TITLE: INCOMPLETE REVENGE
SPOILERS: 'PLAYING WITH FIRE', INDIRECT REFERENCES TO 'TOO TOUGH TO DIE'.
CONTENT WARNING: G/S ANGST, ONE STRONG SWEARWORD.
DISCLAIMER: ALL CHARACTERS CONTAINED HEREIN ARE THE INTELLECTUAL PROPERTY OF ANTHONY ZUIKER AND CBS TELEVISION. NO INFRINGEMENT INTENDED.
SUMMARY: AFTER GRISSOM'S REJECTION, AND SEEING EVENTS IN A NEW LIGHT, SARA IS QUITE EXPECTEDLY PISSED OFF. BUT WHAT IS SHE GOING TO DO? AND WILL IT WORK?
Sara entered her apartment, seething and in a completely wretched mood. She couldn't believe the way Grissom had acted. You are a complete and utter asshole, she thought. 'You refuse my dinner invitation, and it's your fault that I got caught up in the explosion. If I hadn't have followed you, I wouldn't have been injured. She paused her furious ruminations, if only to add a small, positive afterthought. Then again, if I hadn't have been injured, you wouldn't have called me 'honey.' She paused again, dissatisfied with her sentiments, and reminding herself of the negative aspects of being in Vegas. She had left people she cared about in San Francisco, doing so without question, all for Grissom, who hadn't paid so much as one speck of attention to her. He was the only reason she was here, and she had nothing left anywhere else. What made it worse was that now Grissom had rejected her, she had absolutely nothing. Not a ray of hope. Nada. Zilch. Not a sausage.
While these thoughts gathered velocity, negativity and forcefulness within her brain, she had managed to hang up her coat, take her shoes off, pick up her mail, and whisk herself off to the kitchen at tornado pace.
She opened the letters. No one important, just people wanting more things, like everyone else. Another thought embedded itself into her mind, and she began to wonder why it was she that made an effort to treat every victim separately, and make sure that justice was done. She almost killed herself working a triple shift, eating nothing and getting no sleep for sometimes three days until a case was solved. She was the only person out of the whole crime lab personnel who actually gave a damn about the victims. She was always left to reach out to others.
Sara was not usually one to become hopelessly depressed. Sure, she was like most people when something bad happened, but it was never anything a bottle of Jack Daniels or Smirnoff and couple of days in bed couldn't cure. There had been a time, about the end of her time at Harvard, when she became practically incurably depressed, when she was tried on medication such as Lithium, and Prozac, when it still known as Fluoxetine, for six months, and it had helped, so much that as soon as she felt better, she took herself off it. Suicide was something she had never really contemplated as a remedy, but now it appeared that she had nothing else to grasp onto, so self-destruction might as well be as good a resort as any.
She almost immediately abandoned the idea of suicide by a self-inflicted gunshot wound, as, like most women, she deplored using guns, even though she carried one, and, to a lesser extent, she was self-conscious enough to want an open casket. Besides, gunshot was too violent and loud and sudden, and also too messy. She wanted to slip away quietly, just as her life had done. So it would be up to the reliable pills in her medicine cabinet to help her. Although she never finished a course of medication if she was cured of her ailment before the pills were finished, she always kept the remainder, in case there was someone else who needed them. She didn't really care that it was against the law to use someone else's medication. People had committed greater crimes upon her, and gotten away with it. She didn't see why she would be punished for the lesser crime.
Sara entered her bathroom and rummaged through the cabinet, searching for at least two bottles of pills she could mix, making certain that she had the correct lethal cocktail to ingest. She found a blister pack of Rohypnol, not in itself dangerous, but if she mixed that with some . . . she found a full bottle of aspirin and a blister pack of Tylenol. Yes, along with a bottle of vodka she had kept but never opened, these should all do the trick.
Her plan would be to write a note to Grissom and leave it pinned to her door. He had said that he would come over that afternoon at one, so they could go over some paperwork regarding a bungled breaking-and-entering. As a sort of irony, Sara wanted Grissom to find her, so he could pay for the misery he had, if unknowingly, put her through. He would read the note on the door, and charge into her apartment to find her gone. She checked her watch. It was half past eleven, so she would definitely be gone by the time he got there.
She grabbed a glass and the bottle of vodka from the kitchen, and set them down in front of her on a table in the living room. She put the pills on the table and mashed them up, brushing the crumbs into the glass. She twisted the cap of the vodka and poured it in among the pills, waiting for a few seconds for the mixture to properly dissolve.
Sara took one last look around her apartment and raised her glass to a picture she had of Grissom presenting her with an award when he had taken a seminar at Harvard.
"Cheers," she said, before swallowing the mixture. She lay back on the couch and waited for her poison to kick in.
Grissom and Catherine pulled up into the parking lot outside Sara's apartment early. Grissom had told Catherine that Sara was expecting them at one, but Catherine wanted no arguments, as she had to get Lindsay ready for a party. Besides, Catherine had reasoned, it's twelve now, and we're only an hour early. We can just surprise her and get this all over and done with.
