Howdy! I hope everyone had a happy holiday season and let's hope 2011 is a great year for all of us. (With Grissom showing up (probably in a dinky scene) on CSI on Feb 3rd, well, that sounds like a good way to start a year to me!)

Hope you like this piece. There are 6 parts to it and it is complete. However, I may tinker with it as it goes along.

Onward ~~

CSI – A Blink of an Eye

by Susan Dietz (Calim 1)
Rating and Reader Alerts: PG
Category: GG/SS DRA

Story Summary: At his lowest ebb, Grissom finds himself in a dangerous situation that could change things in a blink of an eye.

© January 2011

Feedback is appreciated

Disclaimer: The characters and general situations in this story are the property of CBS and Jerry Bruckheimer, however I reserve the rights to the specific details. It is not my intention to infringe upon their rights; this story is purely for the enjoyment of fans. Please do not redistribute in any form

Sun to moon, night to day as ever takes place in the blink of an eye.

I wish for a moment, I wish for a time when happy I'd be if in my arms you would lie.

But you stopped loving me, stopped being mine and with each passing day I oh so slowly die.

And no matter what I do, no matter what I say, I'll never know the answer to why.

For without you by my side, without your loving embrace, I've nothing left but a dark and gloomy sky

that makes me feel no longer, makes me hope no more, for I lost everything and all within the blink of an eye.

Part 1

Grissom

As incredible as it sounds time is standing still.

I've heard it spoken of in movies, in witness accounts, but I didn't truly understand what it entailed, understand its meaning. Not in its entirety anyway. But now . . . now I'm in the midst of it and it's all become clear.

Nothing moves about me – not the air-conditioned air of the convenience store I'm currently standing in, not the sweat on the forehead of the man in front of me or the clenching of my hands into fists at my sides. The both of us are stilled, caught in this singular moment and I've no idea if it's real or my brain playing tricks on me as sort of a last puzzle before I die.

And what has brought time to a standstill? What has driven that steady tick-tick-tick that is our life to a stop? Normally I wouldn't be so bold as to define such a momentous occasion except for one thing – I'm pretty sure I know what the answer is and it's pointed directly at my face. The rather large, nervous man on the other end of the gun barrel aimed between my eyes seems as surprised by his actions as am I. How do I get myself into these things?

Before time stopped the man's hand was shaking as his finger fretfully fingered the trigger of that awfully big gun. He'd been doing that repeatedly, so much so that I stopped flinching and managed to pull my eyes from the mesmerizing blackness of the deep hole at the end of the barrel and centered my gaze on him instead. Looking at those bloodshot green eyes was far better than contemplating how much it was going to hurt when that bullet hits me between the eyes.

But now, since time has taken a breather, I realize I can take advantage of this and dissect my life instead - to think on things that I've accomplished, the people I've met and mentored, the crimes I've solved, the victim's families I've provided closure for and the satisfaction I take from being considered a good scientist. Of course, within the realm of success comes missed opportunities, wasted time and, of course, regret.

Regret.

Regrets.

So many surround me and it makes me wonder if, when this is all over and I'm granted another run at this living thing, will I be able to see what's before me and not let it pass me again? For that is what I regret the most - the things that passed me by. Ah, hell. I'm about to die and giving myself a confession and still can't put a name to my biggest regret.

Sara. There, I said it.

I had her, my Sara, in my life, my bed. Finally, I let myself have her and I've never been happier. And then I lost her. I don't know how but I lost her. I always feared her leaving and, perhaps, that played a part in her walking away, but I don't really know. In fact, I can't figure out what I did to lose her and it's been tying me up in knots.

I thought we'd gotten over the anxious worried feelings that some comments leave behind. I thought we'd moved into understanding when it came to the idea that work and home are separate; that I sometimes had a job to do and it might not always agree with what she wanted. I thought she knew that I would never intentionally hurt her. I thought when I asked her to move in with me she'd no longer have doubts that I would run away, that I'd give her time to think on it, that I wouldn't push.

I thought she knew I loved her without reservation.

How could she think that my wanting to protect her was tantamount to chaining her to a pole? How could she mistake my anger for more than it was? Fear, unadulterated fear, that she could've been killed and I would've been left with nothing to hold onto but guilt over wasting time for all these years. How could she think that way after everything we'd been through?

