Yes it's me! I can't believe how fast this part progressed and, I hope, it's a worthy addition to the other sections of this story. (I like it but I'm a bit prejudiced. :-D). There is a new direction introduced here which may or may not be what G needs but who knows. The man is very complex.
I want to particularly thank Nancy1 for her continued suggestions and support (keep them coming) and MsRawkeye for her numerous suggestions that I found intriguing and useful (keep them coming). I would also like to thank all of you for coming back after the long interlude betw Part 12 & 13. TessTureHeart, My Kate, CSI-GSR-BILLY-LOVER (yeah, Brass!), NickyStokes (I hope you are now inspired to complete your writing) and all the others who stuck with me. It means a lot.
Onward ~
Part 14
Grissom – 16 days later
I wish mom would get home. I want to regale her with the exploits of the Fab Five as she calls us. I shake my head. It's so very odd to me how I let myself get roped into being a member of this group especially when I just wanted to be either closeted away with my dog, kittens and mom or fishing with Paul. Only Paul. Outside contact with other people, strangers to me, wasn't on my radar. But you know moms and friends of moms. They sort of take over your lives very softly and the next thing you know you're standing at the end of Venice Pier with Paul and three of his friends - Todd Kaplan, Charlie Pine and Julian (Jules) Jacobs. They'd all known each other since junior high and it showed. They were all 60+ and I was the kid at 49 but it didn't seem to matter. They took me in and, surprisingly, I lapped it up. For the first time since all of this started it felt good to talk to someone other than my mom.
I still remember that first day when Paul amazingly found Todd and Charlie already fishing right next to our designated spot. A quick introduction followed before I could high-tail it back to the truck. And Hank didn't help. He'd found new buddies and it was a lost cause to just slip away. I figured it was a set up but really knew it was one when Jules showed up with surprise on his face and a big hug for me. A hug.
"Gil Grissom, Annie's boy come to town," he said in a boisterous voice. I glared at Paul over the man's shoulder who cast me an innocent look before finding his fishing gear very interesting. "It's fine and dandy to finally meet you. I've heard so much from Paul."
"Oh?" I asked, nerves starting to get the best of me. Paul wouldn't be that black-hearted to spill the beans about 'the incident'. Would he?
"Oh, yeah. He told me about that case you had where you went to that convention where people dressed like animals."
"Yeah, and one guy was dressed like a big blue cat?" Todd interjected.
"And there was a giant raccoon, too," Charlie put in just before his pole started to bend. "Got one!"
That got everyone's attention focused on what Charlie was going to be pulling up and I inched away from the group, trying to quietly get Hank's attention.
"Don't leave, Gil," came Paul's voice.
I startled at the sound of his voice so close to me and slowly shook my head. "I can't . . . I'm not ready to talk about it," I explained as Paul gently grabbed my arm.
"No one is going to bring it up, Gil. I doubt that they even know about it." I hesitated, looking pitifully toward the truck. "Please, Gil. Let's just try it for a little while. If things change we'll leave."
My trust in people isn't top notch, especially now, but Paul had been good for me, had taken me under his wing and shown me what his word meant and I didn't want to disappoint him even though my stomach was roiling and my nerves were jangling right out of my skin. Slowly, I nodded and set down my tackle box, listening to the men talk about the news, the stock market and then sports. It turned out all of them were baseball fans and, once they found out I loved the Cubs, wondered if they'd ever be back in the World Series to which I firmly nodded and followed that with an 'of course'.
By the time lunch rolled around they'd managed to get from me details of the most disgusting crime scene I'd ever witnessed, what was the biggest bug I'd ever seen and did I really almost blow up mom's house with my chemistry kit. But what really got them grabbing their guts and rethinking their sandwiches was when I offered them the grisly details of a body blown to bits by a homemade bomb only to have to reconstruct the poor man by picking up each individual piece and transferring him to the morgue.
"It was awesome!" I said as they groaned, chugalugged their Cokes then clapped me on the shoulder.
"You're all right, Gil," Jules said while the others grinned.
I cherish these men. They see me as Annie's kid not some burned out old scientist who asked a man to kill him because his girlfriend left. I'm not foolish enough to think they don't know no matter what Paul says (men talk as much as women), but they chose to center on other things. And we did all of this over fishing. I'd forgotten that it's not about how many fish you catch but about the time spent together and those four guys, well, they'll never know how much they've helped me and wouldn't believe me if I told them so I keep stuff like that to myself. It was a good time for me when my brain stopped worrying and, instead, debated the tides, the possibility that the seagulls had eaten all the fish, and which War of the Worlds film was better (both have their own merits).