Grissom shared Catherine's thoughts, but he wanted to try and delay seeing Sara for as long as possible. He knew he had hurt her feelings a lot when he refused her dinner invite, but she had gotten too close to him, and he was overwhelmed with his feelings for her.
Catherine and Grissom decided to walk the stairs to Sara's apartment. Catherine, being in the lead, was first to notice a white envelope pinned to the door.
"Hey, Gil," she called over her shoulder, "there's a note here, and it's addressed to you."
Grissom shrugged with his eyebrows, and took it off her. "Maybe she had to go out." He opened the envelope and took the letter out, scanning it quickly.
Catherine became very worried when she saw Grissom's eyes dilate. "What's it say?"
Grissom didn't answer straight away. Instead, he ducked down and peered through Sara's letter box. All he could see was the couch and a mop of brunette hair perched on a cushion at the near end of the furniture, and a bottle, two blister packs and an aspirin jar on the table next to the couch. He turned to look at Cath. "She's attempted an overdose." He ignored her shocked expression, and instead charged the door. It wouldn't budge. Damn, the fucking thing won't move, and I gotta get in there. He charged it again.
Inside her apartment, Sara could her a thud on the door. She had been on the couch for half an hour, and the pills were only making her feel a little drowsy. She sat up suddenly when there was a loud crash, and Grissom came stumbling through the broken door.
Sara grinned at him impishly. "Gee, I hope you're gonna fix that."
Grissom ignored the remark, and instead turned to Catherine. "Take a look at what Sara's taken and call nine-one-one."
Catherine didn't dare disagree, just rifled through the pill paraphernalia on the table, reaching into her pocket to pull out her cell phone.
Grissom kneeled down by the couch and brushed Sara's hair from her face. "However much you must hate me right now, and however much you don't want to, I'm gonna have to induce vomiting. Hopefully we might be able to get that stuff out of your system before your body's able to digest it." He didn't wait for an answer, and instead held out his hands to Sara. To his surprise, she took them, and he pulled her up, helping her walk through to the kitchen, where he hoped to find some salt and water that could induce vomiting.
Grissom stood with the doctor at the hospital. He had gone in the ambulance that arrived at the apartment, leaving Cath, who said she'd tidy up the apartment and set up a sleeping space for Grissom, who was unwilling to abandon Sara a second time.
The doctor stared at his clipboard and played with the hem of his lab coat. "For whatever reason, internal damage that could be caused by drugs such as the ones Miss. Sidle ingested has not been extensive."
Grissom smiled faintly. "Yeah, that sounds like Sara, tough thing she is."
The doctor nodded. "However, I do recommend that she stays off work for a week and rest. She will have stomach cramps for a couple of days because of the pump we had to do, so she needs to be weaned onto solids in three days. She mustn't take any medication for a week, just so her body can recover."
The dishevelled Grissom couldn't do anything except nod his had wearily and rub his stubbly chin. "Anything else? Would you recommend her receiving some kind of therapy?"
"It's not my place to say, I'm just a doctor. Obviously, in circumstances such as this, it would be advisable, whether it is a genuine suicide attempt or a cry for help. I just need you to sign her release forms."
A little while later, Sara and Grissom entered her apartment. Grissom felt he needed to take charge. "If you go and get ready, I'll just make sure everything here's okay. Call me when you're done, and I'll come in and tuck you in."
Sara felt like telling him that she wasn't a little child, but considering as he hadn't had any sleep in almost a day, and had gone with her to hospital, and generally saved her life, she figured it wouldn't be too polite. So she just nodded and got on with it.
Grissom was just checking his watch when Sara called him. He abandoned his pillow on the couch, and knocked on her bedroom door. When access was granted, he opened the door to see Sara lying in bed. He walked over and covered her up properly with the blanket, smoothing her hair from her face. "I'll be on the couch if you need anything, okay?"
Sara nodded. "Thank you. Goodnight." She turned over, and Grissom left the room.
It must have been about eleven at night when Sara woke up. She needed some water. She opened her bedroom door, and was making her way to the kitchen when a disembodied voice piped up.
"You couldn't sleep either?" It said.
Sara jumped in surprise. "Holy mother of God! Why aren't you asleep?"
"Not tired. Same with you?"
"I need some water. I'll sleep on the couch, it's too small for you."
Grissom chuckled. "I wouldn't expect you to reacquaint yourself with that thing."
"We could always share the bed."
Grissom considered it. "I'll join in a minute, just let me get your water."
The first thing Sara did when Grissom entered the bedroom was apologise. " I'm sorry for manipulating your feelings. What I did was wrong."
Grissom placed the water down on the bedside table. "Let's not talk about that now, we can discuss it later." He got into bed and hugged her. "I'm sorry for being a dick."
Sara snuggled up to him. "You're forgiven."
"I can't believe I almost lost you today."
"I thought you didn't want to talk about it now. If I'm not going to be in work for another week, I think we're going to have enough time to chat, don't you?" Sara closed her eyes. "Go to sleep Gil. You need all the rest you can get."