Wherefore

Chapter 8

There's a long silence, and I can hear my pulse thundering in my ears. It's matching the drumming rhythm of Grissom's fingers on the table as he stares smugly at Juliette.

"How did you know?" she manages, looking pale.

He cocks his head, still tapping out my heartbeat. "There was a case a while back, where I had a... revelation of sorts, while talking with a suspect. I found out afterwards from Brass that Sara had been watching from the observation room. So when they built the new interrogation rooms at the lab, I had them install that." He points to a tiny green light on the far wall.

I'd always wondered what it was for. Never thought to ask, though. Thank god he can't see me, I'm sure my cheeks are maroon right now.

"So now, when anyone flips the switch to observe the interrogation room, the light comes on," he finishes, looking terribly pleased with himself.

"You're not mad?"

"She's an investigator," he shrugs. "I kind of expected it, to be honest."

Juliette rolls her eyes. "This is just like that time in Pomona-"

"I knew you were going to bring that up! I swear, that was an accident!" He's laughing, the sound making my breath hitch in my throat.

She grins back, humming softly. "Well... I should probably get going. Between the drive to the airport and all the security checkpoints, plus getting Ian settled early on the plane..."

"Of course."

They get to their feet, not quite meeting each other's gaze, and I'm reminded of my beloved physics. Matter cannot be destroyed, only changed. Maybe love is like that, too. I shift Ian onto my other shoulder, moving a little closer to the glass to hear them better.

"So, uh..." he clears his throat. "Is Sara driving you to McCarran?"

"Yup."

"Mind if I tag along?"

There's a little sadness in the smirk Juliette gives him, but she pulls it off anyway. "Whatever you want, loverboy."

She leaves the room and as Grissom follows behind her he pauses, glancing toward the two-way. It's then that I finally get it. And all I can do is laugh at him, because he's throwing those lovesick eyes at his own reflection.

We meet up in the hall outside the observation room. I'm blushing furiously as I hand the baby over to Juliette.

"I, uh..." Grissom mumbles to me. "I'd like to come to the airport."

I grin at the floor. "So I've heard."

He's surprised when I toss him the key to the Denali, climbing into the passenger seat and leaning back to let Ian grab my finger in his chubby little hand.

"Wayne Newton Boulevard, driver," I direct Grissom with a wink.

"Wait wait wait," Juliette calls out. "The airport is on Wayne Newton Boulevard?"

"We're working on changing it to Celine Dion Avenue," I reply. "Give us time. Now, we've got twenty minutes, I want to hear some Grissom dirt."

Juliette has a knack for story-telling, and by the time we pull up outside the terminal, I've been regaled with three fantastic anecdotes of times that Grissom screwed up on the job. He just shakes his head as she and I howl with laughter.

"So this massive cockroach is crawling up the inside of his pant leg," she shrieks, starting to hiccup, "and I'm trying to kill it and he's screaming, 'No, don't, it's evidence!' And in the meantime, it's made it into his underwear-"

"Oh, look at that," he interrupts. "We're here. You'll have to stop telling your story, what a shame."

"Well, she could always change her flight..." I speculate.

He's out of the driver's seat in a flash, unloading her suitcases and lugging them over to curbside check-in. She just chuckles and watches him, her smile fading after a moment as she catches sight of her mother's paisley suitcases.

I turn around to look at her. "You need help with anything?

"No, thanks. It's just... I keep thinking she'll be waiting for me back in LA. I doubt it'll really sink in until I get home."

Grissom pulls open the back door. "Ready?"

Juliette nods, unbuckling Ian's car seat and getting out onto the curb. A sudden pang of loss grips me, and I tumble out of the car, running over to hug her. I've never been like Nick and Greg, who are able to charm everyone they meet with flashy grins and easy conversation. Even on my best days I'm socially awkward. But somehow I managed to make a friend this week, and it hurts to see her go.

She hugs me back tightly, murmuring "Don't give up on him," then turns to pat Grissom's arm awkwardly. And then she's gone.

We get back in the car silently. Grissom pulls the car back into traffic, then lets out an exhale for a good twenty seconds.

I have to laugh. "How long have you been holding that in?"

"Probably ten years or so," he admits, then surprises me by capturing my hand, holding it in his right and entwining our fingers. "You heard what I said to Julie before?"

"I did."

"How, ah..." Uncomfortable Grissom has always been a guilty pleasure of mine to watch. "How do you feel about, you know... what I said?"

"I think I've made my feelings pretty clear."

"I know you have, it's just... I'm no picnic, Sara."

I quirk my lips at him. "When did I ever say I was looking for a picnic?"

Between the low notes of the radio, the hum of the engine, and the hours we've put into this case, I'm lulled to sleep in minutes. I dream of Grissom, and autumn.

I never quite got used to New England winters - plodding through thigh-high snowdrifts with a runny nose and wet socks. But autumn was different. Autumn was watching leaves turn into sunbursts. Sipping hot cider mulled with sticks of cinnamon. The smell of pumpkin and ginger. The past few months, I've dreamed of sitting on a New England porch with Grissom, rocking on a wooden swing and watching the sun set over crimson trees. The best I can figure is that my subconscious is tired of always being at the cusp of spring.

