Another day, another meeting of CSI's. "Sorry I'm late," came a voice
at the door.
Everyone turned in surprise and said, "Sara!" She was still sporting
some spectacular bruises.
"You didn't tell me you were coming in," Grissom said.
"You didn't ask."
"You're supposed to be at home, resting," he said, concern evident in
his tone.
"That's all I've been doing. I'm bored. I'm okay to work, really. I'm
a little sore, but not bad. Nothing stronger than ibuprofen, I took a
cab instead of driving, and I know the lab's shorthanded. I just want
my life back, okay?"
The others looked back and forth till Nick broke the awkward silence.
"I'm glad to see you back." He pulled out a chair for Sara.
"Thanks," she said absently, sitting down without looking at Nick. Her
solid gaze at the boss held defiance, and pleading, and undeniable
love.
"Okay," was the final verdict.
Catherine said, a little too loudly, "You were sending Warrick, Nicky,
and I to the multiple vic site, and you were going to that dumped
body. Sara could give you a hand... counting bugs or something."
"Yeah. Let's go."
The meeting broke up after a quick round of welcomes to Sara. When the
others had left, she sighed and said, "I know, I know, don't start."
"I didn't say anything."
"You don't have to! You never do. Sitting around staring at the walls
and talking to the tarantula might be your idea of fun, but I was
going crazy." She leaned closer, smiling, to whisper, "Not that being
in love with you isn't crazy to begin with."
His mouth quirked in a half-smile. "Same to you."
Grissom had been driving for nearly 90 minutes and Sara had yet to
stir from her sleep. She had practically bounded into the car,
obviously eager to get back to some kind of normal routine. They had
talked about case-related material until finally he changed the
subject.
"I don't know about you coming back so soon. You're still recovering.
If you're in pain or tired or stressed it could affect your
judgement."
Sara eyed him. "Look, Grissom, I'm fine. I'm off the Vicodin. I've
done more sleeping in the last few days than I have in the last few
years. I don't see how this stress is going to affect me. I've had
worse..." She broke off, looking exasperated. "Sorry. Just please
don't worry. I need to do this." She gave a big smile to reassure him
and rested her hand briefly on his knee.
She then proceeded to emphasize her point by falling asleep before he
could muster up a response.
He turned the radio on low, soft classical music filling the cab. With
one eye on the road he glanced at her, watching her sleep. It was
still a novel experience for him. He was used to seeing the Sara he
knew at work; the one that never rested and who came alive with a
particularly difficult case. Now she rested with her head between the
back of the seat and the window. With her eyes closed and her face
expressionless she looked more at peace than he had seen her in a
while. She was wearing her blue jumpsuit with the sleeves pulled down
due to the heat; a white tanktop barely hid the bandages around her
exposed midriff. Sara was thin before and the hospital stay had made
her drop a few more pounds. The skin around her eyes was still tinged
with blue, and the bruises on her face and temple had evolved to a
lurid purple color.
Grissom checked the directions. They were nearing the scene. With one
more look at Sara he reached over and squeezed her thigh gently,
shaking her awake. "Hey Sara? We're here."
Sara looked up, squinting in the light. "That was fast. How long was I
out?"
"Almost two hours." Grissom smirked at her, but without a trace of an
'I told you so.'
Chagrined, Sara responded. "Sorry."
"Don't worry. You deserve it." Grissom turned all business as they
approached the bevy of fleet vehicles. "Grab the kit. I'll talk to the
deputy."
Sara nodded and opened her door, stepping gingerly to the ground. She
went to the back of the Tahoe and grabbed the metal case from the
storage area. By the time she had caught up with Grissom he was
finished talking with the local detectives and had moved closer to the
scene, which was about 500 feet away in rocky terrain.
"Body was found by some kids on a trail ride. There's a stable about
three miles from here. Caucasian male, probably in his thirties, shot
three times in the chest at close range. The vic is covered in
insects. They called me because they don't believe he was killed out
here and wondered if there was a way we could determine via our little
friends where--or when-- this guy was murdered." Grissom lifted the
crime scene tape, putting his other hand against the small of Sara's
back as she ducked carefully under to avoid aggravating her sore ribs.
A swarm of law enforcement still surrounded the scene. Sara flashed
her ID to an officer standing nearby.
"Brass." Grissom motioned to a clearing twenty feet away. They met him
halfway and Brass said drolly, "Well, if it isn't the first couple of
forensics."
