Part 2/?

Gil Grissom sat at his desk, fingering the message from Tom
Adler.  He had already spoken with the him, discovering
that Sara had visited Pamela Adler at Tom's invitation.  The
man had been concerned about Sara's abrupt departure. 
Ever since the call had come through, Grissom had tried to
contact Sara, both on her home telephone number and
pager.  His calls had all been picked up by her voice mail.  

If Tom had been concerned, Grissom was even more so. 
But he was also angry.  Angry that Sara had not heeded his
advice, had allowed herself to be caught with an emotional
attachment to the victim.  Past experience had proven that
this was not wise;  the plight of the victims and their families
ate away at the psyche, shifting the focus of an investigator
from the evidence to the moral desire for justice.  

Grissom chewed on his bottom lip, watching the phone and
wishing that it would ring.  Thinking back, he regretted not
pulling Sara aside and asking more about why this particular
case affected her more than others.  Her enthusiasm for her
job was vividly evident, the joy at investigating and solving a
crime a challenge and delight.  In her, he could see pieces
of himself.  And there was something lurking below the
surface with this case that he had failed to pinpoint.  Her
reactions to this particular victim were personal.  
Grissom had tried to steer her away from becoming too
closely involved.  Now, he was angry with himself for not
having a more serious talk with her.   He should not have let
her think that he was closed off from his victims - far from
it.  Yet, he had let Sara walk away thinking that he was able
to just shut off his emotions, whereas it was a matter of
control.  

"Hey, Gris."

Grissom looked up and found Catherine Willows in the
doorway, her hip resting against the door jamb.  Her head
was cocked slightly to the right, her arms crossed as she
patiently waited for him to talk to her.

"Oh, hi Cath," he responded absently, giving her a cursory
glance.  

"What's wrong?" It didn't surprise Catherine that she was
going to have to play twenty questions with Grissom.  He
was never one to be forthcoming with information at the
best of times and when he did, it tended to be cryptic,
layered with textured meaning.

"Huh?"

"You've been playing with that piece of paper, chewing
your lip and watching the phone as if it was God's answer
to all the world's problems for the last minute that I've
watched.  Probably longer at a guess.  What's wrong?"

"Here." Grissom waggled the piece of paper in the air in her
general direction.

Pushing off from the door jamb, she took the piece of paper
and read it.  "Tom Adler."  Catherine thought for a
moment.  "As in the Jane Doe shot as a gang initiation?"

"That's the one."

"Didn't you wind up the case last week?"  Catherine sat
down in the chair opposite, crossing her pant-clad legs. 
Placing the message back on his desk, she asked, "Isn't the
kid in juvie?"

"Yep." His answer was short, his tone clipped.

"Case over.  So, what's the problem?" 

"Sara went and visited the victim at the hospice she has
been placed in."  

Now the other shoe dropped.  Grissom was protective of
his staff, particularly those that he had personally trained. 
"Why?"

"You tell me and we'll both know.  She's become attached
to the victim, Cath.  I don't know how to get through to
her."  

"Did you try?" The question sounded terrible, even to her
own ears, yet she felt it must be asked.  Grissom had a
tendency to avoid these sort of situations.  

Grissom gave her a wry look.  They both acknowledged his
lack of people skills and Catherine would often take on the
role of mediator in circumstances which required placating
ruffled feathers. "Yes, I tried.  Did I succeed?  Obviously
not."

"You're going to have to try again."  Catherine was well
aware that Sara was not one of those people she ever
succeeded with either.   "She's not going to be an easy nut
to crack."

"Huh?"

"She's like you, Gris.  Work is her life.  She hides from
people behind the facade of work.  When you tell her to
walk away from it, it is like asking her to cut off an essential
part of herself.  You're the best example to her.  Tell her
how you do it.  And don't just tell her you ride roller
coasters.  It won't cut it with Sara."

"Cath, do you think I don't feel anything?"  Grissom voiced
the comment that had left him questioning how Sara and
others viewed him.

"What do you mean?" Catherine leaned forward, resting
her forearms on the top of the desk, her arms crossed
casually

"It's a conversation I had with Sara.  She accused me of
not feeling anything."

"Then the answer is no; you hide it well though.  But then I
know you better than most.  Gil, you understand her more
than you think you do.   Instead of being her boss, her
teacher, talk to her."  Catherine pushed herself up from the
chair and walked to the doorway, stopping when Grissom
continued.

"I've been trying to.  Tom Adler rang because Sara ran out
of the hospice, apparently quite upset.  I've been unable to
get her on her phone or pager.  I only get her voice mail."
Grissom raised his eyebrows, a silent question in his
expression asking her to acknowledge that this was highly
unusual for Sara.

"Well, she's due to start her shift in twenty-five minutes, so
she shouldn't be far away." Catherine placated.  Until the
time Sara was due to start, they could not assume anything.  


"Don't you find that strange in itself?  The fact that she's not
already here?" 

"This is Sara we are talking about.  I find a lot of the things
she does strange," Catherine responded before leaving the
room.

Gil gave a twisted smile at her retreating figure and
wondered what Catherine's assessment of his own
idiosyncracies were.

End Part 2/?

    Source: geocities.com/missyliannem