Here we are, folks. The last chapter before the Epilogue. I want to again express my great appreciation to all of you who've stuck with this story and given me great reviews. A few of you spurred me on to add stuff that I hadn't considered. An extra special thank you to all of you. Now, no more dilly-dallying.

Onward ~

Chapter 14 – As I rise above I see nothing but you

The next day

Something warm stretched across his face. Usually the something warm was Sara but it wasn't her this time and, for the moment, he was too comfortable to even hazard a guess or give in to his rising curiosity. So he just laid there and scrunched up the comforter even closer to his chin and let out a long breath.

As the tendrils of sleep lazily receded over the next ten minutes, simple thoughts broke through to peak his interest. They ran along the lines of he was actually in bed as opposed to sitting on the couch or in the back yard; he felt rested for the first time in what seemed to be years; his heart wasn't pounding nor was he in a cold sweat and he believed that the warm something was actually the sun streaming across his face.

A sun high in the sky.

That got him to open his eyes then squint to find the red digit clock at his beside.

"11:00!" he shouted shooting straight up in bed, everything seemingly out of whack by that bit of information still clanging about his head. Hands rubbed at his face as if trying to loosen his muddled brain. 11:00am. He hadn't slept that late in years.

Why hadn't Sara awakened him?

Why had she let him sleep so late?

Why wasn't she here?

A hand scrambled for the cell phone on the bedside table and knocked off the sticky note attached to it. Glasses nowhere to be found, he held the note out in front of him until the words came into focus: 'Love you madly, hugs and kisses'. A soft smile came to him at the heart over the 'i' in kisses. He quickly dialed.

"Hey, sleepy head," came her sweet voice a few seconds later. "Finally decide to get up?"

"How come you didn't wake me?" he asked in a gravelly voice, running a hand through his hair.

"Could it be that you had taken your migraine meds and were down for the count and nothing short of a tuba blasting in your ear was going to wake you? Or possibly the fact that you've had about two hours sleep in the last two weeks that finally ganged up on you and took you to dreamland? Or maybe it was that sweet smile on your face that showed me you were finally having peaceful dreams that made me quietly leave the room to let you rest?"

"Are you done?" he asked as he leaned up against the headboard.

"Ah, migraine, tuba, dreamland. Yep. I'm done."

He grinned then. "I waited up for you, you know, for as long as I could," he quietly said. "I was kinda hoping for a one-handed massage."

She giggled. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry but Lily was sooooo excited she had to tell me everything about Patrick. By the time I got upstairs you were zonked out. So I owe you one."

"Just one?"

"Oh, one wouldn't be enough," she purred. He couldn't help the shiver that ran through him. "You only woke up once last night then fell back to sleep pretty quickly. Either it's all that sex talk on the beach or the group and their poker games."

"It had to be the poker 'cause the other would've kept me up . . . in more ways than one," he smiled as she snickered. "Okay, you're off the hook. Whatcha doing?"

"Lily and I are shopping for wedding stuff."

He chuckled. "She doesn't waste any time."

"She wants me to be her matron of honor," Sara whispered into the phone, her excitement obvious. "And Patrick wants you to be his best man."

Grissom's mouth dropped open, a shocked look taking over his face. "What?"

"That's what Lily told me. He called her last night and told her that he couldn't think of a better man to stand by his side." She waited but there was only silence. "Gil? You still there?"

"Ah, yeah, it's just . . . wow," he stammered. "That's an honor."

"He wants you to throw the bachelor party 'cause he needed to win back his M&M's."

That made Grissom laugh and it felt good. "He'll have to bring his 'A' game."

"He said something about watching the World Series of Poker to get some pointers." Grissom just shook his head. "Oh, I almost forgot. There's a FedEx19 package on the kitchen table for you. It's from Jim. Are you working behind my back?"

His smile evaporated as if it had never been and he sat up straight. "I was having him look into something for me," he said in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone.

"Oh, well, it must be important if they sent it straight to you."

"That makes sense," he answered knowing full well what was in that package. "But I think I need some breakfast first."

"Best meal of the day," she said in a chirpy tone.

"Oh, I don't know," he said pushing the covers off him. "I think you're the best meal of the day."

"Gilbert Grissom. You are incorrigible."

"That's why . . ."

"I love you," she finished for him.

His smile returned as he slung his legs over the side of the bed hearing his mother yelling out Sara's name. "You're being paged."

"She's found something. Boy, oh, boy. Patrick might just have a heart attack if she shows up in that. Gotta go. Love you."

