Epilogue
Melissa's office was brightly lit and cheery that morning. She herself was unusually resplendent in a royal-blue satin blouse and black skirt. The outfit represented a change from her normal, rebelliously casual look, which was generally comprised of blue jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers. Draped over a nearby chair was a translucent, brilliant blue scarf printed all over with golden suns, moons, and tiny stars.
Something about her mode of dress that day was unsettlingly familiar, but Grissom couldn't pinpoint just what it was. He set aside the thought for later rumination as she waved him into a chair and sat across from him in her usual spot.
"YOU FINISH ENJOY TRIP?" she signed, grinning proudly as she showed off her drastic improvement from just the previous two weeks when he had first sought her out.
He gave her the universal "thumbs-up" sign of approval in response to her effort; in response to the substance of her remark, he laughed. She knew as well as he did that his time out of town had had nothing to do with recreation.
"Let's say it was…interesting," he chose as the best way to explain his experience. "It's a long and boring story."
She had shrugged and smiled as if that were going to be good enough, but it was evident that she was more than willing to sit through the entire recounting, no matter how boring he deemed it.
He mischievously gave her one final chance to opt out, knowing well that she didn't want it. "You really have time for this?"
She looked left, then right; finally, a guilty expression settled on her face.
"I'm going to make the time," she said, looking him candidly right in the eyes. Her expression had "report me, why don't you" written all over it.
He leaned back in the chair, feeling just as relaxed and in control as he used to before his life had changed so irrevocably. He was just about to start filling her in on the details when she looked over at her purse—strangely enough, a beaded, metallic gold purse—on the desk.
Excuse me for a moment, she signed apologetically, leaning over to extract a small cell phone from the bag. She frowned with annoyance at what she saw on its display.
I have a text message from Nevada State Hospital; one of the outside clients they forced us to take—the budget crisis, you know—has apparently made a suicide attempt, she explained to him, dropping her attempt to sign with proper ASL syntax. Her knowledge didn't stretch that far.
It was Grissom's turn to frown at her. How could someone involved in one of the helping professions react so cavalierly to a suicide threat?
It's Robert again, she was continuing, resignation in her eyes. Every time his girlfriend leaves him, he calls her and threatens to kill himself. She freaks and calls the police, who cart him off to the hospital, where he ends up in the psych ward. They know him well there.
Grissom gave her a slight smile, but his eyes were serious.
"I hope it never gets any worse than that," he commented. "Because we, my team and I, deal with the ones that decide that they mean it, this time."
She narrowed her eyes at him for a moment.
Do you know what I do to clients that remind me of my moral responsibilities? she mock-threatened him.
Are you about to give me information on some cold case files? he asked with equally counterfeit seriousness.
Don't I wish, she replied. Well, in the remote chance that my friend Robert should really be in need of my help, I will reluctantly have to end your session when I was supposed to. You're all cured, of course.
Grissom laughed at her sneaky jibe. I didn't know I could be cured.
As much as any of us. But I did want to ask how you feel about your position now. How are things going at work?
Grissom smiled.
"I probably shouldn't be so complacent. But things are looking fine right now."
Upon his return from Sparks, he had been nearly overwhelmed by his reception. Apparently, in his absence, he had achieved the dubious honor of becoming the new flavor of the month.
He had greeted Nick in the locker room at the beginning of shift. While turning away to hang up his jacket, the Texan dislodged a garishly decorated book; a yellow-and-black copy of Signing for Dummies fell to the ground. His face flushed tomato red as Grissom obligingly bent over to pick it up and return it to him. Knowing the deeply ingrained complex that Nick had about others believing that he was less than bright, Grissom didn't dare to say a word about his choice of ASL primers. He was also surprised to see that Nick was specifically interested in learning Sign.
While stopping into the lab itself to check on some results that Greg had promised him, Grissom found the spiky-haired expert in his usual spot. Quite unusual among the folders and printouts was a battered copy of The Joy of Signing. Greg quickly swept it into an open desk drawer. Grissom raised an eyebrow, but said nothing about it. He took his results, thanked Greg, and headed out into the hall…
…where he nearly ran headlong into Bobby. This was becoming a bad habit, it seemed.
"Sorry, Bobby," he apologized.
"Hey, I was the one wasn't looking where I was going," Bobby said, laughing. He seemed to be making a concerted effort to hold back his normal mile-a-minute rate of speech. "I never do." With a cheery smile, he was gone. Grissom guessed that he was forgiven. Not that he had spent sleepless nights over the prospect of not being forgiven…
And then he had walked into the assignment room, clipboard in hand. The others had preceded him there; he was just in time to witness a very strong signed insult being hurled at Sara—by Warrick, of all people.
