DISCLAIMER: Don't own anything associated with the show… I just like playing with the characters in it from time to time. Dance Monkeys! Dance!

RATING: T – Teen

SPOILERS: Episodes 8X07: Goodbye & Good Luck

PAIRINGS: GSR

SUMMARY: Grissom works through Sara's departure with a little help.

A/N: Looks like I am finally back on track with the writing. Amazing what can be done when you can see out of both eyes and not go deaf everytime you sit up. :p I've made some great progress on the story, so the chapters should be on schedule again. Thanks for your patience and all the wonderful comments.

REVIEWS: Reviews are the way I know if people are enjoying the work or not. So, if you leave one, THANKS! And if not, I hope you found at least a little something to brighten your day, and thanks for taking the time to read.


Chapter 7

Completely surrounded by various brown paper packages bearing the names of retailers from all over the internet was not how I thought I would spend my Christmas this year. I was convinced it would be spent far away from the lights of Las Vegas, curled up in front a large fireplace, a glass of mulled wine in one hand and Sara in the other as we spent the holiday in quiet repose at the cabin I rented for us. It was supposed to be our honeymoon.

When the woman from the rental company called to confirm our reservation I was floored. In the chaos surrounding Sara's leaving, I had all but forgotten about our little vacation. And with that phone call, it was brought back to me in full living color. As I cancelled the reservation I felt as though another small piece of me died.

My situation was made even more difficult by the fact that I was being forced to take the vacation days I had scheduled for the trip. Catherine stepped in and told Conrad that I needed some time away from the lab, and apparently she needed some time away from me as well. I was informed that I needed to get my head on straight, or she would administer a suitable punishment for my crimes. Actually, the wording she used was far more common, and just a touch a vulgar, but I've come to expect as much from her.

As I looked around at my living room, I began to wonder if internet shopping hadn't become my escape from reality. How could one person make so many purchases without realizing what he was doing? But as I watched Hank crunch and devour one of the green dog bones I had found for his atrocious breath, I decided that all internet shopping wasn't so bad.

Rising to my feet, I came to the conclusion that all of the boxes needed to be sorted, properly stacked, and stowed in order to clear all of the clutter from the room. I was actually surprised the mess had not bothered me until then. But it probably had more to do with the fact that I wasn't spending any time in the living room. There just never seemed to be a point anymore.

I scanned the room for all of the boxes marked with the sideways smile logo of an incredibly addictive internet retailer and began to stack them all up in one corner. Next, in order of prevalence were the boxes marked with that circular letter logo, another dealer for multitudes of items I never knew we needed. After that, it became a far less daunting task; a small bookseller here and there, a natural products company, a law enforcement supply house, and a smattering of trinkets and collectibles found on that most heinous of auction sites.

Once everything was neatly stacked, I glanced down at my watch and discovered that it was nearing the time Henry would be dropping by for the final delivery before Christmas. It was the morning of Christmas Eve, and this would be my last chance to reward the man who had been tending to my shopping addiction, as well as my anxious waiting for anything from Sara.

Actually, Henry delivered part of the Christmas bonus on Saturday. I had begun to worry it would not arrive in time, and even contacted the seller again to confirm it had been shipped. It was a signed, commemorative baseball card from Hank Aaron. It wasn't vintage or anything, but it was something I felt he would appreciate. After all, Hammerin' Hank is the common thread that drew him to Sara and our Hank, so I felt the gesture was warranted. And despite all of Sara's insistences from the Christmas before, I still included a check for the man. She was certain that giving him something as impersonal as a check was inappropriate. However, knowing that these men and women must endure far more than their pay provides for, I couldn't imagine that he didn't have any use for an extra fifty dollars for his troubles, especially after the mass of packages that had been delivered in the last couple months.

I put Hank on his leash and we both went to spend a little quality time out front, waiting for Henry to make his delivery. The sun was shining today, and it made our attempts at levity pleasant. Hank chased the ball a few times, and ran around me once or twice, but in the end we just had a seat and quietly read the paper as we waited.

When Henry finally pulled his truck up in front of our house, I wondered why he wasn't walking his normal route. I also began to scan my memories to see if there was some other massive package yet to be delivered, but my mind drew a blank. As he jumped out of his truck, I had to fight to restrain my laughter. The man was actually wearing a Santa cap with a brim on his head and a bright red and green scarf around his neck.

