|
|
|
|
Infliction
Sequel
to 'Valentine' Grissom and Sara are finally settling into their new
relationship. But will the ghosts of Sara's past cast a shadow on their hopes
for the future?
This
series of stories are set in the first half of the 5th season of CSI -
pre-Nesting Dolls, so nothing about Sara's past has yet come out. I am sticking
with Canon (as we know it right now) with regards to her past, and I will be
dealing with it (in a slightly different way than the show did) in this story.
Things
were getting a bit too happy in my little GSR universe, so I'm upping the angst
in this one. You have been warned!
Disclaimer: I don't own CSI. No
infringement intended.
---
'Only the
one who inflicts the pain can take it away.'
Chapter
One – Free Time & Interruptions
Miraculously,
no calls from work had interrupted them that night.
Sara
had marveled at this fact as she lay in his arms, utterly sated from their love
making. It was a sign. This was going to work.
No
visible barriers lay ahead of them now. They had both finally let their
respective guards down and let each other in. The work angle had been taken
care of. She had already composed the letter to Cavallo in her head, and later
she would put it all down on paper. Then it would be done – work could no
longer prevent them being together.
And
then as she lay there, cocooned in his arms, believing with all her heart that
nothing could make her happier that she was at that moment, she thought she
heard Gil Grissom whisper that he loved her.
---
She
awoke that night in an empty bed. A cold chill crept over her, a sadness that
she immediately berated herself for. She rolled over and the sight she beheld
on the other pillow drove the chill from her heart and replaced it with a
giddiness she hadn’t felt in a long time.
A
small bouquet of white violets she recognized as coming from the garden outside
her apartment building. And a note.
Gathering
the flowers to her to inhale their pleasing scent, she picked up the note and
recognized his precise handwriting immediately.
Sara,
Did you know that all
flowers have meanings? The meaning of the white violet is ‘Let’s take a chance
on happiness’. I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up, but duty called and
you were sleeping so peacefully I didn’t want to wake you. I’ll call you when I
get off shift. Yours, Grissom.
‘You’ve come along way,
Gris,’
she thought to herself, smiling at the memory of the plant he had sent her so
long ago, with a card that simply read ‘From
Grissom’. Burying her face in the pillow he had slept on, she inhaled his
scent and slept once again.
---
Sara
decided to keep her word to Catherine and take a full two weeks holiday from
work. Afraid that if she didn’t do something useful in the time she’d become
frustrated or bored, she assigned herself tasks to occupy the time. Her first
day off was consumed with her organizing her chaotic desk, and filing away
journal articles into some kind of order.
The
second day, she had the burning desire to get out of the house, so she decided
to go shopping. Ever the champion of practicality, she avoided the more
feminine pursuits of clothes shopping, and headed straight for the nearest
hardware store.
Armed
with paint and brush, she tackled the living-room first, exchanging the shade
of purple that she had loved when she picked it, for a warm butterscotch cream.
The room instantly felt brighter and more spacious.
She
had agonized over the color she would paint her bedroom, talking herself out of
the rich Moroccan red that she had fallen for initially. As much as she loved
the shade, she knew that, even confined to one wall, it would only contribute
to her difficulty in sleeping. Bearing in mind the psychology behind color
schemes, which she had read about once in a journal article, she picked a
restful shade of lilac and spent her fourth day off applying it to the walls of
her small bedroom.
The
rest of her first week off was consumed by on of her major passions – reading.
She devoured several journals and a number of books, filing away the
information in her mind like a diligent archivist. Alongside forensics and
physics, she insured that entomology was featured among her intellectual
pursuits. She intended to be ready for Grissom next time he went off on a
tangent about bugs.
Grissom’s
work schedule prevented them from seeing each other all week, but they spoke
every day on the phone. Tonight, however, was his night off. As she showered
and changed, preparing for their dinner-date at his townhouse, she couldn’t
suppress the excitement building in the pit of her stomach. It would be their
first evening together since their relationship had progressed to the next
level. The thought of spending another night in his arms sent the usually
cynical Sara giddy with delight.
---
A
vegetarian casserole was simmering in the oven, and Grissom inhaled its
pleasing aroma as he crossed the kitchen to lay a basket of fresh five-grain
rolls on the table. Giving a last check to ensure everything was ready, he
glanced at his watch again. 7.55. The ever punctual Sara Sidle would be here in
five minutes.
