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Quiet Desperation
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Chapter 14 “You’re packing,” Sara said, her voice tight as she reined in conflicting emotions. Grissom had yet to talk to her, had barely acknowledged her presence as he continued to put away his butterfly collection. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, but obviously she had. Bad enough that he was retreating physically as well as emotionally. Grissom continued to work in silence, pausing occasionally, as if lost in thought. “Why?” she demanded, but he only stared at a carefully wrapped display in his hands. “Damn you, Grissom!” she swore, turning sharply around and heading to his door. Sara focused on her anger. She could use her temper, let the fire fuel her drive. It was safer than her other emotions, the pain gnawing at her subconscious, the hidden doubts resurfacing. “Just once, I wish you’d let me answer before you ran away.” It was less his words than the way he spoke that convinced her to pause at his door. Leaning against it, she mentally counted to ten, trying to calm herself. He was in pain; she knew the accusations hurt him, even if they were baseless. Her rejection hadn’t helped. She did love him, probably more than was healthy. More than once she tried to move on, but had never been able to completely sever the invisible ties that trapped them both in their non-relationship. While she wanted to be with him, distrust made her wary. What had he expected her reaction was going to be? He’d avoided this for years, actively distanced himself from her, but she was supposed to fall into his arms the moment he decided it was time? Turning around, she cocked her head in thought. He kept his eyes glued to a package in his hand. Was this how he handled problems? He didn’t get his way, so he packed up and left? What kind of future was that? “Me? You’re the one running away.” Grissom finally faced her, and his expression caused Sara to inhale deeply. He seldom allowed her to see what he was feeling, but he did so now. The openness surprised her as much as the intensity. His affection changed to confusion at her anger, finally morphing to clarity. “I’m not leaving,” he said, shifting the package in his hands. “Not … yet. It hasn’t reached that point.” Sara watched him curiously. “Then why are you packing?” “I’ve decided it’s time to make some changes,” he said. Despite the distracted tone, his words carried a deeper implication, and she crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow as she waited for an explanation. He hesitated momentarily; while it seemed like he was fighting some internal battle, his explanation was mundane. “I’m putting them away. I don’t want to get spackle or paint on them.” “You’re painting.” Sara’s mouth dropped in disbelief. “You’re redecorating. Now?” “Why not? I have the time to kill,” Grissom answered, pausing thoughtfully. With a humorless smirk, he set away the display. “‘As if you can kill Time without injuring Eternity.’” “Will you stop quoting Thoreau?” He shrugged as he began wrapping another glass case. “It seemed apropos.” Sara rolled her eyes at him, moving deeper into his townhouse. He wasn’t leaving, but something was up. Thoughts that he was having a midlife crisis floated uneasily in her mind. If nothing else, he didn’t understand the severity of the situation, or he was in denial. “You need to talk to an attorney.” “It’s not necessary.” “The hell it isn’t!” The heat of her voice caused him to smile slightly before he looked away, prompting a confused expression from Sara. There was so much passion hidden inside of her. Sadly, he realized that he lost years of channeling that intensity in more personal directions. “No, it’s not,” he said, gathering his resolve. This was the right thing to do. Not just for himself – he owed it to Sara, no matter the outcome. “I’m going to resign.” “Why?” “I think the reason should be clear,” Grissom said, moving the partially filled box to his breakfast counter. Resting his hands on the back of a chair, he gripped it tightly. After Sara left the night before, it took little time to reach his decision. But actually saying it out loud was more painful than he anticipated. Tension drained from his body when she laid her hands on his shoulders, and when he faced her, he felt assured that his decision was the right one. “No. There’s no need to do that. Look, Myers is reading this whole thing wrong. Maybe she’s out to get you or Burdick. Ecklie’s working that angle,” Sara said, stopping as she bobbed her head. “Okay. That’s probably not inspiring.” “Conrad and I have a mutual dislike for each other, but his primary concern has always been with the lab. He won’t allow anything to hurt its reputation, even if it meant getting rid of me.” “Then why are you doing this?” “To save my reputation. Even Catherine questions whether I can save my job at this point. If I leave, the investigation goes away, too. My reputation remains intact. If