Note: I'm glad you're brave enough to take on reading a second chapter of this story! This chapter covers most of the phone conversation between Grissom and Sara regarding the foster parent application. Thanks for reviewing the first chapter; two of you wonderful readers added this story to your favorite stories already- I do hope I earn such an honor! I hope this second chapter meets your expectations; please review! Thanks!
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"Hello?" Grissom had been waiting anxiously, phone in hand, for hours. He knew Sara would eventually call after receiving the foster parent application packet from him, and he had tried to be patient, but his cell phone was actually wet now- his sweaty palms had not once been able to set the phone down as he waited for Sara's reaction.
"Gil? What the hell? Foster parents? Are you insane? We talked about this. Well, not this per say, but we talked about kids. No kids. We're too old, remember? Any pregnancy would be high risk. My job is too stressful and dangerous and my hours are too wrong for motherhood. You're not home enough for fatherhood. Did you forget all of this? Why are you doing this to me? What were you thinking? Did you think? Do you know how awful it was to be a foster kid? You know- you know how I was treated, you know how many times I moved from house to hovel to apartment with my garbage bag of clothes. You just forced me to relive all of that and didn't even have the decency to be home. Really, Gil, why on earth did you do this to me?" Sara was over-talking; the words wouldn't stop flowing as she forced herself not to cry. Grissom had been trying to interrupt from his end of the line, and finally managed to sneak a word in as Sara drew breath.
"Sara." That one word, spoken forcefully, yet in calm voice, was enough to stop Sara's rant. She let a tear slide down her cheek as she collapsed back on to the couch and waited on her end of the line for Grissom to explain himself. Hank plodded over and leaned against Sara's legs, head in her lap, staring up at her with large, dark eyes, as if to offer comfort to his visibly upset master.
"Sara," Grissom said again, quietly and remorsefully. "I am so sorry to have upset you. Will you let me explain?" Hearing nothing but a sniffle from his wife's end of the line, he assumed that was an affirmative answer and pressed on.
"Sara, I knew that the application would be a horrible cause of emotional trauma for you. Therefore, you have to understand that I had a pressing reason to go through with hurting you; you know I do try to avoid hurting you at all costs, but I just couldn't avoid this. This issue has been on my mind for seven months now, and I couldn't ignore it any longer."
"What issue, Gil? Why the hell would you have started thinking, 'Gee, maybe I wanna be a foster parent when I grow up?'? It doesn't make any sense!"
Grissom grabbed his car keys off of Catherine's kitchen island. Unbeknownst to Sara, he had been thoughtful enough to be back in Vegas when he sprung such a life-altering surprise at her. He had given her time alone because he suspected that if he had handed her the foster parent application in person, she would have glared at it, then at him, and then tossed it straight into the shredder. He also suspected that if he had then procured a second, non-shredded copy and actually managed to coerce her into talking about the idea, she would have loathed having him around to see her "self-destruct" over her memories. But now, now he knew she needed him and he simply wanted to embrace her, to keep her safe from her fears in his arms.
Grissom began to answer Sara as he locked Catherine's door behind him. "Honey, you're making me feel juvenile. I didn't simply wake up one morning and think fostering would be a fun experiment like conducting electricity through a pickle. In fact, if you had suggested the idea to me, I would have thought you were insane, just as you're finding me at the moment." Grissom was careful to hold his finger over the speaker on the phone as he turned the ignition in his car. He smiled as he remembered stealing Sara's pickle for an experiment all those years ago; she had so sweetly watched every action of his as he lit up her lunch.
Frowning now at his current situation, he continued, "However, I am not insane. I'm sure you remember the Pennington murder-suicide case from seven months ago. Right? Mrs. Pennington shot her abusive husband and then herself?"
"Did you have to bring that case into this?" Sara was furious! Grissom had already just forced her to relive memories of her childhood that she tried with all her might to suppress as much as possible and now he brought up the worst case she'd ever be on? Sara shoved Hank off her lap and was on her feet again, pacing, trying to formulate coherent sentences that would make Gil understand what he was doing to her.
"God, Gil, I didn't sleep for months after that. Nora saw it all, even through her black eye. She was only 12, Gil. Twelve years old and alone in the world now with nothing to soothe her to sleep but memories of gunshots, the scent of blood, and the lifeless faces of the two people in the world who were supposed to protect her. To this day, almost 30 years after the fact, I still smell my father's blood. I still see his lifeless face. I still see my mom covered in his blood, cowering in the corner like a child. I still see the spatter on the walls and ceiling. I still hear the sirens. I still feel the hands of the person who drug me away from my broken family. Still, Gil. Do you understand that? That poor little girl has to go through that same thing now for the rest of her life. I had to watch the child advocate take her away, and you saw me cry because there was nothing, not a damn thing, I could do about it. So, why, why on God's green earth are you making me relive more awful… oh, God." Realization dawned. Grissom knew Nora's plight had been eating away at her. He wanted them to be her foster parents.
Sara whispered, "You want us to foster Nora, don't you? That's what this is all about?" Sara stopped her restless pacing and pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the patio door. She felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders; she could help Nora. Yet, at the same time, she felt as though a different, equally heavy weight, had been added to her shoulders to burden her; what if she couldn't do it? What if she was too afraid to foster? What if she was too selfish to foster? What if there really was a violence gene? More tears now escaped her eyes and spilled over her lashes. One fell from the tip of her nose to the floor as Grissom simply answered, in a confident tone, "Yes."
