A/N: This chapter turned out a lot longer than I anticipated. I hope it still reads well.

A little later than billed, but I hope you're having a nice Holiday all the same. And happy New Year 2017!

Sara turned off Diamond Road and slowly drove down Mimosa Street, diligently checking house numbers until she pulled up outside number 3234. A grey Honda Odyssey minivan was parked in the driveway, no other car, which surprised Sara who wouldn't have expected a man Mr Martinez's age to drive a minivan. The yard was small, but tidy and mainly grass, dry and patchy in places. The ranch house had seen better days with the painted-over woodwork peeling, showing a layer of green under the newer blue.

She hesitated before cutting the engine, once again wondering if she was doing the right thing. Going behind Grissom's back was one thing – if the visit came to nothing, he never needed to know – but the man she'd spoken to on the phone had sounded old and frail and she didn't want to upset him further than she was sure he already was. Her visit would be opening wounds that were still very fresh, especially as she didn't quite know what it was she was trying to achieve in meeting with him.

She'd fallen asleep the previous night atop the bed covers with the television on and her iPad in her hand, only to wake in the early hours cold and disoriented. She'd lain in the dark, thinking about Grissom and about how much she missed him. He still hadn't written, but then again she didn't expect he'd have access to email in the middle of the night.

Restless, she'd retrieved the letter she'd written him, the one she would have posted to him if he'd refused to see her. Carefully, she slipped her finger in the gap on the sealed envelope, tore it open and read the letter again. She'd been so angry when she'd written it, so full of resentment and recrimination, so full of accusation too, and she was glad now she'd kept it.

He was so down already; he didn't need her misery on top of his. Besides, her feelings had changed. Without hesitation, she tore up the letter, reached for the writing paper she'd purchased that first night in Beaumont and wrote him a brand-new letter. She needed him to understand that she was there to stay, that no amount of keeping her away would work.

Looking through her purse, she found the newest picture of the two of them she kept with her and stared at the photograph for a long moment, her smile a little sad and melancholy at the happy memories it evoked. Greg had taken the picture at her fortieth birthday party – well, more a dinner than a party.

Nick, Jim and Catherine had been there too, and Grissom had cooked for everyone. With his arm around her shoulders, he was looking flushed and happy as smiling he stared straight at the camera while Sara stood with her face turned toward him. With tears in her eyes, she'd put the letter and photograph in an envelope she'd carefully addressed and then mailed that morning.

The early afternoon sun was beating down on the car, and she wiped at the sweat beading on her brow. After checking the address on the slip of paper one last time, she smoothed down her hair, grabbed her purse and got out of the car. The heat was unrelenting. At the house, she opened the screen door, and after a moment's pause rapped her knuckles to the frame.

When there was no reply, she knocked a second time, a little louder this time, then took off her sunglasses and willed her racing heart to calm. She was about to knock a third and final time when she heard approaching footsteps. Lowering her hand, she smoothed down her clothes and plastered a smile on her face. A lock turned.

The door opened only slightly, showing a petite woman of about Sara's age, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. She wore little make-up and her dyed blond hair cut short. She didn't speak; she just looked at Sara, and for a split second Sara wondered whether she had the right address. As far as she knew Mr Martinez lived alone, but there was something about the woman's probing stare as she stood there that told Sara she hadn't made a mistake.

"Oh, hi," Sara said, her smile fading under such intense and very obvious scrutiny. "My name is Sara Grissom. I'm—"

"I know who you are."

The tone of voice, as brusque and hostile as the woman's stance and closed-off expression, caught Sara off guard. Her smile vanishing altogether, she took a hard swallow. "I…spoke to Mr Martinez on the phone last night and—"

"You've got some nerve showing up here," the woman said in an urgent whisper, quickly glancing over her shoulder. "What do you want?"

Sara opened her mouth, searched for words that wouldn't come. Again she swallowed. "I just want to talk."

"Talk?" the woman exclaimed with obvious disbelief. "What is there to talk about? My mother's dead. No amount of talking will bring her back."

Again Sara opened her mouth, but all that came out was a long breath. There was so much hurt in the woman's eyes, so much hate. "I'm sorry," she said at last. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Mrs…?"

"Baker. Marisa Baker."

Sara nodded. "I know what it's like to lose a loved one. I know how tough it is, but—"

Opening the door a little wider, Marisa raised a hand, stopping Sara in her tracks. "Don't. Save it for someone who cares." She took a short breath. "Why have you come now, huh, when we're just about coming to terms with everything?"

