Chapter 42
Sara walked through the door to Catherine's house. It was late, too late. If it weren't for the light pollution of the Strip, the stars would have been out in full force. Evening had passed, and night was now taking over. It seeped into the house, the warm Nevada night imbibing itself into Catherine's home.
But Sara didn't notice. It was all cold. Cold and empty. The hair on her arms stood on end, probing the air for any warmth they might absorb into her skin. Yet nothing reached her. Ice coated her bones, delving deep. Burrowing its way across her heart.
She could feel both Catherine and Grissom hovering behind her, but Sara didn't acknowledge them. She dumped her bag on the table and wound her way through the kitchen.
Jimmy had sent those photos. Once he realised there was no other way to keep her there, he sent Grissom those photos. Hacked into the labs email and sent them from Hodges' account. Manipulated her husband into seeking the divorce. Into thinking she no longer wanted him. Jimmy was the reason her marriage fell apart.
Jimmy, who had spent the last God knows how many years manipulating them. Manipulating her. Jimmy who had broken into their home. Who had stolen from her. Violated her. Tore her away from the only man she ever loved.
Jimmy, who, when he realised he couldn't keep them apart, cooked up this whole scheme to kill her husband. To frame Heather in some sick, twisted 'act of love'. Murdering the man he hated, while imprisoning the woman he thought she did. Removing anyone who might keep her from him.
Jimmy. Jimmy. Jimmy. The very name tasted like sand in her mouth. Smelt like rotten flesh. Sounded like the boom of a funeral drum. Felt like a needle piercing her skin. It consumed her. Filled her. The only thought that resonated in her brain. But Sara wasn't angry.
Sara was terrified.
She had already come face to face with her share of sociopaths. Already battled, and won, against their twisted vendettas. Was already familiar with the paralysing feeling that came when staring into their eyes. Fear was a close friend of hers, a constant companion since her childhood. But this… Now…
Nothing scared her like this man. Not her father. Not being under that car. Not Basderic. Not the guns that had been pointed in her face, or the bullets that tried to make their home in her body. Nothing.
The familiar weight started to press down on her chest. Restricting her breathing. Weighing down on her, like a vice clamping around her lungs.
"Jimmy is doing everything he can to keep you apart," Brass had said as they stood in the lay out room. "But why not make a move? With Grissom out of the picture? Why not say anything?"
Because I was still in love with him. Because I never took my ring off. Because, no matter how long it had been, I could never move on.
Jimmy knew. He knew she still loved Grissom. He knew, as long as Grissom was out there, he would never stand a chance. She would never choose Jimmy, not when Grissom was still an option. It was always Grissom. It will always be Grissom. Jimmy had to kill him. It was the only way.
My fault. It's all my fault.
Sara could feel the sob building in her throat as she climbed the stairs. Could feel the burning in her eyes. Her body was heavy. The vice griped tighter. Each step shuddered through her legs, causing her muscles to tremble. The sound pounding in her ears. Every noise hounded her. Every smell assaulted her. The house pressed against her. Suffocating her.
Kelly. Smith. Jones. Those people in the casino. Caroline Walters. All of them, dead. Because of Jimmy. Because of her.
Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.
She could hear Grissom walking behind her, could feel him. Close, but not touching. Sara wanted nothing more than to turn around and throw herself into his arms. But she couldn't. How could she? This was her fault.
The fracture that sliced through her since this case started was starting to crack. The lock she had carefully fastened on her emotions had broken. The box was opened, and a tidal wave washed her away. The only thing she could think of was Jimmy, and the terror blocking out her vision.
He did this because of her. If it wasn't for her, if she hadn't done… whatever it was that she had done, Jimmy wouldn't have… those people wouldn't have… nobody would have…
The metallic tang of blood invaded her. The blood of those victims staining her. Pictures on the walls watched her, their eyes haunting her. Blaming her. Condemning her. Knowing. Knowing it was her.
She didn't even look at her husband as they entered their room. She could hear Catherine moving around downstairs. Clarke and Betty were probably in bed already. Good. She couldn't face them right then.
Sara pulled off her shirt, still keeping her back to Grissom, and started to get ready for bed. The movements were automatic. Even in her almost cationic state, Sara folded her clothing. Placing it gently on the vanity under the window. Grissom hovered behind her, following as she moved to the bathroom. He waited outside the door when she locked herself in. Not saying a word. Just being there.
Sara hated herself for basking in the comfort he gave her. She didn't deserve it. Shouldn't have it. She should walk away, distance herself. Pull back. But she couldn't. She needed him. Needed his presence. His closeness. Even the weight of her gun didn't give her the security Grissom did.
How could he stand to be near her? Knowing she was the reason.
Everything I did, was all for you.
The words Jimmy had written to her stood out in her vision. Blocking everything. The scrawling words floating across her eyes.
All for you.
All for you.
It was for her. He did this for her! Sara felt sick. She pushed her way out of the bathroom, not even glancing at her husband as she rushed into their room.
Grissom followed her and closed the door behind them. Sara just stood in the middle of the room. Her breathing coming out on short bursts. Each drag more painful than the last.
