Fandom:
CSI
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: GSR
Summary: What is most precious? A sequel to
Disclaimer: Most of the characters and situations in this story belong
to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do
not have permission to borrow them; all others are my property, and if
you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement
is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors
are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.
Spoilers: Through the end of Season 4, but does not take Season 5 into
account.
Note: My apologies for the GIP, but it's necessary.
*********
Chapter 8
Grissom sprang for breakfast, ordering it in, and they sat around the
breakroom table, with Catherine and Warrick eavesdropping with
interest. "Report," Grissom said, snagging a cream cheese danish before
Catherine could reach it and grinning at her mock pout.
"The back yard's a treasure trove of stuff," Nick said, sipping his
coffee. "Forty-one objects and two skeletons, a dog and a cat
respectively. The objects range from the doll to a car engine to a
guitar case, but not all of it is identifiable without digging it up.
And--" He beamed. "In the garage, we found Angostura's Bittersweet
Baby, safe and sound. Greg found him, actually." He punched the younger
man lightly on the arm.
"Angostura's what?"
Catherine asked.
"A stolen show rabbit," Grissom explained. "I assume you brought it
back with you, Nick?"
"He's getting spoiled by Ruthie in the Evidence locker right now," Nick
assured him. "Can we process him first, though, Griss? I'd like to get
him back to his mistress as soon as possible."
"I think that can be arranged," Grissom said, ignoring the snickers.
"Sara?"
"I found every object listed as stolen in our pile of unsolved files,"
she said. "It's impossible to say what other objects are stolen,
however, and what may have been legitimately acquired. For instance, we
don't know how long Carroll has been stealing, or where."
"We don't even know that it is Carroll," Grissom reminded them, again
ignoring the eye-rolls. "Until we process the evidence, all we have is
suspicions."
"Any idea where she went?" Nick asked, and Grissom shook his head.
"None. She can't have been gone for more than a few hours, given that
Jeremy was neither hungry nor dirty. The nosy neighbors may have tipped
her off."
"Alex is handling the interviews," Sara told him, buttering a bagel.
Grissom looked around at his team. "Well. With Jeremy's recovery, this
case dropped from Priority One to merely urgent, and so far we haven't
found anything to tell us where Ms. Carroll has gone. There was no
computer or address book either at her home or her office; she may have
taken them with her. So I suggest you all go home and get some rest."
His mouth twitched. "You'll need it."
xxx
That afternoon, Grissom went into work early, leaving Sara still seated
at the kitchen table with her coffee and the mail. He had a conference
call scheduled with entomologists in Korea and London, and he walked
out the door feeling a lack of sleep but happily tasting Sara's kiss on
his lips.
The call went well, and Grissom was just beginning to hope that the
evening would go smoothly despite the lack of any knowledge of Laurie
Carroll's whereabouts, when that hope shattered on the expression on
Sara's face as she opened his office door.
Grissom recognized that look of fury. Sara's narrowed eyes and tight
face meant that something had annoyed her royally, and he wondered what
had incurred her righteous wrath. She closed his office door behind her
and stalked forward, slapping that day's newspaper down in front of
him, and he amended his thought. Not
what, but who.
"Look
at that," she said, her voice low and vicious. "I can't believe he
violated my privacy like that!"
Grissom skimmed the article, which was on the third page of the paper's
B section. The article dealt with the aftermath of Jeremy Caffrey's
kidnapping and recovery, and included a moderate interview with the
Sheriff--who mentioned CSI Sara Sidle several times as instrumental in
the case.
Grissom removed his glasses and sat back. "I take it you're upset
because he didn't ask your permission first?"
"You bet your ass I'm upset!" Sara glared at both Grissom and the
paper. "I didn't even know about it until some reporter called asking
for a statement!"
"It's part of the job," he pointed out mildly. "Most people would be
pleased with the recognition."
Her anger ebbed somewhat, and she sat slowly down opposite him. "I know
that, Grissom. I do. But it seriously pisses me off that he didn't even
tell me about this. I mean, I know we're public servants and all that,
but--" She gestured, and Grissom nodded, seeing both sides of the
issue. On the one hand, positive publicity was a boon for the lab and
for his team. On the other, the repeated mention of Sara represented an
intrusion into her very private life.
