Notes: Disclaimers in part one. I just wanted to say thanks to everyone for the reviews, especially the G/S shippers who I seem to be freaking out a little… or a lot! g Thank you for giving the story a chance, and for your very kind words!
For Joey, and anyone else who might be wondering - a triptych is anything in three parts or leaves, specifically, a writing tablet in three parts, two of which fold over on the middle part or a picture or altarpiece in three compartments.
***
Triptych
Part Three
Sara's not sure that she can ever remember a longer shift than this one, and it's not made any easier by the fact that Warrick seems to be studiously avoiding any semblance of personal contact with her. Oh, he talks to her, but only when it's to do with the case, even then only when he absolutely has to. He hadn't acted that way around her, ever, not even when they were first going out together, when they were so nervous about people finding out before they knew where they were going - even though they would shortly find out that people had seen it coming long before they had.
Warrick acting so strangely would be bad enough, but it's worse when it's accompanied by Catherine's serious eyed stare. Sara would bet every last cent of her paycheque that Grissom's talked to Catherine, has told her everything, so she does to Catherine what Warrick's doing to her, and skilfully avoids her as much as possible. She finds it harder to avoid Greg though, and she can't miss how his natural enthusiasm seems to have lowered several notches, as if he too knows that something is amiss.
Even the longest shifts come to an end though, but there's still one more hurdle to clear when she meets Warrick in the locker room. It's mercifully deserted, so despite how strange, how strained, things have been between them today, she feels safe stepping towards him, close enough that she can rest one hand on his hip, the other on his chest, close enough that he can rest his hands on her shoulders. She looks up at him, meets his eyes, and for no reason that she can name, she goes cold all over. It's the exact opposite of what usually happens when she looks into his eyes, and she doesn't know what that means. She wants to tell him that Grissom means nothing to her, that it's him that she loves, but the words stick in her throat, and the only thing she can do is whisper his name.
He sighs heavily, his hands kneading her shoulders gently. "I know," he says, keeping his voice low. He leans forward, brushing a kiss across her forehead, then he moves one hand, closing it around her hand resting on his chest. "I'll see you at home," he says, and then he lets her go, lets her grab her jacket and walk out into the parking lot to meet Grissom.
He's standing there, leaning against his car, arms crossed over his chest, and he smiles when he sees her coming. She doesn't know where it comes from, but her heart quickens at the sight of him, and she does her best to ignore it, labelling it a relic of the past, a ghost of former feelings. It's not real she tells herself, repeats it several times.
They exchange pleasantries, but she's as reserved with him as Warrick was with her earlier on, and she wonders as she follows Grissom's car through the streets of Las Vegas if Warrick's reasoning was the same as hers - keep the language simple, keep the emotions in check, because otherwise it's just too damn hard.
When she pulls into the parking lot though, looks around her, she's hard pressed to keep her emotions in check as she realises where she is. It's the same place that Grissom picked two years ago, the same place where they talked, ended up kissing by her car, ended up doing a hell of a lot more than that in her apartment.
She's pretty sure she knows why he chose this place, but while it does bring back memories, they're not the warm and fuzzy feelings that might have been expected. Instead, a flash of almost irritation courses through her veins, and when she joins him in the walk to the front door, she doesn't look at him, keeps her eyes fixed straight ahead of her.
When they sit down, they chat as they look at the menus, with Grissom asking her about the case, her telling him. It's almost like old times, but the twist of her stomach signals the difference, because it's not the good twist that used to be there, it's something slightly different, and it only gets worse when they place their order. Hers is small, because she's not sure that she could eat anything at the moment, and Grissom's eyes narrow slightly as she tries to smile.
Any moisture in her mouth seems to have evaporated, so she takes a sip of water, hoping that her hand doesn't shake. It doesn't, and when she puts down the glass, not looking at him, she hears his intake of breath, knows that they're about to get down to the real business of the meeting.
"I know it must be a shock for you," Grissom says, and she looks up at him sharply, the flash of almost irritation that she'd felt walking into this place coalescing into the real thing at what might just be the most massive understatement she's ever heard. "Me coming back like this," he continues, and a bitter laugh escapes her.
"Coming back, leaving… what's the difference?" Her words shock even her, and his eyes flare with surprise. Shaking her head, she looks down, rubbing the bridge of her nose, knowing that she really should feel worse about snapping at him.
But all Grissom says is a mild, "I guess I deserve that."
