Oh goodness, thank you all so much for your reviews. They are just
wonderful and I'm flattered. Glad you're enjoying the story and I
anticipate having one or two more chapters after this so just bear with me
a bit longer.
BTW, this is a Sara/Grissom story. I know some of you were pushing for N/S, but I'm a GSR shipper, sorry. Hope you enjoy this anyway! Thanks to those of you at the G/S message board, you guys are great. And again, everyone who reviewed...thanks a bunch, keep them coming!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
He fights to grasp each memory of her with a ferocity that scares him at times.
He fears that soon she will be nothing more than a brief, passing thought in the cruel mists of time.
A long time ago, when he still felt like smiling for no reason and her laughter could carry across the room, they watched the Christmas tree lighting in Rockefeller Center on television and she spoke to him in a far- off voice informing him that she wanted to go there someday and watch it; then skate on the ice until her cheeks were numb.
At the time, the promise seemed to slip from his mouth off its own volition and he assured her that some day she would and he would be the one to take her. It had been a surreal moment, almost suspended above time and she had smiled at him in a way that he aches to see again.
He realizes suddenly that Christmas is nearing and he had planned on taking her this year. The conversation plays over in his mind then and he's troubled by the ominous tone Sara had that he'd not taken seriously or even paid attention to until now.
She hugs her arms around herself, her hands buried as the sleeves reach well past the tips, and curls up as tight as she can on the couch as the two of them watch the tree-lighting.
"I want to go there someday. I mean, I always have- ever since I was a little kid. I-I don't know why...I guess it's just a silly childish thing that I never grew out of."
She pauses then, almost expectingly, waiting for a reassurance from him and he knows this, as he always has.
"You'll get there someday, Sara." He looks over at her, wondering if he should say it. "And I'll be the one to take you."
She smiles brightly for a moment, then it fades quickly, replaced by a sad, almost resigned smile.
"Thanks, Grissom."
Then quietly, she speaks again. "I know I'll get there someday. But by then...it will be too late."
He glances at her in the semi-darkness, puzzling over the meaning of that statement, but soon shrugs it off and turns his attention once more to the ceremony.
He knows she wasn't really referring to her death, but in retrospect, it is too eerily coincidental and he wishes he can ask her about it now.
He runs his hand over the Robert Frost book that is laying by her bed and smiles. It's one of those things few people know about Sara- and one of the qualities he likes most; her quiet, underlying passion for poetry, specifically Frost. He remembers hearing her favorite ones over and over again as she recited them from memory throughout the years whenever the mood struck her.
He remembers enjoying all of them, especially the one Catherine had read a mere three days ago. However, one had really stuck with him and for reasons he doesn't know, he remembers the last part of it and feels the need to recite it to her as she had done for him so many years ago.
"So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches."
Many would dispute him for years to come, but he swears a faint smile graces her face as he recites the last line and he knows she's proud of him, wherever she is.
He glances at the clock now, as though it is methodically counting down the last minutes of his life and he feels as though it is. The others, of course, had said their goodbyes as best they could.
He knows the doctor will walk through that door in a matter of minutes and he will have to confirm for the last time that Sara should be taken off of life support. He can't imagine a harder decision and knows that it will haunt him the rest of his days. They tell him she still has a chance, but he doesn't believe their half-hearted lies. He wants to, more than anything he wants to. But he's always relied on practicality and he refuses to continue living under a haze of illusions and false hopes. Sara understands; he hopes to God she does.
His hand trembles as he reaches out to grasp hers. He warms it between his larger ones and grips it with the intention of never letting go.
It's been a while since he's spoken to her and he doesn't trust himself at first.
"I-I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to say goodbye."
He leans over and kisses her cheek, then briefly, her lips. He expects nothing, but wonders if their first kiss will also be their last.
"I love you, Sara. I don't think you'll ever know just how much, but I-I just wanted to tell you before..."
Before what, he doesn't know, and the sentence remains unfinished.
"So I won't say goodbye, Sara. And I won't cry because tears are for goodbyes and goodbyes are forever."
He never understood the concept of crying. It seemed to him as an emotion that no one could control. It either happened, or it didn't. And to him, it never meant you were less of a man if you cried or less of a human being if you didn't. He wants to cry, has been fighting it since he stepped into her room 10 minutes ago and he doesn't understand it. It is an emotion he's never felt before and has no idea what to do with it.
It is very "un-Grissom", but frankly, he doesn't give a damn. He is only human, after all. He just fears if he does, that will mean she really is gone and he's not ready to let her go.
The doctor's footsteps on the cold tile lift him from his fog and he knows he will always associate that sound with death subconsciously.
No words need to be said and Grissom merely nods his head. He stands to go, as he doesn't want to be there when they unhook her. He runs one hand fondly down her cheek for what he can only hope is not the last time and moves to exit the room.
Throwing one last glance at her still form, Grissom turns away and bows his head as a lone tear cascades down his cheek. He doesn't bother to wipe it and as he walks down the white corridor, the cord to the machine sustaining Sara's life is pulled and a shallow breath escapes her lips.