Twice
he picked up his cell phone and seriously considered switching it off. He didn’t
want anything to spoil this night. Only his (at this moment in time, annoying)
sense of duty and guilt stopped him from pushing the switch-off key. Maybe the
fates would smile on him and he’d have a blissfully crime free evening.
This
past week had been unexpectedly difficult for him. Being used to a solitary
life for so long, he was surprised to find himself thinking of Sara constantly
during the week, their phone conversations not coming close to filling the gap
in his life that her absence had left. This newfound need for her was both
frightening and exhilarating. He had never wanted to become dependant on
another human being for his happiness – that in his experience led only to loss
of identity and heartache. But he found his heart opening up in unexpected ways
and he knew that he would not be able to close it now, even if he wanted to.
At
precisely two minutes to 8, a soft wrap on his front door stirred him from his
musings. Smiling at her punctuality, he hurried to the door and opened it to
reveal her smiling face.
‘Hey.’
His
eyes drank in the sight of her like a parched man at an oasis. ‘Hey!’ He stood back to let her into the town house
and shut the door behind her. She was the picture of understated elegance in
brown pants and an olive green top with shoestring straps. Her hair hung to her
shoulders in loose curls. ‘You look… stunning.’
‘Thanks,’
she said, turning to look at him. ‘Something smells good.’
‘Just
a casserole…’
She
grinned suggestively. ‘Actually? I wasn’t talking about the food.’
She
crossed to him in two long strides and ran a hand up his arm. ‘A week is too
damn long,’ she told him. Her hand made its way across his shoulder and into
the curls of his hair. ‘Too damn long.’
‘I
know what you mean,’ he breathed, stooping slightly to capture her lips with
his own.
She
moaned lightly at the contact, placing her hand at the back of his head and
pulling him closer, savoring the taste of him in her mouth. Backing across the room
slowly, Sara pulled him towards the couch, negotiating her way around the
coffee table, unwilling to break contact even for a second.
Tripping
at the last moment, she fell backwards onto the sofa, pulling him down on top
of her. Laughing like teenagers, they locked eyes, torn between amusement and
desire. Desire won out, Grissom turning his attention to her neck, making her
purr with pleasure.
‘God,
Sara,’ he breathed into her skin. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’
Emotion
welled in her throat, rendering her mute. Instead she ran both hands through
his hair and drew his face to hers once more. She was hard pressed to pinpoint
a time that she felt happier. And that scared her. So much of her life had been
spent making herself self-sufficient. She had never needed to be with people to survive, not since she was in her early
teens. And now… now she was completely swept up in this man. A man she had
desired for so many years, yet barely dared to believe she would ever get. And
it frightened her to realize how much she needed him.
Grissom
ran a hand up her back, taking the flowing material of her top with him. Her
skin was soft and pale and he could feel her shiver slightly under his touch.
Moving his lips across her throat in a gentle caress, he sat up partially and
grinned playfully, before moving down to kiss her flesh just north of her
navel. She shivered again with delight.
His
hands were moving further north, raising her top higher, when his phone chirped
to life.
‘Damn
it!’ he groaning in frustration. ‘I knew
I should have switched the damn thing off.’ Pulling himself upright, he gave
Sara an apologetic look.
‘You
were going to switch your phone off?’ Sara asked, both surprised and amused.
‘Doesn’t the world end if you do that?’
‘Don’t
start,’ he admonished her, before picking up the offending phone. ‘Grissom,’ he
spat out, and Sara felt sorry for whoever was on the other end.
‘Can’t
anyone else handle it? … It is
supposed to be my night off… Yes, I know we’re short handed at the moment, but…
Fine, Jim. I’ll be right there.
What’s the address?’ Noting the information down on a pad, he ended the call
and turned to Sara. ‘I’m sorry, but…’
‘Duty
calls,’ she smiled, unable to keep a tiny hint of disappointment out of her
voice. ‘It’s okay.’
‘A
417 in
‘Sure.’
She got up off the sofa and crossed to him. ‘I’ll save you some dessert,’ she
told him with a smile that almost made him forget the crime scene he needed to
get to.
