(no subject)
Title: Picking Up
Author: Isis de Jong
Rating: It's as tame as these girls will get.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Likely never will be.
Author’s notes: Happy birthday, bohemian_lover. Part 1 is here.
Spoilers: Only if a combination of 'Grissom' and 'sabbatical' is completely new to you.
Summary: Grissom says hi.
That night you walk into the trace analysis lab bearing two paper cups of hot coffee. Sara ignores you. She hasn’t called you back. Of course you did finally turn off your cell this morning.
“Prints?” you ask, have to ask, before she grants you a quick look of intense determination.
“You can’t bring that in here, Sofia,” she says. “You should know better.”
After you dispose of the cups - they were what, a peace offering? You return to the table, leaning in to take a closer look at the pieces of glass that are in front of her. "What's this?"
The movement is deliberate, but so subtle that for a moment you wonder if you imagined it. Sara has inched away, shifted so your shoulder is no longer touching hers. You straighten a little. Not hurt. Not confused. No.
"Warrick found a broken wine glass in the trash can,” Sara explains, carefully lifting one of the fragments with tweezers and holding it up against the lamp. “We're hoping to find out who Mrs. Kent was drinking with before she died."
You squint at the piece of class shimmering against the artificial light. "We don't have much to go on, do we?"
Sara swipes a cotton tip by the side of the glass fragment. You both smile when it turns a clear pink. "Maybe we have enough."
A quiet whirring sound cuts through the moment, cuts right through Sara’s grin. You look at your phone’s display and resist the ridiculous urge to toss it aside. Your voice is in place again, casual and light, when you answer.
"I thought you left Catherine in charge this week," you greet Grissom, seeing Sara's eyes turn to you with red hot interest as she realizes who you’re talking to.
"Hello, Sofia," Grissom says pleasantly. "I just thought I'd check in and make sure everything is going okay."
“Hey yeah, uh.” Sara’s glare burns on your face. “We’re fine, I mean, business as usual down here. How are they treating you at Brown? Having fun scaring the kids with stories of death and decay?”
It’s silent for a second at the other end of the line. Then he says, "Catherine says you have a homicide in the suburbs."
“Right, the Kent case. At Summerlin. Victim's a school teacher. We’re on it.” Kindly stop rambling, Curtis.
"Was there a young girl involved?" Grissom continues. His insistence is aggravating.
"Thirteen, I believe,” you tell him. “Came home to find her mother murdered. How..."
"Who is working this case with you?" His voice is urgent now, and you’re beginning to think tossing the phone would have been a brilliant idea. When you look back at Sara, though, you see she’s trying to hide the fact that she’s listening in on your side on the conversation. She looks as if she’s anticipating something.
"Warrick is working with Brass. Sara’s with me.” You quickly add, “In Trace." God.
Another silence, longer this time. Sara isn't blinking.
"Look, this case doesn't seem too complicated," you tell Grissom. "Go get some rest, forget..."
"Sofia?"
"... about work for a couple of days. What?"
"Keep Sara away from the suspect once you think you've found them."
Your head spins. It’s like middle school geometry all over again. Grissom and Sara, sitting in a tree. Along came Sofia, and now she’s seeing me. First comes lust, then betrayal, then she finds Grissom’s house keys in the mail. And now Grissom’s conspiring with you, going behind Sara’s back for some reason you're unable to understand.
You can’t help but look at Sara, and when your eyes meet, you think that maybe it’s panic you see in the CSI's eyes. You leave the lab, rushing through the doors. "What does Sara have to do with this?" you ask Grissom, lowering your voice after the doors have closed behind you.
"I'd also appreciate it if you tried to keep contact between her and the girl to an absolute minimum."
Anger flares up inside of your chest. "Are you going to tell me what this is about?"
"I trust you will do this on behalf of the case,” he simply says. “I will see you next week."
You exhale before sliding the phone back into your back pocket. When you look up, Sara is standing in front of you. You take in her tightly set shoulders, the visible traces of anxiety on her face.
"What did he want?" she asks, defiance burning right through her feigned indifference.
Nothing, nothing at all, you want to tell her. He says he trusts you. He says he trusts me. And then by one phone call, he proves that he was lying on both counts, and for all the wrong reasons, too. At least, that’s what you think. What if this is Grissom's way of telling you he’s on to you?