Inane conversation. Very refreshing.
Our many days of pier fishing eventually morphed into boat fishing, myself winning the pot more than once. They even let me take Hank who was so happy I caught him grinning more than once. What a time it was to stand at the bow and let the ocean spray strike me, so different from when I sat on those rocks on the beach when I first arrived. This spray eased away desolate thoughts and let me see that there might just be some tiny speck of light at the end of the tunnel I'd flung myself down.
My thoughts of the boat quickly vanish as Hank shakes himself and covers me in water and suds. I yelp which causes him to stand perfectly still and cast an odd look my way. It makes me laugh that look and I swear I can see another grin forming on his beautiful face. He opens his mouth and I know a happy bark is coming my way when he looks away, ears up. It's then I register a knocking at the front door. Dropping my hands into the water to wipe off the clinging bits of soap, I lean against the metal tub and push myself up reminding Hank his bath isn't finished. Grabbing a towel, I call out 'I'm coming' and head inside wondering why Paul doesn't just use his key.
Pulling open the door, my off color comment fades on my tongue and my smile slides from my face. Dread starts to weave its way back into my innards. I'd managed to push it away, that feeling, to stuff it back into the dark place from whence it came. Apparently, the lock I used wasn't quite strong enough.
"Hi, Gil," he says. "Long time no see."
Conway Germen
Shock. Pure unadulterated shock is what I read on Gil's face which then morphs into a bit of worry, fear even, before it disappears leaving him to purse his lips and squint at me just like in the old days.
"May I come in?" I ask and he hesitantly steps back, just enough for me to slip past him and into the familiar room I haven't seen in years.
I turn back to him. He hasn't moved, his hand still clutched about the doorknob. He looks good. Tan, trim. His hair's a bit grayer but his eyes are still as blue as the sky. That always got all the girls' attention.
Okay, I was jealous.
Okay, I'm still jealous.
"You look good," I start.
"I'm on leave," he says, his tone soft and measured.
I know that. I know all about that but I can't let on. Not yet anyway. So I play it nice and easy.
"What? A friend can't come and visit?" He tilts his head and looks at me like I've seen him look at a bug. And, yes, it is uncomfortable.
"Did you come as a friend," Gil begins, leaving in a dramatic pause he's mastered over time, "or the Director of L.A.'s CSI division?"
I knew I should've talked to Annie before coming here but I was so excited that Gil was in town I let my heart overrule my head. I haven't done that since . . . well, since last Thursday when I ate an entire cheesecake by myself.
"Gil," I say drawing out his name and giving him a shake of my head but it doesn't do me any good. He's got me in his sights and won't let go.
"You've got a file under your arm with red post it notes sticking out and the same pinched look I carried when a case got away from me."
I hate that he can read me so well. Not that I was actually trying to hide anything because this is Gil Grissom. What would be the point? Besides, I might be really good at kissing butt to get funding or glad handing to make sure that funding isn't cut a year later, but I'm terrible at trying to pull the wool over this particular person's eyes. Even if he is suffering through a horrible, horrible time, he's still Gil Grissom; he's still the man with all the answers and I still want to be like him when I grow up. So anything I say would insult his intelligence and that is something you don't want to do on purpose. Instead I merely eye him and keep my mouth shut.
He peers at me and I can see the wheels turning. He starts to fiddle with the blue cast on his hand and I know what's coming.
"How did you know I was here?" finally comes out.
I eye him a bit longer then sigh. "You want the long story or the short one?"
"I want the truth."
Ah, straight to the point. That's why I've missed this man. Oh, how I wish he'd ditch Vegas and come home to L.A. I bet we'd make #2 lab in the country pretty damn quick with him here.
"Conway."
The way he says my name pulls me from my musings and I rub at my chin to cover up my embarrassment and point to the couch. He slowly nods and I sit. He remains standing behind the side chair.
"I called your office and got a Catherine Willows instead. She was kind enough to tell me where you were once she found out who I was. Sometimes my title gets my foot in the door." He's still staring at me and my light mood mellows. "It was an official call, Gil."
"I told you I'm on leave," he says again. I can see melancholia emerge. It wasn't there when he first opened the door.
