A/N: Sara's friends are all there for her, supporting her in her moment of need, quick to move on and accept the breakup without questions. Nick's "But if it's over…it's over," and Greg's "Hey, you can't sit around waiting for ever," didn't sit well with me. I guess they picked their sides. I, on the other hand, am still rooting to keep them – Grissom and Sara – together.
I heard a whisper that Lady Heather – a favourite of mine – might make a return to the show at some point in the future and I'd like to think she was brought back to help mend GSR. She has done once before, hasn't she? And didn't we get a beautiful reunion out of it? ;-)
Anyway, this is what came out of my musings. I hope you read on and leave your thoughts afterwards. And thanks for reading, as always.
A Love Worth Fighting For.
Sara was browsing on the ground floor of Barnes and Noble in Summerlin, killing time before catching some dinner before shift, when she stopped in front of a display stand and picked up one of the books there. A frown creasing her brow, she studied the bright blue cover and thought-provoking title: The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and Disappeared by Swedish author, Jonas Jonasson.
Her mouth pursing in interest, she turned the book over and began reading the blurb at the back. Just the type of story Grissom would enjoy in his downtime, she immediately thought before she remembered and a pang of sadness clenched her heart.
"Sara?"
The warm, unmistakeable voice of Heather Kessler had Sara turn around with a start. Stunned into silence at such impromptu encounter, she took a moment to scan her eyes over Heather's casual appearance – her face was fresh-looking and devoid of the makeup Sara had come to associate with the ex-Dominatrix and therapist; she wore a plaid blouse tapered at the chest and hips over a pair of tight fitting blue jeans, low-heeled brown ankle boots, and a brown leather messenger bag slung over her shoulder – before bringing her eyes back up to her face. If her scrutiny had appeared rude, she didn't care.
"Heather," she greeted in a polite yet toneless voice.
The two women stood silent for a beat, merely regarding the other with interest. Heather's eyes lowered first, flicking down to the book Sara still clutched in her hand, as she smoothed a hand over her slick, dark chestnut hair. If she noticed that Sara's wedding band was gone she didn't let on. Her eyes slid back up to Sara's face and she smiled pleasantly. "How are you?"
The warmth and genuine interest in Heather's tone took Sara off guard. "I―I'm…fine," she replied, the lie rolling off her tongue easily, as it had for the past three months. Her accompanying smile didn't quite reach her eyes, though, and she could tell by the slight narrowing of her eyes that the other woman wasn't fooled.
"Gift for Grissom?" Heather inquired lightly, motioning toward the book.
Sara glanced down at the book in her hand and turned to place it back on the stand. "No, actually, it isn't," she stated flatly, and turned back to face Heather.
"I've read it," Heather said, her smile broadening as she glanced at the book, "It's a very good book. Very funny. You should get it him. He would like it."
Annoyed at Heather's insights, Sara gazed off to a point in the distance, thinking the pleasantries had gone on long enough.
"How is he keeping?" Heather was now asking.
Sara refocused a deliberate gaze on Heather. "I wouldn't know," she replied, holding Heather's gaze steadily. "We're…separated."
Heather's face fell in disbelief. Her mouth opened, then shut, and it was clear the news came as a complete shock to her. "I'm very sorry to hear it," she said after a beat, giving Sara a genuinely saddened smile.
Once, Sara would have scoffed at the words; she would have called them hypocritical and insincere, but not today. Today, as she stared at Heather she only saw sadness and compassion, and confusion too, reflected back at her. Heather's gaze became searching, almost piercing, and Sara found herself looking away, worried the other woman could see all the pain and emotion she'd taken great care to conceal.
"Would you like a coffee?" Heather suggested in a soft voice, and Sara turned puzzled eyes to her, "If you have time of course."
Sara eased her fingers under the cuff of her leather jacket, checking the time, ready to make her excuse. She knew she should refuse, say that she had other plans, that she was due at work, anything to escape Heather's clutches, but the words didn't come. Aside from her co-workers and the people she met through work she never got to interact with anyone, talk to anyone, have anyone's insights on anything. All she had were her thoughts, her doubts and sorrow. She felt lonely at home, and lonely in the middle of a crowd, and constantly unhappy.
Maybe talking to Heather who knew Grissom so well would help shed some light into what was going on in his head. She looked up, meeting Heather's watchful gaze, eyes full of kindness and concern, full of understanding too, and found herself agreeing to the coffee with a nod. Heather smiled, and together they made their way up the escalator to the first floor and the coffee shop hidden in its bowels before silently waiting their turn in the short line.
