See chapter one for spoilers, pairing, and disclaimers.
Author's Note: Before I begin on my list of excuses, I want to give my infinite thanks to everyone who took the time to review chapter one back in August. Your encouragement means more than you would know.
Originally, I hadn't planned to continue this story, but then I decided that this one wasn't finished yet- there was something more for me to say. Unfortunately, that led to the difficult task of deciding how to say it. Then real life got in the way, one thing led to another…and here I am, three and a half months later. I apologize for the wait, but better late than never, I suppose. I won't keep you waiting anymore- here's chapter two!
~*~
Las Vegas had never felt like a home. It is a massive source of light and color in the middle of the desert, banishing the darkness but not the emptiness and all but obliterating the stars. It lures its visitors with hope and promises, and something about the intense sunlight and sweeping desert breezes give the feeling that anything is possible, that your destiny is hiding around the corner, waiting for you. The city is no stranger to tears of bitterness and sadness, and it is not afraid to ring every ounce of hope and optimism out of you and hand you a postcard in return. Every day, it watches as people come and go, dragging with them suitcases of overpriced souvenirs, memories, and the realization that just because you wanted it didn't mean it was. It is a dream wrapped in harsh reality, an illusive happiness that is always two steps ahead of those who chase it.
San Francisco, on the other hand, is completely different. It is what it is and doesn't try to glorify that with neon lights. Buildings nestled in green and gray hills, the smell and taste of ocean in the air, the sense of coziness, despite its size…it should have felt welcoming.
But Sara Sidle felt completely isolated among the throngs of people that walked with a sense of purpose and reassurance that she had lost. She felt as if she was in a bizarre dream, the one where you walk down the street, invisible. You scream, you wave your arms around, and still, no one is aware of your existence. Her seventh-floor hotel room could have been the 700th floor, nestled among the clouds, for all she knew.
She stared out the window, watching water roll down the glass panes in fat droplets, and felt like she was watching the scene from a memory or in a movie. Every ounce of anger, of determination, that had carried her here had washed off with the rain; it seemed, leaving her skin raw and her soul lifeless, an empty shell going through the motions of life, consumed by what could have been. Who knew what the future could have held, had she stayed in Las Vegas? But the moment she had boarded that flight, she had lost any chance of ever feeling Gil Grissom's kiss, his love, his touch.
Still, she had done the right thing.
The clouds cried themselves dry, giving way to a sliver of moon and faint stars, which eventually dimmed and the sun rose, spreading fresh, soft beams of light through the window. Various CNN anchormen told of the victories and horrors of the world, and Sara watched it all happen from her position on the bed, propped up against the headboard, shivering underneath a tangle of blankets, regrets, and questions.
~*~
Her cell phone's insistent ring sounded from where it lay on the nightstand. Desperate for a connection to the human world, her motions automatic, Sara disentangled herself from the blankets and reached out to answer the phone. "Hello?" She asked, tiredly.
Her greeting was met with silence on the other end. Straining her ears, she could hear quiet staccato breathing, but no words followed. She didn't need this. "Hello?" She asked again, loudly and impatiently.
"Sara." His voice broke through, urgent and nervous. Her own breathing turned erratic as she crashed into the brick wall between them, the one they had constructed together. Stars rained down on her as she realized he was closer than ever, and she was moving farther away.
"Grissom." She replied coolly, wondering if the tremble in her voice was as painfully obvious as she feared it was.
"Sara. Sara… I need to talk to you."
"If you had something to say to me, Grissom, you should have done it before I left Vegas. I gave you plenty of opportunity, but I'm here now. It's… it's over, Grissom. I'm not coming back." Finishing her speech, she exhaled loudly, shutting her eyes. She had made the right decision.
"Sara…"
Her name on his lips, pleadingly. Desperately.
"Please. Please. There are so many things I should have told you…"
"Grissom."
"No. I'm here, Sara. I'm in San Francisco. My plane landed an hour ago."
She could feel her resolve begin to crumble, along with the brick wall that loomed before them. They had built it hastily, poorly. "You're here? Wha…why… Grissom…?"
"Yes, I'm here. Please Sara… just let me talk to you."
"All right."
~*~
Sara stood in front of the mirror, smoothing her hands over her flat stomach, which was covered by a blue tee shirt. With a sigh of disgust, she pulled it over her head, exposing white flesh overrun with goose bumps. Her old, comfortable jeans followed suit, and she began digging through her suitcase. Glancing at a black skirt before hastily tossing it aside, she pulled out a pair of black pants and a red tank top. Pulling them on, she went back to the mirror and reevaluated the woman staring back at her. Furrowing her brow, she made a move to reach for the discarded jeans, but instead of putting them on, she shoved them back in her duffel bag, along with the other clothes that were strewn on the floor.
Damn him.
