A/N: I know it's been a long time but I promised that I would finish this story and, because of the lockdown we're under right now, I finally have. I haven't written in a long while and I hope it doesn't show too much. Thank you to my good friend, Robynne, for the not-so-subtle nudges over the months – years, even! – and to all of you too for hanging in there – if you still are.
I hope you'll enjoy. And stay safe!
Epilogue.
Sara pulled the Honda up at the curb outside the halfway house on Almagordo Street and cut the engine. Today was April twelfth, the end date of Grissom's sentence. The day when Grissom's ankle monitor would be removed and he would be a free man once again. Free to go and do as he pleased without having to give a rundown of every second of his day to his parole officer or worry that he'll somehow break the terms of his parole and be sent straight back to jail.
No more curfews, no more weekly halfway house visits or home check-ups from Stanley, however well-meaning and amenable he endeavoured to be. No more sitting for two hours each day next to a power outlet to recharge the ankle monitor, the one he wore like a rope around his neck. No more paying the daily $12 monitoring fee for the privilege.
At last, they'd be able to catch a film at their local arthouse movie theatre, or have a meal at a restaurant, or travel further than just within city limits, without having to okay it first or running the risk of missing his curfew. Grissom had been at pains to tell her that although he was out of prison, he wouldn't be a free man until the end of his sentence, that release from prison didn't mean freedom.
Well, as of today, it did.
Lifting her sunglasses to the top of her head, Sara turned toward her husband. "This is it, Gil," she said, and gave him a wide, dancing smile when he turned from looking out of the window toward her. She reached for his hand on his lap and squeezed it warmly. "The end of a long, tortuous road."
Looking somewhat subdued, he nodded his head.
"You nervous?" she asked, her expression turning solemn.
"About today? No," he said, quite categorically, and looking down at their joined hands shrugged. "I'm just not sure it's quite the end of this stretch of road, that's all."
"Maybe not," she replied, catching his eye, keeping her tone light. "But you're turning – we're turning – yet another corner." Pausing, she watched him tenderly. "What brought this on, huh?"
He mustered a smile, shook his head. "I guess I'm just…" He sighed. "It'll pass. I mean, I'll feel better once I'm rid of the monitor, that's for sure."
Her smile returned. "You know what we're going to do when we're done here?" she asked, and when he shook his head in the negative, "We're going to go home and get Mabel and her ball, and then we'll drive out to Lake Mead. We can take a walk along the shore, play fetch in the water like we used to with Hank, do you remember?"
His face lit up, dissipating some of his gloominess, and he nodded.
"And if you're lucky I'll even treat you to some Calamari."
He laughed.
"How long has it been, huh?" she asked.
"Too long."
She released her seat belt and leaned across for a kiss. "No more curfews, Gil. No more looking at the clock and worrying. We can stay out all night if we choose to."
"You're right," he said, nodding his head, "Sorry." He blew out a breath. "So, come on," he said, perkier now, and took off his seatbelt, "let's get this over with, shall we?"
"That's more like it," she said, laughing.
They shared a long look and soft smile, then met in the middle for another kiss.
"Thank you," he said in a whisper, pulling back, "For the pep talk, for putting up with my moods and just…being here, with me."
"Any time," she murmured back.
He gave her another nod, and she watched as turning he opened the car door. He was almost out when he stopped in his tracks. "You're not coming with?" he asked with surprise, turning back toward her.
Sara had a moment's pause. "You want me to?"
He gave her a smile and a nod, and her smile widening she took out the keys from the ignition and opened her car door. She locked the car, and they made their way up the drive. He glanced over at her, and his expression sobering took in and let out a long breath, as though bracing himself for what was to come. Despite his protestations to the contrary, he was nervous.
Sara reached for his hand, and he gripped it gratefully. She looked up at the two CCTV cameras below the roofline, then followed Grissom into the house through the open door. Another camera in the lobby tracked their movement and Sara looked directly at it. Even though, once a week, she had driven Grissom to this location for his meetings with the parole officer she herself had never been inside.
"Grissom, in here," came Stan's voice from another open door to their left.
Grissom had a moment's pause before he changed course, and Sara followed hesitantly behind. She had met the parole officer a few times since Grissom had been released from prison in January, notably that first time when he'd come to check the house and make sure that it – and they – fulfilled all the requirements of Grissom's parole terms, especially as regards her service weapon. The officer was jovial, too much so at times for Grissom's liking, but firm and a stickler for the law, and Grissom had grown to respect him and what role he would play in his life.
"Oh, Sara, you're here too," Stan said, looking over his shoulder, smiling pleasurably. He was in the kitchen, making himself a coffee. "Can I get you anything to drink?"
"No, thank you," Grissom replied quickly before catching himself and looking over at Sara, who shook her head that she didn't want anything either.
Stan tossed the spoon he'd been stirring his coffee with in the sink and turned toward them with a smile. "So, what can I do for you?"
Grissom pulled a long-suffering face. Clearly, he wasn't enjoying the officer's attempt at humour. Sara stifled a smile.
"Stan―" Grissom said in a mild, warning tone.
"Relax," Stan said, pushing off the counter, "I'm only yanking your chain." He winced. "Poor choice of words, sorry." He walked past the pair out of the door toward another room down the hall and went in. They followed suit. He indicated two chairs across from the desk and Grissom and Sara dutifully sat down. "So, how are you feeling?" he asked, setting his mug down as he took a seat behind his desk.
Grissom frowned, and Sara knew he was growing impatient, that he just wanted Stan to dispense with the pleasantries.
"A little nervous, truth be told," she replied when Grissom kept quiet, and he pursed his face at her.
"Worried the BOP's changed its mind?" the officer asked, his eyes flicking between the two.
"It can't do that, can it?" Sara asked, suddenly anxious, looking over at Grissom for confirmation, and then back at Stan.
"No, it can't," Stan replied, smiling, and tapped a few keys on his computer. "Not so late in the game. So relax, will you? This is just a formality."
"For you maybe," Sara said, and slipped her hand inside Grissom's.
