Quiet Desperation
Summary: When a girl goes missing, the case threatens to complicate matters between Grissom and Sara.
A/N: Thanks to Burked and Ann for the beta.
Rating: PG-13.
Disclaimer: Yes, I really do own CSI. To maintain my evil reputation, I will not allow the characters to get involved. Bwhahahaha!

Chapter 5

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Brass said, his voice carrying an unasked question. He paused, letting the hurrying figure catch up to him before they continued to the interrogation room.

“I could say the same thing,” Grissom answered shortly, flexing his hands. After his encounter with Sara the previous day, he had let her and Greg process the car. Doubting his presence would help – and in a mild state of emotional shock – he’d gone home to sleep off the remnants of his migraine. He’d had little success as Sara’s words replayed in his mind. Obviously, his actions had been a source of contention, and Grissom admitted to himself that he handled some matters clumsily.

But the true source of his discomfort was the way Sara told him. She’d always been direct, but never like this. Combined with her earlier off-handed comments about emotionally unavailable men and inappropriate validation, it led Grissom to one conclusion: Sara no longer cared what he thought about her. And that meant she’d given up on him.

That thought bothered him in an odd manner. He was the one that was unwilling to enter a relationship, but the idea that it was a moot point hurt, in ways Grissom never suspected possible. The risks were too high for him, but he enjoyed the sway he held over Sara. The knowledge that she didn’t need him cut deeply, leaving him with a sense of vulnerability. It was a new experience, and it perturbed him.

The sense of loss and lack of sleep had him on edge, and the questioning look from Brass didn’t help. He wasn’t ready for another round of questioning about his handling of the case, and Grissom tensed as he turned to the detective.

“Yeah, it’s just that I remember working with Anderson from day shift on this,” Brass noted.

Grissom darted his eyes to the side quickly, making no other concession to his misreading of the comment. Stopping in front of the door, he leaned against the wall. “Anderson wants to go on vacation next week. They’re swamped, and he was glad to hand the case over to me.”

“Think it’s related to your missing kid?”

“I don’t know,” Grissom sighed. “A dead cement truck driver leads to the car that belongs to the missing daughter of a construction contractor. I know there’s been a crackdown on chop shops, but we can’t ignore the improbability of that. And we don’t have any other leads yet.”

“Really? I thought that chunk of change the parents were waving would have gotten something,” Brass said sarcastically.

“Oh, Rachel ran off with Elvis, she’s been abducted by aliens, and a taco stand off the Strip is serving her remains to tourists. On the ‘credible’ side, there were three dozen possible sightings all around the state, most of them at the same time as another sighting somewhere else.”

“Sounds about right,” Brass chuckled as he held open the door. Inside, a lanky, handcuffed man with graying hair sat listening intently to the whispered advice of his attorney.

“Victor, Victor, Victor,” the detective began in a sad voice. “Have you been a bad boy?”

“Yes.”

The blunt answer shocked both Brass and Grissom, who sat down quickly on the other side of the table.

“Gentlemen, I’ve advised Mr. Dvorak to come clean about this. I’m sure you’ve checked, and you know my client has no record. This was all a terrible mistake. Mr. Dvorak is an honest businessman who was unfortunately tempted by opportunity.”

“I’m all ears,” Brass said. “Who’d you get the car from?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you’re coming clean.”

“No, I’m serious. I got to work in the morning, and someone had left the car in my back lot with the junkers. I, uh, well. You hear about things like this,” Dvorak said nervously. “I’ve, uh, never done something like this before.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

“Huh? Oh! I figured someone wrecked it, and their kid did it, or they were drunk. Like I said, I’ve heard about this. The owners leave it so it gets junked, and then they report it as stolen. They get their money back and don’t get in no trouble.”

“The blood didn’t bother you?” Grissom asked.

“Nah, it was all on the inside. Uh, damn. What I mean is, I’ve been doing bodywork for years. I’ve seen a lot of cars after accidents where the driver was the only one hurt. You get blood like that. The front of the car was smashed in, like it hit a pole or something. Most of it was still in good shape, so I decided to salvage the parts. I really thought someone wanted to get rid of it.”

“Well, you’re right about that,” Brass said. “Do you know John Malco?”

Dvorak sat back with a puzzled expression. “Who?”

“He drives for Ronnie’s Cement Company.”

“No, the name doesn’t sound familiar. Why?”

“He called your business four times the afternoon he was shot and killed.”

“What?” Dvorak asked, his mouth hanging open. He turned to his attorney quickly. “I don’t know nothing about that.”