You avoid Sara’s eyes. "Grissom says hi."
A frown is Sara's only reply, and you turn to leave.
Sara calls after you, “I forgot to say,” but you don’t turn around.
“Sofia,” she says. “Leave your fucking phone on.”
~*~
It rings the minute you set foot in your house, as you’re pushing the door open with your shoulder, carrying two paper bags full of groceries. It stops as soon as you’ve set them down. Shit. “Sara?” Shit.
It rings again when you’ve taken your shower. “It was on,” you tell her. “Your timing is crap.”
“So imagine you have this friend,” she says.
You pull a couple of stray hairs from your dripping ponytail, gently guide them to the trash can. “Wow,” you say, “I don’t know, that’s kind of difficult.”
“Shut up,” she says. “Imagine you have this - particularly annoying co-worker.”
“Hold on a minute,” you interrupt her. “Is she attractive?”
“A male co-worker,” she emphasizes. “Imagine you’ve had this… infatuation with this male co-worker, for a long time-“
“That’s sort of a long shot.”
She ignores you. “And one day he finally - one day you finally find yourself… involved with him.”
“With this particularly annoying co-worker,” you helpfully add.
She sighs, impatient. “Yes.”
“And?”
“And, suddenly you’re wondering if, all those years, you had any idea of what it was you were wishing for.”
You sigh. “Sara…”
“He didn’t call me tonight.”
Jesus. What is she expecting you to do, apologize on his behalf? Quickly supply her with some reasonable explanation?
“He called you.”
Oh. You could have known that would come up sooner or later. You take a deep breath. Say, blindly, “He was worried about you, Sara.”
You can actually hear her grinding her teeth. "He told you to keep me out, didn't he?"
You exhale. "Yes."
“Did he tell you why?”
Damn her for making you admit that he didn’t. You’re not sure of the part you’re supposed to play here - lover, friend, third wheel. “No,” You confess. “He didn’t tell me why.”
“Good.”
You don’t know why you’re nodding, standing in the middle of your empty bedroom, a beautiful woman on the other end of the line charting out every reason why you can never be together again.
“Good,” you tell the dial tone.
Part 3 (and probably 4 and 5, as I've become suddenly long-winded) should follow pretty soon.
Author: Isis de Jong
Rating: It's as tame as these girls will get.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Likely never will be.
Author’s notes: Happy birthday, bohemian_lover. Part 1 is here.
Spoilers: Only if a combination of 'Grissom' and 'sabbatical' is completely new to you.
Summary: Grissom says hi.
That night you walk into the trace analysis lab bearing two paper cups of hot coffee. Sara ignores you. She hasn’t called you back. Of course you did finally turn off your cell this morning.
“Prints?” you ask, have to ask, before she grants you a quick look of intense determination.
“You can’t bring that in here, Sofia,” she says. “You should know better.”
After you dispose of the cups - they were what, a peace offering? You return to the table, leaning in to take a closer look at the pieces of glass that are in front of her. "What's this?"
The movement is deliberate, but so subtle that for a moment you wonder if you imagined it. Sara has inched away, shifted so your shoulder is no longer touching hers. You straighten a little. Not hurt. Not confused. No.
"Warrick found a broken wine glass in the trash can,” Sara explains, carefully lifting one of the fragments with tweezers and holding it up against the lamp. “We're hoping to find out who Mrs. Kent was drinking with before she died."
You squint at the piece of class shimmering against the artificial light. "We don't have much to go on, do we?"
Sara swipes a cotton tip by the side of the glass fragment. You both smile when it turns a clear pink. "Maybe we have enough."
A quiet whirring sound cuts through the moment, cuts right through Sara’s grin. You look at your phone’s display and resist the ridiculous urge to toss it aside. Your voice is in place again, casual and light, when you answer.
"I thought you left Catherine in charge this week," you greet Grissom, seeing Sara's eyes turn to you with red hot interest as she realizes who you’re talking to.
"Hello, Sofia," Grissom says pleasantly. "I just thought I'd check in and make sure everything is going okay."
“Hey yeah, uh.” Sara’s glare burns on your face. “We’re fine, I mean, business as usual down here. How are they treating you at Brown? Having fun scaring the kids with stories of death and decay?”
It’s silent for a second at the other end of the line. Then he says, "Catherine says you have a homicide in the suburbs."
