Chapter 11: The Secret Life of Gil Grissom
The shrill ring of the phone pulls me from my sleep. I've gotten used to Emma calling every day, waking me up and starting my night by spending some time, even if it is only through the phone, with my daughter. But my body's telling me that it's too early to be getting up, so I keep my eyes closed while I blindly reach for the phone. I've already been disappointed more than once by hearing the voice of a telemarketer when I was expecting to hear Emma.
"Grissom," I grumble into the phone. I pull the receiver back a little when the first thing I can hear is a screaming baby.
"Gil?" Her voice is strained and tired, and I can sympathize with her. "I'm really sorry, I can't come in to work tonight. Lindsey's sick and screaming her head off, Eddie's nowhere to be found... I just can't leave her like this with the sitter..."
"It's ok, Catherine. Take care of Lindsey first. What's wrong with her?" I snuggle back down into my bed and under the duvet, the air conditioning leaving a chill on my bare skin. Peak at the clock reveals that if I can get back to sleep I'll have at least another two hours before I hear about the most important events in George Elliot Middle School today.
"I have a doctor appointment in an hour, so I'll know for sure. She's kind of coughing, and just crying a lot. She's getting so worked up from crying I can't tell if she has a fever or not. I think it might just be a cold, but she's miserable." There was defeat in her voice.
"Do you have a humidifier?" I look over at the night stand and the picture of Emma, barely over a year old, that sits there. I can remember many a sleepless night with the same exact problem.
"No, should I?" Lindsey's screaming sounds closer, and has turned more into a proclamation of discomfort.
"It's a good investment. Run a hot shower, let the bathroom steam up, then let her sit in there. It should help her clear out a bit." That and car rides were the only way to get Emma to sleep on the nights when she was sick. Even then, sick or healthy as a horse, she was happier being up late than rising early in the morning. Maggie's suggested that she still keeps the same schedule, even with the early morning wake-up for school.
"Um, ok." She pauses, and it sounds like she's shifting the baby in her arms. "Hey, I'm really sorry about tonight."
"No problem. Do what you have to do," I bite my tongue and not add in that I always have. "I'll call Brass and see if I can get a couple of those interns from swing shift to stay later. They won't replace one of our best CSIs, but they'll do. Maybe that kid from UNLV, he seems quite on the ball."
"Warrick? Yeah, he's great. Quick learner." I hear the water start running, and figure she must be desperate to be trying my suggestion already.
I've found a comfortable spot, and with my eyes already closed I can feel myself slipping deeper into sleep. "Good luck with Lindsey, I'll see you tomorrow." We say our goodbyes and I hang up, my last thoughts before slipping into sleep of Emma as a baby, snuggling deep into my arms.
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"Grissom!" Catherine rushes to me in the parking lot even before I'm out of my car. She looks at my Benz with the same appreciative eye she always has before turning her attention back to me. While I was once as enamored with the machine as she is, it's hardly practical anymore, and the luxury is hardly necessary; my next car will be far more practical. I wait for her to speak as we walk into the building and head towards the labs.
"Thank you so much for the other night. I know I should have called Brass, but..."
I cut her off. "No thanks necessary, Catherine. That's what friends are for." She starts to head toward the break room and I stop. "I'll catch up with you in a minute, I just want to drop this in my office." I hold up my briefcase, then turn to head down then hall.
"Oh, Hey!" I turn back around. "How did you know what to do?" She's leaning against the doorframe, and I see a few heads from inside the break room turn to listen in on our conversation. These people are not the most discrete.
I feel like I'm caught in a trap for a second, then answer as simply as I can. "It's just science, Catherine."
She nods, looking slightly disappointed with my answer. Before she can say anymore I'm off to my office, happy to be out of the situation. I throw myself into my chair, not sure if I should feel ashamed or guilty.
It started out so simply: no talk about my personal life at work.
But it turned into a monster on my back. Some days I was grateful for the fact that I had a secret life to escape to, that there was someone who knew me as a person, as her Daddy, and not as Gruesome Grissom. Other days it was a curse, hiding my life behind double entendres and sometimes even flat out denying the existence of the most important person in my life.
