Never Doubt
by Anansay
June 26, 2003
"Never doubt. Never look back."
That's what she'd said. He told her he admired that, in a person. Catherine was always one for pointing out the obvious, even if it was to something totally different.
What was admiration? Wasn't it something that one admired in another as something covertly coveted? Something amiss in one's own makeup? He never doubted himself when it came to forensics or entomology. He was quite sure of himself in those arenas. All of his decisions had been based on the premise that it would take him far in his chosen field. And indeed they had. He was night shift supervisor of the second best crime lab in the country. There wasn't much to complain about in that regard. No sir.
There wasn't any regret in that regard either. After all, he was right where he wanted to be: examining crime scenes and compiling irrefutable evidence that would lock up the criminals without a shadow of a doubt. Yes, there wasn't a regret. In that area of his life.
But he did doubt. And he did look back, often. Peeking over his shoulder and questioning many a decision he'd made over his life. Like: why had he chosen that seminar to teach? Why had he had coffee with her? Why had he left? Why had he called her back to him? And why, dammit, was his heart continuously riding on his sleeve whenever she was around? Surreptitiously riding, mind you, but there all the same.
There was a constant stream of doubting thoughts coursing through his mind at any given time: should he make her go to the crime scene solo? Should he bring her with him? What words would make the air clear and free? What had he said to make it so cloudy and foggy?
Wasn't three years enough to know whether you loved someone or not?
He sat up straight at that thought. His couch had been his choice nook of thought lately, laying his head back on the soft cushions and letting his mind wander where it may. His eyes searched the living room, as though the answer lay somewhere among the haphazard scattering of furniture. Love? Now where had that come from. Sure, he liked her, respected her, admired her determination and gumption to travel the route toward conviction, no matter how evidentially or emotionally bumpy. There was a fierce determination that had caused him to bring her to him again, knowing that she would follow the trail until the end and never be strayed either way. He needed that objectiveness around him. Something to encourage his own objectivity, a feeding spot, so to speak. Catherine, Warrick and Nick were all good, but the boys were young and the three of them had worked with Holly. They wanted to find the killer for personal reasons. Sara, he knew, would dive right in with her objectivity and do what needed to be done.
He'd forgotten how Sara could practically drown herself in a case, pouring her entire being into it until there was nothing left of her. He watched how she pummeled herself over the Adler case, never easing off, never giving an inch, spending her personal time silently vowing to Pamela that she would catch and punish the one who hurt her. It marveled him how she could feel so much even after all the other cases.
There were times when a case hit too close to home for him. The baby. It boiled his blood when he thought about all the children being hurt in the world and there was so little he could do about it. Yeah, he let it get to him. But but what?
Her tenacity her fortitude her fearlessness It all came down to one thing for Grissom. Here was a person who could intimately understand him on just about every level of his being. Here was a woman who enflamed his soul and set it to sing, who stirred his loins and ignited his intellect with just a look at times. A raised eyebrow in silent question, a broad grin as they merged their thoughts and came up with a single answer. It always brought a smile to his lips and a twinkle to his eye as the coalescent feeling overcame him.
It was such a rarity to find someone so in-tune with oneself that questions could be answered without having been posed. It made communication so much easier.
His heart lurched in his chest - until what needed to be said required the voice and sound to be understood and couldn't just be assumed. Ass out of u and me. Yeah, he'd been an ass, alright. The relaxed mind meld they experienced at work didn't necessarily translate to their personal life. He'd always assumed she knew how he felt, even if he himself didn't. The thought had never crossed his mind as to what might happen in the future with this between them. He'd always assumed something would happen, or not.
And then Hank. And his world had been knocked from beneath his unsteady feet. He'd assumed erroneously all that time. So he did what anyone would have done: he protected himself, putting up barriers to keep the pain away, to keep her away. He walked away from her as he thought she'd walked away from him.
But now Hank was out of the picture, the bastard that he was. And Sara was free. Sort of. But no more assumptions. If she'd chosen another, than that must mean she didn't reciprocate his unspoken feelings for her. So he stayed away some more, building up his walls ever tighter and higher and stronger. He would protect himself from her even more. And soon enough, he couldn't even hear anybody. And that's when the fear set in, but small at first, like anything bound to be big in the end. He'd dismissed it as a temporary thing that would repair itself in time. Like a cold, a minor temporary inconvenience. He worked around it having much experience in lip reading. In time it simply became natural to watch the lips even when he could hear. But watching her lips became more of a distraction than anything else. So he devised it so that he wouldn't have to. How clever of him, right? Well
It happened so slowly that he never really noticed it. She'd stopped even trying to talk to him. He could still feel her watching him, but the only words shared were those that needed to be shared. And after that, nothing. A part of him was convinced it was merely student stepping away from the teacher to stand on their own two feet, and he was proud of her. But there was another, more insidious voice hissing in his head that she was actually walking away from him. That he'd blown it and she was leaving. He would never have to avoid looking at her lips again. He would be spared the agony of watching her hips sway as she strolled the crime scene, eyes forever alert for that one piece of out-of-place evidence that would nail the case.
It may be too late
Was it already too late? She certainly wasn't trying to do anything to forward her previous suggestion of dinner. In fact, if he hadn't been there himself, he would have sworn nothing of the sort had ever taken place, her demeanour unchanged from before. Was she waiting?
By the time you figure it out
Yeah, she was waiting. You figure it out But she was also living as she waited. Waited for him to figure out what this was.
What was 'this' anyway? He had studiously avoided labelling it all this time. Respect? Admiration? Attraction? Friendship? Love? Lust? Pure unadulterated lust? Or pure and virtuous love? She was his CSI. She worked for him. She was his employee, his underling, his charge, his He gulped. Nearing the truth was more painful than he had ever imagined.
