Sara awoke, feeling warm but still exhausted. The familiar feel of silky sheets greeted her skin. Mumbling quietly to herself, she rolled over to the other side of the bed. She had gotten used to sleeping alone, but the feel of those sheets made her automatically reach for the warm body that she would find there.
But it wasn't.
She opened her groggy eyes. Grissom sat in the leather chair beside the bed. He was sunk low in the seat, his legs far apart and his hands on the rests. He just sat there, in the dark, still dressed in the wrinkled clothes he'd been in the day before.
"Griss?" she said quietly.
She saw him move in the darkness, the glow from the streetlights outside barely illuminating him. He rubbed his beard with one hand. She could hear it scratching against his skin.
"Are you ok?"
His hand dropped to his knee.
"Why didn't I stop him, Sara?"
His voice was dangerously quiet. She could feel the weight in his words.
"Why didn't I put more restrictions on him? I should have kept a closer eye on him. I know what he's like…"
"This isn't your fault."
"Like hell it is. I could have stopped the whole thing. I could have saved him."
Sara propped herself up on her elbow.
"Gil." Her voice was stern and had a harsh finality to it. "This isn't your fault."
"You weren't here! You weren't here for any of it! How would you know?" Grissom raised his voice slightly. She stared at him. She knew he was hurting. She knew he wasn't meaning what he was saying. God knows she'd seen enough of this in the interrogation room over the years. Self-guilt. Anger. Pain.
Hell, when her dad died it had been her. When the Shelton case had come about. It had been her. After Nick had been kidnapped. It had been her.
She sat up and swung her legs so she was facing him. He had his head in one hand, not looking at her. Something in him had snapped, and he was trying desperately hard to hold on to two ends at once, ripping him apart in the middle.
"Hey," she said softly. She could still feel his soft sobs against her neck although it had been hours ago. She reached out, he pale arm barely visible in the dim light. She slid her hand into his, squeezing tightly. It was something reminiscent of the time Grissom had sat with her in her apartment, while she told him macabre tales of her childhood.
He understood immediately.
Slowly, he brought his gaze up to her. She could see the dark purple rings beneath his eyes, the way his wrinkles stood out more in the darkness. He looked ill. She remembered looking that way. Back before she's left Vegas.
"You know I know what you're feeling," she said, "and I know you never thought you'd understand how I felt before I left…and I'm sorry I had to go. But we both know this isn't all about me, Gil."
"I'm sorry. I should never have said that. It's just…I don't know what to do. I just feel so…useless!" He sighed exasperatedly. Warrick's case had been taken over by Ecklie and his dayshift team. Ecklie had given the team a week off for grievance…more like he'd set cops outside the lab to stop them from going in.
Grissom had tried.
He was sure they all had tried.
He remembered sitting helpless at home. He remembered feeling empty and numb and confused. He felt alone. And the worst part of it all was that he knew he had to tell Sara.
Grissom paced.
Hank watched as worriedly as a dog could from his seat on the couch.
"I have to call her," Grissom said over the sound of 'Flower Duet' blasting from his stereo system. He used to fear that his neighbours would be annoyed, having to listen to opera at all hours of the day. Right now he couldn't care less.
He had a headache. His back hurt. He had only gotten six combined hours of sleep in the past two days.
Warrick was dead.
And he had to tell Sara.
He dialled, although he really didn't want to. As the dialling tone rang in his ear, he continued to pace, contemplating what to say.
Their conversations were…interesting. They were awkward at first, few and far in between. But, as time progressed, they'd talk more and more on the phone, until sometimes one would fall asleep and the other would just sit and listen. He'd counted down the days since she'd left.
He'd never been more in love with anything in his life.
More than Trigger, more than his pet tarantula, more than books, teaching, university, his mother…and even more than science.
Yes, he loved her more than science.
Only because, though, he felt that his relationship with Sara was science. Everything about it. Pure, unpredictable biochemistry.
"…Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?"
A small voice was speaking in his ear.
"Sara!" He said, hoping she wouldn't hang up.
"Oh. Hi. I didn't know it was you," she said quietly. She sounded groggy. Grissom looked at the clock. 5am.
"Oh, honey…Sorry, I didn't realize it was this early…" He said distractedly.
He knew she could hear the unease in the tone of his voice. She always could.
"Is everything ok?" He could hear sheets rustling on the other end as she sat up.
It took everything in him to break her heart.
"Sara…"
"Oh my god. What happened, Gil?"
"It's Warrick."
Hank whined from the couch as if he knew what his owner was talking about and whom he was talking to.
"Is he--"
"He was shot. He's dead. Pronounced at the scene."
"Oh my god…"
The silence that ensued was painful on both ends.
"Is…Is everyone ok? Do they know who? I mean, what happened?!" Sara asked frantically, no longer sounding sleepy.
"He was framed for the death of Lou Gedda and someone got back after we popped him out of jail. I don't know who…Conrad won't let us back in the lab," Gil explained quietly. He took a seat on the couch next to Hank. He scratched the boxer's ears, still feeling very alone. Hearing her shock was making it worse.
"Jeez, Griss. How could this happen so suddenly?"
"I don't know."
There was another pause.
"You have to come home, Sara."
His voice was soft and tender, the voice he often used with her in the wee hours of the morning as they went to bed.
"I guess I'll have to…for the funeral and everything. Is it going to be in Vegas?"
"Yes, but it'll be a few days before they release the body." Grissom paused as he realized that he had just referred to his friend as a 'body'. He wanted to throw up.
"Sara…please come home. Home-home. As in here…" he said quietly.
"You need to be home. With me. I…I need you."
"I'll be there in a few days," she said solemnly. She knew he'd only say those words if he truly meant them.
"Alright. Be safe. I suppose I'll have to arrange things with the family," Grissom said, regaining his composure.
"…his family are flying in?" Sara couldn't bear to say his name just yet.
"Yeah. I gotta go, Sar. I'll talk to you soon." He couldn't talk to her anymore.
"Bye," she whispered
He was about to hang up, when he felt Hank nudge his thigh. He looked down at the dog and he knew what the little guy was trying to tell him. Hank was no idiot.
"I miss you," he offered across the line.
"I miss you, too," said Sara.
As he hung up, he wondered what word he'd use for 'miss' when she arrived.
He felt her squeeze his hand again. He was jolted out of his thoughts. Sara was sitting in front of him on the bed, holding his hand. He was tired. And empty. But he felt relieved, somehow.
"There's nothing you can do for him now, Grissom. Ecklie won't let you. But you need to do something for yourself. For the team," Sara was saying. He looked into her eyes and wondered how one could be so in love yet so torn inside at the same time. It was hard to bear, he realized. He understood why she left.
"What's that?" He asked quietly.
"You need to heal," she replied.
