Okay, here it goes...the sequel to Kryptonite. I wouldhave like to get this up earlier, but it's rather annoying how school work always gets in the way of things. This first chapter is more of arecap of the Sara/Greg stufffrom the previous storyfrom Grissoms' point of view. I definitely recommend reading the first one before continuing with this second one, you might notunderstand everything if you don't. Enough with those pesky disclaimers...y'all know I obviously have nothing to do with the people who actually own CSI, so just go ahead and start reading.
Chapter One- A Wasted Life
She was unlike any other woman I had ever met. She was so beautiful in her own ways, both inside and out. Whether she had black smudges of grease on her face from working underneath a suspect's car, or she had dark circles under her deep brown eyes from staying up half the night working on her latest case and four hours before shift is to start taking a quick rest on the couch in the break room, she was still picturesque. It was a natural beauty about her, like she never tried to look a certain way and was no one but herself no matter what the situation was. She looked just as exquisite dressed in a blue forensics jumpsuit and safety glasses as in a black dress and pearls on the rare occasion she needed to dress up. The funny thing was I doubt anyone had ever told how beautiful she was, or if they did, she didn't believe it.
She was a smart woman, a respectable woman. She had wisdom beyond her years and the maturity of a woman my age trapped in the body of a much younger woman. Seeing her as one of my past students, she had come so far, accomplished so much to get where she was. She was a true fighter, knowing what tragedy her life once was like.
The men in her past hadn't helped her much either. They took for granted how great of a woman she was. They didn't give her all that she reallydeserved. They only hurt her. They had each taken a tiny piece of her and only left scars behind when they walked out of her life. From how she dealt with some of her cases, there was a good chance some of them had taken more away from her than others, but she would never talk about it.
In some ways, I could be considered one of those men. Though in this case, she was the one to do the walking, but it's all the same because I never once tried to stop her. I turned her down every time she brought up the idea of going to dinner, claiming that whatever was going on between us would never work. I was her superior, her teacher, and couldn't, wouldn't,risk everything I had worked for to be with her. I made her think as if mycareer was worth more than she ever would be to me, when that was the farthest thing from what I really felt.
"I wish I was like you Grissom, I wish I didn't feel anything." She couldn't have been more right. She spilled everything to me. She trusted me. She had told me what she had never told anyone else before; why she was always so angry, thinking I would be there to comfort her, but I just couldn't, not the way he could.
Through all these years, I had let my job consume me. I let it consume me so much that I had detached myself from the reality of the kind of things I saw everyday. Getting involved emotionally impaired one's judgment. It forced you to feel ways you don't want to feel. She was a perfect example of what that emotional involvement was. She was an emotional roller coaster, more ups and downs than any I had ever dared to try. It would make you go crazy. Then when you got so good at controlling your feelings, you couldn't tell the difference between your cases and whatwas going on with people whowere a big part of your life. You build up walls to keep yourself from succumbing to the sadness, the anger, and more importantly becoming one of them. Then you begin to realize, you're whole master plan has backfired and you're just as emotionless as the ones who do the things that bring me to work everyday.
I knew I could feel something, what to call it, I didn't know. I felt something for her, but I could never tell her. I couldn't think of the right words, and even when I did, they managed to get completely lost on their way out of me. I sent her a plant and all I could think off to write in the card was "from Grissom", not even "love Grissom". How awful was that? I did know how she felt about me, she found away to get her words out, but what did I do? I told her I didn't know what to do about it. I could solve cases, but when it pertained to my own life, I had my head so far down the microscope I had know idea what to do.
"...when you finally figure it out, you might be too late." Those very words echoed in mind ever since she first said them before walking away from me. I had really messed up. I was too late and I was losing her.
She made me feel so young. I could see so much life in her. I felt as if some of that youthfulness was in some way passed on to me when I was in her presence, but he was a younger man. I was two decades older,more thantwenty pounds heavier, and had a head full of rapidly disappearing gray hair. He had the rest of his life to spend by her side. He had more years to offer her, even though he had lived twice as much as I ever did in my fifty years. He had more life left in him. What would she ever want with me, an old man?
From a supervisor's view,the two madea good team. Most of the time two people having a relationship would get between their work, but not with them. They wrapped up some of the toughest cases so quickly. He had just started working out on the field and she had already taught him so many things about the job. He, in turn, helpedher see that there was more to life than work, Court Tv, and listening to police scanners. I once said that if she didn't find a diversion from work she would burn herself out, and she was for a while. He saved her. He was her diversion.
She was happy with him, happier than I had ever seen her with another person. It showed as they stood near one another in the layout room processing evidence, a slight brush of skin as she reached across him for another evidence bag. He whispered something softly in her ear and she smiled, the gap between her two front pearly whites not stopping her. She glowed whenever she was in his presence. I noticed.
She was even singing again, something she only did when she was wrapping up a case, most likely one of those that drove her crazy. Now on the off chance I worked a case with the two of them, she would softly sing while surrounded by clouds of fingerprint powder recovering evidence. She had a stunning voice, but she would hate if anyone told her so. She never did take compliments well.
I could count on one hand how many times I had heard her laugh before he came into view. He would try anything to make her smile, no matter how stupid it made him look. Originally, she never went for his silly antics and shot him down every time he asked, much like I did to her. Since then he'd changed into someone more serious, more professional, but he still could make her laugh in a way like no other.
He made her his coffee, his special reserved stash of the best coffee in all of Hawaii. He never shared it with anyone else, not even me. That had to mean something. Or if it wasn't his coffee in the break room, she would take him up on his offers to go to the quiet diner down the street for a cup of coffee and a vegetarian omelet during their mutual break.
He brought much needed warmth to this so-called ice woman. He was her shoulder on which she could cry, something she rarely let anyone see her do. He was always there when ever she needed him, her safety net to catch her when she fell. He was good for her. She had a rough life full of secrets. Perhaps he was the better choice in which to confide. He knew all the right words to say to make things seem okay, when I had failed miserably before trying to do the same. He rocked her to sleep cradling her in his arms when she woke up trembling from the nightmares of her past and wiped away the tears from her deep brown eyes. I could never be there for her like he could.