XXI - ADMISSIONS
Nick wasn't answering his door. Sighing in irritation, Grissom turned and looked back down the driveway, but Greg was long gone. Why wasn't Nick answering the door? His truck was there; right beside Sara's vehicle. He had to be home. Maybe they were sitting in the backyard. Maybe his doorbell was broken. Knocking roughly, Grissom reached for the doorknob and twisting, not expecting it to be unlocked and slightly taken aback when it was.
*Hadn't Nick learned anything from Nigel Crane?* Grissom muttered under his breath as he stepped inside and carefully shut the door behind him, sliding the bolt shut with a satisfying click.
Down the hallway, he heard the muted sounds of the TV, so he headed in that general direction. "Nick? Nicky? You here? Sara?"
Walking into the living room, he paused when he saw the two in question, sprawled comfortably on Nick's sofa. Nick had his feet up on the coffee table, but Grissom could tell from the awkward tilt of his head and the limpness of his arm draped across the back of the sofa that he was sleeping, as was Sara, curled into his side, head on his chest.
Grissom felt like he had been sucker punched. Hitching in a breath, he stepped backwards and spun at the same time, left foot catching the edge of the wall as he did so.
"Huh?" Nick opened his eyes groggily, turning his head slightly to see Grissom standing self-consciously in the open doorway of his living room. "Grissom?"
Grissom stepped forward, "Uh...yeah. I came by to talk and – you're door wasn't locked…"
Nick blinked again, trying to clear his head, shifting his arm slightly and gingerly easing himself away from Sara, who was still sleeping soundly. Standing stiffly, he rolled his shoulders and motioned for Grissom to follow him into the kitchen, flicking off the TV as he passed by. "Sara probably didn't think about locking it when she came in," he grinned. "Want something to drink?"
"Uh...coffee?"
"Sure. If you don't mind waiting for it to perc. Sit down and give me a minute."
Grissom nodded absently, sitting down at the kitchen table and picking up a couple of the notebooks lying on it. "How's this going?"
Nick glanced at the books and grinned, "If I said 'for the birds', would you think that terribly punny?"
Grissom snorted, "How long have you been interested in ornithology?"
Nick shrugged as he carefully added the grounds to the filter, and flipped on the pot. "Remember that case 18 months or so ago – the one where that guy killed his mistress, chopped of her finger and tried to frame his wife? Since then."
"It's an interesting field," Grissom nodded. Nick grabbed a couple of mugs, and placed them on the table, along with a small container of cream and some sugar, before sitting in the empty seat across from Grissom.
"I like it." Nick reached over and tapped the top book, "There are so many species and sub-species of birds, it's incredible. But that's not why you're here."
Grissom sighed, "No. Listen, Nick – I'm sorry I didn't give you a chance to explain why you were flirting with Marta. You're theory is a good one – best one we have to work on. Catherine's at the salon right now."
Nick grinned, "Yeah? She getting a style on lab money?"
"No. At least, she better not be. I don't have the full story, but apparently she knows this Stefan guy. Says he owes her a favor." Grissom looked at his hands, "You know Catherine."
Nick laughed, " Yeah, I know Catherine."
A brief silence filled the kitchen, broken only by the steady drip of the percolator. Grissom sighed suddenly and looked at Nick, "I also wanted to apologize to you. I don't think you're stupid, and I shouldn't have implied that you don't bring anything to the cases we work on. You do – you bring a lot."
Nick cocked an eyebrow at Grissom, "I know you didn't mean it. I'll admit, at the time I was angry, but I got over it on the drive home. I understand where your anger was coming from."
Grissom looked at Nick blankly, "Frustrating case; and –"
"Jealousy."
Grissom dropped his gaze from Nick's and gingerly removed his glasses, twirling them in his fingers. "Maybe," he finally conceded softly.
"That's what I told Sara when she showed up. Why is it so hard for you to admit your feelings, Grissom?"