Looking over at her, Grissom smiled softly. The parole officer checked the information he had on screen, then tapped a few more keys and the printer on a shelf behind him whirred into life. He turned to gather the documents, two copies of everything he went over in detail with Grissom before he reached for a pen and asked Grissom to print his name, date and sign.
Sara couldn't help noticing the trembling of her husband's right hand as he carefully read through the pages before he picked up the pen and did as bid. Once done, Stan brought up a new page on his computer and tapped a few more keys. Then he opened his bottom desk drawer and rummaged inside for a black tool. The flicker of a smile formed on Grissom's face, and Sara understood that this tool was the key that would unlock his ankle monitor.
A giddy smile forming, she lifted her hand to his shoulder and patted warmly. He was being so cool and collected, but she knew it was a front to hide his nervousness, that inside he felt as excited as she did. Tool in hand, Stan stood and walked around the desk, bent down next to Grissom who'd lifted his pant leg and in less time than it took to blink, Stan stood back up, ankle monitor in hand. "There you are, Grissom, a free man," he said, smiling widely.
Letting out a slow breath through his mouth, Grissom reached down to rub at his ankle and Sara stroked at his shoulder lovingly, excitedly. When he looked over at her, he was smiling widely too, and she felt tears rise at the intense relief he must be feeling.
"I wish you luck, Grissom," the parole officer said, holding out his right hand for Grissom to take. "I hope you get to…start that nursery of yours."
"Thank you, Stan," Grissom said, shaking the proffered hand warmly. "And I will. You mark my words."
Nodding, the parole officer extended his hand to Sara too and she shook it. "I got a couple more guys who could do with your help, you know," he told Grissom.
"I know. But I'm going to be pretty busy."
Stan laughed. "Well, just let me know if you change your mind. Griffiths and Kucharski sure are grateful." Turning toward his desk, Stan set down the ankle monitor and picked up Grissom's paperwork. "Don't forget this."
Nodding, Grissom took his paperwork, folded it and stowed it in his coat pocket. He turned to leave, then paused, seemingly thinking better of it. "Thank you for…you know…what you've done for me," he told Stan, a little diffidently.
"Only doing my job."
Grissom gave a solemn nod. "Still, I appreciate it."
"You made it easy for me. I wish all parolees were as good as you." He paused, and then bringing the meeting to a close, "Well, you know where I am, if you need anything."
"Thank you." Smiling, Sara turned to leave. "Gil?" she prompted, drawing him out of his thoughts, when he didn't move.
Grissom glanced at her before refocusing on Stan. "I do have a question, if you don't mind. Strictly hypothetical."
His brow rising, Stan walked around his desk and put the ankle monitor and key away in the drawer. "Hypothetical, huh?"
Grissom glanced at Sara again. She narrowed her gaze at him in a question, and lifting his hand in appeasement, indicating he knew what he was doing, he sat back down with her hesitantly following his lead.
"Let's suppose that―"
"Cut the crap, Grissom," Stan said, sitting back in his chair. "It's just the three of us here. You can speak your mind freely."
"Well, it's not me I'm worried about," Grissom retorted.
Stan raised a brow, quietly urging Grissom on, and Grissom took the bait. "My old cellie from back when I was incarcerated in Beaumont," he said, and finally picking up on her husband's train of thought Sara smiled. "He's finishing his sentence out in a camp in Oregon."
Stan chuckled to himself. "I'm not even going to ask how you know that."
Grissom ignored the interruption. "He should – well, we think or rather hope, all things considered, that he'll be out some time in the summer. He hasn't been given a definite date yet."
"Okay," Stan said, stretching out the syllables, unsure where Grissom was going with his questioning.
Again Grissom looked over at Sara and she smiled at him encouragingly. "Do you think that I would be allowed to visit him? I mean, at the camp before he came out. Do you think I would be approved to be added onto his list of visitors? Manuel would agree to it."
"As an ex-con, you mean."
Grissom nodded. "I mean, I wouldn't want to do anything that would jeopardise his release date."
"Keeping in touch with you violates the terms of his confinement, as well as it violated the terms of your parole."
Grissom swallowed. "I'm well aware of that fact, but strictly speaking I haven't been in touch with him, or him with me."
Stan's eyes flicked over to Sara meaningfully. "I see."
"And now that I've served my time, we wouldn't be breaking any rules, right?"
"Right."
"So?" Grissom asked.
"Legally, there's no reason why you can't try. Whether your request is granted is another matter. That'll depend entirely on the warden of that particular camp." Stan paused, let out a breath as he thought things over before he added, "Would you like me to write a letter of recommendation maybe? Or a character reference you could add to your request?"
Grissom straightened up in his chair. "Would that help?"
"Maybe, maybe not. But it can't do any harm to try, can it?"
Grissom looked over at Sara and she smiled. "That'd be great, thank you," he said, turning back to the parole officer.
Stan nodded his head. "It's the least I can do, after what you did with my guys and helping them with their GED." He paused. "Has this got anything to do with this new endeavour of yours? This nursery you're trying to get off the ground?"
"Not necessarily." Grissom frowned. "It would depend on Manuel's plans. He's hoping to get a job with the Forestry Commission. Why do you ask?"
"I know good, decent guys who'd be interested. And I remember you mentioning that one of your aims was to give ex-cons a second chance."
Grissom looked over at Sara. "I'll keep it in mind."
Nodding, Stan stood up. "You're a good man, Grissom. I'll put the character reference in the post as soon as it's ready."
Grissom stood too. "Thank you very much," he said, extending his hand. "I appreciate it."
Afterwards, as they made their way back to the car, Grissom turned to look at the halfway house and stared at it musingly, almost as if he was saying goodbye to the place. And maybe he was, Sara figured.
"Come on," she said as she unlocked the car, "let's go get Mabel and celebrate!"
"Let's," he said, refocusing on her with a smile.
She paused, asking with her eyes if he was okay and he let his smile broaden in reply.
"Hey, how about we ask your mother to come along?" she then asked as they got into the car.
"You mind if we don't?" he replied. "I've already spoken to her and she's fine about it. Said she'd cook us lunch on Sunday."
"Okay," Sara said easily.
