TITLE: One Word
Author: GrissomsOverture
Description: One word is all it takes. My answer to the "Make Grissom Suffer Challenge", so be forewarned, it's nothing but angst! (
R&R: Please!
Spoilers: I reference PwF and SDD. I think that's it. I hope I don't spoil anything for anyone.
DISCLAIMERS: If I owned Grissom, I promise you I'd be the happiest woman in the world. Unfortunately, I don't. I also don't own "CSI" or anything else that belongs to the brilliant world of Jerry Bruckheimer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The surgeon's lips moved rapidly, and the interpreter's fingers flew, forming letters, words, and sentences. The handsome, blue-eyed man with graying hair looked from one woman to the other, confusion a mask covering his face. His head still felt numb with the anesthesia, and he was dazed by the silence of this new world. Who was he? What was missing?
He finally gave up trying to make sense of what they were saying, and automatically began observing his surroundings. A strong, sterile smell permeated the air. He was cold in his thin cotton gown, white with blue polka-dots. He was aware of having nothing on beneath the gown. He continued feeling out this strange world surrounding him, using his senses. He explored, as he had done every waking minute of his life; the world was his to explore.but the sound was missing. Why?.... He was suddenly aware of a dull ache in his head and a pressure on his skull. He reached up, and felt a cloth bandage wrapped around his head, across his forehead, covering both ears.
Slowly, he felt the fog wear off. He was aware that he had been anesthetized, and it was wearing off. There was something in his arm. an IV. drip. There were bright lights every where, a young woman in scrubs standing to his left, the doctor and the surgeon, the interpreter in front of him.and he couldn't hear.
That was the missing component. As the anesthesia fog lifted, he realized. He couldn't hear. A slow sense of panic spread through his chest; claustrophobia with the knowledge that everything had changed.
Dr. Roth stepped forward with a clipboard. He looked at her, a terror in his soft blue eyes, a question he couldn't ask. He was afraid to speak, because then he wouldn't be able to hear his own voice, and that would make it all too real. If he stayed silent, he could pretend that his body hadn't betrayed him, that the surgeon's scalpel had been his savior.
Dr. Roth placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, trying to convey some comfort. She handed him the clipboard, and he squinted to read the writing: 'Are you feeling OK, Gil?' Still afraid to speak, he wrote underneath her sentence, his hand shaking. 'No. Why can't I hear?' He knew the answer, but needed the confirmation. He knew the risks. He knew that in 'rare' cases, the surgery could only aggravate the hearing loss. He knew. He should have known he'd be one of the 'rare' cases.
He read Dr. Roth's words, feeling the sense of claustrophobia grow and tighten inside his chest.
The hospital interpreter, his otologic surgeon, and the little nurse looked at him, their eyes full of pity. Yes, pity. Oh, with the nurse, it was blatant-she was young, she was only just developing her bed-side manner. The surgeon and interpreter, they were more professional, they tried to hide it, but he made a living out of reading people, and he could see it. God, he could stand almost anything but that. He would be pitied. He had lost everything, and he would be pitied. He had lost EVERYTHING, in so many ways.
He looked at the nurse, at her hair. She wore it in a chocolate brown bob that glinted in the sunlight shining in the window, and reminded him of his largest loss. That color.his heart ached. He longed to be alone in his new world of silence.
Dr. Roth took her cue to leave and wrote on the clipboard that they would return later, and if he wanted her sooner, to page the nurse. The entourage, the deliverers of terrible news, filed out of the room. He couldn't stop looking at the nurses' hair as she closed the door behind them, the brown strands swinging vibrantly. God, it had only been, what, nine days ago? He was keeping track, counting the days, trying to adjust to life with out her. It wasn't working.
..He closed his eyes and he could see the color, the brown, see the white paper with the black government letterhead as she stood before him, the light of his desk lamp casting green shadows on her determined face. He had felt a throbbing, a migraine coming on, the stress of letting her be ripped from his life.
"So, I guess congratulations are in order." He was aware that his voice was flat, incapable of conveying a happier sentiment. Please don't go, his heart pleaded with every thump, every even 'dub-lub'; please don't go. She couldn't hear his heart. Actions speak louder than words, Gil. He'd given her neither.