Grissom shrugged, but didn't respond. Nick sighed, "You want to know what I think?"
"Is this a trick question?" Grissom asked wryly, surprising a quick laugh from Nick. "I do value your opinions, Nick."
Nick stood and grabbed the coffee, quickly pouring both of them a cup. Grissom picked up a small package of sugar twin and plied it restlessly between his fingers, watching as Nick doctored his own coffee. "Okay then – in a nutshell, I think you don't trust people. You're afraid of being hurt. Whether this is because you were badly hurt in the past, I have no idea. And it's getting worse – in the last two years, you've shut yourself off more than ever before. Am I wrong?"
Grissom didn't respond, but Nick could tell from the way the older man had hunched his shoulders inwards slightly that his words had struck a chord. He sighed.
"Remember when we were investigating the Haviland case, and you made me primary on the body we found at the golf course? You came out to watch, along with Gerard. You were both standing at the opposite side of the sand trap. I heard what he said to you – about your mother."
Grissom looked up at Nick, blue eyes startled. "What?"
"About you're mother being deaf, Grissom. I heard your conversation. So I've been watching you. You always avoid having conversations with anyone near the copy room. When we have meetings, instead of having them in the break room, where we always used to, we have them in the large seminar room now – the quietest room at the lab. You didn't realize your Big Mouth Billy Bass had dead batteries until someone asked you why they never heard it anymore. Whenever possible, you look directly at whomever is speaking to you so you don't miss anything they're saying. You're losing your hearing – might have been for some time now, and you've gone into protection mode. You've always had walls, but they're getting bigger."
Grissom looked at Nick, stricken and angry and defeated all at the same time. "My…hearing, or lack of it…has nothing to do with –"
"Me? Our team? Sara?" Nick's voice was gentle but firm. "Of course it does, Grissom. It affects us all – because we work with you, but more importantly because we care for you. We're your friends. And you're shutting us out. I have to admit, you've been subtle about it. You've always been a loner, but you used to know how to have fun. You used to laugh. Christ – you even used to date; albeit unsuccessfully. But you don't do any of that anymore."
"I –"
Nick held up his hand, "Shut up and listen to me for a minute. When was the last time you joined any of us for breakfast after shift, or had a really good laugh at something? When was the last time you were really, really happy?"
Grissom looked at Nick, then looked at his hands again. His glasses hung limply in his fingers. Running his thumb absently over the nose piece, he briefly imagined what it would be like to snap them in half. Instead, he shrugged and didn't say anything.
Nick sighed, "You realize you don't have to go through any of this alone. If you reach out to us, we'll be there for you Grissom. If you reach out to Sara –"
"It would never work." Grissom interrupted.
"Of course it would." Nick retorted, "If you really wanted it to. You just have to decide that you'd rather be happy with her, than miserable alone. And don't tell me you haven't been miserable, thinking of her with someone else. Thinking of her with me."
"When I came in you were –"
"Dozing on the sofa together. Big deal – we must have fallen asleep while I was trying to cheer her up. Despite Harry and Sally, men and women can just be friends you know."
"Harry and Sally?" Grissom was confused.
Nick laughed, "Not important. What is important is whether or not you love her. You do love her, don't you Grissom?"
Grissom nodded miserably, and Nick grinned, "Then tell her. Nothing else matters. All of these obstacles you think there are – they're in your mind, Grissom. The age difference, the fact you work together, your hearing – in the grand scheme of things, none of it matters. You'll love whom you love. And so will she."
Nick chugged back the remaining coffee in his cup, and walked over to the dishwasher. "I have to run up to the grocery store – I don't have anything to make for dinner, and I'm assuming you're staying." Looking at his watch, he grabbed his keys from the counter top, "You might want to wake Sara up to keep you company. I'll be at least half an hour."
Grissom shook his head, about to protest, but swallowed his words when he saw the serious look on Nick's face. The younger man stepped towards him, placing a hand on either shoulder and squeezing them firmly.
