(Thanks to all who've been reading and reviewing; feedback is greatly appreciated! Behold the nurse's station chapter!)
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The interview really angered me. I still can’t believe that Adam Trent managed to take control of the conversation, and I will absolutely never forgive myself for allowing him to mentally rape Sara like that. What kind of a supervisor am I, to allow such a thing to occur? I should have stepped in; I should have put my foot down, and I should have done the interview for her.
But I didn’t, and Sara paid the price for my stupidity; a price that was just too high to pay, in my honest opinion.
Up until now, I have allowed Sara to walk ahead of me while in the hospital; she will no longer do so. Up until now, I have allowed Sara to work solo on Robbie’s case; that will no longer happen. And up until now, I have let Sara do most of the talking; not any more.
I am going to protect Sara. She is my responsibility, and I will keep her safe.
We found underwear in the bucket in the latrine, as directed by Adam, and now Grissom and I have been granted access to the nurse’s station. A part of me wants to scream bloody murder and bolt for the door, but the other part of me tells me to stay. I’m not that helpless…and I’m not exactly a coward. I’ve got to prove to myself that I can beat this… he can’t win. I won’t let him.
And besides- Grissom’s here, right?
With my back to the door I know Grissom will be able to see if anyone tries to come in, so at the moment I’m not worried. Currently looking over the desk of Nurse McKay, my eyes scan the area for anything out of the ordinary. Just as I think I’ll find nothing of interest, I notice something- it’s a photograph. The photograph Nurse McKay got from Robbie in group therapy, perhaps? A part of me wonders, however, why she would still have it- why not give it back? I don’t exactly think the time-out method works on mental patients.
“This must be the photo Nurse McKay confiscated from Robbie in group… the missing half?” I think aloud, turning to look at Grissom. Noting the blue tape at the top, I immediately connect it to the tape I found first processing his room. “I found blue tape in Robbie’s room,” I tell him, turning around to get a better look at the picture. “Kind of looks like Adam,” I say, noticing the little boy in the picture for the first time. Curly hair…brown eyes. It’s…strange seeing Adam with a smile on his face and to notice the absence of biting his nails.
“Where would Robbie get a picture of Adam?” Grissom asks me, turning to look back at Nurse Faber’s desk area.
“Well…” I start, turning to look back over at him. “They were having sex,” I point out. And then turning back to Nurse McKay’s desk I find a small heart-shaped rock- a paperweight, maybe- with the letters ‘J+A’ etched into it painted over in black. Whose name starts with a ‘J’…? What was Nurse McKay’s name? Does this mean something plus…Adam, maybe?
Putting the small rock down, I find myself looking back at the photograph of Adam once again. How old was Adam when this picture was taken…? He doesn’t look very old to me- seven, maybe, at the oldest? Then again, he could even be twelve in this picture; I’m not exactly one to judge about kids’ age. A part of me thinks he was younger than nine, though, because he looks so happy in this picture. According to Dr. Dino, Adam’s father died when he was nine, and that was when his mother replaced her dead husband with her son…
And that messes you up.
Sara and I begin processing the nurses’ station. She’s got her back to the door, but I don’t think much about it; I’m behind her, and I won’t let anyone dangerous wander into the room. She’ll be safe.
Thumbing through a file on one of the desks, I try to find the clue that will end this case, and which will allow us to return back to the lab in order to solve Robbie’s murder.
While I am looking through the file, Sara, who had been searching through Nurse McKay’s desk, starts talking. “This must be the photo that Nurse McKay confiscated from Robbie in group,” she tells me, forcing me to look in her direction. I’m actually a little bit curious about this picture, I have to admit. What is so important about it that Robbie had to bring it to group? “The missing half? I found blue tape in Robbie's room,” Sara continues. “Kind of looks like Adam.”
And I frown; I don’t quite understand how that could even be possible. “Where would Robbie get a picture of Adam?” I ask Sara, turning back to the files on the desk in front of me.
“Well, they were having sex,” Sara reminds me. Again, she makes a good point. Lovers often times carry a picture of their significant other, and despite their current address, I highly doubt that Robbie and Adam would be any different from everyone else.
After a moment, I toss down the folders, ready to start looking through some of the desk drawers. Although the files themselves are fairly informative, and perhaps even helpful, I am curious to see what else the locked desks have to tell us.