Sara paused, hesitating. "Is Mr Martinez here please?" She looked past the woman, but couldn't make anything out through the darkened lobby. "Could I maybe speak with him? When we talked on the phone last night, he said that—"

"My father's not well."

Sara nodded. "I'm very sorry to hear that."

"I don't want him more upset than he already is. Your call really shook him up. Brought everything back for him."

Sara cast her eyes down. "Please?" she tried again, her voice a beseeching whisper. "I promise I won't be long."

"He's taking a nap. I don't want to wake him."

"I understand." Sara glanced toward her car. "I'll wait in the car. It's no trouble. I'll wait for as long as it takes. It's just that…Well, I'm flying back to Las Vegas tomorrow and..." She paused, tried to hide her growing disarray. "Could you please tell him I'm here when he wakes? I just want to…speak with him. I just want to understand. I promise I won't—"

"What is it you don't understand?" Marisa countered harshly, her voice growing louder. "Your husband drove straight through a red light, colliding with my parents' car, killing my mother."

"It was an accident," Sara defended quietly.

"He had drunk. And drink-driving is taken very seriously in the State of Texas."

"He made a mistake, and he took responsibility from the start. I'm not trying to make excuses for what happened. I just—"

Mr Martinez's daughter looked over her shoulder suddenly, and stopping short Sara followed the woman's gaze. Again she couldn't make anything out, but she heard a voice and shuffling footsteps. With a sigh, Marisa opened the door wider before stepping back to make way to a small and very thin man. The man looked at his daughter, then straight at Sara with bright, piercing eyes that revealed a sharp mind despite the frail exterior.

"Mr Martinez," Sara said. "I'm Sara Grissom. We spoke on the phone last night?"

The old man nodded his head, then glanced at his daughter from the corner of his eyes. "Come in, please. Come in. I was expecting you. I'm sorry…I must have dozed off."

Marisa threw her father a dark look, but taking no notice Sara walked past her, following the old man to the air-conditioned front room.

"I don't know why you came all this way," the old man said, dropping clumsily down into a battered armchair. "There's nothing I can tell you that you don't already know."

"Well, that's the thing, Mr Martinez," Sara replied with a sad smile, feeling tears rise suddenly. "I don't know anything about what happened."

A look of surprise registered on the old man's face. "How do you mean?" he asked, frowning.

Sara shrugged, licked her lips nervously. "Gil was working away from home when the…crash happened. He didn't tell me about it. In fact, I didn't even know he was in prison until I found out by chance a few weeks ago. He just broke off all contact with everyone. Didn't even tell his mother. She still doesn't know. She thinks he's working in Peru."

Head shaking in disbelief, Mr Martinez caught his daughter's eyes and reached out a trembling hand she gave a warm squeeze to. "But why would he do such a thing?"

Sara gave a wry laugh. "He said it was to…protect us, but I think—no, I know it was out of shame. He's feeling tremendous guilt and shame for what he did."

"And so he should," Marisa said, but with less animosity than before.

"My husband is a good man," she defended, turning her attention to Marisa. "Yes, he made a mistake, one he regrets deeply. But he took responsibility for that, and from the start."

Mr Martinez held up a weak hand, stopping her. "Mrs Grissom—"

"Sara."

"Sit down, please," the old man said softly, waving his hand toward the faded couch, and stowing her purse by her feet Sara complied. "Would you like something to drink?"

"I'm fine, but thank you."

Mr Martinez looked over at his daughter. "Marisa, would you get me a glass of water please?"

Marisa narrowed her eyes at her father quizzically, but disappeared through to the adjoining kitchen anyway.

"I hope Marisa didn't give you a hard time," the old man said in a whisper Sara was at pains to make out. "She doesn't mean any harm, but Paula's death was hard on her. Well, it was hard on all of us, but particularly on Marisa. They were very close."

Sara nodded, mustered a stiff smile, and then smoothed down her dress pants uneasily. "As I said on the phone yesterday, I'm not here to cause problems."

Mr Martinez nodded his head slowly. Looking away, he took a few shallow breaths before refocusing on her, and she could see that Marisa hadn't been lying when she'd said that her father was unwell. She just hoped the accident wasn't the cause of the man's ill-health. Before Sara could speak again, Marisa returned with a glass of water she placed on a coaster on a side table she moved within her father's reach.

"Sara, I know he took responsibility for the accident," Mr Martinez said, after taking a sip of water. "I know how sorry he feels. He showed remorse right from the start. Never, ever tried to shift blame, or play down his part in the crash and that clearly against the advice of his attorney. I was grateful for that. We all were. It made everything so much easier for us."