Sara's eyes widened while Grissom whipped his head around, making sure
no one had overheard the detective. "Not you, too, Jim!"
"Word travels fast. I snatched the DNA results from your lab tech."
Grissom rubbed his eyes while Sara looked on in a sort of amused
embarassment. "Damn it, Greg."
"Nah, wasn't his fault, I was in there on another case entirely. He
was just standing there in a daze looking at the report. Guy didn't
know what hit him. It's okay. He's filed it away carefully now. I'm
fine with it, but you know Ecklie will nail you against the wall if he
finds out. He'll have you buried so deep in the system that you won't
be able to find your asses with flashlights."
"We've been...discreet," Sara responded. "No one had a clue until I
was attacked."
"Discreet or no, the cat's out of the bag now. Just make sure this
stays on your shift. If anyone on the day unit hears word of this
it'll be all over the place in an hour." Brass gave them a pointed
look, then walked back towards the legion of vehicles parked off the
scene.
"Well, *that* was fun," Sara said with no small touch of sarcasm. She
looked at Grissom and he was smiling.
"What?" Sara asked, confused by his uncharacteristic response.
"The irony. We've spent over two months trying to keep this secret
from trained investigators. I never counted on actually being involved
in a crime."
"You just have to be more careful with your DNA," she smiled.
"Touche."
They made short work of the scene, taking samples and collecting
insects. It was a single homicide in a remote area, so
cross-contamination was kept to a minimum, keeping the scene simple.
The other personnel were just as happy to stay well away.
Sara sighed. "Poor guy, he's living his life, and then next thing,
he's out here as a corpse, squashing what little vegetation's managed
to survive in this big empty desert."
Grissom considered this, then quoted:
"When I consider everything that grows
Holds in perfection but a moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and check'd even by the self-same sky,
Vaunt in their useful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new."
She smiled. "Like I said. When did you memorize all those sonnets?"
Affectionately, he replied, "Since I met you." They both laughed,
remembering.
About an hour after they had arrived, Sara was repacking the kit and
depositing the last roll of film into a canister. She wiped the back
of her hand across her forehead, grimacing from the dull headache that
had started a short time earlier.
Grissom looked at her in concern. "You okay?"
"Yeah. I'm just a little tired."
He reached into his pocket and extracted a small bottle. "I saw you
left these in the car. Figured you might be needing them."
Sara grabbed her prescription medication out of his hand with a
grateful look, reaching into the box behind her for the bottle of
water she always brought to a scene. "Thank you for second-guessing
me. I'll be out cold in twenty minutes, you realize."
"It's a long drive home."
They collected their materials and headed back to the Tahoe, Sara
already starting to drag her feet a bit. She was glad she had come
back to work, but it was taking its toll. She couldn't wait to get
back to her own apartment, take a shower, and fall into bed. Possibly
with Gil, depending on her state of consciousness. They seldom stayed
at her apartment together -- he felt better in his own, and the other
morning had been a rarity -- but she felt the need to get back into
her own space as soon as she could. She wanted him to stay, however.
She wouldn't admit it even to him, but she didn't want to be alone the
first night back. And she knew him well enough to know she wouldn't
have to ask. As much as she had criticized him in the past for being
dismissive, the gesture he had just made with the pills was an example
of how well he read her.
They reached the car and Grissom took the case from her, opening her
door on the way around to his. She dragged her aching body up onto the
seat, barely belted in before she closed her eyes. Her last memory as
she fell asleep was the feeling of her hand in his, the low hum of the
car engine in the background.
Sara awoke when the Tahoe stopped moving, blinking at the familiar
crime lab parking lot.
"I'm going to run the evidence upstairs."
"Mmmm," she commented.
He smiled. "I thought so. I'll be back soon."
She unbuckled her seat belt and reclined the seat, not thinking of
much in particular, scarcely noticing the passage of time.
She was startled at the door opening. "Good news. Your landlord's put
a new door and locks on." He held up a set of keys. "And Warrick and
Nick cleaned up after themselves. You can go home."
"That's the best news I've heard in days."
When they reached her apartment, Sara unlocked the door, took a deep
breath and stepped in. "Wow," she said, surveying it. "It's neater
than when I left. I'm gonna owe Nick and Warrick a big tip." Steeling
herself, she walked down the hallway and flipped on the bedroom light,
acutely aware of Grissom a few steps behind her. "Definitely neater.
They do good work." She was working hard to keep her tone light.
She turned to look at him and cut off whatever he was going to say by
grabbing him by the lapels and kissing him, hard.