----------------
TBC....hey, that could be a good thing, right? Then again, maybe not...
BTW, this is a Sara/Grissom story. I know some of you were pushing for N/S, but I'm a GSR shipper, sorry. Hope you enjoy this anyway! Thanks to those of you at the G/S message board, you guys are great. And again, everyone who reviewed...thanks a bunch, keep them coming!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
He fights to grasp each memory of her with a ferocity that scares him at times.
He fears that soon she will be nothing more than a brief, passing thought in the cruel mists of time.
A long time ago, when he still felt like smiling for no reason and her laughter could carry across the room, they watched the Christmas tree lighting in Rockefeller Center on television and she spoke to him in a far- off voice informing him that she wanted to go there someday and watch it; then skate on the ice until her cheeks were numb.
At the time, the promise seemed to slip from his mouth off its own volition and he assured her that some day she would and he would be the one to take her. It had been a surreal moment, almost suspended above time and she had smiled at him in a way that he aches to see again.
He realizes suddenly that Christmas is nearing and he had planned on taking her this year. The conversation plays over in his mind then and he's troubled by the ominous tone Sara had that he'd not taken seriously or even paid attention to until now.
She hugs her arms around herself, her hands buried as the sleeves reach well past the tips, and curls up as tight as she can on the couch as the two of them watch the tree-lighting.
"I want to go there someday. I mean, I always have- ever since I was a little kid. I-I don't know why...I guess it's just a silly childish thing that I never grew out of."
She pauses then, almost expectingly, waiting for a reassurance from him and he knows this, as he always has.
"You'll get there someday, Sara." He looks over at her, wondering if he should say it. "And I'll be the one to take you."
She smiles brightly for a moment, then it fades quickly, replaced by a sad, almost resigned smile.
"Thanks, Grissom."
Then quietly, she speaks again. "I know I'll get there someday. But by then...it will be too late."
He glances at her in the semi-darkness, puzzling over the meaning of that statement, but soon shrugs it off and turns his attention once more to the ceremony.
He knows she wasn't really referring to her death, but in retrospect, it is too eerily coincidental and he wishes he can ask her about it now.
He runs his hand over the Robert Frost book that is laying by her bed and smiles. It's one of those things few people know about Sara- and one of the qualities he likes most; her quiet, underlying passion for poetry, specifically Frost. He remembers hearing her favorite ones over and over again as she recited them from memory throughout the years whenever the mood struck her.
He remembers enjoying all of them, especially the one Catherine had read a mere three days ago. However, one had really stuck with him and for reasons he doesn't know, he remembers the last part of it and feels the need to recite it to her as she had done for him so many years ago.
"So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches."
Many would dispute him for years to come, but he swears a faint smile graces her face as he recites the last line and he knows she's proud of him, wherever she is.
He glances at the clock now, as though it is methodically counting down the last minutes of his life and he feels as though it is. The others, of course, had said their goodbyes as best they could.
He knows the doctor will walk through that door in a matter of minutes and he will have to confirm for the last time that Sara should be taken off of life support. He can't imagine a harder decision and knows that it will haunt him the rest of his days. They tell him she still has a chance, but he doesn't believe their half-hearted lies. He wants to, more than anything he wants to. But he's always relied on practicality and he refuses to continue living under a haze of illusions and false hopes. Sara understands; he hopes to God she does.
His hand trembles as he reaches out to grasp hers. He warms it between his larger ones and grips it with the intention of never letting go.
It's been a while since he's spoken to her and he doesn't trust himself at first.
"I-I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to say goodbye."
He leans over and kisses her cheek, then briefly, her lips. He expects nothing, but wonders if their first kiss will also be their last.
"I love you, Sara. I don't think you'll ever know just how much, but I-I just wanted to tell you before..."
Before what, he doesn't know, and the sentence remains unfinished.
"So I won't say goodbye, Sara. And I won't cry because tears are for goodbyes and goodbyes are forever."
He never understood the concept of crying. It seemed to him as an emotion that no one could control. It either happened, or it didn't. And to him, it never meant you were less of a man if you cried or less of a human being if you didn't. He wants to cry, has been fighting it since he stepped into her room 10 minutes ago and he doesn't understand it. It is an emotion he's never felt before and has no idea what to do with it.
It is very "un-Grissom", but frankly, he doesn't give a damn. He is only human, after all. He just fears if he does, that will mean she really is gone and he's not ready to let her go.
The doctor's footsteps on the cold tile lift him from his fog and he knows he will always associate that sound with death subconsciously.
No words need to be said and Grissom merely nods his head. He stands to go, as he doesn't want to be there when they unhook her. He runs one hand fondly down her cheek for what he can only hope is not the last time and moves to exit the room.
Throwing one last glance at her still form, Grissom turns away and bows his head as a lone tear cascades down his cheek. He doesn't bother to wipe it and as he walks down the white corridor, the cord to the machine sustaining Sara's life is pulled and a shallow breath escapes her lips.
----------------
TBC....hey, that could be a good thing, right? Then again, maybe not...
