Author's note: This short story is morbid and slightly disturbing. You have
been warned.
His Last Breath
I'll miss the winter
A world of fragile things
Look for me in the white forest
Hiding in a hollow tree
Come find me
She could feel the pulse in her hands as she stood there. Her pulse. But undertones seemed to scream out that her fingers still clasped that dying hand, and that if she held on long enough, there would be no pulse at all.
She'd known of course, that one day one of them would die, and the other would have to go on alone. It was part of the cycle, part of everything that had ever given either of them meaning. The eternal cycle of life and death. She used to cry once, in the night, when the screams of the victims woke her. Since she'd felt that tiny pulse slip through her fingers, her tears had dried.
The stone glistened in the setting sun. Soon it would be time for work. Back to the Lab, back to acting as though nothing had happened. Living a lie was easy. It was only when the truth was faced that it became hard to bear.
She'd been stood there, halfway through the car park. Heading out towards a scene. It had all seemed so simple- a break in, with plenty of evidence. The sort of job any rookie could do.
Holly Gribbs probably thought that too. She recalled that all too well. She'd probably thought that right up to the point where he pulled the trigger and Holly would have felt an on-rushing sensation before that impact. The impact that finally killed her.
He'd followed her out. Checking something up with one of the others, he'd said. He'd looked up to see her and smiled his faint smile, walking over to the car. She'd asked him what he thought of this one. He'd laughed and said it would be easy enough. Of course it should have been. Should have been.
The evidence had told them plenty, of course. What else would it do? It didn't lie, didn't cheat like people did. The evidence only knew what it had to say.
It was when they'd walked out that it had happened...
She shook her head slowly, remembering why she was here. The single rose she carried with her was such a dark blue as to be almost black. So much like her mood. It suited her. She knew that.
Kneeling, she placed the lonely bloom on the ground just in front of the headstone. The cruel wind had no sense of sympathy as it began to howl round her. For a moment, she feared she would loose the flower, but the headstone sheltered it, and it lay still.
He hadn't left. Like a ghost, he was haunting her. Every footstep seemed to bring her closer to him rather than further away. She saw fleeting glimpses of his smile in the windows when the light caught them. Echoes of his voice seemed to scream through the break room in the silence. And there was more silence there than there used to have been. When the assignments were handed out, she'd seen little glimpses of tears in the others' eyes. They missed him. Something was wrong without him.
Closing your eyes to disappear
You pray your dreams will leave you here
But still you wake and know the truth
No one's there...
And still, she couldn't cry. She hated herself for it. The others had cried plenty. There hadn't been many people at his funeral, and among them all, only one couldn't cry. Herself. She'd hated him then. Hated him for dying. Hated his cold hands and the way his eyes had become glassy as the final breath escaped his body. Hated all of it. And now when she wanted to let the tears flow, she couldn't. It made her feel almost ashamed of herself. Almost as though she was saying he wasn't worth her tears.
Stepping out of the burgled store, she'd looked back to him and shaken her head.
"Too easy. People don't realise how much they leave behind." She'd called back. He'd smiled faintly again.
"No. That's what we're here for." He'd taken three steps forwards, then looked up at the building across from her. His eyes had widened. She was fairly sure he'd called her name before he'd sprinted forwards, lunging to knock her out of the way.
The 'bang!' seemed to last for hours as she fell to the floor. The cop waiting nearby had pulled out his gun and returned fire. She'd looked up at him standing there. He seemed all right at first. Just... Still.
He'd stood there for another hour, it felt like. And then, so slowly, he'd fallen backwards. His shoulders hit the floor before his head did and his neck had jerked backwards, bringing his skull into contact with the concrete. A loud 'crack' had sounded as that happened.
She'd crawled over to him, thinking stupidly that he must have fainted. It was then that she'd finally seen the blood. The torn and twisted flesh that peeled away behind his ripped shirt. His breath had been coming in short, choked gasps. But the most terrible thing had been the way he looked at her. He'd looked at her as though she could bring him back.
"I love you..." He'd whispered. Somehow, he'd managed to be crueler than anything she'd ever known while lying there. Three words had killed her along with him.
Hold on to me love
You know I can't stay long
All I wanted to say was I love you and I'm not afraid, no
Can you hear me?
Can you feel me in your arms?
He was crying, she'd realised. The tears streaked down his face. She'd taken his hand and he'd clutched it as though it was a lifeline. As though somehow, he could bring himself back by holding onto her as tightly as possible.
