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Summary: It didn’t matter that he was still in love with her.
There are certain people you just keep coming back to
She is right in front of you
~The Fray, All At Once
Las Vegas, Nevada
September 2000
It didn’t matter that he hadn’t touched her – at least not the way he wanted to – for almost four years, three weeks, and five days.
It didn’t matter that despite how she really felt about him, she put their friendship first.
It didn’t matter that he was still, and always would be, fifteen years older than she was.
It didn’t matter that her feelings for him were a mess of confusion.
It didn’t matter that he still blamed himself for the broken arm Dan had given her.
It didn’t matter that her smile could be a perfect mask of professionalism.
It didn’t matter that he could see right behind the smile and know that something was hurting her.
It didn’t matter that she was now single.
It didn’t matter that his date the other night had gone badly.
It didn’t matter that Holly Gribbs was most likely not going to make it.
It didn’t matter that she was heading back to San Francisco after this was all said and done.
It didn’t matter that she was still in love with him.
It didn’t matter that he was still in love with her.
None of the baggage mattered.
Standing there under the mid-day Las Vegas heat, they were able to raise the temperature at least ten degrees just by looking at each other, and he was sure that even up on the roof, Nick would be able to tell how he felt about Sara.
“The only why that matters,” Sara searched his eyes, understanding how much this was hurting him, “is why did Warrick Brown leave that crime scene?” She had to admit that she didn’t give a damn about any of this. They’d all been left alone at crime scenes on their first night; Grissom had left Holly alone at a liquor store on her very first case. Warrick Brown’s guilt should be punishment enough for this infraction, but the rulebooks didn’t care about guilt. So now, she stood here, an inadvertent IA investigator, wanting to be mad at Warrick Brown but feeling a strange sympathy, wondering what practices were actually followed in the Las Vegas lab, and just a little angry that she was being placed in this situation by the man she refused to admit that she was still in love with.
Grissom sighed softly at her comment, reading between the lines and seeing the flicker in her eyes. “That’s why I brought you down here.” He glanced skyward, beckoning Nick down off the roof. “Sara …” Grissom looked back at her, not bothering to avoid the dark gaze that always, always, reduced him to a gibbering idiot. “He’s a good man. Warrick.”
“Good men make mistakes too,” Sara cocked a sad smile at him. “You told me that.”
Wanting to smile back, but suddenly caught up in the memory of his own words from four years ago as he sat in that emergency room with her, blaming himself for her freshly broken arm, Grissom turned, glad for the sudden interruption by the low whistle that came from Nick Stokes. Barely uttering the other CSI’s name, Grissom quietly presented Sara. He brought her forward with one hand hovering just away from the small of her back, letting Nick know in no uncertain terms, that Sara belonged to him. Suddenly feeling like a caveman, he dropped his hand and let Sara make her own introduction. But her professionalism toward Nick did little to curb the primal urges coursing through his body. Nick was young and clearly, already, attracted to Sara. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea.
Sara smirked and stepped away, a new square to her shoulders at Grissom’s sudden dominance. The CSI with the Texas accent was doing his best to woo her with his smile and his drawl, and it would work if she felt like being charmed. But right now, work had to come before play, and it was Grissom that she wanted to play with. “Sara Sidle from San Francisco PD Criminalistics. Got a few minutes to talk to me?” Nick, ever the good kid, looked to the father in the moment. Grissom nodded before turning back to his dummies.
San Francisco, California
June 1996
If he had to be honest, and Gil Grissom was nothing but honest, he preferred maggots and beetles to people. They were quiet, they demanded none of his time but what he was willing to give, and they were always, always completely perfect. He could be wrong about them, but they were never wrong.
The stream of students barely caught his attention as the makeshift classroom filled up from the back forward. He didn’t understand how a room full of people who all studied dead things for a living could be squeamish about bugs. Only a few brave souls dared even the edges of the front row. Wimps.