"I suggest you let the Sheriff know that you'd like a little warning
next time--politely, Sara," he added sternly at her evil look. "As for
the reporters, just tell them 'no comment'." He shrugged at her
disbelief. "It works for me."
xxx
A week passed; the night shift finished processing the evidence from
the Carroll case, but found no hint of her whereabouts. Babe was
restored to his ecstatic owner--Nick invited himself to ride along on
that one, just to see Alice's face--and the burden of the case passed
on to the police, who alerted other departments to the fugitive and
continued their search for her. When the weekend arrived, Sara and
Grissom spent Saturday morning asleep, then woke and parted to attend
to separate chores; Grissom wanted to get his hair trimmed, and Sara's
car needed the oil changed. She expected Grissom to beat her home, and
wasn't disappointed at the sight of his car in its parking space. I
wonder if I can talk him into making lasagne for dinner.
"Gil?" Sara shut the front door behind her and walked into the living
room, dropping her bag on the counter next to Grissom's wallet and
keys. When Grissom didn't answer, she headed for the hallway, noting
that the bathroom door was open. Stepping into their bedroom, she
froze. The bed was made.
It was glaring. They never made the bed; they both agreed it was
illogical to straighten covers that were only going to be rumpled again
the next morning. But now the comforter was pulled up neatly over
plumped pillows, the corners tucked in with mathematical precision. And
there was a note in the middle of it.
Confused, Sara picked up the paper, wondering what had prompted Grissom
to such unnatural tidiness, but her puzzlement turned to alarm when she
realized that the handwriting wasn't Grissom's.
You took my treasures,
the note said simply, so I
took yours. Come find me. Alone.
Sara realized dimly that she was panting with a volatile, sickening
mixture of panic and rage, but her thoughts rode above the turmoil,
clear and icy. It's Laurie
Carroll. It has to be. She has Gil.
Find her? How the hell do I do that?
Sara's mind spun briefly with the possibilities, but then steadied on
one certain thought, much as it had when she'd realized the link
between the objects that Carroll chose to steal. She had no proof, no
evidence, but the logic was there, waiting to be seen. Whirling back to
the door, she grabbed her bag; it held not only her badge and
cellphone, but her gun as well.
She better not have
hurt him. Or I'll take a lot more from her than her stuff.
xxx
"If you'll just tell me what you want--" Grissom tried again, only to
meet Laurie Carroll's gimlet stare. The one that told him that she knew
very well that he already knew what she wanted, and that gleamed with a
mind gone beyond sanity's boundaries.
"Shut up," she warned. "Or--" And she waved her handgun at the roll of
duct tape that sat on the counter.
Grissom subsided. His hands were already taped behind his back, his
arms bound to the chair in which he sat in a rather humiliating repeat
of an experiment he'd done not too long ago. He had no desire to have
his mouth taped shut as well. Not
to mention getting the tape off again afterwards.
He winced at the thought. If I
get an afterwards.
He was still blaming himself for walking into Carroll's trap, but more
for his reflexes--which hadn't proved fast enough--than for being
surprised in the first place. There had been no reason to believe that
Carroll was still even in the area.
If there was anything Carroll knew besides insurance, it was how to
break into a home and remain undetected. It wasn't until he'd emerged
from the bathroom that he'd been confronted by the diminutive woman
holding a .45 on him with a very steady aim.
The whole incident was going to prove embarrassing if he survived it.
He was, after all, a trained criminalist and a very good shot, and he'd
been taken captive by a crazy civilian with appalling ease. Though
the truly insane are much harder to predict.
She'd given him no opportunity for escape or attack, promising coolly
to shoot out his elbow joint if he resisted her in any way, and had
herded him down to a small, battered car.
The trunk opened
slowly, as though the hinges were stiff, and Carroll looked around
warily, but the parking lot was empty of people at this early hour.
"Get in," she instructed, her aim irritatingly unwavering, and Grissom
complied slowly, scouring his brain for an opportunity and coming up
empty. She'd known exactly what to threaten him with. A killing shot he
might risk--the torso was a big area, and there was a good chance that
a bullet would miss anything vital--but the muzzle pressed against his
elbow was the perfect deterrent. Attack her, and while he might
overpower her, she would still probably squeeze the trigger--and his
elbow joint would be destroyed, along with his ability to do his work.
As he pulled his legs into the trunk, the gun came down hard on the
back of his head, and the light vanished even before the trunk closed.
