All righty then, here comes Act 3 - Resolution. It's a slow process since I'm winging this part until I get closer to the end so, please, bear with me. Again I accept any and all suggestions and appreciate all reviews that come my way. As always my thanks go out to: was spratlurid quimby, Hithui, gsr309, SevernSound, Otie1983, paxtonq (new one=thanks), TessTrueHeart, Moonstarer and my #1 fan, Nancy1.

(Note: The missing line from Part 25 in Grissom's last section was: "Conway has a body with bugs in the mountains," I blurt out as my eyes shift to my gear then back to him. The puzzlement disappears.' The words were all strung together without spaces. Apparently, FF didn't like that so there you go.)

Onward ~

Act 3 - Resolution

Pressing is the time we wait to regain what is lost
To see if we've left behind more than a thought or footstep or bit of life
Within the coming dawn could be the answer we seek
Or another missing moment to pile atop those already there
Heavy it becomes to face a new day without the joy of what was
seeing only the hollow space of what is left behind.
So reach out and grab what is there; to look not back but forward to a new day
It is here you will find what was lost, what was hidden away in a dark place
It is here you will regain yourself and find all those moments you'd never lost in the first place.

Part 26 – 22 days Later

Grissom

Okay, I'm here. I'm here in my home. My home in Vegas.

I believe I've been standing in the same spot for a good five minutes. It could be more. I know Hank's worried. I can feel him staring at me. The kids are quiet, still sitting in their travel container in my hand, but that's to be expected. They've never been here before. My bags are still in the car and I can't seem to move. Well, at least my feet aren't moving. My eyes take in every space.

It all looks different somehow. It's no longer bleak nor does it hold a feeling of despair that had so encased me. I take that as a good sign but don't gather to me 100%. Not yet anyway. Chuff, chuff comes at me and I finally glance down. Hank is worried. But then I smile and so does he. It appears all is right in his world at the moment. Now onto mine.

I take a step and frown wondering at the absence of smell that should be clinging to everything. I sniff again. There's nothing. Placing the kids on the kitchen counter, I reach for the fridge door then hesitate. Visions of 'Zuul' attack me and I laugh, opening the door to see . . . nothing. It's empty. I'm not too clear on what was in there when I left but I know there was more than nothing. Hmm.

Looking away from the fridge I notice the air isn't stale, the kitchen trash is empty and there isn't any dust anywhere. Evidence points to someone being here and I bet it was Catherine, doing her best to make sure my homecoming isn't something I'll regret from the get go. I'm glad she's my friend. I smile at the memory of our last phone conversation that served to reinforce my belief that I've become more decisive.

It was the day after the press conference, after Paul and I dragged ourselves home from our 'outing in the woods', as he called it, and into the house, mom taking command and sitting us down for a hot meal. Naturally, Paul regaled her about how disgusting a dead, decomposing body was as he pushed in bite after bite of mom's pot roast. I, on the other hand, was exhausted and my hand had long since moved from throbbing to lancing pain. She must've seen my discomfort because a pill was thrust into my hand then my full plate and a quick 'eat' signed my way.

"Annie, it was fascinating. Gil couldn't do much with his cast so I became his hands and, once I managed to get my stomach to stay in place, it was . . . it was like nothing I've ever experienced in my life! I've always appreciated Gil and his smarts but now, now I've experienced them first hand. Your boy's a smart cookie."

Mom laughed and I just shrugged taking my first bite of her roast, soon followed by many more when I realized how hungry I was. It was as good as I remembered.

"He was a good helper," I added between bites. "And a good listener."

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked looking from me to mom. "He could tell certain things about the body just by looking at it or one of the bugs then followed up with a survey of the surrounding patch of ground. Everyone was duly impressed."

"They were not."

"Yes, Gil, they were," he said gazing at me.

"They are all experienced CSI's."