"Dr. G! Have I got something for you!" he called out from the truck with such an excited tone that I, too, was caught up in the moment. When he approached, Henry was carrying a digital clipboard and one of those cardstock mailers. "This must've been pretty darned important for her to send it Global Express, all the way from Italy. That's a serious chunk of change, ya know."

He handed me the clipboard and I signed for the envelope. The whole thing occurred in a blur, and I was simply happy that Henry seemed to still have all of his faculties. In my haste to sign for Sara's package, I almost forgot our gift for Henry. It wasn't until the man knelt and began scratching at Hank's ears that I remembered.

Quickly, I fished the envelope out of my jacket pocket and, when Henry stood, I held it out. I hoped that I didn't look nearly as awkward as I felt. Thankfully, the gracious man never gave any indication that I had made such a mess of the offering.

He thanked me generously and shook my hand before reaching into his own pocket. When he held up a colorful cellophane bundle of dog biscuits he grinned from ear to ear and then said, "Don't worry, Doc… The wife made these special for the little guys on my route. She says they're much better than the ones I give 'em now. Supposed to be healthier or somethin'. I don't know about that, but I've never met a dog that didn't love some peanut butter." He dropped the bag into my open hand and tipped his cap before walking back to the truck. As he climbed up into the truck he called out, "Merry Christmas, Dr. G. and here's to a happier New Year!"

For several long moments I stared after the amiable postman, nearly forgetting about the items in my tight grasp. That changed when Hank reminded me with a rather demanding bark that I had something belonging to him.

Once inside the house, I gave Hank one of the pungent, obviously homemade dog biscuits in the shape of a mailbox, and I left him to consume it in peace. I held the envelope in an iron grip and made my way to the couch.

As I sat down, I noticed that there was something decidedly not a letter in the package. It was hard, and slightly round, though it felt like there was some kind of padding wrapped around it. Squeezing the envelope between my fingers, I continued to try and discern the item from the outside, instead of opening it up to see the thing. It was an act of futility, but I had a sense of foreboding doom regarding the contents of such a precious envelope.

My stalemate was broken when Hank had finished his Christmas biscuit and came into the living room to inspect my present. After a few sniffs of the envelope in my hands, he laid his head down over my knee and gave me that look that always melted any resolve I had. I patted his head and thanked him for the encouragement. "Okay, Boy… We'll open it together."

With a quick and fluid pull, the envelope was opened. The only left to do was to look inside. I reached in to retrieve the contents and found what felt like a greeting card and another envelope, but that one was of a standard variety. Carefully, I slipped them both from inside, but despite my care, another item fell from the envelope and into my lap. After a few moments of trying to keep Hank from inhaling the thing, I managed to retrieve it.

My suspicions were confirmed, and in my hand I held a small, delicately bubble-wrapped item. Looking at the other contents of the mailer, I found that one of the inner envelopes had writing on it. On the greeting card it bore the words "Open First," in a very familiar scrawl. I made a table of the mailer upon my lap and set the other two items on top of it to keep them safe and in view.

Inhaling sharply, I worked up the courage to unfold the flap on the greeting card. Once open, I quickly removed the card to gaze upon the front. Without a moment's hesitation I instantly recognized the crystalline Gothic glory of the Duomo di Milano. From the accoutrements visible in the photograph I could tell it had been taken during Christmastide. It was simply breathtaking, and a location I had longed to see since I was a boy.

Opening the card, I found only Sara's handwriting, and the small caption, in Italian, naming the location and date of the photo.

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2007-12-21

Gil,

I surely hope this thing gets to you before Christmas. I had no idea it would be so difficult to get something to you so quickly.

And before you ask… Yes, I am going to a church for Christmas. The church on this card to be exact. When Jack suggested it, I felt a sudden surge of excitement. But it wasn't my excitement, it was yours. I knew this was something that you wanted to see. So, on Christmas Day, close your eyes and think of me, as I will be thinking of you during the Mass.

Also, there is something wrapped up inside the envelope. I hope it didn't get lost, because I wanted to put it in another package, but the guy at the mail station said it might not get to you in time using anything else. If it made it safely there, open it now.

Voltinia dramba, 15-20 million years old. The species of butterfly found in the Dominican Republic which proved to entomologists and everyone else that butterflies have been around even longer than previously suspected. I have a matched set that my brother gave to me. He got them from his ex who's a paleobotanist, now.