His hands had been cold. Ice cold. The pulse had raced in his fingers. For a moment, he'd never seemed so alive to her, and then never seemed so small. So insignificant.
"I love you too." She'd whispered to him, and then planted a kiss on his smooth lips. "You will live through this." He'd shaken his head then and she'd bitten her own tongue.
"Look at me. Look at me and tell me the truth." He'd whispered. "I'm dying."
"No!" She'd shaken her head almost venomously and he'd looked at her sadly.
"I am. I'm sorry..." A single tear, following the others, ran down his cheek. The pulse in his hands faded. He'd sighed softly as a final, deathly breath had escaped weakening lungs. His lips formed the words 'I love you. I'm sorry...' as his eyes became glassy and unfocussed. She'd screamed in rage, feeling his body relaxing, his fingers falling limp against her hand.
He was dead.
Holding my last breath
Safe inside myself
Are all my thoughts of you?
Sweet raptured light
It ends here tonight
His funeral had been yesterday. She'd watched her workmates each walking up, trying to find the words to say and being unable to. He'd stolen the words and taken them with him, she'd thought to herself. Almost as though everything he'd given he'd taken back all in that one moment.
He was still there. Standing next to the coffee machine, he was with all of them. His words, his books, his work... It still littered the desks. His crossword puzzles were unfinished. His paperwork had never been cleared. The tears came, finally, and she pressed a hand against the cruel marble headstone that read forever:
Gil Grissom
1956-2004
"We are the last voice of those who cannot speak"
Sara leant her head against the stone, tears flowing faster and faster. The sobs that wracked her body didn't seem to want to stop. She knew what awaited her once she'd left here, and maybe that was what made her stay after all of this.
He had been wrong. There was no cake in the break room, but he hadn't gone. He haunted all of them, just the same. When he'd gone, there was nothing left of the team. Catherine had left after the funeral. Sara still didn't know where the older woman had gone. Warrick had transfer papers being processed. Nick had quit. Greg had taken a job offer in New York. And soon, Sara knew, she would leave as well. All of them had gone to escape the same thing.
The ghost of Gil Grissom.
Say 'Goodnight'
Don't be afraid
Calling me
Calling me
As you fade to black...
His Last Breath
I'll miss the winter
A world of fragile things
Look for me in the white forest
Hiding in a hollow tree
Come find me
She could feel the pulse in her hands as she stood there. Her pulse. But undertones seemed to scream out that her fingers still clasped that dying hand, and that if she held on long enough, there would be no pulse at all.
She'd known of course, that one day one of them would die, and the other would have to go on alone. It was part of the cycle, part of everything that had ever given either of them meaning. The eternal cycle of life and death. She used to cry once, in the night, when the screams of the victims woke her. Since she'd felt that tiny pulse slip through her fingers, her tears had dried.
The stone glistened in the setting sun. Soon it would be time for work. Back to the Lab, back to acting as though nothing had happened. Living a lie was easy. It was only when the truth was faced that it became hard to bear.
She'd been stood there, halfway through the car park. Heading out towards a scene. It had all seemed so simple- a break in, with plenty of evidence. The sort of job any rookie could do.
Holly Gribbs probably thought that too. She recalled that all too well. She'd probably thought that right up to the point where he pulled the trigger and Holly would have felt an on-rushing sensation before that impact. The impact that finally killed her.
He'd followed her out. Checking something up with one of the others, he'd said. He'd looked up to see her and smiled his faint smile, walking over to the car. She'd asked him what he thought of this one. He'd laughed and said it would be easy enough. Of course it should have been. Should have been.
The evidence had told them plenty, of course. What else would it do? It didn't lie, didn't cheat like people did. The evidence only knew what it had to say.
It was when they'd walked out that it had happened...
She shook her head slowly, remembering why she was here. The single rose she carried with her was such a dark blue as to be almost black. So much like her mood. It suited her. She knew that.
Kneeling, she placed the lonely bloom on the ground just in front of the headstone. The cruel wind had no sense of sympathy as it began to howl round her. For a moment, she feared she would loose the flower, but the headstone sheltered it, and it lay still.
He hadn't left. Like a ghost, he was haunting her. Every footstep seemed to bring her closer to him rather than further away. She saw fleeting glimpses of his smile in the windows when the light caught them. Echoes of his voice seemed to scream through the break room in the silence. And there was more silence there than there used to have been. When the assignments were handed out, she'd seen little glimpses of tears in the others' eyes. They missed him. Something was wrong without him.
