I have endless conversations with myself - similar to this one. So either I'm really weird, or other people do it too!
Maybe, just maybe, this is what it might be like in Grissom's head.
Still don't own them. It's all very sad and tragic, really...
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Rationalisations
Shit.
Shit, shit.
Stop saying that.
Shit.
Stop it. Saying it over and over again is not going to change anything.
Fine.
Crap.
Crap, crap, crap.
Oh yeah, that's helpful.
I'm not trying to be helpful. I'm trying not to get reacquainted with the salad I had for lunch.
How's that going?
I'll let you know. Touch and go at the moment.
Stop the car, you're here.
Yeah. I can see that.
Switch it off.
I've done this before you know.
Oooh…touchy, touchy. Just get out. Go up. Knock on her door. Tell her how you feel.
Nothing to it.
Easy for you to say.
Look, it's going to be fine. Have a little faith. What's the worst that can happen?
She could tell me to go to hell.
Huh…yeah. Let's… try… not to think about that. Positive. Be positive. She wants this. You know that. You've known that for years. So there's nothing to be worried about.
Correction. She wanted this. Past tense. Lately – I'm not so sure. She's…different.
How?
I don't know. Happy. Smiling a lot. Maybe there's someone. Maybe I've blown this already.
You haven't even done anything yet.
Exactly. All these years, and I never did anything…
She's still here though isn't she? Still in Vegas, still working at the lab. What, you think she hung around all these years so she could eventually become a showgirl?
Don't mock. There's nothing even remotely funny about this.
Oh come on. It's a little funny. Fifty year old, commitment phobic, emotionally retarded entomologist, is about to spill his guts to his young, beautiful co-worker. His subordinate, lest we forget.
Ha-ha. You're a riot.
I try.
That's it. I'm going home. Screw this. I didn't have her yesterday and I was fine. And if I don't have her tomorrow… well - I'll get over it.
Life is filled with disappointments.
So you're giving up?
I'm not giving up. I'm…retreating.
"He who fights and runs away, will live to fight another day."
Shakespeare?
Bite me.
Look. You go up. You knock on her door. She opens it. You say: "Hello Sara."
Fan-bloody-tastic. Come up with that all by yourself? It's what I'm supposed to do after that, that I'm having a little trouble with.
Idiot.
Who knows? Maybe you get lucky. Maybe she'll just start to kiss you passionately and you won't have to say anything else.
Yeah. That's gonna happen. Very realistic…
Hey – a man can dream.
Can we get back to the point please?
Are we staying or going?
Staying. This time we are definitely staying. This business of driving to her apartment every day after shift and sitting in the car looking up at her window like a lost puppy has got to stop.
The neighbours are going to start calling the police to report a stalker.
I don't stare at her window like a lost puppy. I…sit…and…observe…oh fuck it.
You're right. I'm getting out of the car now.
Hurrah! Progress! Two more weeks of this, and we might actually get to go up her stairs!
Up yours.
Nooo – up the stairs.
Just do it. Seize the day and all that.
Shut up. I have to think.
About what?
About what the hell to say to her when she opens the door. I can't mess this up. It has to be perfect.
Some things in life aren't meant to be perfect. Their just meant to be…
Now who's the one not being helpful? Either help me think, or bugger off.
You're overanalyzing this.
She knows you. She won't be expecting a poetic soliloquy to rival Shakespeare – she'll be expecting a bumbling, mumbling…fumbli…
Shut! Up!
Sorry – got a little carried away there.
Think!
I am! Meanwhile, let's at least go up the stairs this time.
I am.
Ok. Just checking…
Shit.
Shit.
I'm starting to agree with that assessment.
Let's just go home.
No. No, no, no. Not this time. Not again. You're fifty years old, successful, intelligent – this isn't rocket science, so stop being such an ass.
If only it were rocket science, I might stand a chance.
You have a chance anyway. Think about this logically.
You asked her to come to Vegas. What happened?
She came.
Right. You asked her to stay. What happened?
She stayed.
Right again. You spent a lot of time over the last few years treating her like dirt, and where did she go?
Nowhere.
Exactly. Although heaven only knows how you got that lucky.
Can't argue with you there.
So – logically – why would she reject you now?
I might be too late.
Yes, you may be. But you still need to at least give it a shot. She deserves to know how you feel – deserves an explanation for everything you put her through the last five years.
I don't know that I have an explanation. Not a good one at any rate.
Then why did you do it?
Do what?
Stop fucking around. Why did you treat her the way you did?
I…uh…don't…
Just answer the bloody question.
I…was…trying…to protect her.
From what?
From me! What else could she possibly need protecting from?
Why?
Because it could never work. Because I'm too old, too set in my ways, too…
Bullshit. That is such a load of bullshit. Let's try this again.
Why did you treat her the way you did?
Asking the same question isn't going to get you a different answer…
Why. Did. You. Treat her the way you did?
Because…I…uh…it…
You know, admitting your sin is the first step to forgiveness. And eventual redemption.
I…was…it…
Just say it.
I…was…I…was…afraid. Ok?
Terrified. Scared shitless. That clear enough for you?
It's a start. Why?
Because…ah…uh…because…
Say it.
I can't.
Say it.
I…I…
Good grief. Just. Say. It.
Because... I…love…her.
Say it again.
I love her.
You see - the truth will out.
Great. Fantastic. So what the fuck am I supposed to do about it now?
Now? Now you stick your hand out, you knock on her door…
Yes?
And you just tell her.
Tell her what?
Everything.
You just tell her everything.
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