In the end, the reasons she's kept a secret, even though she's the reason I even bother to get out of bed some days, are quite simple. It'd be far too difficult to try to explain myself now; why I've kept her secret all these years, and because I love having her all to myself.
It's selfish and brutish and horrible, but each time I think about telling even Catherine about her, it seems it can only end badly. Then I'll feel my gut twisting, and I'll remember the reason I kept her a secret in the first place, and the blinding fear that gripped me the night I made that decision. Even now, when she's practically a teenager, she's still my baby, and I'd lay down my life for her. Then I start to think that keeping the secret isn't all bad.
The phone rings, startling me out of my thoughts. "Grissom."
"Oh, thank god! They've been shuffling me around to every office possible!" I hear her voice and I smile. "Apparently, 'Dr. Gil Grissom' sounds like 'Ballistics lab,' among other things." The harrumph she makes isn't lost on me.
"Sara, it's nice to hear from you. How are you?" I lean back, happy to hear from her. We've been writing letters back and forth practically every week. She's finally found herself a job as a CSI, and is rising quickly up the ranks. I'm quite proud that she cites my influence as a reason for her career change. While she'd no doubt make a brilliant physicist, I see the potential for her to be one of the best CSI's in the nation.
"Pretty good. Look, I was wondering if there's any way you might be able to come out here and give us a hand?" She sounded a little nervous.
"Rough case?"
"Very, and it's filled with bugs. Lots of bugs." She pauses, and I can almost feel the shiver run through her. "Killer's signature is leaving nests of some kind of beetle on the corpses. By the time anyone finds them, corpse is basically a pile of bones, leaving us with very little to go on."
"Beetles?" I can't deny that my interest is piqued.
"Yup! John, Paul, George and Ringo!" I laugh at her bad joke. "Look, I've already talked to my supervisor, and he's happy to get an expert opinion on this. I just wanted to get your ok before we go ahead and start kissing ass to get you over here."
Again, I laugh. Bugs and Sara Sidle; not a bad combination.
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"I can't believe we were so wrong!" Sara says as she stabs another piece of steak on her plate. "Maybe I'm not as good at this as I thought..." Her eyes are downcast and she regards the piece of rare meat before shoving it into her mouth.
I'm compelled to try to find something to say to her. The dark atmosphere of the steak house makes me braver than I would normally be. "Sara, you shouldn't say that. It was one case. Besides, unless you're one of a dozen forensic entomologists in the nation, you'd have no idea that the beetles had nothing to do with it." She looks up at me, no happier, and internally beating herself up.
I reach over and cover her hand with my own. She looks up at me with her head still tipped down, creating a more seductive pose than I was ready for, but I continue. "If you want to blame anyone you should be blaming the coroner. They misread time of death based on conclusions your team was drawing."
She laughs sardonically and leans back against the booth. "One simple test. You did one simple test and totally threw three weeks of our work out the window." At first I thought she was going to blame me, yell at me, but then she leaned over the table, pushing aside the remnants of her dinner, and crooked a finger for me to lean forward. As I do, she smiles. "Can you teach me how to do that?"
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The walk from the restaurant down to my hotel is only a few blocks, and we walk with a comfortable repartee most of the way. I find my hand resting on her back even before I'm aware of it, and her gap toothed smile is revealed to me several times.
While the last three days have been about working with her, viewing in action the fulfillment of my professional hopes for her, tonight has been about a connection, creating what I had only hoped for: a personal relationship to accompany the professional one.
An intelligent and well read person, she complemented me just as I had remembered from our first meeting. At first I was pleasantly surprised working with her as a CSI, then I was comforted to know that she enjoyed my company as much as I enjoyed hers. Now, as we near my hotel, I'm struck with the tension that has built from our light, yet steady flirtation.
We stop in front of the hotel, and she turns to face me, her eyes smiling up. They're shimmering and bright and full of life. I let myself drown in her, her youth, her vibrance, and I feel alive again. Before I know it my lips are loving over hers, chastely, yet on fire. I pull back and her eyes are still closed, her lips parted slightly. I let my hand run over her face, smoothing down her hair.
Suddenly my mind flashes to an image of me smoothing Emma's hair, her soft eyes and vibrant smile rush into my mind. Flashes of how I wish her to be when she's grown play on the movie screen in my mind, and my first thoughts of Sara come back to haunt me. My visions of her embodying everything I'd like Emma to be erase the amazing feelings I had only seconds before.
