Where the Grass is Greener

The suicide death of Amelia Ruben was rather upsetting for Sara. It had affected her more than usual. Sara had worked many suicide cases throughout her career, and most never bothered her as much. For some reason, this particular one brought back some rather disturbing images that Sara wished she could forget. The depths of loneliness went deeper than she thought. It was like a trench in the ocean; dark, narrow, suffocating, endless; it's true depth remaining a mystery, and open to one curious soul who dared enter it.

As Sara walked through the halls of the Las Vegas Crime Lab, she saw the sun's early rays flooding the hallways with tender, warm, refreshing light. It had been a long time since she saw the sun rise. Either it was that, or she never paid that much attention to it. Now that she actually caught it, it was the most beautiful thing she'd seen in the last twelve hours. It was too bad for Amelia Ruben that she could not wake up to witness another morn.

Sara sighed and then she went to the locker room. She went to her appointed locker and retrieved her things. She shrugged on her jacket, knowing that it would still be a bit cool outside, and then she slung her purse over her shoulder. It was funny how people thought it was strange that she carried a purse. Sara was rather perturbed by it. She was just as feminine as the next woman. It was a little known fact however that she did like purses. She had several of them with various styles and names. She shook her head at how little people actually knew of her. Most of what Grissom thought her knew about her were assumptions, making him hypocritical to his own statement: "Assume nothing".

She closed her locker and headed out. Just as she was going out, Warrick walked in, looking as despondent as she.

"Hey girl," he said cordially, despite his obvious downcast mood. "You going home?"

"Um, no actually," Sara said casually. "I was going to go get some real coffee and a pastry."

Warrick nodded, uninterested, but not intentionally.

"Would you like to join me?" She asked.

Truth be told, Warrick was not in the mood for coffee. He was not in the mood to be around anybody either. Especially Sara. She looked like she had been in La-La land all night. He noticed that she had not been all there while they were working. He wasn't sure what it was…she just looked preoccupied. She was able to do her work diligently, but while they were examining a scene, she looked at him in ways that scared him. She had never looked at him like she did. And it scared him. It scared him because she looked at Grissom that way.

"Hello? I don't have all morning," she chuckled. "Do you want to go grab some coffee?"

Warrick decided, out of conscience, that he should share a cup of coffee with her.

"Yeah," he said. "I'll meet you in the parking lot in a few minutes."

She nodded then turned around and left. She had changed, and he noticed. It wasn't drastic change, but it was definitely something. Her mannerisms changed, her hair was shorter, and she was quieter than usual. He wondered if she was still upset about the whole promotion thing. That was probably what it was, he figured. Sometimes, Sara just had to let things go. Then again, she and Catherine had never been the best of friends, and they hadn't worked on a case together since the college kid. That was the only time in which they were civil; collaboration.

He grabbed his bag out of his locker and closed it.

When he got out to the parking lot, Sara was leaning against her car, patiently waiting for him.

"Where are we going?" Warrick asked.

"Starbuck's," she said.

"Okay, I'll be right behind you," he said.

Sara nodded and got in her car. She threw her things to the back and started the engine. She sighed and leaned back into her seat. She got the feeling that Warrick really didn't want to go, but he said yes because he would feel bad if he didn't. That pissed her off. If he didn't want to go, he should have said no. Now she knew that he would spend the morning kicking himself in the head for going. All because he felt bad. That was not what Sara wanted; she didn't want anyone to have a conversation over coffee with someone that went out of the goodness of their heart. She wanted someone that really wanted to talk. Either way, she still had someone to talk to, so her frustration was moot.

She pulled out of the parking lot, and she could see Warrick following behind. Sara focused on the road. Traffic was pretty hectic for seven thirty. It wasn't even time for rush hour. People tended to get dangerous in cars; especially when they were in a hurry. Sara turned on the radio. News of Amelia Ruben's suicide was out. It was tragic. In homage to the wife of Miles Ruben, the stations played his hit song, "Amelia". This was the first time Sara had heard it. She sighed. She'd been doing a lot of that lately; sighing. Sometimes for no reason, she just sighed.