"I'd rather it was…just the two of us, you know? For now."
After giving him a soft smile, she started the engine, slipped her sunglasses on and they set off. "You won't be able to avoid the guys for ever," she went on knowingly. "They'll want to celebrate properly your good news too."
Grissom sighed. "There's nothing to celebrate, Sara."
Sara flicked her gaze over to him. "Okay, maybe celebrate isn't the word. It's just that…they care about you." She paused, adding when he kept quiet, "I get that it's going to take a little time for you to adjust to everything again, but―"
"It's not like I haven't been in touch with them since I came out," he said, somewhat impatiently.
"Only because they've been in touch with you," she retorted, growing equally as impatient, and with a sigh refocused on the road.
Grissom took a deep breath he let out slowly. "No, you're right. I'm sorry. It's just that I don't want anyone to make a fuss. There's nothing to celebrate, Sara. Two good people are dead because of me, and their daughter is in jail."
"And rightly so!" She checked herself. "Okay, so what if I promise no fuss. And we wouldn't be celebrating anything. It would just be us and our closest friends. We can grill some food, have a few drinks, do everything on our terms. You know, before you transform the backyard into a nursery – more so than you've done already anyway."
The ghost of a smile formed on his face. "Consider yourself lucky I'm not opening a body farm," he said, and winked.
It would take a few weeks to organise the get-together, but she knew she'd finally won him over.
"Gil?" Sara called, taking off her sunglasses as she stepped inside the kitchen from the patio, "I can't find the umbrella."
Pursing his face thoughtfully, Grissom looked up from wrapping salmon fillets in a lemon and herb marinade in tinfoil packets. "Have you tried the space right at the back of the garage where we keep the ladder?"
Sara let out a long breath. "No, I have not," she said, feigning impatience.
Grissom winked at her. "Try there."
Her frown grudgingly morphing into a smile and her head shaking in exasperation she headed to the garage. To obey the term of his parole, Grissom had found himself a job at a local independent garden centre, a bus ride away. The hours had been small at first, mornings only, but when his employer realised Grissom could be relied on, both to turn up every day and work hard and without moaning, his hours had steadily increased.
He wasn't allowed to work the checkout and the pay was poor, the work hard and sometimes tedious, but despite the aches and pains in his ageing body he wasn't complaining. He wasn't growing plants, as he'd wished, more often than not he unloaded truckloads of trees, shrubs and plants he then stacked onto shelves but he relished being outdoors as well as the renewed sense of purpose and independence that came with the work and earning money again.
Since his official release a couple of months previously, he'd decided to keep his job, but in his spare time he'd started to grow his own plants, rare cacti and succulents, taking over the space in their garage and backyard. Normally Sara didn't mind, but today when their close friends were due to arrive for the long-overdue get-together to celebrate his release, or not as the case was, she did. She wanted everything to be perfect.
Locating the umbrella where Grissom said it would be, she carefully retraced her steps past her car and around the bags of compost, soil and sand, stacks of plastic trays and pots he'd salvaged from work before they were disposed of, and returned to the yard. Mabel looked up at her from her spot in a square of shade, then swiftly went back to sleep. Smiling, Sara opened the umbrella and placed it dead centre of the patio set.
She found the remaining cushions for the chairs, the ones they did not use on a daily basis, and laid them out to air, grabbed placemats, plates, cutlery and paper napkins she'd already brought out at the ready and set them out neatly on the table. The weather was pleasant, not too hot as it was wont to be in June, or too breezy and humid, but just right to laze about in the backyard.
"Hey, Sara," Greg said, and she turned around with a start. Sunglasses in hand and wearing a black Ramones T-shirt, faded blue jeans and a pair of battered Converse low tops, he stood at the patio doors watching her. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make you jump. Grissom let me in."
Standing, Mabel shook herself, then leisurely came to investigate the new arrival. "It's Greg," Sara told her. "You remember Greg, don't you? You've met him before."
"Hello Mable," Greg said, crouching down to ruffle the dog's thick neck.
"You're early," Sara said.
"Not that early," he replied, looking up. "I thought I'd come give you a hand, but it looks like you've got everything under control."
"Well, Grissom's in charge of the food and I just got to get the barbecue ready."
Greg straightened up and Mabel headed indoors. "Well, that can be my job now."
"Thanks, Greg," she said, walking over to him and patting his arm warmly. She looked beyond him into the kitchen, finding it empty. "Where is Grissom?"
"Said he was going to get changed."
Right on cue, she heard the shower come on through the open bathroom window. "You want a beer?" she asked, indicating inside.
"I'd love a beer, thank you."
Stepping past him into the kitchen, Sara slipped her sunglasses to the top of her head, then grabbed two beers from the fridge before holding one out to him and keeping the other. "You want a glass?"
"Nah, this is fine," Greg replied easily, and smiling they twisted the caps off and drank straight from the bottle. "So, you managed to get some sleep?"
"A little," she replied. "Grissom was at work this morning."
"Not quitting yet then?"
"Doesn't look like it." She smiled, took another sip of her beer. "He likes to keep busy."
Greg gave a musing nod. "He's looking good," he went on, checking over his shoulder toward the rest of the house, making sure he wasn't being overheard.
"He is. He's feeling good too."
"I'm glad to hear it." Leaning against the counter, Greg took a sip of his drink and Sara looked around at all the food Grissom had prepared. "And you," he then asked, "how are you doing?"
Sara laughed. "You know how I'm doing. We see each other every day. I'm fine."
"You sure?" he probed warmly.
"I'm better than fine, Greg. I'm happy. So relax, will you?" The doorbell rang, cutting her short. "Go get yourself acquainted with the barbecue while I answer the door."
Greg lifted two fingers to his temple in salute, then did as bid while Sara headed to the front door.
"Sara?" Grissom called enquiringly.
"It's okay," she called back. "I got it."
Mabel had beaten her to the door, and Sara gently nudged her aside as she opened the door to Nick's bright smile.
"I came bearing gifts," he said, pulling back from bussing her cheek and raising the six-pack he was carrying. "And this is for Grissom."