"Sara..."
"Dammit, Gil, don't say it! Don't say I'm too tired, or too sore, or
too anything. I don't want to be treated like a piece of crystal. This
is my house, and I'm not letting that bastard take it from me. I want
my life back. All of it."
He touched a feather-light caress to the bruise on her face, then
kissed her; softly at first, then with real passion. He wanted his
life back too, and making love to a feisty, strong-willed, alive Sara
was so much a part of that now.
He was infinitely careful with her, very gentle, tenderly avoiding her
injuries and following her lead. And when she slept again, with her
head pillowed on his shoulder and one arm flung across his chest, it
was without dreams this time.
Sara awoke alone. Alone? Yes, she vaguely remembered a goodbye
conversation. She stretched carefully and found a note on the other
pillow that read simply, "Counting insects" and laughed. Of course.
There was work to be done.
She'd just walked into the break room and was needling Nick about
physics as Warrick and Catherine looked on, when Greg dashed in. He
steadfastly refused to look at Sara.
"I am, in fact, a god," he proclaimed to Nick.
"Yeah, you say that all the time," Warrick snorted. "Prove it."
Greg presented the papers he was holding to Catherine with a
triumphant flourish. "Voila. Your perp. DNA match on the blood."
Catherine read aloud, "Robert DeBare, 6'1", 225, record for
possession, burglary, robbery, minor violence. Ex-Marine, prefers his
old knife." She looked at Sara.
"That fits. That's the guy."
"So... he was just breaking in?" Nick asked.
"Probably looking for something he could fence to buy another fix,"
Warrick said.
"But he didn't take anything," Sara noted. "He just left."
"He wasn't expecting anyone to be home," Catherine speculated.
"Especially someone who could fight back."
"The phone!" Nick remembered. "Grissom called your phone, your cell
phone, and your pager. All that noise must've scared him off. He
figured someone was going to be there any minute. Panicked and left."
"Ahem," Greg said proudly, pointing to the other sheet of paper. "Last
known address, right here in Vegas."
"I think I'll see if Brass feels like visiting that address with me,"
Cat said casually, handing Sara the rest of the printout as she left
the room.
Sara looked at it for a moment, then over at the lab tech, who was
still engrossed in the floor. She gave a little smile and said with
genuine appreciation, "Thanks, Greg," and kissed him on the cheek
before she left.
Warrick and Nick managed to keep from laughing at the mixed expression
of delight and despair on Greg's face. As they walked out, Nick
clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Chin up, man."
Sara walked into Grissom's office. He was engrossed in writing notes
about the insects in the specimen jars on his desk. He looked up when
she closed the door.
"Greg found the guy. Catherine and Brass are tracking him down."
He took off his glasses and said, "That's great. Any idea on motive?"
She sat down. "Ex-con. Junkie. Looks like he was trying to steal
something he could sell."
"And he found you instead."
"Yeah. And all those calls you made to me just then spooked him into
running."
He shook his head. "Completely random. No reason it should have been
you at all."
"And now look," she smiled. "Everybody knows about us."
"Not everybody."
"I know. And I know they can keep a secret. But we still have to be
careful." She sighed. "You know how damn hard this has been?
Pretending like nothing's changed? You know how nearly impossible it
is for me not to touch you here at work?"
"Oh, I know," he smiled. "Speaking of that, why don't you go ask Doc
Robbins about the autopsy on yesterday's vic? At least he doesn't know
about us."
"Yet," she muttered as she left.
"This is charming."
Catherine and Brass had pulled up outside an off-strip motel. While
many of
the properties in the area lacked the glitz of their bigger name
counterparts, this one was the definition of the word sleaze. Even in
the poorly-lit parking lot, the decrepit building screamed "hourly
rental". A few of the downstairs windows were boarded, most likely
fallen prey to vandalism.
Brass snorted and pulled into one of the many empty spaces. Both
exited the car and neared the building, speaking in low voices.
"It's room 143. I talked to the clerk earlier and he said the guy's
been here for two weeks, give or take. Says he rarely leaves the room.
Of course, this place isn't a shining example of security, either. No
cameras, few lights." Catherine fell in step behind Brass as he
navigated the shallow steps to the landing outside the first floor
rooms. "143...Room's this way."
Brass motioned for Catherine to step to the side when they reached the
suspect's door. No lights were visible. Already drawing his gun, he
raised his other hand and rapped three times, hard. "Las Vegas Police
Department!" No answer. With a glance at Catherine he tried again.