"Love you, too," he said barely getting it out before the line closed off making him chuckle. "Poor Patrick."

Pulling himself from the bed, he headed for the bathroom and a long, luxurious shower, pulling on some shorts and a Harvard T-shirt before giving into his grumbling stomach and heading downstairs.

Clearing the bottom of the stairs, he caught sight of the package sitting innocently on the kitchen table. It was bigger than he anticipated, the cardboard envelope bulging a bit. Deciding to put it off as long as he could he stepped up to the stove and proceeded to make himself a quick breakfast of oatmeal and toast. Ten minutes later he was tucking into his food pretending to be interested in the half finished crossword Sara had left behind when all the while his eyes kept drifting toward the package.

Sighing, he dropped his head then his spoon, scratching at his beard and wondering if this had been such a good idea.

"Well, look who's here," Brass said with a smile as Grissom came sauntering into his office, a shy smile on his face as he sat down in the offered seat. "How's Sara?"

"Much better," he answered. "We're going to mom's in a few days. We had it planned before . . . you know."

Brass nodded. "And how are you? Sleeping any better?"

"Ah, yeah," he said without looking up.

"Gil?"

Grissom knew he'd been caught and gave his friend a sheepish smile. "No, not much," he confessed with a sigh.

"You need to talk about it?" Brass asked sincerely willing to help him.

"Probably."

Brass grinned. "But you're not going to." Grissom shrugged. "Just know that I'm always here for you, Gil, whenever you're ready."

"Thanks, Jim."

"So what brings you in this fine day when you should be home waiting on Sara?"

"Well, she kinda threw me out of the house," he said with a pained expressed. "It appears I was staring again." Brass laughed out loud and shook his head. "I don't mean to. It just . . . sort of . . . happens."

"Remember she's home now. She can throw pots and pans at you," he reminded his friend.

"Ah, but she's not supposed to lift anything heavier than a pillow," Grissom said with a grin. "And those don't hurt when they smash against my head."

"You two are a pair." Grissom nodded, grateful for that. "So what do you need besides a refuge from your angry wife?"

"Two things actually," he said. "First I wondered if I could use Gina . . . ah, her talents . . . I mean use her to do a sketch for me?" By the time that mouthful was out, Brass was chuckling and Grissom was looking uncomfortable.

"You don't have to ask me, Gil. She'll do anything for you. She's had a crush on you for 16 years."

"I know. That's why I'd like you to ask her. If I say to her what I just said to you she might attack me in the hallway."

Brass laughed again and had to cover his mouth as Grissom blushed. "I can take care of that for you," he managed. "And what's the second thing?"

The red in Grissom's cheeks slowly faded and he lowered his eyes to his lap then cleared his throat. "I, ah, I wanted to apologize for, well, for making you have to pull me off that doctor. I don't know what happened. It's like that wasn't me and I'm sorry if I embarrassed you in any way."

As his apology made its way out Brass' smile faded as he listened, images of that time flitting through his brain.

"Gil, look at me," he asked ducking his head to try and see Grissom's eyes. "Come on." Finally, he complied. "Don't ever apologize to me or anyone for anything that happened that day. It was an awful day and none of us should be held responsible for things that we said or did, especially you. I'm just glad I was there for you."

"Me, too," Grissom truthfully answered.

"Did Catherine tell you the same thing?" Brass asked.

Grissom nodded. "She said it before I could say anything."

"And what did you do?"

"I hugged her," he answered seemingly a bit surprised at himself. "It seemed like the right thing to do."

"What? So I don't rate a hug?" Brass asked a hurt look on his face.

Grissom smirked. "I've found out I actually like hugs so I'm more than willing."

"You know," Brass began holding up a hand, "I think I'll wait for Sara. She's squishier." Grissom laughed then. "Come on. Let's go find Gina and I promise to remind her you're married now."

And Gina had been more than willing to help Grissom with whatever he needed, causing him great dismay when she winked at him. Clearing his throat to cover a laugh, Brass excused himself pretending that his phone had rung, ignoring the evil glare shot his way as he disappeared down the hall. Gina politely called out Grissom's name and he'd forced himself to turn, trying for a half smile but thinking it probably looked more like a grimace.

Inwardly, he shook himself. Gina was a number of years older than he was and he never understood her infatuation with him even after Catherine told him he was 'eye candy' to every age. When he'd told Sara, she'd agreed and vowed to fight off anyone who tried to lay claim to her man no matter how old they were. His chest had puffed out at that thinking it was mighty fine to have a woman who'd go to battle for him no matter what.