Frowning, Sara peeked inside the paper bag he was lifting in her eye line and, laughing, took the beer from Nick who bent down to acknowledge Mabel's greeting before he went in. She was about to close the door after him when Brass's Taurus pulled up at the curb in front of the drive. "Nick and Jim are here," she called to Grissom.
"I'll go put these in the kitchen," Nick said, slipping his sunglasses off and into his shirt pocket before taking the six-pack back from her. "Where's Greg?"
"In the yard. Get yourself a drink on the way, will you?" she called to his retreating back. "There's cold beer in the fridge."
"Sure."
She was smiling at Brass jogging up their drive when, hair still damp from showering, Grissom joined her side. Smiling, he draped his arm around her shoulder. He'd put on a pair jeans and a navy T-shirt that showed off his trim body and tanned arms.
"I thought I was early," Brass told them, with a nod back at Nick's truck and Greg's car parked on the drive.
"You are," Sara said, laughing.
Brass leaned over to kiss her on the cheek while he patted Grissom warmly on the shoulder. "Thanks for having us all over like this," he said, pulling back. "It's been a while."
Sara glanced at Grissom who nodded his head sombrely.
"I brought dessert," Brass then said, changing tack, as they stepped inside the house, "I hope you got a little space left in the fridge."
"We'll make some," Grissom said, taking the proffered Patisserie Manon box from Brass. "Thanks, Jim."
The trio headed to the kitchen and, while Grissom opened the fridge door to store the cake, she caught Brass's eye meaningfully, then grabbed a bowl of potato chips from the table. "I'm going to…go check on Nick and Greg, okay?"
"Sure," Grissom replied, taking out a beer, which he held out to Brass, saying, "Unless you want something stronger?"
"No, this is fine. So you heard from Catherine?" she then heard Brass ask as she stepped out onto the patio.
They'd deliberately picked a Saturday for the get-together so that Catherine, who regularly travelled back to Vegas on the weekends, could make it. They'd also invited DB, so he and Grissom could finally meet in person, but not wanting to intrude on what he knew to be a gathering of the 'old team' the supervisor had said he'd come to show his face but nothing more.
"We're just waiting for Catherine to arrive," Sara told Nick and Greg, when she joined their side. She put the potato chips on the table, then pulled a chair back and sat down with the pair. Greg reached over for a handful of the snack.
"Grissom's been busy," Nick said, indicating the rows of shallow plastic containers covered in transparent plastic wrap that hid Grissom's unborn-as-yet cacti and succulents.
"It's a long term project, that's for sure. These seeds won't start growing for weeks, months even," Sara added, and lifted her shoulder in a mild shrug, "Or so I'm told."
Catherine arrived half-an-hour later, and they started grilling the food Grissom had prepared. Music, drifting from the kitchen through the open patio doors, played softly in the background. The mood was light, happy, unhurried, reminiscent of past gatherings when they'd still been a team, the group happy to catch up with each other and regale past memories and newer case files.
It felt almost as if the last three years hadn't happened, or rather had been suspended in time in some form, and she hoped Grissom was turning yet another corner by finally fully accepting their friends back into his life. Every so often Sara would steal glances at him sitting by her side, but he seemed in good spirits and content to interact with everyone. She would smile at him or touch her hand to his knee, his arm, his shoulder, or watch him laugh at something Greg or Nick said. He seemed happy, and she hadn't been lying to Greg when she told him that she was too.
She knew Grissom had been fearful of being judged, not so much for the crime he'd committed but rather for the way in which he'd behaved afterwards by cutting himself off everyone, but he needn't have worried. If any of them had ever held a grudge, then it was long forgotten, and the respect and esteem they'd held him in in the past seemingly intact.
When they finished eating, Sara speared the last green olive from the bowl, brought the toothpick to her mouth and then standing began gathering empty plates and dishes.
"I'll help," Catherine said, standing too.
"It's okay, Cath," Grissom said, "I'll do it."
"You'll do no such thing. It's the least I can do when you've gone to all this trouble, Gil. You stay out here," Catherine went on, breezily, "With the men. Let me and Sara have a little catch-up of our own."
Grissom's gaze flicked over to Sara, who waggled her brow at him pleasurably, and he smiled. "Have fun."
"No talking about us behind our backs!" Nick called, as, dishes in hand, both women retreated to the kitchen.
"Oh, we can't promise anything," Catherine called back, laughing. "Can we, Sara?"
Sara dumped her load on the counter and opened the dishwasher. She began scraping leftover food into the trash can, while after refilling her glass of wine Catherine plopped herself at the sink. Smiling, she passed the plates to Catherine who rinsed them under the tap before loading them in the dishwasher.
"How is he?" Catherine asked, her tone caring and affectionate, as she stacked the last of the plates.
Sara didn't need asking who Catherine was referring to. "He's doing good," she replied, instinctively looking out of the window to check on her husband, and paused. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I care?" Catherine said, and smiled tenderly when Sara refocused on her. "And because he wouldn't tell me the truth if I asked him?"
"He's doing great, Catherine," Sara said, putting her friend's mind at ease. "He's finally started to look forward to the future. He's making plans, you know?"
"The nursery?"
Her smile widening, Sara nodded. "That and the landscape gardening. I don't know how far he'll go with the idea, but it's all he talks about."
"He's going to need a lot of cash."
Sara eased another look toward the patio, where the men were still talking and laughing. "We can both live on my salary, so he wouldn't need that much at first."
"He's going to need more than your backyard for starters," Catherine argued. "And on his own, at his age?"
"He's hoping that Manuel'll work with him."
"Manuel?"
"His old cellmate?"
"Isn't he still behind bars?"
Sara nodded.
"And you're okay with this? I mean, can you trust the guy?"
"Gil trusts him, he trusts him with his life, and that's good enough for me."
Catherine's brow rose in surprise. "I'd hate for Gil to be taken advantage of, that's all." She paused. "You know that banks will never lend him the money, right?"
Sara nodded. "If we needed to, then we'd use the house as collateral."
"Sara―"
Sara shrugged. "He needs that purpose, Catherine." She tried a reassuring smile. "We'll find a way."
