Disclaimer: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation does not belong to me. The characters are full of inspiration, intelligence, and intrigue that I can't help but borrow them a short while. I heartily enjoy the show and its premise. The events of this story are mine, but the characters are definitely not.
Author's Note: As always, for b8kworm. Also, eternal gratitude to Mr. Hathaway, who made me realize I had a talent I was wasting; my apologies for neglecting to put a note here on all the others. My thanks to Angie for writing that fantastic story, Deepest Fears. Many huge and mighty thanks to Lauri for keeping me upbeat about this, through all my doubts, worries etc. Lots of appreciation to Manda for ripping it apart and to Rita for title help; it means the world to me. To the writers and members of the graveshift, inspiration and encouragement are your middle names. Finally, a special note to the "G/C A/T" - you know who you are - you rock!
Summary: It was time to talk. Time for secrets to come out. Time to risk everything he held dear. Time for him to finally need someone.
Archives: the Graveyard, ShipperworldCSI, Working Love, mine. Anybody else, email me. I like to go visiting.
Pairing(s): G/C and some G/LH for good measure. ;Þ
Spoiler: Technically, "Lady Heather's Box". Missing scene/Post ep; I can't decide. What happened *that* night anyway? My take.
***** ***** *****Title: Replacement For A Stolen Heart
Author: Laeta
E-mail: ladylaeta@yahoo.com
She observed the man sitting across from her and saw only the complex mystery he presented to the world. For an instant, she wondered if she had finally managed to find her match - the sole individual whom she could not read openly. Then his eyes flickered briefly toward the phone and she saw the glimpse of worry hidden in his soul - and she understood.
She knew why he pulled a heartbeat's away from her lips and why he opted instead to merely rest his forehead to hers. He told her a thousand silent ways that his body was not his to control; his heart and soul reserved physical comfort and pleasure for another. He apologized with hundreds of different words for showing her she was only second best for him. She let him linger ten seconds too long because she found herself forgiving him. Yet, it took barely a breath for her to decide that she was one of two keys to his happiness and she would force it upon him.
It was time to talk. Time for secrets to come out. Time to risk everything he held dear. Time for him to finally need someone.
The abrupt change in topic would not be missed by Grissom. Even amongst his grief and fatigue, he was still sharp and alert enough to avoid the question, but she could not allow him. He needed to say what was in his thoughts as much as she needed him to admit them. Tomorrow, she promised herself, she would let the ache lacerate her. Right now, he needed more than her.
"What is it that you're most afraid of?"
"I thought you knew." His calm, cool voice never belied the question and wariness in such casually spoken words. Well, she could play the word game better than he knew.
"Perhaps I did. Now, I'm asking you."
"Is there a difference?"
"You know there is."
"No, I don't."
"There is part of you who fears one thing when it comes to the outside world and another that is your innermost fear. The thing that will break you, so to speak."
"My two are one and the same, Lady Heather."
"It is interesting how readily you admit to that."
"I do not speak lies; it is not my habit." He quirked an eyebrow, almost daring her to contradict him; she honestly admitted to herself that, on another day, she would have.
"That is true, but if you can't admit this particular to me, how do you think you'll be able to admit it to yourself?"
"What makes you think I'm hiding something now?"
"It's the way your eyes wish for someone else." She startled him with the completely nonchalant way the words fell from her lips. Had this someone else been any other woman than the one she was, Lady Heather would have been jealous, even angry. However, the fact that the woman had a number of commonalities with her, she accepted the fact with grace and more than a little pride.
"I want to be here, with you." Just like a man to try to amend the situation. In fact, he nearly convinced her. Almost.
"That may be true."
"May." A statement, a question. Fascinating, really, how a word can connote so much more.
"I just know there is a world of meaning between want and wish." A pause. "Am I a replacement? Is that why you're still here?" To be cruel, is this all that bad? It usually brings results.
"A replacement?"
"A secondary substitute for whom you really wish were here."
"Lady Heather -"
" 'As long as I live, while I have breath from God, my lips will speak no evil, and my tongue will speak no lies'."
"The Book of Job."
She had to nod approvingly; he really had a mind like a steel trap. Too bad after this conversation, she would no longer be privileged enough to understand it.
"You are a literary man; why do you strive so hard to remain untouched by emotions?"
"I am only someone who sees beauty in the written word." She watched mesmerized as he tried to shrug off how uncomfortable he was with her reading of him. No pity; he knew he should be accustomed to it.
"Yes, of course. Yet you see the emotions of the author and feel even more." Pause. "Remember, it is my profession that lets me see what most do not. Though, I know of someone who sees all this and is your friend, isn't she? You hold me an arm's length away while she traverses beside your heart."
"I value your insight."
"One reason you find me intriguing, but you sidestep my question admirably."
"I have no answer for you."
Silence. She continued to watch him, to forbid him from retreating. Finally, she saw the ache and loneliness he kept at bay by sheer will alone. Or perhaps, it was stubbornness.