After about fifteen minutes, she and Warrick made it to Starbuck's. It wasn't crowded, and they would get the strongest and freshest coffee of the day. Sara emerged from her car and waited until Warrick met up with her and they walked in together.

Sara told Warrick to find a table while she ordered their coffee. She ordered a scone; her guilty pleasure. She thought they were the most delicious pastry.

When their orders came, she sat down and she gave Warrick his coffee.

"Thanks," he said.

"You're welcome," she said half-heartedly. She took the top off of her coffee to fix it the way she liked it. Strong, French Vanilla crème, two sugars. Equal brand.

Then, she cut her scone in half and buttered each half. This was her morning ritual. Only Warrick knew of her new routine before going home after a shift. Every morning, she came to Starbuck's, ordered the same thing, repeated the same process to get things the way she liked them.

"You know the reason I come here is because it makes me seem less lonely," Sara said, focusing on buttering her scone just right.

Warrck looked at her. "Why are you lonely?"

Sara shrugged. "Coming here, just kind of let's me know that there is civilization outside my apartment."

Warrick nodded and looked away while sipping his coffee.

"Want half a scone?" She asked.

"No thanks," he said. "I never liked pastries."

Sara nodded. She did see him chomping down on a jelly doughnut not too long ago, though. Maybe a pastry to him is an every once in a while thing.

"Sara, what's wrong?" Warrick asked in concern. "You've been acting so weird lately."

Sara sighed a heavy sigh and sank into her seat. "I know," she said while stirring her coffee, which she hadn't sipped yet. "There's a lot of things on my mind."

"Like what?" Warrick asked, picking up his coffee for another cautious sip.

"I don't know," she said, looking up at the ceiling. "My past, for one. This case brought up a lot of old issues."

Warrick nodded, not wanting to pry. He would let her do the talking. That was her problem; when people pushed her to tell them what was going on, she would freeze up and not tell a soul. She would hide behind whatever walls she put up and not come out. Sara liked waiting for the bottom to drop out of everything. He didn't know why, exactly, but he feared that one day, it would be her undoing. He knew how to get her to talk; listen, don't shove. Sara eventually got whatever was bothering her out of her system. It was funny how that was one thing Grissom couldn't do with her: talk. Deeply talk. Open up to each other.

Withdrawing into herself was her biggest flaw next to holding grudges.

"You don't mind hearing this, do you?" She asked, forking some of her scone.

The dust that was accumulating in the sun's rays danced around them, making him itch all of a sudden. The sunlight hit Sara's hair and showed off its reddish-brown tint. Her hair was shiny, soft, and it had body since it had been cut. It went past her shoulders before, and she cut a little above the shoulders.

"No, not at all," Warrick said.

"Okay," she sighed. "A few years back, I tried killing myself. I've thought about it God knows how many times, but a few years ago, I was about to follow through."

Warrick's expression turned really serious.

"I had taken some time off work, just to relax, get my head straight," she explained. "Well, one day, I got so depressed and miserable, that I decided that I should just end my life. I sat in my tub, full of water, and I cut my thighs. And they weren't just little butterfly cuts, these were deep, painful, gashing cuts. Within seconds, my bathwater was bloody."

Warrick could not believe what he was hearing. She began to cry. He saw the tears escape her eyes.

"I sat in my own blood for ten minutes, looking at my cuts," she said in a weak voice. "And then, I just couldn't do it. I couldn't let myself die."

Warrick took a napkin and handed it to her. They were cheap and thin, but it was something that soaked and that's what he wanted.

"Thanks," Sara said gratefully. "I have scars on my thighs from what I did to myself. And seeing Amelia Ruben in that hot tub, dead by her own hand, it just brought back awful memories."

"Sara, did you ever get any help?" Warrick asked. "You know they have programs for people in law enforcement. I've gone to one before. There's people that can help you when the job gets to be too much to handle."

