A/N: These characters are the property of Anthony Zuiker and many other people who are making a profit from them. I don't happen to be one of them.
Many thanks to my betas Alison and Margaret, as well as the incredibly kind people at Playing with Fire, who offered me support and encouragement as I contemplated stepping into the world of fan fiction.
This is my first attempt at writing fiction, so reviews are welcome. Criticism is fine, as long as it is constructive and polite.
If Sara Sidle believed in luck, she would think that if it was not for bad luck, she would have none at all right now. But Sara did not put stock in constructs as frivolous as chance, fate, and luck. She possessed an internal locus of control, and had faith only in her own ability to make things happen.
Which was probably why Sara was sitting in the Emergency Department of Mountain View Hospital today rather than lying in the morgue. Just hours before, she and Nick had accompanied Captain Brass to search a murder suspect's home on a warrant. The suspect remained present during the search, always keeping within eyeshot of Sara. Brass, knowing all too well what could happen in the blink of that eye, stuck close by while Nick was collecting evidence in a different part of the house.
As Sara slowly made her way through the suspect's bedroom closet, she tried her best not to be distracted by Brass and the suspect looking on, although she recognized that she had better maintain a perspective on where they were and what they were doing at all times. She had learned in college that the first step to defending yourself from physical attack was to always be aware of your surroundings. Not one to leave her safety in the hands of a fate in which she no longer believed, Sara's lessons in self-defense went far beyond learning how to hold your keys in order to jab at an attacker's eyes or throat. If necessary, she could go hand-to-hand with a man, likely having the advantages of surprise and dexterity in her favor. Taking her cue from Brass and her own instincts, Sara was not at all comfortable with this man's presence. She was grateful Brass was nearby, as the suspect was only about five feet behind her, trying to see over her shoulder to determine what she was examining. Brass was so close to the suspect you would think he was whispering in the man's ear.
When Nick entered the room to show them what he had found, Brass instinctively turned to the sound of his voice and started to walk toward the other CSI. Seizing this opportunity, the suspect lunged at Sara from behind, attempting to grab her gun from its holster. Well versed in weaponless defense, Sara responded as she had been trained, and fought back. She was able to keep her gun secure until Brass helped her subdue the suspect, but hurt her wrist in the process.
Thus, several hours later, Sara found herself an unwilling visitor to the hospital for the second time in three months. She hated hospitals, and would not have been here at all except that Brass had driven her and was refusing to leave until she was examined. She would not have gone a few months ago either, but for Grissom handing her off to some paramedic after the explosion at the lab. So here she sat, on a bed in a curtained-off area of the ER, waiting for the results of her x-rays. She did not think anything was broken; it was probably just a nasty sprain and there would be nothing to be done for her here that could not have been done at home. Sara suspected Brass was still in the waiting room, doing his job by phone for now, otherwise she would probably have attempted to escape.
~ * ~ * ~
Brass was just hanging up the phone at that moment, having checked in with Nick regarding his completed search of the suspect's house. They still had not found what they were looking for before Brass dragged Sara off to the hospital, so Nick stayed behind to finish the search. Brass was certain something would turn up, especially given the man's attempt to grab Sara's gun. No telling what the man would have done had he gotten hold of it, Brass mused. If he were a gambling man he would have laid odds that he, Nick, and Sara might have been killed had it not been for Sara's actions.
About a half-hour later, Brass spied Grissom moving through the waiting room toward the information desk. He looked like he could barely contain the anger that practically vibrated through his body. Brass grinned, knowing that anger was not the underlying sensation his friend was experiencing; it was often used to cloak the more uncomfortable emotion of fear. Wanting to allay Grissom's concern for Sara, Brass made his own way through the sea of waiting room chairs toward Grissom, when he noticed Sara coming from the private area of the ER in the opposite direction. Like an animal scenting his quarry, Grissom's head snapped up almost immediately and turned directly toward Sara.
"What the hell did you do now, Sara?" Grissom practically hissed as he stalked toward her.
Sara had been looking for Brass and had not seen Grissom until he came barreling at her, demanding to know what she had done. "What the hell are you talking about, Grissom?" If he was going to give her an attitude, she was going to give it right back. Her wrist was throbbing and she was in no mood to be spoken to in that way.
"I'm talking about the fact that this is the second time in the past few months that you have acted recklessly and endangered your life and the lives of those around you." Grissom was having a hard time keeping his voice down. If she was not wearing a splint from her lower arm to her hand, he probably would have yanked her out into the parking lot by now. He could not believe how angry he was, but he also could not believe how foolishly Sara had been acting.