"You're not doing it or won't do it?" I ask.
"Both."
I nod and look about the room. "Still looks the same even after all these years. I'm sure it's very comforting to be here amid your childhood memories of hearth and home. Much better than the daily grind of murder and rape. . ." I pause. I can do dramatic, too. " . . . and asking someone to kill you."
I hear his breath hitch and quickly look at him. The color is slowly fading from his face and he's grabbed so tightly to the back of the chair, the knuckles on his non-casted hand stand out white from his tan.
"I know what happened, Gil, and I don't care. We all go off the deep end from time to time. There is no shame affixed to it. It happens."
"It doesn't happen to me," he gave back, his voice barely a whisper.
"But it did, my friend, and now it's done. You need to get back on track and do what you do best."
He looked away from me. "I can't."
"Can't or won't?" I ask again.
He grimaces. "Both," he admits. Ah, we're back to that.
"What are you worried about, Gil?" I ask hoping he'll answer but knowing he won't. I change tactics. "Short of murdering anybody I don't think you'll have to worry about people not wanting to work with you. And, being that this is L.A., probably not even then. You're Dr. Gilbert Grissom, one of the only forensic entomologists in the world. Your reputation precedes you and lights the way. When I told my guys you were in town, their eyes lit up. It's disgusting how they idolize you. Makes me feel like chopped liver."
He shook his head. "Yeah, well, I'm not that person anymore."
"Only if you don't want to be," I remind him, sitting forward on the couch. "I remember someone once told me that it was better to announce how you'd embarrassed yourself before someone else could. It may kill you to do it in the beginning but it pays off big time later on. Words to live by I've found out." I look up at him then watch him stare at the floor. "I seem to recall those words came from you."
"Just words."
"Jesus, Gil. You were on the edge, you reacted. If the twit who found the recording hadn't put it on the internet only the LVPD would know. You got shafted, screwed, fucked up the ass, but it didn't kill you. You're still here and you're the best I've ever seen in putting two and two together. Don't lock yourself away now when I need you. When Mr. and Mrs. Remington need you." He looked at me then and narrowed his eyes. I went in for the kill. "They need you to find out who killed their daughter, April."
If I didn't know him better I would've run for the hills at the look he was giving me. He was angrier than I'd ever seen him but I couldn't give in now. It was low what I'd done but it had to be done.
"That's not fair," he manages through clenched teeth.
"Life isn't fair, Gil, as you've just recently found out."
I rise from the couch and approach him, slowly. I didn't want to scare him off or come within striking distance either.
"I'm stumped, Gil, and so are my guys. You are my only hope. Don't let what happened to you ruin your entire life, no matter the reasons behind it. Those reasons aren't important when it comes to finding a brutal murderer/rapist and until you quit CSI and head to China, I'm gonna be coming 'round here and knocking on your door and you know how much Annie likes me."
He remains mute and I wonder if I've screwed up everything with my tough love act. It works on my guys but, then, Gil is a horse of a different color.
When he still doesn't say anything I sigh and drop the file on the coffee table. "My card's in there. I hope I hear from you before the bastard strikes again."
Pausing a moment to see if he'll say anything, I give him a nod and head for the door only to find myself facing Annie on the other side. I sign a hello/good bye, buss her on the cheek and leave her to stare after me. Settled in my car I head back to work and know the first thing anyone will ask me is "what was it like to talk to Grissom?" and I groan.
What was it like?
Like it always is – an honor to be in the same room as the man.
Grissom
My eyes won't leave the file sitting innocently on the coffee table. How could he do that to me? How could he give me her name.
"Gil?" comes mom's voice and I jump. I hadn't even noticed she was back. "Sorry, Gil," she signs glancing toward the door and back again. "What was Conway doing here?"
"Visiting," is all I say as I rub my forehead.
I can feel a headache coming on and curse the moment I opened the front door. I'd been having such a wonderful day, a wonderful couple of weeks, and now that file sits there piquing the curiosity I'd buried deep when I came home and making me think of things I'm not ready for.
"Did you and the boys have a good day fishing?" she asks of me before flitting off toward the kitchen. "I see you did. Why is Hank jumping in and out of that tub in the yard?"
I hear her words but it takes another touch to my arm to pull me back to the here and now and I finally look at her. She frowns and runs a gentle hand along my cheek.
