Sara knocked on the metal frame of his office door, "Hi. You got a minute?"

Grissom looked up from the papers he was reading to see her walking toward him.

"Sure." He spoke while taking his glasses off and watched as she occupied the seat across from him.

"We really haven't had a chance to talk since the staff changes. I wanted to let you know, that I said some things to Ecklie that may have done the team a disservice."

"Ecklie wanted to break up the team, and he did."

"He asked me if you and I had our post PEAP counseling session."

"And we didn't. Regardless, you should never have to cover for your boss, I'm sorry."

"You've always been a little more than a boss to me." His heart skipped as their eyes locked. A small, soft smile grazed her lips as she nodded slightly. She watched as his eyes flickered in registration. "Why do you think I moved to Vegas?"

His features stayed stoic but his eyes betrayed him. They were so expressive and she could read him well. She continued to break the awkward moment that would ensue if it was left to linger too long, "look, I—I know our relationship has been complicated. Thats probably my fault. Probably definitely my fault."

"You uh—completed your counseling right?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"Lets just say that, sometimes I look for validation in… inappropriate places."

His eyes were soft as they rested on her face, locked for a moment with hers, until she broke it and looked down at her lap, unable to maintain the intimacy of that eye contact. The concern in his eyes was too much to look at.

There was a churning happening in his mind. Gears that hadn't been turned on in a long time creaked with the slow mechanical screech. Was this his second opportunity? To make something happen here? Was he not too late? He looked at her again and took in her sad demeanor. The urge to touch her face tingled in his palm.

"Look…" He began causing her to look back up at him. "Let's um…" the gears were moving too slowly, he wasn't sure what to say or do. The sadness between them was potent.

She watched as he struggled and stammered. His eyes darting for a place to rest. He still didn't know what to do about this, she realized.

"It's okay." She smiled to relieve him of his thoughts, "Okay? You know what we did our session. Don't forget to document this for Ecklie."

Disappointment washed over him, that he'd been unable yet again to speak to her. To say the words he'd desperately wanted her to know.

"Right…" She registered the sadness in his tone and on his face but had already committed to standing. He watched as she smiled and walked out of his office.

February 2005

The events over the last shift were an intense whirlwind. Grissom had loaned Sara to Catherine on Swing to help with a case of two women buried in tar. The case had started like any other, and Sara was working well under Catherine at the beginning. But as the notes domestic violence began to bubble up, Sara found herself losing control of her veracity.

She'd been tasked with going through ER records of domestic violence cases. Folder after folder of women's bruised and blooded faces and the write ups that accompanied them. She could hear the arguments in her head like a distant memory.

It was the interrogation with the victim's husband that alerted Catherine to the tidal change in Sara. She was moving faster than the evidence, already accusing and accosting the husband.

They walked together down the hall afterward as Sara made her case for Catherine to send police for a welfare check on the suspect's new wife.

"You know Sara." Catherine began, her voice pointed, "Every time we have a case with a hint of domestic violence or abuse you go off the deep end. What is your problem?"

"Yeah I probably do." Sara was on autopilot now, rage boiling over, "And you let your sexuality cloud your judgement about men and I'm going to go over your head." She was yelling at Catherine toward the end. Just in time for Ecklie to catch her.

"Sidle. Get in my office. Now." Ecklie demanded.

"You are a law enforcement officer and a representative of this city. That means I expect you to conduct yourself in an appropriate manner in and away from this lab." Ecklie closed the door behind her and took a seat behind his desk.

"You know what, if this is going to be one of your 'for the good of the lab' speeches, don't bother, I've heard them." Sara wasn't backing down, her anger was too far gone.

"Willow's is a supervisor. Which means you owe her respect. Insulting her in front of co workers—"

"She's not my supervisor." Sara quipped back.

"Alright, your superior. Sara, you berate witness, you disrespect the people you work with. You luck your way out of a DUI. Take a look" Ecklie slapped her file down on his desk, "You've got a half a dozen complaints in your jacket. And if Grissom really documented your performance there'd probably be a dozen more. That's not the kind of person I want in my lab."

"The only reason this is your lab is because Grissom doesn't kiss ass. You couldn't hack it in the field so you failed your way up, you break up our team and now you just wait around in the hallways waiting for one of us to screw up."

"Sidle. You're on one week suspension without pay."

"Great."

"And when you get back you're apologizing to Catherine."

"No I'm not." With that Sara left his office and the lab.

Sara sat at her home desk fiddling with a pen in one hand, a beer occupied the other. She was so angry at herself for her behavior. So upset that she'd been unable to control her temper yet again. Even after having a better idea of it's origins now, she'd been unable to reign it it. The blow up at Catherine, and even worse blow up at Ecklie.

She refocused on the letter she was writing to Harry, Dave Crow's son. Something that soothed her when she was worked up. They'd been good penpals since she'd left San Fransisco. Now in high school, Harry was taking some advanced chemistry and philosophy classes. Writing to him helped her recenter her focus on something good and pure and simple.

