Howdy! It's been busy, busy in my neck of the woods and more busy to come. I've just started my next writing workshop and I have to prepare for the finale of CSI Forever Online's 2014 Fan Fiction Awards. (If you're a member and haven't nominated a story from the eligible list, please do. If you're not a member, hightail it over to the website and join. It's free.) Plug over. :-)
I had a bit of trouble with this part. Since we're heading down the homestretch (or have just made the turn onto the homestretch) I feel the need to tie up loose ends, reference back to things that have already occurred to see if they've been addressed or soon will be and try to get everyone's feelings in before the end. I had a bit of trouble with Annie in this one because my first draft was just bad. I couldn't capture her voice. So a bunch of staring, rewriting and leaving it alone produced what we have here. I feel I got her voice back. (It's okay to let me know if I didn't.)
I would like to thank those who are still here: Sarafly, stlouiegal, SarahmUK, was spratlurid quimby, CSIflea, SevernSound, mbonthecorner, Torcan and Nancy1. You guys are the best.
Onward ~
Part 45 – 2 weeks later
Annie
I'm feeling a little melancholy.
In two days Paul and I will be going home.
While it will be nice to see my house and my friends and throw out all my dead houseplants and air out the place that I'm sure will smell to high heaven . . . I really don't want to go.
I could say it's because I like being here in Vegas. It's like an extended vacation with free room and board (although Paul and I help pay for food and we are saving Gil money on the dog sitter).
I could say it's because we've actually won enough money at the casinos to pay for our rented car and any hotel expenses we may incur on the way home. (Once home we'll still have enough left over to start saving for another trip to Vegas in the near future.)
Or I could just be honest and say I really like taking care of my boy.
Growing up without a father, Gil was determined to take care of not only himself but me, as well, and rarely let me indulge in mothering him. But these last months . . . Hard as they were for him, hard as it was for me to see him suffer, it's made me realize how much I like mothering him. (Oh, he'd roll his eyes at that.)
I can't help it. I'M A MOTHER. IT'S WHAT I DO.
I can laugh now, now that the memory of him clinging to me in the driveway and crying in my arms has lost its fiery edge. Those were bad times that the both of us don't wish to ever see again. And while I'll always worry about him, I know he's learned a great deal from all this turmoil, the most important being he has many friends who would do anything for him. I take great comfort in that. I won't always be here. Neither will Paul. But I know Catherine and Jim will be. And one other person as well.
Sara.
He smiled more when she was around, seemed more relaxed and I thanked whomever was listening for bringing such a woman into his life. And when she left and he tumbled down that dark hole, I worried so much for him. I could see him wandering off into some jungle or shutting himself away and never coming back. I couldn't lose him that way. So I did the only thing I could. I sent him fishing. Who knew that would change his life. He tells me it was cathartic. Of course he said the same thing about punching the wall. Go figure.
Which brings me back to Sara.
We've had many talks since I've been here, Gil and I, about love and relationships. I know Paul has managed a few as well and I've noticed a confidence returning to him. He's still cautious but not hamstrung and her name's been coming up more since he's gone back to work. (I don't bring that up. Then he'd overanalyze it and that's not good. He's a dweller. Just like his father.) No, he's finding his way, slowly but surely.
Some people might yell 'get off the stick!' but that's not my boy. He's very deliberate. It took him nearly all of his last semester in high school to decide which college he wanted to attend while I fielded call after call from whimpering deans and recruiters begging me to push their school. Teachers whined at me about the amount of time it was taking to decide and, while I wanted to use my deafness as an out for these conversations, I instead told them to back off. 'When he decided, he'd decide', I said and was hit with a couple of 'horrible mother who didn't care about her son's education' comments. Those people still walk funny to this day.
