Not Just Words

Disclaimer: Gil Grissom, Lady Heather, and any materials relating to CSI episodes are not my property. They belong to CBS and the writers and producers of the series. No copyright infringement intended and most definitely no money made.

The cold night air was in the Tahoe with him now. The
engine, and therefore the heat, had been off for the past five
minutes. Inside the parked SUV, Gil Grissom was considering his
possible actions and the probable consequences for each.

He had stopped directly across the street from The
Dominion, intending to knock on the door and ask to speak with Lady
Heather. It had seemed the obvious way to put an end to the month-
long silence between them, and he had left the lab certain that the
rift would be mended. When he turned the key, that confidence had
died along with the motor.

Grissom's mind had replayed their final conversation at
least daily since it took place. Each time, he told himself that his
job had to take priority over his personal feelings. He had not
believed Heather was involved with the deaths his office was
investigating, but he had to be sure. He was sorry his actions had
been hurtful to her, and he tried to tell her, but his attempt at an
apology had failed. The trust he had seen in her expression
previously was gone, and the chill in her voice was unmistakable.
"Apologies are only words," she had responded, on her way out of the
building, and, he feared, his life.

Now, he wondered if his idea to make another attempt to
explain was wise. He had no reason to think that her point of view
had changed, but he had to try to explain the reasons behind his
actions. After her rebuff, he had thought about the phone call he
made that morning, after their first and only night together, and how
it must have sounded to her.

Given the requirements for admissible evidence, he could have asked
her for her medical supplies without the formality of a warrant. If he
had, he knew there would be more chance of the evidence's validity
being questioned, and Heather remaining a potential suspect. The
warrant, ironically, made the results showing her innocence more
credible. He did his job in the best way he could. Unfortunately, he
now realized, he had not taken the time to explain that to her.
Particularly after the trust she had shown in him the night before, he
could all too clearly see how she had been wounded by his call for a
warrant.

He shivered, and looked at her door again, knowing it was time for a
decision. He closed his eyes for a moment, removed the key from the
ignition, and climbed out of the Tahoe.

The lights were on in the downstairs of the large house, and in a few
second-floor rooms. On either side of the porch, flame tip bulbs
burned in wrought iron and glass fixtures. Their light cast an
incandescent glow, creating a slanted double shadow of the man
climbing the steps. He hesitated for a second before lifting the
heavy brass knocker and announcing his presence. It would be
humiliating to be turned away, but Gil knew he could more easily deal
with rejection than the lingering guilt he felt about his actions.

He took a deep breath, and knocked.