DISCLAIMER: Don't own anything associated with the show… I just like playing with the characters in it from time to time. Dance Monkeys! Dance!

RATING: M for Mature (adult situations)

SPOILERS: Through the US Aired Episodes

PAIRINGS: GSR

STATUS: WIP (1 of 4)

SUMMARY: From the glimmers of grief, Grissom begins to see a possible light in the worst darkness of his life.

A/N: Okay, this started out as a baby bunny, but it has now worked up into a surly goth teenager bunny cutting it's teeth on my brain. However, it still isn't reaching epic proportions. A 4 chapter treatment on something I wouldn't mind seeing on the screen.

GRATITUDE: With everyone writing or busy with life (including myself), I have gone back to read-only beta requests. And thankfully neither of them has killed me for the way I keep leaving the story when I send it to them in a fit of writer's neuroses. Oh, there have been death threats, questions about my parentage, and exclamations about my temperament, but so far the Grim Reaper has not darkened my door. Heaps of thanks and cyber-hugs to these lovely ladies for keeping me as sane as possible while the bunnies nibble on my gray matter!

REVIEWS: Reviews are the way I know if people are enjoying the work or not. So, if you leave one, THANKS! And if not, I hope you found at least a little something to brighten your day, and thanks for taking the time to read.

Chapter 1

The drive home after shift had become his least favorite activity since the day Sara walked away from him. He dreaded it in so many ways, not the least of which was the look on Hank's face as he entered the door alone. While the dog was always happy to see him, he would quickly get over it to stand watch at the door in the hopes that Sara would soon follow. She never did.

For two years, mornings were his favorite time of day. The shift was over, and work was put away for another day. But most importantly, in the morning, the charades were put away and his life was full of the warm comfort offered by his relationship with Sara. For the first time in his life, he did everything in his power to walk out of that lab when the work day was done, because life was waiting for him at home. When Sara left, she took all of that with her.

No matter how much she tried to assure him that she had not left him, he was still alone, and she was nowhere to be found. He got quick phone calls, brief emails, and the occasional letter, but they were not Sara, only the trail she left behind. Regardless of how many scenarios he ran through his mind, hoping to prepare himself for the inevitable day she would walk away, he never once imagined that it would be so very difficult to survive without her. And he had an excellent imagination.

His greatest frustration came from the fact that there seemed to have been nothing he could have done to prevent it, that it was through no real fault of his own. Or at least, that's what Sara kept telling him. He still had his doubts about the veracity of that argument, and he always would. There simply had to be something he could have done to prevent her from leaving that way, but the answer continued to elude him.

As he turned the last corner onto his street, he decided he was in no mood to pull into the garage and once again see her car there gathering dust. Settling the car into the visitor parking out front, he slowly climbed out. Feeling every year of his life as he stiffly walked to the door, he wondered if this was what it felt like to carry the weight of the world.

After stopping to grab the mail, he ambled toward the door, becoming preoccupied with the list of articles on the front cover of a psychology magazine Sara subscribed to, and tried to take comfort in the fact that she had yet to change her mailing address. After several months, the stack of unread magazines and journals was mounting. He had been forced to put them, and her other mail, into boxes; one for each month, but he kept them waiting at the front door, stacked in a corner. It was almost like an altar for his hope that she would someday return to him. Every time he opened the lid to place the mail inside, he said a prayer that the next time he would be placing the mail in her hands instead.

Still looking at the mail, he withdrew his keys and prepared to unlock the door. The moment the keys jangled from his pocket he could hear the huffs and sniffs of a very anxious boxer on the other side of the door. A barely visible smile lifted the corner of his mouth as he looked away from the magazine and he thought about his trusted and faithful companion. However, as his gaze focused on the door in front of him, he found an envelope from an off-strip hotel taped to the center of it.

Instantly dropping the keys, he reached out and pulled the envelope down to tear it open. His haste came from the recognition of the handwriting on the paper; it was Sara's. Ripping it open, he quickly scanned his surroundings, hoping to catch a glimpse of her, a sign that she was there, somewhere. When he found none, his eyes zeroed in on the note contained within.

Gil-

Can you take Hank to the sitter's and meet me The Apple Martini? I'll wait there until 1PM. I don't have my phone with me.

-Sara

His breath was firmly lodged in his chest, as though his lungs had suddenly filled with concrete. He dared not move a muscle, fearing that the whole thing was only a mirage, or a carefully crafted hallucination brought on by too many doubles and not enough sleep. Not until Hank's deep and distinctive bark broke through his consciousness was he able to tear his focus away from the note.

Finally taking a deep breath, filling his lungs until his ribs painfully expanded, Gil shook his head and tried to make sense of what he was about to do. In his hands were the mail and the note. His keys were lying on the ground at his feet, and a few inches from his right foot was the envelope. He stared at those items on the stoop, as though he willed them to give him the answers he needed to decide his next move.

Taking another deep breath, he played through a dozen scenarios in his head, but Hank's insistent howl on the other side of the door gave him the only answer that mattered. In a flash, he gathered up the keys, tucked all of the mail under his arm and reached for his cellphone as he struggled to open the door.

"Yeah, Cindy? It's Gil Grissom… Do you have room for Hank this morning?" Pushing through the door, he fought to hold onto the mail and the phone when his canine housemate jumped up and tried to greet him. "Thank you. The relief poured out with his expression of gratitude. "I ah, need to take a shower, but then I can drop him off… See you in about an hour?"

Sighing as he bid the woman goodbye, Grissom let Hank out the back door and leapt into action for the first time in months.