The drive to Lady Heather's home was eerily silent for Sara. As she maneuvered the car through the weaving streets, turning as the GPS told her to.
"It's faster if you take Lake Road." He spoke after they'd been in the car for fifteen minutes. His suggestion competing with that of the GPS's.
"Oh." Was all she said as she turned onto Lake, the GPS rerouting." She didn't want to think about how he knew that. How he knew the best route to get there. Lady Heather had always been a sore subject between the two, a heavy weight on their relationship's shoulders, a mostly unspoken hurdle they had to delicately dance around.
He stared forward, eyes fixated on the road as if he were the one driving. Every once in a while he'd sneak a look and glance at her. He'd been rushed before and was unable to really take in her appearance. But now, alone in the car, he was able to steal looks, take in her beauty. Even with thin angry lips she was beautiful. Her brown hair seemed richer, eyes brighter, skin glowing. She looked well rested, happy. She really had regained her life here.
Sara kept her eyes straight forward. She could feel tension in her jaw, she was trying actively not to clench. She wouldn't be the one to speak. She decided. She couldn't. Not after all this time. His presence beside her, sitting in the passenger seat was unnerving to her. They'd been worlds apart since the divorce, since long before it too. Having him in the same town, in the same car—It was intoxicating, there was no better word for it.
Most of all, Sara was angry—mainly at herself. She'd spent the last two years compartmentalizing every feeling she'd had for this man. A box in her mind labeled, to have and lost, where she'd stored all of their memories together, sealed it up and tried her best not to get nostalgic of. She'd been doing a great job not thinking of him, to be honest. She'd devoted her life to her work, her work family. She thought she'd really moved past it, moved past him.
But then, seeing him again, feeling her heart flutter as she looked into his ice blue eyes... she was angry at herself that she'd had that response. That her stomach fluttered, her breath caught, that her hands felt hot. It wasn't fair. That box of memories and feelings she'd sealed up in her mind burst open at the sight of him, everything rushed back.
Sara pulled up to the house and parked the car. She opened the car door and got out, Grissom did the same.
"Wow. 30 minutes in the car. Now words. If you were playing that silent car game, you definitely win." She finally spoke.
"I thought we were talking." Sara rolled her eyes at this. His socially awkward tendencies were clearly back to their early 2000's levels. When they were together, Grissom had gotten so much better at expressing himself, of understanding her and her feelings, of being human. But this statement he'd just uttered let her know that in the past two years since the divorce, he'd thought they were still friends, thought that there was no hard feelings between them.
"Alright, listen." She spoke as the walked up the stairs to Heather's porch. He turned to face her as she pulled off her sunglasses, "Before we go in there and deal with Lady Heather, I just want to acknowledge that you and I haven't spoken much since the divorce—Or before it for that matter. We both went our separate ways. You're doing your Jacques Cousteau thing, I'm in the field. I get it—But you and I are professionals, and as professionals I think it's in the best interest of the case if we put on a unified front. You know, work as a team?" She was proud of herself as she spoke, her voice kept an even pace and pitch, showing she was in control, not wavering. And it was taking every bit of strength she had to step up and speak up, to be the bigger person here—despite all of the conflicting feelings she was experiencing in his presence.
"Okay?" She continued with a forced grin, "Let's put on our game faces and—and keep it professional. See?" She waved her hand in front of her face, her grin getting faker by the minute, "Mine's on." She couldn't read him. His dark shaded glasses still sat perched on his nose, obscuring any emotion that she'd be able to read, roadblocking any sense of understanding he may be showing. "You ready to go in?"
He watched as these emotions played out through her face, and while he heard her, he wasn't quite listening. He beauty was blinding to him. He wanted desperately to reach out and touch her face, feel her warmth below his fingertips. But he knew he couldn't. That deep feeling of regret bubbled to the surface again. And without thinking much, or acknowledging the monologue she'd just performed for him he spoke, "Seeing you again left me a little speechless."
This was meet with a Sidle eye roll, one he'd become very familiar with over the years. And he quickly realized this maybe wasn't the best thing to say. He watched as she shook her head in small gestures was walked past him toward the front door. He followed obediently.
