Brown
June - A page of the wind in the book of the sky, the fragile butterfly
Las Vegas – anno 2005
Evidence.
She weren't going to classify it, not by color anyway, but it didn't belong.
That she knew. It was uncharacteristic and misleading.
A careful removal would not really reverse the truth, although she suspected pleasure could, but it would alter the truth.
It's not like anybody would care, or even really notice, if just one single hair was missing from her case.
It was not expected to be there to begin with, so by disposing of the evidence she could not be held responsible, could she?
Only accountable…to herself.
The chrome tweezers held on tight, not she, then opened and dropped said hair into the toilet to flow away
with the Ekman spiral as she pushed down the silver lever to allow for it to flush away.
And just like that the hair had drowned away.
Away, away, away…
Now all she saw was brown; brown eyes and brown hair.
Yet somehow she still felt old.
She turned off the lights; it was time to put this case to bed.
White female, age 34. Brown eyes, brown hair…mostly…lonely, unhappy.
She padded out of the bathroom, snaked out of her work clothes, found a clean camisole in her third drawer down and then turned…herself…in.
…Sweet dreams Sara Sidle.
San Francisco – some eight years prior…
She had been caught and she knew it.
And it hadn't been the first time either, but damn; the way his short wavy hair had reflected the sunlight, revealing a tiny bit of gray behind his ears where it were otherwise in an indistinguishable mixture with brown, was just such a turn-on.
Erotic almost.
She decided she would kiss behind those ears some day!
At least he hadn't noticed.
Of the three of them, only Moby had seemed to have had his senses intact and operable as his eyes had demonstrated to her when they finally had captured hers, breaking the gaze that had existed between a pair of intense brown eyes and healthy gray mane.
Those two must have been close to the same age she had reasoned, but Moby was old, whereas Grissom was not.
"Ladies first," the visitor had stated while propping the door, as his palm touched her lower back ever so slightly guiding her through the diner entrance.
"Trying to tell me something?" Moby had teased as he benevolently shoved his friend through the door and ahead of himself.
Inadvertently Grissom had lost his balance causing him to bump directly into Sara who had at that point had just come to a halt by the hostess stand. His arm had reached out around her by way of sheer reflexes, to keep her from falling, as his right leg had done a half skip forward and to the side, avoiding her foot, to balance himself and her both.
Moby had not so very discretely busted out laughing, causing an elderly couple in a nearby booth to look up from their meatloaf and giggle a bit.
Sara had now, in a split second, gone from dreaming of Grissom's ears to finding herself in his firm embrace with her outside left thigh hugging his front tightly, his inside right thigh against the back of her thighs and his mouth breathing hot spent Grissom air behind her ear.
Oh god, erotic hadn't been half of it.
Her hair had in turn tickled his nose driving him crazy.
Somehow he had managed to be the first to communicate with his legs, because she had felt a chill as his breath had receded.
Obviously he hadn't been completely oblivious to her tight spot because he had allowed his right arm to slide down to her waist to gently walk her along with him as he had simply told her to…
"—C'mon."
She had guessed he had been communicating with her legs as well.
He certainly had done so with the rest of her… He had undone the rest of her,…almost.
She had been as mortified as she had been mute and had not objected when he had sat himself down next to her on the worn brown vinyl bench seat.
She had needed him.
The fish tank had only housed two fish, one orange Fantail and one Black Moor.
Of course it had stubborn brown algae growing everywhere, so there could quite possibly be other fish, dead or alive, somewhere in there.
Either way the tank and its inhabitants had been a welcome distraction from the sensory overload she was trying, and failing, to recover from. She had probably come across as studying the aquarium a bit too keenly.
Her facial expression had given her away, those brown eyebrows moving about again.
"It's always been there, that's why," Moby had said.
"It's tradition."
"Yeah, well tradition means it is old," she had said,
"and besides I don't appreciate looking at two poor creatures behind dirty tempered glass walls as I am trying to make this supposed Ruben go down."
She had instead picked up a couple of potato chips and ground them between her molars.
"And my chips are stale."
"Anything else Miss Chipper?" Moby grinned, not denying her claims about his favorite old hangout.
"Yeah, how the hell can you eat fish'n chips with those pitiful two looking over your shoulder?"
She had displayed her most disgusted grin with a set of brown eyes to match.
"Don't you feel bad for them?"
"Mnou, mnaat veely," his mouth full with a partially ground mash of fish and bread and chips.
"Oh, that's just great," she had muttered before bringing a soggy greenish-brown pickle to her lips.