It could also be the sessions with Philip or his new position at work. I'm thinking it's a 50/50 split between them. Gil seems to finally get that, if he wants it, he has the upper hand where Sara's concerned. His work? Well, I can see the joy of it returning. Every morning he comes home with a DB (lingo, yeah!) story of the night and the circumstances that robbed the poor person of breath. (Being that I still clearly remember walking in on him autopsying a bird when he was seven, talking about dead people doesn't faze me.)
Then there's Paul. Well, he just sucks up every bit of information Gil spits out and demands more, thus awakening the teacher that lives in my boy. And when they use Hank as the DB and the Kids as the bloodthirsty crowd that rings the scene, I have to take photos when I'm not participating as the grieving wife or irascible reporter.
And I shouldn't forget the card games, board games, binge watching movies and TV shows, sightseeing, working with his old team, walking Hank, playing with the Kids, yadda-yadda-yadda. All these things he's participating in have led me to be okay with going home because I know now he'll call if he needs something.
So that's what's been filling my head as I sit here next to Paul on the couch watching Gil nervously pace between the kitchen and the front window. The Kids got bored with it all, leaped up onto their new walkway and disappeared into the other room. Hank had been following him from window to kitchen and back again but was now sitting next to the couch with a very puzzled look on his face.
"Sit down, Honey," I say. "The Duke's about to save his platoon."
He turns from the window and plunks down in a chair eyes staring at the TV but, I'm pretty sure John Wayne isn't showing up on his eyeballs.
Paul nudges me. "You're boy's nervous, Annie," he says and I nod.
"Don't know why," I answer. "It's not like it's a hot date or anything. It's just brunch."
Paul smiles. "I'd hate to see what he'd do if it was dinner. Getting all dressed up. Changing his tie a dozen times."
"And his jacket," I add. "Once he changed his jacket five times before ending up with the first one he had on."
"What was the occasion?"
"School photos. You know. That one where he decided to part his hair."
"I never liked that photo," Paul said with a shake of his head. "I thought he'd joined the barbershop quartet. Couldn't see how since he couldn't carry a tune."
We both giggle and Gil turns a smirk on us.
"You two think you're so funny don't you?" he says.
"We do," we say simultaneously then break out laughing.
Then the doorbell rings and our laughter stops dead.
After a moment's hesitation on all our parts, Paul points toward the door and urges Gil on. There was a deer in the headlights look for a moment then he jumps to his feet, wipes his hands on his pants and heads toward the door. I cross my fingers, hold my breath and hope this was a good idea.
Sara
I did it. I rang the bell. (Well, Jim made me do it.) And now I'm trying not to hyperventilate.
"Take a deep breath, Sara. Let it out slowly," Jim says to me and I comply.
"I'm just a little nervous," I admit and he grins.
"I can almost guarantee that the illustrious Dr. Grissom is in the same boat."
"You didn't see him at breakfast the other day. Nervous he wasn't."
"Oh?" he says with a raise of the eyebrows. I try not to smile but can't seem to stop myself. "Well, well, well."
He waggles his eyebrows and I giggle which is cut off in my throat as the door swoops open and those glorious blue eyes settle on mine.
"Hi," I squeak, cringing inside at the high pitched sound.
"Hi," he answers glancing down at a seriously happy dog trying to push past him. "Hank, sit," he orders, waiting for him to comply before looking back up at me. Slowly, a smile forms across his lips. "I'm glad you came."
Before I can answer, Jim leans over my shoulder. "Thanks," he says causing Gil to quickly pull his eyes from mine to focus on him. He blushes and that just shoots straight to my heart.
"Come in," he finally says stepping back to let us in, a squirming Hank back on all fours trying to get my attention.
"I see you," I say as I make it inside then lean over to pet the boy.
"Hold onto your shorts, Sara," comes at me from Paul.
Before I can even look at him, the Kids are barreling toward me, slipping between Hank's legs to wrap themselves about mine.