But as he scanned the crowd, looking past the lurkers, his eyes fell on a ponytail of curly brown hair, thin, elegant arms encased in a blue, hooded sweater, and a shoulder that balanced a bag outlined in what he instantly assumed were the Harvard colors (the patch touting the Harvard Physics department was the most glaring evidence). He watched the woman’s long fingers raise a cup of coffee to her lips and noticed there was something stiff about the way she moved. Possibly a result of a pull in her lower back. Someone, a friend he assumed, came up and put a hand on her arm and she jumped (from true surprise or nerves, he wasn’t sure), but quickly recovered and turned, giving Grissom the full profile of her face.
She was pale, and the dark of her hair made the white of her skin stand out against the dark blue sweater. Peering at her carefully, he took in the slight redness under her makeup – she had a mild skin condition of some kind, most likely rosacea. Even from a distance, he could tell her makeup was minimal – base, lip gloss, and a small dash of eye shadow. Forgetting about the maggots for a moment, he stared blatantly, moving to the edge of the dais, pretending to shuffle papers.
She turned, walking now with the man who had touched her earlier. Her badge, dark blue lettering against the white background, revealed her identity: Sidle, Sara A. CSI 2. San Francisco Police Department: Criminalistics.
Sidle, Sara A.’s walking confirmed the presence of a lower pack strain. Her legs, the longest he’d ever seen, were encased in a pair of black linen pants and he could see her shirt now – a plain, blue, knit t-shirt that stretched comfortably over what had to be a 34 C cup, and rested against her flat stomach. A small bulge at her naval hinted at a possible belly button piercing. Most of the women in the room chose to wear flimsy flats or heels of some kind but on her feet were black boots. And, also unlike the other women in the room, she sat right in the center of the front row – even leaving her friend a few rows back – and after she’d settled, she looked up, surveying the scene, and her gaze met his. For the first time in his forty years he finally understood what it meant to fall into someone’s eyes.
Never, not even on that day, fifteen years ago, when he’d first looked into Desrea’s eyes, had Gil Grissom’s heart actually skipped a beat. He swallowed, hard, felt the blush of surprise and even the embarrassment of arousal – he could tell that she now knew he’d been watching her – and looked down, suddenly focused on the handouts of maggot infestation in urban areas. Without looking up, he could tell that Sidle, Sara A. was also blushing.
Las Vegas, Nevada
September 2000
The ticking of his clock against the wall of his office reverberated through the room, each second reminding him of Holly’s death, Warrick’s impending dismissal, graveyard’s open cases, the paperwork that was now his to deal with now that the Sherriff had so graciously given him the whole graveyard unit to run, not just the CSI’s. A team of CSI’s who, collectively, pulled more double and triple shifts than any other peace officer department in Clark County, and therefore required double the amount of paperwork. The team that had the best solve rate in the country, which meant twice as much court time, which also meant more paperwork. But despite the ticking of the clock and the paperwork and the team to manage, it was her latest e-mail, the one she’d sent right before he called her and begged her to come down, that had his attention. He’d read it a million times, and he’d read it again and again, just like with every other e-mail she’d sent over the past four years.
Hey Babe,
Check out the attachment but when you’re away from the office. I got the other one pierced and you said you wanted to see it. Hurt worse than the first time, actually, but I’m thinking the pain as it heals will help me stay away from the smokes. Yes, I’m trying to quit (again) – but I’ve already experienced the rush of half a pack of cigarettes while chomping down on nicotine gum. It wasn’t my fault! It was the triple homicide that I was graciously given to work by my fucking self. I’m all for overtime, but even triple shifts are hard on the body and soul. Hey, what can you tell me about maggot infestations in carpet fibers? Is it only blood that brings them in? The place was trashed – I was actually tempted to call you up here for your expertise.
I threw Dan out. Yeah, I know you’ll be happy to hear that. I threw the asshole out on his ass. Forgive the sentence structure, I wasn’t an English major and I’m a bit drunk and loopy on painkillers. Don’t ask what they’re for, no they aren’t for the piercing. Yes, I’m drinking while on painkillers. Not a smart idea but it hurts right now. No new tattoos, I think I’m going to stop at two. The phoenix symbolizes enough I think. Especially now.
Anyway, I think I’m gonna go pass out – I have to be back at work in just a few hours and that means sleeping off the stuff in my system. Of course, I can’t sleep, so that’s why I’m drinking and shooting off inane e-mails to you that I’m sure I’ll find a way to regret when I’m sober. I’ll go crack one of the textbooks you sent me for my birthday. No offense, but tonight it just might do the trick.