I stay, even if they disprove the accusation…” “When,” she said hotly. He smiled ruefully. “The suspicion is still there. There will always be those who’ll wonder how much truth there was to it. This is better.” “No, it’s not! I am not going to let them do this do you, Grissom. I’ll fight…” “No!” Both of them seemed shocked by the forcefulness of his command. “You are not going to throw your career away over this. Do you understand me?” Sara didn’t back down. “Hey, you’re the one quitting. You can’t tell me what to do. You won’t be my boss any more.” “I’m still your friend. You do know that, don’t you?” Her eyes dropped to his hand resting tentatively on her forearm. He was nervous; no, it went beyond that. This incident had shaken him. How bad were things if he was turning to her for support? “You have a funny way of showing it,” she sighed, most of her anger draining away. She’d always be there for him, whether he knew it or not. “Thanks for the warning. About what really happened. It’s not fun being the bad guy.” “Why would anyone blame you? Oh.” “You should have told me.” Her words were spoken softly, almost timidly, but they both knew she meant more than the reason for his suspension. They stared at each other silently, saying more with their eyes than they’d ever be able to vocalize. Finally, Grissom’s head lowered.
“I … couldn’t.” Sara rested her hand over his for a moment before walking away. Running her fingers through her hair, she tried to clear her head. He was confusing her – again – and she wanted to stay focused on something she understood. “You’re not quitting.” “Resigning,” he corrected softly. “Running away.” He shook his head patiently. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing left to lose, but everything left to gain. Everything that he’d put off for too long. “I think that’s the wrong way to look at it. It’s not what I’m leaving, it’s what I’m moving towards.” “Semantics. It’s the same thing.” “No. It’s a choice. One that I’m making willingly, Sara,” Grissom said tenderly, stepping towards her with a decisive stride. Reaching up, he cupped her cheek and gazed at her pointedly. “It’s not something that I’m settling for. It’s not a consolation prize.” Recognizing her earlier words, Sara’s mouth went dry, and she swallowed painfully as he moved his thumb against her skin. He was picking her over his career? She never thought he had to choose one of them, and she never wanted him to sacrifice anything for her sake. The enormity of his action was incomprehensible, but his caress reached her at a more basic level. Grissom watched her intimately. He wanted to draw Sara closer, to feel her body against his, but he was afraid to rush her. She doubted his intentions; he knew he had to convince her of his sincerity. She allowed his touch, but he didn’t know if it was welcomed. The uncertainty troubled him. He’d made the decision to give up the one life he’d always known for the life he always wanted. As right as that seemed, he was a stranger in this new world. It was beautiful, but he feared a misstep that would send them both tumbling into an emotional abyss. He’d sink too far; he’d never escape again. His other hand reached upward to her face. He kept his movements slow, not wanting to startle her, and giving her the chance to object. Sara’s eyes followed his progress, closing when he eventually buried his fingers in her hair. He let out a soft groan, bending to rest his forehead against hers. Both of them jumped when her cell phone rang. Sara recovered first, holding out her hand as she stepped away. “Wait. Just… just hold that for a minute,” she said before answering the call. A sly smile formed as he cocked his head to the side. He took her outstretched hand and held it tightly, tugging softly as he walked away. She stared at him with a baffled expression, but made no move to object as he led her into his kitchen. Picking up the coffee pot, he sniffed the contents, scowling as he poured it out. “Wait, I’m sorry. What did you say?” she said, giving her head a shake and pulling her hand free. “Sorry. I was, uh, distracted.” Grissom gave her a half-shrug as he went about making fresh coffee, but it wasn’t really apologetic. He was too content to regret that he’d distracted her. She hadn’t returned the gesture, but she hadn’t objected. It wasn’t as much as he wanted, but enough to reassure him. When Sara hung up, she leaned against his counter, wrapping her arms around her midsection tightly. She avoided meeting his gaze. He didn’t push, sensing that maybe she needed time or space. Personal interactions weren’t his strong suit, and Grissom figured it was better to err on the side of caution for now. “A break in the case?” he asked, keeping the conversation to a safe topic. “Yeah,” she answered. “That was Bobby. Looks like the same gun was used to kill both Malco and Wilcox.” Grissom’s eyebrow went up as he nodded. It seemed odd that the dead cement truck driver received four phone calls from the pay phone outside the auto