Title: Waiting for Tomorrow
Author: Entropy
Summary: Butterflied Post-Ep. Implied G/S
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Ask my student loan people.
Rating: PG
A/N: First fic ever.
I hardly remember getting here to this little bar on the outskirts of town. All I do remember is seeing her lifeless face before me. Those cheekbones and that hair mimicked my own. It was easy to see myself there, easier than it should have been: on a cold, metal slab in the morgue. I should have walked away faster than my slow pace allowed and just taken a vacation. But instead, I remember running briefly into Catherine.
If I didn't know better, I'd think that was you on the table.
But it wasn't me; I'm still alive and kicking. Well, I'm pretty sure at least.
I didn't really look at her face.
Who am I kidding? I practically memorized it which wasn't all that difficult; I could just look in a mirror to save myself some trouble. But I, Sara Sidle, like to do things the hard way. Why do something in one step when I could do it in five? That should be the story of my life.
So, that should have been enough trouble for a person in one day. Everyone knew Grissom was unraveling. After everything that happened, part of me wanted to tell him that he didn't deserve to let it affect him. Our friendship had already been broken into thousands of pieces; what was a couple more? Just change to a rich man.
I went behind the glass in the interrogation room, and only wanted to see the resolution to the case. Debbie and I were intertwined, definitely not in lifestyles, but physical features. Not in the least did I expect what happened. It all started out so simple.
It's sad, isn't it Doc? Guys like us. A couple of middle age men who've allowed their work to consume their lives. The only time we touch other people is when we wearing our latex gloves.
It was so easy to become fixated on that one thought. Latex gloves, my symbol to the world. I keep everything in, only feeling a small sensation with every touch. Nothing can reach me; one small detail that kept Grissom and I apart. We both lived our lives though latex gloves. At least I tried to break free, once, but it was just one final tear in our relationship. "Let's see what happens," I'm still mentally kicking myself. And still, Grissom's monologue continued. Fear was definitely written all over my face.
We wake up one day and realize for fifty years we really haven't lived at all.
I tried to live, but never succeeded. Grissom always had my heart, and everyday I would watch him contemplate a life with me. Everyday I saw his rejection; I must be the biggest masochist in the world, but he'd probably be turned on by that. I look around at the bar; maybe I shouldn't have had that last drink.
But then, all of a sudden, we get a second chance. Somebody young and beautiful shows up, somebody we could care about.
It's amazing how beauty is brought up again. "Since I met you," he had casually replied. That had pretty much rocked my world, and brought my hopes up. That was the closest he had come to telling me how he felt, but he was just teasing me again. That was another typical day for Grissom. He really should stop doing that. That model's case from a while back keeps popping into my head. Don't even get me started on his remarks on symmetry. Could he have found symmetry in me? Symmetry and beauty have a direct correlation after all, like the ease of the butterfly.
She offers us a new life with her. But we have a big decision to make, right? Because we have to risk everything we've worked for in order to have her. I couldn't do it, but you did. You risked it all.
And what I risked was nothing? Hell, even the dayshift knows about everything. It even cost me the promotion; I don't care if Grissom tries to refute it. He'd probably be shocked that I knew about his recommendation, but that's what he gets for telling Catherine. I remember wanting to just go home and cry, but I still continued to face him that day. Frustration doesn't even begin to describe my plethora of emotions. I even came to Vegas for the man.
And she showed you a wonderful life, didn't she? But then she took it away and gave it to somebody else.
I would have shown you a wonderful life, Grissom. Honestly, I would have at least tried. He had to have been thinking of Hank then, but Grissom and I were never together before that. I tried to move on, but he expected me to be there pining for him forever. It didn't matter anyway; Hank had been cheating on someone with me. Grissom has no right to be hurt, never did.
And you were lost, so you took her life. You killed them both, and now you have nothing.
He had something at one point Grissom, which is much more than you can say.
I'm still here.
Are you?
I looked at the shell of the man sitting at the table. Trying not to cry, I ran. I ran to my car and shakily drove to a bar on the outskirts of town. I've been here ever since. I had walked straight to the counter and asked for a shot of tequila or quite possibly vodka. It was too long ago to remember.
No matter what I drink, his voice still rings in my head. "I couldn't do it." He's never taken a chance in his life, why would he start now? My bitterness has pretty much set in. And as I call the bartender over, I know I'll have the hugest hangover tomorrow, but that doesn't matter right now. I still have a few good hours to drown myself in alcohol.
I lost the ability to feel anything quite a while ago, so when a few guys asked me to dance, I figured I couldn't possibly loose anything. None of them were Grissom, and all I did was ungracefully excuse myself to get more drinks. Coordination isn't a strong point when I'm drunk.
Just when I thought my day couldn't have gotten any worse, Grissom manages to walk into the same bar I'm at. What are the chances? He's probably here for the same reason I am: to get drunk, probably not to dance with random men. I've consumed enough alcohol at this point to wish him well if that was what he was going to do with his life.
He's already spotted me, but it's amazing to me he's still standing. He hasn't slept in days, even though I haven't either. I choose to stare at the glossy countertop, much like he stared reflectively at the table in the interrogation room.
"Let me call you a cab," the voice towers above me. My brain screams in protest at the noise and the notion of him doing anything for me right now.
"Okay." Although, the way he looks, he'd probably pass out first. I really shouldn't let him call me a cab, but at this point, I'm too tired to care or to argue. We head out of the bar, and all I know is that things between us will never be the same. It wasn't perfect before; but if I'm forced to leave, so be it. I'm already feeling the pain of the headache from the hangover, but it will be nothing compared to the pain of the remorse and sadness tomorrow.
The cab arrives, and we slip in. Telling the cab driver to drop me off first, Grissom gives me one of those meaningful glances I should understand, but I just stare at the city lights. The lights will fade into the morning, and all I can hope, is that he is still waiting when I wake.