AN: So, I've never been much of a fan of Hodges, too much of a suck-up for me (even if he does get better later on in the show), but I have to admit, I had a total blast messing with him in this chapter and the last! Hope you like it too
Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to CSI
Chapter 29
The halls of the lab feel different during the day, Sara's always thought. It's busier, which isn't surprising since there are more people around, but it also feels… colder, somehow, the overhead fluorescent lights fighting off the little natural light that does find its way in. Of course, it might also be the fact that 'her' people aren't around.
She nods at a few familiar faces as she and Shelby make their way towards the exit and stops reluctantly when she hears Hodges calling her name.
"David." She puts on a smile.
"Well, well, you'd almost think the night shift has started already," he notes. "What might you be doing here this early?"
"Just a pickup," she replies.
"What? That doesn't…" He pauses and frowns, spotting Shelby. "Oh. I didn't see the resemblance earlier, but it's obvious now. Kind of Grissom to help you out and babysit."
"Um, yeah, it is." Shelby tugs on her hand and she turns her attention to her daughter. "What is it, baby?"
"Where's Mr. Dandelion?"
She looks around and realizes that the beloved lion is, indeed, missing.
"I don't know, baby," she says, crouching down to get on the same level. "When did you last have him?"
"I don't know."
She can tell that a meltdown is imminent. "Did you leave him at Daddy's house? Or in his office?"
The first couple of tears roll down Shelby's cheeks. "I don't know!"
"Sara!" She looks up to find Grissom hurrying down the corridor, the missing lion in one hand. "I think you forgot something."
She nods at him before focusing on Shelby again, brushing the tears away from her face. "See, it's OK, Daddy has Mr. Dandelion."
It's too late, though, her daughter has already dissolved into tears, her breaths wet sobs. Grissom reaches them at that moment and immediately scoops Shelby into his arms.
"It's OK, sweetheart, don't cry." His words don't help, of course, and she clings to him as he strokes her back, looking at Sara. "I'll walk you to your car."
She nods, letting him lead the way, and it's not until then that she remembers Hodges, who's now looking at her with eyes wide in confusion.
"I guess I'll see you later," she tells him with a smile, leaving him staring after them. She waits until they're out of earshot before speaking again. "I think we might have just given Hodges a stroke."
Grissom glances behind them and snorts. "I'll make sure he's still alive when I go back in."
It hadn't occurred to her that Hodges might not have picked up on the subtle gossip caused by Shelby's existence that's been running through the lab since she got back – she caught Wendy and Henry discussing it in hushed the other day, both clamming up guiltily as soon as she entered the DNA lab, and they're probably the ones he's closest to. But she has to admit that the look on his face just now was priceless.
Shelby's cried herself to sleep by the time they reach Sara's car, and she unlocks it and opens the door to let Grissom put the little girl in her car seat. He carefully tucks the source of all the commotion in the crook of her arm before gently closing the door again.
"So, that was a tantrum, huh?" he notes, leaning against the car, and Sara mirrors his position.
"Meltdown," she corrects with a smile, which widens at the confusion on his face.
"What's the difference?"
"Tantrums are more… angry. Usually when I tell her no, or she doesn't want to do something." She remembers the shoe shopping experience the other week.
"Ah."
"Meltdowns usually involve a lot of tears, which is easier in some ways but harder in others. Did she sleep at daycare, do you know?"
He frowns for a moment. "They didn't say anything about it, so I assume so, but Alison did say that she's been a little cranky all day. And then I interrupted Dora, so it might have just been a matter of time."
"Maybe… I just hope she's not coming down with something," she muses. "I assume you and Ecklie aren't done, you should get back in there."
Grissom sighs. "I should. We're almost finished, but he's writing up the statement and wanted me to have a look."
"Any idea what he's planning on saying? I assume it won't be a general warning for young women to avoid unknown men in cars or trucks. Does anyone even hitchhike these days?"
"Judging by the relevant crime rates, I would say yes, unfortunately. We don't want to cause a panic, so I think he'll word it as a plea to the public, asking for observations," he says. "We have the OK from next of kin to go public with the identities, so it makes the most sense."