"What can I get you?" the young assistant asked with a bright smile when their turn came, eyes flicking between the two eagerly.
"Lemon tea, please," Sara and Heather said in unison.
The two women looked at each other and smiled, the ice seemingly broken with that one commonality.
"And I'll have one of these too," Heather said, pointing at a cinnamon roll in the display case. She paused, turning toward Sara. "Would you like one?"
"No, thank you," Sara said, thinking of the take-out for one she would be eating soon.
Both women opened their purses to pay, but Heather insisted and settled the cost of both their drinks. They carried their purchases over to a low table by the window and sat down on opposite couches. Silence once again stretched between them, and Sara wondered how long it would be until Heather brought up Grissom and the breakup. Heather daintily broke off a piece of cinnamon roll and brought it to her lips while Sara cradled her mug of tea, waiting. For what, she wasn't sure.
"You still work the nightshift?" Heather asked, bringing a finger to wipe the corner of her mouth as she finished chewing.
"I do," Sara replied, taking a careful sip of her tea before setting her mug down on the table.
Heather nodded, her expression relaxed and friendly as she openly watched Sara. She took a slow sip of her tea, and then another. Her gaze never left Sara. Heather was a therapist after all, Sara thought as she stared back, albeit a sex therapist. Watching people came with the job. Far from being unnerved with being the object of Heather's scrutiny Sara found herself expectantly waiting to see what the next question would be.
"Is Grissom still away on his travels?" Heather inquired in a soft tone, right on cue. "Last I heard he was in South America."
Sara gave Heather a stiff smile. "He's back in Paris, actually. He's been there for the last year, almost. He's teaching at the Sorbonne."
Heather's brow lifted in surprise. Her head inclined to the side as she considered her words before a warm smile spread over her face. "Long distance relationships are notoriously harder for the ones who are left behind."
Sara wasn't surprised at Heather's assumption; she was Grissom's friend after all. Feeling tears rise and hating herself for it, she picked up her cup, brought it to her lips and took a long swig, managing to keep her composure. "The decision to split up wasn't mine," she said, casually lowering the cup back to the table. "I thought we were making it work."
Shock registered on Heather's face. "Oh, I'm sorry. I just assumed." She blinked, then sitting forward on the couch reached out her hand across the table to Sara's arm, patting comfortingly. "I am genuinely sorry, Sara."
Sara could only stare, dumbstruck, at the hand on her arm.
Sensing her discomfort, Heather broke the contact and lapsed into silence, busying herself with her roll. "I honestly don't know what to say," she said after a while.
Sara's smile as she met Heather's eyes was sad. "There is nothing to say. It's just one of these things, right? Relationships break up all the time."
"Still," Heather argued, "it is rather out of character for Grissom, don't you think?"
Sara's shoulder lifted. "Is it?" Her lips pursed, then pinched, twitching in discomfort. "Characters change. Feelings too."
"Not Grissom's," Heather retorted simply, confidently, the knowing smile crossing her lips unsettling Sara. "You don't believe he's met someone else, do you?" she asked, her eyes widening at the suggestion.
Sara didn't need to think her answer over; she'd had three months to think about it, and in her heart of hearts she knew he hadn't. "No, I don't," she said without hesitation, giving Heather a wan smile before swallowing her growing discomfort. She knew she should just gather her purse, get up and leave, but she didn't.
Grissom hadn't called again since the breakup, and neither had she. He'd sent her a text wishing her a happy birthday, but she hadn't acknowledged it. What was the point? If it's over…it's over, echoed in her mind. As far as she knew he hadn't set foot back in the States either. Divorce hadn't been mentioned, but every day she waited to find the thick brown envelope in her mail box.
Anger had made her pack up his stuff. She'd thought of taking it all to Betty's, but hadn't had the strength. Would Betty know of the breakup anyway? Grissom wasn't any better keeping in touch with his mother as he was with her. There would be no surprise in Betty's expression though, only disappointment and disapproval, and I-told-you-so's. She had seen it coming of course, and from the start.
Bitterness had made her take down all the pictures of the two of them scattered all around the house. Well, almost all of them. And resignation had made her take off her wedding band. It was so hard, so very hard to keep going, to keep her guard up in front of everyone at work, a carefully constructed façade that would invariably shatter as soon as she was home alone, left with her thoughts, with her pain and sorrow, the gaping hole in her heart.
