It was the sort of morning that demanded lethargy, demanded staying in bed. And thus, this is what Gil Grissom did. Mopey, tired, hungry but not willing to get up and get food, he lay dejected on the pillow-top mattress. He was on his side, staring dolefully at Hank, who as of late had taken to sleeping in the doorway. Even the dog didn't want to be with him; that was bleak.
The bed felt empty and his home felt cold and lonely and for the first time he acknowledged that his current mood was his own fault, that there was no one to blame but himself. Well... crap. If only he wasn't so inept at everything but being super, ridiculously intelligent. If only he wasn't so inept at everything but looking like a dejected lumberjack. If only, if only.
With a huff, he threw himself onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Everything was... beige without her. The sky, the artificial xeriscaped lawns, the lights of the Strip, the curtains... though actually... those were beige. So that didn't count. The point was, the world was colorless without her; it held no excitement. Grissom didn't want to leave his bedroom and face another day of that.
His gaze flicked to the bedside table, settling of course, on a photo of a not-at-all-Photoshopped image of the two of them at Mount Rushmore. He fondly remembered Sara's obsession with Theodore Roosevelt. Often times, he had found her hiding under the covers, reading tales of the Rough Riders. It was charming, in a strange way, probably in the way that she felt about his bugs.
Oh how he missed her, but oh how he couldn't tell her. Even after reading both 'The Idiot's Guide to Relationships' and 'Long-Distance Relationships for Dummies' he was completely and utterly at a loss. And nowhere in any of the chapters of either of the books did it encourage "push her away when things get rough." If only there was a way to be with her without having to leave his job, his home, his comfort zone or anything he held dear.
Squeezing his eyes shut, the entomologist willed his muscles into motion. Sitting up, he stretched out his back, gulped and turned down the photo. He couldn't bear to look at it. Oh it was all unbearable, everything was terribly, terribly unbearable. Walking across the room like a burlap sack filled with a human-like Eeyore he slid into the rickety rattan chair that served as part of the Bohemian home-office space she had constructed. He flipped open his laptop.
At the door, Hank whuffled and sauntered out of the room, leaving Grissom once again horribly, horribly alone. Swallowing the lump in his throat, and tried, tried, tried to forget.
Booting up his computer, Grissom leaned back in the chair. As he did, he got a whiff of himself, cringing at the odor. Since Sara had left, there was no one to order him to take a shower, to bring in the mail, to make sure the soyrizo wasn't overcooked. Making a vow with himself to shower as soon as he checked his email, Grissom typed in his password and waited for Windows to initialize.
Logging into his work email, he answered two short requests from Catherine, deleted two inappropriate jokes from Greg and quickly filed away an offer for "PENIS ENLARGEMENT NOW!" At the very bottom of his inbox remained an email that he didn't quite understand.
The sender, wallmaster+, was informing him that Sara Sidle had changed her status. Intrigued-though not happy that she had been once again been forced to the forefront of his mind-he clicked on the message. Inside, he was told to "click on the following link" if he wanted to read more.
Oh he did. He did want to read more.
And thus he was brought to a functional-but not that functional-log in page. Digging deep, he recalled the email and password that Sara had used to set him up with an account. Everyone was doing it, she had said and in twenty minutes he had 'friends requests' from fifty people he didn't know.
And seventeen to add something called 'Lil Green Patch'. Needless to say, he had not been amused and learned immediately how to disable all innocuous emails.
He wasn't quite sure where to go from there, and so he sought out her Facebook page. The photo of her-gazing at the camera over her shoulder, pouting whilst holding a bottle of cheap, light beer-stole his heart and he sighed. Gorgeous, gorgeous young Sara. The information that her profile gave him was that she had updated her status (Sara Sidle is: in San Francisco, cutting my hair and learning to knit... without Gil Grissom) her favorite television programs (Forensic Files and professional women's softball), books (anything by Dan Brown and don't forget Harry Potter!) and music (Ani DiFranco, Tegan and Sara and anything but country and rap!).
Beneath her photo was her birthday, her current location and... relationship status.
A relationship status that said: single.
But, but... his mind was reeling. He was going to vomit, or possibly urinate or do something else completely inappropriate for the moment. His eyes sought out other information on her page. Wall posts from friends he'd never heard of asking her "when are we gonna hang, gurl!?," indicators for free gifts and another notification that claimed: Sara Sidle has changed her relationship status to "it's complicated."
Dated the day she had once against left Las Vegas. And him.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Their relationship had gone from normal to complicated and she hadn't bothered to call him and tell him that? And the rest of the internet knew. That was... rather dismal, that she didn't even have the decency to let him know that things were going badly. How else was he supposed to know?
His heart stopped, burst.
Thoughts swirled through his mind; should he call her? Should he not? Should he email her everything that he was feeling, perhaps post to her wall? Grissom was confused, upset, depressed, disappointed.
Eyes filling with tears, his tired fingers moved the mouse to the top of the page. There, he clicked on 'update status' and slowly typed in, Gil Grissom is: an idiot, and misses Sara Sidle.
Maybe she would get the message now. For a moment, he contemplated taking her off his "friends" list, but decided against it. Instead, he untagged himself from all of the photos she had posted on them and clicked out of the window.
Tags: ! fic, csi, grissom/sara, humor