Catherine picked up her glass and took a sip. "Maybe I could lend him the money," she then said, looking at the glass in her hands.
"What?"
Her shoulder lifting, Catherine looked up. "Why not?"
"You know Gil. He'd never take money from you."
"But he'd take it from you."
Sara paused. "Catherine, you're being very generous, but―"
"Hear me out before you say no, okay?"
Sara opened her mouth to object, but Catherine lifted her hand, cutting her protestations short.
"It wouldn't be a gift, Sara, but a loan. An investment, on which I fully expect a return. However small that might be at the start."
"Catherine, I don't know."
"Well, I do. It's not like I can't afford it. Hell, I could afford to give you the money, if you would take it."
Sara kept silent, finally allowing herself to ponder Catherine's offer.
"You don't have to give me an answer now!" Catherine exclaimed. "Take some time to think about it. See how it goes. He might still change his mind!"
"Thanks, Cath," Sara said, laughing uncomfortably as she lifted her hand to her friend's shoulder warmly. "I don't know what to say."
"Just say that I'll think about it."
"I will."
"What's taking dessert so long?" Greg asked, bounding into the kitchen, refocusing both women.
"Dessert?" Catherine asked, frowning.
"Jim brought a cake from Patisserie Manon," Sara explained. "It's in the fridge." The doorbell rang. "That'll be DB."
"We can't fault his timing!"
"Cath, you get the cake," Sara went on. "Greg, you get the door and I get the plates."
"Yes, Ma'am," Greg and Catherine said in unison.
Greg went to open the door while Catherine got the patisserie box out of the fridge. "Thanks, Cath," Sara said again. "I really appreciate the offer."
"What are friends for, huh?"
"Hey," DB said, preceding Greg into the kitchen, "Two of my most favourite ladies!"
"DB!" Catherine exclaimed, stopping what she was doing to give him a warm hug, "How long has it been, huh?"
"Too long." He smiled. "You look good."
Catherine gave a secretly-pleased but demure shrug. "You don't look so bad yourself."
"What do you want to drink?" Sara asked DB.
"Juice? Soda? Whatever you got open's fine by me."
Nodding, Sara opened the fridge and set about making DB a drink.
"Enough with the pleasantries," Greg said, taking the dessert plates and cutlery from the counter, "it's cake time!"
"Oh, great!" DB said, gleefully rubbing his hands together, and then, "Thanks, Sara," when she handed over a glass of sugar-free Sprite.
The group moved to the patio and Grissom stood when he caught sight of DB. Mabel sauntered over for a sniff and DB lowered his hand to the dog's muzzle affectionately. "Hello everyone!"
"DB, I'm glad you could make it," Grissom said, closing the distance over to the supervisor.
DB transferred his drink to his left hand, then shook Grissom's hand just as warmly as it had been extended. "Thank you for inviting me."
"It's the least we could do considering all you've done for Sara, all you've done for us, this past year."
"You'd have done the same."
"Still," Grissom insisted, "You've been very accommodating and we appreciate it."
"Well, I couldn't have done it without the team." DB looked at the faces all around. "It's a great team. The best."
"Hear, hear," Nick said, raising his beer bottle, and they laughed.
"I've yet to meet Finn and Morgan properly, but you're right." Grissom looked over at where Brass, Nick and Greg were sitting, then at Catherine and Sara standing a little to the side, "They are the best. I'm very lucky. We're very lucky to have such good friends in our life." Grissom held everyone's gazes briefly before he looked over to Sara and she smiled tenderly at him.
"So, who's going to cut the cake?" she asked, needing to change tack before the mood became too maudlin.
"I'll do it," Catherine said. "That way there'll be no argument about who gets what portion."
DB laughed. Grissom pulled his empty chair back, offering it to him, before excusing himself to get another one from inside.
"Any more drinks?" Sara asked, watching his retreating back.
And after taking orders, she made her way inside too. Grissom stood at the sink, deep in thought, and quietly she closed the distance to him before putting her arms around his waist from behind.
"You okay?" she asked, leaning the side of her face against his shoulder.
Smiling, he turned in her arms and nodded his head. "I meant what I said just then," he said. "I'm very lucky."
Cupping her hands to his face, she kissed him softly on the lips. "We're all lucky, Gil. You mean as much to us, as we do to you."
"Thank you for forcing my hand, you know, with today."
"You're welcome," she replied, smiling with pleasure. "Come on, let's get back outside, or there won't be any cake left."
Later, much later after everyone had gone home, they'd cleared up the yard and kitchen and taken Mabel for a long and deserved walk, Grissom and Sara sat down in front of the television with a cup of green tea and Mabel at their feet. Sara closed her eyes and let the memories of their happy day permeate her thoughts. Grissom chucked softly next to her and she reopened her eyes. He was reading the blurb at the back of the book Nick had gifted him: Texas cacti.
"Did―did Jim speak to you today?" she asked.
A slow smile formed, growing knowingly on Grissom's face. "I wondered how long it'd take you to ask about it."
"Oh, so you did talk," she went on, ignoring his jibe.
He looked over the top of his glasses at her. "A little."
She paused, waiting for him to elaborate, before folding a knee and turning toward him when he didn't. "And?"
"I told him I'd think about it."
"Oh, come on, Gil!"
He took his glasses off, the put them and the book down and turned toward her in a mirror pose. His expression was a mask for his feelings. "Was it your idea?"
"No!"
"So, you didn't put him up to it."
"No! I didn't, I swear to you. He ran the idea by me, that's all." She paused, stared at him intensely. "I think you should do it. I think you should go!"
Grissom thought the idea over. "Yeah?"
Slowly, she nodded her head. "It's time you started to live, you know. Enjoy yourself."
"I enjoyed myself today."
She paused. "You know what I mean."
"But a fishing trip?"
"Why not?"
"What about my work? My plants?"
"A week, Gil. I'm sure Trent won't mind giving you a week off. And I promise to look after your plants. It's not like much is happening there anyway."
He pulled a face at her teasing.
"Jim's your friend, Gil. What happened took its toll on him too, you know? He wants to spend time with you, what's wrong with that?"