"I see you got a lot of fish," she begins referring to the six large Bonita I left in the sink before taking care of Hank. "So did something happen on the boat today? Is that why Hank is covered in soap suds?" She smiles when she says that but I can read an underlining worry. "Oh, what happened to your cast?" she asks next pulling at the soggy pieces.
She deserves more from me than silence. "We fell overboard," I finally say with a faint smile. "Hank and I."
Her eyes shoot to mine. "Are you all right? What happened?"
"I'm fine," I assure her. "Todd got hold of a big fish, a really big fish, and his feet slipped out from under him. I reached and so did Hank and all three of us - splat - right in the water."
"Is Todd all right?" she asks dragging me toward the kitchen table.
"He's fine," I say with a bit of a grin. "He was pissed I cut his line. Thought he had a whale on the other end and was going to win the pot."
She laughs and it's a sweet sound that makes my sort of smile widen and thoughts of Conway and the dread that overtook me fades into the background along with my headache.
"Oh, this is a mushy mess," she says in reference to my cast and I know what that means - a trip to the hospital.
"Can't we just saw it off?" I whine and she grins back at me, running a hand through my stiff hair.
"You are so cute when you bellyache."
That's mom talk for 'get your stuff we're going to the hospital'.
"But I have to finish with Hank first," I try knowing it won't work.
"I'll do it. Put the fish in the fridge and go change out of your fishing duds. Go on. The quicker we get . . ."
". . . this done. I know the rest."
She smiles at me and it's like a tonic to my stirred up emotions. I hurry to do her bidding thinking that maybe the doctor will give me a brace instead. I really don't want another blue cast.
Annie
"Well, at least it's not pink," I say to Gil in hope of easing up the embarrassment at the bright purple cast now adorning his arm. "Purple is a good color. It's the color of good judgment and peace of mind. You've been finding that lately, peace of mind, and I'll be forever grateful to Paul and the boys for that. Aren't you?" He sighs then nods. "Then what is it, Gil?"
"It was bad enough trying to explain why I, a grown man, had a blue cast. Now this," he says pointing at his arm.
"They'll just tease you not judge you. You've told me that before."
"I guess."
It makes me grin when he's like this because I'm guessing his tone is forced indifference. I remember it still from when he was a child and I'd remind him that he couldn't help it if he was smarter than the other kids even though I knew he just wanted to fit in.
The light changes and we drive in silence for a few miles, Gil sucking on the straw attached to his malt (he always gets one for being a good boy), and I know I'm about to open a can of worms but I didn't miss the file sitting on the coffee table. I know Conway was at the house for more reasons than visiting. I could just string him up for bringing that world back into Gil's life at this point. But neither of us can ignore it so I dive right in at the next red light.
"Are you going to help Conway?" I ask. A purely innocent look on my face does he see when his eyes dart toward me. "I can think of no other reason why the CSI Director would be coming to our house since he hasn't accepted any of my dinner invitations over the past year."
The light changes and off we go and I can almost hear him thinking.
"You invited him to dinner?" he finally manages to get through to me as we stop at yet another red light. Out of all that, that's what he heard.
"Why not?" I ask and smile at him. His mouth opens and closes and his fingers remain still in his lap. "He's your friend and mine. I've known him for years. He'd do anything for you, Gil, and me." I wait a moment for him to say something. When he doesn't, I continue. "Besides, he's always trying to finagle information out of me on how your lab does so well. My answer is simple. They have you."
He blushes and I can see a slight turn at the corner of his mouth there amongst the frown. The light changes again and onward we go, an easy silence filling the rest of our trip. Once home, I head towards the fridge to take care of the fish and Gil disappears into the den, reappearing just a minute later with empty food dishes and a shake of the head.
"What?" I ask as he retrieves a can of kitten food from the cupboard.
"They're going to eat us out of house and home," he signs.
"Those little things? Hank eats more than all of us put together."
I see him laugh and watch as he neatly halves the can and carefully mushes it up, disappearing once again into the den. I know I won't see him for a good ten minutes. He has to take time and have a conversation with the kids before going out to retrieve Hank. I settle into filleting and wonder what his friends in Las Vegas would do if they caught sight of that. Of course, they were probably already getting a kick out of the photo I'd sent Jim.
When he comes back, he's alone as he stands next to me at the sink.
"Where's Hank?" I ask.
"Visiting the kids," he answers with a slight grin. "Do you need any help?" he asks.
