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Quiet Desperation
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Chapter 12 “Hey,” Sara said. Her hand made a small waving motion as she rocked back on her heels with a nervous energy. She had debated the wisdom of this visit during the whole drive. Grissom was very private, and his home was the ultimate expression of that. He did not welcome visitors. But she needed to talk to him, and she doubted this was a conversation he wanted to have at the lab. Despite her earlier discouragement, it bothered her that he hadn’t shown up at her apartment that morning. As much as she hated to admit it, this case was getting to her. She had a small, nearly invisible wound; some might say it was her past, or her professional inclination to become too involved in her cases, but whatever the reason, cases like this one kept that wound from ever really healing. Sara had tried to deal with the effects it had on her, but Grissom’s attempts to reach out only complicated things. It was unexpected, and she wasn’t prepared to deal with it. Their prior conversation left her drained. She wasn’t ready for another one; she needed some time alone. But he had tried to help, and that was a rare gesture on his part. She also knew what it meant coming from him. And she had rejected his assistance. Sara hoped he didn’t take that as a personal rejection. His attitude towards her was confusing, but she had no doubts about her feelings for him. She cared too much to hurt him. Her smile faltered as he continued his silent stare. Standing on his doorstep left her feeling exposed. He hadn’t returned her greeting, let alone asked her why she was there. She forced her smile back as she steeled herself. “Hey. I, uh. I just wanted to come by and say that I’m sorry.” Sara wasn’t sure how he’d react to her statement, but she never expected the pain and anger in his eyes. He dropped his head quickly, but she had no doubt about what she’d seen. “You don’t owe me an apology. This has nothing to do with you,” Grissom answered brusquely. “But you didn’t show up this morning.” Her confused frown deepened when his head snapped up quickly. He seemed as bewildered as she was becoming. “You said you were going to stop by my apartment. To talk.” “Oh. That.” “Yeah.” She waited, thinking he was going to respond. He looked ready to speak a few times, and an odd play of emotions showed behind his eyes. It wasn’t encouraging. When he didn’t answer, Sara took a deep breath and rushed through her speech. “You were right earlier. I wasn’t getting enough sleep. And this case … it’s tough for me in some ways. That bothered me. I was a bit … cranky. I figured I had finally pissed you off royally. You didn’t deserve that,” she said, her voice wavering with emotion. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. That’s something I’d never do, not on purpose. Please believe me.” “Is that it?” Sara’s mouth dropped in astonishment. After a beat, she held up her hands and shook her head as she started to turn away. “Look, I guess I caught you at a bad time. See you later.” “Would you like to come in?” Grissom nodded when Sara slowly turned to stare at him. He thought she had shown up because of his suspension, and that hurt. Over the years, he had dreamt of many scenarios where she showed up at his door, but never because she felt sorry for him. Pity was more than he could deal with, especially coming from her. But his earlier embarrassment faded as an unexpected warmth filled him. She didn’t know about the suspension. Sara cared. After everything that had happened, with all that was going on, she worried about him. Seeing her uncertainty, Grissom tried to reassure her. “I’m sorry. I was … something came up during my meeting with the sheriff. It was late by the time I remembered. I didn’t want to wake you.” “You’re not angry?” “With you? No.” A tentative smile formed at his words, but he could see she had questions. He needed to tell her what had happened. She’d find out when she got to the office, and he didn’t want her to face Catherine’s ire unprepared. