Author's Notes: Just another story inspired by an otherwise cringe-worthy episode. I hope you enjoy it. Thank you all so much for the wonderful feedback on "The Solution." If you want to read that story again, or any of my other CSI stories, please check out my new website at www. freewebs .com/ krieli. Sorry about the pimpage, but it's my story, and I'll pimp if I want to;) Take care until next time.
The Other Woman
by Kristen Elizabeth
Jealousy is that pain which a man feels from the apprehension that he is not equally beloved by the person whom he entirely loves. - Joseph Addison
"She wasn't what I expected."
"What were you expecting?"
Sara looked down at her egg salad sandwich. Why had she even ordered it? She wasn't the least bit hungry. Greg, on the other hand, was three wedges into his club sandwich and halfway through his fries.
"I don't know," she said, pulling the crust off one edge. "Whips? Chains?"
He smirked as he chewed. "Now you're speaking my language." The look she gave him only encouraged his grin. "C'mon. If we can't laugh about a dominatrix, what can we laugh about?"
But Sara wasn't sure she'd be laughing for a long time. She only flashed him the weak smile that she did because the last thing she needed was to rouse his curiosity. "She's…something else."
"Pretty?" Greg asked, dropping a fry into his mouth.
"Beautiful." Sara idly rubbed the back of her neck as she stared into her iced tea. "Even all bruised and weak. She has one of those faces. The kind that makes you want to give up. Because no amount of makeup can make you look like that. Just…incredible."
"I kind of like your face." She blinked and looked at him across the diner table. He lifted one shoulder. "I'm just sayin'…you hold your own in the pretty department."
Her expression softened. "Well…you haven't seen her yet."
Greg waved his hand dismissively. "You don't have to compete with her, Sar."
Sara took a sip of tea and held the cold liquid in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. He was sweet, and he was saying all the things right things; it wasn't his fault that he didn't have the whole story. The truth was that she'd been in competition with Heather Kessler from the moment Grissom had shown up in her hospital room.
If she was honest with herself, the competition might even go further back than that.
"Tell me the truth, Greg," she said, setting her glass down. "If you had to choose between a sultry, seductive sex goddess, and a science nerd who sometimes smells like a garbage dump, who would you pick?"
To his credit, he didn't answer right away. He took a bite, chewed, and swallowed before replying, "Well, the science nerd could take a shower and turn into a sex goddess. But it's pretty unlikely that the sex goddess knows how to process an entire garbage dump." He grinned again. "I'd go with the one who could be the best of both worlds."
How much simpler would life have been if she'd fallen in love with this man instead?
"Catherine says Heather's pretty intelligent. I bet she could learn." Sara made herself pick up her sandwich and take a bite. The egg and mayonnaise combination was usually comfortingly bland. Right then, however, a sudden wave of nausea overcame her.
"Are you okay?" Greg asked when she put her hand to her mouth. "Sara?"
The wave passed as quickly as it had come. She drank some tea and took a deep breath. "Sorry. My stomach's off today, I guess."
"Your stomach's been off a lot lately." He counted on his fingers. "At autopsy the other day…when Nick nuked that barbequed beef sandwich in the break room. It's like you're…"
He stopped, and Sara did nothing to encourage or discourage the thought he left hanging in mid-air.
A minute later, Greg cleared his throat. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but I'm really great at keeping secrets. Do you know what happened in the backseat of Brian Allister's car on the way to Disneyland, summer of '94?"
"No."
"And you never will!" he crowed triumphantly. "'Cause my lips are still sealed!"
Her mouth twisted into a reluctant smile. "You're crazy." She paused. "And thank you."
"If it helps," Greg went on. "I know this entomologist who's been a lot happier lately. Almost like he's getting laid on a regular basis." If he hadn't said it so endearingly, she might have had to slap the back of his head. "I don't think he's just gonna turn his back on whatever's making him happy. Even for a sex goddess."
She desperately wanted to believe that. But after leaving the diner, Sara drove straight to his townhouse and let herself in with her key.
Only the dog was waiting for her.
Letting go doesn't mean giving up, but rather accepting that there are things that cannot be. -- Anonymous
"She wasn't what I expected."
"What were you expecting?"
Heather's skirts rustled as she moved from candle to candle, lighting each one. "Of the woman who's sharing your bed?" She blew out her match, and lowered her voice to the point where she was certain he couldn't hear her. "More."
"When did I say she was sharing my bed?" Grissom asked when she turned back around.
She walked towards him and sank into the chair next to the one on which he sat with the Scotch she'd poured for him earlier. "I've never had an easier time reading two people than I did at the hospital." She crossed her legs at her ankles properly. "If you wanted to keep your relationship a secret, you shouldn't have put yourself in the same room as her."
"I didn't know she'd be there," he confessed. "I thought it was Catherine's case."
"You would have come, even if you'd known," Heather said. Her self-worth hadn't lapsed enough for her not to be sure of that. "Do you know why?"
He shook his head, but didn't try to argue the point.
"Because deep down…you wanted her to meet me." She picked up the tea pot from the little table that separated them and poured herself a fresh cup. "You wanted her to see what you could have had if you'd played your cards differently."
Grissom frowned. "I don't think I like how you see me, Heather."
"You're not a cruel person," she assured him. "But you are human." Stirring in a drop of cream, she went on, "She's at least…what? A decade younger than you?"
"Fifteen years," he murmured into his glass.
Heather nodded and sipped. "There must be other men in her life who are closer to her age. And you feel like you're competing with them all." He glanced away. "So subconsciously, you think that if she sees me, she'll realize what you gave up to be with her. And that might make her think twice about letting her eyes stray to those younger, fitter men."
"I don't want you to be right," Grissom said a moment later.
She set her cup into its saucer. "Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe walking into my hospital room and seeing her standing next to my bed was a terrible moment for you. A meeting you would have done anything to avoid. I have interacted with many of your co-workers. But never her until now." She watched him carefully. "Were you with her last year?"
"Yes." He lifted his head to look at her. "I went to her place after I left you at the police station."
"From my arms to hers," Heather mused. Depression dulled the sting of that, but didn't take away the ache completely. There were very few men in her life who stuck around for long. Grissom was one of the only ones she could stand. "And where is she tonight?"
"Working."
"She doesn't know where you are, does she?"
"She'll understand. She has her own friends, too." Still, there was a touch of guilt buried in his eyes. Heather grabbed onto it like a life preserver.
"Former lovers like me?" She leaned closer to him. He smelled good. Pure. Even in bed, after some truly amazing sex, she'd felt cleaner just by being near him. With nothing left in her life that was worth anything, there was still this man who wanted her to be better than she was. "Does she even know she's in a competition?"
"No." He reached out to her. She thought he was going to take her hand, but he ended up patting it gently. "Because she's not."
She arched an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure." Grissom drained his Scotch and stood up. Leaving his glass behind, he crossed to the fireplace, to examine the framed pictures that lined the mantle.
Heather's spine curved as her shoulders sagged a bit. The day had come when a man like Gil Grissom picked a plain Jane girl with gangly limbs over her, a woman who could fulfill his every unspoken fantasy.
It was time for it all to end.
Fin