by Battus philenor
Archive: Please ask first I might say yes.
Disclaimer: I still have no rights to anything CSI related.
Summary: Another little snippet from Sara's life.
Copywrite © by Battus philenor
The case itself wasn't all that bad, relatively speaking. There had been no sexual assault, no hurt children, and it didn't appear that the victim suffered for too long. A quick gunshot to the
head, a tidy little murder with a mousy suspect who'd confessed quickly. But sometimes even the most mundane cases were just too much, one murder too many, one victim closer to burning out.
Reflecting back over the day, Sara could recall every detail in detail with the exception of one. She couldn't remember driving to her current location. She couldn't recollect the precise moment in which she'd made the conscious decision to drive in the opposite direction from her own home, to that of Grissom's.
That moment continues to elude her now as she sits, outside his modest town home staring blankly at his car in the driveway. Its air conditioner leaks condensation, a drop falling every so often, pooling on the pavement beneath it. Eyes flitting back to the window occasionally, to ensure she hasn't been spotted. With the blinds remaining in their normal position, she remains undetected.
The nearness of him her only need, it had been enough to give her comfort most times. Any nearer would be too near for her purposes, too close to him, causing other feelings to stir. Ones which she feared would never be quenched, which caused words to spill uncensored from her mouth. But from this distance, sitting across the street shaded by a neighbor's tree, all she can feel is comfort.
A closeness without being too close, his calm demeanor eases her being, helping her to accept those things which haunt her. Knowing if they spoke now, he would rationalize everything, philosophizing and telling her stories of times long ago, about wise men long since passed. Making her seem bigger and her worries smaller somehow. Though watching from a distance was enough for her at those times.
She could recall the other instances over the years where she'd come there, and not every time was about her pathetic need for him to fill her from afar with his strength. Of her coming to him without his knowledge, stealing his countenance without him being the wiser.
Some of those visits had been just her selfish desire to be close, but others had been a need to help him, like the first time she appeared there. It was after the one instance when she'd been able to comfort him, if only momentarily. Never having seen him so upset, she cradled his face in her hand briefly. Fingertips attempting to heal him, chalk, the excuse made after seeing his shocked look.
She'd wanted to offer him more after they'd found that poor woman crammed into that tank by her husband. It was the first time she had thought of him as having a weakness. There was only one other time she had seen his weakness.
A baby found just yards away from his own house, the place where he should have been safe. He had needed her then as well, and she came to him, silently offering herself to him from across the road. He hadn't known, but she'd hoped he could feel her energy there, as she was open for him, allowing him to take what he needed.
There were also those other times. Times when she needed him to heal her because people let her down. Like the woman who'd become her friend, a fellow crusader in her fight for justice. The one who'd killed her defenseless husband but went on prosecuting the real criminals. Sara knew that people had a way of letting you down. Grissom didn't know it, but there were times she was there, drawing strength from him.
As was the time he helped her when Pamela had been too tough to die. The only thing needed that evening was his presence; close enough that she could feel him there in his house, sleeping for the both of them as she sat in the driver's seat watching his home.
The last time was for the young girl who'd been raped with her family in the house. Strong enough later to attempt an ID, but too young and scared to say the words. A life taken too soon out in the street, parents watching as she lay lifeless among the groceries. She'd gone to him that night too, her need never greater, she silently sought out his warmth from behind the glass of her car door.
And though she had asked him to help her sleep once, a rhetorical question thrown out in the battle of conversation, he had helped her. Most times without any knowledge. So she sits again, needing to feel him if only from the street while he sleeps, tucked in his blankets behind those walls of his.
- The End -
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