copyright 2003, by Hannah
Normally, Sara Sidle would have stopped in the doorway of her boss’s office, waiting for his acknowledgment before entering. Tonight, she walked in without the slightest pause, stopping only when she was standing in front of his desk, looking down at him.
“Is it true?” she demanded.
Gil Grissom looked up from the paperwork he’d been going over with a grimace of irritation.
“Is what true?”
“Are you dating a suspect?”
His eyes narrowed as he slowly lowered the sheaf of papers to the desk in front of him.
“No. Would you like to tell me what this is about?”
“So you’re not seeing Lady Heather?”
Grissom’s expression reflected the effort to control his irritation.
“Heather isn’t a suspect, Sara. That case is closed.”
“You are seeing her.”
“Yes, but I don’t see...”
“I can’t believe you.”
He waited a beat before responding, dropping his glasses onto the desk and leaning back in his chair.
“Why the sudden interest in my personal life?”
“Gee, I don’t know. You’re the one who’s constantly preaching about not letting our personal stuff interfere with a case.”
“Maybe you didn’t hear me,” he said, his voice taking on a hard edge. “The case is closed.”
“Has it gone to trial?”
“It was her insulin that killed two men. Don’t you think she might be called to testify?”
“I think that’s an excellent possibility.”
“And you don’t see this as conflict of interest?”
Grissom drew in a deep breath and pursed his lips. When he spoke, his words carried a distinct chill.
“What I don’t see,” he began, fixing her with a level stare, “is how this concerns you.”
Whatever she had thought he might say, this was unexpected. Hurt flashed through her eyes, replaced quickly with anger.
“I thought I knew you.”
“I told you, we never really know anyone.”
She lowered her eyes to the desktop, a defeated sigh escaping her.
“Looks like you were right.”
He leaned forward, palms flattened on the desk, and slowly rose to his feet. He waited until her eyes came up again before speaking.
“Are we finished here?”
She spoke before thinking, voice coming out in a whisper.
“You want her that much?”
He studied the young woman in front of him for a long moment - his eyes narrowed, head tilted slightly to one side - then seemed to come to a decision.
“Yes,” he said, his voice softening.
She held his gaze for the briefest second and then turned away, struggling to control the tremor that would surely come out in her voice. She reached the door and turned back to face him again.
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I think I do.”
She left without another word, hurrying along the hallway in search of a room that might offer her some privacy while she tried to reclaim her composure.
She sat facing the wall in the empty breakroom and fought the tears that threatened to escape. She had asked, and for once he'd given her a direct answer.
All things considered, she preferred his riddles.
copyright 2003, by Hannah