shop where Rachel Mathers’s car had been found. “So, the cases are related. Have you had a chance to go over the Malco file yet?” “No. I, uh, I need to go.” “Sit down. I’ll bring you up to speed on it,” Grissom directed. “No!” Sara said. Her earlier indecision vanished as she pushed off the counter and marched towards him. “Cath told you not to work this case. She’s right. You need to keep a low profile. I shouldn’t even be here.” “You’re always welcomed.” She shook her head. “That’s not the point. You’re under investigation for … harassment,” she said, spitting out the word. “My being here? Not helping. It’s not safe.” “And I told you not to worry about it.” “How can I not worry about it? They’re using me to hurt you! We’re trying to save your career.” “The one I’m resigning,” he said with a huff. “No, you’re not.” Deciding not to push that subject either, he dropped some bread into the toaster. “Look, you need the help. I’m not doubting your abilities,” he added quickly. “But nightshift is a little short-handed right now, and I already know the Malco case.” “Swing shift is helping.” “They’re still working their own cases, too. Sofia is gone, and that leaves just Greg to help you fulltime.” “Don’t you think he can do the job?” “If I thought that, he’d still be in DNA, but he’s green. And you have to wonder about someone who sticks his fingers into light sockets,” Grissom said as he escorted a confused looking Sara to his dining room table. “You don’t think he does that to his hair on purpose, do you?” She did a rapid double take, catching his wink before he vanished into the kitchen. When he returned with plates and buttered toast, she watched him guardedly as he retrieved his briefcase. “I don’t have a lot to tell you,” he began, quickly filling her in on the little he’d learned: there was nothing to link Malco to either the Kenyons or the auto shop owner; in fact, there were no records of him at all. Even his license was a fake. “So we know nothing about him.” “Not true,” Grissom said. “Sometimes it’s about what’s missing.” “His hands. The killer didn’t want us to be able to fingerprint him. Which implies his prints are on file somewhere.” “And that will lead us back to the killer.” “Mia ran his DNA through CODIS. There’s no match,” Sara said. “If he was arrested, it was before they started DNA testing, or somewhere where it’s not done. I’ll see if we can find a link between Malco and Wilcox. What about Dvorak?” “His record is clean. He’s even accepted responsibility for what happened, telling the DA not to charge his employees. They didn’t know the car wasn’t a legitimate wreck.” “Or so he thinks. The calls to Malco on the day he was killed came from Dvorak’s shop.” “Did Brass finish investigating all his employees?” Grissom asked. “I don’t know. I’ll have to ask him.” “Good. It’s possible it was someone else. The pay phone is public. Did you ever figure out that puzzle?” Sara closed her eyes, letting out a long sigh. A desire to protect Grissom battled with the need for his help with the case. When the whiff of coffee passed under her nose, she looked up to find Grissom standing next to her chair. “No one knows you’re here, do they? Let me help, Sara. Finding Rachel is more important than worrying about Myers. Tell me about the code. Did you figure it out?” “In a sense. It’s called a one-time pad. It’s a way of coding messages.” “Did you break it yet?” “I’m not going to.” “I have faith in you,” Grissom said with pride. Sara blushed under the praise, but shrugged it off. “Thanks, but I can’t work miracles. It’s an old way of encrypting messages, but it has the distinction of being the only method that’s mathematically impossible to crack.” “What do you mean?” Sara pulled out the copy of the grid from a folder, showing him how the rows and columns were labeled alphabetically. “Each row of the grid contains all of the letters of the alphabet, but they’re arranged in a random order. None of the rows repeat the same pattern.” “Okay.” “You make a bunch of these pages, each of them different to make your pad. Then you make sure the person who gets the message has an identical copy. You also need a key phrase that both of you know,” Sara explained, finding a copy of one of the coded messages Greg had found in the trash. “It’s in groups of twelve letters,” Grissom noted. “Right. That means the key phrase had twelve letters in it, not counting spaces. You get rid of all the spaces in the message and in the key phrase.” “All right. So both are just a long string of letters.” “Exactly. Take the first twelve letters in the original message and line them up under the twelve letters of the key phrase. You take the first letter of the message you want to code and go to that column,” she said, pointing the grid. “Then go take the first letter from the key phrase and go to that row. The letter in that grid cell is the first letter in your coded message. Do that with each of the twelve letters. When you’re done, toss the first page from your pad, move to the