“He called my client’s business establishment?”

“The pay phone outside.”

“Well, that could have been anyone,” the lawyer snorted. “His employees, someone off of the street.”

“Did you see anyone using that phone?” Grissom asked. “Anyone hanging around the building?”

“No. I work in the back bays or in my office. I can’t see out front. I don’t come out ‘less someone rings the bell.”

“So you don’t have someone who works the counter.”

“Nah. Guys, I’m sorry. Really. I, I didn’t know the car belonged to that girl.”

Grissom froze, fixing a steady look on the mechanic. “What makes you think it does?”

The attorney shifted in his chair, his head tilted, and Brass had a half-smile on his lips. Dvorak swung his head between the piercing looks directed at him, and he reached his cuffed hands to wipe the sweat from his upper lip. “You were on TV. The news lady said you screwed up the girl’s case. Why else would you be talking to me?”

Brass got up, nodding for Grissom to follow. Once outside the interrogation room, the detective let out a sigh. “The attorney was right. I did check. The guy’s never been in trouble. Dvorak hasn’t even had a speeding ticket. Some complaints about bad paint jobs, but that’s it.”

Grissom ran his hand through his hair. “It could be coincidence, but I want his records checked. The Kenyons have several trucks and vans in their business. I want to know if Dvorak worked on any of them, or if they ever did any construction work for him.”

“I’m talking to the girl’s parents later. I’ll see if Malco ever worked for them, or if they know Dvorak. Vartann’s been given a little vacation.”

“You’re working Mathers’ disappearance?” Grissom asked, surprised that a homicide captain was handling a missing persons case.

“Why not? It’s a high-profile case, and they want someone with some experience in charge of it. Besides, I look better on TV than you do,” Brass said, rolling his eyes. “And Burdick is still pissed about my LA trip.”

“Politics,” Grissom muttered, shaking his head as he left.

“You look like hell.”

Grissom let out a sigh, sitting back as Catherine entered his office. He felt like hell, and it had little to do with his lack of sleep or the residual effects of his migraine. No matter how hard he tried to dismiss Sara’s accusations as an isolated emotional outburst, Grissom recognized the kernel of truth in her statements.

But it was a kernel; something else was bothering her, and that had him on edge. Despite her assurances, Grissom suspected she was identifying with the missing young woman. The similarities in their backgrounds were too obvious to ignore. He didn’t know if the case was dragging out painful memories for her or not, but he doubted she’d be willing to talk to him at this point.

“How’s the migraine?”

“Gone,” he answered.

“Good,” Catherine answered with a smile. Taking a seat, she rested her arms on the chair. “I caught you on the news.”

“I didn’t get into a fight with the mother,” he groused.

“Glad you have some sense. Guess Burdick already told you that you should have stayed away from there.”

“Do I get another lecture on my lack of people skills?” Grissom asked, peeking over the top of his glasses cautiously.

“Hell, Gil, I’ve been warning you about that for years,” Catherine answered, waving off his hurt expression. “What’s wrong?”

Grissom let out a long breath, twirling a pen distractedly in his fingers. He didn’t bother to ask why she thought something was wrong or to try to deny it. Catherine knew him too well. Unfortunately, he doubted the opposite was true.

On the rare occasions when he sought out advice, she had been his first choice. Catherine understood him, and his sour moods and brooding glares didn't intimidate her. But now Grissom wondered if listening to her had caused more troubles than it solved.

More than anything, Sara’s reminder of his behavior when Warrick’s case was in jeopardy disturbed Grissom. He’d done more than impeded her case – he’d deliberately cut her down, in front of the entire team. Catherine had assured him it was the right thing to do, but Grissom now understood she had her own ulterior motives.

Faced with an uncharted situation, Grissom was lost. He couldn’t rely on Catherine for advice, and there was no one else he trusted to turn to.

“I’m shorthanded,” he eventually answered, unwilling to discuss the more personal aspects. “And a murder day shift was covering could be related to our case.”

“You need some help?”

“Swing shift is just as backed up, if not more so.”

“Yeah, but none of our cases are this important,” Catherine pointed out.

Grissom frowned, picking up a manila file from his desk. Sara had been right about one thing; he’d willingly lend his team members to help other shifts, but refused to ask for help himself. It had always been a source of pride to him that his shift could handle all their work and still have time to assist others. Now he wondered how much harm his pride had caused.

With a sigh, he tossed the folder across the desk to her. “The hotline the parents set up is getting a lot of hits. Most of them are obviously dead ends, but some of them have potential.”

