*Slight language warning*
Grissom awoke hours later to the sound of the phone ringing. His eyes fluttered open as he debated whether or not he wanted to get up and answer it. But habit soon won over comfort, and he forced himself into a sitting position. He groaned, then blindly reached for the phone. He finally grabbed it and pressed a button.
"Yeah?" he said gruffly, still not fully awake. He glanced at the other end of the sofa, where Sara was sleeping with her head set against the back of the couch. He allowed a small smile to flit across his face at the sight.
"Grissom? Geez...you sound like hell, man," Nick's voice joked over the phone.
"Thanks so much, Nick. Same to you," Grissom replied, standing up and moving toward his kitchen so his voice wouldn't wake Sara. "So, what did you need?"
"Well...I wanted to let you know that we found him."
Grissom felt as if a bucket of ice water had just been poured over his head. For a long moment, he didn't say anything, causing Nick to become concerned.
"Hello? Grissom. Gris, you there?"
"Yeah...yeah, Nick. I'm here," he said after he snapped out of his reverie. He sank down into the chair he kept by his front door. "You got him?" he asked, trying to make himself believe it.
"Yeah. Guy's name is Larry Roberts. He was the hotel manager. They're going to interrogate him soon, even if they don't need his testimony. The guy has so much evidence against him..."
"You're going to interrogate him soon?" Grissom repeated. "I'll be there."
"Gris, no. I really don't think you should be there. It's...way too personal for you."
"Forget it, Nick. I'll be there." With that, Grissom turned the phone off, setting it on the counter as he walked to his bedroom. He pulled out an outfit from within his closet, and made his way to the bathroom for a quick shower. He shut the door behind him, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked worse than ever. His hair was disheveled, his beard unkempt, he had circles under his eyes, and his skin had a pale pallor to it. He stared at the ghost in the mirror for a long moment, then shook his head, moving to start his shower.
Sara stirred, suddenly feeling as if something were missing. She opened her eyes slowly, taking in the sight of Grissom's home. Then she looked down at her lap, where Grissom had fallen asleep, seeing that he was gone. She frowned, then heard the sound of running water. Figuring that Grissom was just using the bathroom, she made her way over to his kitchen to see if she could find something edible.
She was able to find enough supplies to make a small pancake breakfast, and was in the middle of mixing the batter when Grissom stepped out of the bathroom. She looked up as he walked into the kitchen, and it was like she was looking at a brand new man.
Taking a good, long shower seemed to have worked wonders on him, erasing the circles under his eyes and giving him a healthier skin tone. His hair was neatly combed, and his beard was trimmed. His clothes were also very fresh, both the black shirt and black pants ironed.
He stepped up to the island, watching her curiously. "What are you making?" he asked.
She gave him a smile. "Pancakes. I don't think you've eaten in a while, so I thought you might want some breakfast."
Grissom shrugged noncommittally, unsure himself when the last time he had eaten was. He glanced at his watch, seeing that he'd spent about twenty minutes in the bathroom. He wasn't sure when they were going to interrogate his mother's murderer, so he wanted to be there as soon as he could. Yet, when Sara began to cook the pancakes, it was as if the smell were calling for him to stay. His stomach rumbled, so he gave in and sank down on the couch after Sara refused his offer to help.
She set a plate down on his lap, then sat down next to him. They ate in silence, Sara glancing up at Grissom every now and then with a nervous expression on her face.
"You look good," she finally said, desperately wanting to know what had caused his sudden change in demeanor.
He only nodded in reply, staring intently at his plate.
Finally, Sara could take it no more. She set her fork down on the table, leaning over to be closer to Grissom. "Gris, what's going on?" she asked, her tone of voice telling him that he had better answer.
He looked up at her slowly, and then glanced back down at his plate, taking an exaggerated stab at his food. "They…they've found the guy who did it."
Sara froze, staring at Grissom with wide eyes. "They got him?
He nodded, scooping up the last bit of food. He finished it, then stood up, moved to the kitchen, and dropped the plate in the sink. "I'll get those later," he said idly, moving to grab his jacket from the living room.