Sara hadn't expected any different. "Gil isn't doing well, Mr Martinez. When I visited him yesterday he was depressed, very down on himself. He just…won't forgive himself, and I don't seem to be able to get through to him. Maybe he'd listen to you. Maybe—"

"No, no, no," Marisa interrupted, her head shaking vehemently. "That's out of the question."

"I already tried," Mr Martinez told Sara, cutting short his daughter.

"You what?" Marisa exclaimed with disbelief.

Mr Martinez looked at his daughter and sighed. "I wrote to him."

"When? And why didn't you tell me?"

"It was a few months after the trial, last September maybe? I don't remember. And I didn't tell you because I knew you'd disapprove." He turned back to Sara, considered her with kindly eyes. "I wrote to your husband in prison, asking if I could go and see him. I wanted to thank him—"

"Thank him?" Marisa cried out. "Thank him for killing mom? Are you out of your mind?"

Mr Martinez let out a long breath, looked at his daughter with tears in his eyes. "No." He swallowed, then averted his eyes to his lap before looking back up resolutely. "Mr Grissom paid for your mother's funeral, Marisa. I wanted to thank him for that."

Marisa's head was shaking. "No. That wasn't him, dad. You're confused. His insurance company paid for everything. He didn't."

"No, Marisa. He did. Through his attorney, but with his own money."

Sara frowned; this was news to her.

And to Marisa too, by the looks of it, who was staring at her father with utter disbelief. "And you let him?"

"I didn't have a choice."

"Of course you had a choice. Dad, there's always a choice."

"We didn't have the money, Marisa. How do you think it was all paid for, huh? All those flowers? Those beautiful white roses…" Mr Martinez shook his head before flicking his eyes to Sara. "I didn't want his money at first, but he sent a cheque through his attorney. It was like he knew exactly how much it would cost."

"He would have researched it," Sara said in a whisper, and then she thought of Warrick's funeral he'd helped organise and pay for.

"Yeah, well, it was too little too late," Marisa spat. "Money to appease his conscience, that's all."

"No," Sara said quietly, her head shaking, "Gil isn't like that."

"And maybe it was," the old man told his daughter, "but it was money we didn't have. Money we needed."

"The insurance company would have covered it."

"Eventually, but you know how long these things take. And I wanted your mother at peace."

Tears in her eyes, Marisa crossed her arms and turned away toward the window.

"And what happened after you wrote to Gil?" Sara asked softly. "Did he write back? Did you get to see him?"

Mr Martinez gave a slow shake of the head. "He never wrote back, and no, I never went to see him."

Sara gave a small smile, nodded her head and then averted her gaze uncomfortably. "He's cut himself off everything and everyone completely. Even now, he won't speak to me or let me help him."

"And why should we help you?" Marisa asked, turning around suddenly, refocusing Sara. "Because that's what you're after, isn't it? Our help? Why should we help your husband after all the pain and heartache he's caused my family? He put us through hell this last year." She crossed over to her father, and perching down onto the arm of the armchair dropped a protective hand on his shoulder. "My father never recovered – physically but emotionally too."

Sara realised then that under different circumstances she'd agree with everything Marisa was saying; she'd be on their side condemning with everything she got the drunk driver who had taken their loved one from them. She thought back to the case file that had brought up Grissom's fingerprint, thought back to the little girl who had lost her mother and the husband who had lost his wife.

Resigned, she nodded her head, offered Marisa a soft smile. "You're right," she said. "And if the roles were reversed, I'd feel exactly the same way you do." She gave a sad, empty laugh. "But I had to give it a try, for Gil's sake."

"Does he know you're here?" Mr Martinez asked.

Sara shook her head softly. "He would be very angry if he knew I went behind his back like this. But I didn't know what else to do. I still don't." She paused, then with a sigh picked up her purse and pushed to her feet. "I won't take up any more of your time. Thank you again for seeing me."

Marisa stood up to show her out.

"I'm sorry if my coming upset you both," she told her. "That wasn't my intention. I lost my father when I was very young. I know how tough it is." She turned toward the old man whose unfocussed eyes were staring at a point in the middle distance. Taking a tentative step toward him, she touched a gentle hand to his shoulder. "Thank you."

Mr Martinez didn't respond. Straightening, she looked over to Marisa who stood stiffly with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Without meeting Sara's gaze, she turned away and moved to the door.