I've gone over and over how it started, how I pulled her into my office and shut the door and told her she was off the Jeremy Roberts case. I thought she could see my horror over what could've happened when she'd returned to the scene without back up. She scared me. In fact, my heart rate hadn't slowed since I'd heard the news. My palms were sweaty and I needed to sit down but couldn't because I had to make sure she understood how it made me feel to know that she'd put herself in harm's way without a second thought to her own wellbeing or . . . well, to us. Now I'd committed the sin of combining work and home but I couldn't help it. She was my home wherever she went and I wouldn't apologize for that.

But as always happens with me, words jumble on my tongue and fail to come out in any sort of understandable way. And telling her I love her in the midst of our brawl wasn't the smartest thing to do. But I wanted her to know. I wanted her to know that when I suspended her it didn't mean I didn't love her, forever and always.

I guess my timing was off. No, I know my timing was off. It's always off when it comes to Sara. She throws me for a loop, makes me nervous. This is why I struggled so with letting myself get close, because of times like these where I had to be her boss and not her man. I can't help but love her. I always have . . . since the first time I met her.

I hoped she'd hear me, really hear me but knew she didn't. I could tell by the look on her face – that hard, emotionless stare I've seen before when she's trying to control herself – and she said something I'd always worried would come.

"I can't let myself love you anymore not when you don't respect me. It hurts too much." Her voice was flat and quiet and it struck me like a bolt from heaven.

My mouth flopped open like a dead fish and I was pitched into a whirling abyss. How can telling someone you love them be hurtful? Why does she think I don't respect her? Sara is . . . she is my everything – my life, my reason for being, my very soul.

I tried again, thinking maybe she hadn't heard me correctly.

"I love you, Sara," I repeated not bothering to say it any differently. It seemed clear enough.

Her stare became colder still even as she gave me a smirk. "I don't. Not anymore." She turned then and headed toward my office door. "Oh, and one more thing. I quit," she flung over her shoulder. "I quit everything."

And then she was gone and I stood there staring at the space she'd occupied moments before. I didn't move. I couldn't move. Not a sound escaped me. All I could hear was my pounding heart. All I could feel was my stomach dropping to the floor. I'd never felt like that before, like I'd been slammed against a wall repeatedly, and could do nothing else but sit down. I couldn't really focus either and hoped like hell no one would come into my office. I couldn't face anyone. Not now. Not when I felt useless, empty . . . lost. No one should have to face people when they feel like that.

I stared at my desk, at the folder open before me, and saw nothing but squiggly lines that morphed into Sara's sweet face. Rubbing my eyes, I willed myself to keep inside the tears that were building and knew I had to leave. Grabbing my jacket, I headed out of my office and down the hall cringing when Catherine called after me. I didn't turn instead finding the water fountain very interesting as she waltzed up to express her wonder on how I was going to handle Sara. I sighed and wiped at my mouth.

"I suspended her," was all I said not even willing to think on the fact that she'd quit . . . everything.

"Good. She could've gotten herself killed. I know she goes off the deep end on these cases but to go back to a scene without back up . . . That's just foolish. I hope you told her so."

I nodded, giving her a tilt of my head. "Would you . . . I need to leave," I said hoping she wouldn't ask me why and knowing she would. "I-I . . ." She touched my arm and gave me an understanding look.

"You owe me one," was all she said and found a bit of a smile from somewhere. It's all I had.

Quickly leaving and heading home, I had hopes of finding Sara's car in the lot. It wasn't and I sat there until it occurred to me that this is what got me into trouble all those years ago – sitting and waiting. I couldn't let it end this way. I couldn't let her walk away. I'd fought with myself too long not to fight some more.

So I drove to her apartment intending to sit on her porch if need be until she opened the door and spoke to me. But her car wasn't there either. Her key between my fingers, I had every intention of using it, surprising her when she came back to make her listen until all of this mess I had somehow caused was cleared up. But in the hour I waited, she never came and I never got out of the car. It was then it hit me. I deserved this . . . somehow. My waiting so long to commit; my inability to follow through all those years led to this and I hadn't a clue as to how I could change a thing.

