The boat swayed gently within the constraints of its moorings, always in motion, never entirely still.
As she slept in down below, he enjoyed the early morning sunshine and the fresh air up above.
They'd been in port since yesterday, and docked all night.
Living at sea had its advantages, but it was good to rejoin civilization every now and again.
Sometimes it still surprised him that his home was no longer a spacious, city-locked townhouse filled with a lifetime collection of memorabilia devoted to science, entomology, and criminology.
All of that stuff had been donated to various crime labs, museums and universities long ago. The sale of his townhouse had funded his purchase of the boat, with enough left over to live comfortably on said boat for a long time.
He didn't even own so much as a tarantula anymore. He didn't keep any of the bugs he caught now — he let them go again to live their existence free of a specimen jar.
He didn't miss his former life like he'd thought he would. This was the real life — sailing the seas with the love of his life, working together for the preservation of the wild, no more crimes except for those committed against nature.
He'd lost some weight, living on a diet of fresh fruits and seafood. It was his insatiable craving for a good old-fashioned cheeseburger that brought them into port this time.
He chuckled to himself, thinking back to last night's delicious meal. Sara wouldn't even kiss him until he'd thoroughly brushed his teeth afterward.
She still had an aversion to meat...even to seafood, which complicated mealtimes because in the ocean, they were surrounded by only seafood.
Sara...
Her love brightened up his whole world — made his life worth living. Without her here, he would be a sad, lonely, lost old man.
She'd given up everything for him, just like he'd given up everything for her when he'd followed her all the way to Costa Rica so many years ago.
It plagued him to think that Sara might still resent his brief history with Heather Kessler. He couldn't fathom why she would always see the other woman as some kind of a potential threat to her relationship with him.
Heather wasn't the one he dreamed of. Heather wasn't the one he'd proposed to. Heather wasn't the one he'd followed halfway around the world. Heather wasn't the one he'd so happily married, and she wasn't the one he'd so stupidly divorced.
Heather wasn't the one he wanted to spend every second of the rest of his life with.
Quietly he crept back into the cabin, retrieved his journal and pen, and returned to the deck of his boat to compose a letter of things he should have told her a long time ago.
My Dear Sara,
I know that my history with Heather Kessler has always been a sore spot for you. I'm sorry for that. I can't erase it, but I would at least like to have the opportunity to explain it.
When I first met Heather, I was at a vulnerable point in my life. I had just begun to lose my hearing, and it was threatening everything that I'd built — everything that I was professionally and personally.
Heather became an acquaintance in whom I could confide outside of the lab, outside of the team, and outside of us. She helped me to regain some perspective, which I needed at the time.
In many ways, she reminded me of you...beautiful, smart, and strong. Unwilling to back down from anything she believed in. She was intriguing, to say the least. But my interest was purely academic, anthropological. She saw the world in a way opposite to me, and the scientist in me wanted to explore it, to understand it.
The most I've ever felt toward Heather was a sense of responsibility, as one might feel toward a troubled and wayward sibling. I could never have trusted her with my heart. Whatever faith and empathy I felt for her as a person, I'd learned from you.
When I said that Heather had opened my heart, I meant that she helped me to realize that despite my faults, I was still someone who could be loved just like I was any other normal person. I still had much to offer someone by way of a true relationship. But had I pursued her and not you, she would only have been a cheap substitute for the real thing. A poor man's Sara Sidle. It would have been like settling for the cookie, because I didn't believe that I deserved the cake.
Heather may have helped to crack my shell, but you were the one who removed it completely. You'd been in my heart from the very beginning. Always you, never anyone else. If I was going to love anyone, I wanted to love you, and you alone. Despite her efforts, Heather never stood a chance.
If it ever seemed that I spoke more freely with her than I had with you, please understand this: a stranger, a colleague, or even a friend, I can say anything to. I have no fear of repercussion, because I don't care if I alienate them. I don't care if I anger them. I don't care if they never want to speak to me again.
But with someone I love — with you — I struggle to communicate. I'm afraid the words aren't going to come out right, so I overthink them, and I underspeak them. When you hear my voice saying nothing, I wish you could hear my mind saying "I love you. Please don't be upset with me."
"Hey...what are you writing?"
Her voice from behind startled him, but her presence was not unwelcome.
Grissom closed the journal, lest she peek before he was ready for her to see it. "Just a letter to my wife," he answered with a soft smile.
Sara returned the smile, her hand warm on his shoulder. "Well in that case, I'll leave you to it."
She slipped a cloth bag onto her shoulder and her sunglasses onto her face. "I'm going to check out the market we saw yesterday. Do you want anything special?"
He couldn't think of anything, so he shook his head. Catching her hand as she passed, he gave it an affectionate squeeze. "Have fun."
His gaze lingered on her until she disappeared from his sight. She would return with her shopping bag bursting with fresh produce as always.
With a long inhale of deep contentment, he reopened his journal and finished his letter.
But that is all in the past now, and that is where I will leave it. You're my best friend, my everything. Without you, I am unwhole, incomplete. And just in case I still say or do the wrong things at times —
I love you. Please don't be upset with me.