And now here was the result of running Gina's sketch through the system sitting on the table in a package larger than he'd expected.

Pushing away his empty bowl, he picked it up and pulled the tab, dumping everything onto the table, a loose piece of note paper floating to the floor. Retrieving it, he donned his found glasses.

Gil,

Here is the information I found. I don't know what you're looking for but I hope this helps you. No one else has seen this per your instructions. Gina sends her love. Hope you and Sara are getting on fine. It wouldn't hurt to use that thing called a phone to let us know how you're doing. Give Sara my love.

Jim

Grinning, he put the note aside then thumbed through the papers, fingers stopping on one in particular. 'Obituary' in dark letters headed the column followed by a few paragraphs before ending over a photograph. Finding the sketch, he held it in his other hand to compare the two.

Dropping hands to the table, he stared out the kitchen window, his conversation with Sara about Marcie and all those flowers coming back to him.

"There are more things in heaven and earth20," he whispered with a shake of his head thinking on all the things these last two weeks had turned upside down.

All his dyed in the wool truisms, his beliefs, his ideals – all were twisted and warped then finally broken into tiny pieces only to be resurrected by Sara's voice that wonderful moment when she called his name. His understanding of how much he truly loved her and how everything went dark without her gelled within his consciousness and he now knew in his soul that if she died he would soon follow. It seemed like too much for him at the time, too much information to process and store but now, now that it was all over and settling back down, all the tiny pieces were coming back together, reforming into a stronger man, a better husband, a new Grissom.

What had Patrick told him? Spill his guts? Tell Sara everything or it will always be there waiting for you?

He picked up the sketch again. ". . . than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

CSICSICSI

Sara scanned the area.

Nothing.

She pulled out the note. 'Meet me at the beach.'

"Very cryptic as usual," she muttered looking about at the yards and yards of sand and sea and no Grissom.

Well, she was here. Where was he?

Shielding her eyes, she looked again not seeing those soft gray curls, those luscious bowed legs and, thankfully, that hideous Hawaiian shirt he insisted upon wearing.

Nothing.

"Hmm," was all she said closing her eyes for a moment.

This could be resolved quickly with a phone call but the sounds of the waves making their continuous assault upon the shore mixed in with birds calling to each other as they rode the currents, was soothing causing her to relax tense muscles and just wait for her sixth sense to kick in. It always seemed to work when he was near and it wasn't long after that she found herself turning, opening eyes onto the pier a short distance away. A quick glance brought into focus not that Hawaiian shirt but that God awful hat he loved so much. A smile creased her face as she started toward him. Never in a million years did she think he'd like that hat but there it was on display, more decrepit than the last time she'd seen it.

It was the only one left and he needed it now or, she was sure, he'd never make it back to their hotel. It wasn't what she wanted but beggars can't be choosers so plopped down her cash, grabbed it along with a large bottle of water, and hurried out to where she'd stuffed him under a tree with a wet kerchief draped across his neck. He didn't even look up as she knelt next to him.

"Hey, baby, I've got some cold water," she softly said as she twisted off the top.

"Thanks," he managed taking a few sips to swish around his mouth before spitting it out, running the back of a hand across his lips.

She rubbed his shoulders. "Feeling any better?" she asked.

"A little," he answered as he leaned his head back against the tree. "I guess I'm too old for mountain climbing."

"No," she said. "You just got overheated. That has nothing to do with being old." He peered at her through his lashes. "I mean it, Gil. I've seen you spend hours on end in the desert at a scene. In your windbreaker, for God's sakes, in 100 degree weather. I've never understood how you do that."

"Mind over matter," he said taking another drink.

"That and the fact that you always have a hat on. What's missing today, mister?" she asked with a smug look on her face as she lightly tapped his sweat soaked head.

"We're not in the desert?" he gave back with a weak grin.

"Ha, ha. And, because I'm not moving another inch until you have something on your head besides your hair , I bestow upon you one emergency hat."

With a great flourish she produced the straw hat for him to see and watched a smile spread across his red face. He grabbed it out of her hand and slapped it on his head.

"I love it," he said with a genuine smile.

"You're kidding?" she frowned.

"It's floppy. I always wanted a floppy hat."

"Okay, drink some more water 'cause that doesn't sound like you." He did as he was told and gave her a silly grin. "A floppy hat?"

He shrugged. "One of my professors had one. Said it saved his life once."

"How so?"

