First off I'll say that this is a looooong chapter. I couldn't seem to find a place to break it so let it go. This chapter also introduces my version of Mama Grissom who lives in or near Marina del Rey, California. She will be speaking and signing. (Hopefully I make that clear in the text.)

Secondly, I would like to thank my cadre of devoted readers and reviewers who've stuck with me. Your reviews make me want to skip work and write-write-write! Nancy1, Moonstarer, CSI-GSR-BILLY-LOVER, My Kate, TessTureHeart, NickyStokes, was spratlurid quimby, SevernSound, ILoveJorja and gsrfan34. You guys are the best.

Onward ~

Part 10 – 4 days later

Grissom

I find myself humming. Not Rachmaninoff or Beethoven or even Led Zeppelin but, oddly, Silent Night. Christmas isn't even within thinking distance but the kittens seem to like it. Of course they may not like it if I sing. Although Sara says . . .

My breath catches. My chest hurts. My sorrow deepens and, this time, I can't blame the wind for my blurry vision since I'm tucked up on the soft couch in mom's den, the kittens snuggled in my lap and Hank lying next to me.

I want to blame something or someone for my current state of affairs. The obvious choice is Sara. I thought it would be easy to remove her from my mind but I don't know why. She was always with me when she was gone even though I tried to dismiss her with constant work. That only made it worse when the day was through and I was too exhausted to keep her face out of my dreams and was reminded of how much we had and how much was lost. I shake my head to dislodge these mental ramblings but I can't seem to turn it off. Yelling at myself only makes it worse, so I close my eyes and let it come.

It was sunny (like almost every day in Vegas) and it was going to be a good day, I could feel it in my bones. I couldn't keep the pleased grin off my face when the last bit of paperwork disappeared into a folder and was filed; when a particularly annoying case magically solved itself; when Ecklie announced he was going on vacation. Hot damn, everything was turning out for the better. And I knew it was going to continue as I hustled to my locker, grabbed my stuff and lit out hoping I wouldn't run into Sara. Today was a special day and I couldn't let her see me before I was ready. So I hurried home, dropped my stuff at the door, stripped and jumped in the shower. The water was especially soothing that day – just another happy note for the day – and I stayed in a bit longer than I'd planned, finding myself humming then singing a tune I'd heard while grocery shopping.

"'You make me happy whether you know it or not, we should be happy that's what I said from the start, I am so happy knowing you are the one that I want for the rest of my days. For the rest of my days.'"

The words fell away but the humming continued as I smiled and turned off the water, the catchy tune still rolling through my head as I pulled back the curtain only to stop dead at the sight before me.

"Ah, hi," I stammered hastily grabbing a towel to cover myself.

"Don't cover up on my account," Sara cheekily said and I could feel myself blushing from head to toe.

"How, ah, how did you get in?" was all I could think to ask as she slowly approached, grabbed another towel and began to dry my hair.

"You should really make sure you lock your door before you step into the shower. No telling who might come waltzing in."

"Why . . . why would they want to do that?" I asked trying control myself at her nearness and knowing the towel wasn't nearly heavy enough to show her I was failing.

"Well, for one thing who wouldn't want to get a glimpse of you in the all together," she answered nuzzling along my neck. Torture!

"Um, anything else?" I vaguely remember asking. I could feel her smile against my skin.

"Your singing. Who wouldn't want to hear that?"

I leaned back then. "Okay, now I know you're just making fun."

She giggled then shook her head. "I'm not. You sounded . . . happy. I like that. I want to hear more."

It was my turn to smile then as I ran my thumbs over her cheeks. "I am. Happy, I mean. You make me happy, Sara."

Her smile was deliriously pleased, as was mine, and I took that moment to grab her hand and drag her into the living room, picking up a long box tied with a yellow ribbon and handing it to her.

"I was going to give this to you after I made you breakfast but I can't wait."

She looked at me then at the box. "What is it?"

"Silly, you have to open it to find out," I answered, a big goofy grin on my face.

"Okay," she said sliding off the ribbon and then lifting the lid, pulling back the tissue. She gasped and her eyes shot up to mine.

"I love you, Sara, with all my heart," I began, my rehearsed words flying from my head when she lifted out my house key then swiped at her eyes. "Please move in with me, Sara. Please say yes."

I thought I'd blown it with such a juvenile plea. I had a whole slew of phrases of wants and desires, flowery language that would appeal to her, or so I thought. I'd spent weeks sifting through everything I wanted to say and boiled it down to a few paragraphs. Please move in and please say yes hadn't been in those paragraphs.