They sat facing each other - she prevented him from his accelerating withdrawal; he determined she would not wrench another secret from his soul.
Then, that quiet voice she imagined would do wonders to a woman's arousal floated into the tense air between them. No matter how much she tried to ignore it, she honestly was captivated by it. Her heart subsequently broke for his pain. There was no other way to react.
"She doesn't need me; she never has."
She wondered if any man had ever been blinder to a member of the opposite sex. Drawing a blank, she decided that love definitely was involved with his uncharacteristic uncertainty.
"That's where you're wrong. You cannot judge a woman's behavior by the scientific logic and dictates of the past."
"I only know what I've experienced."
"Very good, Mr. Grissom: the words of a true poetic scientist."
Ah, to be in love, she thought, should not be that painful. She sympathized as much as her nature permitted yet she was far more accustomed to being ruthless. What was it about this man that gentled her and brought the desire to soothe?
" 'I've learned to bear anything except happiness***'." He said those words on a sigh, but like smoke, they disappeared when he broke her gaze as though he had never voiced them aloud.
"I offered her a job here. Did you know?"
The obvious surprise brought a half-smile to her face.
"In her, I recognized myself. Certainly not in physical attributes; nevertheless, she is like me, for all intents and purposes. We crave a man who has the ability to control us and not be threatened by our individuality and independence. He needs to know when to compromise, to yield, and not to waver. Above all else, he is gentle and strong, the mixture of conflicting qualities is what draws women like us to him. Can you explain why?"
Once again, silence crept near on footsteps masked by the ticking of the hall clock.
Voice shaking and breaking, the words were probably harsher than he intended. "No, I can't."
"Then here is a lesson you would do well to learn quickly. We are drawn to you because you treat us as equals."
His head tilted as eyebrows rose in undeterminable emotion while his eyes narrowed and focused their intensity. Lady Heather cursed the missed opportunity to finally experience becoming Grissom's sole focus. Like an instinctual breath, she knew he would forgo all else, and the meaning and act of making love would transcend to plateaus never before described. However, only for the right woman would he do so.
Obviously, the fatigue was beginning to affect him; shoulders slumped and confusion scented the air about them. Pity was an unfamiliar emotion to feel. Nevertheless, she tried.
"Yes, Mr. Grissom - you. Didn't you ever wonder why certain women - independent, Type A personality, leaders - would seek your company?
Sincerity never before sounded so genuine. "No, I never realized."
"Would you agree she is all of the aforementioned qualities?"
"And more." Pride was evident and made his face more handsome.
"Of course."
Then the wall restraining emotion found a hole in its base.
"I've always respected her and given her the freedom she needs. No one ever calls her this, but she is a cat; like all felines, she needs space to roam and breathe. Such a magnificent creature should never be caged."
"Yes, such a romantic way to describe her." Lady Heather allowed a little tension to ease with the goal of a full confession from the lonesome man across her.
He was turned inward now, replaying the many memories from their shared past. "She's all muscle and fine lines. She'll fight tooth and nail for the ones she loves." Awe colored his next words. "She's beautiful to watch."
"And what happens when she's in pain? Like the lion with a thorn in his paw?"
Wrong words, perhaps, to use since apprehension chilled his next words.
"She'll never ask for help."
Better to complete the conversation.
"Why?"
"It would mean needing someone. Someone who hasn't been a very good friend lately."
"Is that why you're here and not with her now?"
"Yes." Chagrin was not an emotion Grissom wore often.
"Would you rather be with her?"
"Yes." So was resignation.
"Then, am I a replacement?"
His eyes were always expressive and could not hide the apology in his words. "Yes, because I can't have her."
"Why choose me?"
"She's my fire; you are safe. Outside."
"Call her."
He glanced briefly toward the cell phone nestled in his jacket pocket; the jacket that was a mere yard from the table where he sat in all his misery. Then his eyes glazed as he pulled them difficultly away.
"I can't. She wouldn't want me to."
"Want has absolutely nothing to do with need."
Amazing, really, what a simple sentence can do to a man. She watched while Grissom took a full fifteen seconds to absorb the words she spoke and his eyes cleared. Yet, he failed to move for the phone. With his attention on her, she deliberately removed the phone from his jacket and placed it between them. He looked at the phone as though it suddenly had the maggots he was so fond of crawling over it.
She decided he only needed one more push judging by the way he avoided looking at the little device.
"Then what are you most afraid of?"
Their conversation came around as though it never occurred, and the future changed with a sentence. This time, the answer held passion; emotion had finally broken through.
"That all my happiness relies on only one person."
She handed Grissom the phone, slowly and without a word. After a long moment, he reached out and dialed a number, albeit hesitantly, but without faltering.
It seemed like destiny was giving him more time to prepare because no voice answered, save the synthetic words of a prerecorded answering machine message.
"This is the Willows residence -"
*** Ayn Rand. The Fountainhead.
***** ***** *****
© RK 01.May.2003