"Open up, police!" Again there was no response, but both of their
interests were piqued by a quick shadowy motion behind the dingy
drapes inside the window.
"Probable cause," Brass muttered, almost to himself.
Catherine moved behind him, her hand on her service weapon at her
back. Gun
still drawn, Brass stepped to the side of the door. Following his
lead, Catherine moved to the opposite side of the doorway. She watched
as Brass counted down from three, accompanying his lip movements with
a hand signal. In one quick burst he was through the locked door.
Whether it was because the place was low maintenance or the guy inside
was strung out, luck was on their side and no chain reinforced the
entry.
It all happened within a matter of seconds, but to Catherine it felt
like time had stopped. Her eyes barely had time to adjust to the
change in light when she saw an imposing form charge towards the
doorway, brandishing what was most likely the large knife he had
attempted to use in Sara's attack. She barely had time to react when
Brass stepped to the front. She watched as he fired three rounds into
the man's chest. DeBare crumpled to the ground, the knife slipping
from his grasp as his body went slack. Blood started to stain the
front of his white t-shirt. "Radio this in and call an ambulance,"
Brass ordered, surveying the room while Catherine phoned in to alert
the appropriate personnel. Just a cursory inspection revealed a stash
of various styles of knives and used drug paraphernalia. He kicked the
knife out of the suspect's reach.
Catherine folded her cell and stepped next to Brass, her eyes on the
man on the floor. Pulling on a glove, she touched DeBare's carotid
artery. She felt no pulse and shook her head. Sirens could be heard in
the distance now.
"Shit," Brass said, breaking the tension.
"What?" Catherine asked."It's a righteous shoot."
"The paperwork. You know how much paperwork this asshole's gonna cost
me? Days' worth. Hope the taxpayers appreciate me saving them the cost
of a trial."
Catherine knew how hard it was to use your weapon, even in defense.
She also now knew the feeling of conditional satisfaction. On one hand
she was sorry that the perpetrator before her would never face
justice. On the other hand it was now assured he wouldn't earn another
chance to face it. Wearily, she said, "I'll help you with the
paperwork. I don't know about the taxpayers, but I'm pretty sure a
couple of people we know are going to appreciate it."
"Did you find him?" Sara asked anxiously the minute Catherine returned
to the lab..
"Oh, yeah," Catherine drawled. "He's Robbins' problem now, not ours."
"Dead?"
Catherine held her hands up like an imaginary set of scales. "Perp
with knife. Brass with gun. You do the math."
"Dead." Sara let out a sigh and the tension she hadn't even noticed
she'd been holding.
"Yeah. It's over." Cat smiled. "There's probably someone you want to
tell."
Sara knocked on Grissom's office door. "DeBare's dead."
He looked at her with genuine surprise, then relief. "Dead."
She nodded. "Brass, with an automatic, in a motel."
He raised an eyebrow at the "Clue" joke, then sighed, leaning back in
his chair.
"It's over. No trial," Sara said, beginning to smile as she walked
over to the desk.
"There's still... evidence."
She shrugged. "There's a lot of evidence around this place. Nobody's
going to waste time with a case that's wrapped up so neatly." She
leaned over and said in a quiet voice, "But just to be sure, let's try
leaving the DNA at your place tonight."
Sara was the only one who could possibly have read what Gil's
expression meant. But she was the only one who needed to.
The next day, the buzz of the office was interrupted by a loud,
"Dammit, Greg, the county pays you to analyze evidence, not lose it!
And on Sara's case, of all things!"
"Sorry," Greg mumbled, staring at the floor as passersby in the
hallway smiled at the chewing out he was getting from Grissom.
"You're just lucky this isn't going to trial! Don't do it again!" He
stalked off.
Sara walked up to the lab tech. "You lost evidence?"
"Yeah, from your apartment. All the fingerprints and all the DNA
except the perp's blood." His eyes were still downcast.
"Wow. That's not at all like you, Greg," she said completely
straight-faced.
He gave a theatrical sigh and finally peered up at her with the
smallest of smiles.
She returned it, nodding.
Upon entering the meeting, Grissom asked her, "Sara, about these
photos you took of the vic..."
"You mean the ones I had to take because you were so busy communing
with your little multi-legged buddies?"
He gave her a moderately exasperated look and went on. "Yes..."
As the cheerful argument continued, Catherine, Nick, and Warrick
grinned. Catherine whispered, "Made for each other."