“Right, the Kent case. At Summerlin. Victim's a school teacher. We’re on it.” Kindly stop rambling, Curtis.
"Was there a young girl involved?" Grissom continues. His insistence is aggravating.
"Thirteen, I believe,” you tell him. “Came home to find her mother murdered. How..."
"Who is working this case with you?" His voice is urgent now, and you’re beginning to think tossing the phone would have been a brilliant idea. When you look back at Sara, though, you see she’s trying to hide the fact that she’s listening in on your side on the conversation. She looks as if she’s anticipating something.
"Warrick is working with Brass. Sara’s with me.” You quickly add, “In Trace." God.
Another silence, longer this time. Sara isn't blinking.
"Look, this case doesn't seem too complicated," you tell Grissom. "Go get some rest, forget..."
"Sofia?"
"... about work for a couple of days. What?"
"Keep Sara away from the suspect once you think you've found them."
Your head spins. It’s like middle school geometry all over again. Grissom and Sara, sitting in a tree. Along came Sofia, and now she’s seeing me. First comes lust, then betrayal, then she finds Grissom’s house keys in the mail. And now Grissom’s conspiring with you, going behind Sara’s back for some reason you're unable to understand.
You can’t help but look at Sara, and when your eyes meet, you think that maybe it’s panic you see in the CSI's eyes. You leave the lab, rushing through the doors. "What does Sara have to do with this?" you ask Grissom, lowering your voice after the doors have closed behind you.
"I'd also appreciate it if you tried to keep contact between her and the girl to an absolute minimum."
Anger flares up inside of your chest. "Are you going to tell me what this is about?"
"I trust you will do this on behalf of the case,” he simply says. “I will see you next week."
You exhale before sliding the phone back into your back pocket. When you look up, Sara is standing in front of you. You take in her tightly set shoulders, the visible traces of anxiety on her face.
"What did he want?" she asks, defiance burning right through her feigned indifference.
Nothing, nothing at all, you want to tell her. He says he trusts you. He says he trusts me. And then by one phone call, he proves that he was lying on both counts, and for all the wrong reasons, too. At least, that’s what you think. What if this is Grissom's way of telling you he’s on to you?
You avoid Sara’s eyes. "Grissom says hi."
A frown is Sara's only reply, and you turn to leave.
Sara calls after you, “I forgot to say,” but you don’t turn around.
“Sofia,” she says. “Leave your fucking phone on.”
~*~
It rings the minute you set foot in your house, as you’re pushing the door open with your shoulder, carrying two paper bags full of groceries. It stops as soon as you’ve set them down. Shit. “Sara?” Shit.
It rings again when you’ve taken your shower. “It was on,” you tell her. “Your timing is crap.”
“So imagine you have this friend,” she says.
You pull a couple of stray hairs from your dripping ponytail, gently guide them to the trash can. “Wow,” you say, “I don’t know, that’s kind of difficult.”
“Shut up,” she says. “Imagine you have this - particularly annoying co-worker.”
“Hold on a minute,” you interrupt her. “Is she attractive?”
“A male co-worker,” she emphasizes. “Imagine you’ve had this… infatuation with this male co-worker, for a long time-“
“That’s sort of a long shot.”
She ignores you. “And one day he finally - one day you finally find yourself… involved with him.”
“With this particularly annoying co-worker,” you helpfully add.
She sighs, impatient. “Yes.”
“And?”
“And, suddenly you’re wondering if, all those years, you had any idea of what it was you were wishing for.”
You sigh. “Sara…”
“He didn’t call me tonight.”
Jesus. What is she expecting you to do, apologize on his behalf? Quickly supply her with some reasonable explanation?
“He called you.”
Oh. You could have known that would come up sooner or later. You take a deep breath. Say, blindly, “He was worried about you, Sara.”
You can actually hear her grinding her teeth. "He told you to keep me out, didn't he?"
You exhale. "Yes."
“Did he tell you why?”
Damn her for making you admit that he didn’t. You’re not sure of the part you’re supposed to play here - lover, friend, third wheel. “No,” You confess. “He didn’t tell me why.”
“Good.”
You don’t know why you’re nodding, standing in the middle of your empty bedroom, a beautiful woman on the other end of the line charting out every reason why you can never be together again.
“Good,” you tell the dial tone.
Part 3 (and probably 4 and 5, as I've become suddenly long-winded) should follow pretty soon.