She bit her lip; when she spoke, her voice was a bit too loud and bright, clashing with the darkness in her eyes. "Yeah, it's pretty exciting. I didn't expect to be called so quickly; I only took the exam last Monday. They really want me." Her voice was tinted with pride. She needed this.
But I need her. I want her. Please don't go. You brought this on yourself, Gil. '"You know, by the time you figure it out, it really could be too late."' Too late was now. It was too late.
"Well, then.you leave for Quantico tomorrow?" She cleared her throat, pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. It curled up to her earlobe when it reached it's destination, tickling her inner ear, making a dull pang of want shoot below his abdomen. "Tonight, actually. Um, orientation is tomorrow. Like I said, I'm sorry about this, being such short notice, but.. I didn't think I'd be accepted so quickly."
"Yeah." They really want you. I really want you.
"So.I'm sorry, but I have to go, now."
"I understand." He looked at the acceptance letter, traced the Federal Bereau of Investigation logo with his forefinger. She stood in front of him, waiting, shifted her feet.
"So, you'll clear everything with Brass and the rest of the department? My plane leaves in a few hours."
He nodded. "Of course." He was mesmerized by the logo, didn't want to look at her, feel the separation.
"I'll come back the twenty-fifth to settle things, say goodbye.. will you be around?" The twenty-fifth. He'd be in the hospital, preparing for surgery.. If only he had the guts to reach out, to be human, to tell her. "No."
"Oh. OK." Silence. Well.. I guess I'm out, then." She reached across the desk and gently took the letter from his hands, folded it back, placed it in the envelope with the matching logo. "Good-bye, Grissom."
He finally looked up. She studied his eyes for a long moment. He sat still as a rock, letting her peer into him, comfortable in her gaze. She leaned on his desk, close to him. "Just say it, Grissom." Her voice was soft, pleading. "One word from you, and I would have stayed." She caressed his cheek, the way she had so many cases ago. "It's not too late until I walk out that door. One word, Grissom. That's all I want. One word, right now. I can see it in your eyes. You don't want me to go. Just tell me. One word is all it takes."
His heart screamed for him to take action.but he couldn't. He couldn't subject her to a life with a man who could possibly go deaf. There was a new life waiting for her with the FBI, a life she deserved. There were just too many reasons he couldn't say the words, the word, she wanted to hear. He told himself he did it for her. He pulled carefully away from her hand and looked away.
Her hand limply fell away, falling back to her side. She looked at him in utter disgust. "Fine. If that's how you want it, Grissom.. I'm done. I am. I am so.. done with you. I've waited long enough, and I can't wait anymore. It's time I lived my life for me." She retrieved the tote bag that had rested by her feet, full of the things from her locker, and hefted it onto her shoulder. She turned towards the door. "Now it's too late, Grissom. You had your chance. Goodbye. Have a nice life."
Some sort of thick and invisible glue held his tongue to the roof of his mouth. So many times he had watched her walk away from his office, but he had always had the satisfaction of knowing that she'd come back. Not today. As she walked literally out of his life, past the lab they'd spent so much time in--now full of the whirring of saws and other construction noises as it was rebuilt---he knew today was different. Now, as he watched her, her head held high with determination, confidence, and the excitement of starting a new career, her hips swinging in tune to the music in her head, the knowledge that she'd done all she could and it was his loss, her chocolate-brown hair bouncing with energy and youth.. It was more pain than he could bear. He told himself he did it for her.
.. Now he lay in the sun-bathed hospital room. The interpreter and the physicians had talked to him when he was ready. There was a chance he could regain some hearing in his left ear when he had healed; there was always hearing aids. They could try again.
But he'd never be whole. In so many ways. He was ready to say the word now, and it was too late. 'Stay.' It vibrated in the silence of his brain, calling out, a silent message sent to Virginia. She couldn't hear it.
The sun was starting to hang low, and it was visiting hours at the hospital. His room door swung open, admitting the interpreter and the smiling face of the one person he'd been able to tell. He managed a half- smile at his friend. The older coroner pulled a chair up to the hospital bed and set aside his silver brace. He began speaking and the interpreter's fingers began their gentle dance of communication.