Kissing
her goodbye, he headed to the door with a sigh. One of these days, the fates
would be kinder.
---
‘Sorry
for pulling you away from your date, Gil,’ Brass smirked at him as the CSI
supervisor came up the pathway towards the modest house looking less than
pleased. ‘How’s Sara?’
Grissom
just glared at him.
‘Hey,
I’m a detective,’ Brass exclaimed, holding his hands up in surrender. ‘I detected. So sue me.’
Grissom
ignored the comment and was instantly all business. ‘Who called this in?’
Brass
huffed out a little sigh, clearly accepting that he would get nothing from the
intensely private entomologist for the moment. ‘Next door neighbor. Heard
screaming, yelling, the whole nine yards. When she heard glass being smashed,
she dialed 911.’
‘Is
the husband still inside?’
Brass
shook his head. ‘Took off when he heard the sirens. Wife’s still inside. He
worked her over pretty good.’
Leading
the way, Brass went back inside the house and into the living room. On the way,
Grissom spotted two sets of frightened eyes peering at him through the gaps in
the banisters that enclosed the upstairs hallway. The children they belonged to
couldn’t have been more than eight or nine, but they looked world-weary and
older than their years.
The
first thought that entered his mind as he laid eyes on the victim was that if
Brass had told him that she had just gone three rounds with Mike Tyson, he
would have believed it. One eye was almost completely swollen shut, while the
other was a violent shade of purple. One of her cheekbones looked like it may
have been fractured. Her lips were caked in dried blood, and he suspected she
had lost a tooth in the attack. Green and yellow tinged bruises along her jaw
line and other cheek bone told Grissom that this was not the first beating the
woman had sustained.
‘Mrs.
Harper, this is Gil Grissom from the Crime Lab,’ Brass made the introductions.
‘He may have some questions for you. And he’ll want to gather some evidence.’
The
woman looked frightened at the prospect of this. ‘What kind of evidence?’
Grissom
sat on the edge of a chair, opposite to where Mrs. Harper was sitting, bringing
himself down to her level. He kept his voice calm and soothing as he addressed
her. ‘I’d like to take some photographs. To document your injuries. And I may
need to take DNA evidence from you. For example, did you struggle with your
husband? Maybe get some of his skin under your fingernails?’
She
shook her head. ‘I didn’t struggle. It only makes him… it just pisses him off
if I fight back… makes him more violent.’
Both
men struggled to keep the revulsion from their faces. Just how much more
violent could this man possibly get?
‘Mrs.
Harper? Would you allow me to take some photographs?’
She
looked hesitantly from Grissom to Brass and back again, but finally nodded her
consent. Snapping off a few establishing shots, Grissom noticed that she
flinched, as if each flash of the camera was another slap or punch. He
hurriedly took close ups of her injuries, anxious not to prolong her
discomfort.
Grissom
lowered the camera slowly and attempted to keep his face dispassionate as he
watched the woman before him shrink in her seat. She seemed to be attempting to
take up as little space as possible, wrapping her arms around her knees in
almost a fetal position. While his face remained neutral, his heart ached for
the pain she must be going through, both emotionally and physically. The
swelling on her face seemed to have worsened in just the short time that
Grissom had been in her presence.
‘Mrs.
Harper? Would you like us to make arrangements for you to go to the hospital
now?’ he suggested.
Mrs.
Harper was staring off now and didn’t appear to hear him. ‘Mrs. Harper?’ Brass
tried.
Slowly,
she shook her head. ‘No… no… I’m fine.’
They
left the house thirty minutes later, completely unable to convince the victim
to go to either the hospital or a shelter; however she did permit Grissom to
collect evidence from her hands and clothing.
‘That’s
the third call-out we’ve had to this address in the last year,’ Brass remarked
once they were outside the house. ‘Neighbor always calls it in, we get here and
she usually won’t make a formal complaint, won’t file charges. At least she’s
willing to do it this time.’
Grissom
merely nodded.
‘I’ve
put out a BOLO on the husband. Hopefully we’ll collar him before he comes back
here,’ Brass looked back towards the house. ‘Sick bastard. As if beating his
wife isn’t bad enough, he does it in front of the kids…’
‘It’s
a sick world, Jim,’ Grissom replied. ‘That’s why we’re here.’
bravenet.com