She could agree with him, but she bites her tongue. That's not going to get them anywhere. "Why did you come back?" she asks him.
"I can't tell you why I came back." When she hears those words, she wants to get up, wants to walk away and never look back, but he stops her when he continues instantly with, "Not until I tell you why I left."
Those words make her raise her head ever so slowly, meeting his gaze. "Why?" It's one word, but it's all she can manage after so many days and nights of wondering, of analysing, of blaming herself. Even as she asks the question though, she realises the truth in what Warrick had said in the kitchen the previous day; that even though she hadn't agonised over Grissom's leaving in many a long day, she still needed to know why. She still needed the closure.
She doesn't expect his next words. "I was sick." She can feel her jaw drop, and a thousand questions come to mind, but he halts her by raising her hand. "Nothing serious… it wasn't life threatening. It's called otosclerosis… it's a hereditary disease… and it causes the sufferer to go deaf."
The words lie in the space between them, and in her mind's eye, she sees a courtroom, sees Grissom on the stand asking Marjorie Wescott to repeat her question, not once, but twice. At the time, she'd thought it was just Grissom grandstanding, a brilliant ploy to make his point. Suddenly though, she knows better. "You were losing your hearing?" she asks, just to make sure, and he nods.
"My mother has the condition," he says, and the words are out before she can stop them.
"That's how you learned to sign," she says, a smile coming to her face, a mystery solved, and he smiles too.
"Yes." He pauses, looks down for a moment. "I had an operation, which I thought would work… but it didn't. I was getting worse… so I had to leave."
"Why?" She narrows her eyes, running the scenario through her head, and she must be missing something because she can't see why he had to leave.
"A crime scene investigator depends on all five senses Sara," he says, the mentor to the student once again. "I was losing one of mine… there was nothing I could have done."
"Why didn't you tell us?" she demands, then, more to the point, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I didn't want anyone to know."
She blinks, raises her glass of water to her lips, but doesn't drink, just moistens them a little. "So you just left." Her voice is flat, devoid of emotion. "Without a word."
"I didn't have a choice."
He might believe that, he sounds like he does, but the words are like a red rag to a bull, and she works hard to keep her temper in check. "You had a choice when you took me out to dinner that night," she reminds him through a clenched jaw. "You asked me, remember?"
"I remember everything." There's weight in the three simple words, enough to knock the breath out of her, enough to leave a bruise, and she can't look at him. "I'm not proud of what I did Sara," he says, with such obvious sincerity that she has to swallow hard. "But I don't regret it." There's a long pause, during which he reaches out, lays his hand over hers, and she drags her gaze up to his. "I could never regret it."
There doesn't seem to be enough air in the room, so she sucks in a deep breath. "Grissom… " she whispers, but he silences her with a shake of the head.
"I had another operation," he tells her. "Which did work. My hearing's not one hundred percent, but it's not far off it. I'm not back in Vegas for the lab… I'm going to be teaching at UNLV. I came back for you."
The only thing she can say is his name, so she says it. "Grissom… " but once again, he stops her, stuns her into silence.
"I love you Sara," he says, and she's sure her heart stops, because how many times has she dreamed of him saying those words to her, how many times had she prayed for it? For one glorious night, she'd let herself believe that her dream was about to come true, but that was a long time ago. "I always have. And I don't want to be without you any more."
Sara looks at him, looks in his eyes, those eyes that haunted her dreams for so many months. His hand is on hers, he's saying all the right things, and for all the two of them know, they're the only two people in the room.
It's what she dreamed of.
Except that while Grissom's hand is on hers, her other hand is resting against her chest, able to feel the ring that's hiding beneath her jumper, and she's remembering a pair of green eyes that looked at her worriedly before she came here, remembering another man's touch that banished all her troubles away.
She's looking at Grissom, and he's what she dreamed of.
But he's not what she wants any more.
"Do you remember when the lab exploded?" she asks him slowly, softly, and he nods. "I asked you to dinner. You turned me down." She doesn't mention the time that he asked her out, though she knows they're both thinking about it. "You said, 'I don't know what to do about this'." He nods, and she tilts her head curiously. "Do you remember what I said?"
He hesitates, but she knows from the expression on his face that it's not because he doesn't remember, just the opposite in fact. "You said that you did. And that by the time I figured it out, it could be too late."
She nods, because that's it, almost word for word. And while, at the time, she'd feared that her words would come true, now she knows that they have, and she always thought that she'd be more upset about it. But she's not, not really.
