April Showers Drabblethon Prompt 19
Title: Every Rose
Author: pukajen
Prompt: Prompt 19
Fandom: CSI
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Grissom/Sara
Genre: Angst
Rating & Warnings: PG
Word Count: 1,000
Summary: There were still a lot of dark spots between them, but Grissom was discovering that their overlapping areas of heartache did not create a chasm so much as an opponent to face together.
The night was windy and overcast with the threat of rain on the air. Grissom hoped the storm held off long enough for them to collect enough evidence to catch the bastard that killed a mother and her three children.
Absentmindedly rubbing his aching knee, Grissom crouched to place the identifier marker before taking multiple photos of a bloody knife tossed carelessly into the bushes that in all probability was the murder weapon. Even after all these years, senseless death still angered him and none more so than the murder of children.
Placing more markers where he found blood drops, Grissom automatically took more photos while his mind organized the scene in the house. Once they caught the guy, Grissom wanted to make sure that he had all the facts straight in his head.
Glancing over at Sara, he saw that her lips were pursed in a tight line that some might mistake for focus with the task at hand, but was her way of suppressing the anger and pain the scene caused her.
“Sara?” Grissom called softly. “Have you found anything more?”
“No, I think we’re done here,” she said walking over to him. Looking at the knife she let out a sigh. “Want me to bag that?”
Grissom nodded and watched as Sara picked up the knife and placed it into a clear bag. Sealing it, she filled out the pertinent information before looking at him.
“Let’s find out what Warrick and Greg have so far and get any evidence back to the lab.” Grissom gathered his kit and walked with Sara across the front lawn to their SUV.
###
Hours later, while most of the evidence was still getting processed in the various labs, there was a suspect in custody who all but admitted to committing the murders.
“Want to head home?” Sara asked from his doorway. She looked tired, shoulders slightly slumped, and in the dim light of his office her face was paler than usual. If they weren’t in the Lab he would have stood and taken her in his arms.
When she was so obviously in pain were the times he raged against the rules that kept such a separation between supervisor and CSI. Sometimes, he only just won the fight to remain impartial, to treat her as he would any of his other employees.
“I just need to finish reviewing this file and then I’ll head out,” he told her.
“Want me to pick-up dinner?”
Grissom gave her a small smile of thanks and agreement. Dipping her chin in response, Sara departed and Grissom felt bereft. He hadn’t even been aware of missing her until she was gone. There were still a lot of dark spots between them, but Grissom was discovering that their overlapping areas of heartache did not create a chasm so much as an opponent to face together.
Wanting to get home, to get to Sara, Grissom force himself to concentrate on the last pages from Nick’s report on a series of home invasions.
###
Their plates stacked one on top of the other sat on the coffee table with a half-uneaten veggie sandwich, a couple of scrunched up wax paper balls, and used napkins.
The show they were watching ended and neither one really felt like searching for something else to put on. Instead, Grissom stood and spent a couple of long moments studying the CD collection before making a decision. Moments later soft music filled the room; low notes of cellos, haunting melody of flutes, intertwined with violins, French horns, oboes, and clarinets.
Settling back on the couch, Grissom wrapped his arms around Sara as she burrowed into his chest.
“They were so young, Gil,” Sara whispered in sorrow.
“I know.” He kissed the top of her head. “They all are.”
“That house had love and laughter and hope.” Her breath hitched a bit. “There were pictures on the fridge and toys in the living room.”
Grissom offered no answers for what happened, no words would truly comfort her, so he just held her as she wept softly in his arms. He wondered how often Sara had been forced to do this alone; to grieve for the lives lost, rage at the injustices of the world, face the demons of her past, and shuddered.
“I hope he never gets out,” Sara said softly. “I hope one day he realizes what he did and feels the agony of their loss for the rest of his life.”
“We are genetically programmed to protect the young,” Grissom said, staring off into a middle distance, “I can’t help but wonder what exactly went wrong with him that made him overrule that biological imperative.”
“There are days when I am awed at the amazing things I see and other when I think there is little good left in the world.” Sara’s hand toyed with the top button of his shirt.
“Extremes make up the world around us from the stalest desert air to the hundred-mile-an-hour hurricane force wind. There are evil deeds and saintly acts and everything in between.”
“No rainbow without the rain?” She pulled her head from his chest and gave him a small smile.
“Something like that.” Grissom tucked her as strand of hair behind her ear. Lifting his head, he brought his lips to hers; she tasted of the B-Monster Odwalla she drank with lunch, of red peppers, and chocolate, also of sadness, perseverance, and hope.
When she pulled away, Grissom saw that a lot of the pain from earlier had retreated. She smiled at him, stroking his cheek with her right hand.
“Every rose has its thorns?” Sara asked.
Grissom cocked an eyebrow. “State your source?”
“Poison.”
He looked at her blankly and Sara burst into giggles. Grissom figured it was another cultural reference he didn’t get, but he didn’t mind causing Sara’s lightened mood.
“Elaborate,” he requested.
“They’re a glam metal band from the eighties.”
“Please don’t feel free to share them with me.”