I giggle again and look up at Gil. And it's there, that, that look that I've never been able to explain in one precise word. Awestruck, grateful, treasured all pale next to what it does to me. It's that moment he lets his guard down so completely, when whatever he's feeling can be seen by the world. I won't hazard a guess about what he's thinking but it suddenly reminds me of the day Gil and I became a threesome.
He'd not been feeling well but wouldn't go home until Catherine forced him to leave. He'd then texted me not to come over, afraid I might get whatever he had. I couldn't help but reply 'we shared spit last night so it's probably too late'. All I wanted was to make him chicken soup, fill him full of Nyquil and snuggle.
But I had a stop to make first.
By 10:30am my mission was complete and I hurried over to his house, taking out my pilfered key (from his desk) and quietly making my way inside, stopping not two paces in when I saw his huddled form on the couch. Hearing a scream of pain coming from the TV, I peered over watching a man yank a raccoon off his member then run into the woods. What the . . . Squinting, I saw '1000 Ways to Die Marathon' flashing in the corner of the screen. Gil loved that show. He never missed it. And now, when a raccoon was running off with his prize, he lay curled up on the couch, a pile of used Kleenex half in and half out of the trashcan, a can of Ginger Ale and a sleeve of crackers scattered on the coffee table, sound asleep.
He looked pitiful. And all I wanted to do was wrap my arms about him and hold him tight. But the moving box I was holding had other ideas.
"Ssh," I hissed as a whine erupted glancing quickly toward Gil as he moved.
"Sara?" came his sleep ridden voice.
"Yeah, it's me." I watched as he rubbed at his eyes then started to sit up. "No, no, stay where you are."
"Gotta sit up," he mumbled making it into a kinda sorta form of upright. You know, his head was up but the rest of him was kind of leaning.
He let out a long breath, blinked a few times then turned a half smile on me. "What's in the box?" he asked, yawning then running a hand through his messy hair.
"Um, well."
Now, true we'd discussed this, discussed this ad infinitum and I remembered us coming to some form of agreement. But now when he was looking at me with glassy eyes I wondered if, perhaps, this was a good idea.
Of course, right then is when the box made another noise.
Gil perked up, his kinda sorta upright form shifting closer to the real thing. And the look on his face? It was like a kid on Christmas morning. I decided then this was a great idea.
"I had a girlfriend once who told me a story," I began as I placed the box on the floor then knelt down. "She said that any time she was sick, her dad would bring her a stuffed animal. When she caught pneumonia she thought she'd hit pay dirt with the biggest lion anyone had ever seen."
"Did you get me a lion cub?" he asked sincerely as the box sounded again.
I chuckled. "No."
"A Furbie?"
"No," I said with a laugh.
Grabbing a Kleenex, he blew his nose. "Kate Beckinsale?" That innocent look he flashed me made me purse my lips and narrow my eyes. "I said that out loud, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did but I forgive you. Obviously, you have a fever." He looked contrite so I let him off the hook. "No, Kate Beckinsale is not in this box. Now, close your eyes."
"I might go back to sleep," he whined, eyes quickly shutting.
"I doubt you will," I stated popping open the top of the box and wrapping my hands about the contents. "You're way too curious." Walking over, I readied myself. "Here goes," I said placing my wiggling package against his chest, his arms automatically moving up to embrace it.
His eyes popped open and zeroed in on the mewling puppy now staring up at him. Gil stared right back, the two of them seemingly sizing each other up. Silence ensued.
"Happy almost birthday!" I said with glee (forced a bit because I was wondering if I'd just made a huge mistake).
And that's when the puppy yawned then promptly sneezed in Gil's face.
The laugh started low in his throat and then bubbled out of him ending in a thick cough that subsided once the puppy began licking his face.
He'd still not said anything so, hesitantly, I sat on the coffee table, nervous hands running along my pants anxiously waiting for anything. And then he did something that I've seen him do many times since. He picked the puppy up, kissed him on the nose and held him close to his chest, a big smile lighting up his face before he turned his gaze on me.