"Grissom," Sara said, her voice warning him. He stopped and turned to her, his hands nervously clenched into fists. "Where are you going?"
He sighed, glancing at the door as if contemplating escape. "I'm going to the station. They're going to interrogate him."
"Do you really think you should see that?"
He nodded. "I have to. I have to know why."
Sara sighed, stepping closer to him. She put a gentle hand on his arm. "Then I'm going with you."
* * * * * * *
Nick glanced up as the door behind him opened, allowing Grissom and Sara to step through.
"Gris," he began, stepping towards the elder CSI, "I really don't think you need to be here."
Grissom gave him a severe glare, then moved past him to peer through the glass. "Is that him?" he asked softly, gesturing to the man sitting at the table with his lawyer in the interrogation room, waiting for Brass and Catherine.
Nick didn't answer immediately, getting another glare from Grissom. He sighed, recognizing the near-maniacal glint in the supervisor's eyes. "Yeah, Gris. That's our guy. Larry Roberts, the manager at the hotel."
Grissom nodded, his jaw clenched, then turned back to the glass. He stared at the pale, jittery man for a moment. "What evidence did you get?"
Nick cautiously stepped next to Grissom to also look through the mirror. "We've got your mother's blood all over some clothes in his trunk, your mother's belongings with them. He also had no plausible alibi, easy access to the room, and he ran after the murder." He glanced at Grissom. "Fool-proof. We wouldn't even need a confession."
Grissom gave the slightest of nods, his attention still set on the hotel manager. His eyes only left him for a second when the door in the room opened, letting Brass and Catherine inside. Catherine sat down across from the suspect, while Brass took his usual spot in the corner.
Catherine cleared her throat, pulling some papers from a folder. "Mr. Roberts, we've found significant evidence indicating that you attacked and murdered Mrs. Grissom the night she stayed in your hotel."
Roberts smirked, crossing his arms and leaning back. "Like what?"
Catherine arched an eyebrow, casually sliding evidence photos across the table. "Like her blood all over your clothes. Also her wallet, ring and watch in your car."
"It all points to you," Brass added.
Roberts glanced down at the photos, his confident smile fading.
Catherine shook her head. "You left a tell-tale path of evidence."
The lawyer leaned forward, shooting a glance at his client. "You don't have a murder weapon. No jury in their right mind would convict him for first-degree murder with this."
Roberts closed his eyes. "I dumped the knife in Lake Mead," he whispered. His lawyer shook his head and leaned back.
Catherine frowned. "Why dump the knife and not the bloody clothes?"
He gave her a small, sad smile. "I liked that shirt."
"You thought you could get away with it?"
Roberts shrugged. "Just an old lady. Figured no one'd miss her enough to care."
Sara saw Grissom stiffen next to her, clenching his hands into fists. She thought for a moment that he was going to bust out the glass to get to Roberts. But he didn't; he just kept watching.
Catherine worked her jaw, trying not to let her anger get the best of her. She hid her trembling hands by shuffling her papers.
"You thought that no one would care if you attacked, robbed, and killed an innocent woman?" Brass asked, his voice dripping with disgust.
Roberts looked up at him. "Yeah. I mean, the lady was at the end of her rope anyway. She was alread dyin'. I just helped speed up the process. You see the meds she was takin'? Damn lady had cancer."
Catherine shook her head. "Doesn't matter. You killed her, and that's a crime." She gathered up her papers.
The lawyer shook his head. "We can make a plea bargain," he said, desperation evident in his voice.
Brass shook his head. "No go. We've got all we need."
Catherine reached for the door, her emotions finally getting the best of her. "For your information, someone did care about that old lady. And you've just stolen the only family he had from him." She stood there for a moment, giving Brass a nod.
He stepped forward as another officer cuffed Roberts. "Larry Roberts, you are under the arrest for the murder of Evelyn Grissom."