"No, it's not the job, Warrick!" She exclaimed. "I'm happy at the job, that's what kept me from dying was the job! I'm talking about after hours, when I'm at home, by myself, with no one to talk to, no one to relate to. It's so quiet in my apartment, it's scary. I hear things sometimes. If I talk to anyone else, they'll think I'm a nut job wrapped in a psycho. Work is my life Warrick, and nothing else. Work keeps me from completely going off the deep end."

Warrick took her hands. "Sara, work can't be your life," he said. "You have to find some way to channel your energies after hours. You're a great person, and you're probably more together than some of the people I know. Sara, you don't have to feel lonely because in the end, you've got me, Gris, Nick, Catherine, and even Greg…no matter how obnoxious and horny he is. There are people you can count on Sara."

Sara looked out the window. The sun was up high in the sky and people were out; either going to work, or just out and about.

Warrick let go of her hands and looked at her. He never thought Sara so unstable as to attempt to kill herself. He didn't realize it was that bad, although, it was years ago. It still scared him though. If Sara died, of anything, he wouldn't know what to. Sara was his inspiration to stop gambling. He hadn't gambled as long as Sara had been in Las Vegas. He did it cold turkey. He didn't go to any groups or anything, he just stopped. He figured it was because he was getting older. His gambling addiction was a part of him that was immature and unfocused. When he saw the result of his addiction, he decided that it was time to let it go. He did, and he was a much better person for it. Had it not been for Sara, he wouldn't have given up his addiction.

"I don't know why I'm so lonely," she said. "I have my parents, and my brother, but they're so far away from me, and we aren't that close. My parents disowned me when I left for college. I have people that I talk to, but deep down, I'm lonely. I don't know how to deal with it."

Warrick nodded, trying to find the right words, but they would not come.

"I've changed my look," she admitted. "I didn't do it for attention."

"Why did you do it, then?" Warrick asked.

"Well I-"

Warrick's cell phone went off.

"I'm sorry," he said as he answered it.

Sara looked down at her hands while Warrick talked to whoever was on the line. After a minute, he hung up.

"That was Gris," he said. "He told me that Miles Ruben wanted to talk to me."

"Oh, well, it was nice sharing some coffee with you," Sara said with a smile.

"Thanks," he said. "I'll see you later."

Sara smiled meekly and waved.

***

Sara closed and locked her door to her tiny apartment. It was home. There was no one waiting for her, no noise, no clutter. It was impeccably clean and organized. Sara threw her keys down on the counter and went into her kitchen. She made herself a salad and changed clothes. She grabbed a book and sat at her small table, only big enough for two.

She was focused, and she was particularly enjoying her salad. She had gotten a lot of things off her chest, and it made her feel so much better. Warrick was a great listener. He didn't hurry to give her any advice, nor did he push her to talk. He just sat there, waiting for her to start. He was a good friend to her.

He was right, she did have people that were there for her, but she couldn't just interrupt their lives because she was lonely. They had friends and family too. It wouldn't be fair for her to interfere in their relationships. She had to forge a strong friendship of her own and have people that she could talk to everyday. Talking to Warrick was a start, but she was sure that he didn't want to hear any more of her problems. He didn't even want to have coffee with her. He just went along out of the goodness of his heart.

Sara knew that the only thing that was keeping her from being happy was herself. She didn't know why she was so unhappy. She couldn't remember a time when she was truly happy. She had been humored, but she never went home happy. She knew it was because of a lack of relationships and not going out to meet new people. She felt that if she went out with another man, that she would be betrayed like she was with Hank. Nothing had hurt her more than that. It was embarrassing, and from then on, it became hard for her to trust in men.

There were men who were cheaters and then men who were emotionally challenged. Grissom was the latter. Sara had been pining after him for years, and he seemed to not pick up on her desperateness. She loved him. There was nothing in her mind that could make her consider otherwise. She fell in love with Grissom over the years, and she never allowed any other man to come close to her because of her love for him. Now, she wasn't so sure. He had left so many scars on her heart that she utterly gave up. She applied for the key position, but it wasn't for her personal gain. It was something to help her get her mind off Grissom. Maybe then he would notice her. Her attempts backfired, and it only served to dig the chasm between them even deeper. It hurt her so bad that she not only felt emotional pain, but she felt physical pain in her heart and stomach. She had cried so many times over him that she lost count.