"She makes you happy Grissom. Even when she's making you miserable. So you're running away from her faster than you run from the rest of us, because of us all Sara is the one that makes you feel the most. She can hurt you. What you have to realize, Grissom, is that she hasn't hurt you yet – but you hurt her everyday just by denying her and yourself the opportunity to be happy together. If you really loved her – you wouldn't hurt her like that anymore. Let her in, Grissom."
* * * * *
Catherine hadn't ever seen Marta, but she recognized her the minute she waltzed into the salon. Brass had been right on the money when he had described her face as 'tighter than an alcoholic at the biggest party of the year'.
Catherine was already firmly ensconced in the VIP room at the back of the salon, getting a scalp massage from Daniel, Stefan's personal assistant. Stefan had started out in Vegas as the stylist for the girls at 'The Brass Rail', the club where Catherine had started dancing at long ago. They had been friends for ages. Stefan was carefully setting out his scissors and accoutrements when Marta had glided in behind the front receptionist.
"Marta! You are looking lovely, as always."
Marta nodded, "Hello Stefan. Are you ready to make me beautiful?"
Stefan smiled, "How can I improve upon perfection?" Nodding to Catherine, he made quick introductions, "This is Ms. Catherine Willows. She's a very good friend of mine. I'm afraid I double booked the time slot, but she has agreed to wait while you have your hair done first. I hope you don't mind if she stays in here with us?"
Before Marta could reply, Catherine added, "You look very familiar to me. I'm trying to place your face…" she nodded suddenly. "You're a model, aren't you? I think I saw you at a show in Italy a few years ago. You were tremendous!"
Marta preened, "You saw me on the catwalk? I wonder what show it was for?"
"I don't remember the designer, but I do remember you. You were absolutely stunning. And you still look the same as you did then!"
The conversation continued for the next hour, Catherine being properly enthusiastic and complimentary as Stefan worked on Marta's hair, expressing her disbelief that the shade Marta currently sported was not god-given.
"Stefan is a genius with color!" Marta had gushed, "My normal shade is blonde."
When her hair had been finished, she had stood and bid Catherine a warm goodbye. "I do hope we meet again – maybe at the Spring show in Paris?"
Catherine had smiled back, "Maybe sooner than that!"
Watching the woman leave, Catherine had turned to Stefan, "She come here often?"
"Too often," the stylist had replied. "It was actually nice to have someone else here listening to her inane chatter and buttering her massive ego for a change. Frankly, I think I missed your calling – you should have been an actress."
Catherine smirked, "I was an actress, remember? I used to pretend every night I liked dancing. And then, I married Eddie."
"True," Stefan sighed, patting Catherine on the shoulder in mock-consolation, "Are you the one responsible for his belief that he was God's gift to woman?"
Catherine rolled her eyes, "Guilty as charged. Men – always wanting their egos stroked."
"Tell me about it," Stephan winked at Catherine and smirked at Daniel. "So – how do we do this?"
Catherine pulled a couple of evidence baggies out of her pocket, snapped on some gloves, and carefully put the brush Stefan had used in one of the bags, before picking up some of the trimmings from the floor and putting them in the other bag. "Thanks, Stef. You're a doll."
"Anything for you, Catherine. You know that."
* * * * *
Someone was watching her. Shifting slightly, Sara felt the smooth leather of Nick's sofa beneath her cheek and gingerly opened her eyes. "Quit staring at me, Nicky," she muttered groggily.
"I'm not Nick." The unexpected sound of Grissom's voice caused Sara to jerk. With an unceremonious thud, she landed on the floor.
"Sara! Are you all right?"
Sara didn't reply. Instead, she pushed herself up and glared over the coffee table at Grissom from beneath her tousled hair.
"Where's Nick?" she demanded.
"He left - he –"
"Running him out of his own home now, Grissom?" Sara interrupted. "Why am I not surprised?"