FIN
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at the door.
Everyone turned in surprise and said, "Sara!" She was still sporting
some spectacular bruises.
"You didn't tell me you were coming in," Grissom said.
"You didn't ask."
"You're supposed to be at home, resting," he said, concern evident in
his tone.
"That's all I've been doing. I'm bored. I'm okay to work, really. I'm
a little sore, but not bad. Nothing stronger than ibuprofen, I took a
cab instead of driving, and I know the lab's shorthanded. I just want
my life back, okay?"
The others looked back and forth till Nick broke the awkward silence.
"I'm glad to see you back." He pulled out a chair for Sara.
"Thanks," she said absently, sitting down without looking at Nick. Her
solid gaze at the boss held defiance, and pleading, and undeniable
love.
"Okay," was the final verdict.
Catherine said, a little too loudly, "You were sending Warrick, Nicky,
and I to the multiple vic site, and you were going to that dumped
body. Sara could give you a hand... counting bugs or something."
"Yeah. Let's go."
The meeting broke up after a quick round of welcomes to Sara. When the
others had left, she sighed and said, "I know, I know, don't start."
"I didn't say anything."
"You don't have to! You never do. Sitting around staring at the walls
and talking to the tarantula might be your idea of fun, but I was
going crazy." She leaned closer, smiling, to whisper, "Not that being
in love with you isn't crazy to begin with."
His mouth quirked in a half-smile. "Same to you."
Grissom had been driving for nearly 90 minutes and Sara had yet to
stir from her sleep. She had practically bounded into the car,
obviously eager to get back to some kind of normal routine. They had
talked about case-related material until finally he changed the
subject.
"I don't know about you coming back so soon. You're still recovering.
If you're in pain or tired or stressed it could affect your
judgement."
Sara eyed him. "Look, Grissom, I'm fine. I'm off the Vicodin. I've
done more sleeping in the last few days than I have in the last few
years. I don't see how this stress is going to affect me. I've had
worse..." She broke off, looking exasperated. "Sorry. Just please
don't worry. I need to do this." She gave a big smile to reassure him
and rested her hand briefly on his knee.
She then proceeded to emphasize her point by falling asleep before he
could muster up a response.
He turned the radio on low, soft classical music filling the cab. With
one eye on the road he glanced at her, watching her sleep. It was
still a novel experience for him. He was used to seeing the Sara he
knew at work; the one that never rested and who came alive with a
particularly difficult case. Now she rested with her head between the
back of the seat and the window. With her eyes closed and her face
expressionless she looked more at peace than he had seen her in a
while. She was wearing her blue jumpsuit with the sleeves pulled down
due to the heat; a white tanktop barely hid the bandages around her
exposed midriff. Sara was thin before and the hospital stay had made
her drop a few more pounds. The skin around her eyes was still tinged
with blue, and the bruises on her face and temple had evolved to a
lurid purple color.
Grissom checked the directions. They were nearing the scene. With one
more look at Sara he reached over and squeezed her thigh gently,
shaking her awake. "Hey Sara? We're here."
Sara looked up, squinting in the light. "That was fast. How long was I
out?"
"Almost two hours." Grissom smirked at her, but without a trace of an
'I told you so.'
Chagrined, Sara responded. "Sorry."
"Don't worry. You deserve it." Grissom turned all business as they
approached the bevy of fleet vehicles. "Grab the kit. I'll talk to the
deputy."
Sara nodded and opened her door, stepping gingerly to the ground. She
went to the back of the Tahoe and grabbed the metal case from the
storage area. By the time she had caught up with Grissom he was
finished talking with the local detectives and had moved closer to the
scene, which was about 500 feet away in rocky terrain.
"Body was found by some kids on a trail ride. There's a stable about
three miles from here. Caucasian male, probably in his thirties, shot
three times in the chest at close range. The vic is covered in
insects. They called me because they don't believe he was killed out
here and wondered if there was a way we could determine via our little
friends where--or when-- this guy was murdered." Grissom lifted the
crime scene tape, putting his other hand against the small of Sara's
back as she ducked carefully under to avoid aggravating her sore ribs.
A swarm of law enforcement still surrounded the scene. Sara flashed
her ID to an officer standing nearby.
"Brass." Grissom motioned to a clearing twenty feet away. They met him
halfway and Brass said drolly, "Well, if it isn't the first couple of
forensics."
Sara's eyes widened while Grissom whipped his head around, making sure
no one had overheard the detective. "Not you, too, Jim!"