next one, and repeat with the next twelve letters in the original message.” “This seems very complicated.” “It is. And it’s easy to screw up. But you end up with a message that’s completely random. It follows no pattern at all. That’s why there’s no way to break it.” He scowled as he looked over her example. “You could try all the possible permutations of letters. How many are there?” “For a block of twelve letters? Just a few,” she said, flashing him a toothy grin. “Why do I get the feeling you’re going to tell me my idea isn’t feasible?” “Put it this way. If everyone in the lab – and that includes Judy and the janitors – worked on this nonstop, looking at one possible combination per second, it would take over thirty million years to try every possible way. And that’s just for one of the blocks.” “I don’t think Conrad would approve the overtime for that,” he said dryly. “And relax. I’m cracking jokes, not cracking up.” “If you say so.” “I do.” Sara shifted the paper between her hands, focusing on it as her mind tried to come to grips with Grissom’s change in attitude. It was something she always wanted, and she still did. But the abruptness of it worried her. He was under stress, no matter how much he downplayed it. She didn’t want to add to his pain, and that included rushing into something that he’d regret later. But she also wanted to comfort him, to take him into her arms and help ease his burden. Her motives weren’t completely altruistic; she’d receive as much from their relationship as she gave. Conflicted and unsure, she pushed down those thoughts. “And with that many combinations, even a computer would take too long to try them all,” she added, her tone betraying her unease. “And the blocks of letters can contain a bunch of short words, or no whole words at all. It’s not really something you can have a computer scan easily.” “What else do you have?” Grissom asked, trying to keep any trace of sadness from his voice. She still needed assurance, but he wasn’t sure how to give it to her. How long did it take to counter years of forced indifference? They reviewed the evidence from the beginning, going over all of it in an attempt to glean any new information. It wasn’t until Sara unsuccessfully stifled a yawn that Grissom called an end to their work. “I want you in bed,” he said, his lips twitching slightly at her wide-eyed stare. “I’ll drive you home if you want.” “I’m fine,” Sara replied with a trace of annoyance as she gathered her things. “Yes, you are.” She shot him a glare over her shoulder, but it didn’t last long. His change in attitude still left her bewildered, but it also moved her, awakening dreams she had tried to outgrow. Caution ruled her hopes; despite Grissom’s protests, she wasn’t going to let anyone use her to attack him. He wasn’t going to lose his job over this, and she’d wait to see if he was still interested when it was resolved. “Breakfast again tomorrow?” he asked, walking with her to the door. He leaned his arm against the frame, looking at her hopefully. “I’ll have something better than toast.” Sara shifted apprehensively under his gaze. Spending the time alone together – even work-related – had been nice. She wanted more, but she didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize recovering his career. “Maybe,” she said, giving him a half-smile before escaping.
Yawning deeply, Sara reclined in the car’s seat, stretching her arms as her mind pondered the latest mystery before her. Something was off, but she couldn’t figure out what. That missing clue irritated her. “Catching a nap on me?” “Hey, Cath,” she answered, nodding towards the front seat of the car. “Mia got the results back. That’s Malco’s blood up there. I’ve been over this car three times. There’s no evidence that anyone else was in it or the trunk when it wrecked.” “So, Malco was the only one in it when it crashed. Maybe he was going to ditch the car after they abducted Rachel, and he got in an accident.” “I guess so. It would explain the blood evidence. And maybe why they killed him.” “What do you mean?” Catherine asked, leaning into the back window of the car. “Someone involved in this case knew what they were doing. Where to dump the car, to wipe out the prints, to use an obscure encryption method. He’d know that if the car was ever found, the blood evidence would nail Malco.” “He was a threat at that point.” “And he’d lead us to the third guy. He wanted to make sure we didn’t ID Malco, find out his real name. If we do, we’ll find the guy that killed them.” “Nick found this in Wilcox’s house,” Catherine said, holding out a badly burnt passport. “The name on it is a Thomas Young.” “Can you make out the picture? It might be a fake one for Wilcox.” “No, Ronnie said it was too far gone to recover. He’s trying to see if he can recover the signature to compare it to Wilcox’s writing. You think he was going to flee the country?” “Yeah,” Sara answered, climbing out of the car. “Those notebooks Greg found? One of them listed six foreign bank accounts.” “Why? Six