Grissom gaped at her, before sinking into the armchair to the left of the sofa. "For you information, he went to get some groceries. He's invited us to stay for dinner."
Sara had pushed herself up off the floor, and slumped back into the sofa. "He always was a soft touch. I hope you came to apologize to him, and not yell at him for taking off."
"Are you always this miserable when you wake up?" Grissom half-smiled, ignoring the biting tone of her voice. "Because it isn't very appealing."
Sara snorted, "Add it to the list of things you don't like about me."
"I'll do that," Grissom retorted dryly. Sara rolled her eyes at him, before jumping to her feet.
"Well, I think I'm going to head out. Tell Nick I couldn't stay for dinner, will you?"
Grissom rose as well, "Sara – we need to talk."
"About what?" Sara snapped. "I think I told you more than enough earlier today. And I don't really feel like standing here and discussing anything else with you."
"Not even if I apologize to you?"
It was Sara's turn to gape. "Pardon me?"
"I'm sorry for whatever I've done to make you so angry with me," Grissom responded calmly. "I never meant to hurt you or make you feel badly in any way. And I'm sorry I yelled at Nick without listening to him first. Okay?"
Sara's eyes narrowed, "You never meant to hurt me?"
"Never. I think I've been giving you the wrong impression, Sara, and - "
Sara turned away from him and headed down the hallway. "Can it, Grissom. I don't want to hear it. I already figured out earlier that you were oblivious to – me – and –" she stopped talking. Her chest felt so tight, she thought her heart was going to explode. *Damn Nick and his bright fucking ideas!* Leaning her head against the doorway, she felt tears burning in the back of her eyes.
She felt Grissom's presence behind her, and tried to ignore the urge to flee. Where the hell had she kicked her boots?
Grissom stopped a couple of feet from Sara, arms hanging uselessly at his sides. Her slim back was to him, and her head hung heavily on her neck. Grissom wanted to brush his fingers over the back of her neck, but was too scared to touch her. His hand reached out tentatively, stalling in mid-air when Sara swung around and glared at him.
"Don't. Fucking. Touch. Me!" she whispered harshly. Her eyes were dark and anguished, and the agony in them was almost unbearable. Grissom flinched from the searing pain he saw there, even as he stepped forward another step, marveling as his hand reached out of its' own accord and brushed lightly across her cheekbone, before his palm turned inward and cupped her jaw.
"Sara -" Her skin was so soft and warm it was unbelievable. Grissom could feel her pulse race hectically against his hand, and he felt his own heart accelerate to match. He stepped in another foot.
Sara closed her eyes. She was scared to look at him. She knew if she did she would start to cry and never stop.
"I've never been oblivious to you."
"Yes, you have," Sara responded softly.
"I haven't." Grissom's breath whispered across her face, and Sara caught the slightest whiff of coffee and mints. "Nick was right."
His soft admittance made her open her eyes. He was so close she could see his pupils dilate as his blue eyes locked with her brown. "Nick?"
"Nick," Grissom agreed. "I am jealous of your relationship with him."
"But there's no –"
"I know."
"Than why –"
"I'm scared."
"Scared?"
"Of you. I'm not used to feeling like this, and –"
"What do you feel, Grissom?"
"Happy. Alive. Complete." He responded so softly, Sara almost couldn't believe she had actually heard him correctly.
"And you're scared because -?"
"I could get used to it, and then when you leave – it will kill me."
Sara's hands had drifted slowly up Grissom's sides, one coming to rest on his shoulder and the other wrapping slightly around the curve of his neck, fingers lightly stroking through his curls. "Why would I leave?"
"Why wouldn't you?"
Sara leaned closer, "Because I lo –"
But her words were swallowed when Grissom kissed her.
___________________________________
Author's Note:
See – I told you I would have the next chapter up quickly! Please R&R – and I must warn you – next chapter, be prepared for the YoBling!