Consider it your worry stone. When you worry about something, rub the amber, and know that I have its mate with me always.

Merry Christmas, Gil.

Sara

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The small smooth disk of amber warmed in my fiercely rigid fist. As I choked back the emotions percolating to the surface of my barely contained façade, I set the card down upon the makeshift table and reached for the other envelope.

Deliberately swallowing a few times, I attempted to keep the lump in my throat from cutting off my airway. Then I opened the letter. The first thing I noticed; it was handwritten.

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2007-12-20

Gil,

Did you ever meet someone and know instantly that they were the missing piece in your life? Jack is that for me. He is no longer the troubled teen I last saw as they led our mother away. He is not the fallen hero in a little girl's eyes. He is a man, just like any other, with all the faults and foibles of anyone else. But he's also so much more. He's my brother, my genetic partner in life, my past, and my soul.

Jack has gone down all the same roads, battled the same demons, fought the same wars, and faced the same fears. He is everything I've ever wanted, and everything I've ever feared for myself.

When I first met him in the waiting room at the medical facility here at the Naval Base in Gaeta, I was struck speechless by his eyes. They were the same eyes I stare into in every mirror I've ever seen. But his eyes were different, too. There was something there, or more than that it's that there was something missing from his eyes. Life has left his eyes. Not completely, but you can see that so much of his connection to life has slipped away with the incredible pain that has etched itself into his features.

He hasn't had the same opportunities I've had. He's had to fight for everything, and fight against just as much. Jack has lived most of his life as the embodiment of the anger that was a paragon of our upbringing and it has cost him dearly.

Jack didn't see his warning signs. He didn't have the support I did, and when he reached that brick wall headfirst, he was knocked from everything. He lost everything, Gil. But most importantly, he lost himself.

It's taken him several stints in the brig, a divorce and three years of his life, one of which was spent in the psych ward at Bethesda, to build himself back up again after the fall. And that fact scares me more than anything else on this earth. That could have been me, and I just can't bear the thought of ever doing that to you.

We've talked every single day; about growing up, about how he left, about our father, about our mother, about life in that house, and about the mistakes we've made. I haven't talked this much in my entire life. Growing up, talking led to fighting. In the foster care system, talking led to moving. In school, talking led to ridicule. By the time we got together, I was scared to say anything, because I never wanted to find out what evil talking would lead to then.

We don't always talk about the bad stuff though. He tells me about his little girls; Sara Elizabeth (who they call Beth) and Jillian Marie (they call her Jilly Bean). They're 7 and 4, and they look so much like Jack and I did when we were little that it's almost scary. The only difference is that they have a lot of gold in their hair because of their mom.

I met Melissa when I was in Norfolk, since their house was his last known address in the States. She's really great, and you can tell how much she cares for those girls, and for my brother. I guess they're trying to reconcile right now, but Jack is still finishing out his tour in Gaeta. Once he can take his PA license exam in Virginia, he's going to retire from the Navy and probably work in one of the clinics or something around the base. Melissa is retired from the Navy and teaches on base while she works on her Ph.D, so he wants to stick closer to home once it's a viable option.

That's what got him through his breakdown; those girls. He finally admitted there was a problem after Melissa had to file for divorce, and that was when he started to heal from the whole thing. I guess his ghosts were a little more demanding on him. Or maybe, I don't know. Maybe he just wasn't around people who could spot when he was in trouble. Not like I was.

I realized, in talking with him, that I should have melted down years ago. And I know I came close a couple of times, but there was always something bringing me back from the brink. There was always someone to reach out and pull me back from that ledge; you, Brass, Greg. Each of you reached out to me at different times, held my hand, listened, or called me to the carpet when I was crossing the line. I can't thank any of you enough for all that you've done to hold me together over the years, but I am deeply grateful for each of you.

This trip, while completely unexpected, has probably been one of the most important things I have ever done in my life. Jack and I still have a lot of stuff to work out, but it's lifted such a huge weight from off of my chest that I finally feel like I can breathe again.

I'm going to stay here a little while. Jack is taking me to Milan so we can attend Mass at the Duomo di Milano for Christmas. Melissa and the girls are flying out for it as well. We're meeting them in Milan tomorrow. 36 years old, and I think this will be my very first real family Christmas. I guess I'm going to have to get used to hearing Auntie Sara from now on (you have no idea how weird that sounds to me as I read it back from the letter).

