Long way to happy by chibiness87
Pairing: GSR
Spoilers: Everything through 9.10 One To Go
Disclaimer: The wonderful people at CBS own them, not me. (If I did, Sara would never have sent that video!)

A/N: I was going to be a good girl and be completely unspoiled for this season... and then well, that didn't last. Lol. So yes, this is my post 9.10 fic. I know a lot of them have been done, and I don't mean any infringement on anyone else's work. Not beta'd. All mistakes are mine.

You never believed in happy endings.

It's not surprising really; the life you had. Fights and yelling and beatings made up your childhood. No one said anything when you walked into school with bruises on your arms. Not like they would now. It was the 80s after all; domestic violence was something people turned the other cheek to. The 'stay out of people's lives and they'll stay out of yours' motto ringing true.

And then people did get involved. Police, and social workers, and you guess there must have been some CSIs at the scene, but that parts a little fuzzy. You do remember the look on your mothers face though, as she was 'escorted' to the police station in the back of the car. Everyone said she had dead eyes. But you knew better. They were not dead. No, they were the most alive you had ever seen them.

And that was saying something.

And then came foster care. You were told, constantly, it seemed, that 'the next house will be better'. Sometimes that was even true. Well, for a little while. But ultimately ever house (not home, never home) had eventually had enough of you, sent you back. 'Damaged', they said, 'too damaged to help'.

Every other kid, you found out later, had grown up with the fairytales. A handsome prince would ride in on his high horse and save the poor damsel in distress from their evil family, and they would ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after. But not you. You knew better. You knew that there was no handsome prince, no horse, no sunset. No, you knew that if you needed to get out of a bad situation the only person you could count on was yourself.

You got yourself out of foster care. Studied hard while everyone who knew of your 'situation' expected you to fail. Scholarships fought for and won; placements at Ivy League schools for both undergraduate and graduate studies. A desire to help those who found themselves in similar situations you did all those years ago pointed you into the forensic direction. Science was something you were good at. Science followed rules, limitations. And it became something tangible you could rely on; something other than yourself.

Even when working your desire to learn never wavered. So you signed up for the seminar at the Forensic Academy conference your boss insisted you attend with something almost like enthusiasm. You did your reading beforehand, got some background information. You weren't looking to be teacher's pet. No, you just wanted to learn.

Intentions that completely flew out the window when he took the stand.

Love at first sight was something else you didn't believe in. But for him, oh, for him you could.

Maybe.

Questions lead to answers which lead to questions, all the while trying to find the nerve to ask the slightly bumbling professor out for a meal. But then a phone call interrupted you, and you left with a card and a promise to call.

There should be signs when one meets the love of their life. Something akin to a big neon arrow sign pointing it out to you both. But no. Nothing like that, not with you. No sudden climatic music, no time dilation, no sparks flying across the room. No prince, no horse, no sunset.

You kept in contact though. Made friends with the slightly (completely) socially awkward scientist, all the while trying to keep the urge to ask him to come visit you on the pretence of needing help on a case so you could take him to dinner (bed) tampered down.

In the end, it was he who needed the help. And suddenly you were playing the role of the prince, coming in to save the poor criminalist who was at a loss of what to do. When he offered you the position the death of Holly Gribbs left, you found yourself agreeing almost immediately.

You learnt so much that first year. The desire to take the bumbling scientist out lowered slightly, but you still held out hope that maybe he felt the same as you did. But a talk about escaping rabbits made you doubt it, made you doubt he felt anything really. Cases that affected you seemed to slide off his back, and you began to wonder if there was something wrong with you.

And then he called you beautiful.

Well, ok, there was some other stuff in there too. Like playing decoy for the Feds, threatening to leave and join them because they might actually give a damn about you. The dream you had about asking him out for a meal was almost completely dead now. It was fitting for you; if he had said yes, what then? A happy ending? You knew they didn't exist.

It was a shower of broken glass that made you try anyway though. You had been following him to ask him out before the wall exploded, but the whole event just made you more robust in your decision. The explosion proved to you that you couldn't predict events from one day to the next; so really, what was the harm in asking?

The disdain, almost, in his voice when he turned you down hurt. But at least you knew, then, that he didn't feel for you. You're not surprised; it would have been a happy ending, but it still hurt.

And then you listened behind a two way mirror as he told a suspect in what could have been your twin's murder that he did care for you. But he was too afraid of losing you that he wouldn't even try. And of everything you had out up with him for in the last 6 years of knowing him, that hurt the most. But at the same time, it almost felt like you had found a comrade in arms. Maybe he didn't believe in happy endings either.