Sara looked back at Grissom and he sensed the worry in her posture. This thought was corroborated by her unholstering her gun. He stood behind her as they entered Lady Heather's house, the door already ajar. What they found inside caused Grissom's stomach to drop. Blood, the living room was turned upside down, blood pooled and splattered everywhere. The home was far too large for Sara to clear herself especially with Grissom not carrying. She quickly radioed for uniforms to show up.
They stood outside the house as they waited. Sara leaned against the Tahoe.
"How uh, how have you been?" Grissom touched his fingertips together in that tentative way he often did.
"I'm good." She nodded, she didn't want to give him much more than that. "You?" She added cordially.
"Good. Good." He nodded even more hesitantly. He leaned on the car next to her now, their shoulders mere inches apart. He felt her shift a bit away from him. "You look beautiful."
"Gil, don't."
"Don't what?" He asked innocently, honestly.
"This. Whatever it is you're doing. You can't—After all these years, you just can't. Please." Her last word was beggingly soft and he'd suddenly felt very guilty. But he couldn't quite tell why.
For him, by all accounts, the divorce was mutual, amicable. He' thought she'd be fine, bounce back, find someone new. But her body language now told him otherwise and he was beginning to feel immense regret for ever letting her go.
He watched as she tensed up, arms folded, eyes diverted. Just then two patrol cars rolled up. The cadets made their way into the home. Fifteen minutes later, a long and silent fifteen minutes later, the cadets emerged from the house, "Code 4."
"Thanks, guys." Sara pushed herself off the car, grabbed her kit and walked inside. She worked the scene, taking photos and swabbing the blood. She felt Grissom come up behind her, watching her work. She did her best to ignore him, not let him fill her thoughts as she focused on collecting the evidence.
"Alright." She said standing after she'd finally finished processing the immediate scene. "Let's head back."
Sara walked up the hill to the leveled out ground where Grissom and Henry were putting the the final touches on the bomb experiment. She watched as Grissom came into view, sitting under the tented area, fiddling with a control. Wearing that silly straw hat. That straw hat. She smiled internally. She'd loved how goofy he looked in that hat, remembering the first time he admitted that he loved her, wearing that while walking to a crime scene.
"Sex without love is pointless, it makes you sad."
"I'm pretty sure I don't make you sad."
"No. You make me happy."
That almost cryptic way he had about his was once so endearing to her, so lovable. But now it angered her. She wished he could just talk to her, tell her what was on his mind. Be transparent about what he was feeling.
Her feet took her closer to them. Still gazing at that goofy straw hat perched atop his head. It looked like it'd taken a beating—worse than it looked after their trip through South America. She smiled at this too. Remember a particular canoe ride where his hat flew off and they'd paddled up stream to get it back.
"I see I'm right on time." Sara spoke as she came into ear shot of the two.
"Okay. Bombs hot! Behind the wall." Grissom spoke, as the three scurried to the safe detention place.
Grissom and Sara now stood in the empty school auditorium. One that was filled just an hour earlier with parents and children, happy smiling faces and singing voices. Now, a bomb site with two casualties.
"It doesn't make sense. Why wouldn't the bomber take out every man, woman and child when she could?"
"I think whoever was on the other end of that earpiece was in the process of trying to exercise control. I think he was sending us a message."
"He? You don't even think its a possibility that Lady Heather was on the other end of that earpiece?"
"I don't." He spoke softly as the two continued to look around the blast site.
"Gil." Her voice was strong and stern now, "She's a puppeteer, she's been controlling and manipulating people for years.
"So, according to your theory: Lady Heather is the dominate giving orders and the female bomber is the submissive, taking orders. Right?"
"Right."
"By rule, the dominate is not allowed to hurt the submissive. And if they do, the submissive is allowed to use the safe word and discontinue the pain."
"This is not some fetish game." She was shaking her head as she looked at him, feeling like she almost didn't know this man standing before her anymore.
"Sara. Heather would never hurt anyone with the intent to kill. Especially not innocent people and children. It goes against everything she stands for therapeutically." He watched as something washed over Sara, her face tensing, lips tightening.
