Disclaimer: I don't own CSI.
Spoilers: Yes! For the season finale.
Rating: T
Summary: Post S7 finale. GSR.
A/N: Thanks to SBT! And thanks to NNNNsic for the title and to everyone else who suggested one. They were so much more awesome than anything I could've thought of. :)
No Animals Were Harmed In the Making of This Fic
The funeral home was filled to capacity. How had he not been aware she had known so many people? Flower arrangements blanketed the walls. He knew he'd have to read the card that accompanied each one, respond with a thank you note as he had done when his mother died two years earlier. That task, however, might have to be relegated to Catherine, who had made the arrangements while he sat, numb, outside of the morgue. His old friend knew enough to not ask his opinion when it came to the small details -- what suit she wore, what color blush the mortician should use to restore the bloom in her ghostly pale cheeks.
As it was, Grissom wished Catherine hadn't done such a good job.
Sara lay, so lifelike, in a cream-colored suit. He always imagined if he ever got around to popping the question, she'd marry him dressed in a tasteful suit like that. He kept expecting her to open her eyes and smile at him. "Where do you want to order takeout?" she'd ask. She had been craving Mexican the past few weeks. And guacamole. Whenever he ordered their food, he knew to ask for extra guac. He had spent the past two years learning the little details, watching her do simple, everyday things like apply makeup or paint her toenails.
And so he stared at her and waited, waited for her to inhale peacefully and blink up at him, ready for them to begin their day so he could learn something new about her.
But the hand that grabbed his arm was not Sara's.
"Gil, it's time to go."
Grissom yanked himself from Catherine's grasp and gripped the edge of the coffin, his knuckles as white as the silk that lined the inside. "No."
"Gil…"
He wanted to crawl in there with her, be buried holding her lifeless corpse. Sinking into the earth alongside her would be the only peace he'd ever have to look forward to.
Warrick clamped a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Griss. It's time to say goodbye."
"I'm not leaving her. She shouldn't be alone!"
More hands were on him, pulling him back. He tried to maintain his hold on her coffin but his fingers began to slip, one-by-one.
"No! Get off of me! No!" he bellowed. "She can't be alone! I can't be alone!"
"Gil?"
Grissom sprang up in bed, blinking into the darkness. His T-shirt was soaked with sweat, his heart thumping so heavily in his chest he could hear the blood rush in his ears.
Sara tentatively touched his forearm. "You were having that dream again, weren't you?"
He turned to his side and pulled her against him. "It's nothing," he whispered into her hair, nuzzling it, inhaling the coconut-scented shampoo she was so fond of. "Nothing, sweetheart."
The recurring dream -- or nightmare, rather -- had begun three days after her kidnapping. At first, it was just an image in his mind: Sara dead in a coffin. As days turned into weeks, the images became more vivid until they were whole scenes depicting her funeral. Grissom's ever-efficient brain had worked out all of the details as he slept. His backlog of botanical memories thanks to his father had him identifying every flower that flanked her lifeless body. His fantasies about a possible wedding had her decked out in a very Sara version of a bridal ensemble. Years of handling corpses had him well acquainted with the feel of a dead body, the waxy texture of the skin and the cold stiffness of the limbs -- all of this his brain had to work with. It spun nightmares more convincing each day.
Sara's injuries hadn't been particularly life-threatening. Apart from a dislocated shoulder and a collapsed lung, she was physically sound. While that fact initially comforted him, the what ifs quickly took over, plaguing Grissom. Thirty years of dealing with death in the desert made him very knowledgeable of what could have happened. The scenarios ate at him. Sometimes it was exhaust fumes that did her in. Other times, coyotes or dehydration. Grissom's mind was a rolodex of death and destruction, and it was slowly applying each method of murder to his beloved as he attempted to rest.
He knew why things were getting worse.
Upon making sure she was safe, Grissom returned to the lab for an hour to do damage control. The necessary reveal of their relationship put them both in an awkward position. He stepped down as nightshift supervisor, but only after securing six weeks of paid leave for Sara in addition to time off for himself to care for her.
They had spent the first four weeks together in relative bliss -- all things considered. The nightmares interrupted his sleep every so often, but their waking hours were spent basking in togetherness. They rarely left his townhouse, choosing instead to huddle together in one corner of the couch and read to each other, pausing every now and again for discussion. Hearing her voice --whether it was reciting the poetry of Homer's Iliad or F. Scott Fitzgerald's classic, The Great Gatsby -- soothed him. It soothed him because her voice was the only thing missing from his nightmares. It was the only thing that let him know this wasn't all just the hallucination of a man driven mad with love and loss.