perps?” “Maybe not. Maybe it’s a way to cover their tracks. Even Swiss banks will give up account information if given proof that they were used in a crime, but it takes time. You can transfer funds electronically in seconds.” “I get it. The Kenyons wire the ransom money to the first account. After a couple days, or weeks, we get that information, but find out the money was transferred to another account. By the time we tracked it through all six accounts, a year or more would have passed.” “And the kidnappers had plenty of time to withdraw the money and disappear.” “Good work,” she said honestly. “Thanks,” Sara replied, not adding that she and Grissom had discussed this in detail earlier. Yawning again, she ignored the amused chuckle from her coworker. “I’m thinking our mystery guy killed Wilcox ‘cause he panicked after Brass and I talked to him about those codes.” “Already ahead of you. Brass is trying to track down anyone Wilcox talked to after you spooked him.” “Did you make any progress with Myers?” “I’m on my way to see Ecklie,” Catherine said. “I’ve got to drop Lindsey off at school first. You get some sleep,” she directed as Sara yawned again. “Right,” she muttered to herself, stripping out of her stained coveralls when she reached the locker room. Thoughts of Grissom and his interest kept her awake all day. Unable to rest, she had headed to the lab, forcing herself to concentrate on the case. Standing under the shower, she let the water run over her as she finally let her mind wander. He really had picked her over his career. Either he was serious or delusional, and Sara critically debated which was more accurate. She didn’t want him to give up work. It meant so much to him, and he excelled as a criminalist. In the past, he’d been leery of having a relationship with an insubordinate, but if he were willing to leave it behind for her, would he be willing to try for both? They were both private by nature; discretion was practically defined by their personalities. After showering and dressing, she noticed the text message from Grissom. “Breakfast?” Heading into the parking lot, she debated what to do. She didn’t know how Myers got her information, and she worried about being spotted at his townhouse. Sara stopped short, swearing silently. Grissom’s car was parked next to hers, and he was leaning against it, working a crossword puzzle. So much for discretion. “What’s a seven-letter word for ‘bungler’, middle letter is an ‘s’?” “Grissom!” “That fits, but I don’t think that’s right,” he said, putting away his puzzle to open the passenger side door of his car. Sara scanned the parking lot anxiously, trying to determine if they were being watched. “Are you insane?” “Just hungry.” Getting into the driver’s seat, Grissom forced a calm smile as she continued to stare at him incredulously. He knew he was walking a fine line between showing interest and pushing her; worse, he had no idea where that line existed. “Grissom,” she sighed as he pulled away. “This wasn’t a smart idea.” “I didn’t go into the lab.” “The straw hat isn’t exactly a clever disguise. Anyone could have seen us out there.” “So? I’m not ashamed to be seen with you.” Sara gave him an affectionate smirk. “I’m not ashamed of you. But Myers misconstrued everything else. Going out with the woman you’re accused of harassing? Even you have to know that looks bad.” “There’s only one other opinion that I’m concerned about,” he said, shooting her a pointed look. “What the sheriff or anyone else thinks is irrelevant to me.” “It’s not to me.” “I don’t see how this investigation can hurt you. I’m the one they’re going after.” “You don’t get it,” she said, twisting in her seat to watch him. “It matters to me. I don’t want to see you hurt.” “Then have breakfast with me. I’ve been looking forward to it.” Taken aback by the earnestness of his plea, she nodded her agreement as she settled into the seat. If nothing else, she had to convince him not to show up at the lab. When he pulled into the parking lot across the street from the diner, she gave him a worried look. “Shift ended almost two hours ago. If anyone from the lab was going to show up, they did so earlier. It’ll be deserted this time of day,” he explained. “Let’s go.” Grissom hopped out of the car, dashing around to open her door and escort her across the street. She didn’t protest, sensing his nervousness. What she didn’t know was whether she was the source of his discomfort, or if he regretted his decision. “You don’t have to do this,” she said softly, giving him the option to back away. “I want to.” They remained silent as the waitress left the menus and took their drink orders. “You’re uncomfortable,” he observed when they were alone again. “It’s, well, damn it, Grissom. You drop this on me out of nowhere. It happened so fast.” “Not really. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time.” “Thanks for clueing me in,” she muttered quietly, looking away as the waitress left their iced tea. “I’m letting you know now,” he said, reaching over to brush his hand against hers. When he spoke, his words came slowly. “I know you’re … hesitant. What can I do to convince you?” “Honestly? I don’t know. It’s … I don’t get why you’re so eager all of a sudden. Yeah, you say it’s not, but from here? It is.” Grissom continued to rub his fingers against her hand, but he stared at the tabletop. “I couldn’t see the forest for the trees?” “I’m serious. I want this, but I know what you said. I wasn’t worth the risk. And you know what’s worse? You never told me. I had to overhear you tell a killer.” “You get nightmares, don’t you?” he asked after a long silence. Sara blinked at the change in subject. “Yeah, I do.” “I don’t. Not usually. The last time was with The Strip Strangler case.” “Yeah, I can believe that. Having a gun pulled on you,” she said, stopping at his intense stare. “It had nothing to do with that. It was you. As his victim. Every time I went to sleep, I found your body. Always after he …,” Grissom said, dropping his head. His free hand tightened into a painful fist. “It was a dream. I knew it; I knew you were safe. But they lasted for days. For the only time in my life I was afraid to sleep. Then there was Debbie Marlin. I knew she wasn’t you, but …” “Hey, don’t,” Sara interrupted as he struggled with the admission. “You don’t have to do this.” “You wanted an answer. This is the best I can do,” he said. “That case was a living nightmare. And I understood Lurie.” Sara waited as he slowly looked back up to her. “How could I tell you that? That I identified with a sadistic killer? That I understood what drove him to do it?” “Understanding isn’t the same as acting. You’re not a murderer.” “No, but it,” he paused, looking away again. “It scared me. I saw part of myself in Lurie. I didn’t trust myself.” “If I thought you were dangerous, I wouldn’t be here. Trust me. I know violence. You? Never.” Grissom smiled gratefully at her adamant statement, gently squeezing the hand she rested in his until their meals arrived. They ate in silence, both mulling over the conversation. “Did you get any more breaks on the case?” he asked after the waitress refilled their drinks and took away the dirty plates. “Not much,” she said, explaining about the blood. “Interesting.” “Yeah.” Grissom frowned at her tone. “What?” “Why didn’t the third guy ever ask for ransom? Something went wrong. I don’t think we’re going to find Rachel alive.” “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “It’s okay. We all have cases that affect us. It’s easy to understand why this one bothered you. Both you and Rachel had similar backgrounds, but she didn’t overcome all her difficulties. It’s not hard to imagine how your life could have turned out.” “Hell, Grissom, I wanted her life,” Sara said, waving off his concerned look. “Not the problems with the drugs. She found a foster family that actually wanted her. They fought to keep her. She had problems, but she was always loved.” “I didn’t realize it was so bad for you.” “It wasn’t. It wasn’t great, either. I never really connected to my foster families. And I wasn’t exactly a poster child all the time.” “You told Greg there were things you regretted,” Grissom said. He wanted her to feel comfortable talking to him, even if the subject matter was uncomfortable to him. Seeing her tense, he tried to lighten the mood. “Is it the tattoo? I’m not sure I like the fact Greg saw this when you were in a shower together.” “It’s on my ankle,” she answered distractedly. After a minute she leaned back, her head tilting to the side appraisingly. She wasn’t sure how he’d react to the truth, but she wanted to know. “I’m not great about connecting to people emotionally. So, for a while, I settled for connecting physically.” “Oh,” he said, shifting in his chair and darting his eyes over her shoulder. The thought bothered him deeply; not what she’d done, but that she felt the need to do it. “That’s, uh, understandable.” “Look, it was mainly in college, and it wasn’t that many times. It, it wasn’t a great substitute.” “Is that what happened with that paramedic?” he asked, fiddling with his glass uncertainly. He hoped the answer was yes, that she hadn’t been genuinely attached to the younger man. It disturbed him – but only slightly – that he had no guilt for feeling that way. “Don’t ever mention Hank to me,” she said hotly. Grissom’s head snapped back at her comment, but he quickly scowled as realization dawned. “He hurt you. The damn bastard hurt you.” Sara always suspected Grissom was possessive and protective, but she swore his nostrils flared. The display unnerved her, and she moved to calm him down. “No man lays a hand on me like that. Not without getting the worst of it.” “There’s more than one way to hurt someone.” “Tell me about it,” she exhaled, regretting it immediately when he dropped his head sheepishly. “I…” “No, I’m sorry. I, it ended badly. I really don’t like to talk about it. But, yeah, Hank was there, and I was lonely. Like I said, he was a poor substitute.” Grissom