JULY AND DECEMBER
Two months in the lives of Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle.
Spoilers: none
Store revised on Jan. 2007
Chapter one: JULY 1998
They hit it off from the beginning.
He was a renowned criminalist who had come to San Francisco to teach a seminar; she, a brilliant young woman aspiring to become a crime scene investigator. Quiet and cautious most of the time, both had nevertheless become fast friends in just a couple of days.
There was a significant age difference between them; and yet it made no difference because they had so much in common – mutual respect; a love of books and science, and a thirst of justice.
If she had been pressed to explain what she liked about him, she would have said that he was the first instructor who had answered her numerous questions without becoming exasperated.
If anyone had asked him, he would have simply ignored the question, for he was a very private man. But deep down he would have known the answer: He had never met anyone like her. That first day, as Sara Sidle asked him question after question, Gil Grissom had come to a pleasant conclusion: This was going to be a very special seminar.
By the second day, the few hours they spent together at the lab weren't enough and they began to go out for long walks. They window-shopped and visited some points of interest, but mostly they talked. There was plenty to talk about –science, famous authors, theater, and books- and that was fortunate, since neither wanted to talk about their private lives.
In fact, this was one of the things he most liked about her. In the past, students –male and female- had approached him with questions about his work, but once they got close to him they ambushed him with questions about girlfriends and love interests, and that completely put him off. This time it was different. She was really interested in his work.
And yet… he'd been vaguely aware of a certain attraction between them that went beyond the realm of the mind. He was aware of her womanliness; he liked her smile and her eyes… But physical attraction wasn't as important as their intellectual connection.
Or so he told himself.
Later he would berate himself for not being more cautious, and for not foreseeing the complications that would arise.
She didn't analyze her feelings, although she was aware that he cared about her. For instance, when they stopped for dinner, he always insisted on super-sizing, even though he never ate much at night. He usually ended up with a doggie bag, which he casually gave to her when they parted.
By the third time he did this, she realized that he was feeding her.
She wasn't offended; he surely knew how hard it was to pay off student loans while trying to make a living out of a beginner's salary. He was being kind, and Sara hadn't met many kind men in her life.
The seminar came to a conclusion on a Friday.
They went out for their walk as usual, but this time they barely talked. Grissom could only think that their time together was winding down. They would still see each other at the closing ceremony on Saturday, but he was leaving right after that.
"There's something I wanted to show you," Sara said, interrupting his gloomy thoughts. She was motioning him to cross the street, and he knew where she was going. There was an antique shop that they liked to visit; there was always something new to admire there.
Grissom stood beside her and looked around.
"Look." Sara said, "There's a new collection."
"Bookmarks," he nodded, his attention drawn to the beautiful display.
"Yeah, but look." She insisted.
He dutifully did. The bookmarks were made from all kinds of materials –from paper and lace, to metal and bone- but what Sara meant was that they all had something in common: Insects. They were painted on, engraved, or delicately weaved in. This was one pricey collection.
She was specially enthusiastic about a silver bookmark that had a very realistic spider-and-web engraving, and he admitted that it was a very good likeness. He made comments about several of the insects represented, but he was distracted by one bookmark in particular: A beautiful silver bookmark delicately shaped as a butterfly.
He smiled to himself. That would make a wonderful parting gift. The idea of giving her something had crossed his mind before, but this was the first time he actually had a clue of what to give her.
He returned to the store the following day. Self-consciously, Grissom asked to see the butterfly bookmark –and he would never admit this aloud, but he felt as if it was a ring he was asking to see. And the guy behind the counter didn't make matters easier, for he said, "Ah, an excellent choice." as if he was presenting him with an expensive diamond and not a bookmark.
"Several people have shown an interest in it," the man added, "I can give you a good price-"
Grissom didn't want to bargain; he simply bought the bookmark and asked the guy to wrap it.
Feeling good with himself, Grissom returned to his hotel to get ready for the closing ceremony.