Nick turned to Grissom as Roberts was led out of the room, being told his rights by the officer. Grissom seemed distant, and didn't watch as Roberts exited. Nick sighed, patting him on the shoulder once before turning to grab his jacket. The sound of the door opening startled him, and he turned just in time to see Grissom disappear. He exchanged glances with Sara, then they both headed after the supervisor.
Grissom stared at Roberts' retreating back for a moment before taking off after him. Both Brass and Catherine saw him coming. Catherine froze, unsure of what to do. Brass, however, stopped and indicated that Roberts should turn. Getting no reaction from the murderer, he turned him around, giving the man a second to see Grissom before he was shoved against the wall. The other officer made to pull Grissom away, but Brass held him back.
At first, Roberts was confused as to what was happening. Then he saw the eyes, the bright blue eyes set with anger. And for a long moment, it was if he were looking into his victim's eyes again.
He expected the man to shout at him, but he didn't. Instead, Grissom spoke in a low voice, though it enticed more fear than shouting ever could.
"Was it worth it? Was killing her worth what you found, you sick piece of shit?"
Roberts smirked, wondering what this man could do to him. "Piss off," he said, trying to shove Grissom off him.
With an expression that frightened Sara, Grissom grasped Roberts arm, slamming him into the wall forcefully.
"Listen to me, you sick son of a bitch. You think you're going to get off easy, but you're not. I'm going to make sure you burn. With every bit of power that I possess, you will burn for what you did to my mother." He used the same soft, steely voice as before, sending a chill down everyone's spine. "You'd better hope you get the death penalty, cause if the state won't kill you, I will. One way or another, it's over for you."
Roberts stared at Grissom fearfully for a moment. He'd gotten a lot of death threats in his life, but he felt as if this guy were actually capable of carrying out that threat. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You hear that? He's threatening me." Roberts turned to Brass. "That's police brutality. I could sue."
Brass shrugged. "I didn't see anything." He looked at the younger officer. "You?"
The cop smirked. "Not a thing, sir."
"There you go," Brass said as he grasped an open-mouthed Roberts' arm. The man was still gawking when they turned a corner, giving Grissom one last glance.
Grissom sighed wearily, leaning against the wall as he rubbed his temples. The encounter had been mentally exhausting. He'd seen some cold-blooded killers in his days as a criminalist, but it was completely different to look into the eyes of the man who killed his mother. He was only vaguely aware of Nick and Catherine as they watched him--Nick from his hiding place by the doorjamb of the interrogating room, and Catherine from against the wall. They exchanged glances, seeming to be debating over who would approach Gris. Both were worried about their friend, but both were also afraid of bearing the brunt of Grissom's excess anger.
Catherine apparently won--or lost—and stepped over to Grissom, putting a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her, his eyes betraying his fatigue and pain. "You okay?" she asked gently.
He nodded slowly, then gave her a typical, "Yeah, I'm fine."
She squeezed his shoulder. "All right." She looked down for a moment. "You know, we all appreciate you holding back with that guy. It'd be kinda hard to work if our hallway became a crime scene."
He gave her a small smile, appreciating her attempt to lighten the mood. He glanced at the spot where Roberts had disappeared, then headed toward his office, leaving the other CSIs behind. He threw open the door, and was greeted by the obnoxious singing of the Big Mouth Billy Bass. He flipped on the light, suddenly feeling as if he were some place where he could finally escape.
He walked the length of his shelves for a moment, glancing at the various jars. He occasionally picked one up, studying the contents before replacing it. He put some food in his tarantula tanks, then sank into his chair. He idly looked over the memos and files placed on his desk, all awaiting his attention and signature. Then he sighed, leaning back in the chair.
His office did seem to offer some bit of comfort. It was a place of science, where emotions had no purpose. Anger, grief, and even hatred had no purpose here. It allowed him to breathe, to take a break from the emotions that constantly threatened to overcome him.
A soft knock on his door caught his attention, and he looked up to see Sara silhouetted in the doorframe. "Hey," she said, moving further into his office. They did get him, huh?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Hotel manager. Didn't think anyone would care," he said, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice. *Guess the office isn't working.*
She pulled a chair up next to his, staring at his face. When he didn't react, she put a hand on the side of his face. His eyes shot up to meet hers.
