Change

by Joan Powers

A/N: Although this is not a holiday fic, it was inspired by the holiday movies I've been watching. Since fan fiction is ultimately for fixing and I haven't been pleased with the official version for quite some time, here's how I would spin things. Thanks to Karen for the helpful feedback.

Summary: What if all the CSI episodes that occurred after "Good Bye and Good Luck" were only Grissom's nightmare?

Type: angst/romance GSR

Timeline/Spoilers: "Good Bye and Good Luck" with Season 9 references up to and including "Woulda, Coulda, Shoulda"

Rating: K/PG

Grissom awoke with a start. Heart hammering in his chest, he sat up in bed to glance at the glowing digital clock display. He settled back against the pillow, trying to slow his breathing, only to have the gaping empty space beside him remind of Sara's absence.

He reached towards the bedside table to touch her letter, reminding himself that she had only left hours before rather than over a year ago as his overly realistic dream had suggested. Her lingering scent in the sheets supported that assumption as well. What an odd dream it had been.

Sara had gone to San Francisco to confront the ghosts of her past. She'd called him on occasion, though she'd never offered many details regarding her situation. Although he was anxious to help, he would never pry, assuming Sara would broach the subject when and if she wanted to. Somehow, that had never occurred. For months, he'd existed on those paltry phone exchanges.

Arranging his pillows behind his back so he could sit up more comfortably, the concept was appalling to him. He had no idea how he was going to face the next day without Sara, let alone the next few months. Lowering his guard to allow her into his heart and his life had taken enormous effort. When Natalie had kidnapped Sara, he'd been terrified. Sara brought a joy to his life that he had rarely experienced. To garner his courage after all those years to finally embrace that joy, only to lose her so soon would've been a devastating blow. Yet, this very next morning, he would be facing that daunting prospect. His stomach churned.

Sara's abrupt departure had stunned him. When he'd first read her letter, he was in denial.

She doesn't mean it. She'll be home when I get there. She needs some time to calm down, that's all.

Not that he was denying her inner turmoil. After her abduction, as much as he'd tried to pretend life had returned to normal, he was fully aware that it hadn't. That night he'd made an effort to get home early, only to be greeted by an empty condo.

After her ordeal, he'd been so relieved to have her back, he'd been willing to overlook the signs of her unhappiness that she so cleverly tried to mask - her emotional outbursts, her growing disillusionment with the job. Sara had always invested herself emotionally in the job and it was taking its toll. She hadn't been ready to return to work. Yet, she'd wanted it so badly, he hadn't made waves. It hadn't been a good idea for her to transfer to a different shift either, yet she'd insisted upon that as well. He'd longed for her to be happy so he'd acquiesced, taking the path of least resistance.

To his surprise, in the dream, his life in Vegas appeared to continue as usual. The details of multiple cases came to him as if he'd actually worked them. The seemingly benevolent animal lover who secretly trained dogs to kill for sport and amusement. Hodges' bizarre who-dun-it game. The artist who used human corpses as his subjects and displayed them about the city in eerie life-like poses. The shooting in little Korea where a young boy had killed his negligent mother after she'd shot his uncle. Grissom's imagination had been working overtime, supplying such rich details.

Rubbing his temples, he tried to jog the memories of the dream while they were still fresh. The cases were simple to recall. But what had been going on with poor Warrick? It seemed like a soap opera. When his marriage had dissolved, he'd turned his focus to work. When Warrick had suggested there was corruption within the police department, the entire team, including Grissom, had turned a deaf ear. That seemed odd for if those allegations were true, it was certainly more than Warrick's concern. Feeling frustrated and abandoned, Warrick then made some poor choices – pursing independent investigation of a known mobster. Eventually he'd been implicated in the murder of the infamous Gedda. Although the team managed to exonerate Warrick, once he'd been ready to turn a new leaf, he was shot and killed.

Grissom squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to escape that vivid nightmarish image. His arms about Warrick, feeling the warmth of his body and his blood seeping into his shirt as the man struggled for his last breath. Haunted by the image, Grissom reached over to turn on a lamp, hoping the light might dispel that gruesome sight.