"How are you, Gil?" Reading lips was easier, with some words. Other times, it was better to watch the interpreter. "I've been better. Fine." "The nurse said you needed rest, so I won't keep you. I just wanted to stop in before night shift started." "Thanks." He was getting used to not hearing his own voice, the odd sensation of it. He signed anyway, for practice. "How is the lab?" "Good. It'll be done soon. You know, everyone's been asking about you. Gil Grissom usually doesn't take this long to race cockroaches." He laughed. "I'll figure something out." "Sooner rather than later, I hope." "I know. I will." "Oh, Sara came in yesterday. She looked good. She's very excited about the FBI. We all threw a little going-away party for her."
Seeing the letters spelled, S-A-R-A, hurt. Cut to the bone.
"I'm glad she's happy." It was all he could think to say.
"Well, I'd better shove off-there are bodies on my tables that I can't keep waiting." "Yeah." He didn't attempt to crack a smile at the bad coroner joke. His eyes were distant.
The seasoned physician rubbed his beard. "You know, Gil, you will get through this. When I lost my legs, I thought my life was over. But I made it. So will you. I know it's cliché', and you already know it, and you don't want to hear it, but. hang in there, OK?"
He only nodded. The coroner patted the patient's blue-polka dotted shoulder, and left, his heart humble and grateful that he had lived through the worst, had made it past his disability to this life, with a job he loved and a wife he loved even more.
Grissom watched the man limp out. There were no more hurdles for Dr. Robbins. He was off to a successful career, one where he was respected. His physical impairment was manageable. He could still do his job. And he would go home in the morning to a soft, warm, loving body in his bed; he would sleep with the peace of a life well-rounded and fully lived. A life without fear. He was not alone. He had spoken all the right words.
For the man in the hospital bed, there was nothing but hurdles, nothing but alone. For the girl with the chocolate-brown hair, there was a new life full of excitement, fulfillment, and warm bodies in new beds. In the hospital bed, Grissom sank back into his world of silence, squeezing his eyes shut tight, thinking like a foolish child that this action would make everything go away.
But the silence remained. And Sara was gone, forever.
The young nurse opened the door quietly, seeing that the patient was asleep. As she crept over the threshold, she was startled to look up and see a solitary tear roll down from beneath his eyelid, over the smooth olive curve of his cheek.
Author: GrissomsOverture
Description: One word is all it takes. My answer to the "Make Grissom Suffer Challenge", so be forewarned, it's nothing but angst! (
R&R: Please!
Spoilers: I reference PwF and SDD. I think that's it. I hope I don't spoil anything for anyone.
DISCLAIMERS: If I owned Grissom, I promise you I'd be the happiest woman in the world. Unfortunately, I don't. I also don't own "CSI" or anything else that belongs to the brilliant world of Jerry Bruckheimer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The surgeon's lips moved rapidly, and the interpreter's fingers flew, forming letters, words, and sentences. The handsome, blue-eyed man with graying hair looked from one woman to the other, confusion a mask covering his face. His head still felt numb with the anesthesia, and he was dazed by the silence of this new world. Who was he? What was missing?
He finally gave up trying to make sense of what they were saying, and automatically began observing his surroundings. A strong, sterile smell permeated the air. He was cold in his thin cotton gown, white with blue polka-dots. He was aware of having nothing on beneath the gown. He continued feeling out this strange world surrounding him, using his senses. He explored, as he had done every waking minute of his life; the world was his to explore.but the sound was missing. Why?.... He was suddenly aware of a dull ache in his head and a pressure on his skull. He reached up, and felt a cloth bandage wrapped around his head, across his forehead, covering both ears.
Slowly, he felt the fog wear off. He was aware that he had been anesthetized, and it was wearing off. There was something in his arm. an IV. drip. There were bright lights every where, a young woman in scrubs standing to his left, the doctor and the surgeon, the interpreter in front of him.and he couldn't hear.
That was the missing component. As the anesthesia fog lifted, he realized. He couldn't hear. A slow sense of panic spread through his chest; claustrophobia with the knowledge that everything had changed.
Dr. Roth stepped forward with a clipboard. He looked at her, a terror in his soft blue eyes, a question he couldn't ask. He was afraid to speak, because then he wouldn't be able to hear his own voice, and that would make it all too real. If he stayed silent, he could pretend that his body hadn't betrayed him, that the surgeon's scalpel had been his savior.