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Have you had dinner yet?” “What?” “Dinner,” Grissom repeated, stepping back to invite her into his home. She followed, but with a look that strongly suggested that he needed a straightjacket. “I haven’t eaten yet. Have you?” “Uh, yeah. I had a sandwich before I left home.” “I missed lunch. And breakfast. I’m going to fix something. Make yourself comfortable. How’s iced tea?” “Uh, fine, I guess.” In his kitchen, Grissom set out some food and poured their drinks. He knew he was confusing her, but he didn’t care. Sara’s concern was the one bright spot in his miserable day, the one anchor he had in his emotional maelstrom. It was comforting in a way he never suspected, and he wanted it to last. As he walked into his living room, she held up his copy of Walden, and gave him an amused smile. “Thinking about moving to the woods to become a hermit?” He returned the smile fondly, even though her tone jokingly inferred he was already a hermit. If anyone had read the book, it would be her. Thoughts of his suspension hung over him, but he focused on her. It was more pleasant. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about the difference between knowledge and wisdom.” “Is this another one of your Zen puzzles?” “Knowledge is the possession of facts. Wisdom is knowing how to apply those facts. I had the first but not the second.” Sara sipped her tea, never taking her eyes off of him as he moved to his kitchen. She followed him, taking a seat at his breakfast bar as he began chopping vegetables. Something was wrong; she was sure it extended beyond his odd behavior. “Thoreau’s point was that men were too materialistic,” she said. “I’m not sure that applies to you.” Grissom tossed her a slice of green pepper, but didn’t respond except to shrug. Her comments reminded him of how Catherine described his home. He always found it comforting, if minimalistic. At worst, it was a bit spartan. How did she see it? Her apartment was awash in color. “He felt men focused on work to the exclusion of their spiritual life,” he said when she gave him a concerned look. “So, you’re moving to the woods to become a monk.” “No. I’m comfortable with my views on spirituality and religion. But Thoreau’s main point is still valid. It’s too easy to focus on work to the exclusion of everything else,” Grissom said, pausing to give her an intense look. “Or everyone else.” Sara paused in mid-bite and blinked in confusion. Quickly chewing and swallowing, she leaned closer to him. “Something happened. What’s wrong?” Grissom kept his eyes trained on the cutting board as he vigorously mutilated the vegetables there. He enjoyed their talk, but switching to his suspension meant a change in the mood. He wanted to avoid that, but he wasn’t going to lie to her. “I was suspended today.” “What?” Sara exclaimed loudly. “Why?” “Insubordination.” “You?” Grissom gave her a half-hearted shrug. “I got angry with Burdick.” Sara’s eyes narrowed as she studied him. “What happened? Something made you lose your temper.” “It’s not important.” “The hell it isn’t!” Sara waited until he met her gaze. “Double standard much?” “It’s not that,” Grissom said softly. Returning his attention to the cutting board, he hesitated to explain what had happened. It was futile; she’d learn the truth eventually, but he was unwilling to address that subject with her yet. “It’s complicated.” “It’s Ecklie, isn’t it? That bastard is still trying to screw you over. Damn him!” she swore angrily. “When I get…” “Don’t go near him!” Grissom barked, causing her to lean back in surprise. He calmed himself and gave her a gentle look. “He’s still angry with you over your insubordination. Don’t push him. I can’t protect you now.” “You shouldn’t have done that. It wasn’t worth the risk. I know what the job means to you.” “They weren’t going to fire me. At least not then.” “Are you serious?” she asked softly. “It can’t be that bad.” “If Catherine’s right, it is. Burdick needs a scapegoat, and I’m a likely sacrifice,” he replied. “That’s not right. What grounds does he have?” “Sara, please. Drop it,” Grissom urged quietly. “I don’t want you to risk your career over this.” “Why not? It’s just a damned job.” Sara rolled her eyes at his baffled look as she walked around the breakfast bar to stand near him. “Don’t get me wrong. I like the job. I appreciate that you brought me here. But it’s not who I am. You … people are more important, Grissom.” He gazed at her gratefully. Sara was a seed-planter. She blew in with her observations and wisdom, and left tiny seeds of insight. Judgment and reproach were too heavy to be carried with her, her insinuations so light that he didn't feel beaten down when she laid them on his shoulders. His own conscience supplied that weight, but he needed time before he tried to disburse that burden. “Catherine will be working with night shift,” he said, bringing the conversation back to work. “Great.” “Is there a problem? I know Catherine isn’t always