Everything was crashing down on her. All the things she had pushed to the side in her journey to finding her way back to Grissom, came to the forefront of her mind. Years! He had been stalking her, manipulating her for years. It was all tainted now. Every moment she had shared with Grissom, in those first few wonderful years, now soiled with the stain of Jimmy Thompson.
She wanted to go to sleep. To curl up in her husband's arms. But couldn't make herself move. Her limbs were frozen. The receptors in her brain no longer reaching the tendons needed for moving. Shut down. None functioning. Only one thing was running through her mind.
My fault. My fault. My fault. My fault.
Grissom moved around her. Testing the locks on the windows, closing the curtains. He swept the room. Checking the ceiling, the wardrobe, under the bed. In the corners. The edge of the carpeting. His hands ran over the chest of draws, down the back. Inside. His fingers running across the roof and along the seams. There wasn't an inch of the room Grissom didn't check. Even going so far as to investigate the lampshades. She could see it all. Could see that he wasn't finding anything. That they were safe there.
The lock clicked in the door, the sound settling within her, easing the constriction on her throat. Grissom came to stand behind her once more. Still not touching. He was waiting. Waiting for her to come to him.
"Sweetheart?" He called, low and tender. Sara began to shake. Tears falling fast and free down her face. Sobs breaking from her throat, so powerful they aggravated her now healed larynx. Harsh and violent. Raking her body as exhaustion flowed through her. A headache forming at her temple, throbbing behind her eyes. Sara didn't even have the energy to cover her face.
Grissom placed a tentative hand to her shoulder, and, when she didn't shake him off, he scooped her up in his arms. Cradling her to his chest.
Thump, thump, thump. His heartbeat sounded in her ears. A beckoning sound, pulling her back down.
He grunted a little under her weight, not as strong as he once was, and carried her over to the bed. Gently placing her within the covers. He quickly stripped off his shirt and trousers, kicking his shoes to the side, and crawled in behind her. Wrapping her in his embrace. His warmth smothering her, and Sara welcomed it. Breathed in his scent. Lemons, even after all these years away from the lab, he still smelt of lemons.
Home.
Sara turned on the bed and cried into her husband's chest. Grissom didn't say a word. He just held her, tightly. Grounding her in his touch. Reminding her who she was. Reminding her that he loved her. Reminding her that she was stronger. That they were stronger. Stronger than anything Dr Jimmy could throw their way.
Eventually the sobs subsided, and Sara found the sound of his heart once more. Strong and steady. He was there. He was alive. He was safe. Sara clung to him.
"Do you remember what you said to me, after we found you in the desert?" He murmured into her hair. Sara stiffened slightly in his arms but made no move to pull away. She nodded. "You told me I wasn't the cause, I was the excuse. You told me, I wasn't the reason she took you, just the excuse she used to justify it." He pulled back slightly, to look into her eyes. They were lined with tears, but her gaze was steady. He brushed a thumb across her cheek. "You never blamed me, for what she did to you. Though I blamed myself."
"It wasn't your fault," Sara said, softly.
"And this isn't yours," Grissom replied. "You have done nothing wrong, Sara. Whatever this is, we'll work it out. Together."
Together. They were together. They would get through this. Together.
"It's not my fault," she said softly against his chest.
"No," he agreed. "It's not."
"We'll work this out." Her voice low, unsteady. Heartbeat slowing, but still thready. Breath. Breathing was good. In, out. Long, low. Expanding her lungs, pressing against the vice that still locked itself to her. With each inhale, the grip loosened.
"Yes." The rumbling of his voice vibrating through her. Deep, warm. Filling the cracks within. The fracture retreating, like a broken window filmed on rewind. She could feel the spiderweb growing smaller, shrinking away from the light that was her husband.
"Together." A soft whisper passing from her lips to his chest.
"Together."
They fell silent. Grissom's arms tightening around her. Sara didn't know where they went from here. She didn't know where Jimmy was, or what he was planning. But she knew, if Grissom was by her side, she would find him. They would find him.
Jimmy tried to take their story, but he couldn't. She wouldn't let him. She wouldn't allow him to corrupt the most beautiful thing in her life. Her memories of what they were, and her dreams of what they will be. Nothing will take them from her. They were guarded, protected, safe.
"I won't lose you, Gil," Sara said. She couldn't. Not after all they had gone through to find each other again. "I won't let him take you." Her fingers constricted against his chest, pulling his closer. The feel of his skin against hers calming her heart.
"I know you won't," Grissom said, pressing a kiss to her hair. "I'll never go away. Not now. Not ever."
"Hold onto me," she breathed. Grissom pulled her tighter to his chest, tangling their legs in the centre of the bed. Grissom's breathing was even, steady, but she knew he wouldn't sleep. Not until she did. Not when she was like this. He would stay awake, all night if need be.
The night settled around them. Darkness blanketing the couple as snugly as the duvet draped over their bodies. She could not see her husband, but the heart radiating from him was a beacon in the dark. It covered her, sheltered her. Shining in the night, though no light penetrated it. Lemons filled her senses, the citrus scent enveloping her.
Closing her eyes, Sara listened to the melody of her husband's heart as her consciousness drifted into sleep.