Author's Note:
Although this fic is the final installment in my "And They All Fell Down" series, this story may be enjoyed separately. To read the previous stories see "Unexpected," "Evidence of Life," "A Comedy of Errors," "A Woman's Work" and the "The Best Laid Plans."
Takes place just after episodes 524/5 "Grave Danger," circa mid May 2005
Quietus
I suppose I should have known when you didn't protest after I asked you for the keys.
You always want to be the one to drive.
You should be happy I didn't ask Greg to do it. You do realize that when you tell Greg to take the keys you are asking for trouble.
In actuality, you probably don't, as you never have anyone telling you that Greg is going to drive this time.
I suppose sometimes it is good to be boss.
Perhaps it is a good thing I didn't ask Greg, as trying to focus even halfheartedly on the road is all that is keeping me from reaching over and taking your hand -- partially to give you comfort, but also to be given it.
I am worried about you.
That look is back.
The one that haunts your eyes. The one that makes my heart ache for you.
I can do nothing until we get back to the lab and perhaps not even then.
Will you let me take you home?
Will you let me take care of you as you've taken care of me?
You are sitting there so still and quiet I almost wonder if you have finally succumbed to sleep.
It has been a very long 24 hours. Or longer.
In the midst of recusing Nick, I've lost track of time.
All I do know is that the supposedly thirty minute drive back to lab feels like its taking thirty hours.
When I look over at you, slumped as you are in the passenger seat, your eyes might be closed, but your face and neck are both too fixed and rigid for you to be sleeping and your hands are still clenched tight; I can see the tension in your white knuckles.
Greg must realize something is wrong, because he, too, is silent, sitting behind me, his eyes alternating between you and my eyes in the mirror.
It feels as if we three are keeping a quiet vigil.
Until Greg's phones rings, which startles me, but does not rouse you.
He speaks softly into it at first, but as the conversation progresses, his voice grows in both pitch and volume. By the time he clicks his phone shut, the customary Greg grin is back in place.
"That was Catherine. She says Nick is going to be fine, although not up for visitors for a while."
He seems slightly disappointed when you say nothing to this.
And I am growing more and more alarmed, but I try to hide it as I beam back at Greg and mutter some sort of pleasantry which I hope helps placate him for the moment.
I almost miss the turn off Industrial.
But even the sharp right I end up making doesn't invoke a response from you.
Part of me doesn't care that Greg is watching both of us now.
Part of me wants to say screw the lab and policy and stupid rules.
I just don't care.
None of that matters.
But I am saved from doing something you would probably be irritated at me for doing by the welcome sight and lights of the crime lab's parking lot.
Greg hesitates for a minute before getting out. I think he is worried, too, but he still goes when I lie in telling him that everything is fine.
Fine?
I don't feel fine. Nothing feels fine right now.
And you are certainly not fine.
I watch Greg slump his weary way back to his car.
Finally, after giving the parking lot a quick once over to make sure no one is around, I unfasten my seat belt and turn to you.
When I call your name nothing happens.
Even when I call you "Gil," something I am not quite used to doing yet, you still sit there.
I reach over and take your hand, threading my fingers between yours. Very slowly, I can feel your grip tighten on mine. And then even more slowly your eyes open and you look at me as if suddenly confused at where you are and what is going on.
It is all beyond explaining at this point, so I merely give your hand a gentle squeeze and say, just as you said to me a year ago,
"Come on. I'll take you home."