Their month-long honeymoon ended with a plea from Catherine. She was short-staffed, exhausted, and in need of Grissom's help in a high profile case involving the death of the D.A.'s wife. He hung up the phone, adamant that his place was at Sara's side.
Sara convinced him, however, that he needed to help his friend. Their relationship had caused a massive upheaval in the nightshift, and while they were playing house, their loyal friends were suffering under an increasingly burdensome workload.
"You owe it to them, Gil. Go back and help with this one. I'll be fine. I promise."
The five times a shift he called to check on her proved her right. Six months ago, a phone call to Sara would have occurred in total privacy. If he had stopped to think of anything but her well-being, Grissom would've marveled at how naked he now was in his care for her. As he sat in the passenger seat of a Denali while Catherine drove them to the desert late one night, he had no qualms about talking in front of anyone.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes, fine. I promise," she had said.
"Is your right shoulder sore? I know yesterday you said it was…"
"I took two Advil, baby," she sighed. "I'm fine. How's work?"
"Fine."
"Is the alarm system on? Did you check it?"
"Yes, Mom, I did," she laughed. "Don't worry so much. I'll see you when you get home."
Home. And to think he had almost lost his home barely a month ago. "I love you, honey."
"I love you, too."
Grissom waited to close his phone until he was sure she had hung up.
"Wow."
He turned to his left, brows furrowed as Catherine stared straight ahead into the distance through the windshield. "Wow, what?"
"I knew you had it bad. I just didn't know you had it that bad," she smiled.
The old Grissom would've blushed and sputtered and changed the subject.
"Yeah. I have it bad."
It was probably the most honest thing he had ever said in his life.
Over the next two weeks, Grissom found himself back on a somewhat modified version of his old schedule. He worked an eight-hour nightshift and then rushed home to share breakfast with Sara. He'd gather her up into his arms and hold her for long periods of time, and she'd let him as if she somehow knew he needed that.
The nightmares got progressively worse, though. And as he panted into the crook of her neck, holding onto her for dear life, he knew why.
Sara was due back at the lab at the start of next shift.
When he had decided on six weeks paid leave, it had seemed like such a long time. And he hadn't counted on the fact that when she did return, it wouldn't be under his watchful eye. Having conceded control of the nightshift to Catherine, Grissom was no longer in charge of what cases Sara worked and who worked them with her. It was entirely possible she'd be sent to the unsafe scenes -- the meth labs, the crack houses. Oh, sure, there was usually some police presence at crime scenes, but Nick could certainly vouch for the lapses in the LVPD. There were far too many dangers and Grissom had far too little control.
It wouldn't do.
On Sara's first day back, Grissom sought Catherine out in her office before she had a chance to address the newly reunited team.
"Sara's a little bit shaky," he lied. "I think it would be best to pair her up with me for the time being. I know where she's at emotionally right now, and I'd be able to slowly reintroduce her to the job."
He knew playing the concerned boyfriend would tug at Catherine's heartstrings. She okayed his suggestion and he and Sara were off to the far edge of a park to investigate the mysterious death of a homeless man. The man, most likely in his mid-forties, was spread out on a dirty blanket mere feet from the cardboard box he apparently called home.
As David packed away the body and left, Sara began snapping pictures of the blanket, occasionally letting her camera hang loose on her neck so she could tape lift trace evidence. She studied the evidence and Grissom studied her.
Sara worked methodically, as always. It was impossible to tell she had been near death six weeks earlier. Nothing about her movements were tentative or unpracticed. She was calm, with no underlying hint of nerves. "Are you going to help or are you going to stand there and admire me for the rest of the night?" she asked good-naturedly.
"I, uh…" He bent down to pick up his kit when the sound of rustling whipped his head in the direction of the cardboard box. A pair of eyes reflected the light of the moon and had him reaching for his service weapon, drawing it, and shooting all in the span of a couple seconds.
Grissom could hear Sara's scream dully, as if his head was under water. A moan, distinctly lower than Sara's voice, emanated from the box. He just kept his gun drawn, eyes glassy as he stared at the shadowed interior of the former home of their deceased homeless man.