I feel dirty.
Like I just kissed my daughter.
Sara's eyes open and I can see something smoldering deep within them, but fear rapidly surfaces as she sees the look on my face. My hand resting on her shoulder, I rush to comfort her.
"I'm sorry. I... I shouldn't have done that." I look down, ashamed.
She tips my chin up with her hand so I'm looking in her eyes. "It's ok. no harm, no foul?" I just stare at her blankly. She shakes her head and forces a smile. "I mean, it was nice. Well, better than nice. But neither of us should have done it... for so many reasons."
She's thinking age.
She's thinking distance.
She's thinking things that could so easily be remedied.
And I'm thinking of how she reminds me of my daughter.
I think I'm going to throw up.
I move my hand down her arm and grab her hand. I want to say so many things right now, but very little comes to mind. I settle for the one thing that will give me an opportunity to redeem myself. "Breakfast, tomorrow?"
"I'd like that." she smiles back. Sara pulls away and stars walking back. "See ya then Griss."
As she disappears into the crowd I am disgusted with myself, yet torn and confused. I turn and retreat into the hotel, at least satisfied that I have the night to think.
~~~~~~~~~~
I think I just found my first grey hair.
Thanks Emma.
She likes a boy. His name is Eric. He's very cool. She's hoping he'll want to take her to the eighth grade dance. She's only fourteen, she can't be dating. Dating means holding hands, gazing into each other's eyes, kissing.
Oh, God. I don't want to think about her kissing anyone, ever. I think I just got another grey hair.
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"Daddy!" Emma rushes down the stairs and flies into my arms. I hug her tightly, amazed at how much she's grown. She looks more and more like the amazing young lady I know she'll be. Her hair's soft curls frame her face, which is barely highlighted with soft make-up. Her fuzzy slippers and oversized pink terrycloth robe make it a bit of a comical picture, but she's still stunning. A smile lights up her face ear to ear, and I revel in knowing that I'm part of the reason for that smile.
Before I can get a word out to her, Don enters from the back room, still in his suit from work, and his fake smile plastered all over his face. The superficiality of this man truly disgusts me sometimes. "Gil, so wonderful to see you. I trust your flight was ok?"
"Yes, yes it was," I reply without taking my eyes off of Emma. I'm again cut off from saying anything to Emma by her mother's voice floating down the stairs.
"Emma! Hurry up! You still need to get dressed and we have to leave soon!"
Emma gives me an apologetic smile, and with a quick kiss is running back up the stairs. I was able to finagle a week off of work to get here in time to see her off to her eighth grade dance and then stay until her commencement to high school next week. My baby's growing up and I could not be a prouder father.
Especially given the circumstances.
I'm amazed with how normal she is, given the extreme superficiality she's faced with every day. Between Maggie and Don there's certainly been the possibility for her to grow up as spoiled and ungrateful as some of her step-cousins. Maybe it's talking to her every day, maybe it's Ann's amazing influence, but something has kept her from becoming a glib person. She has depth and intelligence, and a shining future ahead of her.
Don tries to make conversation, but I'm not interested. I'd rather count the seconds until I can spend time with my precious daughter again.
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"I'll fax it over right now." I search through the book on my desk, the phone held to my ear by my shoulder.
"I can't believe you actually knew what I was talking about!" Sara exclaimed over the phone.
"Cibophobia is a very real phobia. Then again, there are thousands of ridiculous, but real, phobias. Like the fear of the northern lights, or the fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth." I thumb through another few pages before I find what I'm looking for.
"Peanut butter? You're putting me on."
"No. I can't recall the name, but there is one. You know helmintophobia is the fear of being infested with worms." I book mark the page, lean back into my chair, and smile. My routine over the past few months has come to include frequent phone calls to and from Sara. Though they're often work related, they are stimulating and fun conversations. We've fallen back into our light flirtation and mutual respect, the kiss placed firmly in our past.
"Worms. Only you would know that one Grissom. Can you send the fax over? My boss is getting irate."
"On it's way." I smile as I hang up. Life, for now, is good.
