A/N: Written because I like to interpret what happens after the screen goes black. Huge thanks to Keegan Elizabeth for her advice and corrections - all done in the nick of time!
Disclaimer: CSI is property of CBS, unfortunately.
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Hindsight
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He stares at the miniature hanging by a thin thread, its long brown hair and bright orange jumpsuit swaying ominously, mocking him. Behind him, he can hear Natalie shuffling down the hall, DA Monroe's confident strides right beside her.
Natalie's defense attorney should know about this, about her plan to commit suicide. But another part, a less rational part, is hesitant.
"Have you ever loved someone so much you would kill for them?"
He had not answered Scott Bonfilio's question, but now, he has the opportunity to act on it. It was Natalie who broke Sara; Natalie who broke him; Natalie who set the chain of events that led to Sara's departure; Natalie who broke them.
If there was one person he could lay all the blame on, it would be Natalie Davis.
Inside him, a battle was waging between his consciences – allow Natalie to take her own life as a symbol of his love, however haunting or perverse it may seem, for Sara, or alert Monroe and let justice take its course.
Being a crime scene investigator means that he sees the world in many different shades of grey, but the decision he must make will be black or white, revenge or justice, live or die.
His heart speeds up, the sounds dispersing around him. Time slows down as he continues to stare at the miniature, swaying from left to right, hypnotizing him.
--
"I've been trying to believe that people may change, even people who are damaged. But I don't know if they can, I really don't," he says dejectedly, facing both Sara and Natalie.
Natalie looks unaffected, but Sara is livid, and her voice is lower than he has ever heard.
"You know, Grissom. You've known all along."
"No, Sara, I don't."
"Stop lying to yourself!"
He stares at her flushed cheeks, surprised by her outburst.
"Everyone is damaged to an extent." This time, it's Natalie speaking, voice as low as Sara's but holding no trace of anger. "Some conceal it less than others, but we are all damaged."
He ponders her words, his eyes meeting Sara's.
Sara, with her turbulent childhood, emotional scars and ghosts from the past.
"Where am I now?" she questions quietly, and he swallows thickly.
Sara, off on a ship halfway around the world, on a self-fulfilling journey.
"What else, Grissom?" This time she is whispering, so softly he has to lean forward to hear her.
Sara, off on a ship halfway around the world, on a self-fulfilling journey without him and happy.
The sharp, brief pain in his heart makes him turn from Sara to Natalie but Natalie shakes her head and points to his left. Puzzled, he turns and his eyes meet a mirror, his own confused face staring back at him.
"I'm not damaged," he says, and Sara sighs loudly.
"Look closer, Gil."
Squinting, he stares into cornflower blue eyes, and suddenly it's clear.
He, with his inability to verbalise his emotions, his tendency to relate to certain murderers and his failure to put anything else above work, is damaged too.
"Where are you now?" Sara asks, and he realises Natalie is gone.
"Nowhere."
He must sound broken, because Sara reaches for his hand, her touch cool and barely there, like a breeze.
"People can change, even damaged people," she says with so much emotion it makes him want to tear up. "The question is not if one can change, but when."
He clings to her touch like a lifeline, trying to pour all of his emotion through his skin and into hers, through the only contact he has with her. He can smell the distinct scent of sunscreen on her skin – the chemical smell of it combined with a hint of grapefruit.
"Bad people who do bad things deserve to be punished, but I think you've been punished enough."
He knows she is speaking about the guilt he has been holding against himself; that it is his fault Natalie kidnapped her, that it is his fault she left not once but twice, that it is his fault their relationship withered.
Somewhere in the distant background, he can hear the faint ringing of a phone and he begins to wake up but he fights it, because this is the only place he can feel her, the only place where everything feels right.
"Stop punishing yourself, and wake up."
"No!" he shouts, but he has no choice but to let go of her as he jolts awake. The phone is still ringing and he picks it up, still struggling to separate dream from reality.
"Grissom."
"Grissom, this is ADA Valarie Nichols."
By the tone of her voice, he already knows why she is calling.
"Natalie Davis was found dead in her cell early this morning, apparent suicide."
"Oh."
He doesn't feel remorse, but he does feel a sadness resonate deep within him.
"It's not the method you brought to light with the miniature you found in her previous cell."
"She didn't hang herself?" he asks, sitting upright now.
"Natalie Davis died by drinking bleach."
By working with the thing I fear the most, I diminish its power.
--
She laughs; the wind messing up her hair in a way that he thinks is absolutely adorable. Droplets of saltwater are visible on her face, as with his, and he cannot think of any other time she has looked more at ease.
Turning to him, she shouts over the steady hum of the engine and the spray of the water.
"Seasick?"
"I'm scared of sitting in tiny boats," he shouts back, feeling his stomach lurch.
She bites back a laugh and says, "We're almost there, you'll love it. Insects everywhere," she says loudly, pointing to a tiny island in front of them.
He doesn't trust himself to reply so he smiles at her instead, taking a deep breath of salty air to bring down the nausea.
Sara scoots closer to him, her bright orange lifejacket the exact shade as Natalie's jumpsuit. "Are you okay?"
He shakes his head, but replies, "I will be."
"You could have stayed behind, you know. I could have bottled several specimens for you."
"By embracing the thing I fear the most, I diminish its power."
For the first time since she first saw him on board, she frowns. "Who said that?"
He pauses for a second longer than necessary before answering, "Natalie Davis."
She licks her lips, a nervous habit of hers, and he elaborates. "I'll tell you back on the ship. It's a… long story." He reminds himself she still does not know that he resigned from the crime lab, that Natalie committed suicide and that he left without letting anyone know.
He licks his lips unconsciously as well, tasting salt. He is almost tempted to tell her right here, right now, but knows she deserves his undivided attention, at the very least. The boat hits a wave, drenching both of them, and his mind is brought back to the present.
She wipes the water from her face and nods, satisfied with his answer, before turning her head in the direction of the approaching island. Her fingers slowly and carefully intertwine with his, and he is surprised. It reminds him of the dream he had not long ago, the catalyst for the change he's experiencing now.
"Besides," he says suddenly, making her turn back in his direction, "I wouldn't want to be anywhere but here."
Her smile is barely visible but she squeezes his fingers tighter, and this time, he's not letting go.