Grissom looked at him incredulously.
"Warrick, if you have any idea of the derogatory way in which you just referred to your colleague…"
Sara was standing beside her insulter, smiling broadly, her arms folded.
"Yeah, Warr. How dare you," she taunted.
Nick stepped into the fray.
"Man, if you had just been here a minute ago…"
Sara's smile widened. She didn't look as if she felt at all guilty.
Grissom decided not to say another word about it. He was glad he had missed the earlier exchange, and just hoped that they were not indiscriminate upon whom they tried out their new vocabulary.
Catherine had been standing in the corner, an annoyed look on her face.
"It's been like this all week, Griss. They're no better than a bunch of junior-highers," she declared with righteous indignation, her green eyes flashing.
But she stepped forward too abruptly. Out of the pocket of the stylish blazer she was wearing—she had an evidentiary hearing to attend at the end of her shift—slid a small book. She scrambled to retrieve it, but was too slow to prevent Grissom from doing so.
Street ASL—the Definitive Guide was emblazoned on the cover of the pocket-sized book.
He was too fascinated with it to give it back to her right away. It contained many phrases with which he would have loved to shock his mother as a rebellious adolescent, had he had such a richly idiomatic command of the language.
Finally, he looked up and met her mortified eyes.
"Might I borrow this, Cath?
***
And when you're done with it, do you think I could see it? wheedled Melissa.
"Oh, of course. It's been very helpful, seeing as our workplace has now become decidedly bilingual," Grissom assented. "Too bad that it won't last, when the novelty wears off and work piles up."
Melissa smiled.
Don't be so sure, she dissented. They do seem to hold you in great esteem. For now, anyway.
Thanks a lot, Melissa, he replied wryly. For everything.
Still beaming, she got to her feet. It was then that he noticed that her high-heeled pumps were gold, as well. Interesting attire for broad daylight.
She noticed him noticing her outfit.
I know I look completely ridiculous, she acknowledged, waving off his attempts to disagree. My little girl is having a theme party this afternoon. Leah is very 'into' Aladdin this month; I'm supposed to be a genie. I told her she'd need to compromise—this was the best I could do. And now, there's Robert…I'll never get out of there.
She stopped when she noticed that he was staring at her outright—completely uncharacteristic behavior for him. She smiled uncertainly.
Something wrong?
He shook his head after a moment.
Not a thing.
He got to his own feet.
Look, I really do want to hear how things went in Sparks, she told him as the farewells were exchanged. I think we ought to do whatever your version of lunch is…you night-shift folks always confuse me.
He nodded.
I'd like that. You've been a huge help to me, Melissa.
"Better than that bottle, let me tell you," she said aloud.
This was too much.
"Bottle?" he demanded.
She looked at him in surprise, and then laughed.
Sorry. I said I couldn't have had a better role model. Good luck, and give me a call about lunch?
He shook his head to clear it. It had been weeks since he had needed any pain medication, but he now added more emphasis to his promise to never touch the stuff again.
Will do.
He held the door as she preceded him out into the hall, shutting off her light as she went. She draped the shiny scarf over her shoulders, and strode in the unaccustomed heels to her appointment with the despairing Robert.
Grissom headed in the opposite direction to the doors leading to the side of the parking lot which held his Tahoe. The morning was beginning to be well established, the bright sunlight bathing the entire complex with glittering light. As he was getting in to drive home, he took a quick look around him, expecting to see a wisp of blue-and-black, at the very least. But there was nothing.
Until he saw it, tucked under a wiper blade—one of those annoying leaflets that underemployed people were paid to place on cars. Flyers that no one ever read, that ended up littering parking lots until blown away by the wind.
"Good Luck, Master of Your Own Destiny," was the title line, printed in unimaginative Courier New capitals.
He didn't read the rest. It looked to be some flyer created to shill for some shady financial venture, but he really didn't need to know more about it. He tucked it into the side pocket of the Tahoe and drove home.
***
AfterwordI just wanted to thank everyone for all of the reviews—feedback takes so much time to write! It is like an undeserved gift. :)
You've made my first tentative venture onto Fanfiction.net so enjoyable that you've emboldened me to start on another pile of this stuff. (That should frighten you!)
Seeya soon,
Jen