"I heard them talking. 'Oh, my God, that's Grissom.' 'Do you think he'd sign his book for me?' 'I'm so glad we get to work with him' 'Boy, is he cute'." He smiled at me then and I just chuckled. "You know, Annie, I'm surprised your boy here doesn't have a swelled head with all of that adoration going around."

"Well, when he was younger . . ." mom started just as the phone rang (thank, God!).

"I'll get it," I nearly yelled jumping up to grab the receiver. "Grissom residence."

"I bet you answered the phone like that when you were a kid," came Catherine's voice bringing a smile to me.

"Mom trained me early," I admitted.

"Well, she did a good job."

"Yeah. Um, I've been meaning to call."

"Oh, but you've been way too busy saving L.A. from murderers and rapists."

I frowned. "How . . ?"

"There you were plain as day, standing behind the LAPD Sheriff being praised by said Sheriff for the work you did to capture Jeremy Roberts."

"Oh," I replied my frown quickly fading. "You saw that, huh?"

"Oh, everyone saw it."

"Everyone?"

"Even Sara."

Oh, boy. "I hadn't meant to work it. Conway . . . He sort of dumped me in the middle of everything and once I got involved there was no turning back."

"Doesn't matter. All that matters is that you got the LAPD a save on our loss."

"They were mad, huh?"

"They were pissed. As Ecklie put it 'if he can work he should be doing his own job not someone else's'."

"Sorry, Catherine."

"Don't be. As long as the bastard's off the street, that's fine with me."

Now I'm puzzled. "So you're calling because?"

I can hear her sigh. "Don't shoot the messenger, Gil. Ecklie is demanding you come home."

"Demanding?" I repeat with raised brows.

"Yes, as in if he can work . . ."

"I got that. And if I don't?"

"I'm pretty sure I'll be the new night shift supervisor."

"Oh." Hmm. That didn't bother me as much as I thought it would.

"I told him to call you himself. I don't get paid for stuff like that, tracking down and hauling back wayward CSI's. The ensuing argument echoed clear to Jim's office. It made me smile. I haven't smiled like that since you left."

I chuckled. "Well, I do what I can."

"There's the Grissom I remember. It's so nice to hear you again."

"It's nice to be heard."

She laughed that time and I let myself grin. "You sound good, Gil. Better than good."

"I'm doing much better, Catherine. Putting Roberts away gave me an indefinable something that seems to have brightened my outlook on things. Go figure."

"You . . . You're a kick, Gil," she laughed. "God, I've missed you around here. I never thought I'd miss your weird sense of humor."

"I was being serious."

"I know. That's what I miss." She was still laughing. Well, I made her day somehow so I decided to just 'roll with it'. "I'm sorry, but that felt good. Of course, I'm on a double."

"Well, that could explain everything," I said, wanting to ask her why she's working a double and proud of myself when I didn't. There's nothing I can do this far away.

"So, any decisions on when you'll be coming home?" she finally asked and I shook my head.

"Nothing definite. I've a couple of appointments I can't miss so don't want to get roped into something I can't get out of. And now that I know Ecklie's more pissed at me than normal my 1-2 weeks just became 3-4."

"Appointments? Sounds serious."

"I'm not job hunting if that's what you mean. I promised someone I'd be here for his birthday and I won't break that promise."

"Pray tell, was it the little boy holding your hand?"

"Yeah. He lost his sister way too soon and I can understand his loss. He's like a 'mini me'," I said. Her laugh came back full bore. "I'm being serious again."

"I know," she barely managed.

"I'm so happy to brighten your day, Catherine," I said sarcastically.

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not. I won't leave him hanging. If that costs me my job then so be it." I could hear a deep breath being taken at my stern tone and knew she was trying to compose herself. She was tired. I gave her some slack. "Tell Ecklie I'll be back in a month. If he insists I come back sooner, I'll Email him my resignation and HR my complaint that my open-ended administrative leave has been terminated without direct contact from my superior. I've already been offered a permanent consulting job here and I've a mountain of other projects waiting in the wings that'll keep me busy and working at my own pace."