Slightly pulling on a drawer, I frown, noting that it won’t budge. Locked. This doesn’t really surprise me, though; after all, the nurses deal with highly sensitive and confidential information on a daily basis. But that being said, I’d still like to see what is inside of the locked drawers. Moving over a step, I jiggle another drawer, frowning. Also locked.
And now I have a dilemma: Sara and I need to know what is in the drawers. Finding all of the information is a part of our job, and having all of the facts pertaining to the case at hand is an important precursor to helping us understand what is going on around any given crime scene...
…And yet, I really do not want to leave Sara here all by herself. We’re still in a state mental institution, where the patients have the ability to roam free. On one hand, I don’t want her to get attacked, while on the other hand, we have questions that we want answers to.
Standing up, I turn to look at the door. “I'm going to find someone who can open these drawers,” I finally tell her, taking off my gloves. There are guards around, I think about adding. You’ll be safe. But I don’t say a word.
Because I know that Sara will be fine.
As I continue to scan the items on the desks, I can hear Grissom trying to open the drawers behind me, which really has become sort of a white noise. In a sense it’s actually reassuring; it tells me that he’s still here with me. My scope of Nurse McKay’s desk is far from finished, but for some reason I find myself looking back at the photograph of Adam, something seemingly mystifying about this tiny piece of paper.
“I’m going to go find someone who can open these drawers,” I hear Grissom say. Now, normally I would’ve objected to this and probably would’ve either gone with him or screamed and clung to his leg like a dog, but I was too caught-up in that damn photo to think twice about it.
“Okay,” I automatically answered, actually not really listening to what he said. Why am I still looking at this picture…? We’ve established that it’s a photograph of Adam when he was a kid, so what am I looking for? Looking at this picture I can’t help but think back to my own childhood. Adam looks so happy in this picture… but I know he was really in the same boat I was. The smiles stopped for him after his father died… and the smiles stopped for me when I turned six and my father came into my room every night.
I can’t help but feel sorry for him in a way. At the moment I’ve forgotten everything bad he’s done- his multiple rapes, how he… mentally raped me in the interview. All I see is a scared little boy sitting in a corner, despite his bloody cuticles still biting his nails in fear of his mother coming back.
Still so caught-up in that god-forsaken picture, I failed to notice that someone had slipped into the room. That was, however, until they spoke… and that sound- I swear- was one of the most-horrifying sounds ever to fill my ears in my entire life.
“Hey.”
Nails on a chalkboard; it’s him. Suddenly a small flame of fear begins to grow inside of me, along with panic. Where’s Grissom? When did he leave; why did he leave?
I look at Adam, watching as he walks into the room, keeping his gaze directed at me. Slowly he closes the door, never tearing his eyes away from me as he does so. Damn it, he’s closing the door; I don’t want him to close the door!
“Are you a spiritual person?” he asks me.
I think I heard the lock click. It’s clear to me what his intentions are.
“Sometimes,” I try to reply as calmly as possible. Assess the situation, Sara, don’t freak out. That’s what he wants. Compose yourself and whatever you do… don’t let him know how scared you are, I try to tell myself. I turn so that I’m facing him completely; I don’t want to leave any part of myself in the line of fire.
“Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?” he asks me, slowly moving closer and closer to me. This just causes me to instinctively move back toward the cabinets. I felt like I was a kid again, hiding in my closet because my dad was home earlier than expected. “That bad things happen to teach us a karmic lesson?” he continues.
Is… he saying that what he’s about to do to me… is to teach me a lesson?
Slowly I reach behind myself- emphasis on slowly. I don’t want to do anything to lead him onto what I’m doing, and I don’t want to panic him. Reaching behind me and feeling around the desk, my fingers latch onto something long and skinny- it’s a syringe, I deduct. Only… it’s no longer a syringe. It’s a knife. I’m no longer myself- I’m her. And Adam’s no longer Adam Trent- he’s my father.
“You know, maybe all our problems can be cured by… tuning into a higher frequency,” Adam suggests. I can only wonder what he means exactly by that. “There’s this one guy I read; he thinks that illness, anxiety, and fear all occur when… someone’s vibrating at ten thousand cycles a second,” he informs me. Now he’s much too close to me.