"Gil, it was a dog," Sara whimpered, shining her flashlight inside the box so he could see the collapsed heap of dirty fur now leaking blood onto the cardboard. She carefully extracted the gun from Grissom's still-outstretched arms and placed it on the top of his kit before moving swiftly to check on the dog.
"It's dead."
He didn't care. Over the past month and a half, Grissom's heart had hardened, not to keep Sara out, but to keep her in. He was numb to anything but her. Nothing disturbed him so long as she was okay.
It took a moment for him to realize she was leading him to the SUV. She opened the passenger door and guided him to his seat. "Wait here," she whispered.
Sara then quickly collected her evidence before reaching for her cell phone. He knew she was calling Brass and mere minutes later, the detective was approaching the scene. "I'll take things from here," he said, nodding at Grissom.
She got back into the driver's seat and started the car. "Brass is taking care of everything."
"I'm sorry," Grissom apologized evenly. He wasn't sorry for his actions, just that they had caused her stress. She didn't need any more stress, he told himself. She had been through a terrible ordeal.
"That could have been a person, Gil," she said hoarsely, her voice full of emotion.
"I know." He knew. He didn't care, but he knew.
"You could've gotten in serious trouble. Greg almost went to jail for killing a gang member. You might've…you might've…" Her voice died off and he could hear her sniff back her tears.
"I know."
Sara shook her head. "Oh, Grissom," she said, wiping a tear from her eye. She hadn't called him by his last name in a long time.
After pulling into a spot in the lab parking lot, she carefully dried her eyes and checked her makeup in the rearview mirror. She gathered up the evidence she had collected and, with him in tow, walked through the double doors of the lab. People stared, and a distant part of Grissom wondered if word had gotten out about his trigger-happy finger, or if the lab was just still buzzing about the fact that they were a couple. Sara logged in her evidence and then walked to his office. She closed the door and Grissom could hear the click of the lock. He took his seat in one of the chairs facing his desk, staring straight ahead into nothingness, waiting for whatever he had coming to him.
"Gil," she said softly as she approached him, placing two hands on his face. He looked up at her and his heart began to pound at the sight of twin tears falling down her cheeks. She bent down and kissed him softly, the moisture from her eyes dampening his own skin. Sara's lips wandered to his jaw as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "It's time for us to leave," she told him.
He knew. Without asking her, he knew that she was referring to forever, and not just the immediate future.
A knock at the door had her pulling away from him. "Who is it?"
"It's Catherine," came the muffled voice from the hallway.
"Come in," Sara said, reaching for a tissue but not trying to hide the fact that she had been crying.
"It's locked."
"Oh, I forgot," Sara said to herself as she moved swiftly to open the door.
Concern immediately washed over Catherine's face at the sight of the younger woman's tears. "Are you…are you okay? Did anything happen? I heard from Brass earlier. He's taken care of everything." She turned to look at Grissom. "All you're going to have to do is sign a statement saying the dog tried to attack Sara. That's it, and it's over."
"Catherine…" Sara began softly, crossing her arms over her chest, "…we need to leave -- Gil and I do."
Catherine looked from Sara to Gil and then back again. Her face resigned, she nodded.
"We'll, uh…try to stick around until you find replacements," Sara explained. "I know we put you in a horrible position with…everything. And we're sorry. We just can't do this anymore. We need to leave."
"I guess I'll…leave you guys alone," the blonde said quietly. "We're going to miss you guys," she added, doing her best to smile.
Grissom watched Sara return the sad smile. Once Catherine left, they gathered their things and walked to the car silently. When he had resigned as supervisor of the nightshift, he had a folder full of résumés -- a long list of qualified individuals willing to do anything for a chance to work in the #2 lab in the country. He knew it wouldn't take more than a few days to secure replacements. It was possible Catherine would call them before the next shift and tell them not to bother -- and he would be walking out of the lab for the last time as a CSI. Twenty-five years in Las Vegas were coming to end.
And he was breathing easy.
She'd be safe. Away from the guns, the violence. No serial killer would ever kidnap her again. He'd make sure of it. Sara would be away from this world, she'd be tucked away at home, safe.
And miserable, he realized as he climbed into the passenger seat. She'd be miserable. While he had decades of work behind him, she had decades in front of her. Or did have decades in front of her. Her career had been cut short because he couldn't handle it. He may not have issued an ultimatum, but his actions made it clear she'd have to choose between her job or his sanity, and she chose him. Grissom felt so completely unworthy. He had put her off for years in favor of his career, had denied her any explanation of his distance while doing his best to maintain some kind of mysterious hold on her. He had played her feelings like a yo-yo for so long, had led her straight into the hands of a serial killer, and still she put him above all else.