"What was your safe word with her?" Her eye bored into his.
"Stop." He said strongly. And while that was, in fact, his safe word with Heather, he meant it more for Sara to stop this.
She nodded knowingly, "We certainly could have used that word today."
He could feel his own body tensing now, the tension between them making it hard for him to breathe. What happened? He exhaled hard, how did we get here? He watched as Sara turned on her heels and exited the auditorium.
A little while later she walked down the school's halls to find Grissom in an empty classroom. She herself was trying her best to exercise control. Blowing up at him wasn't helping anyone here. She took a deep breath before entering.
"I talked to the principal. The woman who blew herself up was a teacher here." She watched as he opened and closed the teacher's desk drawers.
"This is her classroom." He offered, having already known the information Sara presented.
"According to him, she'd been put on intermittent leave for mental instability. The school district paid for a therapist. You'll never guess the name: Dr. Kessler. What kind of a person straps a bomb to her chest and self-detonates it at a school?" She watched as Grissom's brows raised, his obvious tell that he'd found something of interest.
He picked up a bouquet of flowers from the desk. "Someone under the influence of Devil's Breath."
"Devil's Breath." Sara repeated as she thought for a moment, "Is that the same flower that we stumbled upon in Columbia? The one Pierre warned us about?"
"It is." He looked up at her, locking his eyes to hers, he smiled, "Remember we'd lost track of the hiking trial and sat down to rest and recalibrate our maps when that local came yelling out at us to move away."
Sara laughed softly, remembering the moment Grissom described, "I do. iAléjate! ¡Apoyo!" She imitated the local.
"You remember your Spanish." He smirked as he bagged the flowers.
"Un poco." She replied, "It was never very good to begin with."
The team stood in an AV lab now as Grissom presented his findings.
"Burundanga, the most dangerous drug in the world. It grows rapid in South America. One wiff of it's airborne pollen and the recipient relinquishes all control. They'll do anything on command. From emptying their bank accounts to a total stranger to putting on a suicide vest. My theory is that whoever is behind the bombings gave these to her just before the school play."
"So, what are the connections between the two bombers?" Greg spoke, looking between his colleagues.
"Both were patients of Lady Heather." Sara offered.
"Is she the co-conspirator in all this? Or the mastermind?" Catherine looked toward Grissom as she spoke, taking in his body language.
"I think she's being framed." He finally spoke, knowing it wouldn't be received well. He looked up to see the furrowed brows, and slightly disapproving looks.
"Uh—Grissom has this theory that Lady Heather is being framed. Even though he doesn't have a motive and making every argument to validate her innocence goes against everything he's ever taught us about the sanctity of evidence points to her." She let her eyes linger on him as she ended her statement.
"Everything you say is true." He shrugged. "So who else could it be? Who might have access to things they shouldn't have access to?"
"I think I need to go back and search Heather's house." The team nodded approvingly.
"I'll come with you." Brass spoke and Sara nodded in agreement.
The team stood to make their way out of the room, "Sara, could you hang back a minute." Greg spoke.
"Sure." She watched as Grissom, Catherine and Brass exited. "What's up?"
"Just wanted to check in with you. Make sure you're doing alright."
"Yeah I'm fine, why?"
Greg smiled knowingly, "Oh, I don't know..." He pushed.
"Yeah. I'm okay, really."
"Okay." He smiled and hugged her tightly, rocking her back and forth.
"I'm really fine." She tried again, "I don't need a hug."
"I do." At his she laughed.
Grissom and Catherine stood just outside the doorway talking. Grissom's eyes kept bouncing between Catherine speaking and Sara and Greg inside the room, hugging and laughing.
"Have you two talked?" Catherine spoke a bit more softly. He refocused on her.
"No."
"You going to?"
He simply shrugged in return.
"Dr. Kessler!" Sara called as she ran after the woman who'd just walked out of the house and toward a car. "Dr. Kessler!"
Jim moved toward the car as they watched her get in, "Heather!"
Then, the explosion. A hot ball of fire engulfed the car and blasted outward, catching brass in it's furry. Sara quickly ran to the car and grabbed the fire extinguisher, blasting short bursts at Brass.