"It's too late Grissom," she says, and means it. "I love Warrick. We're living together, we're getting married… Grissom, he's my life." She shakes her head and she hopes that Warrick knows that, knows she's going to go home and tell him that. "I was crazy about you, for so long… but I'm not that person any more. I haven't been for a long time."
He opens his mouth, closes it again, blinks as his eyes dart from side to side, as if he's trying to come up with the perfect argument. "Sara-" he tries, but she shakes her head again, not needing to hear what he's going to say. There's no perfect argument that he can make, so she takes her hand away from his, standing up.
"I'm glad you're back," she says, and she means that too. "I'm glad to see you again… and I'd like you to be in our lives. But I'm in love with Warrick. That's not going to change."
She holds his gaze for another long moment, then she turns, walks out of the restaurant and goes home.
***
Warrick watches Sara as she walks out of the locker room, and while he's always known he lacks discipline, he discovers hitherto unknown reserves, because he doesn't give in to his first impulse, to run out to the parking lot, punch Grissom's lights out, and tell her that there's no way she's going anywhere with him. He counts to a hundred before he moves, is thankful that he doesn't meet anyone to draw him into conversation, is able to make his way straight home. Once there, he goes to the kitchen, makes himself a cup of coffee, sits down at the kitchen table, and waits.
He doesn't know how long he's been sitting there before he hears her key turning in the lock. He does know that it's long enough for his muscles to have grown stiff, for the dregs of his coffee to turn cold in the cup, for the residue around the rim to have hardened into a creamy brown scum that's going to be murder to rinse away.
It's also evidently been long enough for Sara to have had dinner. He just doesn't know if dinner was all she had, and the second that thought, that suspicion, comes to him, he feels himself growing cold as the liquid at the bottom of his cup.
He hears her coming towards him, but he doesn't look at her, scared at what he might see on her face. He doesn't move until he hears her ragged intake of breath, hears her exhale his name. Only then does he turn his head, and for once, he doesn't put on any masks, any airs. For once, he lets the emotions he's feeling play across his face, and he doesn't miss the flash of pain in her brown eyes as a result.
She sucks in another sharp breath, closing the distance between them, sinking down into the chair perpendicular to his, as if her legs won't hold her up any longer. Her elbows rest on the table, her hands flat in front of her, and he knows that she's mimicking his posture exactly, but that's not what he chooses to focus on.
He's much more interested in the ring finger on her left hand; the one that's bare of any engagement ring.
He's used to that sight at work, even if it does seem wrong to him, because as far as he's concerned, that ring belongs on her finger, not on some chain around her neck. But he knows that it's necessary because of the work they do, and because she's terrified of losing it, and he accepts that.
But they're not at work now, they're off the clock, and he knows that the last thing she always does before she leaves the lab is to take the ring off the chain and slide it back on her finger.
She obviously didn't do that today, and he's not sure he wants to know what that means.
She must know the thoughts that have been going through his head, or maybe she just knows him, because her first words are designed to soothe his worries. "Nothing happened. You know that, right?"
He's just about able to tear his eyes from her ringless finger to her face. "Yeah," he says flatly. "I know that."
Except that his tone tells the opposite tale, and her mouth opens and closes again as she searches for words. "Grissom and I went out for dinner," she finally tells him. "We talked. Then I came home." The words "to you" go unspoken, but he hears them anyway.
"You talked." The words are ground out between clenched teeth, and when she merely widens her eyes in response, he continues with, "Did he tell you that he's in love with you?"
There's the briefest of pauses before she says, "Yes," though he's not surprised at her honesty. After all, they've never kept secrets from one another; isn't that exactly what he'd told Grissom yesterday? He shakes his head, swallows hard against the bile rising up in his throat, and he almost misses her next words over the roaring in his ears. "And I told him he was too late."
He wants to believe that, more than he's ever wanted to believe anything in his life, but he's lived with the ghost of Gil Grissom between them for too long to accept the words at face value. "You really mean that?" he asks. "Or did you just say that because you thought you had to?"
Her jaw drops and he doesn't think he's ever seen her look more stunned; she looks as if he's just slapped her. "You have to ask that?" she exclaims, and from the anger burning in her eyes, he knows just how much he's hurt her with those words. Strangely enough, there's a part of him that's glad to see it, because she can't fake emotion like that, so she must be telling him the truth. The second that thought strikes him, he banishes it, can't believe he's thinking like that, because that's not him. That's not them.