"A consulting job?"

"Yeah. Conway wants me here."

"And you're thinking about it?" She seemed unnerved by that.

"I might. I don't know. I just know that while I've been here, and not responsible for a shift, I found out how much I missed working a case, being hands on from start to finish. You know paperwork and I don't get along."

"I know. And, since you've been gone, I understand your pain."

"I would say I'm sorry, Catherine, but . . ."

"You're not and that's perfectly fine. You're learning to enjoy life again and that pleases me more than anything."

"I can't change what happened in the store, Catherine, and I'm not sure I want to. That event has led to new friends and a new learning about myself and how far I'm willing to go to get back my life. It's been an interesting time away."

"You're like a Phoenix rising from the ashes."

"An appropriate metaphor since it does feel like I died a little through all of this. But each day has taught me something new, about how I'm stronger than I thought I was. And, well, I've even shocked myself."

"How?"

"I've . . . well, I've been Emailing Sara."

"Really? That's good right?"

"It's early yet," is all I was willing to say not knowing myself if anything would come of it.

"I wondered why she was smiling over that homeless man split in two by a train." That made me feel good somehow. "You are a man of many surprises, Gil Grissom."

"I actually prefer man of mystery."

"Oh, God, Ecklie would love that," she laughed.

"You know what? Tell him to call me directly next time. No more going through you or anyone else. A threat of the media should get him on the phone. And if he doesn't have the balls to talk to me directly, then tell him to go suck eggs."

"Owee! I can't wait to deliver that bit of news. I'll make sure one of the guys is nearby to catch Ecklie's mouth in a photo before it hits the floor."

"I want a copy."

"Will do. Well, my job here is finished. I called, you responded. We'll see what crap this stirs up and I'll be smiling all the way through it. Thanks for cheering me up."

"I do what I can."

"Keep in touch."

"I will."

And the photos were priceless. I believe gobsmacked is a better word than flummoxed to describe the look on Ecklie's face. I waited and never received a call from him. That still makes me smile. And, the fact that Jim took the photo (with Nick and Sara hiding in the shadows taking their own) right in front of him . . . well, it did my heart good.

Mew, mew.

"Oh, sorry. Lost in my musings again. You should be used to it by now," I say to the kids as we move out of the kitchen and down the hall. "Let me introduce you to our other roommates," I inform them pushing open the door to my small office.

Turning on the light, I open my mouth to say hello then stop dead. The shelves are empty! What the . . . But then the bright yellow Post-it notes come into view and I hastily grab them, my worry quickly vanishing at what's written.

'I'm staying at the office until you come home, Arthur.'

'We're going home with Greg. Don't worry, he'll keep us in shape. The Roaches.'

"The Roaches'? They have names," I mumble biting at my bottom lip.

And then I remember. Catherine told me Nick and Greg were looking after my bugs so I wouldn't come home to 'bug legs in the air' I think she said. I'd smile at their thoughtfulness except I'm betting neither of them know how to take care of them and bug legs reaching for heaven will probably be the outcome anyway. Of course, they're both smart. And, since they're back on speaking terms with Sara, they probably went to her for advice.

Oh, I'm smiling again. I'm on speaking terms with Sara.

Sara.

I'm sure . . . I'm nearly, well, kind of sure it will be good to see her again. Ah, hell, I don't know if it'll be good or not. Emails and phone calls are so very different than being in the same room having to face each other without the shield of anonymity distance provides; the ability to 'drop the phone' and disconnect the person on the other end. I've done that to the Sheriff and Ecklie. I don't know if I could do it to Sara.

And that first phone call . . . Man, oh, man, I thought I was going to puke I was so nervous, my inability to speak going live the moment I heard her voice on the other end. It turned out to be her voicemail and I had a momentary flash of all those messages I'd left for her when she ran away, those messages she didn't return, and suddenly thought it was a bad idea so hung up, not wanting to go through that again.