Dr. Roth placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, trying to convey some comfort. She handed him the clipboard, and he squinted to read the writing: 'Are you feeling OK, Gil?' Still afraid to speak, he wrote underneath her sentence, his hand shaking. 'No. Why can't I hear?' He knew the answer, but needed the confirmation. He knew the risks. He knew that in 'rare' cases, the surgery could only aggravate the hearing loss. He knew. He should have known he'd be one of the 'rare' cases.
He read Dr. Roth's words, feeling the sense of claustrophobia grow and tighten inside his chest.
The hospital interpreter, his otologic surgeon, and the little nurse looked at him, their eyes full of pity. Yes, pity. Oh, with the nurse, it was blatant-she was young, she was only just developing her bed-side manner. The surgeon and interpreter, they were more professional, they tried to hide it, but he made a living out of reading people, and he could see it. God, he could stand almost anything but that. He would be pitied. He had lost everything, and he would be pitied. He had lost EVERYTHING, in so many ways.
He looked at the nurse, at her hair. She wore it in a chocolate brown bob that glinted in the sunlight shining in the window, and reminded him of his largest loss. That color.his heart ached. He longed to be alone in his new world of silence.
Dr. Roth took her cue to leave and wrote on the clipboard that they would return later, and if he wanted her sooner, to page the nurse. The entourage, the deliverers of terrible news, filed out of the room. He couldn't stop looking at the nurses' hair as she closed the door behind them, the brown strands swinging vibrantly. God, it had only been, what, nine days ago? He was keeping track, counting the days, trying to adjust to life with out her. It wasn't working.
..He closed his eyes and he could see the color, the brown, see the white paper with the black government letterhead as she stood before him, the light of his desk lamp casting green shadows on her determined face. He had felt a throbbing, a migraine coming on, the stress of letting her be ripped from his life.
"So, I guess congratulations are in order." He was aware that his voice was flat, incapable of conveying a happier sentiment. Please don't go, his heart pleaded with every thump, every even 'dub-lub'; please don't go. She couldn't hear his heart. Actions speak louder than words, Gil. He'd given her neither.
She bit her lip; when she spoke, her voice was a bit too loud and bright, clashing with the darkness in her eyes. "Yeah, it's pretty exciting. I didn't expect to be called so quickly; I only took the exam last Monday. They really want me." Her voice was tinted with pride. She needed this.
But I need her. I want her. Please don't go. You brought this on yourself, Gil. '"You know, by the time you figure it out, it really could be too late."' Too late was now. It was too late.
"Well, then.you leave for Quantico tomorrow?" She cleared her throat, pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. It curled up to her earlobe when it reached it's destination, tickling her inner ear, making a dull pang of want shoot below his abdomen. "Tonight, actually. Um, orientation is tomorrow. Like I said, I'm sorry about this, being such short notice, but.. I didn't think I'd be accepted so quickly."
"Yeah." They really want you. I really want you.
"So.I'm sorry, but I have to go, now."
"I understand." He looked at the acceptance letter, traced the Federal Bereau of Investigation logo with his forefinger. She stood in front of him, waiting, shifted her feet.
"So, you'll clear everything with Brass and the rest of the department? My plane leaves in a few hours."
He nodded. "Of course." He was mesmerized by the logo, didn't want to look at her, feel the separation.
"I'll come back the twenty-fifth to settle things, say goodbye.. will you be around?" The twenty-fifth. He'd be in the hospital, preparing for surgery.. If only he had the guts to reach out, to be human, to tell her. "No."
"Oh. OK." Silence. Well.. I guess I'm out, then." She reached across the desk and gently took the letter from his hands, folded it back, placed it in the envelope with the matching logo. "Good-bye, Grissom."
He finally looked up. She studied his eyes for a long moment. He sat still as a rock, letting her peer into him, comfortable in her gaze. She leaned on his desk, close to him. "Just say it, Grissom." Her voice was soft, pleading. "One word from you, and I would have stayed." She caressed his cheek, the way she had so many cases ago. "It's not too late until I walk out that door. One word, Grissom. That's all I want. One word, right now. I can see it in your eyes. You don't want me to go. Just tell me. One word is all it takes."