And with his words, the dream of the prince and the horse and the sunset disappeared. Only for him to show up when it was much too late. The battle lot, the kingdom fallen, the princess forever gone. It didn't stop him from trying though. Picking you up from the station, driving you home (no mistakes even though you weren't directing him and he'd never been to your house (house, not home) before). Once upon a time it could have meant something. Right then, though, you were so lost, so broken, so damaged, it didn't.

It was a few months later when he found out just how damaged you really were. Secrets you had never told anyone came to light; things you had promised your 13 year old self would never be spoken of again. Because that meant there was something for someone to rescue you from, and that ship had sailed a long time ago. It was much too late for the prince to come and try to save you from that nightmare.

A mental hospital changed everything.

Being held captive was never a fun experience, but being held captive by a serial rapist was even less so. And as he held a shiv to your throat and your eyes locked with Grissom's, you realised that, right in that moment, you wanted fairytales to be true. You wanted the prince and the horse and the sunset. Instead you got a mother with a Jocasta Complex, your own two feet, and a wire-messed window showing the torrential rain outside.

And then you got a knock on the door, and a scared man, and then there were kisses and hugs and more kisses, and the start of something great.

For two years you were happy. You had the man you loved (because despite everything, you still believed in love), and then you had a shared home (home, not house), and a shared dog, and a shared life. And a small part of you was constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, because this was suspiciously like a happy ending, and you knew they didn't exist.

You thought the other shoe was a teaching seminar for him, not you. He left you for a month while he tried to get away from all the death, left you to find your own way in the darkness. But he came back. He came back, and he was lighter, and happy, and, well, fuzzy!

But the month away from him proved to yourself you didn't need him to play protector. You didn't need him to be the prince with the horse taking you away into the sunset. You could do just fine alone.

And then you were taken.

You proved to everyone you don't need a prince and a horse and a sunset when you managed to escape from under the car in the desert. Well, ok. Maybe you eventually needed a prince and a horse when the walking got too much and the heat got too hot and... yeah, things got a bit fuzzy for a while there.

But when you woke up, and saw him, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe happy endings existed after all.

You should have known better.

A split shift schedule, new colleagues who were good but not that good, and new cases that all felt the same, and a proposal that came out of left field.

In a way, you're glad you never did get married. Leaving Gil Grissom: fiancé, was hard enough. Leaving Gil Grissom: husband? Even now you're not sure if you could have.

But despite that sliver of light in your otherwise dark world, things still went wrong. As you thought they might. You just got engaged, so something was bound to happen. Cosmic balance and all that. In the end, it was a kid from the past that sent you over the edge you had been clinging to for far too long. You knew you had to go when you looked in the mirror and saw your mother's eyes staring back at you. And as much as you wished your prince could ride in on his horse and save you from the darkness and the death, you knew this was one sunset he couldn't give you.

So you ran. After all; you don't believe in happy endings.

Things were hard after that. So, so hard. But in a good way. And you began to see something resembling someone not your mother in your eyes again. Someone you thought could be Sara. It had been so long since you saw her in your eyes you're not sure what she looked like anymore.

And then you got the phone call about Warrick.

You caught the first flight out.

And when you saw him, saw how broken he was, suddenly you wanted to play the prince riding in to save the pilgrim from the evil of the world; take him away into the sunset. But you couldn't. Even as you lay in bed together and you suggested it, you knew he wouldn't be coming with you.

And then Greg called. And suddenly the progress you felt you had been making away from Vegas was under threat. All because of an escaped rabbit. So you did what you needed to do; you left. Again.

And then you left.

But this time, it was different. Because this time, it didn't feel like running away; it felt like running to. And for the first time in a long time, you began to feel happy. But not completely. It still felt like you were expected to return to the city of sin, return to be with him. And you couldn't promise him that. So you did what you needed to; you let him go.

And it nearly killed you to do it, but you loved him that much to release him to live his own life, even at the risk of never being truly happy. But that was ok; you never believed in happy endings.

There was a monkey on the tree. Again. You were sure it was the same one who had been around for the past few days, and so you had started keeping your camera close by. It was after you took the second shot you felt his eyes on you.

Which was stupid. Of course it was. Because he was in Vegas. But then he was the only one who could make the hairs on your neck quiver like they currently were. So you turned around. And hallucinated.

But then the hallucination was there, in your arms, or you were in its, and then there was kissing, and hugging, and more kissing.

You don't believe in happy endings. But maybe that's Ok.

They believe in you.