"Alright," he said in a long sigh. "Okay. You've both made your points. I'll go."
A wide smile formed, dancing pleasurably on her lips. Now that she'd got him to agree to the trip with Brass probably wasn't the time to bring up Catherine's offer. But she would, in due course.
"Good," she said breezily, pushing up to her feet, "because he's hired the boat for the week after next."
His face pursing in mock annoyance at the fact that he'd been played, Grissom picked up Nick's book again and putting his glasses back on returned to his reading.
"I'm going to bed," she said, waiting for him to look up to add, "I won't wait up."
Manuel came through the metal gate with two sackfuls of possessions and the bleary look of someone who has been lost in a dark forest and suddenly found a clearing. Grissom and Sara got out of the rental, Grissom striding purposefully toward his friend while Sara followed more sedately behind. Manuel's face lit up with a grin of pleasure at the sight, and he picked up his pace. He looked exactly like Grissom had described him, and once again she marvelled at the fact that two so very different people should have struck up such a strong friendship.
Manuel dropped his bags to the ground and the two men embraced warmly, powerfully, face buried in each other's shoulder while patting each other's back. Grissom seemed more demonstrative with Manuel, less guarded than with his other friends, even Brass, and she guessed it was because of everything they'd been through. They'd known each other, seen each other and helped each other while at their lowest ebb, at their most desperate and vulnerable, the bond that had consequently formed seemingly like no other.
When they finally pulled apart, they laughed and stared at each other from head to toe, as if still not quite believing that that was it, they were both out. Despite Stan's letter of recommendation, Manuel's request that Grissom should be added onto his list of visitors had been turned down, much to Grissom's disappointment, but it didn't seem to matter now.
"You've grown your hair!" Grissom exclaimed.
"New beginning, new me, you know?" Manuel replied, and Grissom gave a solemn nod.
Startling, he turned toward Sara, then beckoned her over with a wide smile on his face and tears in his eyes. "Sara," he said, taking her hand when she came forward, "this is Manuel. Manuel, meet Sara, my wife."
Feeling a little awkward, Sara was about to extend her hand when Manuel covered the distance to her and pulled her into a crushing hug. "You and your husband saved my life," he said, emotionally. "I'll never forget it. Thank you."
Touched by his candid display, Sara found herself returning the hug with as much fervour. "And you saved Gil's," she whispered back.
Picking up one of Manuel's bags, Grissom put his arm around the pair. "What have you got in there?" he asked, chuckling, while Manuel picked up the second bag. "Gold bars?"
"I wish," Manuel said, laughing. "But no, it's just my things. The chess game and all the books and stuff Sara got for me." He sobered up. "It's okay if I call you Sara, right?"
"That's my name," Sara said.
"I feel like we've known each other for ever, no?"
Sara caught her husband's eye, and he smiled at her. "It does," she replied finally.
"I made something for you," Manuel went on eagerly, and then flicking his gaze to Grissom, "For both of you."
"Yeah?" Grissom asked, surprised.
Manuel gave an uncertain nod. "But I'll show you later. It's all wrapped up in my clothes, you know, so it wouldn't break."
Frowning, Grissom shared a look with Sara. Then he motioned toward the car, and they set off toward it. "And you still got your playing cards?"
Manuel laughed. "Still as battered."
"I've been telling Sara all about it. How I could never beat you at Conquian."
"We ought to play some time," Sara said.
Manuel's smile widened. "I'd like that."
They stopped at the car. Sara opened the truck and they stowed the bags inside. "You look good, man," Manuel said, clasping Grissom on the back, "A lot better than the last time I saw you, that's for sure."
"I feel a lot better too, believe me," Grissom replied, his tone solemn, and Sara knew Manuel's words had brought back memories of when he'd been assaulted.
Manuel looked up skyward, closed his eyes, then took a deep breath. "I know it's the same air, but it sure smells sweeter this side of the fence."
"What fence?" Grissom asked, laughing, as he walked around to the passenger side. "This camp doesn't have a fence."
"You know what I mean. You're never really out of the fence, not until you walk through the gate."
Grissom gave a knowing nod. The trio got inside the car, with Sara at the wheel and Manuel in the backseat, and put on their seatbelt.
"Thanks for the ride," Manuel said, when Sara set off, "I looked it up; Las Vegas isn't exactly next door."
Brow arched, Sara gave Grissom a long sideways look. Now's your cue, it said.
"So you drove ten hours just to take me to the bus stop?"
Looking over his shoulder, Grissom shrugged. "We flew actually. This is a rental."
"Dios mío. You didn't!"
"Stop it, Gil," Sara chided mildly, and then looking at Manuel in the rear view mirror. "I've always wanted to go to Portland, so we're killing two birds at once, so to speak." She looked over at Grissom meaningfully.
"So, your mother must be excited," he said, instead of taking the bait.
"Not as much as I am, believe me. She sent me pictures of my girls, but seeing them in the flesh again…I can't wait! Gracias, amigos," Manuel went on, clasping one hand to Grissom's shoulder and the other to Sara's.
Portland was just two hours away and they made good time. They reached the outskirts just before twelve and when she'd located it Sara pulled up just off the I-26 into the car lot for The Steakhouse at 9900. Manuel's bus to Roseville wasn't until twenty-five past two, so Grissom still had time to have the chat he'd seemingly been putting off.
"What are we doing?" Manuel asked, sitting up to look around uncertainly.
"We're stopping for lunch," Sara said, unbuckling. "An early lunch."
"Don't tell me you're not hungry!" Grissom exclaimed with disbelief, turning in his seat.
Manuel's face lit up. "Not hungry? Man, how can you ask that? I'm always hungry. Have been for the last five years or so."
"That's what I thought."
"Dios mío, can this day get any better?" Manuel exclaimed happily.
Sara locked the rental and after Manuel had used the car window to check his reflection the trio made their way inside the restaurant. They were shown to a table by the window, and after being given menus they ordered their drinks. An ice cold beer for Manuel, and matching Seven Ups for Sara and Grissom.