Hey, do you believe in extra-terrestrial life?
I love you, you know.
~Sara~
Normally, the final question would have made him laugh. It was a tradition with them – a final question, sometimes random, sometimes not, designed to spur some kind of response in the next e-mail. His last one had been asked simply out of morbid curiosity. Did you actually go through with it? And she had. He wondered if it was before or after she’d thrown Dan out. He’d spent many hours looking at the attachment, fascinated with the silver butterfly ring slipped through her raspberry nipple. It fit her and the butterfly tattoo on the underside of her other breast perfectly, and turned him on completely. He wanted to tell her that he’d gone through an entire bottle of lube while staring at the printout of the picture he now kept in his nightstand. He wanted to tell her that he still loved her, that he wanted her to come down to Vegas to be with him, not just work with him. He wanted her away from Dan. But all of what he actually wanted didn’t matter, not if she took the job he was going to offer her. It just wouldn’t be right to cross the physical line again. No matter how much he wanted to.
It didn’t matter. It was over. It had to be. He was going to offer her a job.
But she still loved him too. He knew that much.
Her signature had never changed in the past four years no matter how often she fought with Dan about it. He signed his e-mails to her the same way – despite his knowledge that Dan was checking her account. He worried over and over as to why she’d finally worked up the courage to end it with him, and if she’d actually keep it ended. She’d broken up with Dan more times than he could count in the past four years. And if he decided to not care about boundaries and ethics, he knew exactly what he would find under that light tank top she was wearing. He’d seen it all before. Dan was very, very smart and knew exactly how to hit her so that no one else would ever know. He really hoped this was it. He knew better than to expect for it to be.
Sighing, he ran a hand over his graying hair and leaned back, wondering what had happened. Sara was holding herself carefully, just like she had the day they’d met. She moved with her usual purposeful stride but it seemed all her energy came in keeping up appearances. What had happened? Or was she still feeling the effects of the triple shift?
God.
He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stay away from her. He couldn’t want to love her but offer her a job – a job he knew that she’d accept. It wasn’t fair to create that power structure for either of them. Was it right to ask her to stay tonight and then offer her the job in the morning? Was it right to make love to her just so he could push the images of her ex from his mind? Was it right for him to still love her like he did?
But he did love her and he wanted her here, with him. For personal and professional reasons.
God. He couldn’t stay away from her. He knew himself that well at least.
He’d never had the chance to answer the maggot question. Maybe, over dinner he could tell her exactly what she would need to know about infestations.
If she let him, he would take her to his bed and he would satisfy his own selfish needs and claim her again as his own and then he’d ask her to move out here, to take Holly’s place in the crew. She would say yes, he knew. And they would just have to get used to working as professionals. At least they could be near each other, right?
The door opened and she stood there, her sweater still over her shoulders, her khakis slightly wrinkled from wearing them for two straight days, her eyes tired and sad. “Do what you need to do, Griss,” she leaned in his doorway, “but those are the facts.” It was clear her sympathy for Warrick was long gone. “And I’d do it before IA starts sniffing around on you.”
“Thanks.” He waved her to one of the seats, watching as she sat very carefully. “The painkillers wearing off?”
“Yeah.” With effort, she put her feet up on his desk, knowing he hated it and knowing she could get away with it.
San Francisco, California
June 1996
Without even having to turn around, he knew it was her. Boots made a different sound than heels on a floor, and the tread was lighter than a man’s would be. A slight whiff of perfume tickled his nose – Chanel No. 5, a typical perfume for a woman and it was interesting to him because she came across as anything but typical. It even smelled wrong on her – she wore it for someone else. It also raised questions in his mind about why she was carrying herself the way she did. She was impatient, he heard her bag shift against her sweater and could tell she had crossed her arms over her chest. Only when he could no longer pretend to put papers into his briefcase did he turn and he wondered if the look on his face at all matched the sudden passion that surged through his body as he finally had the chance to look at her up close.