He knows he's acting crazy, but he can't help it, and he knows why.
"You know what it's been like, being with you the last couple of years?" he asks after a long silence, a long silence where they've been staring into one another's eyes. "Falling in love with you, planning to spend the rest of my life with you, all the while thinking that I was your second choice? That if Grissom showed up again and clicked his fingers, you'd go running?"
She's shaking her head. "Warrick, no," she murmurs softly, but he's not letting her words stop him, because this needs to be said.
"I knew Sara… I knew how you felt about him. Even before he left. Then when he did… " His voice trails off as he remembers watching Sara become more withdrawn than he'd ever seen her, the gap-toothed grin seemingly disappearing from existence, how she'd worked even longer hours than before. He'd been sure that she wasn't sleeping, had been damn sure that she wasn't eating properly, as he'd watched her already slender frame dropping pounds that it couldn't afford to lose. "You scared the hell out of us Sara."
A small, sad smile hovers around her lips. "But you saved me."
Against all odds, he chuckles. "I don't know about that." He just remembers pure frustration getting the better of him, culminating in the day that she told him she wasn't going to go to the staff Christmas drinks. At the time, he hadn't been able to remember the last time he'd seen her out anywhere, and he'd simply told her that that was unacceptable, that she was going to go and that she was going to have a good time. She'd protested, but he'd dragged her there anyway, and she'd barely made it in the door before Greg had been dragging her out on the dance floor, insisting that she was a woman who looked like she knew how to Macarena, and that if she didn't, he was the very man to teach her. He can still see the two of them in the middle of the floor, Sara attempting to follow Greg's lead, at first with a forced smile, eventually a genuine one lighting her face.
"The Christmas party?" Her voice brings him back to reality, and he realises that she must be remembering too. "I think it was the first time I'd laughed in months."
"That's when I knew." He doesn't mean to say that, but when she looks at him curiously, he has no choice but to continue. "That I was in love with you," he elaborates, watching surprise land on her face as she makes the connection.
"But… we didn't start dating till the next summer… " she protests, and he nods slowly.
"I know. See, I think I'd had feelings for you for a while, without even realising it. And then there I was, at that party, watching you try to copy Sanders… and that's when it hit me. That I could spend the rest of my life with you, trying to get you to smile like that." He sees her swallow hard, shrugs nonchalantly. "I just knew."
He hadn't done anything about it, not knowing the details of what had happened with her and Grissom, but knowing instinctively that she wasn't ready for anything. He'd resolved to be her friend, to be happy with that, and he'd kept dragging her out of the lab, on any excuse, any pretext.
Pretty soon, he hadn't had to drag.
And then, they went out for breakfast after the shift and he dropped her to her front door, leaning down before he left to drop a kiss on her cheek. He'd done it before, no big deal, but that day when he'd turned, she'd held on to his arm, not letting him go. He'd turned back to her, ready to ask if she was all right, but his words had died under the gentle pressure of her lips against his.
It had been everything that he'd been waiting for, and they'd been together ever since.
"Just like I knew," he continues now, "That nothing ever would have happened between us if Grissom hadn't left. So many times I've thought that you were going to come to your senses, realise that I wasn't who you really wanted… "
She's frowning when she interrupts him. "You knew Grissom was in love with me? Now… not just then?"
He nods. "He told me so… yesterday."
"You knew that," she says slowly, and he's heard that tone a thousand times at the lab, when she's on her way to figuring out some vital part of a case. "You knew that, and you still said I should meet him, hear him out?" He doesn't speak, doesn't nod, just looks at her, and she opens and closes her mouth a couple of times before the word "Why?" finally passes her lips.
It's a good question, but it's one he knows the answer to. "Because… you deserve to be with the person you love. Sara, I don't want you to wake up in ten years and realise that I'm not the one."
Even if losing her would kill him.
She closes her eyes, tilts her head back and blows a steady stream of air between her lips. When she opens her eyes again, when she's looking at him, it seems as if there's a suspicious sheen about her eyes, and a cold hand reaches into his chest, squeezes his heart. "That's not going to happen," she whispers, her voice hoarse, but firm.
Something that feels a lot like hope loosens the cold hand, but doesn't dislodge it entirely. "You can say that for sure?" He's challenging her, but he's always challenged her, ever since the day they first met at that dive of a casino on Blue Diamond Road.