"You're not drinking?" Manuel asked Grissom in a loud whisper as soon as the server was out of earshot. "I mean, I get that Sara's driving, but you?"
Sara looked over to her husband, saying when he kept quiet, "Gil hasn't had anything to drink since the accident."
After nodding that he understood, Manuel opened his menu while Grissom gave Sara a grateful smile.
"Well, easy choice for me," Manuel said, closing his menu almost immediately.
Grissom laughed. "Let me guess? Something with steak, French fries and all the trimmings?"
"Yes, sir," Manuel said, beaming. "And a side of onion rings."
Grissom and Sara were looking at their menus when the server returned with their drinks, putting them down on the table, and they placed their order.
"Oh, wow!" Manuel said, staring at his beer with greedy eyes. "Looks even better than in my dreams. You sure you don't want to join me?"
Smiling, Grissom nodded his head. "I'm sure, but you go ahead."
Dispensing of his glass, Manuel picked up the bottle, lifted it in his eye line before bringing his lips to the rim and taking a long thirst-quenching gulp. "Oh, that's good," he said, licking the foam off his lips, and closed his eyes.
Grissom and Sara shared a look and a smile, and Sara once again silently tried to convey that now would be a good time to share his plans with his friend.
"So?" Manuel asked, cutting into their silent conversation, "What have you been up to?"
"Not much," Grissom replied, "You know, work and―"
"He's finally started growing his own plants," Sara cut in, hoping once again that Grissom would take the bait. "Took over the whole of the backyard and garage."
"Oh, that's right. I think you talked about it in one of your letters," Manuel said, seeking confirmation from Sara.
Grissom nodded. "I mean, it's still in its infant stage."
"You got to start somewhere!" Manuel said, and took another sip of beer. "So what is it you're growing again? Cactuses and…"
"Succulents," Grissom provided when Manuel faltered. "To start with."
"Oh, that's right," Manuel said, laughing, before adding as an aside to Sara, "I had to look up what they were. I don't know jack shit about plants. Hell, I only know succulent means yummy and that's 'cause of the thesaurus you sent me. All I know is to stay away from cactuses 'cause they prick."
Sara pinched her lips to stifle her smile.
"It's…cacti," Grissom said. "The plural of cactus. Not cactuses."
"No shit," Manuel deadpanned, and Grissom pinched his lips too.
The server chose this moment to come with the food, and the trio sat back while she set their plates down. Manuel's eyes were wide and he literally licked his lips.
"Can we have another beer?" Grissom asked the server.
"Sure. I'll be right back."
Whereas Grissom had struggled to eat his first meal, Manuel had no such qualms, devouring his food ferociously, every so often taking a drink of his beer to help a mouthful down. "Oh, this is so good," he kept saying, "So good."
Grissom and Sara could only smile indulgently.
"I got some bad news," Manuel said out of the blue, as if only just remembering, and finished his mouthful. "I didn't get the gig with the Forestry Commission. I got the letter last week. I was going to write you about it but then thought I'd tell you in person."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Grissom said, glancing at Sara. "I know how much you enjoyed the work and wanted the job."
"Yeah, well." Manuel shrugged. "That's okay. I'll find something else. Now that I know what I like doing."
"And what's that?" Sara asked.
"Good old hard physical labour," Manuel replied in a chuckle. "Who would have thought, huh?" He picked up his beer again. "No, I'm going to go spend time with mi mama and my girls and take it from there."
"Do you have money?" Grissom asked.
Manuel paused. "Some, you know." He shrugged. "I managed to save most of what I earned this last year. The pay was a little better than what I got for mopping floors at Beaumont, that's for sure. And you and Sara sending me food and stuff helped too. You're not going to eat that?" he went on in the same breath, motioning at Grissom's plate.
Grissom shook his head, and without ceremony Manuel swapped his empty plate for Grissom's. Old habits die hard, Sara thought. Sara knew first hand that whatever Manuel had managed to save wouldn't be much at all, that he'd probably use most of it up just to pay for the journey back to Roseville. Grissom glanced at Sara again, and she nodded her head at him encouragingly.
"I've been―I've been meaning to…talk to you about something," he finally said, turning back to Manuel.
Something about Grissom's serious tone and hesitant manner made Manuel sit straighter at the table, and he wiped the back of his hand to his mouth before he remembered to use the napkin at the side of his plate. "Talk to me about what?" he asked, eyes flicking between Grissom and Sara enquiringly.
"You know how I'm working at a plant nursery, right? And how I've started to grow my own plants?"
"Yeah," Manuel said, frowning.
Sara moved her hand to Grissom's lap under the table and squeezed it warmly. "Well, soon I want to quit my job, and start my own gardening and landscaping business. And eventually my own nursery. But that's going to take longer."
"That's great," Manuel said, eyes flicking between the two excitedly.
Grissom nodded. "There's only one issue; I don't have a driver's licence."
Manuel's look of excitement morphed into puzzlement, and he flicked his gaze toward Sara. She shrugged.
"I mean Sara's doing a great job of driving me around, but she sleeps during the day and I'm going to need someone to drive the truck I'm going to buy."
"Okay."
"So, I need a driver," Grissom said again.
Manuel's frown intensified. "Okay."
Grissom took in a deep breath. "You, Manuel. I thought you…could come work with me. You know, help me start up."
Manuel's gaze went from Grissom to Sara and then back again, and he pointed a disbelieving finger at himself. "Me? You're offering me a job?"
"Well, sure," Grissom said. "Who else? You're perfect for the job, and I know we'll work well together."
Chuckling, Manuel ran his hand over the short hair on his head. "Oh, man. The thing is…I don't have a driver's licence either."
Grissom did a double take. "You can't drive?"
"Sure I can drive. I just haven't got a licence."
Sara burst out laughing, laughter which she tried to stifle. In vain.
"The pay would be crap," Grissom went on, undeterred, "but we'd be working for ourselves. We'd be our own bosses."
Manuel dropped his gaze to his empty plate.
"So?" Grissom tried again. "What do you think?"
"What do I think?" Manuel looked up. "I don't know, man. It's a lot to take in. And besides, like I said, I know jack shit about plants."