My mouth opened to correct my flawed delivery when her arms wrapped about my neck and she was whispering yes, yes, yes! in my ear.

I laughed and held her to me then spun her around. We both fell on the couch with a loud oomph when my towel fell off and caught under my foot. But neither of us minded and with each kiss I laid upon her soft skin I sang to her another verse of that song from the shower, then made love to her and grinned from ear to ear when she added my key to the others on her key ring. It was one of the happiest days of my life. Even now I find myself smiling. And all I have to do is pick up the phone, tell her I love her and go home. It seems like an easy thing to do but, as with most things, it isn't even close. I'm not near ready to forgive her or forget what I did because of her or even see a moment when I can.

That scares me more than anything.

My smile quickly vanishes.

What if I can't forgive her? What if my heart won't let me get over this, trapping me within this black cloud that seems to have attached itself to me? What if that's as happy as I'll ever be?

A mewling breaks through my depressing thoughts and I shake them back into the dark looking down at the little fuzzy faces in my lap. The forgotten eyedropper in my hand, filled with a concoction the vet came up with, continues its journey to warm the bellies of these little ones. Of the five I originally found three have already left us – two gone before I could get home and the other not long after. That leaves only two, two struggling to survive someone's attempt to drown them.

It's important to me that they live. No one should treat an animal this way. No one should treat anything this way – tossing them away like trash because they become a burden. I see it happen over and over nearly every day and I will never understand it and hope I never do. These babies should be cherished not ignored; should be wrapped in a warm embrace and not torn from the earth. When I look at the two of them, see them struggle to survive, see them hold onto each other I'm reminded suddenly of Sara and me and how I felt saved in that store when she held me; saved from falling and losing myself forever.

I want to feel that way again. So why can't I pick up that phone? Why can't I just take her back?

I lose sight of the kittens again and don't even attempt to brush away my tears. They are a daily occurrence. Something else that is new.

God, will anything ever be the same again.

Annie Grissom

Gil didn't come to dinner again and I know where he is. Those kittens have become very important to him and, each time we lose one, I can see the hurt build in his eyes. There was already so much there when he arrived here. I don't know how much more he can take.

He's his father's son, though. Tight lipped. Wanting to prove that he can handle anything. I've tried to tell him over the years that it doesn't make you weak to care, to love, to fail. The weakness comes from not picking yourself up and trying again; getting back on the horse; facing what you fear most.

But I've not seen him this way for a long time. Oh, he'd gotten very good at covering up his loneliness but a mother always knows. And I believe there is an advantage to being deaf for over the years I've learned to watch people, to find their 'tells' as Gil likes to call them, and he has plenty. The sighs (I may not be able to hear them but I can see them plain as day); the look on his face when he sees a couple holding hands or sitting somewhere quietly and the way he smiles at Hank when they're out playing fetch as if he knows his dog will be the only love in his life. I know it sounds silly but that's what I see.

But then Sara became something tangible to him. For years he's spoken of her, how she'd turned his head with her intelligence and smile and I thought for a long time she would be the one. But either fate or his insistence that he was too old kept them apart until the day he called asking if he could bring her home to meet me. I wholeheartedly agreed and believe I smiled for 24 hours straight after that call. My neighbor, Paul Jeffries, thought I'd taken a happy pill. 'Nope, no pills,' I told him. 'Just pure and simple happy.'

I'll always remember that spring day when I ran from the window I'd been stationed at since I'd gotten up (before the sun, mind you), straightened my clothes, ran a finger over my teeth to wipe away any remnants of lipstick and waited for the lights to flicker announcing my guests. I had that door open before the second flick causing both Gil and Sara to lean back in surprise. I smiled and hoped I didn't blush clear to the tips of my ears. I saw Gil laugh and wished, for the millionth time, I could hear that sound knowing it would be lovely indeed.

"Mom, this is Sara. Sara, Annie Grissom," Gil introduced and I looked at Sara's outstretched hand, pushed it aside and gathered her up in my arms. I believe I startled her for she tensed slightly before relaxing in my arms.

Pulling back, I smiled at her. "You are very welcome here, Sara," I proclaimed then dragged her into the house, leaving Gil on the porch. "Sit, sit," I pushed leaving her to make her way to a seat as I scrambled toward the kitchen to get refreshments noticing Gil still standing on the porch. "Get in here," I signed to him, seeing him smile, then hurried off. I didn't have to stand on ceremony with him. This was his house, too.

Returning to the living room with a tray of coffee, tea and lemonade along with a side of homemade sugar cookies, I left it on the low table in front of the couch and took my own seat across from them when Gil motioned me to sit, handing out the drinks himself. We settled in for a nice long stare until Sara broke the silence with a signed "nice to finally meet you".