Closing your eyes to disappear
You pray your dreams will leave you here
But still you wake and know the truth
No one's there...
And still, she couldn't cry. She hated herself for it. The others had cried plenty. There hadn't been many people at his funeral, and among them all, only one couldn't cry. Herself. She'd hated him then. Hated him for dying. Hated his cold hands and the way his eyes had become glassy as the final breath escaped his body. Hated all of it. And now when she wanted to let the tears flow, she couldn't. It made her feel almost ashamed of herself. Almost as though she was saying he wasn't worth her tears.
Stepping out of the burgled store, she'd looked back to him and shaken her head.
"Too easy. People don't realise how much they leave behind." She'd called back. He'd smiled faintly again.
"No. That's what we're here for." He'd taken three steps forwards, then looked up at the building across from her. His eyes had widened. She was fairly sure he'd called her name before he'd sprinted forwards, lunging to knock her out of the way.
The 'bang!' seemed to last for hours as she fell to the floor. The cop waiting nearby had pulled out his gun and returned fire. She'd looked up at him standing there. He seemed all right at first. Just... Still.
He'd stood there for another hour, it felt like. And then, so slowly, he'd fallen backwards. His shoulders hit the floor before his head did and his neck had jerked backwards, bringing his skull into contact with the concrete. A loud 'crack' had sounded as that happened.
She'd crawled over to him, thinking stupidly that he must have fainted. It was then that she'd finally seen the blood. The torn and twisted flesh that peeled away behind his ripped shirt. His breath had been coming in short, choked gasps. But the most terrible thing had been the way he looked at her. He'd looked at her as though she could bring him back.
"I love you..." He'd whispered. Somehow, he'd managed to be crueler than anything she'd ever known while lying there. Three words had killed her along with him.
Hold on to me love
You know I can't stay long
All I wanted to say was I love you and I'm not afraid, no
Can you hear me?
Can you feel me in your arms?
He was crying, she'd realised. The tears streaked down his face. She'd taken his hand and he'd clutched it as though it was a lifeline. As though somehow, he could bring himself back by holding onto her as tightly as possible.
His hands had been cold. Ice cold. The pulse had raced in his fingers. For a moment, he'd never seemed so alive to her, and then never seemed so small. So insignificant.
"I love you too." She'd whispered to him, and then planted a kiss on his smooth lips. "You will live through this." He'd shaken his head then and she'd bitten her own tongue.
"Look at me. Look at me and tell me the truth." He'd whispered. "I'm dying."
"No!" She'd shaken her head almost venomously and he'd looked at her sadly.
"I am. I'm sorry..." A single tear, following the others, ran down his cheek. The pulse in his hands faded. He'd sighed softly as a final, deathly breath had escaped weakening lungs. His lips formed the words 'I love you. I'm sorry...' as his eyes became glassy and unfocussed. She'd screamed in rage, feeling his body relaxing, his fingers falling limp against her hand.
He was dead.
Holding my last breath
Safe inside myself
Are all my thoughts of you?
Sweet raptured light
It ends here tonight
His funeral had been yesterday. She'd watched her workmates each walking up, trying to find the words to say and being unable to. He'd stolen the words and taken them with him, she'd thought to herself. Almost as though everything he'd given he'd taken back all in that one moment.
He was still there. Standing next to the coffee machine, he was with all of them. His words, his books, his work... It still littered the desks. His crossword puzzles were unfinished. His paperwork had never been cleared. The tears came, finally, and she pressed a hand against the cruel marble headstone that read forever:
Gil Grissom
1956-2004
"We are the last voice of those who cannot speak"
Sara leant her head against the stone, tears flowing faster and faster. The sobs that wracked her body didn't seem to want to stop. She knew what awaited her once she'd left here, and maybe that was what made her stay after all of this.
He had been wrong. There was no cake in the break room, but he hadn't gone. He haunted all of them, just the same. When he'd gone, there was nothing left of the team. Catherine had left after the funeral. Sara still didn't know where the older woman had gone. Warrick had transfer papers being processed. Nick had quit. Greg had taken a job offer in New York. And soon, Sara knew, she would leave as well. All of them had gone to escape the same thing.
The ghost of Gil Grissom.
Say 'Goodnight'
Don't be afraid
Calling me
Calling me
As you fade to black...