She headed to the bathroom and brushed her still-damp curls away from her face. Studying her reflection, she reached for a bottle of concealer- the skin underneath her eyes was begging for sleep, if not the rest of her body. With shaking fingers, she tried to apply it and her efforts were rewarded with a crooked, ugly streak of makeup underneath her eye. Rubbing it off, she tried again, with similar results. In frustration, she replaced the cap and tossed the tube back in her makeup bag- the stuff didn't really work, anyway.
Taking deep, steadying breaths that didn't calm her at all, she grabbed her purse from the bed and reached for her cell phone. She stared at the screen, the buttons, numbers faded from three years of use. Her features set, she closed her eyes and began to dial his number, memorized but rarely used. Four digits in, she sighed and tossed the phone in her purse.
Damn him.
The door shut with a click she could feel in the pit of her stomach, and she headed down the hall to the elevators.
~*~
She knew this place.
Sara had only eaten here once, but what a meal it had been. She could still picture the stout, dark wooden tables, white candles cradled in glass holders, the sense that there was no one else in the world…
She had assured him a coffeehouse would be more than okay, but he had insisted upon taking her someplace nicer. They had sat at a table hidden in the corner for hours, talking about everything under the sun- his experiences in forensics and her aspirations, followed by everything from literature to movies, music, and politics. Being around Gil Grissom was unlike any experience she'd ever had- all her life, she'd been moving forward while everyone else had been moving backwards, running where they had been walking. Connections with other human beings had been stiff and only on the most basic level, but not with this man. She had known him for only a day, and she somehow felt certain that he had discovered some hidden part of her no one had chosen to find. It was an explosive fusion of hearts, minds, and souls, and though she had rarely trusted her feelings then, she never questioned the attraction she felt for him.
Going to that seminar had been one of the best ideas of her life, second only to accepting his invitation to dinner.
~*~
Sara stepped into the restaurant and pulled her sunglasses off, blinking rapidly to let her eyes adjust to the dimness of the place. She spotted him instantly, sitting in the corner…the same table as the first time…He was staring at something no one else could see, drumming his fingers on the table. The anguish, fear, and regret radiated off of him. Feeling the resolve crumbling a little more, she walked toward the table. He saw her coming and stood up instantly. She pulled out the chair across from him and lowered herself into it as he took his seat again. Taking a deep breath, she looked into his eyes, no longer layered with impenetrable ice, but pleading, hurting.
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He looked down, took a deep breath, and tried again. "Hello, Sara."
His voice sounded hoarse. She nodded and absorbed her surroundings.
"Interesting choice of restaurant."
"It seemed… appropriate."
"How so?"
He chose not to answer, instead flagging the waiter, and they both ordered drinks and food though neither of them were hungry. Just like the first time.
The waiter took their menus and bustled off to the next table, leaving them in an uncomfortable silence. Everything that had happened between them since they sat here last was floating in front of them, the images sharp and painful, the years of feeling, crushing...
"Sara…" she straightened, watching him intently and feeling as if every part of her was on fire. "We need to talk. About this." Was there any other word for it? "I've… I've made so many mistakes. This isn't easy for me. I've never been good at expressing what I feel," he grinned self-depreciatingly, folded his hands to keep them from drumming them on the table again, and continued. "I'm going to do the best I can."
"That's all I want."
"The lab does need you, Sara. Cavallo has been picking everyone's brains relentlessly, trying to figure out what made you leave. They haven't even started looking for a replacement, because they know there isn't one. Everyone misses you."
"Grissom, please, please, don't tell me you came all the way here to tell me this."
He met her gaze again, silently begging her to be patient. "The lab needs you, Sara, but not as much as I need you. I need you."
She tried to respond but her breath caught in her throat, a choked squeak the only sound that came from it. She was melting in her seat, underneath his gaze, because of his words…the words she had been so desperate to hear.
He gently grabbed her hands and they melted too, molding themselves to his sweaty, shaking palms. He looked into her eyes, inside of her to the part only he could see, and she knew that every word he said came from the deepest, hidden part of him.
"I've made so many mistakes, Sara. I was scared. Of everything- the professional consequences we could face, of losing myself to someone who might someday run away, leaving me with nothing."
"I would never…" But she had, she realized. She had left him.
He saw her hesitation instantly, intuitively. "No, you were right to leave. And after you did, I realized that I had already lost myself to you, that life without you… it meant nothing. That the only thing keeping me from you were my own fears… I love you, Sara."
Tears rolled down her burning cheeks in steady, cooling streams. She gasped for air. There was too much emotion trapped within her- every feeling, every disappointment, every dream she'd ever had, had risen at his words until she felt ready to burst with joy. He had chased after her, and he had caught her. He loved her, he needed her.
Through her tears, she met his gaze and realized that she was not the only one crying. Grissom leaned toward her and she toward him, and their lips brushed softly as their tears mingled. The past and the present fused together and all the painful memories, the fear and hesitation, flew away, leaving only their love and this moment.
