Look, but Don't Touch
Summary: Grissom laments his love life (or lack thereof) and the women in it
Spoilers: Too many to count
Disclaimer: CSI does not belong to me. It belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer. Lucky #$#&
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I've always found the saying "like a kid in candy store" to be interesting. In a lot of ways, I feel that it applies to me. Now I realize that my often-somber mood might lead people to think otherwise, but contrary to popular belief, I do feel. I'm just not good at expressing it. It's always easier to retreat, hide and not let anything show through. There's a great deal of solace to be found in solitude. I should know. I've wrapped myself in it like a protective blanket all my life. Like I told Warrick, I'm a ghost.
On the other hand, get me to a crime scene and, like I said, I'm like a kid in a candy store. Not that I enjoy seeing bodies. But I get a giddy little thrill at the beginning of a case, the start of a new puzzle.
I can take any puzzle and solve it. All it takes is careful observation, calculation and deduction. It's the human side of the equation that I can never master. I can watch people. I can observe their behaviours and their reactions, but I can't interact. I can't become part of the conversation. When confronted by human emotion I don't know what to do. Usually, I throw out some obscure fact or quote a piece of literature; some little piece of wisdom that I hope will be enough. But I can't talk to people, especially not the family members of a victim. No, usually I leave that unpleasant task to Catherine.
Ah Catherine. I don't know what I'd do without her. She can handle everything I can't. She is everything that I am not. She always knows what to do. Always knows what to say. On that alone, she's miles ahead of me. That was why I couldn't be there for her when Eddie was killed. I wanted to be. Believe me. There was nothing more I wanted to do than take her in my arms and hold her until her grief was gone; but I couldn't do it. I didn't know how. So instead I threw personal time at her, and retreated to a safe distance like always.
It was the same with Sara after the lab explosion. She came to me and asked me out on a date. I'm no fool, I know the reason she actually decided to make a move was because of the post traumatic stress that she was not doubt suffering from as a result of being caught in the explosion. She charged head on, without the all clear from Brass, into a suspect's apartment. I'm smart enough to recognize the signs. She had just had what could have been a near death experience and was experiencing a feeling of invincibility. That's why she charged in after that suspect and that's why she felt brave enough to ask me out.
That doesn't mean that I distinguished myself in handling the situation. No, far from it. When she asked me, I told her "I don't know what to do about this." Not one of my wittiest repartees, I grant you. "I don't know what to do about this", Ha! What does that mean, really? I ran away, that's what it means.
There must have been some way for me to respond without sounding like the coldhearted, detached supervisor. I at least owed her an emotional response beyond that of the irritation I sent her way.
Whether its Catherine Willows or Sara Sidle I can't figure out how to act or what to say. I didn't tell Cath about my hearing loss until just before the operation. I didn't tell Sara at all.
I take it back. Life at the lab isn't like being a kid in candy store at all. It's more like being a kid in an art gallery. You remember when you were a kid and your teacher took your class to the art gallery and you were told, "look, but don't touch."
Look, but don't touch. Look, but don't touch. Over the years, it's practically become a maxim for me. Two beautiful women in the same building, like works of art in a gallery; and as much I'd like to, I can't reach out and touch either.
Actually it's more like three beautiful women. There's still Lady Heather to consider, the one woman who got the closest. She was right when she said that my greatest fear was 'being known'. It's something that I've managed to avoid, though not totally, my whole life.
I think that's why I managed to ruin the relationship. You could argue that I tripped over my job, and in a way I did. I mean accusing your newfound lover of murder is hardly foreplay. Deep down, however, I think I knew that eventually the relationship would come to something like this, so I just took the most convenient exit.
She understood, and that was what drew me to her. We were alike. I don't mean that she was shy or antisocial. Far from it. We were both the same, in that we were different from the rest of the world and that was what drew us to each other.
Three beautiful women. I suppose I should consider myself lucky. In a way, it is like being in a store. I've certainly got a lot of variety. Blonde, brunette, red head, proud, demure, aggressive, dominant, submissive, intelligent, witty, humourous, insightful. Everything I could ever want. Yet everything I will never have.
No matter what, I can't put aside my reasons, be they apt or ridiculous, for not acting. With Catherine, it would be so easy, since we're the same rank, to do something if I weren't afraid. Too afraid to reveal to my friend, of twenty years, that I worship the ground she walks upon and that I love her for her. All of her, rather than her body. Lord knows she's experienced enough of that kind of affection. I love her for being everything I'm not. I love her for being stronger than I will ever be, especially if I don't tell her.
With Sara, there is an actual reason for keeping my distance. Being her boss, it would be inappropriate for me to pursue a relationship. That is the only thing, besides fear again, that has kept me from telling my wonderful beautiful apprentice that her mentor loves her and the ways she has managed to surpass him. Tell her that together we can heal and the scars that we both bear will begin to fade.
With Lady Heather my reason is obvious. Because I couldn't pass muster, she closed the door on me forever. Because I was too wrapped up in my job and my fear of being known, I've lost the one woman in my life that really, truly understood me.
Three beautiful women and I love all three of them. I know. As Dean Martin once sang, "you can't love them all." But I do anyway. Look, but don't touch. The maxim still echoes. Three beautiful women. I love all three; but I can never have any of them.