Sara stood there, stunned. Recklessly? Where did he get off faulting her for a suspect attacking her from behind? Did the guy claim she had been wriggling her ass seductively and that was why he lunged at her? Sara realized she was staring at Grissom with her eyes wide and her mouth open. She quickly shut her mouth and tried to regain her composure but opened it again a moment later, "Listen, I don't know what you think happened tonight, but I did nothing wrong. Hell, Brass…."
He cut her off, "Brass might decide not to allow you at another scene with him if you keep pulling stunts like this, Sara. You can't expect to be a CSI if…"
Brass had finally reached them and heard Grissom's last comment. "Whoa, wait a minute there, Gil. Sara didn't pull any kind of stunt other than saving all our asses from being shot."
Now it was Grissom's turn to look shocked. "But…I thought. I mean, I heard….." Had he misheard or misunderstood what Nick had said upon returning to the lab without Sara? Granted, he had not spoken directly to Nick himself, rather he had overheard part of his conversation with Warrick. Nick said that Brass had taken Sara to the hospital to have her wrist x-rayed after getting into a scuffle with a suspect. Grissom was forced to admit to himself now that he had immediately assumed that Sara had instigated the altercation. After all, she had stormed, gun drawn, through a door while the police were clearing a room a couple of months ago. And Grissom would never forget that he had to physically restrain her when she got in Scott Shelton's face not long after she had begun working in Vegas.
"Sara, I…" he began to apologize, but was cut off by one very pissed CSI.
"Save it Grissom." she snapped. "Brass, I'm going to the car. You coming?" Before either man could respond, Sara turned and headed for the exit.
~ * ~ * ~
By 2 AM Grissom had given up any pretense of being able to concentrate on work. It had been three hours since he blew up at Sara for something she had not done. Grissom had jumped to a conclusion without gathering all the evidence and it had not ended well. He should have known better. He had learned over the past three years that it was necessary to stop and think whenever Sara was involved. When he did not abide by this rule, he acted rashly and instinctively; a dangerous combination where Sara Sidle was concerned.
Three years ago, after Sara had helped solve the Holly Gribbs homicide, Grissom had offered her a job before he really thought it through. Sitting alongside a hockey rink a year later, he told her he hadn't been interested in beauty until he met her. Another time he sat in a lab and was practically seduced as Sara rattled off information from a professional journal article; that ended with Grissom stating that he did not need a copy of the article because he had her. Just a few months ago, he had called her "Honey" because he was frightened for her. There were times he had touched her face, taken her arm, smiled intensely at her, and stared at her; all because his brain hadn't put the brakes on and made him carefully consider his actions first. He'd led her on, he could admit to himself now, even though there was no way he could follow through on the occasional flirting.
His brain betrayed him to an even greater degree during the past year. As he had recently admitted to Doc Robinson, he had not been thinking rationally regarding his hearing. It had been dangerous for him to go for so long without informing anyone on the team of his condition. Had he been in that house with Sara tonight he might not have even heard the struggle. Maybe he came down so hard on her tonight because he was projecting his guilt onto her. And maybe he ought to just stop psychoanalyzing himself and start acting like the scientist he was supposed to be. But that had proven impossible since he had returned from the hospital.
Grissom sighed as he removed his glasses and wiped them clean, listening to the usual sounds of the lab. His hearing had improved since the surgery, and would continue to do so. He considered himself lucky that he was regaining any of his hearing; he feared he'd waited too long. Gil Grissom did not generally subscribe to the concept of luck. As a scientist and a criminalist, he did not believe in it. One should never rely on fate or chance when attempting to solve a crime; diligence, determination, and intelligence were required, but not luck. Grissom grinned wryly as he thought that scientists even use a different word to describe it when something other than those three qualities lead to success: serendipity.
Was there such a thing as negative serendipity? All the forces of the earth converging to make something bad happen? Maybe that would explain what had happened earlier tonight. Upon hearing Nick's words as Grissom passed by the break room, his mind flashed to images of an injured Sara. All he could think was that he had to be with her. He had seen her injured and disoriented as a result of the explosion and it had broken his heart. So he left the building immediately instead of waiting to get the details of Sara's altercation from Nick. As he drove to the hospital, the anger took over with thoughts that she could have been seriously hurt or even killed. The thought of his life without Sara in it because of her own actions shot his pulse rate easily over 95. He was primed for a fight by the time he spotted her in the ER.