"Jim!" Sara caught him from falling once the flames were out. "You okay!?"
"Im okay, I'm alright." He began to topple over and she caught him once more, grabbing onto him tightly.
"Whoa, whoa whoa. You have some thermal burns. Alright? We need to get you to the hospital. Just stay with me alright? Hold onto me." He nodded obediently.
"This is CSI Sidle. I need an ambulance and the fire department." Sara radioed in.
She walked into the lab, Grissom immediately rushing toward her.
"Are you alright?" His voice exasperated worry.
"I'm fine." She spoke evenly, "I just took Brass to the hospital to get checked out, he's going to be okay."
"Thank god."
"Heather wasn't so lucky."
"I heard." His voice was laced with deep rooted sadness, and Sara began to feel badly for the cold manner in which she'd been treating him.
"She was just transported to Doc. Robbins. Catherine is there now."
Grissom nodded sadly and turned to make his way there.
He stood over the body, taken in its charred sight.
"I'm sorry, Gil." He heard Catherine speak, but he just stared at the body more. He picked up one of its hands, and noticed that there were no rings on it. The other hand too. He quickly exited without speaking a word.
Catherine glanced between Dave and Robbins.
"Still the same old Grissom." Robbins spoke, commenting on his socially awkward tendencies.
"Thanks for meeting me here." Heather spoke softly as Grissom slid into the booth across her.
"I have to bring you in. Everyone in law enforcement thinks you're responsible for these bombings."
"I am."
Sara watched as Grissom and Heather walked down the hall toward her and the team. Their proximity close, his hand on the small of her back, leading her. An intimate gesture she couldn't fathom Grissom doing to her ever again. Her lips were thin with anger, jaw clenched. Just the very sight of Heather made her skin crawl.
An officer lead Heather into the interrogation room leaving Grissom to stand in front of the team alone. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets, shoulders raised.
"I haven't spoken to her about the case, but she's come in here voluntarily so, please treat her with respect." His eyes narrowed in on Sara at the end of his sentence. A gesture that just made Sara more angry.
"Of course." She stared right back at him, almost tempting him to challenge her again.
Grissom made himself scarce, knowing it'd be slightly inappropriate for him to listen in on the interrogation.
"I'll start." Sara spoke, her voice already laced with distain, "As much as I'd like to roll out the voluntary red carpet and welcome you here to your own bombing party, I can't find it in my bones to overrule my gut—So I'm just going to ask you the obvious question: Are you, or are you not, behind the bombings?"
"Your hostility connotes jealousy and resentment. It doesn't suit you Sara."
"You know what, I'm not in the mood Heather. I'd like you to answer my question."
"And I'd like some more tea." Heather's sly look and sideways glances were getting under Sara's skin.
"What about the woman who was in your home? Who got in your car and blew up?" Catherine interjected.
"I don't know who she is. I'm guessing whoever is setting out to frame me sent her there to send Sara on a wild goose chase."
"The only one who is sending us on a wild goose chase is you." Sara cut in dryly.
"You only have your claws out because of the intimacy between your ex-husband and I."
"Now whose being hostile?" Sara shot back.
"Needle away, Sara. After all, I've been on both sides of the pricking."
"Alright, Okay. Clearly my presence here is distracting. I'm out of here." Sara stood to leave. Retreating to behind the two-way mirror. Catherine quickly chased after her.
"Just breathe, Sara. She's only trying to get a rise out of you." Catherine said calmly as she faced an angry and rigid Sara. "And the more you let her get to you, the more control she has."
"I know. I'm—I'm sorry." Sara shook her head at herself, arms still crossed, "I lost my cool. Dammit"
"Don't beat yourself up." Catherine offered as comfort, "I don't feel the way you do about Grissom and I want kill the bitch with my bare hands."
Sara's mouth fell agape. Her jaw moved in small motions, trying to speak, to say anything but shock washed over her. "How..." Her voice was so small, almost inaudible. Was she that obvious? Who else knew? Did Grissom know?
"I'm a woman. I know it when I see it. So does she. Remember that."