"Grissom is one of my dearest friends," Heather said in a quietly introspective voice, drawing Sara out of her thoughts. She was looking away toward the shop floor, a wistful expression on her face as she spoke, and Sara took a moment to study her. "He was able to look past my profession, my persona and see me for whom I was – who I am," she amended softly, refocusing gentle eyes on Sara, "and I was able to do the same for him. Ours is not a conventional friendship, I'll admit that." Her face softened with an amused smile. "I mean, it's not like we meet up on a regular basis and catch up over coffee. He doesn't call, and I don't call either. But he's my friend nevertheless."
Sara frowned, unsure where Heather was headed with her train of thought. "Your friendship has always meant a lot to him too," she said, because it was true, even though it hurt like hell to admit as much.
Heather's smile broadened. "Not as much as what your love means to him," she replied, and paused. Her eyes flicked down briefly and Sara knew she was choosing her words carefully. "I don't know if you know this," she went on, looking up, "but before he left Vegas to be with you…he came to see me. He was in a bad place, a crossroads in his life."
Heather's words were hesitant, watchful. It was as though she feared saying something out of place or breaking one of Grissom's confidences. Sara's heartbeat quickened in anticipation. "He had a decision to make, one that tore him apart," Heather went on, "But he made it. He chose you over his work, his life, and it was the right decision to make. Grissom loves you, Sara. When you left him, he lost his bearings. He lost his heart."
Sara's eyes filled and she averted her gaze to her trembling hands on her lap. If you know so much about him and how he feels, she wanted to ask, then tell me. Why did he break up with me? Why was he so quick to give up on us? A tear wound its way down Sara's cheek and keeping her eyes lowered she wiped at it quickly.
"Sara," Heather said in a sigh, and paused, waiting for Sara to look up with tears in her eyes to add, "I simply don't believe that Grissom would just fall out of love with you."
Sara's silent tears were falling freely now, and she felt embarrassed at her lack of control. "This was a mistake. I should go," she said weakly and reached for her purse, clutching it to her on her lap, and yet making no move to stand up.
"Maybe he thought that by breaking up he was setting you free. Maybe he thought you would be happier that way."
Sara looked up sharply. "Well, he thought wrong."
"Then, why haven't you gone to him and fought for what is yours?"
There was an edge to Heather's voice now, a trace of impatience that made Sara feel small and foolish, and angry too. She pressed her lips together, curbing the flow of her tears, and wiping at her eyes stood up to leave.
"You seem very quick to give up," Heather went on, her tone once again calm and composed, unhurried, unthreatening. Her eyes lowered to Sara's left hand, staring at it pointedly before looking back up to her face. "Isn't what you and Grissom have worth fighting for?"
Just as quickly as it had flared, Sara's anger left her, and she sank back down onto the couch.
"It's easier to give up," Heather continued quietly, "Pretend that it doesn't hurt so very much. But it hurts, Sara, doesn't it?"
Sara gave a slow nod. "Every single minute of every day," she said in a whisper, meeting Heather's gaze.
A look of compassion filled Heather's eyes. Before she could speak on, her phone rang from inside her messenger bag. "I'm sorry," she said, lifting the front flap. She pulled the phone out, immediately connecting the call, "But I've got to take this."
Then, why haven't gone to him and fought for what is yours? Heather's voice echoed hauntingly in Sara's mind. Isn't what you and Grissom have worth fighting for? It's easier to give up, pretend that it doesn't hurt so very much.
"It was Alison, my granddaughter," Heather said, grabbing her bag and pushing to her feet. "She and a friend went to watch a movie next door. They're waiting for me to pick them up. I'm sorry to have to rush off like that, but they're already out and…" she let her words trail off with a smile.
Sara nodded and stood up. She understood. Of course, she did.
As Heather turned to leave she had a moment's pause. "Sara, I'm sorry if I appeared very blunt just then," she said hesitantly. "But you and Grissom have been there before, haven't you? You both think you know what's best for the other, when it's clear you don't." She touched Sara on the arm and gave her a bright smile. "I'm sorry. I really wish we could talk more. But I do have to go."
"Thank you," Sara said, returning the smile with an awkward one of her own, "for the tea. And the chat."
And as she watched Heather disappear down the escalator she finally understood why Grissom thought so highly of her, and was so loyal to their friendship despite how unorthodox and bewildering it was. With a renewed sense of purpose, Sara dried her eyes and face. Then she shouldered her purse, made her way downstairs and picked up a copy of Jonas Jonasson's book.
Maybe, she'd mail it to him. Or maybe she'd deliver the book to him herself.