I could apologize but was pretty sure she wouldn't accept it.

I could get down on bended knee, grab onto her and never let go.

Or I could wait. She'd waited for me, I could wait for her.

Sighing, I looked out at the sky noting the first rays of the morning sun cutting through the night and knew that I could do a lot of stuff but none of it would matter. I'd seen that look before, the one she threw at me just hours before. She used it the last time she'd threatened to leave, her reasoning the same – she didn't think I respected her1.

I couldn't understand her logic then and don't understand it now. Sara's a great CSI with the ability to focus and pick up strings of ideas off the barest bit of evidence. She demands and gets the respect she deserves from everyone including me. But she's so much more. She's a beautiful and perfect woman for me in that she's strong yet vulnerable, sassy and flirty and completely comfortable with leaving me alone to work through my problems or help me when I ask. She's funny and smart and makes me feel years younger than I am. But the best thing about her is her ability to make me feel safe when it all becomes too much. I respond in kind offering her myself whenever she needs it and even if she doesn't. Everything I do is for her happiness which, in turn, makes me happy whether it's a smile, a kiss, a caress. I would do anything for her.

But now all I want to do is curl up in a ball and never get out of bed; forget that I ever met her all those years ago; forget the feel of her skin against mine, her sweet kisses that make me melt; forget her soft touch and gentle manner as she wraps me about her finger.

But I can't simply erase her from my mind nor do I really want to so I drove away, pulling to a stop in the middle of the dark to wonder on what I'm going to do. How can I get her to understand that all I could see once I found out what she'd done was Holly Gribbs'2 face? All I remembered was the eulogy spoken by friends and family who spoke of losing someone so young. I didn't want to see that. I didn't want to know what it would be like to see Sara lying in a coffin. I don't ever want to lose her but I can't think of a worse way than by being foolhardy. What a useless death that would be.

Sara's the only woman I've ever truly loved. I had to suspend her; had to show her that getting the bad guy, gaining closure for the victim's family, wasn't worth her life. She should've understood that losing her would be the end of me. But despite all my concerns, my hopes that she understood my position, I lost her anyway. Not at the hands of a murderer but by my own. It's such a hard thing to realize it's your fault that the shambles you're soon to face day in and day out are of your own making, even though you may not know or understand how caring for someone could end like this. And there's nowhere for me to go to escape thoughts of her. Not work, not home. She's everywhere. She is . . . was what I needed to be a better man. I guess . . . well, I guess I discovered too late that she was my soul, too, and without her . . . God, without her I am nothing but the Tin Man before Dorothy3 helped him find a heart.

Startled from my thoughts by the cawing of a rather large crow in the tree I'd parked under, I started the engine and decided to go home. Her car still wasn't there but I didn't have anywhere else to go so I slowly made my way to the door, to our door. Stepping inside, my foot struck something hard on the floor. My vision blurred at the sight for staring up at me was a key – Sara's key – the one I'd gifted her at breakfast one morning not too long ago. Her pleased expression as she attached it to her key ring sent me into a happy state of euphoria for the rest of the day and every day she used it to come home to me. Now . . . now it signified the end of the things.

Leaving it on the floor, I headed toward the bedroom vaguely wondering where Hank was only to find him in his own bed, head between his paws looking like he'd lost his best friend.

"You and me both, fella," I whispered to him, my eyes shifting toward the open closet door to not see Sara's duffle she used to store there.

A quick inspection showed me two drawers partially open and empty and a lonely toothbrush in the cup on the bathroom sink that used to hold two. The knot in my stomach grew larger when I spotted the purple quartz crystal unicorn sitting atop the dresser right next to the shell we'd picked up when we visited my mom last year.

Those two things, she'd told me, reminded her most of me.

And she'd left them behind.

I rubbed my stomach and turned back toward the bed, our bed where we'd spent many an hour exploring each other's wants and desires, filling the room with our passion, our sounds of lovemaking no doubt offending one neighbor or another but making us feel whole. A soft smile came to me then quickly vanished when my eye caught sight of something lying on my bedside table, something that truly told me everything was over.