"He's the one, isn't he?" he asked.
I nodded. "Yeah."
"But that was over a month ago," he said, chuckling when the puppy started nibbling on his fingers.
"I called the Stuart's the day after we left and asked them to hold him for us. I was planning on picking him up next week but . . .," I trailed off, fiddling with my fingers and biting the bottom of my lip, " . . . I know how you hate to be sick and since this is a 3 day weekend for us, I wanted to get you something to make you feel better."
He smiled then and accepted more kisses from the puppy. "This is better than a Furbie," he said.
"And what about Kate Beckinsale?" I asked with smirk.
"You are just so cute," he cooed to the puppy, ignoring my question. "Thank you, Sara."
And that's when he hit me with that look. I had a hard time breathing for a moment and, when he took my hand and pulled me onto the couch, I had another reason for finding it hard to breathe. But the kiss didn't last long. Gil started coughing and a long, sloppy dog tongue swept itself across both our faces leaving us dripping.
We spent the rest of the afternoon oohing and awing over our new addition and I made chicken soup, stuffed Gil full of Nyquil and snuggled up with him, the memory of that look sticking with me through the entire weekend and beyond.
"Ah, Sara," filters through my musings and I glance over at Jim. "Are we going to stand here at the door all day?"
I blink and he grins. "Oh, oh, sorry." I'm blushing. Gahk. Moving a few more steps inside, I hand Gil the small yellow bag I'd brought.
"What's this?" he asks as he takes it from me.
"Something for you," I answer with a grin.
"And this is for the rest of us," Jim says thrusting a bottle of wine toward him.
Gil shakes his head slightly as he grabs the bottle. "Neither of you had to bring anything."
"It's called manners, Gil," Jim answers as he walks past him and shakes Paul's hand then leans in to give Annie a peck on the cheek.
"Thanks for inviting me," I say to Gil as we stare at each other.
"Don't thank him," Paul quickly interjects as he comes toward me, pulling me into a bear hug. "It was our idea," he claims pointing at himself and Annie who's also coming toward me.
"Sara, I'm so glad you could come."
"I miss you already," comes out of my mouth. I hadn't meant to say that out loud. Oh, well. I'm taking the hug she's offering. She's been so good to me, for me, and I don't really want her to go. She pulls back and smiles at me.
"That means a lot, Sara."
Damn. I'm tearing up. I hate it when I do that. I feel like I've known these people my whole life. I hope I always will.
"Wine anyone?" Gil asks and we all look at him, forgetting he was in the room. (Well, not really.)
A chorus of 'yeses' greet him and he heads off to the kitchen, Hank debating whether or not he should stay with me or go after his dad. For some reason, he chooses me and that makes me happy for some indefinable reason.
"When are you leaving?" Jim asks as I shuffle over to the couch and take a seat next to him, pulling the Kids from my legs and moving them into my lap.
"Wednesday," Paul answers. "I'm pretty sure my milk's gone bad."
I bark out a laugh then jump when Gil appears holding out a glass of wine to me. I smile up at him as I take it, my fingers brushing against his. It seems to take him a bit too back away but it could just be my imagination. Soon everyone has a glass and he sits in the overstuffed chair to my left, holding his up. All of us do the same.
"To a safe trip home," he toasts.
We all repeat the sentiment and take a drink. I watch him look down then run a thumb across the corner of his mouth. He sort of smiles at me when he looks up to catch me staring at him. I should look away but don't.
"So," Jim begins, "are you guys going to rush back home?"
"Nope," Annie says with a grin. "We're going to sightsee."
I giggle as Paul rolls his eyes.
"I'm thinking a lot of gift shops and antique stores," Paul faux whispers to me as Gil signs to Annie.
"Don't let him fool you," Annie says to me. "My friend, Paul, here is an avid collector of fishermen memorabilia. Anything dressed in a yellow slicker, be it human or animal, seems to make it home with him."