"Word travels fast. I snatched the DNA results from your lab tech."
Grissom rubbed his eyes while Sara looked on in a sort of amused
embarassment. "Damn it, Greg."
"Nah, wasn't his fault, I was in there on another case entirely. He
was just standing there in a daze looking at the report. Guy didn't
know what hit him. It's okay. He's filed it away carefully now. I'm
fine with it, but you know Ecklie will nail you against the wall if he
finds out. He'll have you buried so deep in the system that you won't
be able to find your asses with flashlights."
"We've been...discreet," Sara responded. "No one had a clue until I
was attacked."
"Discreet or no, the cat's out of the bag now. Just make sure this
stays on your shift. If anyone on the day unit hears word of this
it'll be all over the place in an hour." Brass gave them a pointed
look, then walked back towards the legion of vehicles parked off the
scene.
"Well, *that* was fun," Sara said with no small touch of sarcasm. She
looked at Grissom and he was smiling.
"What?" Sara asked, confused by his uncharacteristic response.
"The irony. We've spent over two months trying to keep this secret
from trained investigators. I never counted on actually being involved
in a crime."
"You just have to be more careful with your DNA," she smiled.
"Touche."
They made short work of the scene, taking samples and collecting
insects. It was a single homicide in a remote area, so
cross-contamination was kept to a minimum, keeping the scene simple.
The other personnel were just as happy to stay well away.
Sara sighed. "Poor guy, he's living his life, and then next thing,
he's out here as a corpse, squashing what little vegetation's managed
to survive in this big empty desert."
Grissom considered this, then quoted:
"When I consider everything that grows
Holds in perfection but a moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and check'd even by the self-same sky,
Vaunt in their useful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new."
She smiled. "Like I said. When did you memorize all those sonnets?"
Affectionately, he replied, "Since I met you." They both laughed,
remembering.
About an hour after they had arrived, Sara was repacking the kit and
depositing the last roll of film into a canister. She wiped the back
of her hand across her forehead, grimacing from the dull headache that
had started a short time earlier.
Grissom looked at her in concern. "You okay?"
"Yeah. I'm just a little tired."
He reached into his pocket and extracted a small bottle. "I saw you
left these in the car. Figured you might be needing them."
Sara grabbed her prescription medication out of his hand with a
grateful look, reaching into the box behind her for the bottle of
water she always brought to a scene. "Thank you for second-guessing
me. I'll be out cold in twenty minutes, you realize."
"It's a long drive home."
They collected their materials and headed back to the Tahoe, Sara
already starting to drag her feet a bit. She was glad she had come
back to work, but it was taking its toll. She couldn't wait to get
back to her own apartment, take a shower, and fall into bed. Possibly
with Gil, depending on her state of consciousness. They seldom stayed
at her apartment together -- he felt better in his own, and the other
morning had been a rarity -- but she felt the need to get back into
her own space as soon as she could. She wanted him to stay, however.
She wouldn't admit it even to him, but she didn't want to be alone the
first night back. And she knew him well enough to know she wouldn't
have to ask. As much as she had criticized him in the past for being
dismissive, the gesture he had just made with the pills was an example
of how well he read her.
They reached the car and Grissom took the case from her, opening her
door on the way around to his. She dragged her aching body up onto the
seat, barely belted in before she closed her eyes. Her last memory as
she fell asleep was the feeling of her hand in his, the low hum of the
car engine in the background.
Sara awoke when the Tahoe stopped moving, blinking at the familiar
crime lab parking lot.
"I'm going to run the evidence upstairs."
"Mmmm," she commented.
He smiled. "I thought so. I'll be back soon."
She unbuckled her seat belt and reclined the seat, not thinking of
much in particular, scarcely noticing the passage of time.
She was startled at the door opening. "Good news. Your landlord's put
a new door and locks on." He held up a set of keys. "And Warrick and
Nick cleaned up after themselves. You can go home."
"That's the best news I've heard in days."
When they reached her apartment, Sara unlocked the door, took a deep
breath and stepped in. "Wow," she said, surveying it. "It's neater
than when I left. I'm gonna owe Nick and Warrick a big tip." Steeling
herself, she walked down the hallway and flipped on the bedroom light,
acutely aware of Grissom a few steps behind her. "Definitely neater.
They do good work." She was working hard to keep her tone light.
She turned to look at him and cut off whatever he was going to say by
grabbing him by the lapels and kissing him, hard.