Nodding slowly to pretend that I’m listening, I quickly uncap the syringe behind my back and lash out at him. I wonder if this must be how my mother felt when she killed my father. But this is me, and I can’t let Adam overpower me, I can’t let him beat me. I’m not weak and helpless, and I will not become another one of his nameless victims.
Unfortunately, that was what Adam was hoping for. He wanted me to fight back.
And I should’ve known.
As soon as I made a move to try and stab him with the needle, he springs into action; I can tell he’s getting more and more excited with each move I make. Damn it, the bastard’s excited. He quickly moves so that I’m standing in front of him and the syringe falls to the floor as he wraps his arms around my shoulders. For all it was worth I struggled, though I now realize I probably shouldn’t have. I just ended up exhausting myself, and I need my strength- All of my strength.
He wrestles me to the floor and now I really start to panic. If he gets me on my back…
No. No, he’s not going to do that!
I try to elbow him to free myself but he’s holding onto me too tight. Despite his strong grip I keep my hands on his arm in some feign hope that his grip will loosen allowing me to free myself. I can feel his hands on me, oh god I can feel his hands on me. I feel something against my back… I want to gag. His arms’ wrapped around my shoulders, unobtrusively touching my chest as he reaches into his pocket to get something. What is he getting? I don’t want to know.
Finally I see it- it’s a hardened ceramic piece of clay and he holds it against my throat. Is this how I’m going to die…? Is this really what I’ve been living for all these years?
“If they could all just get up to a hundred cycles a second, they’d be in the realm of sound, light, and spirit and everything would be just fine, right?” Adam asks me, holding onto me even tighter as I try and free myself.
Slowly I nod, not knowing what else to do. My life is in his hands… and the ball is once again in Adam’s court. “Yeah.”
“You know what I think?” he asks me. “I think I’m just vibrating at the wrong frequency.” Translation: There’s nothing wrong with me.
Yes there is! I want to scream. I struggle against him once more, afraid of what he’s going to do next.
“Don’t,” he warns me, pushing the clay piece against my neck even harder.
“It’s okay,” I reassure him. Why am I reassuring him?
He’s got me right where he wants me… and I can’t stop him.
As I leave the nurses’ station, I once again think about turning back. I can’t help but notice that I am about to leave Sara alone, unarmed, in a place where there are criminally insane and sexually violent predators roaming free. I am slightly disturbed by this notion, until I remember the fact that Sara actually told me that it was okay for me to leave, without even looking up from the evidence that she had been analyzing. Her reaction means that I am not such a terrible supervisor, right? She could have asked me to stay with her, had she wanted me to, or she could have offered to come with me. She could have even offered to go in my place, leaving me by myself in the nurses’ station, rather than herself. But the fact of the matter is that Sara did none of those things; she told me that it was okay for me to go, and so I did. I left her alone, unarmed, in a place where there is at least one crazed killer running free. I can’t help but wonder if I’m being an unenlightened idiot.
Except the truth is that now I am a little bit worried about Sara. As I hear my footsteps echoing down the length of the hallway—the endless hallway—my mind once begins to wander. Regardless of the fact that I am leaving her alone, I want her to be safe, and every step that I take, leads me further and further away from her, and further and further away from allowing me to keep protect her.
Picking up my speed—just in case—I approach a security guard at the end of the hallway, with the intent of asking him to help me locate someone who can unlock the desks in the nurses’ station for us. He points me toward another open door, and before walking through it, I hesitate for a brief moment; now, I am not only leaving Sara alone in the nurses’ station, but I am also leaving her alone in this hallway; well, except for the lone security guard, I immediately remind myself. Sighing, I hesitantly shuffle toward the door, glancing over my shoulder at the security guard once more, before silently walking through the door. I vow to return to Sara as quickly as possible.
And the only other thought that I have running through my mind is that I’d better not be making a big mistake, and that she better be unharmed when I finally return to her side.
A couple of minutes later, I shuffle back down the hallway, following one of the orderlies. I haven’t been gone for very long, so I know that Sara will be okay. At least I hope that she will be okay, anyhow. Nearing the nurses’ station, I frown, trying not to feel nervous. There is absolutely nothing to feel nervous about, really. I haven’t actually been gone long enough for something bad to happen.
So why is it that when we reach the nurses’ station, the door is closed? I left the door open; I know that I did, and… now it’s closed. The orderly jiggles the lock, and all of a sudden, I know that one of my worst nightmares is about to come true: one of my criminalists—Sara, no less—is in trouble, and this time, it is all my fault.