I even decided to sleep on it, which was a mistake since dreams left me bereft of rest. It's very bizarre to be sitting in a room watching two halves of yourself yelling at each other – one side to continue, the other to stop. Then my heart popped up, complete with stitching and zippers, and flashed me a card saying it was time to extend my warranty if I was going to put my foot in love's water again, complete with a coupon for a new upgraded model that had an on/off switch. Then Peter Parker (in a Spiderman outfit) dangled in front of me saying 'time to go fishin' for love' before zipping up his web and out of sight.

And then Sara herself appeared, quiet and unassuming, looking like she did when we first met, pigtail and all, and I found I could shut out the arguing halves of me and signed on the dotted line to extend my heart's warranty just before taking her in my arms, bending her backward and . . . waking up kissing my pillow. It would've all been fine except I could feel three pairs of eyes staring at me. Slowly turning, Hank and the kids had their heads tilted in the same direction and I couldn't help but laugh then kissed them silly until I was thumped and pushed and licked within an inch of my life. It's good to have furry friends.

I remembered my internal conversation about being reckless when I was trying to send her one of my first Emails (Emails which had lengthened greatly since that time) and found I wasn't. But I'd signed that warranty card. Dream or not, I'd signed it and that had to mean something. So I picked up the phone again and got her one ring in. I don't even remember what I said. (Probably something profound like 'hey'.) I believe I stammered some and, no doubt, coughed, but the rest is a blur. (Although there is some stray memory of pie.)

All I really remember is how good she sounded to my ears. Her voice nestled into the open space she'd once occupied like she'd never left and I could feel my heart twitching a bit, as if reawakening to what was. But there was disquiet as well, brought on by vivid memories of before. I couldn't blame its hesitation. These were treacherous waters I was launching us into with only a soggy raft to keep us afloat.

But, I found a willingness to try and it must've worked because she called at the appointed time the next night and I followed up a day later and so it continued, each conversation becoming easier as we moved along. Mostly we chatted about work but there were questions about mom and Hank and the kids, photos of which were flying her way every time they did something cute. (All the time.) It was all very . . . pleasant and chaste and unsullied by talk of feelings and relationships and what comes next. I was too afraid to touch those particular topics and, I guessed, so was she. And I didn't feel that our lack of depth was anything but good. For me, shallow worked at this point. It let me dip my toe in and proceed at my own pace, something she was obviously willing to let me do.

Paul told me, what seems like ages ago, that I was in the cat bird's seat in terms of where I wanted things to go with Sara. I didn't understand what he was talking about then but now realize the power I have at my fingertips. With one word Sara would come flying to me or leave forever. I never wanted that kind of power, the same power she had over me. I want her with me because she wants to be not because I ask her to. I don't . . . .

I want her to be with me. I want. I do want that, Sara with me. I can admit now that I've always wanted that since we laid together in the hospital but I couldn't let myself fall. Not then anyway. But now? Now is different; I'm different. Maybe Sara's different, too. But there are other things to think on. What of everyone else? All those people I've known for years who know what happened firsthand. L.A. spoiled me. I'm never going to get that kind of treatment from our Sheriff or Ecklie or Cavallo and, before . . . before I never wanted it, but now . . .

I never needed a pat on the back or a hearty congratulations. It was the job I loved doing and my reward was in solving a puzzle. But I demanded respect. Question me, deny me, but never disrespect me or how I do my job. And Ecklie's been doing that for years along with sheriff after sheriff. I'm not politic and that does me in every time and I don't think much will change when I go back. In fact, it might even be worse so have to remind myself that I have a stack of articles to write and seminars to give and a consulting job in L.A. if I want it. And I have Catherine who'll make a fine supervisor. I am stunned how much power that seemed to give me once I recognized that.

Mew, mew, mew.

I smile down at them. "Our roommates appear to be out so you'll meet them later," I apologize and head back out into the hall watching the kids take in everything.