She nods, and for the first time in this conversation, he gets a glimpse of that smile of hers. "I told Grissom once… a long time ago… that by the time he knew what he really wanted, it could be too late." She pauses, takes a deep breath. "And I told him today that it was." She looks into his eyes, brown holding green for a long time. "Grissom's not the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, Warrick. You are."
"You can't tell me that things wouldn't have been different if he'd stayed," he reminds her, and he knows from the set of her jaw that it was the wrong thing to say.
"No, I can't." There's that honesty again, but they both know it's true. "But Grissom didn't stay, he left. And you're the one who was there for me every step of the way… the one who picked me up off the ground… " She breaks off, shaking her head. "I don't know what more I can say to you."
He closes his eyes for a long moment, his emotions in turmoil, and he doesn't open them again until he hears the distinctive sound of metal moving against a chain. She's reaching up behind her neck, unclasping her necklace, and she lets the ring slide down, landing on the table between them. She sets the necklace to one side and stares at the ring, and he remembers all the times he saw that on Grams's finger when he was a kid, remembers the hours walking through Vegas, looking for the perfect ring for Sara before Grams told him that she had the perfect one in her jewellery box. He remembers the day he proposed, how nervous he'd been, how Sara had beamed as she'd said yes, nary an instant of doubt. He remembers lying in bed beside her on countless nights since then, with her wearing that ring and nothing else, wondering how did he get to be so lucky.
The ring lies between them, and neither one of them makes a move to touch it.
"Grissom says he loves me," Sara says finally, and the words make his stomach twist. "But I don't love him Warrick; I haven't for a long time. We're supposed to be getting married in two months… and that's not something I want to change. If you need time to think about it… " Her voice trails off, and she has to clear her throat. "If you have stuff to work through… "
She stops talking again when his fingers touch the ring, when he lifts it up, holds it in the air between them. He remembers what he promised her when he put it on her finger, when she'd raised the issue of working together and being married to one another; she'd been concerned if it would be too much for them, if the higher-ups would even let it happen. He'd told her that there was nothing they couldn't get through together.
He still feels that way.
"We'll work through it together," he tells her now, and her face, shrouded in doubt at first, clears when his words sink in. He reaches out with his other hand, takes her left hand and slowly, carefully, slides the engagement ring on. It goes on smoothly, as if it was meant to belong there, and he fingers it for a moment before meeting his gaze. "Looks good," he tells her, and she nods.
"Feels good," is her answer as she pulls her hand back just enough so that she can grip his fingers with hers. She stands after a moment, and without letting go of his hand, comes around to stand in front of him. He knows what she wants him to do without being told, so he pushes his chair back, and sure enough, she settles herself in his lap, sliding her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. His hands go to her back, press her closer to him, and he places a kiss in her hair, closing his eyes. "I love you," he hears her mutter, and he smiles.
"I love you too."
***
A week after his date with Sara, the date when she walked out on him, left him sitting there on his own, Grissom isn't the least bit surprised when Catherine calls him up, asks him over to her place for dinner. He hasn't seen her since the day after he went out with Sara, when they met for breakfast after the shift, and he told her what she already knew, what Sara had said, the choice she had made. Catherine had been sympathetic towards him, even if he knew that she'd been happy for Sara and Warrick too, and the whole meal had been more awkward than any he could remember with Catherine. She hasn't called him since, nor has he sought anyone out, avoiding the crime lab, the people there, as much as possible. He knows though, when Catherine mentions, somewhat tentatively, that there will be a few people from work there, people who want to see him, and asks him does he mind, that he's not going to be able to put off the inevitable any longer.
He's going to see her, see them, and he's not sure how he feels about that.
He knows, of course, what Catherine's plan is, that everyone he's ever known who's still at the Crime Lab is going to be there, and when he sees the sheer volumes of cars outside Catherine's place, that people are literally parked around the block, he knows that he's right. So he's prepared when he knocks on Catherine's door, is grateful when they don't all hide and shout surprise. Catherine is the first person over to him, Nick close behind him, a tall dark-haired woman at his side. Grissom surmises that this is the fabled Diana, another assumption that proves to be right, and when the two of them stand talking to him after Catherine goes to check on the food, it doesn't take him long to realise how in love the two of them are, how happy they are together, and he's genuinely happy for Nick.
He mentions something about how he's heard they have a daughter, and Nick's face lights up in the biggest smile that Grissom's ever seen. "Yeah, Sophie's around here somewhere," Nick says, turning around to locate his daughter, finally managing it. "There she is… with Warrick and Sara."
