Blackbird
Author wobbear
Rating General/K
Pairing Grissom/Sara, Brass/LH
Disclaimer Not mine, never were.
Spoilers "Inspired", if you could call it that, by the final scene in 9x05 Leave Out All the Rest. And the Beatles song.
Author's note I'm not quite ready to say goodbye to the show and the characters who made me do the unthinkable, attempt to write. So here I am again. It's a little odd, and unbeta'd, so proceed at your peril. This is a sort of prologue. There's more to come; how much I'm not sure.
Summary Ages after the event, a LOATR fic.
1: The Dark Black Night
Gil Grissom has beautiful blue eyes, cornflower blue. They're the first thing I noticed about him. Bright eyes, sparkling with intelligence; "windows to the soul" they may be, but Grissom's are too often guarded, trying to conceal his thoughts, his deep-running feelings. Even so, I can see through the masks he wears, hides behind. How he seeks to protect his inner self from view, how he tries to brush off or ignore the people around him, people who care about him, who are concerned for his wellbeing in this troubled time, who are trying to penetrate his protective shield. I see it all. Not that I enjoy it, seeing him like this. But I understand it.
Tonight his eyes are dull, gray, empty. All the joy of life, of learning, of discovery, of problem solving, has left him. An amorphous cloud of pain, loneliness, despondency and despair cloaks Grissom. The light of his life has departed and he's floundering, adrift in a seething ocean – he can't touch the bottom, has no idea where it is, but he continues desperately treading water because if he stops he will drown.
I've never seen him like this, and I'm worried.
He's talking at last, but seems almost detached from reality. He needs to talk more, to think about what he's going to do, but he's just too tired.
First he needs rest, and I hope I can at least assist him with that. A quiet room, devoid of any associations with his life may give him a brief respite, time to re-group. Seeing him like this, this man who is normally so controlled, so self-contained, unravelling before my eyes is frightening. But he's come to me for help, in his diffident, non-communicative way he's reached out, whether or not he'd admit it. If I can help, I will.
Grissom has stopped talking for now, and may finally be exhausted enough to sleep. I reach out my hand, wordlessly asking him to get up, to follow me, to trust me. He's done the same for me in the past but I know he's not thinking about that now. He's beyond conscious thought. Reflex makes him respond, pressing his hands on his thighs as he shoves to his feet. He sways a little, then steadies himself.
I start to walk, checking over my shoulder to see that he's following. I conceal my sad smile of success when I see him close behind.
In the heavy silence I lead the way upstairs and show him into the guest room. Even now, in his parlous state, he's a gentleman, considerately bending to take off his shoes before lifting his legs and flopping onto the guest room bed with a weary sigh. I wonder about putting a folded cashmere throw blanket on the bed beside him, but he can get under the covers when he wants to. He needs to decide what to do, and when. I'll leave him to it.
As I'm pulling the door closed, he speaks, low and tentative. "Heather … would you stay?"
TBC