She was finishing up a thought when she heard a knock at the door. She stood and turned off her stereo then made her way to the door to look through the peep hole.

"Well. If you're here it can't be good." She spoke as she opened the door to find Grissom waiting on the other side.

"Can I come in?" She stepped aside to allow him in.

"Want to ask me if I'm drunk?" She smiled as she gestured to the nearly full beer bottle in her hand.

"We both know that's not your problem." He turned to face her, "I spoke to Catherine."

"Ecklie."

"He wants me to fire you." He studied her, trying to read her, but he came up short. Unable to see clearly into her.

"I figured." She sighed heavily through her words, too defeated to argue the idea. "Can I get you anything?" She gestured toward the kitchen.

"Sure. An explanation."

"I—lost my temper." She moved toward the living room.

"That seem's to be happening quite a bit. Do you know why?" He retorted. He watched as she made her way across the room, as if she were trying to get as far away from him as possible.

"What difference does it make? I'm still fired." Her inflection showed the depths of her emptiness.

"It makes a difference to me." His eyes were soft and pierced through her. He wanted desperately to understand her better.

"I have a problem with authority. I choose men," She gestured toward him, "Who are emotionally unavailable. I'm self destructive. All of the above."

"Have you ever gone a week without a rationalization?" His question earned a Sidle-famous eye roll. Her amusement absent.

"It's from the Big Chill." He offered, "One of the characters offer a basic fact of life." He watched as she sat down, seemingly bracing herself for a long-winded analogy, "Says that rationalizations are more important to us than… sex even."

"I'm not rationalizing anything. I crossed the line with Catherine and I was… insubordinate to Ecklie."

"Why?" He probed again, his eyes locking onto hers.

"Leave it alone." Her response was quick and sharp, accompanied by scowled lips and broken eye contact. Everything about her demeanor was telling him to tread lightly, but he pushed on.

"No, Sara."

"What do you want from me?" Her anger bubbling again.

"I want to know why you're so angry." His soft voice was a complete contrast to her short tempered one. She just stared at him for a moment. Unsure where to go from here. But eventually she turned her gaze back to the ground.

He moved toward her and as he did, he observed the African violet on her desk, a letter abandoned mid thought, a pen with the cap off. He sat down on the couch adjacent from her. "Sara." Her name left his lips in a near whisper, "It's just me. I can help you."

"No, you can't."

"What happened, Sara." He kept saying her name. His eyes unwavering from her. The intensity of his compassion was crushing her. "Why do these cases fire you up."

"It's as obvious as it seems." She finally offered in a small but angry tone. Her head was turned away from him as she spoke.

"Were you in an abusive relationship?" His words were spoken with great hesitation and she could tell how uncomfortable the idea of that made him.

She shook her head.

"Tell me." He pleaded. He was relieved to have been wrong, but then began to worry how much worse it may be.

She looked back up at him now and let out an exhausted breath. The one person she'd never wanted to know about any of this was breaking down her walls brick by brick.

"Children who grow up not having their needs met often find themselves confusing attention for affection," She bagan as if reciting a textbook, "attachment for connection, disagreements as attacks, suppressing emotions for strength, seeing external validation as love." She motioned to him during that last one and then started fiddling with her fingers nervously. "My parents were complicated people who were barely able to take care of themselves, let alone me."

Sara paused for a moment, drawing in a breath, "I grew up doing a lot for myself. I've always been hyper independent that way. It was survival. Everyday. I guess some of that is engrained in me."

She looked into his eyes, watching as he listened intently to each word. Here it goes, "My father's life was cut short, violently." She brought her knees up to her chest absently mindedly as she began to spill the truth, "It's amazing the things you remember and the things you don't, you know? I can remember what it looked like, what it sounded like. There was a smell of iron in the air. Cast off on the bedroom wall, on their bed. Puddles of blood seeping into the floorboards. And then there was this young cop puking his guts out into these hedges we had in front of the house that I had trimmed it so that I could crawl through this little portal and read under them. The coroner bringing in the stretcher. I can remember every detail, every moment, but I can't remember the woman who took me to foster care."

Grissom's breath caught in his throat at her revelation. She continued, "Which is strange you know? Because I couldn't let go of her hand."

He thought back to the case they'd worked together a few years ago, when a little girl codlin't let go of Sara's hand. He wondered how much evidence he'd missed over the years. "Well the mind does have its filters." He didn't know what to say, or if he should say anything.

She continued as if he hadn't spoken at all, "I do remember the looks. I became the girl whose father was stabbed to death." She made eye contact at this statement and watched as Grissom tried to hide the surprise and horror from his face as she revealed each piece of information.

She took a moment to work the lump out of her throat, "Do you think there's a murder gene?"

"I don't believe that genes are a predictor of violent behavior."