It makes me think on how a moment came and went when I thought about leaving them with mom and was startled at the feelings that brought up. They are my kids. I saved them, kept them alive, loved them, told them my fears and shared my happiness. I couldn't leave them behind. Hank would be beside himself and so would !. They were closer to me than most people with the exception of mom, the Fab Four, Paul and, of course, Catherine and Jim. They deserve to be with us. They deserve to share my life, and possibly . . . I take a deep breath and complete the thought - possibly Sara.

I shake my head and return my wayward attention to the guest room where the kids take a keen interest – no doubt at all the boxes piled high, a veritable heaven with which to get lost in. Then we finally end up in the master bedroom where I come to a sudden stop at the door, the day I left sweeping through me again, forcing me to lean against the door frame.

She's still here. I can feel her. I'll always feel her here and that doesn't discomfit me as I thought it would. Interesting that a few short conversations with Philip Kane has brought me to this calm acceptance. Odd really, especially knowing myself and how I cling to things I probably shouldn't. Yes, I've learned so many things in my time away.

MEW, MEW!

"Oh, yelling now are we," I say, sticking my fingers through the wire door to let them rub and nibble. "I know you want to explore but I've got to kid-proof the house before that happens so sit tight and let me get your box and toys." I cast a look around. "I don't think you can hurt yourselves too badly in here but I've been wrong before." A quick flash of both of them getting trapped behind the old couch in mom's den fills me and I scratch at my chin. "Stay put for a bit longer. I'll be right back. Hank! Come watch the kids!" I call and in he bounds taking up residence next to the bed where they can see him. I shouldn't laugh but I do. Hank takes his responsibility as big brother very seriously. "I'll be right back."

I've got to unload the car, do some laundry, and call Philip to make an appointment. I need to use these eight days before the end of the month wisely if I'm to get back into the swing of things. I open the door onto a 90 degree breeze and, for a long second, wish I was back at the beach.

Sara

His name is Simon Remington. I found that out before the end of shift that first night I saw Gil holding his hand. I hesitantly asked about him on our fourth phone call and was rewarded with a voice that smiled as he recounted their trip to see the butterflies. It was a joy to listen to, his enthusiasm shining through over his newfound friend. I'm so very thankful to hear that I didn't destroy everything I love about him.

We've been speaking almost every day and, each day it gets easier reminding me of how it used to be. I always let him lead the conversation unless he's stumped. I can't appear pushy. I promised never to do that if and when he managed to put behind him everything I did. Mostly we talk about work or Hank or the kids. We've not touched upon anything outside of how we are which is fine because anything beyond that could be dangerous at this point. Annie's Emails (via Jim) assure me that Gil looks forward to these calls, more with each one and says he always has a pleased look on his face once he hangs up.

And that's all I need right now, that little spark of a chance that, sometime in the future, we might actually work together again which may then lead to a combined venture like . . . well, like lunch or something. Or maybe breakfast at the Sunrise Café – the place it all started.

I was getting better at not flying from the room each time Gil Emailed me drawing odd looks all around. I'd found a dignified pace to sprint into my hiding place (the evidence room) to read and reply. So imagine my surprise when my phone rang and I picked it up (without looking at the screen) only to hear a very hesitant 'hey' on the other end. My eyes bugged out and I stiffened so badly I nearly toppled over when I tripped on a box sitting on the floor and only managed to keep myself upright when I fell into a stack of very heavy boxes. Thank God I wasn't on scene or I'd've had Nick or Greg or Warrick making fun of me the entire next shift and the one after that.

"Hey," I said back, hastily sitting on the edge of that box since my legs were having a hard time holding me up.

"Hey," he repeated as he coughed. "I-I thought I'd, you know, call and say, well, say hey."

