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Chapter 36

He wished she would cry. Throw things. He wouldn't even mind if she punched him. Any sign that she had some sort of feeling left in her.

After hanging up with Sander, she'd calmly ripped a plumber's ad out of the paper, then walked over to a drawer and pulled out what looked suspiciously like an engagement ring. Placing the items on the nightstand, she'd turned to him and said quietly, "I'd like to go home, please."

She didn't say a word in the car, and when they walked through the door she went straight for the couch. She'd been there ever since, sitting perfectly still and watching home improvement shows. At first he'd sat next to her, waiting for the inevitable explosion. But when none came, he grew more concerned. It was like a switch had been flipped, and the vibrant woman he knew was gone. He couldn't help thinking that he was staring at a shell of the former Sara.

"D'you want some ice cream?" he asked, remembering how his sisters had coped with breakups.

"No thank you," she replied, staring at the screen.

"Potato chips?"

"No."

"Pickles?"

She finally looked at him, her face impassive, as if she were looking at a bare wall. "I'm not hungry, Nick." She turned her attention back to the television screen, where a dancing lizard was advertising car insurance.

He ducked into the kitchen, whispering into his cell phone. "Baby, get here fast. Everything's gone to hell, and Sara needs you."

I should have seen it coming.

The scotch was making him dizzy, but his mind was running faster than ever.

Everybody leaves.

He'd given up on his glass after pouring became too difficult. Besides, pouring directly into his mouth was smarter. Cut out the middle man. More efficient.

The ring was laughing at him from the nightstand. "You cut up the charm to protect her, but who's protecting you, Gil?"

Rings don't laugh. Not normally. That is a very gifted ring.

He couldn't stop looking at it. The simplicity of its circular shape. No end, no beginning. A loop of hope and happiness and heartache.

His father had been a loud man, with a voice as booming as Grissom's was quiet. In retrospect, everything about him seemed circular. His wide, angry eyes. The rim of his glass, perpetually raised to his lips. The shape of his mouth as he yelled. The spinning of the wheels as he left for the last time.

Everything was cyclical. His father, Maria, Sara. everybody, in the end, left him. But there was no end, just the start of another cycle, another chance to make things right, another crushing disappointment.

Each time, he'd been blindsided. Shouldn't he have expected it by now? He wasn't enough of a man to keep anyone's interest for long.

It was a relief, not having Nick watching her anymore. At one point he'd asked her a question about the carpentry show on television. She'd shrugged, not wanting to admit she hadn't even noticed what channel was on. He'd finally retreated into the kitchen, whispering frantically into his phone. She didn't care who he was talking to, as long as it wasn't Grissom or Sander.

Staring blankly at the screen was oddly soothing. It kept her from shaking.

Nick had hardly hung up the phone before Mandy rushed in the door and onto the couch, throwing her arms around Sara and rocking her gently. He hovered near them, unsure of his role and whether he and Mandy were helping at all. After a few more minutes of staring at the TV, Sara blinked, noticing the arms around her and patting Mandy's head awkwardly.

As evening fell, Nick and Mandy ordered in, waving a container of curried tofu under Sara's nose. Oddly, it was the smell that did it for her. She thought of Grissom, how he knew that she wanted curried tofu when she was stressed, pad thai when she was relaxed, garlic broccoli when she was bored. He would know that she needed a heaping plate of lasagna for her present state. The smell of the curry was too much for her, and she retreated into her bedroom.

Mandy stood in the doorway, biting her lip. "Sar?"

Sara was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling. "I'd like to be alone for a while. Can you stay at Nick's tonight?"

"Course she can," he supplied from the next room. "You'll call if you need us?"

She nodded, and then they were gone.

Sara had never understood how silence could have a sound, like shifting waves of interference. She crawled under the covers fully dressed, not bothering to turn out the light. For five years she'd fallen asleep that way, curled into the fetal position, listening to the hum of her appliances and the faint sound of traffic.

She pulled the covers over her head. They smelled like fabric softener. Clean, sterile. Sobs pounded deep in her chest, shaking her body as she gasped for air. The tears never came.

Grissom sat at his desk, sorting papers into files.

"Got something to tell me?" Catherine was standing in the doorway, her arms folded and her eyes accusatory.

"No, I don't," he said simply. He stood and walked past her into the hallway. She followed him incredulously.

"Where do you think you're going?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to hand out assignments. Keep using that tone with me, and you won't get one."

The room was thick with tension when he entered. Nick and Greg glared at him openly, while Warrick narrowed his eyes at Catherine. Sara was sitting at the far end of the table, looking composed. He'd expected to see dark circles under her eyes, like the ones he'd woken up with, but she appeared well-rested.

"Nick and Greg, robbery at the Tangiers," he barked, throwing their folders at them. "Catherine and Warrick, B and E on South. Sara, DB in the desert."

"Solo?" she asked, looking at the file. Her voice, husky and raw, belied her smooth exterior.

"No, I'm primary on this one," he answered, silently daring Nick to challenge him.

Sara raised her head, meeting his gaze squarely. "I'll get my kit," she said evenly, looking at him like he was a stranger.

"Meet me outside," he said. "I'm driving."