Moments before we pull into the parking lot, I wake up, and I swear I can taste cinnamon. Grissom heads for his office to tackle the large stack of paperwork he's been avoiding. The assignment board is empty, so I wander into the break room, where Greg and Sofia are lounging on the couch.

"What happened to all the active cases?"

Greg counts them off on his fingers. "Husband, with the knife, in the library. Former employee, with his hands, in the office. And accidental death, with the soap, in the bathtub."

I turn on Sofia with a reproachful glare. "You let him play Clue?"

"We were bored, and I didn't know he was such a dork!" she says defensively.

"Oh, I'm the dork?" he retorts. "You were the one who thought that one guy was strangled by a boa constrictor."

She blushes. "I'm telling you, Sara, those markings looked like scales."

"Sidle."

I turn to see Ecklie standing in the doorway, looking irritated as ever.

"Yes?"

"My office," he barks. "Now." He marches off down the hall, seemingly oblivious to the terrified interns scurrying away from his path.

"You should bring some Metamucil," Greg whispers. "It'd clear that constipated look right off his face."

"Behave," I admonish, and set off for Ecklie's office. In recent months we've come to a tenuous truce, me and Conrad, and I'm not sure what I've done to set him off this time.

His secretary waves me in, and I steel myself for the onslaught.

"Have a seat," Ecklie orders, waving me toward a chair. I sit dutifully. "Sidle, what's going on with the Tangiers case?"

"We wrapped it up," I reply. "Vic's son-in-law confessed. We'll have the report to you by the end of shift."

"The DA's concerned," he frowns. "Says there's some sort of connection between Grissom and this case."

I choose my words carefully. "Grissom had a relationship with the victim's daughter over ten years ago."

"The daughter who found the body?"

"Yes."

"The daughter whose husband killed the vic?"

"Yes."

He sighs and rubs his temple. "Hasn't he ever heard of conflict of interest?"

"I was primary on the case," I tell him. "I collected the key evidence and was the lead in all interrogations."

"And I'm supposed to believe you're unbiased? You're in a relationship with Grissom-"

"Excuse me?" The truce is history, as far as I'm concerned.

"Oh, come on," he scoffs. "Everyone knows. I'm not sure why you two even try to hide it, it's not like there's any rule against interoffice dating. I'm just saying you won't look impartial to a jury."

"What jury?" I throw back. "The killer confessed. He's entering a guilty plea."

"You'd better hope so." He leans back in his chair, looking pensive. "Look, Sara, off the record..."

This should be interesting. "Yes?"

"Gil's an asset to this lab. He's a legend in our field, and we're lucky to have him. He's a big part of why the lab is so successful. The last thing any of us want is for something like this to bury him professionally."

I blink in surprise. "Well... we agree on that, then."

"And there's no reason for me to worry?"

"No."

"Okay." He reaches for a file, signaling that we're done, and I guess that truce is back in place.

I spend the next hour working on our case report in Conference B. The crime scene photos and DNA results get clipped together, and I use a felt-tip pen to mark the areas of interest on each. All it needs now is Grissom's signature as secondary investigator, so I make my way to his office.

"Hey," I greet him, leaning against the doorframe.

He looks up with a sigh. "Here to save me from the paperwork? Or did you just hear about the scones?"

"Scones?"

"Pumpkin ginger scones," he says, motioning toward a tempting-looking plate on the side of his desk. "Apparently Catherine and Lindsey bonded over baking this weekend, and they made dozens of them. Want one?"

"Sure." I plop down across from him and help myself to a large scone. "I'm finished with the Tangiers report, just need your signature."

He holds out his hand and I give him the file. Opening it to the last page, he scribbles his name and hands it back.

"You don't want to read it?"

"I trust you," he shrugs. "So Julie called, just before her flight took off."

"Oh?"

"She spoke with both her church and the cemetery officials from the airport. The funeral is set for Friday morning."

I nod, taking a bite of the scone. "You're going to go?"

"Yes. And she was hoping that you would, too."

"Oh, I don't know, Grissom," I hedge. "I'm not sure it'd be an appropriate-"

"If she didn't want you there, she wouldn't have asked you," he interrupts. "In part she's probably trying to make me feel more at ease, so I won't stick out like a pariah among her friends and family. But she also likes you, Sara. Quite a bit. You were a source of strength for her this past week, and she may need some more that day."

I'm still chewing on my scone, unconvinced, so he pulls out the big guns.

"You'd get to see Ian again."

"Okay," I say quickly. "That is, if I can get the day off."

"I think I can make that happen," he smirks. "I bet he'll be happy to see you."

"He's a sweetheart," I sigh. "It's too bad, though, that Juliette took the name Ian. What are you going to name your first child?"

"Oh, there are plenty of names," he says with a wink. "I've always been partial to Ann, myself."

I roll my eyes, resisting the urge to throw the rest of my scone at him even as my heart flutters in my chest. "Aren't you going to try one of these? After all the effort Cath and Lindsey went through?"

Grissom eyes the stack of scones warily. "Pumpkin and ginger?"

"They're good, I swear."

He picks one up, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. "It is good," he agrees. "Tastes like autumn."