"You would't know that in my house." Her eyes began to well with tears, "The fights, the yelling, slamming doors, breaking glasses… the monthly trips to the hospital. I thought it was the way that everybody lived. When my mother killed my father, I found out that it wasn't." She couldn't hold it back any longer. The tears streamed down her face now, hot and rolling off her cheeks. She tried to cover her face with her hand, uncomfortable with Grissom seeing her like this.

Grissom's heart began to break a little more with each tear he watched fall. He reached forward and grabbed her hand in his. The smallest amount of comfort he could think to offer. He sat there as she cried out the tears that she had willed away for so long. He moved a little closer to her. His finger tips touching her face, brushing back some hair to see her better. She continued to divert her eyes from his.

"Thank you." He spoke once the tears stopped falling, "Thank you for opening up to me."

The two sat in silence. His hand absorbed the warmth of hers. His thumb working over her knuckles. He brought his other hand over and placed in on her knee.

"I'm sorry this happened to you." He stammered momentarily before finally asking, "Can I ask..." He watched as she nodded. He fidgeted a little uncomfortably, "Did he hurt you? Your father."

She nodded, "My mother was later diagnosed with schizophrenia, and my dad was not a patient man. They fought constantly. Day and night. And it would get… violent. I'd only get injured if I got in the way, it was nothing too serious," She added, "A couple fractured ribs or a broken wrist. A concussion. Scrapes." After she spoke those words she realized how much she sounded like all the other domestic abuse victims she comes across at work. It was my fault. It doesn't hurt. I interfered. I was clumsy.

"How long were you in foster care?"

"Three years. I graduated high school at 16 to get away from it all."

Suddenly it all clicked for Grissom. What Dave Crow had meant all those years ago when he'd told him that Sara never had an adolescence. Her education trajectory that he had been so mesmerized by during their initial meeting was really all set into play by this. He realized she'd gone to school on the other side of the country to get as far away from it all as possible. He wondered what brought her back to San Fransisco. Why she chose not to stay in Boston.

"Did uh— Does Crow know about your childhood?" He watched a some shame seeped back onto her face as she nodded.

"He was a CSI level 2 at the time."

"He investigated your father's death?" He was unable to hide the shock in his voice now.

She nodded again.

"And your mom?"

"Is at a facility in San Fransisco. I don't have much contact with her."

"I see." Another lengthy silence followed.

"There's something else, isn't there?" Her eyes probing into his, she could tell he wasn't satisfied. The last of her tears dried and her composure was coming back. Her voice still raspy though, "You want to know something else?"

He nodded awkwardly. She could see the vulnerability in his eyes.

After a long beat he finally spoke, "What—uh—what did you mean when you said, choosing men who are emotionally unavailable?"

Soft laughter erupted from Sara's lips. He was left confused and vulnerable by her response, but if felt so good to see her smile, even if it was at his expense.

"Really?" She started, "That's what's on your mind?"

"It is." He answered simply.

Sara took a deep breath to regain control of herself before answering, "Grissom, we've known each other for six years now. Do you really think I came to Vegas for the strip clubs and crime rate?"

He wasn't sure what to do with her response so he kept quite, hoping she would continue. Which she did.

"I didn't move here thinking that this was really going to happen." She motioned between them two, "maybe a small part of me hoped…. But we were good friends at one point. I left behind everything I knew to embark on this adventure in Vegas when you called and asked me to come. I thought at the very least, that friendship would be my constant. But… it's been... confusing."

He looked down at this hands, feeling ashamed. Knowing full well about the push and pull he'd put her through over the years. Was he really that obtuse? Did he really think he could pull her in on a whim and push her away just as quickly without affecting her? Had he even thought about it?

"I see."

"Look, Grissom. You've made yourself clear. I miss read things."

"Is that what you think?"

Her brows furrowed, deeply surprised and confused.

"That this is one sided?" He continued.

"Well—" She wasn't sure what to say.

"I'm your supervisor, Sara. It would be a breach of four different rules and protocols, not to mention a really messy work power dynamic…"

"Such a stickler for the rules." She spoke softly with jest.

"The rules keep us safe."

"Rules like, not being insubordinate to Ecklie?"

"Exactly."

She sighed. "So, now what?"

"Well, with regard to employment," She winced as he spoke, "I'm not going to fire you. Your behavior is a direct result of my shortcomings as a supervisor, and I'm very, very sorry for that. But I can't override Ecklie's suspension. You're going to have to take the week off."

She nodded silently.

"As for…" He gestured between the two of them. "I'd like to—uh—… if you open to it—I'd like to be better friends...again."

He thought about how difficult he found it to talk to Sara. How timid and tentative he was around her. How fraught with overthinking and overanalyzing he was. A stark contrast to Sophia, for example. Sophia excited his curiosity in an intellectually stimulating way. But perhaps because he felt nothing deeper for her, he was able to navigate their relationship with less hesitation, more levity. He wished he could show up that way with Sara. But he found himself too hesitant most of the time. Too consumed by her presence.

This was the most direct he'd ever been with her—a fact not lost on either of them—even still, he couldn't let himself explore it. He was too afraid.