Grissom follows his pointed finger, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of Sara with a dark haired girl the image of Nick sitting on her knee. The little girl has a set of car keys in her hand, is waving them around, so Sara's very alert, making sure she doesn't get hit accidentally, and from this distance, Grissom can read her lips easily, can see that while she's looking at the baby, she's talking to Warrick.
"I don't think you're gonna get your car keys back anytime soon," she says, glancing up at Warrick, and Grissom's eyes go to the other man's face.
"That's ok," Warrick says, a wide smile on his face. "I'm enjoying the view."
Sara's gaze had gone back to the baby; at Warrick's words, she looks back up to him again. She's grinning up at him, looking at him as if he's the only person in the room, and while Grissom can't read her lips when she's in profile, he doesn't need to.
Just like with Diana and Nick, he knows love when he sees it.
"She does love her godparents," Diana laughs, and Nick laughs too, drawing Grissom's attention to the couple, at what they're saying. He must do a pretty bad job at keeping the surprise off his face, because Nick looks across at him, holding up a hand as if to forestall any objections.
"Man, I know what you're thinking," he says, looking across at the happy trio for a moment. "Sara with a kid? But trust me, no matter what she tells you, she's awesome with them." He raises his glass of juice to his lips, takes a sip. "I wouldn't be surprised if Sophie has a little playmate sooner rather than later… "
Diana rolls her eyes, smacking her husband on the arm. "Sara's gonna kill you if she hears you talking like that," she informs him. "And I'm gonna let her."
"Like I'm the only one who thinks it," Nick counters, and Grissom zones out their talk then, his gaze going back to Warrick and Sara, and it's easy to see why Nick said what he said, why, for that matter, he's not the only one saying it. As he looks at them, Sara jerks her head back quickly, almost having come a cropper thanks to Sophie's waving arm, and she laughs at something that Warrick says, mock-glaring at him before looking back down at the child in her arms. Warrick meanwhile doesn't take his eyes off the two of them, his hand reaching out to touch Sara's hair, stroking it tenderly, a smile on his face that's matched by the one that appears on Sara's.
Grissom's staring at them, lost in thought, and he can almost feel Sara's hair underneath his hand, remembering a time that he looked down at Sara's sleeping form, touched her hair oh-so-gently, just like that, afraid to breathe in case he woke her, because he'd known that he'd never leave her if she was awake. He's carried that memory with him for the last two years, was hoping that they could make more memories together, but he knows now that that's not going to happen. He knows too, that he has no-one to blame but himself, that it's his choices that have led them here. After all, Sara had every right to move on with her life, and as for Warrick… well, who could blame him for falling in love with Sara?
All these thoughts run through Grissom's head as he looks at them, and he's startled when Catherine touches his elbow, smiling brightly at Nick and Diana. "Mind if I steal him guys?" She barely gives them a chance to object, leading him into the kitchen, over to the cooker, and if anyone was looking at them, they'd think that they were just talking about the food.
But they're not. Instead, Catherine looks up at him, an expression of wary sympathy in her eyes. "You see it, don't you? The way they look at one another?"
Grissom nods, because that was actually the first time that he's seen the two of them together since he's been back, and he would never have believed it was possible for things to have changed so much in the two years that he was gone. Because he was damn sure that Sara had never looked at Warrick that way two years ago; he's not sure she ever even looked at him that way.
"They make a good couple," he admits, and it's easier to admit than he might have thought. Sara deserves to be loved, deserves to be happy; he's always known that. He wanted to be the one to do that, he wanted things to work out for them, it's why he came back to Las Vegas. But he had his chance, and he let her go, and now he has to live with that. He's sad for himself, but he's happy for her, for them.
"They really do Grissom," Catherine tells him, patting his shoulder gently. "They really do."
There's no more to be said, except for to serve up the food, and when they're gathered around the table, Catherine exacts some measure of revenge on Grissom for dropping her in the deep end with regard to running the shift, getting him to make a speech, a notion that the rest of the guests looking at him expectantly.
He's always been a man of few words, and two years haven't changed that. So he doesn't make a speech, instead he proposes a toast, and when he raises his glass, he's looking directly at Warrick and Sara, sitting side by side, hands entwined underneath the table.
Grissom makes a toast to new beginnings, and when they raise their glasses back, he knows they understand.
end