Now Grissom knew where he was, and it was simple to extrapolate what
Carroll was planning to do. He didn't like it in the least. He was the
centerpiece in a display, the bait in a trap, and while he hoped
desperately that Sara would be smart and play it safe, he knew her far
too well. When it came to the truly important things, Sara's heart
ruled her head.
Admit it to yourself,
at least. You wouldn't have her any other way.
The front door clicked as the lock turned, and then swung open. Sara
walked into her own apartment, her hard stare encompassing both figures
at once without surprise. "You okay, Griss?" she asked calmly, and
Grissom nodded, realizing with an odd surge of mingled fear and
satisfaction that Laurie Carroll had made one grievous mistake.
She had made Sara Sidle angry.
"I'm fine," he said, equally casual, though his heart was pounding.
He'd almost fooled himself into calm, reasonably certain that while
Sara was the target of Carroll's revenge, he himself was the one in
physical danger. But his heart wasn't at all convinced, and was crying
out in rage and anguish at the sight of the gun leveled at Sara's
midsection. He clenched his teeth on his emotions and schooled himself
to wait.
There was nothing he could do anyway. Words had already failed him.
"I'm here," Sara said flatly, dropping her bag on her breakfast bar as
she usually did. Her badge was around her neck and her gun in its
holster; she still wore her Forensics vest, and that told Grissom that
she must have some plan. She always took it off before leaving the lab,
even though it went home with her.
Carroll sighed, as though Sara's arrival completed something for her.
She didn't look
threatening; small and trim, she looked to Grissom remarkably like the
typing teacher at his high school, except that her hair was in a pixie
cut instead of a bun. But she handled the gun with the assurance of the
expert, and her aim did not waver.
"You're prompt," she said with satisfaction, and Sara shrugged.
"It wasn't hard to figure out what you meant. Your house is still under
surveillance; mine was the next most logical choice." She leaned back
against the counter, folding her arms. "Though I suppose you could have
just stayed at Grissom's."
"The taking's part of it," Carroll said, and walked over to Grissom.
"I'm going to take him from you, your most precious possession." She
looked down at Grissom with a sort of cool pleasure. "I took the
precious things and made them mine. Making you
mine would be the ultimate prize, but it's beyond my capabilities." She
smiled, and Grissom's spine crinkled unpleasantly. "I know my limits."
"You're wrong," Sara told her, and Carroll laughed as she brought the
.45 to bear along Grissom's temple. He tried not to flinch, the back of
his mind supplying him with images of close-range head shots.
"Don't give me any lies about him being a person rather than a
possession. Lovers own each other, that's how it works. Anything that's
loved can be lost."
"That's not it," Sara returned, unfolding her arms and straightening.
"He's not my most precious possession." She grinned, a hard flash of
teeth. "Close, but...no."
A pang struck Grissom, even though he was assured of her love for him,
and one irreverent corner of his mind insisted on speculating what she
treasured more.
He squinted out of the corner of his eye. Carroll was frowning. "Don't
try lying to me."
"He's not." Sara's voice was passionate. "The thing I value most, you
have no control over, Laurie." She took a slow, deliberate step
forward. "Do you want to know what it is?"
The pressure of the gun muzzle didn't lessen, but Grissom felt the
movement as Carroll shifted her weight uneasily. "You can't stop me."
"No. I can't." Grissom turned his gaze to Sara, but she wasn't looking
at him; all her attention was on the smaller woman. He could see the
iron tension in the lines of Sara's body, though her hands hung loose
and open. "But killing him won't steal my one precious thing from me."
She took another step forward, and Carroll seemed almost hypnotized by
her words. "It's my self-respect," Sara went on softly, moving slowly
closer. "I love Gil more than anyone else on this Earth, but if he made
me lose respect for myself I would leave him in a second."
Grissom drank in her words, ignoring the ache they generated. They made
complete sense to him; of course Sara would hold some things higher
than even love.
"I lost it once, not too long ago," Sara continued, her tone
thoughtful. "And he helped me get it back. He gave me the best gift one
human being can give another. But you can't touch it, Laurie. It's
beyond your reach." She was standing directly in front of Carroll now,
and Grissom swallowed against the lump her statement had raised, and
concentrated as Sara's voice dropped even lower.
"My treasure's beyond your limits, Laurie. And you know your limits. So
why not let it go?"
Chapter 8
|
|
