Chapter Fifty-One

He was reading–only reading. Then she walked in to his office, looking as beautiful as ever in her black suit that showed off her dark hair and dark eyes.

"I heard the guys solved a double-murder," Sara said with awe.

"Mm-hmm."

"I spent the day sitting on a bench outside the courtroom. They never got to me."

"That sucks." He went back to the book he was reading.

"Feeling transcendental?" She asked as she read the cover of the book.

"Hmm?"

"Thoreau? I haven't read him since college." She smiled at him.

"Me neither," he told her. "It holds up. "I would rather sit on a pumpkin and have it all to myself than be crowded on a velvet cushion."

She looked at him thoughtfully, then glanced down at his crossword puzzle book and picked it up.

"Oh, look! You missed one–sixty-three-down. Misanthrope," she said with a bit of irritation, although she tried to hide it very well as she looked back at him. When he didn't respond, she started for the door. "I won't wait up."

He watched her with a bit of confusion. What the hell brought that up? Then he recalled the passage he had read and wondered at his selection. Was there something to it? Was there a reason he chose that quote to read–to her? Was he feeling crowded? He didn't know anymore. He thought back over the past few weeks, recalling how he had eventually come to terms with what happened to Greg. She had been right. Once he actually faced the boy and they talked, things seemed to flow a bit easier in that regard. He watched as she would cater to the boy, and he had no problems with that. Sometimes he even went with her when she would stop in after work to visit with him, taking various types of food for his enjoyment. And it really didn't take that long for him to come back to work; only a week after being released from the hospital and he was back to the lab.

Grissom didn't think there was really any friction between himself and Sara at that point. Oh, there was the discussion regarding his faith in Catholicism, but that was a simple discussion. There definitely was nothing more to it than that. And, of course, there was the soft reprimand he received because he was being "too hard" on Greg, in Sara's eyes. He accepted that, and even lightened up with the kid.

It was later that day that his migraine became unbearable and he more or less hid on his sofa. The case they had been working seemed to get to him more than usual, and when it was over, he shut himself off in his office. He had finally fallen asleep with the help of his medicine and stayed there until the shift started again that night. He could see how Sara watched him as he was handing out assignments that night and how she remained quiet, almost showing a bit of pain in her eyes when she looked at him. She didn't hesitate as she left with Warrick to go to their scene. It wasn't until nearly dawn that he caught her alone in the lay-out room.

"You okay?" He asked as he entered the room with her.

"I'm fine." She used that tone that told him she was "not" fine, as she went about placing photos on the table in front of herself.

"You're upset."

She looked up at him. "I guess I should be asking if "you're" okay." When he looked at her blankly, she went on. "Your migraine."

"It's–better."

"I'm glad to hear it," she went back to looking at the photos. "You didn't answer your phone when I called. I had no way of knowing where you were or if you were alright."

"I guess the medicine knocked me out. I didn't hear the cell."

"Maybe next time, you can let me know if your head is splitting so bad that you can't make it home."

"Sara, I could barely open my eyes. How did you expect me to call when I was in the middle of a migraine?"

"I don't know. I guess you open your cell and press number nine on your speed dial. Next time, I won't waste my time waiting in your apartment only to spend the entire day by myself. I could've gone home to my own place."

"I didn't stop you from going to your own apartment. You could've gone once you realized I wasn't coming home."

She looked up at him and nodded her head. "I'll do that next time."

He watched her walk past him and head to the ladies room.

By the time they worked on their next case together, he couldn't say they were on "bad" terms. They still went home together after work. They still made love almost every night, although he wasn't into repeat performances these past weeks. He started what had become known as the second miniature killing with her, and together they gathered what information they could, but the fact that this was the second connected case that he couldn't solve, was eating at him.