"Sara..."
"Dammit, Gil, don't say it! Don't say I'm too tired, or too sore, or
too anything. I don't want to be treated like a piece of crystal. This
is my house, and I'm not letting that bastard take it from me. I want
my life back. All of it."
He touched a feather-light caress to the bruise on her face, then
kissed her; softly at first, then with real passion. He wanted his
life back too, and making love to a feisty, strong-willed, alive Sara
was so much a part of that now.
He was infinitely careful with her, very gentle, tenderly avoiding her
injuries and following her lead. And when she slept again, with her
head pillowed on his shoulder and one arm flung across his chest, it
was without dreams this time.
Sara awoke alone. Alone? Yes, she vaguely remembered a goodbye
conversation. She stretched carefully and found a note on the other
pillow that read simply, "Counting insects" and laughed. Of course.
There was work to be done.
She'd just walked into the break room and was needling Nick about
physics as Warrick and Catherine looked on, when Greg dashed in. He
steadfastly refused to look at Sara.
"I am, in fact, a god," he proclaimed to Nick.
"Yeah, you say that all the time," Warrick snorted. "Prove it."
Greg presented the papers he was holding to Catherine with a
triumphant flourish. "Voila. Your perp. DNA match on the blood."
Catherine read aloud, "Robert DeBare, 6'1", 225, record for
possession, burglary, robbery, minor violence. Ex-Marine, prefers his
old knife." She looked at Sara.
"That fits. That's the guy."
"So... he was just breaking in?" Nick asked.
"Probably looking for something he could fence to buy another fix,"
Warrick said.
"But he didn't take anything," Sara noted. "He just left."
"He wasn't expecting anyone to be home," Catherine speculated.
"Especially someone who could fight back."
"The phone!" Nick remembered. "Grissom called your phone, your cell
phone, and your pager. All that noise must've scared him off. He
figured someone was going to be there any minute. Panicked and left."
"Ahem," Greg said proudly, pointing to the other sheet of paper. "Last
known address, right here in Vegas."
"I think I'll see if Brass feels like visiting that address with me,"
Cat said casually, handing Sara the rest of the printout as she left
the room.
Sara looked at it for a moment, then over at the lab tech, who was
still engrossed in the floor. She gave a little smile and said with
genuine appreciation, "Thanks, Greg," and kissed him on the cheek
before she left.
Warrick and Nick managed to keep from laughing at the mixed expression
of delight and despair on Greg's face. As they walked out, Nick
clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Chin up, man."
Sara walked into Grissom's office. He was engrossed in writing notes
about the insects in the specimen jars on his desk. He looked up when
she closed the door.
"Greg found the guy. Catherine and Brass are tracking him down."
He took off his glasses and said, "That's great. Any idea on motive?"
She sat down. "Ex-con. Junkie. Looks like he was trying to steal
something he could sell."
"And he found you instead."
"Yeah. And all those calls you made to me just then spooked him into
running."
He shook his head. "Completely random. No reason it should have been
you at all."
"And now look," she smiled. "Everybody knows about us."
"Not everybody."
"I know. And I know they can keep a secret. But we still have to be
careful." She sighed. "You know how damn hard this has been?
Pretending like nothing's changed? You know how nearly impossible it
is for me not to touch you here at work?"
"Oh, I know," he smiled. "Speaking of that, why don't you go ask Doc
Robbins about the autopsy on yesterday's vic? At least he doesn't know
about us."
"Yet," she muttered as she left.
"This is charming."
Catherine and Brass had pulled up outside an off-strip motel. While
many of
the properties in the area lacked the glitz of their bigger name
counterparts, this one was the definition of the word sleaze. Even in
the poorly-lit parking lot, the decrepit building screamed "hourly
rental". A few of the downstairs windows were boarded, most likely
fallen prey to vandalism.
Brass snorted and pulled into one of the many empty spaces. Both
exited the car and neared the building, speaking in low voices.
"It's room 143. I talked to the clerk earlier and he said the guy's
been here for two weeks, give or take. Says he rarely leaves the room.
Of course, this place isn't a shining example of security, either. No
cameras, few lights." Catherine fell in step behind Brass as he
navigated the shallow steps to the landing outside the first floor
rooms. "143...Room's this way."
Brass motioned for Catherine to step to the side when they reached the
suspect's door. No lights were visible. Already drawing his gun, he
raised his other hand and rapped three times, hard. "Las Vegas Police
Department!" No answer. With a glance at Catherine he tried again.