But he had been wrong. Brass set him straight about the incident as soon as Sara stalked out of the hospital. Sara had not instigated a fight with a suspect. The suspect had attacked her from behind in an attempt to acquire her gun, with which he likely intended to shoot Sara, Nick, and Brass. Grissom could tell by the way Brass recounted the story that he was impressed by Sara's reaction and skill in keeping her weapon secure as she fought the man off until Brass himself could intervene.
Grissom felt like an ass.
~ * ~ * ~
Sara glanced at the clock again and could not believe she was still awake. It was 2:30 in the morning and she had finally broken down and taken some painkillers a little after midnight. As much as she hated to take any kind of medication, she hoped that these would knock her out sufficiently enough to keep the nightmares at bay. Finally admitting it was futile to stay in bed any longer, Sara got up and moved to the living room to surf the 'net. She even toyed with the idea of calling work to see if they were particularly busy and needed her help before she remembered she did not want anything to do with Grissom right now.
Sara did not think she had ever been so angry with him before. Her experiences with him over the past few years had caused Sara to feel more than she liked to admit sometimes. But not usually mad. Irked, maybe. Peeved, possibly. Confused, hurt, enamored, giddy, and thrilled: definitely. She knew things had not been the same between them since he found out about her supposed relationship with Hank. Ironically, it was not until after Grissom began shutting her out that she even allowed Hank to become a blip on the radar screen. She should have known from the start that the relationship was doomed by virtue of the fact that she had entered into it as a reaction to Grissom. For someone who usually prided herself on being proactive and maintaining control of her life, Sara could see now that it had been a pretty out-of-character move.
Getting up to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, Sara thought she heard someone gently knocking on her door. Moving to the foyer, she called out, "Hello?" and was astounded to hear Grissom's voice from the other side.
"Sara? It's Grissom." Sara did not respond. She stood a few feet from the door debating whether or not she really wanted to deal with Grissom just yet. Angry as she was, she was not in the mood for a fight at the moment. He knocked again, louder this time. "Sara, please open the door. I'd like to talk to you."
Well, he certainly seems calmer, Sara thought. She let out a sigh as she swung the door open and stood in front of him with her arms crossed over her chest.
"Can I come in?" He had the grace to look embarrassed.
She stepped back and continued to say nothing as he crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him. Sara may not have wanted to argue with him, but she had no intention of making this easy for him, either.
Recognizing that she was not going to invite him further in, Grissom cleared his throat, looked straight into her eyes, and began. "Sara, I apologize for the way I acted earlier. I only heard part of the story and I jumped to the conclusion that…that you had…." He did not know how to phrase this in a way that would not make her angrier.
"That I had somehow instigated the attack," she supplied flatly.
When he could no longer meet her eyes and did not continue with his little speech, Sara filled the gap. "I don't understand how you could have thought that, Grissom. Do you really have that little faith in me?"
"No, Sara. It's not that I don't have faith in you. I know that's not how you are…usually. It's just that it wasn't so long ago that you barged into that bathroom with your gun drawn - "
"Son of a bitch!" Sara all but shouted. Mindful of the fact that it was the middle of the night and her neighbors would probably call the cops if they heard her yelling, she turned and walked away from Grissom as she tried to calm down. When she had taken a few slow breaths, she faced him again, from a distance. "Am I ever going to live that down? I'd nearly been blown to hell a few hours before, Grissom. I wasn't exactly making the best decisions, you know. Wasn't that made painfully clear when I asked you to dinner?"
Does she mean that asking me out was a mistake? "Are you saying you shouldn't have done that? Invite me to dinner, I mean."
Sara let out a small, humorless laugh. "Obviously not, since you rejected me." Another breath. "It wasn't the most thought-out action on my part." Though I'd daydreamed and fantasized about it often enough. "But I guess hindsight is usually 20/20."
He nodded slowly. "You're right. I should have realized you were still in shock. I shouldn't have let you come back to work so soon after the explosion." Walking toward her, Grissom was glad they could begin to put this into perspective. If Sara acknowledged that she should not have asked him out, Grissom could stop feeling so conflicted about his response. He said no because he thought she was trying to change the subject. Grissom had been about to lecture her about her earlier behavior when she threw him for a loop with her invitation. When she persisted, he admitted that he did not know what to do about the attraction between them. Which was the truth. But the other truth was that if Grissom had not just made the decision to have his surgery, he might very well have taken her up on her offer.