"It's all right, Grissom. It is. Nick and Cath caught the guy. He'll spend the rest of his life realizing just how stupid he was."
Grissom nodded, then covered her hand with his. "I know, Sara. I know. But…" he paused, looking down at his desk, "but it doesn't stop the pain."
Sara smiled sadly, slightly surprised that Grissom would admit to his feelings so easily. "I know it hurts, Gris. It takes a long time for it to go away." She removed her hand from his face and stood up. "C'mon. Let me drive you home."
He nodded. "Yeah. I have a funeral to arrange."
* * * * * * *
Sara barely heard the words of the pastor as he spoke, his voice melding with other noises in the environment to become a constant buzz in her head. She tried to focus on what the man was saying and would succeed to a certain extent, only to lose herself in her thoughts once again.
She lifted her eyes to study Grissom, who was standing next to her. Sharply dressed in a suit and tie, he was looking a lot better than he had a few days before. After the interrogation, Sara had taken him home, where he'd slept for another six hours. He'd emerged, finding her settled on his couch, and admitted that he'd never slept so much before in his life. He was staring intently at the pastor as he spoke, but Sara could tell that he too wasn't hearing a word that was said. He'd receded into himself again, and Sara hoped that he would be able to come out.
Looking away from Grissom, her eyes fell upon the other CSIs gathered about the gravesite. Nick shifted uncomfortably on his feet, both from wearing the stuffy suit and thinking of the man that had put Mrs. Grissom in her grave. Catherine's face was calm, and Sara was unable to catch even a glimpse of what the blonde was thinking. Warrick seemed the most emotional, casting small glances in Grissom's direction every now and again. He was concerned about his mentor, and made no effort to hide it.
A small smile crossed Sara's face when she looked to the next person. Greg was dressed in a nice suit, though he kept his oddness by wearing a Goofy and Mickey Mouse tie. When he had first shown up, Catherine had pitched a small fit about the tie, saying it was completely inappropriate. She'd even gone so far as to make Greg take it off and wear an extra one that Nick had brought in case the one *he'd* wore wasn't fitting. Grissom, however, had intervened and said that Greg was fine. And after Greg confessed that he really didn't know how to tie the thing, Grissom had tied it for him, giving the young lab rat an appreciative pat on the back.
Sara scanned the rest of the crowd, seeing many familiar faces. She saw Brass, O'Riley, Vega, Jacqui, Bobby, and Archie. All were here to pay respects to a woman they had never met. For many of them, it wasn't so much to pay respects to Mrs. Grissom, but to pay respect to Grissom himself. And for all of them to take the time to drive out to Marina del Rey for the funeral meant a great deal to Grissom.
"Sara," a soft voice said, cutting into her thoughts. She turned to see Grissom staring at her with a hand on her shoulder. Blinking, she looked around a few times, seeing that the crowd was beginning to disperse. "You okay?"
She smiled. He was asking *her* if she was okay. She should be asking him! She wanted to tell him this, but refrained, choosing instead to just nod. "Yeah, Gris. I'm fine. You?"
He returned her smile, though it seemed a little half-hearted. "I'm fine," he parroted. "You ready to go? We'll have to leave soon if we want to make it in by the start of shift."
Sara nodded, amazed at how quickly Grissom was trying to re-immerse himself in to his day-to-day life. It was odd, and yet it was so...Grissom. It was just the kind of thing that he would do. Try to fight away the pain with work. "Okay. You want me to drive?"
"Sure," he said, handing her the keys. "You go ahead...I'll be right there."
She glanced at the fresh dirt of the gravesite, then nodded. Giving Grissom's shoulder a squeeze, she made her way to the SUV.