"Even as sour and bitter as this pickle is,"
she sucked out the juice before taking a bite,
"it doesn't even come close to removing the bad taste you've left lingering in my mouth!"
She had been too caught up in her repartee with her boss to notice the sharp intake of breath by the increasingly silent individual directly to her left.
He would never be able to so much as look at a pickle, hear a pickle, or listen to pickle-talk from Sara's mouth ever again.
…
It had not been his intention really…but then nor had a lot of things lately.
He had meant to put them back by the fridge, behind the microwave that rested dutifully atop.
He thought he had meant to.
Hadn't he?
But they had been too far gone anyway at that point, beyond reprieve, curled and brown around the edges.
Not because it had been unusually hot that day, or because they had been stifled within an oppressive trunk.
No, rather because it had been a pleasant day.
A really good day, if not hotter than usual in some respects.
A warm and wonderful day.
He had simply forgotten.
Blame an aging mind other ways preoccupied.
He wondered what would be contained in the forecast for tomorrow...
They would finish up the rest of the timeline and if all would go as smoothly as it had today he would be on his way back to Vegas at this point in time tomorrow evening.
Could that then be considered a good day? A successful day?
Good had seemed to be a relative term these days, depending largely on specific elements in one's environment.
Nothing elemental about Sara, however, she was as complex and mystifying as they come.
Perfectly so.
And she had become part of something he sensed as far superior to his usual surroundings…
Life perhaps?
Hmmm…
He had stood at this very spot a little over two years ago, with Sara there next to him smelling the mist off the ocean breeze.
Everything was the same now as then, save a loose plank on the railing and the slight weathered browning look of a board that had been newly replaced when they had stepped on it two years ago.
And Sara of course.
But Sara hadn't changed a bit, beautiful and mysterious as ever.
They had discussed the case and brought Moby up to speed on the ins and outs upon arrival back at the lab.
Lunch had provided…distractions, and they had not even mentioned the case once while at the diner.
There had still been tension, although not negative tension, more like nervous energy and maybe a sense of embarrassment.
When he had jumpstarted Moby's ramblings about the good old days it had been a relief; some common ground that was entertaining and familiar.
For them at least...
He hadn't even thought about the fact that their conversation had been centered on a time when Sara probably hadn't even started school.
He just hadn't thought that far.
Not until she had started looking increasingly uncomfortable and cracked an impromptu joke, quickly excusing herself saying it was time to head on home.
And it had been.
He had been rambling on about bugs and bodies, as was his trademark, like there was nothing else in the world, for that long.
He had simply assumed she was there and that assumption had felt comforting to him.
He hadn't even noticed her absence.
…
Except that when he had come to that very conclusion she had already left…
Even though they had wilted, the thorns had been sharp enough…
He had come to a realization while watching those roses drift away from him, one by one, not to be seen again.
He had experienced an epiphany of sorts.
What he had done and what he was currently doing was wrong, but not intentionally hurtful.
He had decided he had wanted to see her bright smile again.
He needed to see her smile again as much as he imagined she needed to feel it.
An hour later he had knocked on her apartment door.
His hand still appropriately sore.
The chain had rattled before the door opened, a wide-eyed Sara looking up at him.
"For you," he said.
"And I'm sorry."
He had looked at her with that silly-sad smile she had come to know as genuine and genuinely Grissom.
"I've got to go get the rest of the stuff out in the car, be right back." He had turned and marched on down to the open trunk of his rental.
She had been dumbfounded as her right hand had grasped the top knotted end of the clear bag and her left hand had cradled the bottom, feeling slight movement through the plastic.
Upon his return she had held the door and moved over to the side, out of his way, while still carefully clutching the plastic bag.
Her soft brown eyes voiced the question so that her lips did not have to.
"The very same," he had validated.
"How'd you…"
"—I said it was a matter of life and death."
He gave her his most accomplished grin, the one that always caused him to tilt his head, just slightly, but tilt it to the right while looking directly at her.
"Ultimately that is the truth, and always will be, wouldn't you say?"
Her shy face turned into a wide grin as she pictured him going about this task for her, her right dimple advancing on the left as her mind progressed.
"Well, Dr. Grissom, I believe you are right!"
"Well, Miss Sidle, you are a true scientist!
"Where is a good place?" he asked.
"It's a 16 gallon tank which should be roomy and environmentally sound for them, but yet not too big to fit around here somewhere I hope."
She held up the water-filled plastic bag, studying the two fish for a minute.
"Um, my dresser? It's… it's in my bedroom."
Her voice had tapered.
"If you don't mind?"