"Open up, police!" Again there was no response, but both of their
interests were piqued by a quick shadowy motion behind the dingy
drapes inside the window.
"Probable cause," Brass muttered, almost to himself.
Catherine moved behind him, her hand on her service weapon at her
back. Gun
still drawn, Brass stepped to the side of the door. Following his
lead, Catherine moved to the opposite side of the doorway. She watched
as Brass counted down from three, accompanying his lip movements with
a hand signal. In one quick burst he was through the locked door.
Whether it was because the place was low maintenance or the guy inside
was strung out, luck was on their side and no chain reinforced the
entry.
It all happened within a matter of seconds, but to Catherine it felt
like time had stopped. Her eyes barely had time to adjust to the
change in light when she saw an imposing form charge towards the
doorway, brandishing what was most likely the large knife he had
attempted to use in Sara's attack. She barely had time to react when
Brass stepped to the front. She watched as he fired three rounds into
the man's chest. DeBare crumpled to the ground, the knife slipping
from his grasp as his body went slack. Blood started to stain the
front of his white t-shirt. "Radio this in and call an ambulance,"
Brass ordered, surveying the room while Catherine phoned in to alert
the appropriate personnel. Just a cursory inspection revealed a stash
of various styles of knives and used drug paraphernalia. He kicked the
knife out of the suspect's reach.
Catherine folded her cell and stepped next to Brass, her eyes on the
man on the floor. Pulling on a glove, she touched DeBare's carotid
artery. She felt no pulse and shook her head. Sirens could be heard in
the distance now.
"Shit," Brass said, breaking the tension.
"What?" Catherine asked."It's a righteous shoot."
"The paperwork. You know how much paperwork this asshole's gonna cost
me? Days' worth. Hope the taxpayers appreciate me saving them the cost
of a trial."
Catherine knew how hard it was to use your weapon, even in defense.
She also now knew the feeling of conditional satisfaction. On one hand
she was sorry that the perpetrator before her would never face
justice. On the other hand it was now assured he wouldn't earn another
chance to face it. Wearily, she said, "I'll help you with the
paperwork. I don't know about the taxpayers, but I'm pretty sure a
couple of people we know are going to appreciate it."
"Did you find him?" Sara asked anxiously the minute Catherine returned
to the lab..
"Oh, yeah," Catherine drawled. "He's Robbins' problem now, not ours."
"Dead?"
Catherine held her hands up like an imaginary set of scales. "Perp
with knife. Brass with gun. You do the math."
"Dead." Sara let out a sigh and the tension she hadn't even noticed
she'd been holding.
"Yeah. It's over." Cat smiled. "There's probably someone you want to
tell."
Sara knocked on Grissom's office door. "DeBare's dead."
He looked at her with genuine surprise, then relief. "Dead."
She nodded. "Brass, with an automatic, in a motel."
He raised an eyebrow at the "Clue" joke, then sighed, leaning back in
his chair.
"It's over. No trial," Sara said, beginning to smile as she walked
over to the desk.
"There's still... evidence."
She shrugged. "There's a lot of evidence around this place. Nobody's
going to waste time with a case that's wrapped up so neatly." She
leaned over and said in a quiet voice, "But just to be sure, let's try
leaving the DNA at your place tonight."
Sara was the only one who could possibly have read what Gil's
expression meant. But she was the only one who needed to.
The next day, the buzz of the office was interrupted by a loud,
"Dammit, Greg, the county pays you to analyze evidence, not lose it!
And on Sara's case, of all things!"
"Sorry," Greg mumbled, staring at the floor as passersby in the
hallway smiled at the chewing out he was getting from Grissom.
"You're just lucky this isn't going to trial! Don't do it again!" He
stalked off.
Sara walked up to the lab tech. "You lost evidence?"
"Yeah, from your apartment. All the fingerprints and all the DNA
except the perp's blood." His eyes were still downcast.
"Wow. That's not at all like you, Greg," she said completely
straight-faced.
He gave a theatrical sigh and finally peered up at her with the
smallest of smiles.
She returned it, nodding.
Upon entering the meeting, Grissom asked her, "Sara, about these
photos you took of the vic..."
"You mean the ones I had to take because you were so busy communing
with your little multi-legged buddies?"
He gave her a moderately exasperated look and went on. "Yes..."
As the cheerful argument continued, Catherine, Nick, and Warrick
grinned. Catherine whispered, "Made for each other."
FIN
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