What was she, exactly? To him? Beyond all the technical things.
His heart screamed out at him. He knew the answer, he really did. But to acknowledge it to listen to it, to see it, to hear it, to know it That was another thing entirely.
Grissom sighed as he fell back against his couch. Middle of the day philosophy sessions just weren't his favourite pastimes. He really ought to be sleeping, but her face kept distilling itself before his eyes.
Dinner Was it really so bad?
Let's just see what happens Yeah, what would happen? They'd eat, that's what. They'd have good conversation, they'd laugh, they'd discuss the latest in forensic news. She might even have another article in her head she'd share with him, negating him having to purchase the magazine.
I have you. God!! Had he actually said that?? What the hell did that mean anyway? And why, by gods!, had he even said those words?! No wonder she thought Because that's what you really feel! Came the thought unsought.
He grunted as the implication slammed it's way home. He had her. Sure, he signed her damn paycheques!
And she had him.
That was a truth that didn't sit well with him. He'd sent her the plant. Please stay with me, was what ought to have been written on the note. The thought of her leaving was not something he chose to spend much time brooding over. She had stayed, end of story. No use rehashing the past, right? And yet He felt certain she was once again teetering on the edge of leaving him, again. And this time a plant just wouldn't do it. Not even flowers, or chocolate, or
Maybe dinner. Dinner What harm?
He leaned over and stared at the phone by his arm. Long, sleek and black. He held it in his hands staring at the numbers mentally dialing hers. His fingers moved over them and made as though to touch them. They were shaking. He dropped the phone to his side and took a deep breath. It's just dinner. He picked it up again and dialed... the first three numbers and stopped. Did he really want to do this? He continued dialing the next two. And then stopped. His breathing was coming in quick short gasps and his head was feeling light and airy. He took a deep breath and continued dialing the last two numbers. Holding it to his ear, he could hear it ringing. Once. Twice. Three times. Maybe she wasn't home. Okay, a message then. What kind of message? A voice came on.
"Sidle."
Nothing else. No "...after the beep..." She had answered her phone! His breath caught in his throat as his mind emptied itself of everything, including his reason for calling. Who was he calling again?
"Hello?!" came her curt voice, impatient now. "Who's there?"
"Uh..." he said, stumbling to recapture a smidgen of his former intelligence. "Sara?"
"Grissom? What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said shortly. "Um... how are you?" that universal greeting meant to break the ice and yet it almost always failed its purpose. Like now.
"I'm... fine. And you?" her confusion was quite evident in her voice.
"Fine." Grissom stumbled, still trying to get the words out. Dinner...
"What can I do for you, Grissom?" Yes, now she was officially cold.
His eyes traveled around the room. That shell-shocked feeling of having to speak in front of a sour-faced group of people had overwhelmed Grissom and he sat on his couch, sweat beading on his forehead, his hand trembling as he held the phone to his ear. He just prayed he didn't drop the phone - his hand felt clammy against it. "Do you - I mean, how about we - uh... you had mentioned -"
"Griss?" she interrupted him.
"Yeah?"
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Then why are you stuttering... to me?"
"I'm not stuttering."
Silence. A long cold silence.
"Sara?"
"Yeah?"
His lips worked but nothing came out.
"Are you choking?" she asked him, worry creeping into her voice.
"No. Why?"
"Well, you're making strange sounds."
He closed his eyes as a vision of her confused face came into focus. Oh, what must she think of him now? Taking a deep breath, willing all of his strength to surface, he breathed out forcefully, expelling the words on one loud outtake of breath. "Do you wanna have diner with me?"
And then he sat there, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he anticipated her response with a heavy heart.
No response. He opened first one eye and then other, as though she were right before him and ready to clobber him. Still nothing, just silence. Maybe she'd hung up. He brought the phone slowly away from his ear and prepared himself for the inevitable: the dial tone.
He brought the phone back to his ear and said softly, "Sara?"
"Yes."
"Oh... I, uh, thought you hung up."
"Yes."
"You did?" He mentally slapped his forehead at the corny response.
"No. And yes."
"Yes?"
"Yes."
"Yes... what?"
"Yes, I'll have dinner with you."
And now it was Grissom's turn to offer a moment of perplexed silence as he digested that one simple word. Yes. She'd said yes. She'd have dinner with him. "You will?"
"Yes, Grissom. I will."
"Oh... wow... uh, okay. When?"
"Are you working tonight?"
"No."
"I am."
Grissom shut his eyes. Damn. Wait, wasn't he the boss? "No, you're not working."
"It says so on the calendar."
"As of now, you're not. You're having dinner with me." Now where did that officious confidence suddenly come from? he wondered.
He could almost hear her smiling through the phone. "Okay."
He bit his lip. "Okay, then. Uh, do you wanna come by around seven?"
"Your place?"
"Well... yeah. I thought, uh...," he gulped, "it might be more... personal... here."
"Personal."
Panic set in at her tone. Maybe that was too much to ask for so soon. Maybe a restaurant would be better. That way she couldn't hurt him... too much. "Okay, personal's out. A restaurant instead. I'll pick you up around seven."
"Personal's fine, Griss. I'll be there for seven."
Grissom's heart thudded in his throat, threating to choke off any more words. "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Okay then... uh... bye?"
"Bye, Grissom. I'll see you tonight."
"Yes. Tonight." Okay, now was the time when one usually hung up the phone!
Click. At least Sara knew how to end a conversation.
He glanced at his watch. 2:17. Just under five hours.
Five very long hours.
~*~