And then last night when he was going through his mail. The offer to go on sabbatical caught his attention. He sat it aside and really thought no more about it as together the rest of the crew worked together to determine who killed the identical twin sisters. It was only after Sara's return tonight, and her declaration that she "wouldn't" wait up for him, that he put his book aside and picked up the letter he had looked at earlier.

He re-read it again. Frankly, he didn't know what to do about it. He wasn't overly interested in going. But still, it lingered in his mind. He gathered his things, sighing as he realized he was preparing to go home and try to smooth things over with Sara. He took his time as he went to the garage, seeing that she had already left, but just as he was unlocking his door, he heard the tapping of heels approaching him.

"Heather!" He was surprised to see her. He hadn't seen her since the death of her daughter the year before. He had promised Sara that he "wouldn't" see her, but those promises seemed to fade as he looked at her loveliness as she stood before him.

"Grissom," she said in a voice as soft as silk. "It looks as though I'm lucky to have caught you."

"Yes. Another moment and I'd have been on my way home. Is there something I can help you with?" He opened his door and put his things in the back seat, then looked at her again.

"You always seem to have a knack of "helping" me, Grissom. Tonight wouldn't be any different."

He looked at her as she watched him and he could see her loneliness and despair. How could he "not" help a friend in need. "Would you like to discuss it over a cup of coffee?"

"I believe tea is much more to my liking–as well as yours. I'd rather we sit and talk in the comfort of my sitting room. Much more civilized, don't you think?"

"I–uh, I'm–not. . .," he stumbled over his words.

"Not allowed to associate with me?" She smiled indignantly at him. "I can understand that–really. I mean, I'd be a bit alarmed about my relationship with you also, if I were another woman. After all, we do share a rare friendship. But the fact that we are "friends" should count for something. I really didn't take you to be quite like the others, Grissom."

"The others?" He asked.

"It's quite common for husbands of domineering women to want to spread their wings when they visit me. I'm a release for them–a chance for them to become "real" men when they aren't allowed that luxury at home."

"It isn't quite like that," he said quietly, but she merely smiled sadly at him, almost with pity. "I can follow you back to your place. I wouldn't mind having a cup of tea."

She nodded her head once in understanding and turned back toward her own car, slowly getting inside and giving him full view of her long legs before she closed the door. He drove behind her for the forty minutes it took to arrive at her house, then followed her inside. If the rest of the house seemed a bit quiet and dark compared to what it used to be, he didn't notice. He watched as one of Heather's employees, dressed in a black and white maid's uniform, brought in a tray with the elegant tea pot and cups, then bowed to show her respect as she left the room.

"I'm sure you're curious as to why I suddenly showed up out of nowhere," she said as she poured the tea.

"I'm sure you have your reasons." He took the cup she offered him.

"I was very interested in finding out what you know about Wolfowitz's sentencing." She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs as she looked at him.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean. You probably know just as much as I do."

"Is there any chance this "ace" lawyer that he obtained, is going to get him off with the "insanity" card?"

"I couldn't tell you. There's always a chance. We can only hope that wherever he's sent–he stays there for the rest of his life."

"I see," she said as she dropped her eyes, then looked back up at him. "I guess I'll have to accept that. For now."

"Heather," he started, but didn't know how to exactly warn her not to try to do anything stupid.

"Then we'll talk about you. I can see the stress showing on your face, Grissom. I can only imagine what's causing it."

"And that would be?"

"You didn't have this stress before. And when you did, I took care of it." She uncrossed her legs and got to her feet as she started pacing in front of him. "I certainly can take care of it again."

"I–I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Drink your tea, Grissom. It wasn't an order, it was simply an offer." She looked very closely at him. "No, I can see that you're in no position to do anything like that. You don't seem to be in a position to do much of anything anymore, are you? And it's stifling you–smothering you."

"I'm–fine," he said, but already he was starting to wonder if she was correct. She had such an incredible talent for seeing what goes in other people's lives.

"Perhaps we should move out onto the patio." She moved to the double doors across the room. "Suddenly the tension I feel radiating from you is making it rather stuffy in here."