His heart screamed for him to take action.but he couldn't. He couldn't subject her to a life with a man who could possibly go deaf. There was a new life waiting for her with the FBI, a life she deserved. There were just too many reasons he couldn't say the words, the word, she wanted to hear. He told himself he did it for her. He pulled carefully away from her hand and looked away.
Her hand limply fell away, falling back to her side. She looked at him in utter disgust. "Fine. If that's how you want it, Grissom.. I'm done. I am. I am so.. done with you. I've waited long enough, and I can't wait anymore. It's time I lived my life for me." She retrieved the tote bag that had rested by her feet, full of the things from her locker, and hefted it onto her shoulder. She turned towards the door. "Now it's too late, Grissom. You had your chance. Goodbye. Have a nice life."
Some sort of thick and invisible glue held his tongue to the roof of his mouth. So many times he had watched her walk away from his office, but he had always had the satisfaction of knowing that she'd come back. Not today. As she walked literally out of his life, past the lab they'd spent so much time in--now full of the whirring of saws and other construction noises as it was rebuilt---he knew today was different. Now, as he watched her, her head held high with determination, confidence, and the excitement of starting a new career, her hips swinging in tune to the music in her head, the knowledge that she'd done all she could and it was his loss, her chocolate-brown hair bouncing with energy and youth.. It was more pain than he could bear. He told himself he did it for her.
.. Now he lay in the sun-bathed hospital room. The interpreter and the physicians had talked to him when he was ready. There was a chance he could regain some hearing in his left ear when he had healed; there was always hearing aids. They could try again.
But he'd never be whole. In so many ways. He was ready to say the word now, and it was too late. 'Stay.' It vibrated in the silence of his brain, calling out, a silent message sent to Virginia. She couldn't hear it.
The sun was starting to hang low, and it was visiting hours at the hospital. His room door swung open, admitting the interpreter and the smiling face of the one person he'd been able to tell. He managed a half- smile at his friend. The older coroner pulled a chair up to the hospital bed and set aside his silver brace. He began speaking and the interpreter's fingers began their gentle dance of communication.
"How are you, Gil?" Reading lips was easier, with some words. Other times, it was better to watch the interpreter. "I've been better. Fine." "The nurse said you needed rest, so I won't keep you. I just wanted to stop in before night shift started." "Thanks." He was getting used to not hearing his own voice, the odd sensation of it. He signed anyway, for practice. "How is the lab?" "Good. It'll be done soon. You know, everyone's been asking about you. Gil Grissom usually doesn't take this long to race cockroaches." He laughed. "I'll figure something out." "Sooner rather than later, I hope." "I know. I will." "Oh, Sara came in yesterday. She looked good. She's very excited about the FBI. We all threw a little going-away party for her."
Seeing the letters spelled, S-A-R-A, hurt. Cut to the bone.
"I'm glad she's happy." It was all he could think to say.
"Well, I'd better shove off-there are bodies on my tables that I can't keep waiting." "Yeah." He didn't attempt to crack a smile at the bad coroner joke. His eyes were distant.
The seasoned physician rubbed his beard. "You know, Gil, you will get through this. When I lost my legs, I thought my life was over. But I made it. So will you. I know it's cliché', and you already know it, and you don't want to hear it, but. hang in there, OK?"
He only nodded. The coroner patted the patient's blue-polka dotted shoulder, and left, his heart humble and grateful that he had lived through the worst, had made it past his disability to this life, with a job he loved and a wife he loved even more.
Grissom watched the man limp out. There were no more hurdles for Dr. Robbins. He was off to a successful career, one where he was respected. His physical impairment was manageable. He could still do his job. And he would go home in the morning to a soft, warm, loving body in his bed; he would sleep with the peace of a life well-rounded and fully lived. A life without fear. He was not alone. He had spoken all the right words.
For the man in the hospital bed, there was nothing but hurdles, nothing but alone. For the girl with the chocolate-brown hair, there was a new life full of excitement, fulfillment, and warm bodies in new beds. In the hospital bed, Grissom sank back into his world of silence, squeezing his eyes shut tight, thinking like a foolish child that this action would make everything go away.
But the silence remained. And Sara was gone, forever.
The young nurse opened the door quietly, seeing that the patient was asleep. As she crept over the threshold, she was startled to look up and see a solitary tear roll down from beneath his eyelid, over the smooth olive curve of his cheek.