“That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” Catherine asked with a friendly smile, chuckling softly at Grissom’s stunned look. “I’ll get the guys to start on this. Any word when Sofia will be back?”

“The task force likes having their own CSI. They aren’t going to let her go without a fight,” he said.

“Good thing you still have Sara.”

Cocking his head, Grissom blinked as he tried to decipher any cryptic meanings to that statement. Seeing his confusion, Catherine nodded her head in the direction of the locker room.

“She never sleeps. Past two shifts, she was here when I started, and she never went home. I think she’s going to break her old record for maxing out on overtime,” Catherine said, taking the file and standing up to leave. “Or not. Sara looked like she was going to fall asleep in the locker room.”

“Thanks, Catherine,” Grissom said, leaning back in his chair after she left. Once alone, he rested his head in his hands, rubbing slowly as he pondered the situation. He was hesitant to talk to Sara for several reasons, not the least of which was he didn’t relish being on the receiving end of another outburst. There was the real possibility she wouldn’t appreciate his concern.

And he also had no idea what to do.

Grissom knew he was in a dangerous situation. It was getting harder to be around Sara and remained detached. The temptation to give in to his feelings grew stronger every time they were alone. Even after her attack at the mental institution, he’d stayed away for the simple fact he knew he wouldn’t want to ever leave her side. That would open a door that they couldn't close again.

On the other hand, he couldn’t ignore Sara. In the past, he’d distanced himself from her whenever an uncomfortable situation arose, but that had hurt her on too many occasions. While Grissom was unable to act on his feelings, he still cared deeply for her, and the thought of being an additional source of pain troubled him.

Grissom got up and walked down the hallways, silently cursing the fates that led him to this personal impasse. He could neither give Sara what she needed, nor could he avoid her. She deserved something he couldn’t provide, and the thought of her finding it from someone else upset him.

Entering the locker room, he found Sara sitting on the bench in front of her open locker. He stayed by the door, watching her closely. A smudge of grease on her cheek and disarrayed hair showed she’d stayed to work further on the car. She’d yet to acknowledge his presence.

Grissom shifted fretfully, aware he’d caught her in an unguarded moment. He’d never seen Sara look so exhausted or distressed. An aura of dejection surrounded her. She was staring at the pictures on the inside of the door, but her focus seemed to be distant. He stepped closer, frowning as he observed the photos closely for the first time. They all showed Sara when she was young; judging by the images, Grissom suspected all of them dated from a time before her father's murder. Hadn’t anything good or memorable happened in her life since then?

“Hey,” he said softly, unable to remain silent any longer.

“Grissom!” Sara exclaimed, sitting upright suddenly. The raw emotions vanished from her expression as a mask dropped quickly. Noticing that he was examining her pictures, she grabbed a bag from her locker and closed the door. “You surprised me.”

“Sorry,” he said, frowning in consternation. Uncertain how to proceed, Grissom went with the obvious. “You look tired.”

She shook her head, giving him a half-hearted smile. “Nah. All I need is a shower and some caffeine.”

“Have you slept since Rachel Mathers disappeared?”

“Yeah,” Sara answered, avoiding his gaze.

“Enough?”

“I thought I was the person you went to when you needed someone to stay up three days in a row,” she said with a forced lightness.

“It’s been brought to my attention that my managerial skills are lacking,” he answered, unable to keep all the pain from his tone.

Sara dropped her head and leaned against the locker, a trace of her earlier dejection showing through. “God, Grissom, I’m sorry. Really. I had no right to unload on you like that.”

“I think you had reason to be upset,” he admitted slowly.

“Doesn’t matter,” she stated forcefully. Giving her head a shake, she turned to face him, her arms wrapped around herself tightly. “I shouldn’t have done it. I’m sorry. I’ll understand if you want to suspend me, but …”

“I’m not going to do that.”

“Thanks,” she whispered, glancing at him briefly.

The quick spark of sadness in her eyes cut through Grissom’s reserve. Ignoring his mental warning bells, he took a hesitant step closer, gingerly resting a hand on her elbow. The urge to pull her close was strong enough to startle him, but Sara’s reaction dampened it.

“Hey, I’m fine. Really. I, uh, better go get cleaned up.”

Grissom stood there as Sara backed away, her exhaustion showing in the uneven way she turned in the direction of the showers.

“Sara, if you want to talk …”

“No,” she shot back quickly over her shoulder. “I’ve already said too much.”

Chapter 6