I grin when Gil chuckles.
"I'll have you know that the fisherman pig was a gift from Annie," he says giving her a pointed look.
"Which is displayed prominently near the front door so it's the first thing you see," she answers.
She's grinning and I laugh. These two people share so much - history, friendship and maybe even love.
I wonder what Gil would think of that.
Grissom
Sara brought me chocolate chip cookies. Homemade. My favorite.
I didn't have to open the bag to know. I could smell them and with the smell came vibrant memories of lazy afternoons, long walks and kisses that . . .
Now is not the time for such thoughts. I have guests!
My cynical side calls the cookies a BRIBE (capital letters intended). My hopeful side reminds me SHE REMEMBERS THAT I LOVE THESE THINGS! (Capitals and exclamation point intended.) And my heart? Well, it beats a little faster proving the staples I've been using to put it back together appear to be holding.
When Mom and Paul informed me they'd picked a date to go home, I wanted to do something for them, whatever it was, money was no object. When they told me all they really wanted was to have brunch at home with Jim, Sara and me, my mouth dropped open. It was Paul's phrase of 'catching flies' that brought me back to reality and the words 'no way' were the first ones that popped into my head.
Sara.
In my house.
In the house we almost shared.
The house where the throw on the couch is the same one she bought last year, the plants are in the same places we'd put them, her stuff, bits of it stuck here and there, not moved. I'd not thought of boxing everything up and sending it to her or moving it to the spare room. It was part of the landscape, part of me.
And there was my answer. It was all part of me now. Like a favorite sweatshirt, my space was cozy and warm. Did that feeling scare me? Not as much as it would've a few months ago. Did that knowledge weird me out? (I've been spending too much time with Greg.) A little but not to the point of inaction.
So my 'no way' turned into 'okay'. A slightly hesitant okay but, well, how could I really say no to them? They gave me back my life. Anything they wanted, if it was in my power to give, I would.
And now she's here, Sara, on my couch, carrying on a conversation with the people I care most about and I'm startled to recognize that my nerves have eased and I'm starting to relax. Of course, my brain can't just let that go and a big WHY pops into my head.
I could say that mom, Paul and Jim are buffers, allowing me space to take it all in. Or it could be the wine but I've only had a sip or two. Or maybe it's how the Kids attached themselves to Sara's legs. They only do that to people they like. They've already done it to Jim, Catherine, Greg and Nick when they came over. (Empirical evidence provides me with substance for this theory since they stayed well away from the cable guy who came by a few weeks ago. A smarmy fellow, I was told, whose description made me think of Nigel Crane. Hank was on guard the entire time he was here. I did check the crawl space after I heard the story. It was all clear.)
Or it could simply be I was always comfortable when she was here.
That seems so long ago that we woke up together, cooked together, watched movies together on the same couch she's now sitting. I missed that. Even after everything.
And now she's laughing at some story Paul's relating, the Kids are batting at Jim's wiggly fingers while still curled up in her lap and Hank is drooling by her side. It's like . . . Dare I say it? It's like what I'd always hoped it would be – my little family sharing an afternoon.
Hmm. Nothing happened as that thought flitted through my head.
I thought I'd be hiding under the bed by now. But I'm not.
Surprises me, too.
I smile.
"Gil?"
Blinking at the sound of her voice I realize I'd been staring at her while my mind wandered. "Ah, yeah?"
"You okay?" she asks. "You have a goofy look."
My eyes shift between mom, Paul and Jim (even the Kids and Hank are staring at me) then settle back on Sara. My smile grows a bit. "Yeah, I'm good."
"You sound surprised," Jim says.
I fiddle with the rim of my wine glass then place it on the coffee table. "I am."
"Why?" Mom asks.
I think about shrugging but don't. I know why.
"A few months ago I never expected to end up here," I admit with a half-smile as I sign for mom.