Quickly waltzing around the orderly, I rest my hands on the window, looking through the glass. My heart stops, as my fears are confirmed. I see Sara, held against her will, with Adam Trent holding something sharp against her neck. Dear God, I think to myself. Oh dear God, what have I done?
His hands are on me, he’s on me and I can’t make him stop. He’s rough just like my father was.
“I’m gonna get you, Sara!”
Damn it, no, not right now… no, I can’t be having these stupid thoughts now…
“Daddy, stop it, you’re scaring me!”
No, no, no, no…
“Come on sweetheart- it’s just a little game, I promise!”
“Do you think I’m smart?” Adam asks me, beginning to cry. Adam’s voice brings me back to reality. Why is he crying? He has no reason to cry, he’s got me right where he wants me and I have no way out…just like my father.
“Yeah,” I tell him. Even though I want to say no, the sharp clay pressed against my neck reminds me that I don’t have much of a choice. How am I supposed to beat him…? How did… Mom beat Dad?
“Yeah?” he asks me. And then that’s when I noticed him standing in the window- Grissom. He looks… I don’t know how to describe the way he looks. He’s staring at me through the window with wide eyes, looking as terrified as I must look right now. I don’t want to die, and I don’t want Adam to touch me like this!
But I’m going to die here. I can already see it now; Catherine, Nick, Warrick and Greg would come in with their kits. Grissom would probably be with Doc Robbins in my autopsy. There would be a pool of my blood all over the floor; a void where my body was. The ALS would bring up traces of semen and pulled-out hair. I would’ve died from the wound to my neck- I’d bleed out. I’d stare up at Grissom on the metal slab in the morgue with cold, lifeless eyes.
Just like Debbie Marlin.
“Uh-huh,” I assure Adam once more as Grissom keeps his gaze directed at me. I’m absolutely terrified, and all the weaponless-defense training in the world couldn’t have prepared me for the day I actually need it. I’m close to tears now; he’s going to do it, he’s touching me and he’s going to kill me and there’s nothing I can do or say to stop him without just inadvertently turning him on even more.
Grissom, make him stop!
Glancing through the tiny window, I feel like my heart can’t decide whether it wants to beat so fast that it nearly leaps out of my chest, or whether it just wants to stop all together from sheer panic and worry...
…Because the truth of the matter is that I am terrified for Sara. She is obviously scared out of her mind, and why shouldn’t she be? She is pressed between the legs of a man who desperately wants to rape her, and who has his arms around her chest, with something that looks like a ceramic knife held to her neck. Although I note that Adam is crying, I return my complete attention to Sara, watching her every move. She seems to be answering question after question posed by Adam—questions and answers that I cannot hear—, and I have no idea how she is managing to do so; she has to be absolutely terrified, and I know that it is hard to concentrate on something when you are scared to death. Death. Sara is not going to die. She won’t.
With my hands pressed against the window, I try to remain calm for Sara’s sake when I notice her looking at me, as I plead with the orderly to open the door. “Oh, dear God,” I say, somehow keeping my voice calm and steady, with only my words indicating how truly concerned I really am for her safety. “Open the door,” I order the other man, swallowing, as I helplessly watch Adam once again press the ceramic knife to Sara’s throat.
Fumbling with the keys, the orderly frowns, glancing at me for a brief moment. “I can’t,” he tells me. “I don’t have the right key!”
“Just open it,” I repeat, oddly remaining quiet, and refusing to take my gaze off of Sara. A part of my brain realizes that this is the first time that I have ever asked someone to do something possibly out of his or her control, using irrationality, rather than rationality, to guide my thoughts and actions. But this is Sara that we are talking about, and the situation is getting worse and worse by every passing moment. I know that if the orderly takes any longer to unlock the door, Sara could possibly lose her life, and that is not an option that I am willing to deal with.
Listening to the keys jangling once again, I stare through the window, wanting to scream at what I am witnessing. The air is thick with fear and tension, and I am once again struck with frustration over not being able to help Sara. Damn, I yell at myself. Why did you ever leave her alone? She’s going through this nightmare, because you left her alone!
“Please, open the door,” I repeat for the third time in as many seconds, as I notice Adam becoming more and more agitated. My worry only increases tenfold, when he notices that I may gaze is riveted to Sara’s face.