"Well, no harm done ultimately, I suppose," Sara shrugged. When Grissom remained quiet, Sara reconsidered her comment. Did I ruin whatever chance we may have had by pushing him the way I did? "Grissom? No harm done, right?"
Surprised she was letting him off the hook this easily, he responded with a small grin, "You mean about me jumping down your throat before?"
Matching his grin with one of her own, Sara admitted, "Well I was actually talking about my…um…questionable actions after the explosion. But if you want to throw your behavior tonight into the mix, I guess we can call it a draw."
They stood staring at one another for several long moments. Grissom felt comfortable in Sara's presence again for the first time in a long time. He knew he should leave now, while he was ahead of the game, but he did not want to stop looking at her. Grappling for something to talk about, his eyes began to travel toward the floor when he came upon the splint on her left wrist. Gesturing toward it, he asked, "What's the verdict?"
"Hmm?" Lost in thought trying to figure out how she could get Grissom to stay a little longer without scaring him off, Sara didn't hear his question.
"Your arm. What did the doctor say?"
"Oh. My wrist is fractured."
He winced. "Does it hurt much?
"Not now. The painkillers took the edge off. Listen, do you want some coffee? Or water?"
"No, thanks. I should probably get going now, anyway. I'm sure you need to get some rest. Did I wake you before?"
She laughed. "With that pitiful excuse for a knock? If I hadn't been in the kitchen, I never would have heard it. Actually I had just given up trying to sleep when you came by. I mean, I'm usually at work at this hour, so I shouldn't have been surprised I couldn't sleep." You're babbling, Sara. "So how about that coffee?"
He smiled. Was she nervous? Well at least she was being friendly again. "Sounds good. But why don't I make it? You'd be working at a distinct disadvantage." He made the last statement as he glanced at her splint again.
"Okay. But I really don't think this will be that big of a deal." Sara replied, waving her arm as they made their way toward the kitchen.
One eyebrow shot up as Grissom countered, "No? When was the last time you processed a scene with only one hand?"
She leaned against a counter across from where Grissom busied himself with the coffee maker and thought about that for a moment. "Never. But I can still use my fingers, and move my arm. I just can't flex my wrist for a while. It may take me a little longer to lift a print or take a picture, but I'll adapt."
"No doubt about that," Grissom said softly.
"What?"
He paused for a moment. No need to repeat that comment. "I asked you how long you will have to wear that."
"About six weeks, according to the ER doc. But I have to follow up with an orthopedist this week, so I'll have a better idea then."
After pouring the coffee, Grissom picked up both mugs and motioned Sara out of the kitchen ahead of him. She led him back into the living room and sat cross-legged on a big comfy armchair, perpendicular to the couch on which Grissom now rested.
"So I guess it was a quiet night tonight." Certainly he would not have been able to show up at her place mid-shift had they been very busy.
He gave her a grin. "You're the biggest news of the night."
"Great," she groaned, "now everyone will want to talk to me and stuff tomorrow."
"You're lucky you were hurt – at least they can't ask you to reenact the whole scene." He offered her a full-fledged smile now.
"There is that advantage." Her smile was increasing in wattage as well.
"But seriously, Sara, you were fortunate that you weren't more severely hurt."
"Fortune had nothing to do with it, Grissom. I told you, I'm trained in weaponless defense. The only way that guy was going to get my gun from me was if he pried it from my cold, dead hand." The tone of their conversation changed from light to serious with the tone of Sara's voice.
"Sara, please don't talk like that." He hated the images that were now flooding his mind in response to her statement.
She gave him a sad smile. "Saying it won't make it come true, Gris. They're just words."
He instantly recalled when another woman had dismissed him with a similar statement. Yet one more instance in which his brain had betrayed him; letting him believe there was, or could be, something between himself and a dominatrix.
Sara leaned forward when Grissom did not respond. She had expected the poet in him to react to what she said, maybe quote someone in defense of "just words." But he remained quiet. "Grissom?" When he finally looked at her, she continued, "You with me?"
He nodded and waved off her concern. "Sorry, off in my own little world for a second there."
After another moment of silence, Sara decided to ask the question she had wanted to ask for nearly a year. "Grissom, are you alright?"