I found myself grinning. This was so reminiscent of when I first met Gil in San Francisco, memories flooding me at his honorable behavior and the fact that when we went for walks he always kept hands in his pockets and started so the first time I took his arm. He would blush at the drop of a hat and fall over his words unless we were talking bugs or crime scenes or any number of other things that had nothing to do with us. I was smitten and found out, much later, so was he. And, now, here was that man again.

"I'm glad you did. It's good to hear your voice."

"Yours, too. Um," he stammered. "Ah, how's work?"

"I know I shouldn't say this out loud but it's been rather quiet," I stage whispered. "And we both know that can't be good."

"No."

I waited for more but nothing came so I jumped in. "At least we haven't exceeded the record of six different scenes in six different counties," I tossed in knowing he'd remember that night.

"I think they do that to mess with our heads."

I laughed and reveled in the chuckle I heard on his end. It was like coming home. "They should be careful who they mess with," I said. "You know how Jim gets."

"Yes, I do. How is he?"

"Ornery as ever. Managed to get himself covered in pie while taking down a perp at the Marie Callendar's on Sahara."

"Was it thrown at him or . . ."

"Oh, he grabbed the guy from behind and plowed right into a rack of cream pies which happened to be right next to the razzleberry pies. He was a lovely shade of purple by the time I showed up."

"You laughed didn't you?"

"It was more of a snort I'd say."

"Is he talking to you yet?"

"Actually, yeah, but I know he's going to deck Greg pretty soon if he hears one more reference to whipped cream, berries and pie tins, oh my!"

His chuckle was more like a laugh then and I beamed. "I'll have to call him and throw in some pointers about how to eat pie properly."

"Boy, you like taking risks."

"I'm 300 miles away. What can he do?"

"I know he's been trying to figure out how to reach through the phone and pop Ecklie for the last year. No telling what strides he's made," I reminded him.

"Ah, I'd forgotten about that. Maybe I'll keep it to myself. Oh, hold on a minute." I heard a click and waited, a happy tune springing through my head like my own musak. "Sara, I have to go."

"Oh, okay. It was really great to hear from you."

"I enjoyed it as well."

"May I . . . May I call you tomorrow?" There was a deep silence on the other end. Shit. "You're probably busy. I'll . . ."

"Tomorrow would be fine. I should be home by noon."

"Okay, then," I smiled almost adding 'it's a date' which would've been bad.

"Okay. Well, ah, goodbye."

"Bye."

We hung up together and I couldn't stop myself from leaping off that box and doing a happy dance in the evidence room. I've never been happier about a conversation in my life. He called me. He called me and spoke to me. He spoke to me like we were friends. Like we were friends.

Tears fell then and I didn't stop them.

I haven't cried on any of the other calls - just the first one - and I think I've passed some sort of test. Not Gil's, my own, of not being pushy, of letting the conversations flow. He's told me about Peter Parker and all of Conway's team; he's told me about Paul and the Fab Four; he's told me how he saved the kids. But he hasn't told me how he hurt his hand. A simple 'I tripped over my own two feet and fell against the wall' is so far from the truth it isn't funny but I won't ask because I have a feeling it might be related to me somehow and, at this point, bad memories are not welcome.

I'm having breakfast with Jim today. I hope he has some news. Gil was planning on coming home this week but he didn't know when. I found myself picking up things for him at the grocery to fill his fridge then put them back. I gave back my key and there's no way I'm going to ask Catherine for hers. I wonder if I'll ever be asked back to his home.

A girl can dream you know.

Zuul is a Ghostbuster reference. (It was in Signourney Weaver's fridge); Philip Kane was introduced as the LVPD psychologist in the S1 episodes "Face Lift" (1x16) and "Gentle, Gentle" (1x18)

Well, there you have it - the first part toward what we all want - resolution. I hope you enjoyed this little bit of quiet where they are slowly taking steps (itsy-bitsy steps) towards each other. If you've been with me through this whole thing you know that big steps are few and far between. Remember, I take any any all suggestions and love reviews. Happy Mother's day to all! Thanks! :-D