I nearly missed the bed as my legs gave out. Lifting a shaking hand to gather it up, I remembered it had been an ordinary day when I'd given it to her that became something else. I'd gotten up the gumption to ask her to move in with me. The tears that filled her eyes spoke volumes and she'd whispered yes in my ear as I placed a necklace about her neck, a necklace with a bright blue butterfly at its center.

That had been a good day that proved even better as it wore on, images and memories of promises and loving lasting within me for days. Now I sat on our bed feeling as if the floor had dropped out from under me. Hank scrambled up next to me to lean against my leg. He looked so sad, as sad as I felt and, all of a sudden, I wondered what I was doing.

Why was I letting her get away?

Why was I thinking this was the end?

Scrambling in my jacket, I pulled out my phone and then just stared at it. I knew, deep down, that I was fooling myself if I thought she'd answer, not after the way she'd left. But, maybe, maybe there was still a chance, slight though it may be that she might surprise me. I scrolled to her name and pressed send and listened to it ring. Then I quickly disconnected the call and took a few hundred deep breaths. I called again and repeated my actions.

"Damn it, Grissom."

Yelling at myself seemed to calm me slightly and I called again and again until I actually managed to leave a message. I waited and, when she didn't return my call after ten minutes, I left another, then another and so on until I couldn't see the buttons on the phone any longer. It didn't matter how many messages I left. She wasn't going to call back. I knew that. Somehow my loving her, my not wanting her to be killed had started the walls crumbling down. I shook my head at the absolute insanity of it all and slowly set down the phone on the side table, eyes drifting to the framed photo I keep there, my favorite photo of the two of us. Picking it up, I traced her face with my finger. She loved me then. I could tell by her eyes and that special smile she gave me. I hadn't seen that look or that smile when she'd walked out of my office and I knew I'd never see it again.

I admit to clutching her pillow to me and crying myself to sleep then calling in sick for my shift. I needed time to figure out what I was supposed to do next. Should I ask Brass to see if he could find her? Would Greg, Nick or Warrick tell me if she called? Should I simply accept the fact that, like the butterfly necklace, I'd been left behind and move on? But I couldn't move on, not after everything I'd found when I'd opened my heart. It brought a light into my house, into my life that was now a dimming remembrance. When you don't know about it it's awfully easy to just move through life, but once you've tasted happiness . . .

And so the days passed, each one longer than the one before. All I could do to make it through was to shutdown, cut myself off, become what I used to be – an emotionless workaholic scientist who found more joy in bugs than people. It was the only way I could function. By this time everyone knew Sara had quit and left no forwarding address. Brass was concerned and Catherine kept trying to get me to open up. I only received looks of contempt from Greg and Nick who didn't even bother to ask for my side of the story. Warrick kept near me with his quiet presence and Hodges, well, he was less irritating and seemed to understand more than I thought he would. Ecklie was pleased that his 'loose cannon' was gone and me . . . well, I hid. After awhile they left me alone. If they ever heard from Sara they never told me.

And then today happened.

Mind you I've never considered suicide before. Of course I've never been in such a dismal state and find it fascinating that I think this is the perfect opportunity to escape from the ache that permeates every bit of me; an ache that forces me to live with nothing but a few tokens of her and a dream of a life we could've had. This gun pointed in my face offers the ability to rest in the depths of darkness for all eternity without a care in the world and that seems like a nicer place to be right now then where I've been. Of course my plan centers on the man actually shooting me. I suppose I could grab the gun, yank it toward me to force his finger to automatically clench. In my current dreary mindset that seems like the way to go.

And with that dark thought time starts again and I blink.

I now feel the air-conditioning upon my face, watch as the sweat rolls off the man's forehead, feel my hands become fists at my side. Now is the time when it all will end – badly or not I can't tell nor do I much care.

I suppose I should be stronger.

Apparently I'm not.

1 From the episode "Burden of Proof" – Sara decides to take a leave of absence because she needs to work in a place that gives her respect

2 Holly Gribbs was introduced in the pilot episode, left alone at a scene, and killed

3 Dorothy Gale/Tin Man – Wizard of Oz

Well, there you have it - Part 1. I hope you liked it and will come back for more.