Yes, there were many reasons for her loneliness, and the biggest one was Grissom. Never had she felt a love for anyone so deeply before, and she never felt a hurt so deeply in her life. All she wanted was for someone to love her for who she was, and to love only her. To be with her in mind, body, and soul. Was it too much to ask? Apparently so, for Sara was unable to find that person yet.

Sara forked her salad as she read her book. Ironically enough, the book was about finding true love. A Harlequin. A mind numbing, sleazy novel about predictable murders and lessons in determining the sizes of manhood. Educational. Sara had a secret stash hidden under her bed. They were books that she had collected from age sixteen on. She read them seasonally, if she wanted to read a book quickly.

Thus was the portrait of Sara Sidle's home life.

***

Warrick could not believe that Sara had attempted to kill herself. It was, in a word, shocking. He never thought of her as suicidal. It just didn't fit her mold, it seemed; but then again, looks could be deceiving.

How cliché, he thought.

Cliché as it was, it was true of Sara. He knew Sara but he didn't know her. Not enough to understand her frustrations and her problems. At work, she was calm, collected, and focused most of the time, so he knew when something wasn't right about her. She suddenly becomes quiet, dazed, and she lops off her thick, soft hair. She wears more make up than usual. He noticed it, and it bothered him much. The fact that she was wearing more make up didn't bother him, it was the fact that she started doing it. Usually, she would wear very little, but lately, she had packed it on. She looked beautiful, but he wanted to see her skin without make up. Then he decided that it was a woman's arena, make up, and he would never understand it.

"Hey Frank," he greeted the doorman to his apartment building. "How's it going?"

"Fine, Mr. Brown," he said. "Have a nice morning sir."

"You too," he said as he entered the building.

His apartment was on the fifth floor. Nice view of the city, and it wasn't too noisy, except for his neighbors' newborn. He didn't mind the noise though. He'd babysat worse when he was a teen.

He entered his apartment and he turned on his television. He threw his keys down on the end table by his couch and went into his kitchen. Left over lasagna. Perfect. He put it in the microwave and then pressed the button for three minutes.

He then went to his bedroom and changed clothes. His apartment pretty much carried the same colors. Black and chrome. It blended well, all thanks to a lady friend of his, whom he dated for a while. His sex life was something that he kept very private. He got some, but he never enjoyed talking about it. While most people thought it was masculine, he thought it was retarded. A Cassanova he was not. His goal when he dated was not to have sex, it was to try and see if she was the one. He usually scared women off when they inquired about his occupation. He soon realized that an occupation in death was not attractive. So, he stopped telling women right off what his occupation was and relationships from there quickly ended.

As he was heading back to his kitchen, he saw the news story about Amelia Ruben. He shook his head. She was so young and so pretty. How could Miles Ruben not pay attention to her? How could he lose such a beautiful woman?

He sighed and checked on his lasagna. It was still cold. He cursed under his breath and put it back into the microwave for another two minutes. His thoughts drifted back to Sara. He hoped that she was okay. He worried about her a lot. He hardly saw her eat, and when she did, it was either a small sandwich or salad. He knew that she was a vegetarian, but they ate too. She had, for a time, gained weight, but she quickly lost it by barely eating. She was so skinny. Not even Catherine was as skinny and lithe as Sara was. She was skinny to the point to where it looked unhealthy.

The microwave beeped and he took out his lasagna with an oven towel. The plate was hot and he quickly placed it on the table.

He got out a cold beer from his refrigerator and then sat down. He could barely get a bite in when the doorbell rang. He grumbled as he got up and answered the door. It was Jason Sims. He had bailed the boy out of Juvi for pulling the fire alarm at his school. That was the time when Sara had investigated him.

"Hey Jason," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"My mom had to go out of town this weekend, and I didn't want to stay with my aunt," the twelve year old said. "I figured I could come here for the weekend."

