A few months ago a few of us over on Jim Brass Fansite Forum were talking about a Facebook page about Jim Brass fanfiction. Somehow in all that we decided to post a Brass fic on the amazing Mr. Guilfoyle.s birthday. So here's my contribution. This is no where near my best but I hadn't attempted Brass in a long time and struggled with recapturing him. And I've always struggled with the other character here. But it was a possible relationship that I wish the show had explored more. So Happy Birthday Mr. Guilfoyle and happy reading to all.
Oh and for kicks and giggles check out the poll on my profile page and select your favs.
The sky was gray and rain threatened at any moment. But didn't it always rain at funerals, he thought to himself as he stood beside the grave. Surrounded by a few friends, the few who knew the story, he heard the words of the minister but they sounded like babble as he mentally fought to process what was happening. His mind looked backwards to the baby he'd held and taken into his heart in a way he'd never let anyone else in before or since. He saw her as she got older, taking her first steps, heading off to school the first time, sitting at the table coloring pictures for him to keep at his desk at work. She'd been the usual awkward pre-teen and then suddenly, almost overnight blossomed into a beautiful teen aged almost woman. And that's when the tears in the fabric of their relationship had begun to show.
He and her mother had been long split by then and he'd moved away. Sure, he visited her when he could and she'd come to visit him a few times. But the small tears began to grow and the gaps widened until finally he went months and even years without hearing from her. She'd come to town eventually but hadn't called him, even though she was living there. He only knew she was there because she was involved in a murder investigation. She'd been so angry with him then. Once everything was cleared up, they talked... a little. He thought things were better, that maybe she would be better.
When she called a few years later asking for his help, he knew how wrong he'd been. If anything, her life had gotten worse. He'd found her in LA, watched as she worked her corner and as she shot up with a guy who was so lost to drugs he couldn't see straight. He'd been angry... and disappointed and they had an argument.
She showed up when he was in the hospital but didn't stay long. She wasn't there for him but for what she could get from him. He'd felt even more disappointed.
And then she'd shown up again, what... just ... was it only four years ago? It seemed like an eternity. She was kidnapped, or so they thought. He'd called her mother and that was the one good thing that came out of it all. He'd had the chance to try to make things right with her at least. They even talked about trying again. He'd been on top of the world thinking they had another chance.
He knew he'd go to his own grave haunted with the memory of finding Nancy on the floor of that hotel. It was like the life just got sucked right out of him in that instant. From that moment on, he'd been a shell, unable to feel much at all, except the need to help his baby girl. He did it for Nancy's sake and because there was a part of him that just couldn't let go of her, couldn't give up. But the love... it just wasn't there anymore; not the way it should've been.
She tried to kill herself several times, once even doing a good enough job to land in the hospital. That one had made him decided to retire from the force and devote himself to her recovery. After almost a year of constant rejection from her he took the job at The Eclipse, more because he needed something to fill his days than any other reason. He didn't need the money or the aggravation, that was for sure.
And then there was the explosion, the one that made them all take a look back and brought Gil Grissom back to town. Catherine too, for that matter. Gil left again and Catherine stayed. He'd nearly been blown up in that investigation and he found out who his true friends were. Catherine was the only one to visit him in the hospital from the group that was working the case. And a couple of days later Nick showed up from San Diego to see how he was. Even Heather had stopped by with Catherine once. So had Doc and David. And once even Sanders showed up at his house. He never heard a word from Grissom though, or Sara who he'd tried to look out for all those years. They were off starting over again.
He released a deep sigh as he heard the minister winding down. A new life... yeah... resurrection...sure...
He was on automatic as each of his friends passed by to shake his hand or give him a hug and express the sadness they felt for him. The words were heavy and mechanical, meaningless. Finally he took one last look at the grave and walked away. She was gone, his baby girl, Ellie was gone. She'd finally found a way to kill herself by picking a fight with the toughest woman at the facility. Ellie lost because she'd wanted to lose. But then, Ellie was lost years ago; today was just the recognition of that.
As he crossed the threshold of his house, he pulled his tie off and tossed it on a chair. The refrigerator was the first stop, where he got a cold beer. Twisting the cap, he collapsed into his chair, thought about reaching for the remote and decided not to bother. He sat there in silence.
He woke the next morning to more silence. It didn't matter that there were birds chirping in his yard or that traffic passed on his street, Jim's world was silent. He felt nothing, he wanted nothing, he was nothing.
He had no one, not really. His wife was gone. His daughter was gone. His job was gone. Everything was... gone. He had only himself to blame and he could manage that if just... if everything weren't quite so silent.
He thought about taking a shower and decided not to bother. He thought about finding something to eat but decided that was too much trouble. So he sat in his chair again, in silence.
A couple of days passed like that. The phone would ring but he ignored it. The doorbell rang a couple of times but he ignored that too. And then finally on the third day, because he was already up and moving , he answered the doorbell.