As he entered his room, his eye fell on his suitcase. He was returning to Las Vegas in just 6 hours. He was leaving San Francisco behind. He was leaving her behind. He'd been so excited about buying her a gift, that he had pushed that fact to the back of his mind. Now he had to face facts.
He had always refused to examine his feelings for Sara; he had called his interest in her, 'friendship', and that had been enough. Even as he had lain in bed thinking of her, he hadn't admitted that he was falling in love.
He shook his head; he didn't want to think about it.
But later, as he was about to shave, he couldn't keep those thoughts from crowding his mind. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he wondered if Sara could really be interested in him.
Sometimes he thought she was; mostly, he refused to even consider the possibility.
As for his own feelings, he still didn't dare to put a name to them. Although 'love' was one word that often came to mind.
'Maybe it isn't love,' he kept telling himself. 'Maybe it's…'
He just didn't know what it was; he couldn't compare this to other infatuations, because there were no other infatuations to compare it to. But he knew himself well enough to know that giving her this gift was a big deal. It was like a confession.
It was like baring his heart to her.
Grissom looked at himself figuratively and literally, and wondered if he knew what he was doing.
I've never done this.
He wondered what would happen after he gave her the gift.
What was the worst than could happen?
His own answer to this was: She'll take the gift without understanding what I'm trying to say.
He continued shaving.
Then another answer came up:
The worst will be if she understands what I'm trying to say. Because then she'll have to do something about it- say something- say yes or no…
Grissom leant over the sink and splashed cold water on his face, effectively quieting those thoughts. He didn't want to put doubts in his mind now.
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He arrived early at the Auditorium. He had the bookmark –all wrapped up and tagged- in his pocket. He couldn't wait to give it to her and see her smile.
He hadn't planned on what to say when he gave her the bookmark. Instead, he'd let the gift speak for itself. Her reaction would give him a hint of what to say next.
Whatever she said would be like a door opening for him. Friendship or love… he'd accept it.
Grissom entered the auditorium and recognized her, even though she had her back to him. She was standing next to the podium, with a group of her classmates. Grissom eyed her appreciatively; she was wearing a knee-length skirt and she looked good.
He was wondering whether to approach the group or to call her out, when one of the men in the group put his arm around her waist and pulled her to him.
She leant into his embrace-
Grissom froze momentarily.
And then he stepped back. He paused at the door, not knowing what to do. But only for a few seconds.
Mechanically, he walked to the exit, and then to the street.
And now, what? He asked himself, feeling utterly foolish
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Grissom was checking out of the hotel when his cell phone rang.
"Dr. Grissom?"
Sara.
"Where are you?" she asked, "The ceremony's just begun…"
"Sara, hi." He said casually, "Can't make it, I'm afraid. I have to go back to Las Vegas."
"Oh, no-" She said, clearly disappointed, "Oh, Dr. Grissom-"
"Sorry."
"Where are you?"
"I'm at the airport." He lied.
"I wanted to-" she hesitated, "I hoped we'd have another chance to talk-"
"I gave you my e-mail address, didn't I?" He said, "Write whenever you need advice. Or call me. I'll be glad to hear from you."
"Are you leaving right away?" she asked, "Maybe I can see you before you leave. You know, to say goodbye in person-"
"I don't think that's possible, Sara. My plane leaves in ten minutes, so-" He paused, "Goodbye, Sara."
He regretted lying to her. His flight didn't leave for another four hours; they could have said goodbye in person, and he could have given her the bookmark. He could have told her that he considered her a friend.
But he couldn't face her. Next time they talked, he'd be ready to deal with her; but for now, he needed some time alone.
He'd get over her –eventually.
It wasn't love. It didn't mean anything.
He'd forget all about his momentary lapse of judgment.
It was a gift of friendship, nothing more-
He'd learned his lesson; he'd never make this mistake ever again.
"Quoth the raven," he muttered, "Nevermore."
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TBC