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In reference to the definition of "Occam's Razor" that I've included, it's one that I was taught, however I understand that it is not the only way in which it can be interpreted.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

We All Have a Hell

It always amazed Gil Grissom the speed with which the weather had the ability to change. The sky had been a perfect clear blue stretching out for miles over the Parisian landscape captivating him as he had sat in his top floor office. But as he descended on to the streets of the city being surrounded by grey the sky seemed to match. Clouds rolled past like cigarette smoke lingering in the atmosphere above the world. As he walked toward the bus stop rain drops began falling from the sky covering everything in their way to the ground- he laughed inwardly at the pathetic fallacy. His life had become surprisingly grey recently.

Standing at the bus stop he watched as the cars slowly moved past him and the city continued churning in all its gothic beauty. His mind wandered to the people around him. Some of them he would see every day waiting for the same bus as him. They would wait awkwardly attempting to seem busy while staring at the small screen's of their phones. Grissom always wondered what it was they looked forward to when they were going home- was it a lover they had to leave for day light, was it a good book and bottle of wine waiting by the fire place or just simply the comfort of knowing that the day was over. As Grissom took his seat by the window he thought about the woman that was waiting for him when he returned home. His wife had left her life in Las Vegas for her monthly visit. He felt a lump build up in his throat as a strange feeling washed over him. It was a feeling that he had not experienced until recently. It had hit him like a rain storm the moment he saw her saunter through the air port gate towards him.

Grissom gathered his things together as the bus came to a halt at the stop that was closest to his house. He thanked the bus driver and began the short walk to the place he called home while the rain continued to fall relentlessly. He stepped through the front door panting and shivering from the cold attempting to shake of the iciness that had settled on his skin.

"Honey, I'm home." He called while no one responded. Grissom walked towards the only sound in the house, water running in the kitchen splashing into the sink.

As he stood at the door he could see Sara's slender figure standing at the sink a mug in one hand a sponge in the other. Her eyes were focused on something in the distance outside of the window. It was as if she had completely lost herself in the image that was before her. He walked quietly behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist nuzzling her neck. Sara came to life in his arms quickly washing the mug and placing it aside before identifying something else that needed washing.

She'd flinched slightly at his touch and the unfamiliar sinking feeling made itself known deep in Grissom's heart. He didn't know why but it felt as if his wife had been replaced by another person- someone who looked and smelt like Sara. But there were subtle differences that he'd started to notice in the way she acted and most painfully, the way she looked at him.

"I love you." he muttered into her ear attempting to get a reaction that would silence all of the doubt that had gathered in his mind seeping into the rest of his system and out of his pores.

"You too" She said simply, not being able to bring herself to say the words "I love you" because for the first time in a long time Sara wasn't sure if she was telling the truth.

Before Grissom had walked in she had been staring out of the window watching the sublime nature of the rainfall thinking about someone that was miles away. A man that had shaken the foundations of everything she had based her life on. She had been thinking about how the gentle sound of his voice seemed to put everything back into place when she felt like she was falling apart. She'd been thinking about the way in which he seemed to touch her without even putting his hands on her. And how she guilty had spent nights wrapped up her sheets wishing that he would put his hands on her, touch her in the way her body had been yearning to be touched.

Her husband began softly planting kisses on her neck his hands roaming her body pulling her closer to him. She rested her head back on his shoulder providing him with easier access to the sensitive skin. But even as Sara let him dip his hand beyond the waist band of her panties something still seemed to feel wrong. She closed her eyes and sighed as he attempted to have her coming undone in the same ways as earlier in their relationship. Sara began to relax letting his touch spread over her like wildfire. But something else at the back of her mind opened spilling into her thoughts. She imagined him. She imagined that it was in fact him there, with his arms around her, his tongue running down her neck. She imagined that it was his arousal pulsating against her back, wanting her as much as she wanted him. Sara bit her lip stopping his name from slipping out.

"Sara." her husband hissed into her ear bringing her facade crashing down. She quickly realised how wrong this was- how wrong it was to be thinking about him when her husband was touching her. Sara pulled away from him resting her hands on the sink to keep herself standing her breathes coming quick as she attempted to get her composure back.

