Weak in the Presence of Beauty

A/N: Sometimes my mind goes off on a tangent and this is the result of one of those tangents! My first GSR story. Set after Goodbye and Good Luck.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, with the exception of Joel, Kate and Emily.

Gil Grissom sunk into his office chair with a heavy sigh, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. A habit he'd unwittingly developed when he was stressed, tired or contemplative. Currently, he was feeling all of the above. He'd just completed a tiresome double shift, the third that week. He was physically and mentally drained but he didn't care. He needed the escape from reality that his job provided. Anything to distract his mind from the pain of his fiancée's departure.

It had been almost three weeks since he'd opened that letter and discovered that Sara had left him. He had re-read it every day since. Each time he read her heartfelt message he silently hoped that there would be a different ending. Something that would provide him with hope. But alas, each time the note ended with that one single word that caused his heart to ache cripplingly; goodbye.

Gil took slight comfort in the fact that Sara had made it vehemently clear that she still loved him and that she always would. Although that flicker of comfort did very little to fill the gaping hole in his broken heart. Part of him thought that it would be easier for him to hate Sara; for not confiding in him about just how much she was hurting, for not allowing him to support her if she was to self destruct but mostly for destroying the beautiful relationship they had built. He shook his head to rid himself of these dark thoughts. Grissom knew that no matter what, he could never feel anything but love and adoration for Sara.

He was pulled from his thoughts by his computer making a beeping sound, signalling the arrival of a new email. His weary eyes flicked to the screen and he thought for a moment that he was hallucinating upon seeing the identity of the sender – 'Sara Sidle'. The subject field was blank, giving him no indication of what to expect. He momentarily squeezed his eyes shut and released a long sigh before clicking into the message. He leaned closer to the screen, resting on his elbows and began to read.

Gil,

I'm so sorry. For so many reasons. But especially for not having the decency to say goodbye to you in person. Putting it in a letter was cowardly, I know. I'm not proud of myself for the way I've treated you. Please, know that hurting you was not my intention. Neither was leaving you, actually. I needed to leave Vegas, the lab, before I broke down completely and sadly that meant leaving you too. I was left with little choice but to sacrifice our relationship for the sake of my sanity. I hate that I allowed myself to become so broken. I hate that I destroyed everything we had. Despite the fact I had to get away, I have no doubt I will regret it every day for the rest of my life.

I know you're angry and disappointed in me. You have every right to be. Hell, you're probably cursing the day you met me. At the time when I said goodbye at the end of that letter, I truly meant it. It was supposed to be final, like the closing of a long but incredible chapter of my life. But every day since I've found myself hovering over your name in my contact list, desperately wanting to hear your voice. I must have written and discarded a dozen emails and texts. I said I'd miss you with every beat of my heart, and I do. I never knew it was possible to miss somebody so, so much that it caused physical pain.

Once I'd left, it became apparent to me where I needed to begin in order to lay those ghosts to rest. I needed to visit my mother. I did some digging and found out that she was still living in Tomales Bay, in a care facility, and I got the next available flight back there. I hadn't seen Mom since I was twelve years old, since she was taken away by the police after killing my father. I was stricken with nerves on the flight over; my mind creating hundreds of scenarios. Would she hate me for not keeping in touch? Would it feel awkward and uncomfortable, considering she was practically a stranger? And mostly, would it in fact bring more ghosts to light instead of putting them to bed? I could hear this little voice in the back of my mind screaming at me to turn around and go back to Vegas but I knew I had to at least give her a chance.

And I am so glad I did. When I saw the unconditional love in her eyes as we walked towards each other, wordlessly holding each other in the warmest of embraces, instantly I felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I can't even begin to explain the emotions running through me as she told me she'd never given up hope that she'd see me again. We talked for hours and hours about anything and everything. I guess we had a hell of a lot to catch up on; 23 years worth in fact! Considering I've never been one for deep conversations, especially not about my past, I found it surprisingly therapeutic to talk things through with her.