"As the story goes he was out in the jungle hunting bugs when he came upon a Silverback gorilla."

"Oh, Lord."

Grissom nodded. "That's what he said. But it seemed that the gorilla wasn't interested in him but his . . ."

"Hat," she finished for him.

"Exactly. So a trade was made – his hat for his life. He gladly gave it up. Two days later, a beautiful young woman came into his camp and what did she happen to have with her?"

"His floppy hat?"

"You are good," he smiled. "Said she saw the strangest thing – a gorilla with a hat on. Apparently he decided he didn't like it and left it behind. She'd seen the professor wearing one just like it and decided to return it to him. And what happened to that hat?" Sara shook her head. "It now sits in a place of honor next to his wedding picture of himself and that beautiful young woman who'd returned it to him. They've been married for over 35 years."

"So that made you want one, too?" She was confused but it wasn't the first time when listening to a Grissom story.

"I figured that if I were to get one then lose it perhaps a beautiful young woman might be kind enough to return it to me." He pulled the hat from his head. "And lookey here but if my wish didn't come true." A slow sideways grin replaced his smile as he leaned forward for a quick kiss which she happily bestowed upon him. "Thank you, honey, for taking such good care of me."

"Somebody has too," she answered back kissing him again. "Now drink your water."

"Yes, ma'am."

Sara smiled as she stopped next to him taking in his wistful expression as he watched the waves.

"I knew it was you from over there," she said motioning behind her as he flicked an eye toward her. "Because no one else would possibly have the balls to go out in public in a hat like that. It's all crimped and coming apart. It's not even the same color all over."

"I take great offense, madam," Grissom responded as he looked up at her.

"How so?" she asked.

"This hat was a gift from a very precious lady and it didn't start out looking like it was run over by a tank. No. If I remember correctly it was lying quite innocently in the backseat of a rented truck fully intact when said precious lady," he waggled his brows, "tossed me upon it and had her way with me."

"Oh, really?"

"Oh, yes. I seem to recollect something tearing but then that could've been my clothes being ripped from my body."

"Hmm. Was there any complaining going on at the time?" she asked.

"Not that I recall but then who had time for words?" he said with raised brows and an innocent look upon his face which darted away as he reached for her hand. "But now I have time for words and I would hope that this precious lady knows she means everything to me and so much more."

She settled into the sand next to him. "Tell me."

"I can say it best in verse.

As I rise above and higher still

all my thoughts, all my words

become scattered

and bothered and few.

But then there you are and will ever be;

our eyes meet and never stray,

and now, as I rise above and higher still,

I see, forever more, nothing but you."

"Longfellow?" she asked.

"Grissom," he answered pulling her hand to cover his heart. "A madman who loves his wife like no other and wants her to know that no matter what life throws at us I will always love . . . my hat." He grinned then and she rolled her eyes. "What?"

"You're bad," she said pulling her hand away.

"Did it ever occur to you that I love this hat simply because you gave it to me?"

"What if I'd given you a Mickey Mouse hat?"

"Then I would wear that."

"Would not."

"Would to."

"The boys would have a field day," she reminded him.

"They already do over this hat. How could it get any worse?" he asked in all sincerity hoping she really didn't have a Mickey Mouse hat stashed away somewhere because she would make him wear it and he'd have to oblige.

"Well, that's true," she admitted. Running fingers over his shirt she looked back up to see him peering intently at her. She tilted her head. "What?" He blinked and looked away. "Baby?" she said leaning up close to him surprised when he wrapped his arms about her and clasped her tightly to him.

"Do you know how much I love you?" he asked in a slightly quivering voice muffled against her neck.

"I do," she replied. "You show me every day."

"I didn't know," he replied softly, "until I thought I lost you."

"Oh, baby."

He held her a bit longer then pulled back, running a hand across her cheek, a great look of sadness crossing his face. "When the doctor told me that you were . . . that they couldn't save you, everything stopped working – my brain, my hands, my legs, my heart. The only thing I had left were my memories of you, of us. They kept at me when all I wanted to do was follow after you because I didn't know what I was going to do. I couldn't go home to an empty house. I couldn't sit and watch Hank waste away right along with me. I couldn't think. Nothing made sense and I just wanted it to end. I had to get away so I ran," he admitted. "I meant to run out the doors and never come back but I couldn't just leave you there. If I left that would mean it was truly over and I wasn't . . . I wasn't ready for that. I'll never be ready for that."

She cupped his cheek as he looked down and wiped at his wet lashes. "I would never be ready either," she admitted as he kissed her forehead then pulled her close.