"Yeah…" She makes herself open the car door. "I'll let you get back to it. See you for dinner?"
He nods, reaching out to tug on a lock of her hair. "I like the hair, by the way."
"It was just a trim," she replies with a shrug, the warmth from his hand, an inch or so from her neck, mingling with the blush creeping over her skin. She's suddenly very much aware of how close he is, how easy it would be to lean in just a little and kiss him. She's even almost certain he wouldn't mind.
"Still." With another smile, he turns back towards the lab, and she takes a deep breath before getting in the car.
Hodges has apparently recovered from the shock, because he's moved from the corridor to the A/V lab, where he's in deep conversation with the dayshift tech. Grissom hurries past, not wanting a repeat of earlier, and is soon back in his office.
"Sorry it took so long, minor meltdown," he apologizes as he rounds the desk, but Conrad waves him off.
"I do remember what life with a toddler can be like, even if it's been a while," he replies. "But I had time to finish the statement, can you have a look?"
Grissom accepts the offered paper, skimming through the text. "This looks good, basically what I was expecting. And we have photos of all the girls?"
"Yeah, we've got it all prepared with the number for the tip line as well." Conrad takes the paper back with a sigh. "Guess I better get going. Thanks for the help, and sorry for interrupting your afternoon."
"No problem."
He goes home to have a quick shower, change, and grab his kit, and then heads over to Catherine's place – if she's not home, he's planning on staying until shift starts, to make up for the time with Shelby he missed out on earlier.
Sara opens the door wearing an apron reading "Just bitchin' in the kitchen", making him raise an eyebrow. She rolls her eyes. "Apparently a gag gift from Lindsey. Come on in."
He follows her into the kitchen where a delicious scent is coming from the stove. "It smells amazing."
"Mushroom risotto," she replies, going over to stir something. "You're a little early so it's not quite done yet."
"I don't mind waiting," he assures her, claiming one of the stools at the kitchen island. "Where is everyone?"
"Lindsey's in her room doing whatever teenage girls do all day, Shelby's probably still asleep, she didn't even wake up when I carried her in from the car earlier, and Catherine's still out on her date. She said she might go straight to the lab."
"Right." Her words remind him. "You said you were going to tell me about that later."
She turns away from the stove, leaning against the counter next to it, a mischievous smile on her face. "Oh yeah. You'll never guess who came to pick her up earlier."
"Who?"
"Vartann!"
It takes him a second too long to place the name. "Seriously? I was at a scene with both of them the other day, I didn't notice anything."
Sara snorts. "I'm not sure if that's a testament to how discreet they're being or just your inability to read interpersonal relationships. She said it's pretty new, so they're keeping it under wraps for the time being. She also swore me to secrecy, so don't say anything." She wags the spoon she was using to stir at him.
For a moment, he considers objecting to her assumption that he wouldn't notice, but it's not like she's wrong. He is terrible at reading – and understanding – relationships. His own included.
"Her secret is safe with me," he just says instead.
They make small talk as Sara continues cooking, and then he goes to let Lindsey know that dinner's ready and wake up Shelby while she sets the table.
The press conference leads to a big spike for the tip line. About ninety percent of the calls are ruled out immediately, but the remaining ten percent need to be investigated, so that's what keeps them occupied for most of Wednesday's shift. Criminals don't particularly care about important cases, though, and at three in the morning, Nick and Sara are on their way to Henderson and a suspicious death.
"I'm not saying I'm glad some poor sucker kicked the bucket, but if I had to listen to one more 'tip'," Nick makes air quotes, "I was going to lose my mind."
"Tell me about it," Sara agrees, taking the exit off the highway. "What was the address again?"
Nick reads it from the assignment slip, and she takes a few turns, pulling up behind Brass' car a couple of minutes later.
"What've we got?" she asks when he greets them.
"Take a look for yourselves," he replies, instead of offering an explanation.