I shake my head then reconsider. I've gotten pretty good at filleting fish since fishing has become his life, but I'm trying a new recipe tonight. Perhaps he could help.
"You can get the mixer down for me. Get out the flour, salt, paprika, chili powder, nutmeg, cinnamon, oregano, cream of tartar, cumin, ground mustard, onions and two lemons."
"Don't need any help, huh?" he signs and I grin. "What came after the cinnamon?"
"Oregano, cream of tartar, cumin, ground mustard, onions and lemons," I repeat.
He clears a space on the counter and hefts down the mixer then proceeds to gather all that I need stacking them neatly within reaching distance then stands there looking at them.
"What's the matter?" I ask.
"All of that doesn't sound very appetizing," he says with a slight grimace.
I shrug. "It might not be. I got this recipe from Harriet Bloom down the block. She swears by it."
"Harriet Bloom's like 200 years old."
I look at him. "A lot of recipes you like are handed down from two generations of Grissom's so don't make fun. Besides, if it stinks we'll throw it out and go get McDonalds. Harriet need never know."
I see him laugh and watch his eyes sparkle and I join in. I won't ruin the mood by bringing up Conway or that file again. I know he won't be able to ignore it for much longer and it doesn't do any good for me to push. So I'll just enjoy the moment.
"So tell me about your morning with the boys."
"I already told you the good part," he signs.
"Ah, but I want to know the whole story."
He smirks, no doubt remembering his request for just the same thing when he was about eight and his father let slip an adventure with his brother, Herb, which included hanging from a mountain and a snake bite. He wouldn't let it go until both Daniel and Herb regaled him for hours with every little detail they could remember and embellish since they had such a wonderful audience.
He waits until I'm done filleting, helps me pack the fish away in the freezer then leads me into the den, each of us with a plate of cookies and a frosty glass of milk.
"Well, it started like every other trip," he begins as we sink onto the couch, "except we found out it was Todd's birthday. He was late and almost missed the boat and we all teased him about what Edith had gotten him as a present since he showed up with a silly grin on his face. He turned all shades of red. Well, we got on the boat . . ."
His excitement returned in the telling of the tale. His eyes flash and he laughs and shakes his head and I was overwhelmed with how much I love my son. He is such a joy. I was seeing a side of him that came alive when he finally decided to take a chance on Sara and had been missing these past weeks. If only he could hold onto it, especially after he reads that file. Oh, I'm not fool enough to think he won't. I curse Conway for showing up. Curse him for making Gil remember what he's so desperately trying to forget - the job could've taken Sara's life and, along with it, his own. I'd been fiddling with the idea that he'd leave CSI and become a teacher instead to get him away from those monsters that roam the streets but I guess that's a pipedream. Gil takes his job very seriously and the only thing that will make him walk away is if he had Sara by his side and the two of them could travel the world. But if they don't get back together . . .
"Jules was regaling us with the finer points of the latest version of the movie "Saw" when someone shouted shark and all of us scrambled to the other side of the boat which wasn't smart since it tipped precariously to port. And that's when all the trouble started."
His smile grows wider and I revel in it wondering how long he'll be able to hold out before that file calls to him loud enough for him not to ignore.
Damn, Conway.
Grissom
I am inquisitive by nature. I've always been that way. It helped tremendously in my job, but now . . . Now it's just a pain in the ass as I finally pull myself from tousled sheets, tell Hank to stay put and head downstairs to stare at that damn file that seems to glow in the dark like a red flare motioning me forward and warning me away at the same time.
I had a lovely morning with the guys. Spent an even better rest of the day and evening with mom which put my 'visit' from Conway on the shelf, so far back in my brain it would take a map to find it, yet here I stand, my head so filled with thought upon thought that I can't keep my eyes closed to partake in the soothing depths of sleep. A curse escapes me and I rub my forehead because, until Conway walked through that door, I believe I would've had the strength to ignore the dog eared, manila folder staring up at me. I would've been able to pick it up off the table, hand it back and escort him out of my life.
But then things changed.
Conway's sudden appearance. His speaking with Catherine and her spilling the about my location. The fact that he knew what happened. It all shook me, cracked my newfound confidence and sent me right back to those cold hours standing in that store, knowing my life was over in more ways than one. I hadn't thought about that night for over a week. I was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, I could have a new life; that I might be able to go in a new direction or even return to my old one and, now . . . now . .