"I found myself outside the chapel. I was numb and confused and empty and I just wanted to be alone to mourn for the life I'd become accustomed to, for the woman who made me whole. It was the worst feeling I've ever had in my entire life and I just wanted to wake up. Please let me wake up. But I was fooling myself. I wasn't asleep. I was already wide awake."

He let loose with one arm and she watched him retrieve a drawing from beside him. "It was in the chapel I met this man," he said handing it to her.

She studied the man's kind face. "This is the man Daphne saw as well?"

"I believe so."

"He looks like a gentle soul," she said feeling Grissom's cheek move atop her head. "What?"

"He died of natural causes 13 years ago." He felt her tense against him and waited, knowing she was processing this new information just as he had – with disbelief then remembrance.

"So you're saying . . ." She trailed off and began again. "It was . . . he was like Marcie, in my dream?"

He slowly nodded. "It would seem so."

Sara continued to look at the man. "I assume this came in the package from Jim," she said as he nodded. "What was his name?"

"Ethan Dexter. His wife was Emily and he has two children – Elaine and Beth who still live here. He was an electrician and Emily worked with the blind. They were married for sixty three years when she died and it left him bereft. He told me he tried to kill himself three times but nothing worked. He was at the end of his rope. He couldn't live and he couldn't die."

"So what happened?"

"Emily happened," he answered with a partial smile. "She visited him to remind him of what they had promised each other. That even though they were apart she would wait for him so they could have forever together."

"But that's what I . . ." Sara's voice trailed off.

"I know," he answered before she could finish. "He told me that after her visit he felt at peace with himself. He died two years later."

Silence hung between them as the waves moved in and out of the pier's pilings followed closely by a warm breeze.

"I just thought he was someone who'd lost someone," Grissom began with a shrug. "It never occurred to me that he was . . ."

"A ghost?" she asked.

"An angel," Grissom corrected causing her to pull back and look at him. He shook his head. "I know what that sounds like."

"No, no," she said tugging at his shirt to keep his attention on her. "There have been too many stories, too many sightings of strange occurrences throughout time to just dismiss this. You didn't dismiss my dream of Marcie. Why should this be any different?"

"I don't know," he said with a shrug. "There weren't any wings or halos. He was just a man who tried to comfort me. I wasn't very receptive at the time but as the days pass I am reminded of what he tried to do for me and I wish I could tell him, could thank him. If only I'd . . ." His voice trailed off and he looked away.

"What, Gil?" she asked pulling his chin back toward her. He pursed his lips as if trying to find the right words. "Just tell me."

He winced a bit then leaned his cheek against her forehead. "I saw him at Marcie's funeral, standing by the door. He smiled at me and I felt . . ."

"At peace," she finished causing him to raise his head. "I felt it, too, but I thought it was just because I was there with you." She leaned back into him then, tucking her head along his neck.

"He left me there, in the chapel, and I hadn't really heard the meaning in his words, just the words themselves. Nothing was as it should be. Nothing mattered anymore. It will be something I will never forget even though I wish I could."

"You don't have to tell me any more," she told him hanging onto his shirt.

"But I do."

"Why? Why do you want to relive all of this?"

He pulled back and took hold of her face. "Because I relive it every night in my dreams and it's slowly strangling the life out of me. The first good night I've had since all this started was last night after my talk with Patrick. He told me to tell you everything or I'd just lose it one day. I don't want to tell you these things. You have enough to worry about but I want you to know what happened. I want you to understand why I can't sleep, why I have nightmares, why I can't shake the feeling that one day I'll wake up and find that none of this is true," he said pulling her back into his arms to hold her close. "I don't particularly want to wake up all alone in a white room, strapped to a bed. But most of all I don't want to wake up alone."

Sara's grip on him increased as she felt him begin to shake, felt his heart beat a rapid staccato against her cheek as his emotions continued to rise. She wouldn't stop him. This was a story he needed to tell and it was her job now to keep him safe and remind him that she was here and would be here tomorrow and the next day, and the next day after that.

"Tell me about your dream, baby," she asked. "Tell me everything."

19 FedEx is a package delivery company throughout the world

20 Shakespeare's 'Hamlet' – Act 1, Scene 5

And therefore as a stranger give it welcome.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

All righty then. I hope you enjoyed this. It all comes together in the Epilogue that should be up by the end of next week. Thanks again for all your faith, sticktuitiveness (I'm pretty sure that isn't a word) and your reviews. They keep me going. Happy weekend.