I started with that fateful day back in 1984 and worked through to the present. I gave her a very brief description of what it was like growing up within the care system. I could see the guilt and shame in her eyes as I spoke and so I quickly moved on. When I told her about my scholarship to Harvard, then going to Berkeley and graduating with honors, she cried. She actually cried. She was a little shocked at my "morbid" career choice when I told her about my first job, at the coroner's lab in San Francisco. I mentioned that I attended a Forensics Academy conference back in 1998 where I met this handsome and charming entomologist, and that it was at that point where I knew exactly what I wanted from life, and not just in a professional capacity.

I went on to tell her about relocating to Vegas when the opportunity arose. She found the concept amusing, which it is if you think about it – a straight-laced introvert like myself feeling at home in the garish and unforgiving city of Las Vegas. I guess it's true what they say about a place itself not being a home but the people in it.

I spent a long time telling her all about my time in Vegas - about the job and what being a CSI actually entails; about the lab itself; a little bit about various 'encounters with the enemies' as I put it; but mainly about the wonderful people I've had the pleasure of working with. Whilst we were on the topic of wonderful people, she asked me about my personal life and whether there was anyone special in it. I told Mom that there had only ever been, and ever will be, one special person. She was intrigued to hear that I'd carried a torch for this guy since our first meeting at that conference and how that socially inept genius became my boss, my mentor, my friend, my confidante, my partner and finally my fiancé. I'd kind of expected her to be disappointed that I'm not married with children and perhaps a little taken aback by our age difference but if she was, I didn't notice it. I showed her the couple of pictures that I keep in my wallet; one of the team that was taken when Greg joined and my favorite one of the two of us. You know the one, when we took Hank for a walk along Lake Mead and he kept jumping in piles of fallen leaves. Mom gazed at the photos for an eternity, smiling from ear to ear. She'd like to meet you one day, to shake your hand and thank you for taking care of me and making me happy. That and because she thinks you're "dashing".

Once she'd finally stopped drooling over you, she filled me in on what life has been like for her. All I knew previously was that she'd been sent to an institution for a psychological assessment where she was diagnosed with schizophrenia (as you know) then she was put on trial for my father's murder in Modesto, California. I guess I was too young at the time to fully understand and so I wasn't told any further details. I understood that she'd committed a serious crime and would no doubt be incarcerated for it; I didn't feel the need to know anything more than that. She told me she was charged with Manslaughter on account of the long term abuse she was subjected to as well as her mental state. She served 7 years of her sentence and was then released to a care facility. She said she was "passed around like a parcel" between different facilities, much like I was as a kid, before settling back in Tomales Bay about 8 years ago. Mentally, she's doing well thanks to the medication but she's not really in the best of health otherwise. She's only in her early sixties but you wouldn't know it to look at her. She's a little haggard to be brutally honest. She says she's tired a lot and I don't think she just means it in the physical sense. I think she's tired in the same way that I was when I left Vegas.

Mom's face lit up when she told me she's back in contact with my brother. Just hearing his name kind of knocked me for six. Joel and I were separated when we taken into foster care and I never saw him again. He was 17 then, almost legally old enough to be responsible for himself. I'd hoped he'd reach 18 and move on, build himself a new life, away from the stares and the gossip. I never let go of the hope that I'd hear from him one day but with the care system as tight on confidentiality as it is, I knew deep down it was highly unlikely. So I pushed all thoughts of him to the back of my mind. It wasn't until I was in college when I began to wonder what Joel had become. He did get himself into a little trouble as a teenager, (I remember telling you about the drugs I found under his bed one time), and I was worried that he'd gone down the wrong path. But thankfully I was proven wrong.

Mom was about to tell me everything when she stopped mid sentence and reached for her cell. Without another word, she called him. She got all choked up telling Joel I was here. I would've found it amusing to watch her all flustered if I wasn't so emotional myself. Next thing I know Joel's on his way over! Turns out he stuck around in California, Santa Rosa to be exact, only 40 minutes away from here. Within the hour, the masculine version of me bursts through the door. Alright, he's taller and broader than me but the resemblance is uncanny. We just stared at each other for what could have been seconds or could have been hours, time became irrelevant. I could see tears beginning to sparkle in his eyes despite the fact he was trying to hold them back as much as I was. I guess being repeatedly told as a child that crying made you look weak stuck with him too. Suddenly he took a step closer to me and engulfed me in a hug. I held on to him so tightly as if he'd disappear if I let go. Once we pulled apart and wiped away the pesky tears that decided to fall of their own accord, we sat down and fully reacquainted ourselves.