Sweet God, she was beautiful. DaVinci would have wanted to paint her, Michelangelo to sculpt her. He’d come across many stunning women in his day – had even married one – but he had never in his life been this close to someone so truly beautiful. The blonde bombshells in the room, the curvy dancers in Vegas, Catherine, none of them could compete with Sara’s simple, unassuming beauty. Then, she smiled and he was able to get a glimpse of the whole package, including the gap in her teeth, he knew he was completely gone. “You raised some interesting questions today, Ms. Sidle.” Professional. He would force himself to be professional.
“Please, it’s Sara.” She held out a hand.
He swallowed the lump in his throat as they touched for the first time; just a handshake. He’d had less intense orgasms. Unwilling to let go of her hand just yet, he glimpsed down, seeing two silver rings on her delicate fingers. One was carved in intricate Celtic designs. The other was set with an amber stone. Carefully, he turned her hand upward, looking into the petrified sap. “You have a spider on your hand.”
“I couldn’t resist – it is an entomology seminar after all.”
“Today was just entomology. Tomorrow we get into the tough stuff.” This was bad. This was very bad. His knees were weak. He was actually grateful when, artfully, she extracted her hand.
“You’re here for the whole semester, right?” When he nodded, she looked back at the room. “Lecturing kids for the most part, right? Us CSI's only get to take advantage of you for the first couple of days.”
She’d done her homework on him. It was impressive. “Well, while I’m here I’m also working with San Francisco PD. Maybe we’ll work together.” He nodded to her badge. “You’re a level two?”
“The ink is still fresh on the badge, actually. Technically, I’m a lab rat. I spend most of my time in the lab, running the trace tests. Took me a long time to get to this point. Hopefully I’ll get to spend actual time in the field now, though.”
He could tell she’d never revealed this much about herself to anyone in this casual a conversation. “You’re lab rat who has also managed to work her way into a level two position. That’s impressive.”
She snorted and adjusted the bag on her shoulder. “I did my masters thesis in physical design of lab equipment for crime scenes focusing on electromagnetic signatures and how they can be used to better read prints on hard surfaces. That’s really what granted me the status.”
Suddenly, he remembered her name. “Sara Sidle. You were all over the Journal of Forensic Science a few months ago. You adjusted the equations in the mechanics of the equipment to make the signature even stronger. You’ve changed the face of forensics!” His heart skipped another beat. “I have been meaning to contact you!”
Again, she chuckled, but hearing the pride and amazement in his voice made her stand a bit straighter. “Thank you.”
Sara just smiled and allowed herself to be led as he left the dais and made his way to the entrance of the auditorium. Each step brought them closer to the end of their conversation, something neither of them wanted to happen. At the door, Gil paused and made the first impulse decision he’d made since asking Desrae out for the first time. “Do you want to have dinner with me?”
Las Vegas, Nevada
September, 2000
“Of course I do,” Sara smiled and pushed herself to her feet. “And I know that you’re itching to see this ring in person.”
I’m itching to taste it. God, I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself.
“Want to tell me what happened?” He changed the subject, hoping to trip her up. He should have known better.
“Not really?”
He also caught the question in her tone. “You’ll send me pictures of your nipple ring but you won’t tell me what Dan did to make you break it off once and for all?”
“I’ll e-mail it to you.”
“Why not here?”
“Because here I won’t be looking into your eyes and seeing your disappointment and anger. I threw him out. Half the PD hates me, the other half is cheering.”
As usual, he was taken by surprise at her candor. “I’m just glad you did it.” He sighed softly and tried again, “What did he do and are you pressing charges?”
“Can we not talk about this?”
He relented at the pleading tone in her voice. “When do you need to go back to San Francisco?”
“Paperwork is filed so really, now. But I need some sleep first. It’s a long drive.”
Grissom nodded and stood up. The paperwork could wait. He moved over to her and put a hand on her hip. When she flinched, he started to panic and looked down into her eyes. “What did he do to you, Sara?”
“Do you want to see that nipple ring or not?” She moved to the door, shouldering her purse again. “And you’ve got something else to ask me, I can tell. So come on, take me out to dinner and we’ll talk and, if you’re lucky, I’ll show you the butterfly.”
“And the phoenix?”
She looked into his blue eyes and smiled. “Yeah. And the phoenix.”
With a sigh, he turned out the light and followed her out of the office. His answers would come. Eventually.