Chapter 12

Sitting in his office the following November, having just signed off on the report detailing how one friend had shot a fellow officer, clearing another friend of any wrongdoing, Grissom mused over the changes of the last two years. Twenty-four months earlier he'd been alone, as big a gulf separating him from Sara as there had been at any point since they met. He'd given one of Sara's cases to Catherine, in some part at least to drive Sara away.

It had been a low point for him, personally and professionally. He'd gotten away for a few days around Thanksgiving and had gone to LA to spend it with his mother—their last holiday together, he realized sadly. The nearly six months since her death had eased the dagger of pain which came when he thought of her to a dull ache—most of the time. And those other moments, the times he woke from a dead sleep rigid with loss, Sara was there to wrap her arms around him and hold him until he relaxed and slid back into sleep.

He was now the eldest generation, the last Grissom, at least of his family. But he was no longer alone. For the first time since leaving home, the first time, in many ways, since his Dad, that quiet, gentle, thoughtful botanist, died when he was nine, he was part of a family. Work was no longer his greatest, or only, joy, and while that transition might sometimes be a rocky one, he wouldn't have had it any other way. He let his mind wander though one or two of his favorite recent memories. Like the previous week, when he'd looked up from the witness box while testifying in rebuttle against once respectable entomologist, now perjuring sell-out Mark Thayer to see Sara slipping in to the back row of the courtroom galley, throwing him a quick smile. She'd just closed an emotionally grueling case of her own, and he knew she had to be exhausted, but there she was, looking bright as a daisy, offering him moral support. She'd exited when the judge adjourned for the day, but he knew he'd find her waiting in the courthouse corridor.

It was with that on his mind that he'd been heading for the doorway when the Undersheriff approached him.

"Grissom. Great work up there."

"Actually, the work was done in the lab."

"When I took this job, I heard a lot of things about you. If you ever need a favor, if I can help you in any way..."

"You know Sheriff, you could help me. I'm late delivering my team's personnel evaluations."

"I'll tell Ecklie. He'll backdate your cost-of-living adjustments."

"Thank you."

"So, Grissom, I'm not sure of your ambitions, but if you're interested in taking on more responsibility, maybe a promotion, I'd be glad to pass..."

"You know," Grissom interrupted him, "Oscar Wilde once said, 'Ambition is the last refuge of failure.' I'm fine. Thanks." And with a smile on his face, thinking how much better he was than 'fine,' he had headed out to join Sara.

Or the perfect rhythm he'd felt back in September, as on so many other occasions, processing a taxi found on Oakey Street, its driver found dead slumped over the steering wheel with a gunshot wound to his neck. Processing a crime scene with Sara was different from anything else in his professional experience. It was like growing an extra set of eyes and hands, with the addition of Sara's large fund of knowledge and sharp insight. Their brains worked in synch, as one, just out loud, the way Sofia used to process. But they didn't have to explain their thought processes, just share their observations. The rest they both understood. Grissom knew his team recognized that Sara and he worked as extensions of each other. It was evident in the way they interacted with the pair, in the way Catherine directed the activities of everyone else on the team, but almost never included Sara. She assumed Sara already knew what he wanted her to do.

And then there had been the time just a month ago when he'd slipped in while Sara was processing the Copeland kitchen after a body had been unceremoniously dumped in their backyard, their dog murdered and their pantry ransacked. While waiting for Catherine, Grissom had seen Brass enter the kitchen and reemerge after a brief look; he decided to touch base with Sara himself.

"Tonight we're both off." He spoke from the doorway.

"Hmmm," she acknowledged, without looking away from the fingerprint she was lifting.

"Do you have plans?"

"What do you have in mind?" she asked, her voice scratchy with fatigue.

"I thought maybe we could pick up Hank and stuff for a picnic, drive out somewhere—Lake Mead, Red Rock Canyon, Blue Diamond Road--somewhere away from city lights, and star gaze."

She turned her head and eyed him with interest.

"Will there still be meteors?"

"The Orionid shower doesn't actually peak until the 21st, so tonight ought to be even better than last night."

"Don't tell my supervisor, but on the way back to the lab from my 429 last night, I pulled over to the side of the road and watched for a little while."

His eyes caressed her face, remembering his own musings while pausing to watch the skies. Staring up into the vastness of space, letting his soul fill with the sheer beauty and grandeur of the night desert and the shooting stars, he'd celebrated the joy which had infused him since letting Sara into his life, into his bed, so that he was able to wake up each afternoon gazing at her face. Without asking, he suddenly knew that they'd stopped to look at the sky at the same time last night, sharing the same thoughts.

"That sounds good, Gris."

"I'd rather stargaze with you than Brass any day." Grissom gave her a quirk of a smile then moved out to look for Catherine in the back yard, leaving a perplexed Sara staring after him, pondering his cryptic remark.

"Gris?" The voice tore him from his memories. He'd been oblivious to Sara leaning against the doorframe and wondered idly how long she'd been watching him, and if she had any idea of the direction of his musings.

"Hmmm?"

"I've finished cataloguing and boxing the last of the evidence. Anything you need before I get out of here?'

He looked at her, contemplating.

"Who else is still here?"

"I think everyone's here, tying up loose ends. Anyone check out with you?"

"No." He paused. "What do you think about taking the team to breakfast after all?"

She considered, and her desire for the promised and much anticipated game of fetch and then bed warred with her recognition of how long it had been since the team had engaged in that particular ritual, and how tough this case had been on all of them, how tough the last year had been, both physically and emotionally.

"I think—good idea. Want me to round up the guys?"

"Sure. Spread the word, then carpool to the diner with me, would you?" His eyes reflected her own desire for at least a couple of minutes alone together.

"Okay. Meet you back here in five?" He nodded and she headed out to find the rest of the team.

Half an hour later, Sara sat back in the booth and looked around at her colleagues, her friends. They were gathered at their favorite table, ordering plates full of eggs, pancakes, fruit, toast, hash browns, and bacon. Exhaustion radiated from all of them – exhaustion and the added grief from knowing that a friend of all of theirs had killed a fellow officer.

The grief would burrow its way into their hearts, until it found a place where it would live, becoming a part of them forever. It was another of the experiences that helped form the people each of them had become, the experiences which fueled their cynicism, and their determination to stand up for the victims. And yet there was also an air of celebration at the table.

They'd all been through so much, but they'd come through it, through it together, and they'd all come out the other end in one piece. She cast her eyes over Catherine and Warrick, shoulder to shoulder, laughing together. Whatever stresses Warrick's unexpected wedding had placed on their relationship appeared to have been resolved. Nick and Greg were joking around at the end of the table. She sat next to Grissom, knees touching, although his attention too was on the others. He watched quietly, with a tired satisfaction.

Sara knew he ached for Jim Brass—they'd been colleagues and friends for years—but this breakfast was not about Brass, it was about the team, and the team was all here. They'd made it through another really tough case, and here they were, at the table, this family Grissom had created. The next day maybe they had to be back at work, back to start over again, but today, they were here. Sara was at his side; their relationship was strong. He missed his mother, but the worst period of mourning was over. And he had his guys. He glanced over and caught Sara watching him, her lips quirked in a small, private smile. He smiled back at her.

"Sara, we should do this more often."

"Yeah, Gris. We should."

FIN