"Not at all. I'm going to need water and a bowl or pitcher or something like that."
He picked up the tank from where it had temporarily come to rest on her kitchen counter and followed her toward her sanctum.
"Oh yeah, there's one in the bathroom, I'll get started on that."
She headed into the bathroom after having first set the bag down in one corner of the still empty tank as soon as he had situated it on her dresser.
"Not too cold," she heard him voice from her bedroom
Her bedroom.
"Gottit," she replied on her way in with the first pitcher-full of what was to become the new surroundings for her first 'pets' in ages.
And
not just any pets. Life…from Grissom.
The plants were in and the various water treatments and ornaments had been added.
"Wow, it looks amazing, they're gonna be so psyched. Talk about a life altering moment."
She brought the top of her hand to the outside glass surface.
"Do you think they've adjusted to the temperature yet so we can let them out – or in, as the case may be?"
"Probably", he said as he watched her starting to untie the bag.
"Not like that," he said quickly appearing at her back and reaching around her to grab the bag last minute.
He hadn't sounded particularly harsh, but it had come out rather unexpectedly.
"You don't want to add the water they came with if you can help it," he convinced.
"Even if your tank hasn't cycled yet, you don't want to risk adding diseases from the old tank, or even worse -- possibilities of brown algae!" he added with a wink.
She didn't normally like to be told what to do, especially not in her own home, but she had sensed no malice in his voice.
"Good point," hand me the pitcher then, will you please.
"Certainly."
With a content blop-blop the two hydrophiles were in their new and pristine environment darting around a bit stressed, as was to be expected.
She sat down at the foot end of her bed as he turned on the tank light
"Is it working?"
"I think so," he concluded, as she stretched back and over toward the wall to hit the light switch.
"Oh yes, very nice!"
From the small walkway between the dresser and her bed he had tried to appraise his gift to her, to make sure nothing was missing.
"You can sit down, you know."
If she had really known she might not have suggested that.
"What are you going to name them?"
"Hmmm, well after that nasty place…something appropriate would be in order."
The ghastly image of Moby had entered her mind.
"The orange one kinda' looks salmon-colored, don't you think? Same intense orangey-pink color and all."
His face had contorted with skepticism.
"Do you really think they serve salmon over there? I'd be afraid to think how that could play out," he shuddered.
"Ahhh, clever minds think alike."
She smirked and turned to look at him, her gaze lingering a little too long.
"Ella, for the black one, Salmon and Ella," she said with pride, feeling awfully smug.
He pursed his lips to choke out the hopelessly silly grin he felt brewing right beneath the surface.
"Salmon and Ella it is then, only I hope not from first hand knowledge, for your sake."
He laughed while turning back to look at her.
"Very appropriate indeed Miss Sidle."
Her face had changed, it was more serious, expectant – hungry almost, and her eyes had darkened a shade or three.
"Thank you," she said.
"Nobody has ever done anything remotely comparable for me, ever."
She had wanted to say romantic, but it hadn't come out that way.
"Well, it was about time then," his hand had lifted to start cupping her chin while his eyes became more intently focused on the person in front of him.
The near darkness of the room was only interrupted by the crisp new light emanating from the fish tank and an oddly mysterious atmosphere was surrounding them as their worlds seemed to be shrinking and merging.
"Sara…?"
She looked at him, and then suddenly jumped back as she heard somebody at the door…
Anno 2005
Sitting up abruptly, she was panting and heaving for air.
"Shit!"
11:37 am - way early…
…
She laid back down, stressed and sweaty and stiff, trying to regain control over her breathing.
It had seemed so real. She couldn't really remember, but she knew it couldn't possibly have been just a dream?
So why…?
She felt old again.
Her water wasn't cold, but it nonetheless felt good making its way down her throat.
She pulled her sheet back around her, grabbed her large pillow and curled into a ball, hoping to drift off for another hour or two, her plush brown friend against her forehead.
Moby never had asked her about Teddy…
Good old Teddy guarding her secrets within through his faint residual smell of citrus.
"It is not really about the pictures you paint Sara, it is about the pictures the colors will paint of you.
Your
painting is just your palette, you are the canvas."
……………………………………………………………………..
To: "Sara Sidle" Subject: Thank You
……………………………………………………………………..
Grissom:
I didn't get a chance to really thank you for everything you taught me during the T. Cesni case – I am honored.
It was really nice to see you again and I hope I get to work with you again, sometime in the near future.
And…thank you for everything.
'Salmon' and 'Ella' are doing well,
we'll never forget you!
Sincerely,
Sara S.
P.S. I'm sorry…