her hints down to boredom, proximity even. What were her options, really? The way the woman worked herself to the near breaking point proved she had little time to meet young, single men. Warrick, Nick, Greg, Hodges and David were it and they were all obviously ill suited for his Sara. Leaving only him able to handle her vast intelligence, that spirit that fired her.
That was something else that bothered him. She ignited, sparked, lit up all around her. And he was the calming presence, the one who stifled everyone else. Didn't Sara deserve better? Better than some old guy like him, dampening everything about her?
But this wasn't something that was going to go away, and he wasn't sure he wanted it to. When he thought of his life before Sara entered the picture it was so dark and bleak he knew he didn't want to sink back into that.
But what kept her in Vegas? What if by some chance she decided to leave? What right did he have to stop her?
He had no holds on her, no ties to keep her close. Just a mentor/protégé relationship. But those relationships were easily broken and Grissom was startled to realize he wanted something more than that. He wanted to walk down the halls holding her hand, not walking eighteen inches away from her as befitting a colleague. He wanted to take her to the Sheriff's fundraisers, parties he'd always eschewed for a lack of a date. And if he were honest—lack of desire to see Sara with a date.
Five years. He'd wasted five years, so consumed with his specimens, his work that he'd not noticed his life silently idling by. All the time she'd been right there. What was it she'd said during a case once? He'd asked her if he'd seen her lately and she'd said, what?
Oh yes, she'd said, "You see me every day."
Did he really? Some how, now he didn't think he did.
But what next? What step did he take now?
He didn't want to frighten her off.
Sara didn't do well with change—in that, she was much like him. Baby steps, he told himself. Moving slowly along the right path until Sara realized he wasn't a clueless ass anymore.
As he watched her walk way, headed to speak with Greg, he thought a moment, ignoring Cath and Warrick as they walked by.
Turning into his office he strode with a strong purpose to the desk, for once ignoring the skittering of his specimens as he'd turned on the light. Settling uncharacteristically on the edge of his desk he grabbed a yellow legal pad and began listing the steps he'd take devising the most important experiment of his life.