Well, my heart doubled its pace at that. Gil was grinning like a fool and I could see that Sara was nervous that she'd gotten something wrong and I didn't want to leave her in the lurch.

"Ditto," I responded with a knowing look toward Gil. He blushed and Sara smiled. "I've been waiting and waiting for him to bring something home other than a dead bird and now he has." I grinned at her nod of understanding.

"Geez, already I'm outnumbered," Gil signed with an exasperated look which made Sara and I laugh. He was so cute when he was perturbed.

"Come on," I signed to Sara. "I want to show you something."

I pointed toward the dining room table and watched as Sara headed that way, then leaned over quickly to give Gil a peck on the cheek. He looked up at me and I could see it in his eyes. He loved her. He loved her more than anything.

Wiping my lipstick from his face, I followed after Sara seeing she'd found what I'd left there – the Grissom photo albums. Always a good place to start when introducing a new person to a family. And we sat there for hours poring over Gil's baby pictures (that made him blush then remember the little things that make memories great); his first birthday; his first dog; his first day at school; his first report card (all A's); his first ribbon for winning a Science Fair in grade school. And onwards and upwards until he left for college. Every step of his young life documented so that I would never forget how fortunate I was to have a son like Gil.

Then we started on my wedding pictures, introducing my beloved, Daniel, to Sara. I miss him awfully. I often wonder what Gil would've been if his father had lived. I'm sure he would've continued with his bugs, but a criminologist? I'm not sure. His preoccupation with death seemed to overtake him after Daniel died. I wonder if he would've been a teacher instead, or a professor at some prestigious school or joined National Geographic as a resident scientist. If he'd done one of those things he might not have had to worry about some stranger shooting him, whether he asked them to or not. At that thought I noticed Sara rubbing Gil's back as he rubbed at his forehead. I covered his hand with him and smiled at him.

My boy had been fatherless since he was nine and he'd taken it upon himself to take care of me. Now I was sitting with the woman I supposed would be taking care of him and nothing could make me happier for my boy deserved the best of everything and he thought Sara was it. Who was I to second guess him? Or her, for that matter. It was apparent she loved him. I could see it in her soft caresses through his hair as we continued through the photos, her smiles and fits of laughter over something he'd whispered to her. It delighted me to no end.

So with happy smiles and new memories we went out to dinner that night and, before the meal arrived, Sara and I ended up in the ladies room. (Always go in pairs – it's safer). It was here she told me what I already knew and I valued her even more.

"He loves you, you know," I said to her. I've always been a straightforward type. "Very much."

She ducked her head then gave me a small smile. "I've loved your son since I first met him all those years ago in San Francisco," she began, "but, I thought we'd never get together. He can be very stubborn." I laughed at that. That was very true. "But now that he's allowed me in, he's everything I'd thought he'd be. He's warm and caring, funny and serious. I knew he had a passion for bugs and solving puzzles, but he's passionate in other ways as well and makes me feel as if I'm the most beautiful woman in the world. I'm madly in love with him. I know I always will be. Thank you for raising such a wonderful man."

I found myself hugging her again. I couldn't seem to stop hugging her.

He'd finally pissed and gotten off the pot and now he had this woman in his life. I'd been so worried that after I left this earthly plane he'd be alone and I knew he had such a love inside him. Now I didn't have to worry as long as Sara was by his side.

But that was then. That was when the world seemed to be moving in the right direction. Now my worry is running a marathon through me and it's wearing me out.

I know what happened to him in that store. When you have a son who is a famous criminalist, word gets out. (Thank you, Jim Brass.) Also having a Google Alert on his name doesn't hurt either. How else is a mother going to keep track of a son who won't tell her that his job can be dangerous or that he's been known to carry a gun or crazy people take offense that he does his job well.

Or that he asked someone to kill him.

Ah, the conversation stopper. Since Sara isn't with him I'm guessing it has something to do with her and I'm desperate to know what it is. He's come home for a reason whether it's to put his head on straight, figure out what to do next or just be here . . . It doesn't matter why he's here. What matters is that, as a mother, I have to know how to help my child and, if he won't tell me, I'm going to dig it out of him no matter what. Tonight is the night. I won't wait any longer.

But my tough as nails attitude comes to a grinding halt when I see him on the couch, eyes closed, tears streaming down his face and I fear that all the kittens are gone. I hurry to his side, quickly looking at the blanket in his lap to see bundles of fur squirming to find a more comfortable position, their legs tangled about each other, their bellies rounded with nourishment.