Which makes complete sense when he leads them down the narrow space between the house and the fence to the neighbor's yard.
The man is sitting in a lawn chair under an umbrella by the large pool, wearing a neon green shirt, sunglasses, and a party hat. Stuck in his mouth is an unlit cigar and his hand is curled around an open beer can on the table next to him. If it hadn't been for the blood caking the side of his head and turning half the shirt a deep crimson, he could have easily been nodding off after a great night.
"You have got to be kidding me," Nick mumbles next to her.
"Someone's weekend at Bernie'd our vic," Sara states flatly.
"Let's not jump to conclusions," Brass pipes in. "Maybe someone killed him just as he was about to light up."
"There's no way someone smashed his head in and didn't knock the cigar out of his mouth or that stupid hat off his head," Nick objects.
"But… why?"
He shrugs. "Let's find out."
They work methodically, as soon as David takes the body away, documenting the entire backyard before moving on to bagging and tagging the evidence. A large blood pool a few feet from the chair reveals where the victim was most likely killed, and a blood trail from there leads to the pool and a golf club at the bottom.
"How much you want to bet that matches the head wound?" Nick asks.
"How much you want to bet all trace on it is gone?" Sara counters.
"Pessimist."
"Realist."
Still, they bag the club.
By the time they've finished the backyard and are ready to move inside the house, it's already six thirty.
"There's no way we're getting out of here for at least another few hours," Sara notes after glancing at her watch.
"I can finish up on my own if you want to head out?" Nick offers, but she shakes her head.
"No, I'm not sticking you with that whole house, you'll still be working on it when shift starts tonight. Let me just make a call."
Catherine picks up on the second ring. "Hey, how's it going?"
"Slow," she reports. "We've finished the backyard but still have the whole house left, so this is going to take a while."
"Don't worry about it, I'll get Shelby up and fed and dropped off," Catherine offers immediately.
"Thank you."
"No problem. Is Gil picking her up?"
"Unless he has to go into work again."
Neither of them says it, but if the serial killer sticks to his schedule, another body will be discovered at a gas station at some point during the day, which might necessitate another call-in.
"Let's hope not, but we'll work it out if it happens. I'll tell him to bring her back by dinner, so you don't have to go over there and pick her up."
"You rock, Cath."
She laughs. "I'm aware, thanks. Get back to work so you don't get stuck there all day."
"Heading in now. Give Shelby a kiss for me."
"You got it."
"Hey, Grissom!"
He stops at Sara's voice and backtracks a few steps to the door to Trace. "Yes?"
"Can you have a look at this?" she asks, gesturing at the microscope she's using.
"Is that the hairs from the Bernie case?" he replies, stepping into the room.
"It's the Warren case," she corrects him, but he can see the corners of her mouth turn up. "But yes. I was thinking canine – both the vic and two of the suspects have dogs – but now I'm not so sure."
She moves aside so he can have a look through the microscope himself and he stops in front of it. He knows he's just a little too close to her, but instead of moving away, she inches closer, her arm brushing against his chest as she reaches for a folder on the other side of the microscope. Over the last few days, since he held her on the couch when she read the letter from her mother, they've both been touching the other, seemingly accidentally – brushing by a little too close in the hallway, fingers touching over folders, his hand lingering a little too long against the small of her back, guiding her through a door, her leaning over his shoulder to read something on the screen in the A/V room, just a fraction of an inch too close.
He swallows and leans down to press his eye against the microscope. "Not canine. Equine."
"Horse?"
When he straightens up, she's turned to him with a questioning look, and he realizes they're only a couple of inches apart. He barely has to lean in to be able to kiss her.
And for one breathtaking second, he knows, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that she would kiss him back.
The sound of voices behind him reminds him that they're in the lab, and they both take a step back at the same time.
"Yes, horse," he confirms, clearing his throat when his voice comes out a little shaky. "Do any of the suspects have a connection to horses?"
A smile spreads across her face – a smile he knows well and loves, the smile when she puts pieces together and arrives at a conclusion. "You know, one of them does."