Warrick sighed. "Jason, you can't just assume that I'm gonna be here all the time," Warrick explained. "I have to work this weekend, you know."

"Sorry, but I have no place else to stay," he said. "I don't want to stay with my aunt, she smells."

Warrick chuckled. "Alright, come in."

Warrick called Jason's aunt and mother to make sure that they knew where Jason was for the weekend. Warrick made sure to leave the point that Jason's aunt smelled out. His mother understood and said that she would be back on Sunday evening. Then he called Grissom.

"Yeah, I need this weekend off," he explained. "I'm babysitting." Jason glared at him.

Grissom was confused, but he allowed Warrick the weekend.

"Okay," Warrick started. "I'm off this weekend because my boss is very kind. You're lucky."

"Thanks Warrick," he said.

It was harder to relate to a twelve year old than Warrick thought. Morally, he could, but not socially. As a kid, Warrick was not very talkative, and he didn't have many friends, so he remembered little of his days in elementary school. High school was memorable, but anything before that was a big blur.

"There's this girl that I like at school," Jason started. "She's really nice and real pretty too. I want to ask her to hang with me sometime, but I don't know how to do it."

Warrick smirked and nodded. "Just be cool, be yourself."

"It's hard to not act like a dweeb around her," Jason said. "I can't get the words out right."

"You don't need to be nervous," Warrick said. "You just have to stay calm, collected, and just ask her casually. If you sound serious, she won't go for it."

Jason nodded. He forked a large chunk of lasagna and stuffed it into his mouth.

"So," he started with his mouth full. "Who's that lady you're always talking to?"

"Boy, chew your food," Warrick scolded. "Don't talk with your mouth full, you know better than that."

Jason nodded and chewed his food good before swallowing. He gulped down some of his coke before continuing.

"I was asking who that lady is," he started again. "The one I met at the front desk."

"Oh, that's Sara Sidle," Warrick said. "She's my coworker."

"Oh," he said. "I was just asking 'cause you talk to her a lot. She's pretty."

"Yes she is," Warrick agreed. But she's a barking lunatic, he thought to himself. "She's smart too."

"Is she your girlfriend?" Jason asked.

Warrick choked on a piece of noodle. "What?"

"Is she your girlfriend?"

"What? No," Warrick said, trying to catch his breath. "No, she's a friend of mine, but we're not together."

Jason nodded. Warrick wished for his onslaught of personal questions to end. He couldn't deny that the woman was beautiful, but she was not his type. She was not wrapped too tightly.

Jason was taken aback by Warrick's choking. All because he asked him a simple question. It was clear that he was in denial. Jason was twelve and he could see that. He only knew because his mother had been dating for years, and all of the guys he'd met, they were in denial about admiring his mother or even loving his mother. Jason could always tell. He thought it was high time for Warrick to get a girlfriend, and he wouldn't mind if it was his mother. Warrick had been a father figure to him for three years.

"What are you thinking about?" Warrick asked as he cleared the table.

"Nothing," Jason replied. "Do you at least like her?"

"Like who?" Warrick asked, trying to avoid the conversation.

"Sara," he asked. "Do you like her a little bit?"

Warrick glared a Jason. "Why are you asking me these questions?"

Jason shrugged. "I don't know."

"I don't know isn't a good answer," Warrick said rather harshly. "I shouldn't even be discussing my personal life with you. You're twelve. It'll get your head all screwed up."

Jason smiled. "You like her, admit it."

Warrick just shook his head. "Look boy, I'll send you to your aunt's if you keep it up."

Jason raised his arms in surrender. "I'm sorry."

Later, they watched TV.

"Can I have a sip?" Jason asked.

"No," Warrick said firmly. "Wait 'til you're twenty-one."

Jason sighed and looked back at the television. Warrick was agitated by the boy. He'd been pestering him all morning long. It was strange how he thought that he and Sara were dating. It was simply unheard of, and he couldn't picture himself with her. He knew her, yes, she was beautiful yes, and she was quasi-nice, yes, but he didn't think he'd have anything in common with her. They just worked together, that was it.