I touch his arm and his eyes fly open, embarrassment crosses his face as he wipes at his cheeks and I'm reminded of Gil as a child that summer day, tucked away in the back of his closet as the mortuary came for his father, too scared to move. I couldn't tell him then what had happened, couldn't tell him that he'd never see his father again so I said nothing. I just held him and together we sat in that closet and cried for everything we'd lost. He had that same look about him now. He was scared and this time . . . this time I wouldn't keep silent.

"Tell me," I said.

Grissom

Her hand on my arm startles me and I want to run and hide but isn't this the reason I came home? Isn't this what I need to get through, to put me back on track?

I suck in a ragged breath as she asks me to tell her, tell her what's wrong. There are so many things wrong. Where do I begin? The girl of my dreams is gone. I've apparently had a nervous breakdown. I don't know if I can do my job again. I want to jump off a cliff.

My mouth opens, then mumbles come forth as I find myself stammering to a stop before I can even start and clear my throat, fervently wishing I could turn into a puff of smoke and disappear. But such is not the way of things much to my despair. So I run a hand across my lips, clear my throat once more, and try again.

"How . . . how can someone throw away something so precious?" I ask staring down at the kittens, hoping to draw strength from these little ones clinging so to life.

I feel her hand move up and down my arm, much like Sara does when I'm upset, and try not to dwell on how much I miss that.

"Honey, tell me about Sara," is all she says. Straight to the point, my mom, and I find I can't refuse her anymore.

"She . . . she . . ." I stop and clench my jaw against the tremble that radiates out from deep inside. Take another breath. That'll help. It doesn't. "She left me."

I don't recognize my own voice for it's so small and fragile, not at all the confident one people have come to know. It doesn't surprise me like it should because I know I'm no longer the same person. Where I'm sitting is proof of that. I just wish it didn't hurt so bad.

"Why?" Mom asks.

I'm about to shrug because I don't really know why. Her own admission that she'd overreacted and was selfish doesn't carry the weight it did back in the store. That simply can't be the reason she'd crush me like a bug? Could it?

I shrug anyway. "She scared me and I yelled at her and it sort of steamrolled on from that," I admit, my hands shaking as I sign. "And she told me that she . . ." I stop myself and shake my head. "I couldn't find her; she wouldn't return my calls and I . . ."

My next thought makes me hesitate and my hands drop into my lap, not knowing what she'll say to what comes next.

"You what?" she asks, not letting me off the hook. I hate and love her for it all at once.

I look at her then, really look at her, and try to judge what my next words will do to her because it's so very hard to tell the woman who raised you that you aren't the person they thought you were; that you've succumbed to the baser notion of ending it all.

I felt like such a failure.

"Gil?"

"I . . . I broke."

I wait, wait for the look of pity or shame or discomfort to flit across her features and decimate whatever bit remains of my heart. But all I see is a slight wince; all I feel is her hand stop on my arm and hold on tighter. She's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I, uh, I asked a man to . . ."

But that's all that comes out. I find I can't say the actual words and look away, rubbing at my forehead. Those words sound even worse spoken then revisited in my head so I keep them to myself. It should all be kept to myself. I shouldn't burden her with . . .

"I know what happened in that store, Gil."

My eyes slam shut and my hand stills on my forehead, used now to hide from her instead of fruitlessly massaging away a building headache. Even though I knew she knew it hurts even more to have her admit it. I quickly raise my head.

"I have to . . . The kittens need to be fed," I say hoping to distract her as I fiddle with the dropper noting they're both sound asleep. My searching gaze falls on Hank. "I need to take him for a walk," I announce easing the kittens onto the side table and forcing myself to stand, her hand falling away.

"Why are the kittens so important to you?" she finally asks as I gather up Hank's leash and stop my hectic movements to rid myself of this conversation. She moves in front of me and tries to get me to look her in the eye. I can't. "Tell me why?"

I shake my head then step back and she waits, studiously watching me gather myself which hasn't been easy for awhile.

"I need to save them," I state, a bland statement that I know won't work with her.

"Why?"

"Because I . . . It wasn't right to . . ."

I stumble and falter. Words were always my refuge. Now they fail me. I should just stop; should walk from this room and this house and keep walking until I can't walk anymore or until these emotions stop beating at me and let me breathe. But I fear I may never stop walking.

"Gil . . ."

"They are living things that deserve a chance," I blurt out. "How can, can someone stuff them in a bag and drown them then walk away? How can they live with themselves after doing something like that?"

My voice is rising. I'm beginning to shake and now I can't seem to stop those illusive words.