~*~
The sky was cloudless. Two planes streaked across the endless sea of blue, one taking off, one landing, both traveling in graceful arcs and seemingly headed directly for each other. It gave people staring up at them a chill down their spine and the odd feeling that the planes would collide, though they knew better than that. But they were directly in each other paths, moving forward, without hesitation. A moment passed, and it became apparent that one plane was veering to the left and one to the right, and they would completely miss each other, both acutely aware of the other's presence and completely denying it at the same time, but at least they were safe. They continued to shoot across the sky, and slowly back into each other's paths, making onlookers want to shout an unheard warning up to them, but they were oddly fascinated by the danger, intrigue and inevitability of the situation.
A few moments later, two white arcs cutting across the sky were the only evidence left of the two planes. Two curves, going in changing, uneven paths…and in the middle, they intersect.
~*~
It was virtually impossible think clearly, much less logically, with him so close, heat radiating from him where their arms touched. The past few days had been a mix of happiness Sara never thought was possible, of confession and emotion that left her drained, but unbelievably energized.
If Grissom shared her difficulty concentrating on anything logical, there was no evidence that suggested so. He sat with his tray table down and the in-flight magazine open to the crossword puzzle. He was completely absorbed in it, oblivious to everything, even the person in front of him who continually reclined their chair farther and farther back, leaving him less and less room.
Every moment since his arrival had been something out of story, something that existed, but not for her. They had spent long hours in the hotel room, absorbed in each other and their newfound freedom. They had filled their afternoons playing tourists in a city they both knew well. But still, even as he kissed her softly, reverently, as he pulled her down the crowded street, looking as excited as a child, a shadow of doubt would occasionally penetrate the fog of bliss that surrounded her brain.
Those doubts were coming back now. What would happen when this blissful dream ended, when their plane landed in Vegas? How would he react when the first person raised their eyebrows at them because of the obvious age difference, when Catherine, Nick or Warrick found out they were together and shouted congratulations, telling them they knew they were meant for each other all the while? Gil Grissom had spent years trying to avoid and fleeing that type of situation, and Sara couldn't help but wonder if he would be able to face it now. What if it all got to be too much for him and he distanced himself from her once again? Leaving him had been painful enough the first time around, but now she had seen how beautiful a life with him was, and she wasn't sure she would be able to pick herself up and move on if she ever lost him.
Trying to dispel the thoughts, she leaned over and looked at the half-finished crossword puzzle.
All of her fears made a swift retreat when she saw what Grissom had filled in for number 33 across, "a four-letter word for beauty."
~*~
Like people, no two sunsets are the same. Occasionally, you come across one more incredible than you knew could exist, and you sit and absorb the beauty of it all, the image lingering before your eyes long after it fades away. The next night, you are bound to be seen outside, searching in vain for the array of swirls and color you saw yesterday, and you are bound to be disappointed by what you find- something that could never equal the beauty and brilliance you are searching for.
Even in the bitterest person's home, if you look through photographs, through memories, you are bound to find a roll of sunsets, glossy three-by-fives full of clouds and pink. Looking at the photo might give you a sense of what an incredible sight the sunset was, but it is only a glimpse, a whisper of it. A sunset is a moment, an atmosphere, which can not be captured adequately by film or any other medium. It goes beyond a pretty sight; it is a moment in time when two things meet and nothing else matters, a brief second when everything in the world is in the palm of your hands.
And the sunset was brilliant that night. Pools of rich color floated over the city, lighting the gold windows of Mandalay Bay and the black of the Luxor better than any neon lights could. Taxis sped up and down the streets, stopping abruptly, breaks squealing in protest. Tourists in sandals and brightly colored shirts stared up at the sights, hastily snapping photos of their smiling families, of the buildings, capturing the image but not the feeling.
A woman walked slowly up the road, invisible to everyone, painted out of the picture, because she was not what Las Vegas stood for, what it pretended to be. Muttering to herself, her face hidden beneath a curtain of matted brown hair that might have been pretty if cared for; she pushed a cart holding everything she owned up the street. Hunched over, she walked determinedly up the sidewalk. She stopped only when she reached the famous sign at the end of the strip, lights flashing, telling her to drive safely and come back soon. And beneath that sign, she laid her hopes and dreams, then got back onto the sidewalk and continued down the road, never looking back. Maybe she would return tomorrow, and maybe she wouldn't.
Las Vegas is not a home.
It is a city of illusive fortune, faded happiness, and empty promises. It holds the key to eternal bliss and keeps it in plain sight; though very few are lucky enough to reach it.
But how different the city looks for those who grasp the key and unlock the door, for those who are able to see beyond the glare of the neon lights and discover what they truly need.
A man and a woman walk out of the airport and into the parking lot. His arm is draped loosely around her shoulder and she finally knows where home is. In front of them are the truths and the lies, the dreams and the despair, the lights and the sound, the love and the loss, all standing before the unique canvass that is the sunset.
They stand in the middle of it and take it all in.
~*~
THE END