Epilogue: June 1996
I walked out of the court house, feeling satisfied. I had almost been late this morning—I'd had a run in my nylons and one of the heels of my best black shoes had broken. I'd spilled the milk, dropped my foundation—thus breaking the little pancake and making a very beige mess on the carpet in my bathroom—and almost forgotten the case file next to the coffee pot.
I definitely deserved a break. Maybe I'd call one of my girl friends, have a night in to eat too much chocolate and bash the men—or lack thereof—in our lives. …Then again, I might just order a pizza and take a lot, hot, bubble bath. This case had left me exhausted, and now that we'd finally won, I just wanted to take a moment to breathe.
I turned the corner, digging in my purse for my keys, thinking of the look on Susanna's bright little face when they let her run back to her mother. She was a nine year old girl who'd grabbed a knife to try to protect herself and her mother from her abusive father—and in his drunken stupor, he'd fallen forward while trying to back the girl into a corner and the knife she held in frightened little fingers had killed him. The state had argued that there was no proof he'd fallen—they'd wanted to send her to a juvenile detention center. They'd lost.
I found the keys, and straightened my body quickly, only to slam into another person and drop the keys. "Oh, excuse me!" Damn it. I never looked where I was going. "I wasn't looking. Are you all…" I finally looked up, catching the eyes of the poor man I'd all but assaulted.
They were dangerously blue, and deep, and they took the breath from my lungs the way they had eight years ago in a giant lecture hall in Boston, when I was sixteen going on seventeen and had never been in love.
"Sara?" His voice had only improved with age—it was deeper, smoother, slower. I drew in a deep breath.
"Grissom. I…" I exhaled in a rush. "I… This is… a surprise." God damn the man—it'd taken me years to get over him, and just the sight of him was making me dizzy all over again. I swallowed hard.
He nodded. "It is. You… You look good. What… brings you to San Francisco?"
"Oh," I shrugged. "Well, you know… my mom's here."
His eyebrows raised. "Oh. …I, uh… I'm glad you're talking to her, now…"
I nodded, uncomfortable. "Well, it, uh… it was really nice seeing you again."
His eyes told me he was disappointed with my dismissal. "Yeah… it… It really was. You… you look every bit as amazing and successful as I knew you would be." He looked down, nodded once to himself, and started past me, in the direction he'd been headed.
I made a split-second decision. "Hey, Griss?"
He turned to me, a surprised kind of hopefulness drawn across his features. I couldn't help but smile. "Are you… busy right now? Maybe I could take you out to lunch..."
He grinned—the light, boyish grin I'd always loved. I felt my heart race and I cursed it. He nodded. "I'd really like that."
"My… my car's just around the corner. If… if you wanted…"
"Yeah…" He came back to me, and we walked towards it, me just a step in front of him, leading the way. I could feel his eyes on me and for a moment it felt like not a day had passed, and the tingles I got from the caress of his gaze was a familiar friend.
"So, what… brings you to San Francisco?"
He looked a little uncomfortable. "I, uh… I'm doing a guest lecture at Berkeley, actually." I almost laughed at the look on his face. But I didn't.
"Still working at the Vegas lab?" I gestured to my car, indicating that we'd reached it, and unlocked it with my key remote. We slid in at the same time.
"Yeah… I'm actually the Graveyard Shift Supervisor now."
"Good for you." I knew this, of course. Not because I'd paid attention to his career specifically—but you could hardly discuss forensics among colleagues without someone referencing the great Gil Grissom.
"What about you? …Assuming you were coming from the court house, I'm going to guess you didn't become a physics teacher?"
I laughed, pulling out of my parking spot. "No, actually, I didn't. …What are you in the mood for? There's a great sandwich place a few blocks over."
"That'd be great. …What did you go into, then?"
I smiled, turning on my blinker. "I'm a forensic social worker."
His eyebrows raised and I caught the hint of a smile on lips that were still so very perfect. He'd grown a beard—it suited him. "That's impressive. …Sounds very like you. What area do you work in?"
I smiled. "I mostly work with children. I'm often an expert witness—I'll testify as to whether or not a child was aware of their actions. In domestic abuse hearings, I often act as the guardian ad litem for the children. I get to work with the living rather than the dead. …You always used to say that in forensics we're the victim's last voice. …I get the be the victim's first step into speaking for themselves."
"I'm happy for you." His words were sincere. Honest. I glanced at him in surprise at the genuineness with which he spoke. He gave me a slight smile. "I always knew you'd be amazing."