took a moment, but he reached across the table to take her hand. “You don’t have to do that ever again.” “Oh, shit,” Sara said, pulling her hand away quickly. Grissom started to question her, when she added, “Hey, Catherine.” Turning around, he found his friend walking towards them with a disbelieving glare. “Care to join us?” he asked nonchalantly. “Are you out of your mind?” she asked immediately. “That’s what I asked him,” Sara said dryly. “I’m having breakfast with a friend. I see no harm in that.” “Gil, even you aren’t this dense. This was stupid and dangerous! Burdick is furious and out for blood. I don’t know what’s up with Myers, but …” “But I don’t care,” he injected. “You are not resigning.” Catherine sank into the booth beside Sara, swinging her head between the two of them. Grissom was quitting? She knew he was upset, but that was the last thing she expected. And how did Sara know about it? “Care to tell me what the hell is going on?” Catherine asked, not bothering to hide her confusion. “I’ve decided to resign. Sara doesn’t think it’s a good idea.” “It’s not! Look, I know you’re angry, but that’s no reason to give up,” Catherine said. “Did it ever occur to either of you that I don’t want to work somewhere that would offer me up as a sacrificial lamb? I never planned to spend the rest of my career at the Vegas lab. There are other things I can do. There are other things I want to do.” She watched the intense looks being exchanged by her colleagues, and the blonde’s eyes opened widely. When had this happened? No wonder Sara was so upset that someone was after Grissom. Or why he was so protective of her. Oh, if Myers or Burdick learned about this… “I didn’t see the two of you here,” she said, getting up quickly. “But God only knows who has. Even if you decide to quit, don’t do anything else stupid!” Grissom watched her storm out of the dinner, turning around to smirk at Sara. “She overreacts sometimes. Do you need to go back to the lab now, or would you like to do something else?” She stared at him, her mouth opening slightly. Giving her head a shake, she stood up quickly and headed to the door. The diner was too risky. “We are talking. Somewhere private.” The ride to his townhouse was silent, but Grissom understood she was angry. Why she felt that way eluded him. He thought things were progressing; they had talked, even if that had been uncomfortable. Arriving at his home, he cleared away packing boxes from the breakfast counter. She declined his offer to make coffee, instead pacing around his living room with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. “Cath was right. I tried to tell you.” “Sara, I’m not worried about my job. I’ve accepted that it’s lost.” “But it’s not. It’s not fair.” “Very little in life is,” he said, his sage tone failing to cover his pain. “Please, just drop it. It’s not your concern.” “Yes, it is! How can I make you understand? They are using me to hurt you. I’d never do that, and I’ll be damned if I let anyone else do it.” “I know you’re not involved. I don’t think anyone that really knows you will ever blame you for this. I know what I want. I’ve made my choice.” “That’s just it. It’s not a choice you have to make. There’s no reason you have to pick one or the other. I’ve tried to tell you that before.” Grissom walked towards her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “I was serious back in the diner. I’m fed up with the political interference with work. I’m tired of having nothing else in my life. I want more.” “And you can have it!” Sara exclaimed. Dropping her shoulders in defeat, she turned away from him. “You’re not listening. Cath’s right. You’re pissed at Burdick. It’s clouding your judgment.” “Where are you going?” he asked fretfully when she walked towards his door. His stomach knotted painfully, and he followed her with a sense of dread. He accepted the loss of his career; it was painful, but it was bearable. Losing Sara, now, that was unthinkable. “Home. Damn. Can you give me a lift back to the lab?” “I don’t want you to leave. You wanted to talk. Let’s talk. Don’t go.” “Grissom,” she sighed. “Never mind. I’ll get a cab.” “What did I do wrong?” Sara turned to him, wincing at his suffering look. “Nothing, babe. But you’re not thinking straight,” she said gently before reaching for the doorknob. “Trust me. I’m trying to save the most important thing in your life.” “If that’s true why are you leaving?” His plaintive tone halted her progress. Hands on her shoulders spun her around, and Grissom pulled Sara close to his body, unwilling to risk letting her go, not when they were this close. His gaze bore into her, his need and fear evident. “If that’s what you want, then don’t leave.” “But…” “But nothing. I have what I want here,” he said, bending down to capture her mouth with his. Years of denied desires, of yearning, flowed through the kiss. When her arms wrapped around him, he lifted her up, carrying her back into his home. |
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