friendly,” he began delicately. Sara waved away his concerns. “I don’t care about that. It’s bad enough we’re short-handed, but she’s not up to speed on the case. And our possible suspect is dead. Brian Wilcox worked with the Kenyons. Prior record, his prints were in the car, and he freaked when I showed him those papers. Brass called me earlier. They found his body in the desert.” “At least she’s been working on it. Swing shift’s been covering the leads. I wish I had more to tell you. I didn’t get very far with my investigation into Malco’s murder.” “That’s okay,” she said softly. “I’d offer to help, but Catherine thinks that’s a bad idea. I’m supposed to be a good boy, and avoid anything work related.” “Doesn’t this piss you off?” Grissom nodded as he moved his vegetables to a sauté pan. He kept a few strips on the board, offering them to Sara. “Extremely.” “Really? Can’t tell by looking at you,” she said. “You like to maintain control, don’t you? Even now. This has to be eating at you. Maybe you should let some of it out.” “That’s not a good idea,” he said pointedly. “You wouldn’t want to see that. Trust me.” “I do.” Grissom froze as she slid her hand into his. The gesture caught him off guard, but he rapidly returned the pressure. The comfort he derived from her surprised him, but nearly as much as the realization that he needed her, and that that didn’t scare him. “There are some things we need to talk about,” he began cautiously. “I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about all of them now, but I want you to know this isn’t your fault. Don’t think that for a minute.” “We don’t have to talk about this now.” “I do. I know you think I see you differently now. I do, but not in the way you think. I didn’t question your objectivity in this case. I just disagreed. There wasn’t any evidence to support your suspicion. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the time to find it, but it’s not your fault.” “Thanks, Grissom. That means a lot coming from you.” “It’s not much. You deserve more,” he said, watching her intensely. Sara’s eyes dropped to their joined hands. His thumb moved in slow circles over her knuckles. She half-expected him to pull his hand away when she had reached out to him; he wasn’t big on physical contact. But his current actions and words both served to confuse her. “I want to give you more.” “Okay,” she said, stepping away quickly when he stepped closer. “I think, uhm. You know, I’m not sure what to think, but you’re dealing with a lot right now.” "Don't you think I'm too old to be having a mid-life crisis?" he asked, reaching for her hand again. "No!" Sara shook her head. "I don't think of you as old. Look, I don’t think this is a good idea." “Why not?” He moved his free hand to her shoulder, wincing when she tensed at the contact. Had he misread the situation completely? She wasn’t angry, just very sad. “Talk to me. I thought this is what you wanted.” “It is,” she whispered hoarsely. “But not like this.” “What’s wrong? Now’s the perfect time.” “God,” she said, pulling away from him and walking across his kitchen. “No, it’s not. It couldn’t be worse. I want to help you. Believe me, but …” “What?” Grissom repeated, carefully closing the distance to her. “I’m not the greatest catch out there, but I have some pride.” “I don’t understand.” Sara swallowed deeply, stepping away again when he got too close. She didn’t want to hurt him, but this was wrong. Taking a deep breath, she turned to him, crossing her arms over her midsection protectively. “I can’t be something you settled for.” “That’s ... why would you think something like that?” “I know what you said to Lurie. I know this,” she said, her hand indicating the two of them, “wasn’t something you thought was worth the risk. I’m not a consolation prize, Grissom. I can’t do that, and that’s not something we can make work.” He stood silently, his mouth agape as she moved towards his front door. She was talking again, apologizing profusely, but the words didn’t register. They were on one road, coming toward one another, and he had always expected a head-on collision. Their relationship was an eventuality, and he knew sooner or later that they would crash into one another; it was only a matter of when and where, and if they would survive. He never expected that when he got close enough, she would simply pass him by. “Sara, please. Wait,” Grissom called out, but she was already out the door, out of his grasp, and he, it seemed, was apparently out of chances. |
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