As he might have expected, Natalie had made an appearance in his dream as well. Unlike his previous nightmares, her presence didn't evoke desperation or anger. For some reason, he'd been fixated on the concept of change.

Rising from his pillows, Grissom shook his head. Why had he been so consumed by that question? He'd been in the business long enough to recognize that once criminals crossed a certain line, it was impossible for them to reform. Especially for those who had committed such heinous acts. He'd recognized that with Carl Fisher, the 'former' pedophile. During their interview he'd said the right words, he'd put on the appearance of contrite change. Grissom had wanted to believe him but the stats weren't in his favor. Carl's façade had crumbled as the investigation revealed the facts – that he had not reformed and had, in fact, harmed a young boy.

Rubbing his temples, Grissom tried to recall his logic in the dream. If Natalie could change, then perhaps he could? But…he'd already made drastic changes to allow Sara into his life in the first place. Nearly losing she and Nick within a period of weeks had shown him how fragile life was. How opportunities could be lost – forever. It had galvanized him into action which he'd never regretted. So why had he been so consumed by this concept in the dream?

Considering the turbulent emotions he was currently experiencing, it perplexed him that his dream self had been operating on some sort insidious autopilot, focusing so intently on his work. Catherine might have argued that nothing had changed, that Grissom had always been overly invested in his work. And perhaps, on the surface, it did appear that way. However, his dream self no longer derived pleasure from his work. He submerged himself in it to avoid thinking about Sara, about the life he no longer had. Even now, staring out the bedroom window at the distant lights of Vegas, he was struggling to contain his panic, to assure himself that Sara hadn't left him for good.

Our life together was the only home I've ever really had. I wouldn't trade it for anything.

A few years ago, he'd meant what he'd inadvertently confessed to Dr. Lurie in that interrogation room. For him to take such a chance on love, to take the risk that Sara wouldn't grow tired of him only to dump him – he didn't think he could do it. Rejection had been his greatest fear. He and Lurie weren't so different. Both men were committed to their work, to advancing their careers. Both had been offered a second chance at life, to actually breathe deeply, to experience it on an entirely different level. Lurie had been courageous and taken the risk. While it had lasted, he had reveled in it. Then she grew bored of him. Her rejection brought out the monster in him. Now Grissom was terrified that Sara leaving would bring that out in him, that he could become one of the sociopaths that he locked up.

But she hasn't left for good…

I love you. I always will. Good-bye.

Perhaps, in his fear of letting lose his monsters, his insecurities and pain, in the dream realm he'd shut himself down in order to cope. But there had been more to the dream. If only he could recall…

Of course, he'd buried the worst. After rising and padding into the kitchen to put the kettle on for hot water to make tea, a horrible conversation in his office between he and Sara came to mind. His empty mug slid out of his hand, crashing on the ceramic tile.

Sooner or later a relationship in stasis withers.

Who are we talking about here?

After Warrick had been shot, Sara had briefly returned to Vegas, only to sneak out of his life completely after he stupidly implied he wanted her to go. His hands shook as he swept up the mess. What had he been thinking?

Communication had never been one of his strong suites. And he'd never been the type of man to discuss every thought and sensation. Being in love, being in a relationship had not magically altered him like some miracle drug or the newly discovered faith of a zealot. Yet, his life had undoubtedly changed, improving since Sara had entered it. While the two of them would always be private people, over the two years they'd been a couple, they'd learned how to work together.

At least, he'd thought they had.

Then he reminded himself that he hadn't prodded Sara about her abduction, half afraid to mention it. Not discussing it had made it seem less real, less terrifying. He could avoid thinking about it altogether; pretend the incident had never happened. Sara never had that luxury. Despite her repeated assurances that she had everything under control, he should've insisted that she seek additional professional help.

In the dream, after Sara had left for the second time, there'd been no more phone calls. His next communication from her, a video email, had arrived over a month later. She'd joined the crew of the Sea Shepard – a research vessel. More importantly, she had released him from any further obligation to her.

What I am trying to say is - you don't have to worry about me anymore. I'm good. I'm really good and honestly I think it is better this way.