It was humbling. And it was wrong.
"I can't let you do this, Sara."
She blinked at him and then shook her head. "Excuse me?"
Obviously confused, she took one hand off of the steering wheel and placed it on his knee. "Gil?"
The stark reality of it all hit him like a bolt of lightening: "I'm ruining your life, Sara."
"What?"
"I…it was because of me that you almost died. She took you -- Natalie took you to get back at me. You almost died because of me." It was a dull ache that he'd learned to live with over the past month and a half, but the fresh wound inflicted during his recent epiphany had him squeezing his eyes shut, willing away the pain of another truth. "And now…your career…you're leaving because of me. You can't leave your job. You…you worked so hard. I fucked up and now you're throwing it all away."
Sara said nothing. She let go of his leg and continued to drive towards his townhouse. Grissom took a deep breath and opened his mouth to talk, but she cut him off.
"Do you know what my first thought was when the gun went off and I knew you hit something?"
"No," he rasped.
"I thought…I thought," she said, tearing up, "I'll use the tarp in the trunk to get rid of the body, to wrap it up before I put it in the SUV. I had this vision of going to Wal-Mart and getting a large freezer -- paying in cash, of course -- to prevent decay until I found a good place to ditch the body. It only took a split-second and I had this…this whole…plan. I was ready to break the law. I would never even think to do that for anyone else. I wouldn't even do that for myself. And it was…jarring to realize that it's not even a question when it comes to you. Gil, I may be your biggest weakness, but you're mine."
"It's frightening, isn't it?" he murmured quietly.
"Yes," she said emphatically. "And so, on the drive back to the lab…I knew that we couldn't stay. We're different people now. You're my life. And everything else is just…everything else. I can live without the job. I can't live without you."
Grissom sat back in his seat and breathed deeply. "I never believed you could care for me the way I care for you."
"Well…I do."
"I've never been loved that way. It was shocking enough when I discovered that I had the capacity to love that deeply. I never expected it in return, Sara," he whispered. "In a lot of ways, my life just started," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's disconcerting to realize that almost fifty years were spent virtually alone, and in silence. And now that I have you…I don't want to lose you all the more. If you leave, I won't bounce back. I'll break."
"I'm not leaving--"
"You say that, and I believe you believe that, but there's more than one way to leave. And we know that now. And it's hard," he explained, holding back his tears, "because I have lived a long time, and I have seen all that this world is capable of.
"I don't think you have."
"Sara, I--"
"You've witnessed most of the terrible things that can happen to people who least expect it," she interrupted. "And I've seen my fair share, too. But now…now we spend the rest of our lives experiencing the good, for however long it lasts." She parked in front of his townhouse and pulled the key out of the ignition.
"I…I don't know if I can let go of the bad that easily."
"Try."
"Try?"
"Try for me," she said, placing a hand on his forearm, holding his gaze.
He stared into his eyes. He had seen so much of this world. Grissom had left a life of death, silence, and sadness in California in order to live in the dizzying Sin City, a place built on the idea that risking big reaped large rewards. And he had seen the afterglow of those dreams fade, where a seemingly healthy risk at midnight turned to desperation at four AM, where meeting and marrying someone on the fly led to estrangement before the last piece of rice hit the ground. Terrible things happened in Las Vegas. But their love managed to take root in the infertile soil of the desert, and out of the barren land grew something beautiful.
Not many had that.
No one he knew had that, in fact.
People lived their whole lives without loving like they did. He undid his seatbelt and hers quickly and pulled her into his arms. He had been born the son of a deaf woman, the fatherless child. He grew up to the be the brilliant recluse, living a life spent dissecting the small tragic fragments of others' experiences in an attempt to create order amongst the chaos. His mid-life was chiefly occupied with avoiding his heart's desire and his old age seemed destined for much of the same.
The decision to enter into a relationship with Sara left him equal parts scared and exhilarated. Fear may have been his old friend, but until then exhilaration was reserved for rollercoaster rides. Slowly he had been breaking exhileration in like a pair of shoes until the short period weeks earlier when fear once again ruled the roost, reigning supreme in Grissom's psyche like never before.
He let go of the fear as he held her in his arms.
In its place, hope would reside.
THE END