Now I'm staring at April Remington's case file and blaming it all on Conway. If he'd asked for himself perhaps I would've been able to ignore it but to give me her name . . . I shake my head and rub my neck. That was low, even for Conway.
It's just a file, I remind myself. Just a file filled with meaningless papers and photos that mean nothing to me. I turn away and start back toward the stairs and barely clear the first step when my hand tightens on the newel post and I sigh. Who am I kidding? That poor girl should have closure and if I can provide the answers I shouldn't be running away. I've been doing enough of that lately. I've been letting what I did, what I asked for, define me, paralyze me, reduce me to a quivering mass of what I used to be and what I can't be any longer. What I presume I can't be any longer. I hang my head then shake it and stare at the faded carpet that covers the stairs thinking that's what I've become - a tattered, washed out remnant of who I used to be and find that, for the first time since all of this started, I don't like how it makes me feel.
I look up then and stare at the folder waiting for my body to make up my mind for me and, when it does, I just follow to stand and stare at the file up close. And, like the last cookie looking so forlorn in the jar, I can't help but snap it up and head upstairs trying to ignore myself as the two halves of my brain yell at each other.
Straightening the bedcovers, I sit with my back to the headboard, the kids barely giving me a look, seemingly more put out by Hank scrambling up next to me and disturbing their slumber. I put on my glasses, take a deep breath and let it out slowly, the last part leaving me as I open the folder and ready myself for what's to come.
I start reading the report.
I see the first pictures . . . and drop the folder out of nerveless fingers when a quick flash of Sara rockets across my vision.
Sara.
Why now?
Since the night I shouted to the heavens that she's the only one I'll ever love, I somehow found the strength to construct a special file cabinet for her in my head and locked her inside. It was the only way to keep her memory safe and clear of all my dark thoughts if I ever choose to look at them again. I simply didn't have the energy to keep them loose, to find myself pondering continuously on what I've lost. I simply couldn't do it. Not now. Maybe not ever.
So I let other things consume me - fishing, hanging out with the guys, the kids, Hank, mom. It's given me breathing space and something else to think about for a time. I felt that I might be on my way to making a bigger decision than what bait shall I use tomorrow. But the moment I opened this file, the moment I delved back into my CSI roots, here she comes to remind me that she's still waiting out there, still waiting for me to find it within myself to forgive her and come home.
Can I?
Should I?
A tremble erupts and I close my eyes against the wetness I can already feel sliding down my face. How fragile I still am that just a quick thought of her reduces me to a shuddering wreck and pushes away the idea that I might be able to stand a bit straighter now.
"Holy shit!" I growl and push the file from my lap, dropping my head into my hands, forgetting my cast and clunking myself on the cheek. "Ow," I grumble.
A tiny 'woof' comes next and I look at Hank and see . . . worry. Somehow that calms me and I slowly lean and kiss him on the nose.
"Thanks, boy," I say, snuffling, and watch his worry evaporate replaced with that grin I'd seen on the boat. "You'll never know how much."
Swiping at my face, I gather up the file and try again, forcing myself to use my old techniques for clearing my head of extraneous information. After a time longer than normal, it does the trick and I exhale noisily noticing miffed looks from the kids. Gently I coo at them (yes, coo) then turn my full attention to the April Remington case.
There's no turning back now as my eyes take in each word before moving to the next page to find I'm well and truly caught. The perpetrator is a heinous individual who needs to be kept away from people. There's no way I can turn my back now and Conway knew that.
Well, that leaves me with one of two things I could say to him the next time he happens to be in earshot.
You're a bastard, Conway, and I'm so going to get you for this.
Or,
I don't know how I'll ever be able to thank you.
I wasn't sure if Grissom's Uncle Herb was his mom's or dad's relative so I tossed a coin. (If it's wrong please let me know.)
Well, I hope you liked this part. Mr. G seems to be getting back on track or so it seems. Don't forget this is angsty drama here. Who knows what'll happen once he gets started back down that path.
Now, don't get too comfortable with this quick posting thing. As much as I dream about whipping out these parts bing-bang-boom you should all know by now Sara's side of things take me longer. Now I have a pretty good idea (a variation of a couple of suggested ideas I received) but I've not even put pen to paper. In fact, her part isn't even in my outline yet. So, I'd better stop making excuses and get to writing!
Thanks again for all your help and support and keep those reviews coming. I live for them! (You think I'm kidding.) :-D