"I don't remember anything at all about the accident," Mr Martinez rasped weakly, unexpectedly, causing both Sara and Marisa to stop in their tracks and turn toward him with surprise. He was still staring unseeingly at a point in front of him, as if lost in memory. He looked up then, slowly refocusing watery eyes on Sara. "I never saw your husband's car coming. If I had, maybe…" The words dying on his lips, he let out a long breath. "One minute we were driving home from Marisa's, and the next I was waking up in hospital."

Tears in her eyes, Marisa walked up to him, while looking down to his lap he lifted a shaky hand and wiped a knobbly knuckle under his eyes. "You say he is a good man, and I believe you. I know he tried everything to save us. He was injured himself, you see, I think it was his leg, maybe some broken ribs, but he called 911, then somehow got me and Paula out of the burning car. He did CPR on me."

Tears filled Sara's eyes as Mr Martinez spoke. She knew all that already, but hearing it spoken aloud brought home what it must have been like for Grissom in the aftermath of the accident – how much pain and suffering he must have been in, physically but emotionally too.

The old man faltered briefly, his next words a barely audible whisper. "Paula, well, she was already gone. I'd be dead too without your husband's swift actions, that's what the doctors at the hospital said anyway, and sometimes I wish I was. But mostly I'm grateful." He reached for his daughter's hand and smiled. "I've got my family round me, my grandchildren. I can see them grow. I'm Paula's eyes and heart in this world."

Mr Martinez stopped talking, took a few breaths then looked to a point beyond Sara. Automatically, her gaze followed his, and she saw a framed picture of a couple on their wedding day, then another one showing several generations of the same family. Sara took a step closer to the shelf, stared at the faded wedding picture with interest.

"That's me and Paula on our wedding day," the old man said needlessly. "May, eighteenth, 1964."

Sara turned around sharply, forced a trembling smile.

"We would have been married fifty years this month," Mr Martinez said, voicing her very thought.

Nodding her head, Sara looked away. Mr Martinez made to push to his feet and Marisa helped him up. Together, they moved to the shelf and the old man picked up the photograph with a shaky hand, stared at it at length before putting it back. He paused.

"Marisa, sweetie, in my bedside drawer, there's a letter. In a blue envelope. Can you get it for me please?"

Marisa hesitated, but holding her gaze steadily Mr Martinez nodded his head and she disappeared out of the room. The old man returned to the armchair while Sara remained standing uncertainly. He held out his hand to her, and moving forward hesitantly she took it.

"Sit down please," he then instructed softly. "There's something I want to show you before you go."

Puzzled, Sara did as bid.

"You said you wanted to understand. I think maybe what I have will help you to."

Sara forced a smile, then watched as returning Marisa handed her father the letter. It was clear from the expression on Marisa's face that she hadn't known of the letter's existence. Even from a distance, Sara immediately recognised Grissom's handwriting on the envelope. Her eyes snapped back to the old man's face quizzically. Her heart was racing.

"Your husband got this to me while I was in hospital," he said, handing the letter over to her.

Her hands shaking, Sara took it and slid the single sheet of paper out of the envelope.

Dear Sir, she read.

I wish I could have spoken to you face to face but my attorney advised me against it. I have already apologised to you and your family publicly in court, but I would like to tell you personally how very sorry I am for what I have done.

I have deprived you of a wonderful wife and your family of a loving mother and grandmother. Words cannot express the regret and deep sorrow I feel about that.

I have no excuses. I fully am to blame. I would give anything to change what happened that night and bring your wife back. But I know I can't.

I am not writing to ask for your forgiveness. I don't deserve it, but I want you to know that I will never forget or forgive myself.

I wish I had died that night instead of your wife. I wish it had been me.

Sincerely yours,

Gil Grissom.

When she looked up from the handwritten note, Sara had tears running down her face. She wiped them away.

"Your husband blames himself for Paula's death," Mr Martinez said, "and rightly so. But he believes he isn't worthy of forgiveness, and that's not true. What happened changed him as a person – it changed all of us," he added meaningfully and it was clear he was including Sara in the statement, "and he needs to learn to live with who he is now and what he has done. That's not going to be easy. And first, he has to forgive himself."

"And if he can't?" Sara asked, after a moment's pause.

The old man gave her a smile. "He has to, or he won't be able to move forward with his life."

Sara nodded her head slowly. "You seem to know a lot about it."

Mr Martinez pondered his reply. "I go to a victim support group once a week. I didn't cause the crash, but I was involved. I was at the wheel. I feel guilt too, guilt I'm learning to live with." He reached out a weak hand to Sara's leg and patted warmly. "It's going to take time and patience, but with your love and support he'll get there."

"I hope so."