"I need to finish doing the dishes." She said quietly picking up the sponge again and turning on the tap. When he glanced up at the window she could see his hurt expression in the reflection, and no matter how hard she tried to form the rights words her mind had gone completely blank.

Grissom stepped away from her he turned around and walked out of the kitchen leaving her alone. Sara took a deep breath a tear sliding down her cheek as she attempted to decode her own mind. She wanted to push him out of her mind. She wanted to enjoy the short amount of time she had with her husband before having to return to sin city. But he had become like a secret that she had been forced to keep, one that was eating her up.

She could hear the television from the living room, the sound of French slowly filling the rooms on the ground floor. Grissom sat with his head in his head as attempted to rationalise what was happening between them. He had spent the past two nights laying awake next to Sara as she softly slept, watching her place form attempting to find clues to what was going on.

Occam's razor- researchers must use the simplest means of arriving at their conclusions and results- and exclude everything not perceived by the senses.

The scientist in him was telling him that there was only one explanation for his wives' erratic behaviour but he had simply attempted to create alternatives in order to avoid the truth- that she was having an affair.

Grissom imagined Sara in their big, empty town house alone and upset about their distance, Greg Sanders a man that had been in love with her for so many years finally getting the chance to be there for her. He imagined his wife crying on his shoulder while the younger man's hands gently rubbed her back and wrapped around her frame- how one simple intense look had turned from something innocent to the material of sin. Grissom couldn't stop his mind from displaying images of them in bed together. But even as he shook those thoughts away his mind showed him another alternative, Nick Stokes. He picture Nick taking Sara out to cheer her up, the alcohol lower their inhibitions as they fell into the seedy back room of a club undressing each other. As sat there listening to his wife shifting through pots and pans his could feel his stomach tie up in knots. He needed to get some fresh air before he vomited.

Sara heard the sound of the door slamming as Grissom disappeared in the dusky streets of Paris. A dull ache made itself known in her chest as she leant back against the kitchen counter, she no longer could hold herself up collapsing to the cold kitchen floor in an exhausted heap of emotion. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

It was a few minutes before she could think straight, Sara dried her eyes pulling herself off the floor. She felt weak. She felt used up.

With all the energy she had began shifting through the things she had in the fridge. There were enough ingredients to make veggie lasagne a dish that she had forced herself to learn in order to be able to cook for those times her mother-in-law dropped by from dinner. Sara wiped another stray tear away while she quickly began sorting through the vegetables and cheese in front of her. Once she had put the tray in the oven she began setting the table with the nicest cutlery and crockery she could find.

It was then that Sara caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her lips sore from where she had been biting attempting to silence her sobs and her clothes were shabby at best. Sara dragged herself up the stairs to get changed, searching through her wardrobe she found a simple, knee-length black dress. It was nothing too glamorous but she knew that Grissom's tastes had always been understated so it didn't matter. She put it on and applied the basic amount of make she knew how to and ran a brush through her hair. Sara looked in the mirror once more, she looked okay. She wasn't anywhere near as beautiful as the other women in Grissom's life and she had always wondered why he had settled for her. Sara heard the door click open, abandoning the self deprecating thoughts running through her mind she rushed downstairs into the kitchen waiting for Grissom to appear.

He spent over an hour and a half wandering the streets pointless, sitting himself on a park bench watching as nightfall took hold of the sky. He had returned with a stony expression, his features showing the years of wear and the months of doubt that had seemed to be persisting in their lives. He slowly ran his tongue over his lower lip moistening before he started talking.

"Sara, are you having an affair?" Grissom asked with a stern voice. Sara could feel her heart breaking as she realised he hadn't noticed; her dress, the dining table, the food. Again her mind wandered to the man in Vegas that had seemed to be holding her heart and her mind captive.

"I haven't slept with anyone else." She said plainly a tear welling up in her eye.

There was silence between them. That was all that needed to be said. After so many years of non-conversation they had both learnt to read between the lines. It was not what Sara had said that was what hurt. It was what Sara hadn't said that hit Grissom like falling of a ten story building.

Sara may not have given herself physically over to someone else but her heart, her mind, her soul the things that made her the very being she was no longer were his. They no longer ached for him.

And in that moment they both realised that they had been living in their own hell.

The End