I felt heat fill my cheeks and focused on pulling into the parking lot of the restaurant. I jumped when I felt the back on his fingers brush against my cheek. "You still blush so easily…"
I gave him a half-smile, trying to pay attention to parking. Six years had done nothing to lessen the effect he had on me. It was with absolute relief that I moved the car in into park and removed my keys. He was watching me.
"What?"
"I just… can't believe I'm seeing you again. I didn't think I would…"
"Disappointed?" I asked, and I was proud that my world not longer hinged on his answer. Yes, I cared. You could even say I cared too much. But it wasn't life and death any more. He didn't have to like me and I didn't have to live up to his expectations.
He shook his head. "No. …I've missed you."
"You hurt me."
He nodded. "I know."
"Not least by leaving."
"…It was the right thing to do."
I tilted my head in contemplation, but nodded anyway. "I wouldn't have agreed at the time, but it was. I… I couldn't imagine still being so desperate to please someone else, without a thought to myself."
"It wasn't healthy."
"No." I agreed. "It wasn't."
There was a brief silence and he glanced at the restaurant. "Did you want to go in?"
"…Are you sure it wasn't about the baby?"
He sighed. "I didn't leave because you weren't pregnant, no. I told you—I left because I loved you too much to keep you in a relationship that was beyond repair. But the…baby… was kind of my turning point."
I narrowed my eyes. "How do you mean?"
"I wanted the baby—in part because I wanted to be a father and because I loved it and it would've been ours—but mostly… I wanted it because it would mean you couldn't leave me. You'd be mine forever. …When I realized that I obviously considered nothing too precious to use as a pawn… I realized I had gone too far."
"If I had been… pregnant?"
He shrugged. "I wanted you to be—because it would mean I wouldn't have to admit to my sins and leave. Because I would have to support you and the baby."
I nodded—I was grateful that I hadn't been, but the memory was still bitter sweet, even if there had never been a baby at all. It was a loss, regardless.
He gestured once again to the restaurant and this time I nodded and we slipped from my vehicle, walking side by side inside. In another time, we would have held hands. I felt myself missing the contact acutely.
We ordered quickly and found ourselves seated in a booth ten minutes later with cold sandwiches and hot soup before each of us.
"How's your mother?"
He smiled. "Harping about grandchildren, actually. She thinks that if I don't have them now, she won't live long enough to see them."
I smiled. "Are you married?" I hadn't seen a ring, but then lots of people didn't wear their rings daily.
He shook his head. "No." He looked down and then, as if gaining courage, looked back at me. "No, I… I told you once that I wouldn't find somebody like you if I searched for an eternity, and I meant it. My mother doesn't understand why I tell her that it's not going to happen—but she should. She never got over my father…"
I felt breathless; I swallowed hard, trying to get my bearings. I couldn't speak, and he noticed and cleared his throat.
"I'm sorry. …That's probably terribly inappropriate. I just… it was honest. I owe you honesty."
I looked down at my untouched sandwich and then back at him. "…I'm afraid of you." I admitted. He looked like it pained him but I took no joy from it—I had forgiven him so long ago. Perhaps before he'd even left, I'd forgiven him for leaving me.
Eventually, he looked at me again. "I understand that. I… I'm sorry… about that. I wasn't… trying to get a date."
"Why not?" I frowned. A man who gives you goose bumps even when you haven't seen him for six years tells you he never got over you, and he doesn't want a date?
He looked surprised. "I… Oh. I guess… I didn't assume I had the right, anymore."
I shook my head. "I'm not the same little girl you wrapped around your finger."
At this, he gave me a smile. "That much was obvious seconds after we bumped into each other. …You look different. Happy. Confident. Self-assured."
"I am." I told him. Because I was. I had a job that I loved, my mom was my best friend, and I owned a condo and a car all on my own. I had a masters from Harvard, lots of girlfriends, and no shortage of interested men. If I wanted them.
I didn't.
He nodded. There was silence again. "So… If I did ask you out… that… that wouldn't be… weird or… horrible, of me?"
I shook my head. "No. It wouldn't be weird or horrible. I… I wouldn't trust you, at first. You'd… have to earn it."
He breathed in deeply. "That's more than I deserve."
"No," I frowned. "That isn't true. …The way you were wasn't… right, but… You did love me and make me feel loved and… I don't think it's more than you deserve. I just think… it's what I need."
He smiled, a sigh of relief slipping from his lips. "Well, uh… How about tonight? Are you busy? I'd love to take you out…"
I felt a slow smile cross my face and a deep contentment filling me. He wasn't perfect, and neither was I, and our history would make things terribly complicated. But I'd always known he was the one and… things were different now. We were on level footing, approaching one another as equals. That was enough.
"I'd love to."