Still laughing Sara kissed him.
Author: pukajen
Prompt: Prompt 19
Fandom: CSI
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Grissom/Sara
Genre: Angst
Rating & Warnings: PG
Word Count: 1,000
Summary: There were still a lot of dark spots between them, but Grissom was discovering that their overlapping areas of heartache did not create a chasm so much as an opponent to face together.
The night was windy and overcast with the threat of rain on the air. Grissom hoped the storm held off long enough for them to collect enough evidence to catch the bastard that killed a mother and her three children.
Absentmindedly rubbing his aching knee, Grissom crouched to place the identifier marker before taking multiple photos of a bloody knife tossed carelessly into the bushes that in all probability was the murder weapon. Even after all these years, senseless death still angered him and none more so than the murder of children.
Placing more markers where he found blood drops, Grissom automatically took more photos while his mind organized the scene in the house. Once they caught the guy, Grissom wanted to make sure that he had all the facts straight in his head.
Glancing over at Sara, he saw that her lips were pursed in a tight line that some might mistake for focus with the task at hand, but was her way of suppressing the anger and pain the scene caused her.
“Sara?” Grissom called softly. “Have you found anything more?”
“No, I think we’re done here,” she said walking over to him. Looking at the knife she let out a sigh. “Want me to bag that?”
Grissom nodded and watched as Sara picked up the knife and placed it into a clear bag. Sealing it, she filled out the pertinent information before looking at him.
“Let’s find out what Warrick and Greg have so far and get any evidence back to the lab.” Grissom gathered his kit and walked with Sara across the front lawn to their SUV.
###
Hours later, while most of the evidence was still getting processed in the various labs, there was a suspect in custody who all but admitted to committing the murders.
“Want to head home?” Sara asked from his doorway. She looked tired, shoulders slightly slumped, and in the dim light of his office her face was paler than usual. If they weren’t in the Lab he would have stood and taken her in his arms.
When she was so obviously in pain were the times he raged against the rules that kept such a separation between supervisor and CSI. Sometimes, he only just won the fight to remain impartial, to treat her as he would any of his other employees.
“I just need to finish reviewing this file and then I’ll head out,” he told her.
“Want me to pick-up dinner?”
Grissom gave her a small smile of thanks and agreement. Dipping her chin in response, Sara departed and Grissom felt bereft. He hadn’t even been aware of missing her until she was gone. There were still a lot of dark spots between them, but Grissom was discovering that their overlapping areas of heartache did not create a chasm so much as an opponent to face together.
Wanting to get home, to get to Sara, Grissom force himself to concentrate on the last pages from Nick’s report on a series of home invasions.
###
Their plates stacked one on top of the other sat on the coffee table with a half-uneaten veggie sandwich, a couple of scrunched up wax paper balls, and used napkins.
The show they were watching ended and neither one really felt like searching for something else to put on. Instead, Grissom stood and spent a couple of long moments studying the CD collection before making a decision. Moments later soft music filled the room; low notes of cellos, haunting melody of flutes, intertwined with violins, French horns, oboes, and clarinets.
Settling back on the couch, Grissom wrapped his arms around Sara as she burrowed into his chest.
“They were so young, Gil,” Sara whispered in sorrow.
“I know.” He kissed the top of her head. “They all are.”
“That house had love and laughter and hope.” Her breath hitched a bit. “There were pictures on the fridge and toys in the living room.”
Grissom offered no answers for what happened, no words would truly comfort her, so he just held her as she wept softly in his arms. He wondered how often Sara had been forced to do this alone; to grieve for the lives lost, rage at the injustices of the world, face the demons of her past, and shuddered.
“I hope he never gets out,” Sara said softly. “I hope one day he realizes what he did and feels the agony of their loss for the rest of his life.”
“We are genetically programmed to protect the young,” Grissom said, staring off into a middle distance, “I can’t help but wonder what exactly went wrong with him that made him overrule that biological imperative.”
“There are days when I am awed at the amazing things I see and other when I think there is little good left in the world.” Sara’s hand toyed with the top button of his shirt.
“Extremes make up the world around us from the stalest desert air to the hundred-mile-an-hour hurricane force wind. There are evil deeds and saintly acts and everything in between.”
“No rainbow without the rain?” She pulled her head from his chest and gave him a small smile.
“Something like that.” Grissom tucked her as strand of hair behind her ear. Lifting his head, he brought his lips to hers; she tasted of the B-Monster Odwalla she drank with lunch, of red peppers, and chocolate, also of sadness, perseverance, and hope.
When she pulled away, Grissom saw that a lot of the pain from earlier had retreated. She smiled at him, stroking his cheek with her right hand.
“Every rose has its thorns?” Sara asked.
Grissom cocked an eyebrow. “State your source?”
“Poison.”
He looked at her blankly and Sara burst into giggles. Grissom figured it was another cultural reference he didn’t get, but he didn’t mind causing Sara’s lightened mood.
“Elaborate,” he requested.
“They’re a glam metal band from the eighties.”
“Please don’t feel free to share them with me.”
Still laughing Sara kissed him.