The Sea Shepard. Of all places, how had his subconscious come up with that one? In many respects, the details of his dream had been impressive. The evidence from all the cases he'd investigated had been logical and crystal clear. Yet there were holes in other respects. According to his dream, Sara had never even picked up her car from Vegas. Somehow she managed to pay rent for an apartment in Vegas and San Francisco for over a year, without maintaining a regular job. And while he could foresee that Sara might want to shift her career focus, he had trouble visualizing how this option would serve as a suitable transition.

In disgust, he banged his fist on the kitchen table. He was doing it again, what he'd been berating his dream self for - avoiding what was painful. Filling in any awkward blanks with the banal. Anything to dull the pain, to avoid thinking about controversial issues.

Once again, in the dream, he'd let Sara go without a fight, without a single word of protest. And this time, she'd left him for good.

Even though he'd made strides, such tremendous changes in his life, when faced with conflict in his dream, he'd regressed. Rather than risk facing conflict or discussing difficult emotional issues with Sara, he'd stepped back and done nothing. He'd thought that was all in his past, his tendency to go to extreme measures to avoid problems rather than deal with them head on. A few years ago, he'd ignored his hearing problem for as long as possible, foolishly hoping it would go away.

He stiffened as he realized that even recently he'd behaved in the same manner by avoiding any discussion of Sara's abduction and problematic work related issues. He sighed, disappointed in himself.

As the tea kettle whistled, he sensed he was currently at an impasse. His dream had shown him that life could indeed go on without Sara's daily presence. But was it the type of life he wanted? Essentially existing as a sleepwalker? Did he want to wake up the next morning and potentially set that hideous version of the future into motion?

What options did he have?

He couldn't force Sara to return to Vegas. That might not be the best option for her anyway. Yet if he could support her as she faced her demons – certainly that would have to help. He had leave time accumulated. He could take time off to locate her and support her during her crisis.

But would she want that?

Or would such rash actions drive her further away?

But sometimes not making a decision is making a decision.

He'd seen what inaction had cost him in his prophetic dream world. He'd already wasted years delaying his involvement with Sara in the first place. Why risk losing more time and possibly their entire future? Weren't the risks far less than the potential gains?

Could he change?

Ironically the question from his dream had traveled full circle.

In his dream, he'd resisted changing. He'd never asked Sara any hard questions, afraid of the potential answers. As badly as he'd wanted her back, he hadn't been willing to express himself honestly - to make himself vulnerable, to tell her how much he loved her and how deeply he missed her, to express his frustration about their situation or even suggest visiting or making future plans. By closing those doors, leaving their relationship essentially on hold, he had doomed them to stagnate.

The need for him to change arose from more than just the desire to have Sara back in Vegas. His recent behavior regarding her abduction had shown him that he had already been sliding towards a path that was not healthy for their relationship. In order for them to flourish as a couple, he needed to be more open and less afraid of conflict.

His resistance to change had affected other areas of his life as well. He'd been a crime scene investigator for years, longer than many of his esteemed colleagues. High burn out rates went hand in hand with the career choice. Even last year, Grissom sensed his heart was changing, even though he'd tried to deny it. That was why he'd so eagerly jumped at the chance to take a sabbatical. While the break had rejuvenated him, most likely it was time to start looking into other career options. The dream Grissom no longer had a passion for the job yet he had been too afraid to change. He simply clung to what he knew even though it was slowly killing him.

He needed to act – now. Decisively. The thought made him queasy, being contrary to his cautious nature. Could he take such risks? Or was he doomed to playing it safe and slowing suffocating in the remnants of his life?

If this dream was any sign of his potential future, he wanted no part of it. He had to try to change things, he couldn't face the bleak existence that nightmare revealed. In it, he was essentially dead. It would be difficult to stretch beyond his comfort zone. But anything was better than existing as a ghost.

He rose with purpose, striding towards his bedroom, vowing to contact Sara in the morning. He'd make sure that she knew how much he loved her. He'd go to where ever she was and would not leave until he felt she was getting the help she needed. He'd also start seriously researching other career options.

As he pulled up the covers, he wondered.

Would his actions make a difference?

Would Sara come back?

Could he find satisfaction along a different career path?

Would the quality of his life improve?

Most importantly, could he follow through on his resolve to change?

THE END