Grissom's saying something- I can see his lips moving... but what is he saying? Oh, what I would give to be able to hear his voice right now. I have to settle for just exchanging terrified glances at him for now, though, as my life is in the hands of a psychotic rapist.
Looking at Grissom for a minute, I note that he looks strangely calm... he's telling with his eyes that everything will be okay. How...? I try to ask him with my eyes. How will everything be okay...? His response is just a firm, steady glance my way. That enough was reassurance to me that I would make it out of here.
And looking at Grissom, the will to fight grows stronger inside of me. I do have a reason to live, and I can't let Adam hurt me. I cannot and I will not let him get what it is that he wants.
Suddenly Adam starts to speak again; damn it, he's noticed that Grissom and I are looking at each other, and obviously he doesn't like that.
"Don't you move a muscle," Adam hisses, looking over at Grissom as if to warn him as well. "I will grind you, you bitch, you hear me?" he asks me harshly.
...Grind me? Grind me with what? Grind... what with what?
I don't want to know. Even though I want to shake him off of me, like I'm a shaggy dog after a bath, I manage to nod slowly and look down at the floor for fear of him snapping. One slash and I'm dead; my life is in his hands. Damn it, I want to look at Grissom!
"Do not look at them!" Adam tells me.
"Okay," I assure him, keeping my eyes fixed on the cold linoleum floor I'm sitting on.
"You keep your eyes on the floor!" he yells. He's enjoying this power that he has over me at the moment; the lights and alarms flashing and beeping are all part of his game. He has me and this is what he wants. He wants an audience, he wants to show these people just what he's capable of. I'm his test subject.
Once again, I am left with the desire to tell Sara that everything will be okay; to ignore the rapist sitting behind her, and to focus her attention on me. You’ll make it through this alive, Sara, I desperately want to tell her with my words, settling on trying to convey that particular message with my steady gaze. For a moment, my efforts seem to work, as Sara visibly calms down—or at least stops struggling against Adam’s grip, long enough to breathe.
But things start to go from bad to worse, as Adam becomes increasingly unstable. He still has her tightly pressed between his legs, his arms wrapped around her body, and the knife pressed into the side of her throat. Now, however, he is even more agitated and frantic, yelling at Sara, while glancing at me. “Don’t you move a muscle!” he tells her. “I will grind you, you bitch. You hear me?”
Sara nods, immediately reverting her gaze to the floor, the pained expression once again appearing on her face. “Okay,” she manages to get out, the fear extremely evident in her voice.
God, Sara, I think to myself. Oh, dear God. And then after a split second, Yes, I hear you, Adam. But don’t you dare hurt her. And don’t you talk about grinding anything, anywhere, against—or even near—her body. If you touch her any further than you already are, or if you hurt her any more than you already are, so help me God, you will live to regret the moment that you entered that nurses’ station. In fact, you should already be regretting that particular moment in your sorry little life, because I will get you for this. I will find the evidence, and I will have you thrown into jail so fast, that you won’t have any idea what hit you.
As the bells, whistles, and lights start to flash throughout the hallway, Adam’s words pull me out of my reverie. “Do not look at them!” he practically hisses at Sara, clenching her even more tightly. “You keep your eyes on the floor!” But why? I wonder to myself. Why can’t she look at me? Does he want her as scared as possible? What harm can her looking at me, and I at her, possible cause?
I do not have the opportunity to think about this any further, as I watch Sara comply. She has no choice but to listen to Adam, and at this point, I just want her to live; I want her to do anything that she can possibly do, to get out of this situation in one piece.
All of a sudden, I slightly jump, as Nurse McKay comes running down the hallway, immediately pressing her hands tightly against the glass the moment that she reaches the nurses’ station. “Wait!” she screams, startling me. Wait? What does she want him to wait for? And aside from being a nurse at the hospital, why does she look so anguished? Her anguish does not appear to be for Sara, I can’t help but notice. In fact, she attention is completely focused on Adam. Why is that?
Once again watching Sara and Adam, I take note of his pained expression. Does he not like Nurse McKay?
“Adam!” McKay shouts at him.
And that does it; Adam goes wild, ignoring Sara, and immediately loosening his grip on her body. Pointing the ceramic piece at the nurse, he stands up, finally releasing Sara. “You! You, go away!” he yells at Nurse McKay.