"How can anyone just push aside someone because they cared? Walk away and quit everything and not listen to what they're telling them, what they're feeling? How could she not see how scared I was that she could've been killed, that I could've lost her to some murdering rapist all because she's too damn stubborn and pig-headed to see what it would do to me if she died."

I'm pacing now and on a roll.

"Did she want me to prove my love by letting it go, by not saying anything and then feeling guilty for the rest of my life when he killed her? Is that what she wanted me to do just watch, to-to stand by and do nothing? I love her, damnit! She's my life! She's all I'll ever want and she knows that yet she still left! Why the hell did she do that? Why did she walk away? Why did I let her in in the first place? Why didn't I just keep to myself, keep her at arm's length, push her away? Why did I do this to myself?"

Vaguely I'm aware of Hank becoming anxious but that's far away from me, along with the uneasy look on mom's face.

"I can't . . . I want it to stop! Despite popular belief I'm not a Goddamned machine with an off switch! I can't turn it off; can't get her out of my head! I can't think or sleep or eat without thinking of her! She did this to me! She made me love her! She left me behind because I didn't want her dead! Damn her! Damn her for doing this to me! Damn her for being the only one I'll ever love! DAMN HER ALL TO HELL!"

The next thing I'm conscious of is that my hand is on fire; the painting of the lighthouse that has graced this wall for years now has a hole in it and is canted at an odd angle; I can hear Hank barking in the background and mom's dragging me back to the couch, plunking me down with a sharp 'stay there' before hurrying from the room.

My breath is quick. The past few minutes a blur.

Jesus, what have I done?

A lancing bit of pain crosses my knuckles and I glance down.

Shit, I think I broke my hand.

"Hold this," Mom says laying a hastily wrapped dishtowel filled with ice across my knuckles then kneels in front of me.

"I-I'm sorry . . . I don't know . . ." I hear come out of my mouth just before she grabs both sides of my face and forces me to look at her.

"Don't ever be sorry, honey, for feeling things."

"But I . . . You shouldn't . . ."

"People do stupid things to prove themselves when they're upset. You've done your share . . . like now," she says nodding toward my hand. "But you don't have to prove anything to anyone. Not to me. Not to Sara."

I swallow down the bile that magically appears in my throat and shake my head. "I need to prove to myself that I'm . . . that I'm still worth something to someone and if the only way to do that is to save those kittens then I'll do whatever it takes to make it happen. At least I'll have that to hold onto."

She runs her fingers through my hair and I notice her eyes are glistening as she stares intently at me. I never meant to make her cry.

"You are worth more to me than my own life," she says holding tightly to my face to make sure I'm listening. It's a tactic that's worked since I was a kid. "That will never change no matter what you say or do for as long as I live. Don't you ever doubt that. Do you understand? Don't ever doubt that."

I feel lightheaded as relief washes through me. She doesn't hate me for what I've done, for what I could've done. She loves me even though I'm a failure, even though I couldn't hold onto what I wanted the most. I quickly nod then grab her to my chest much as I'd grabbed Sara in the store and hold on for dear life, feeling her strong arms wrap about me, arms that have always given me strength.

"I love you, Mom," I manage.

"I love you, too, honey," she whispers back to me. "No matter what."

And that opens the floodgates . . . again. I'm just a big ball of hurt that can do nothing else but weep for my loss and it's not important to me that I'm a grown man crying on my mother's shoulder. All that's important is that this woman accepts me still even after I attempted to end it all because I was too weak to face this new life of mine.

She loves me no matter what.

She'll never know how much that means to me because I'll never be able to verbalize my gratitude into anything that would truly touch the surface of how I feel. So I cling to her and keep silent.

It seems the right thing to do . . . the only thing I can do . . . and everything I need.

Well, there you have it. Mama Grissom - a tough cookie. I like her. I hope you liked this installment. Grissom just gets me carried away. Besides, I love writing him.

My Beta (my mom, actually) made a comment of 'come on already, hurry this along' which got me to thinking that I might be dragging this out a bit. I hope none of you feel the same (but if you do please tell me). I have about 14 parts to Act 2 (we've just finished #10) planned then about 6 parts to Act 3 to tie everything up. (That may change based on your comments and my imagination. Ah, the fickle life of a writer.)

Also, I have some ideas for names for the kittens but was wondering if you could provide some along with the reason for the choice. I've not decided if they are both male or female or a mix but it doesn't really matter. It's the name and reason that counts.

Thanks again for sticking with me. Next up is the Team - Warrick, Nick, Greg and Hodges. (Yes, Hodges.)