I flick a quick glance at Sara then away before running a hand over my chin. I'm not sure what I'm about to say but feel the need to say something.
"I guess . . .. I never truly understood the power of friendship. Most of my early life was taking care of mom and trying to learn all I could. Friends," I sign, "were too much effort." I catch a nod from mom. "But here, in Vegas, well, it's been different. The people around me, my co-workers," I say with a slight shrug, "I found a kinship more so than any other place I've worked. I discovered what all of them meant to me when Nick was taken. And when, when Sara left . . ." I falter a bit but move on. "When that happened I shut down so much I forgot that Catherine was here and Jim, two people I care very much for yet couldn't or wouldn't let them help. Too stubborn."
"Just like his father," mom whispers to Jim making me grin.
"Oh, you don't have to tell me that," he states. "I've witnessed it firsthand."
"As have we all," Paul adds and I chuckle.
They're ganging up on me and I don't mind in the slightest.
"And that's something I find amazing," I continue, "that, even though all of you have seen me at my worst, you're still here, you're still willing to give me the benefit of the doubt, reach out and offer whatever you can. And I thank you all for that. You'll never know how much."
And they won't know how much because I can't verbalize how deep my love for each of them goes. And that includes Sara. Through all of this I never really stopped loving her, even when I didn't trust her.
Well, that's . . .. That would imply that I trust her now. Or is it that I trust myself to not let myself fall apart again.
"That's what friends do, Gil," Jim says catching my attention. "Do I have to tattoo that on your brain for you to understand that?"
"Probably," I admit with a laugh then look him straight in the eyes. "You held me up, Jim, kept me together when all I wanted to do was close my eyes and wish myself away. I never would've made it through that hearing without you." I hold up a hand to stop him as he opens his mouth. "When you walked onto that plane with me, sat there and asked about peanuts . . ." I shake my head and clench my jaw.
"I really like airplane peanuts," he quips and I shake my head.
"They are good, aren't they?" Paul chimes in. "It must be the altitude that makes their staleness alluring."
"I hadn't thought of that."
"Boys," Mom said. "Let Gil talk." They close their mouths and she points at me to continue.
"I just want you guys to know what you mean to me. All of you," I finish, my gaze drifting over to Sara.
I debate with myself on whether I should say something directly to her. It seems a bit cowardly to just lump her in with the superheroes sitting around her but I'm not ready to make the leap. Not yet.
Soon.
She does blush slightly then takes a deep breath which ends in a grin. I take that as a good sign.
Reaching down, I pick up my glass and raise it again.
"To good friends and better times ahead."
"Here, here," everyone chimes in just as the timer goes off in the kitchen.
"Brunch time!" Paul calls out, jumping out of his chair and hustling into the kitchen.
"I think he's hungry," Jim states.
"It's his own recipe," I let him know.
"Have you tried it?" he asks, a bit of worry in his words.
"Oh, yes. It's absolutely divine. Have no fear."
"Well, okay."
Jim doesn't seem convinced. He will be.
"Hey, what's in this yellow bag!" drifts out from the kitchen.
It takes just a second for me to realize what Paul's talking about and I leap out of my chair. "Mine, mine, mine!" I exclaim as I hurry into the kitchen hearing Sara's snort behind me.
He's grinning like a fool as I snatch the bag from his hand.
"Gotcha," he says.
I purse my lips and look annoyed. It doesn't last as we both start laughing.
1000 Ways to Die is an actual show. The incident Sara describes was an episode I saw.
Nyquil is a cold medicine in the states.
All righty then. We have Annie and Paul leaving. The Kids and Hank have made it known that Sara is okay in their book. And Grissom has figured out a few things about himself. I'm thinking there might be a proper date coming up now that he's tackled a brunch. Of course, who knows what might happen on said date. Get your minds out of the gutter! I was thinking of a flat tire or missing reservations. You guys are bad! I love it!
See you next time . . . . . . :-)