Get out of there, Sara. Run! He’s letting you go! Just get out of there, before he does something else to hurt you. Please, I want to tell her. Please, just go, before he changes his mind!
Adam seems extremely terrified that Nurse McKay is here, but for me at this moment she appearing is a gift from god. I feel his grip loosening as he notices she's there. Once his full attention has been fixed on Nurse McKay, I elbow Adam- almost shuddering as his hand brushes against me for one final time- and grunt in both anger and fear as I bolt toward the door, crawling on all fours.
As if on cue the door is thrown open and I plow through it, running as fast as I can to get out of there. That room- no, this place- is suffocating me, and there's no way out. I completely ignore Grissom as I walk down a long hallway; I want to be as far away from other people as possible at the moment. I don't give a damn about anyone else right now. I'm spinning out of control and I can't stop myself.
Finally reaching the end of the hallway, I let out all of my anger, fear, and a frustration by slamming my hands against the gated window. How could I have been so stupid? I was absolutely terrified in there! I gave him the upper edge! I let him intimidate me, and I let him use me as some tool for his amusement!
Resting my head against the gated window, I look through the glass and watch the rain drip down. I'm trapped. Maybe I deserve this; I was stupid. I should've followed Grissom to go get the keys to unlock the cabinets in the nurse's station, not stayed there and practically just ask for something like this to happen.
This must be similar to how staying at this place was for my mother. I bet she felt so vulnerable, insecure, and scared- no, terrified- of other people.
I don't want anyone to so much as shoot a glance my way at the moment. I need to calm down or I'm going to lose myself for good... and I can't afford to let that happen.
I once again find myself looking on helplessly, as Sara elbows Adam in the stomach, knocking him over. Good job, I want to tell her, as she uses Nurse McKay’s presence as a distraction to run toward the door of the room. Before I even have a chance to process the fact that she is escaping, however, my eyes widen, as I observe Adam lurch to his feet, glaring at Nurse McKay, and then immediately slicing his neck open with the piece of pottery. I can’t… I can’t believe that he just did that! That’s… I can’t believe it!
I feel like I am stuck in some bad Stephen King horror movie, with the flashing lights and the sirens contributing to the surreal feeling of what is going on around me. Everything feels like it is moving in slow motion, and my anxiety is only intensifying as things unravel even more.
“Adam! Stop!” Nurse McKay shouts, as Sara rushes past her, ignoring everyone—including myself.
I watch Sara retreat down the hallway, before Nurse McKay’s voice brings me back to what is going on in the nurses’ station. “Get a medic in here!” she almost cries.
I watch for a moment, and observe the orderly and the guard trying to hold Adam down, as he also cries. “Hold still,” the guard orders him. “Apply some pressure,” he tells his colleagues.
Nurse McKay immediately moves into the nurses’ station, kneeling beside the three other people, pressing her hand against Adam’s neck. God help me, I watch for a moment, realizing that it is not Adam whom I care about; I am more concerned with Sara, and I want to know how she is doing.
Returning my attention to her, I silently watch as she struggles to reach the end of the hallway, where she throws her hands against the gated window in a fit of panic, or desperation, or even just raw fear; right now, there is no doubt in my mind that she is shaky, terrified, and barely keeping it together. I want to help her; I really do, except… I don’t know what to say, or what to do, in order to make her feel better.
“Where is it? Where is it?” Nurse McKay shouts. Where’s what? I don’t care where it is, whatever you’re talking about!
Still watching Sara at the end of the hallway, I resist the urge to walk to her side, and hold her. She has her head on the window, and she still looks terrified, and… there is nothing that I can do to help her; yet, that is.
Still watching Sara, but listening to what is taking place in the nurses’ station, I frown. Adam is still crying, and Nurse McKay is yelling about needing help in there. Well you know what? I want to shout at her. I need help out here, too. Sara needs help. And right now, Sara is more important to me than some sick, kidnapping, rapist bastard.
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TO BE CONTINUED
. I always get so happy when I see the Psycho topic all lit up, in that cozy blue color indicating that someone other than Raven or myself has written something! And I'm really glad that you liked this chapter! The next couple of ones are going to have SO many Grissom/Sara moments... I think between Raven and I, we've watched the next couple of scenes at least 50 times, analyzing every minute detail 