Joel has lived all around California but finally settled in Santa Rosa about 10 years ago, when he met Kate who quickly became his wife. Turns out he was even living in San Francisco whilst I was there, not far from the coroner's lab. Crazy to think that we could have crossed paths without even knowing. He studied Law at San Francisco State University and is now working as a Defense Attorney in Santa Rosa. (I know I always say how much I despise lawyers but I'm willing to make an exception just this once). He met Kate through his work – she's a legal secretary – and they were married within the year. He took some photos out of his wallet and showed me his family; him, Kate and their daughter, Emily. My niece.

It had crossed my mind in the past that Joel may have children but to actually be told that I'm an aunt was just...wow. He shocked me further by telling me that both Kate and Emily were waiting in the car and desperate to meet me! Before I had a chance to get my head around it all, this beautiful dark-haired girl comes bounding in and wraps her little arms around my waist. The innocence and trusting nature of children will never cease to amaze me. She looked up at me and simply said;

"Hello Aunt Sara. My name's Emily and I'm 6 and ¾ . Can I draw you a picture?"

I think my heart melted.

After being quickly introduced to Kate, I sat down and Emily instantly jumped onto my lap clutching a notepad and crayons. As she drew, she chatted excitedly about fairies and dinosaurs and goodness knows what else. The whole situation was so surreal but despite me never being any good with kids, it felt surprisingly natural. As I sat there, watching Mom talking to Joel and Kate while I stroked Emily's hair as she contentedly scribbled, realization hit me. I was part of a proper, happy, family unit for the first time in my life. It's a little bizarre to explain as I don't really understand it myself but at that exact moment, I felt a little more complete. I'm sure if I'd have listened hard enough I would've heard some of those damn ghosts digging their own graves.

You're probably wondering why I'm telling you all of this. Truth be told, I don't really know. Maybe I'm just so used to talking to you. Maybe it's because I don't want you to worry about me, (I know you will have been a little worried – sorry, "concerned") - despite the fact I really don't deserve the courtesy. Maybe I just want to let you know that I'm alright. I'm not jumping-for-joy-happy but I'm doing okay. Definitely better than I was a few weeks ago.

Give the guys my love. I owe them an apology also; I hope they're not too mad at me. Take care of yourself. That means NOT pulling so many double shifts. Don't even think about denying it, Gilbert.

I love you. I always will.

Sara

Grissom sat back in his chair and rubbed his hand over his weary face. Before he had the opportunity to collect his thoughts, his computer beeped again indicating that he'd received another email from Sara. The subject line read 'Meet Emily, my niece!' and there was a photograph attached. Grissom closed his eyes briefly then clicked into the message.

On the left of the photograph was a pretty little girl, smiling sweetly. Her brunette curls were a stark contrast to her ivory complexion, akin to that of a porcelain doll. The child was holding her drawing up to the camera. Although to him it was nothing more than a bunch of squiggles, the girl clutched it with such pride it may has well have been the Mona Lisa.

Grissom's eyes then wandered to the other half of the photograph and he gasped. Sara was sporting a beaming smile similar to that of her niece, who he would presume was her daughter if he didn't know better. Her hair sat in loose curls on her shoulders; he'd always had a fondness for her natural hairstyle. The sparkle in her chocolate brown eyes had returned, accentuating her features. Gil couldn't help but smile at the vision in front of him. Sara Sidle; the woman who had held his heart to ransom since she captured it all 9 years ago; had never looked more beautiful.

Without hesitation, Grissom fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone and dialled a number that was so familiar to him.

"Gil?" Sara's nervous voice floated through the speaker.

"Sara." He responded quietly, as if he couldn't quite believe it was her.

Silence fell upon them as Grissom's gaze fixed on the photograph again, his fingers gently tracing the outline of her face on the screen.

"Sara." He repeated, this time with confidence. "Come home. Whenever you feel ready. Take as much time as you need, I don't care how long it takes, I'll wait for you. I need you, Sara."

When she didn't respond immediately, he continued.

"I love you, Sara. I always will." Unbeknownst to Grissom, Sara smiled at his use of the very same words she'd said to him. "Please, just say you'll come home."

There was a brief pause before Sara answered in almost a whisper.

"I will."