Heather Kessler stood on his porch, her expression bland. Jim noticed she wasn't wearing much make up either. In fact, everything about her was toned down, not at all the usual Lady Heather. Confused by her presence on his porch, he grunted. "You lost?"
A smile quirked at the corner of her mouth but she didn't allow it to bloom. "No. But you appear to be," she said quietly.
Exhaling a huff of breath, Jim rubbed the back of his neck. "Why are you here, Heather?"
"I thought... " she looked past him into the house. "May I come in?"
He wanted to say no, wanted her to go away but instead, he stepped back and allowed her entry. Once inside she turned to look at him. "People who haven't lost a child can't possibly know how difficult it is. They empathize but they don't know."
"Ellie isn't lost; she's dead." The words were frank and without emotion and sounded as dead as the girl herself.
"I understand. But she was lost before she died, wasn't she? Lost to you at least?"
Shaking his head, Jim grimaced. "How do you know about any of it?"
"Catherine and... well, it was in the papers when she killed her mother."
"Right," Jim replied as he padded to his chair and collapsed once again. "Although I lost her years before that. It was to get back at me, you know; her coming back to Vegas and ... doing what she did."
"And so you blame yourself?" She asked as she sat gracefully down on his sofa.
"No one else left to blame," he replied brokenly.
"I felt that way, for awhile. I thought if only... if only I had done this or not done that."
Something in what she said resonated with him and he looked away up from the floor to study her expression. Heather was looking straight at him with those penetrating eyes of hers. "I finally understood that my daughter was an adult and had made her decisions. What happened to her... it was not my fault."
"Yeah. Situation is a little different for me," Jim mumbled.
"Your daughter was an adult; she made her own decisions. You aren't responsible for her poor choices."
Jim let her words settle over him and tried to let them sink in. He didn't want to feel guilty, but he knew he was. "She wouldn't have gotten into so much... trouble if..."
"If what? If you'd been there? You came here to escape your life back East but not her. Catherine said you tried to help her several times, even after she killed her mother."
Jim looked at her askance. "Escape? I..." a long sigh escaped him. "Yeah, I suppose I did. Needed to start fresh. But she felt abandoned, I guess."
"She might have been hurt when you left. But she choose to nurture it and let it grow into something else. She chose the drugs and the life she led. And she chose to use your love against you, to exact revenge. You are not guilty of anything except carrying guilt for her choices."
Jim shrugged. "Yeah, that's me... flawed, less than guilty as charged."
Sitting on his sofa, Heather stared at him for a moment, looking contemplative. When she spoke, her voice was low. "Have you ever wondered why there is so much friction between us?"
Her question caught Jim by surprise and his expression showed it. He knew Heather well enough to understand it was a loaded question. Finally he answered, "I didn't like your profession and you thought I was... am judgmental."
"True," she conceded. "Your cynical view of the world has made you callous, unforgiving and you directed it at me. But you did it because of Grissom, because he is your friend and you thought I might hurt him in some way. And then, you showed me kindness."
Jim shook his head. "Kindness? Yeah, right..."
"You did, although I don't think you meant to expose so much of yourself when you said it. But after I tried to have myself killed, you told me to get help. Oh, your words were not especially kind or gentle, but the tone... your voice when you spoke to me ... you revealed your heart and later I understood that there was more to you than the cold hard policeman."
"Yeah, Humpty Dumpty..."
Heather smiled sadly. "it's true, you'll never be the same. But perhaps you can be alright?"
Jim rubbed the back of his neck. "I lost my wife and I lost my daughter; I'll never be alright."
"Not if you won't allow it."
He looked up at her sharply, his blue eyes accusing. "I haven't had much choice in allowing any of it."
Heather tilted her head, her dark eyes looking at him piercingly. "I thought I might have dinner at my favorite restaurant. Perhaps you might choose to join me?"
Jim blinked. "You asking me out?" he taunted.
"I am asking a friend if he would like to join me for dinner," she stated in her no nonsense fashion.
"Why the hell not," he finally grumbled. Standing he looked at Heather abashedly. "You got time for me to clean up?"
Her eyes studied him from head to toe before she looked at him squarely. "I think that would be preferable," she said with a hint of humor.
"Okay then," he said as he turned to head to his room for a quick shower. By the time he'd showered and dressed, Jim was already feeling better. And by the time they'd finished dinner and she'd dropped him back at his house, he thought that maybe she might be right, maybe he would be alright again.
As he turned to climb out of Heather's car, he turned and asked one last question for the night. "How about we have dinner again on Friday, this time on me?"
She smiled and her eyes softened as she looked back at him. "I would enjoy that."
"I'll call you to set a time then?"
"Yes," she agreed. "I look forward to your call."
He closed the door and watched her drive away. Remembering his advice to Gil so many years before about Heather Kessler, Jim decided that maybe sports cars were over-rated after all.