Grissom followed her through the doors to the cooler night air as they sat on the chairs displayed there.

"My tension is no more severe than any other time, Heather. My job is stressful. I think you know that."

"I also know that you're having a bit of trouble settling into the white house with a picket fence lifestyle that is being forced upon you. It's very plain to see. Every time I bring up the subject, you almost cringe with discomfort."

"That's because. . .my life with Sara is something. . ."

"That you don't want anyone else to know about. There is a reason behind that, you know."

"That wasn't what I was going to say. . .but to answer your question. It would jeopardize our jobs," he said simply.

"I don't think that's your reason for keeping your "affair" a secret." She leaned forward as she looked at him again. "Grissom–I "know" what kind of man you are. And I know how threatening she can be. Believe me, I've had my share of run-ins with her this past year. She's very intimidating. You aren't the kind of a man to be manipulated, Grissom. That's why you're subconsciously fighting against this so much; and your body's reaction is turning your inner turmoil into a tension that's becoming too much for you to control."

"You've had your "share of run-ins" with her?" He became alarmed at the thought of Sara harassing this woman even when they hadn't seen one another in all these months. "Has she done something? Have you seen her lately?"

Heather sat back in her chair, plainly refusing to answer that question. "I'm wondering if there isn't some way you could take a "break" from all the pressure you're under right now."

He watched her a moment, then his mind went back to the letter he had received. "There "is" something. I was offered a job, back east, for a few weeks."

"That isn't exactly what I was thinking of. But I guess it is a beginning. Do you think you're going to accept this offer?"

"I wasn't putting too much thought into it, but. . ."

"I think it would be good for you. You need to step back and look at your life. You're not a man to be dictated to, Grissom. That's what I don't understand, why you're allowing this to happen in your life. I always thought you were in charge of your life; that you had direction."

"I don't see your reasoning, Heather."

"My reasoning isn't meant to insult you, by any means. I only want to help. I can see how worn and tired you seem. You need a break, Grissom. You need to step back and look at what you really want in life. It certainly isn't going in the direction you had planned when we talked about it two years ago."

"No," he agreed quietly as he looked into his cup of tea. "It definitely isn't."

"Then do something about it. Now is your chance." She leaned forward and placed her hand on his arm and squeezed it. "You can regain yourself. You seem so lost now. I just hate seeing you like this. Go–and when you're through, we'll talk again, and I promise, you'll see things through fresh eyes. You'll be able to make all the correct decisions then."

Grissom nodded as he got to his feet, walking with her back through the house until he got to the front door where she reached up and kissed his cheek. He got into his car and started home, having a lot on his mind as he drove the forty minutes back through the city and then the extra half hour until he got to his apartment. He didn't notice that Sara's car wasn't parked there. He was too tired. At this point he simply wanted to get inside and get some sleep. It wasn't until he closed the front door that he noticed the darkness; noting the difference from the normal lighting that shone from the hallway to his bedroom when she would be home before him. He flicked on the lights as he moved down the steps, deciding this was her childish form of punishment, probably hoping he'd trip over something and break a leg on his way to join her in bed. He left the lights on as he went through the apartment, feeling a little testy, himself, as he decided he'd leave them on just to irritate her. But when he turned on the light to the bedroom, he saw that although the bed had been occupied earlier, it wasn't now. He looked around the room, then went back to the kitchen where he found the note on the counter.

Grissom,

It seems I "did" wait up for you after all. But when you still weren't here after an hour, I decided to call the lab, like you had suggested the last time you forgot to come home. Judy told me you had left already. And, yes, I did call your cell because there was always the possibility that you had been in an accident or found some other form of calamity–but again, you didn't answer. After another hour, I took your suggestion that I go back to my own apartment. I think I'll be tired in the morning, so there will be no need to call.

S.

Grissom crumbled the note and went to bed.