He replied immediately, "I'm fine. I told you, I was just - "
She cut him off before he could repeat himself, "No, I mean are you really alright? You've been doing this for a while now, this…zoning out. And I'm not the only one to notice." He stared at her, not sure what to say. "Listen, I don't mean to intrude. And you certainly don't have to talk to me about it. But if something is wrong, or is bothering you, maybe you need to do something about it, you know? If there's anything I can do to help, I will."
He was not expecting the conversation to take such a turn. Now that the surgery had proven to be a success, he did not anticipate having to confide in anyone else about his hearing. Telling Sara now would only make matters worse. He may not be the most socially adept person, but even Gil Grissom understood that Sara would be hurt that he had not told her sooner. "Thank-you Sara. But it's…complicated."
She dropped her head and barely whispered, "Is it me?"
He thought he misheard her. Why would she think this had anything to do with her? He shifted to the edge of the couch and leaned in closer to her. "You? Sara, I don't understand. How could you think you're responsible for…my behavior?"
Disgusted with herself for feeling so weak and small, Sara lifted her head and looked Grissom in the eye. "I don't know, Gris. But it hasn't exactly been smooth sailing between us for a long time. Did I do something to make you mad? Something to make you avoid me?"
Taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes, Grissom wished inspiration would strike and help him figure out how to answer her questions. When it did not, he was left with only one recourse: the truth. Letting out a breath he did not know he was holding, he glanced at Sara. She was still staring at him. She had asked him a question he did not think he would ever have the nerve to ask anyone else; the least he could do was answer her honestly. "Sara," he took her hand because he sensed they would both need the support in the minutes to come. He would rather have held all of her, but he hadn't earned that right. Yet. "When I said it was complicated, I wasn't exaggerating. I have been going through something. I think I'd like to tell you about it some day, but I can't right now."
She glanced down at their joined hands, and gave his a tender squeeze. "You don't have to, Grissom. Just know that I'll be there when you're ready." This was said as she looked directly in his eyes.
He squeezed back and smiled slightly. "I do." Drawing a deep breath, he continued, "Now for the hard part."
"What do you mean?" He could see the confusion in her eyes.
Another deep breath. This time, he looked away from her. "You were right. I have been avoiding you." When she made no reply, he glanced at her. She nodded at him to continue. "To some extent, it had to do with my …situation. But the rest of it was that…I wanted to give you your space."
Sara was completely confused now. "Space? When did I ask for space, Grissom? I never wanted this…distance between us."
"You didn't have to ask. It was just the right thing to do."
"I still don't understand, Gris."
"Hank." He said the name with more emotion than he meant to. "When it became clear to me that you were in a…relationship with him, I backed away."
"Because you wanted me to be happy or because you were angry with me?" It was not a fair question, but she had to know the answer.
Looking at her again, he spoke softly, "Both."
Treading very carefully now, Sara was gentle when she asked her next question. She sent a quick prayer to whatever entity was listening that she was right about this. "Why would you have been upset that I was dating Hank, Grissom? You were the one who told me I deserved a life outside of the job."
He shook his head, and broke the spell she seemed to have cast with her eyes. "I don't know. It was stupid. I shouldn't have been upset with you. I'm sorry."
Uncrossing her legs and practically jumping off the chair, Sara quickly positioned herself on the coffee table directly in front of Grissom and grabbed his other hand in hers. His surprise at her move caused him to lock eyes with her again. Sara's pretense of being calm and soothing was gone; she was so close to hearing what she had longed for him to say. "Oh God no, Grissom, don't backtrack now! Please just say it. Just tell me the truth…please."
"I guess…I just…I always hoped that…that life would be with me."
"Oh, Gris." Sara barely whispered it as she squeezed his hands even tighter. Her heart had never felt so full before. She had suspected, hoped, and prayed that he returned her feelings. And now he admitted that he did. She wanted to leap into his arms, but noticed that Grissom was looking a little shell-shocked. She moved her good hand to his face and leaned in very close to him. "Grissom?" She waited until she was sure she had his attention. "I wanted that life to be with you, too."
He said nothing. Instead, he leaned in the rest of the way and touched his lips to hers. It was the most tender, beautiful kiss either had ever known. When he withdrew, he asked with all seriousness, "Am I too late?"
She smiled, looked at her watch, and considered for a moment. "You made it just in time."
"Lucky me," he observed, as he pulled her to the couch so he could hold her.
Thinking of the missed opportunities of the past year and the honesty that had been demonstrated in the past hour, Sara assured him, "Luck had nothing to do with it, Grissom."
~Fin~