"But I do, and I'll teach you."
Manuel paused. "I mean, it'd mean being away from my mother and my girls again."
"I know, but that would have been the case if you'd got the Forestry gig too. And Vegas is only a five-or-so-hour drive away from Roseville. They can come visit for the weekend, or you can. Tillamook, on the other hand―"
"It's a ten-hour drive, I know," Manuel finished for him. "My mother complained about it often enough."
"Well, think about it," Grissom said finally. "The offer's not going anywhere."
Manuel swallowed. "Thanks, man," he said, clearly touched.
What was left of the meal was quiet and subdued, but Sara was pleased that Grissom had got to talk to Manuel in person about his plans, rather than on the phone or in a letter. Manuel hadn't said yes, but she and Grissom hadn't expected him to. When it was time to pay, Grissom got his bank card out, but Manuel lifted his hand, stopping him.
"I'm getting this," he said, pulling a wad of bills from his jeans pocket. And when Grissom insisted, "I'm paying, alright? It's the least I can do. I worked hard for my money and I'll be damned if I can't buy myself my first meal." Conscious that he'd raised his voice, Manuel looked around a little surreptitiously.
"Thank you," Grissom said, backing down.
They made the most of the restaurant's facilities before they made their back to the car, headed to the main bus station in downtown Portland. Manuel was quiet during the drive, and Sara figured he was pondering Grissom's offer. It was close to 2pm when finally she found a spot at the curb where she could stop.
"I brought an old duffel bag you can stow you gear in," Grissom said, pulling the bag out of the trunk. "Put all your stuff in there. It'll be easier to haul around."
Nodding, Manuel opened the first sack and started transferring clothes and books and crossword puzzles into the duffel. Smiling, he paused suddenly, then began unrolling a couple of white T-shirts. Inside each bundle, was what looked like wooden bookends.
"There was a workshop at the camp," Manuel said, a little shyly, looking at his hands, "We could do woodwork and stuff. Anyways, I know you like books, so I made you and Sara these." He looked up a little uncertainly.
Grissom picked one of the bookends up and stared at it intently.
"It's a bird, like," Manuel said, picking up the second bookend. "I know it's a little…rough around the edges. I mean, the birds look nothing like―"
"Thank you," Sara said, when words seemingly failed Grissom.
"Yes," Grissom said, clearly touched. "Thank you."
"De nada."
Grissom took the two bookends, and Manuel finished transferring his belongings in the duffel. Spotting a convenience store across the street, Sara tapped Grissom on the arm and when she had his attention pointed at it.
"I won't be long," she said, when he nodded that he understood.
There, she bought a large bottle of water, a smaller one of coke, a few packets of cookies and potato chips, and ready-made sandwiches, adding a couple of chocolate bars on the way. Because she felt bad at how unhealthy it all was, she included a couple of apples and a carton of milk. Twenty dollars was nothing to her but to Manuel – and Grissom still – it represented over a few weeks' pay inside.
Manuel wouldn't be getting to his destination until early the next morning, and she was sure he'd be grateful for the food. During the seventeen-and-a-half-hour journey, he'd have to change buses a few times, as well as walk between stops, hence Grissom had thought of bringing him a duffel bag to make things easier. They were watching as she came out of the store and crossed over back to them.
"I should go," Manuel said. "I don't want to miss the bus."
"Here," Sara said, holding the bag out to him, "this is for you. For the journey. It's not much."
"Maybe not for you," Manuel said, taking the bag for her, "But for me it means a lot."
"Manuel, before you go, "Grissom said. "I want you to have this too." He pulled out a brown envelope from his jacket inner pocket and put it in Manuel's hand.
"What's this?" the younger man asked, and when the penny dropped he pushed the envelope back. "Nah, I can't take your money."
"Sure you can," Grissom said easily. "It's yours. Call it an advance on your wages. And if you decide never to take me up on the offer, you know, 'cause something better's come along, then you can pay it back to me."
"I could just take the money and never pay it back," Manuel said, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
Grissom conceded the point with a nod. "But you won't."
Manuel sighed, looked at the envelope in his hand, then grudgingly nodded his head.
"Buy your mother and the girls something nice."
When Manuel looked up again, he had tears in his eyes. Grissom's eyes welled too. "Thanks, man. Your trust, your friendship, it means a lot."
Grissom nodded. A bus engine started up nearby, he glanced toward it. "Come on, you should go now. The bus won't wait."
Nodding, Manuel put the envelope in the duffel bag and zipped the bag shut.
"In the envelope," Grissom said, "there's our home address, you know, in case you forget it, but also mine and Sara's cell numbers."
Manuel had a moment's pause before he pulled Grissom into a tight hug, releasing him quickly, before moving to embrace Sara. Then, eyes shining with tears, he quickly picked up his bags and after meeting Grissom's gaze one last time, turned his back on the pair, headed toward the row of buses waiting. When Manuel had located the correct bus, he turned toward them one last time, waved and then hopped onto it.
Sara draped her arm around Grissom's waist and he looked over at her with a smile. "Why didn't you tell him I was law-enforcement?" she asked. "That you were."
"I almost did, but then I thought…why bother, you know? It's not important right now. We can tell him when – if the time comes."
Sara nodded her head. The driver closed the bus doors and began to pull out of its parking slot. Grissom took off toward the bus, shouting as Manuel went past them, "Take care of yourself, okay?"
Covering the distance, Sara put her hand on Grissom's back and they watched as the bus drove away and Manuel disappeared out of sight. "You've done what you could to give him a fresh start," she said. "Now it's up to him."
Turning toward her, Grissom nodded his head gravely. "He doesn't have anyone like you in his life, waiting for him – looking out for him."
"No," she replied, lifting her hand to stroke his cheek tenderly, "But he's got you."
"I love you," he said, his tone heartfelt and sincere, "I could never have done any of it without you."
Her hand on his cheek, Sara leaned over to kiss his lips. "For better, for worse, remember?"
A bus honked its horn in the distance, and they laughed.
Grissom's guilt over what he'd done would never leave him but he was taking steps toward redemption.
"Come on," she said, "Let's go home."