Jack told me that I can stay with him until I find my bearings, and I've decided to take him up on the offer. He has an off-base apartment, and his couch is pretty comfortable. It's also near the water, and the gentle sound of the tides has been great for helping me sleep (yes, me sleeping!).

I want to know something of being in a family, and I think it's the best thing for both of us right now. We can help each other to figure out this stuff that's kept both of us afraid of getting too close to the people we love. I know it doesn't make a lot of sense right now, but it feels right, and so I have to go with that.

I'm also going to try and get around the town and countryside to look around. It really is beautiful here, and I want to make the most of the situation. Yesterday, I went to check out the Montagna Spaccata, and it literally took my breath away. This place is amazing, and even a walk through the marketplace calms me in ways I never imagined. Jack tells me that's why he wants to finish out his tour here, because it's been good for his soul.

You're probably wondering why I handwrote this letter, and why I haven't emailed you or anything. Well, I'm still trying to get my laptop and phone back from the Italian customs office. Apparently, when one works in law enforcement, and takes their electronics to work, they collect particles of certain agents deemed as potential explosive components. My stuff tested positive for residue, and they confiscated everything. Then they tried to detain me on top of it. I had to declare my reasons for being in Italy, on a ticket purchased at the last minute, with an unstamped passport (because I never go anywhere), and with my stuff covered in explosive residue. I wasn't about to tell them the residue probably came from the explosive debris from the test fires we released to determine blast radius with a leaded, 1 inch pipe.

So, when I told them I was attempting to visit my brother and who he was, they called the local JAG office and Jack's CO came down with a lawyer to get me released. The JAG lawyer is still trying to get my stuff released. I look like a train wreck wearing Navy surplus denims and Jack's old shirts all the time. Thankfully Melissa and I have time to go shopping before Mass on Tuesday.

I did borrow Jack's computer once to pay some bills and I saw your email, but I was afraid of falling apart when I read it, and Jack was already worried about me at the time. By the way, can you tell me why am I still getting a paycheck? I don't understand what that's about. And in case you were worried, I'm okay for money, I promise.

Well, before I keep rambling on anymore and have to get another sheet of paper I should try to get some sleep before we go to Milan in the morning. I did enclose a picture. Jack's CO took it of the two of us when he and his wife had us over for dinner. However, without my laptop, I can't exactly download my own pictures yet. Hopefully that gets resolved quickly.

Anyway, I wanted to let you know what's happening and to touch base with you. I sent a post card when I first got here, but after I sent it Jack told me that they can take weeks to get to the States. He sends most things home through the Postal Station on base, because even the military mail system is faster. You'll get it eventually.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, Gil. Take care of yourself, and make sure you check the closet in the spare room. There might be a package in there of interest to you.

I Love You, Always,

Sara

PS: Watch Hank around the Christmas trees after the big day. He likes to eat the tinsel on the trees left at the curb for trash pickup. Trust me, you DO NOT want to go through that one.

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I gingerly set the letter and the card down on the coffee table and reached into my pocket for the cell phone when I got up from the couch.

"Jim… Do you still have any contacts in the JAG Corps?... Can you reach out to them and have someone vouch for Sara with the Italian customs office?... It would take far too long to explain. She's in Gaeta with family, and they confiscated property because it tested positive for residue…" As I tried to explain the circumstances of Sara's predicament, I walked into the spare room.

"Yes, I know every one of us would do the same, but she doesn't have her law enforcement identification with her… Petty Officer John 'Jack' Sidle…" Opening the door to the closet, I instantly recognized a large brightly wrapped box on the top shelf. "That's right… Thank you, Jim. Goodbye."

I shut off the phone before I returned it to my pocket and reached up for the box. There was a tiny gift card tied to the bow that I opened and read, "I know how much you like quirky headwear… Wear it in good health, pardner. Love, Sara."

Lifting the lid from the box, I was blown away by the contents. Inside the hat band of what appeared to be a genuine Roy Rogers style Stetson hat was another note.

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I don't think it'll fit, since he wasn't a very big guy, but if you look inside you'll see why I had to fight 6 middle aged lunatics hell bent on jacking up the price of this thing. Don't ask… You really don't want to know how much.

Love you, Babe,

Sara

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I spent the next day sitting on the couch; the hat box in one hand, and the amber with the butterfly inclusion in the other. The only time I moved to was to take care of Hank, who seemed to sense my mood, because he never left my side the whole week.

New Years was spent much the same way.