Grissom stepped up to the stone and knelt down. For a long moment, he simply read the words engraved in the marble over and over to himself. *Evelyn Ann Grissom. April 6, 1932 - September 14, 2003*. He idly ran his hand over the letters, as if trying to memorize the feel of them. He pulled a rose from one of the wreaths, gently placing it on top of the stone. He let his hand set on it for a long moment, then slowly stood up.
He sighed, knowing that it was going to be hard to move on, to go on with life. He would constantly be reminded of his mother. He would hear her voice, hear her laugh, everything that was her. He would see them everyday...He glanced up at Sara's retreating back and allowed a small smile to cross his face. At least now, with Sara by his side, it wouldn't be so hard.
END
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Well, the end to another story! Once again, I hope you guys enjoyed this story as much as I did writing it! Thanks to all those who left reviews. Those things really do inspire me to write more, just 'cause I know someone out there is interested!
Special thanks, once again, to Grissomgal71 for her beta job on these last few chapters. You're the best, Jamie! : )
~Gris
*Slight language warning*
Grissom awoke hours later to the sound of the phone ringing. His eyes fluttered open as he debated whether or not he wanted to get up and answer it. But habit soon won over comfort, and he forced himself into a sitting position. He groaned, then blindly reached for the phone. He finally grabbed it and pressed a button.
"Yeah?" he said gruffly, still not fully awake. He glanced at the other end of the sofa, where Sara was sleeping with her head set against the back of the couch. He allowed a small smile to flit across his face at the sight.
"Grissom? Geez...you sound like hell, man," Nick's voice joked over the phone.
"Thanks so much, Nick. Same to you," Grissom replied, standing up and moving toward his kitchen so his voice wouldn't wake Sara. "So, what did you need?"
"Well...I wanted to let you know that we found him."
Grissom felt as if a bucket of ice water had just been poured over his head. For a long moment, he didn't say anything, causing Nick to become concerned.
"Hello? Grissom. Gris, you there?"
"Yeah...yeah, Nick. I'm here," he said after he snapped out of his reverie. He sank down into the chair he kept by his front door. "You got him?" he asked, trying to make himself believe it.
"Yeah. Guy's name is Larry Roberts. He was the hotel manager. They're going to interrogate him soon, even if they don't need his testimony. The guy has so much evidence against him..."
"You're going to interrogate him soon?" Grissom repeated. "I'll be there."
"Gris, no. I really don't think you should be there. It's...way too personal for you."
"Forget it, Nick. I'll be there." With that, Grissom turned the phone off, setting it on the counter as he walked to his bedroom. He pulled out an outfit from within his closet, and made his way to the bathroom for a quick shower. He shut the door behind him, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked worse than ever. His hair was disheveled, his beard unkempt, he had circles under his eyes, and his skin had a pale pallor to it. He stared at the ghost in the mirror for a long moment, then shook his head, moving to start his shower.
Sara stirred, suddenly feeling as if something were missing. She opened her eyes slowly, taking in the sight of Grissom's home. Then she looked down at her lap, where Grissom had fallen asleep, seeing that he was gone. She frowned, then heard the sound of running water. Figuring that Grissom was just using the bathroom, she made her way over to his kitchen to see if she could find something edible.
She was able to find enough supplies to make a small pancake breakfast, and was in the middle of mixing the batter when Grissom stepped out of the bathroom. She looked up as he walked into the kitchen, and it was like she was looking at a brand new man.
Taking a good, long shower seemed to have worked wonders on him, erasing the circles under his eyes and giving him a healthier skin tone. His hair was neatly combed, and his beard was trimmed. His clothes were also very fresh, both the black shirt and black pants ironed.
He stepped up to the island, watching her curiously. "What are you making?" he asked.
She gave him a smile. "Pancakes. I don't think you've eaten in a while, so I thought you might want some breakfast."
Grissom shrugged noncommittally, unsure himself when the last time he had eaten was. He glanced at his watch, seeing that he'd spent about twenty minutes in the bathroom. He wasn't sure when they were going to interrogate his mother's murderer, so he wanted to be there as soon as he could. Yet, when Sara began to cook the pancakes, it was as if the smell were calling for him to stay. His stomach rumbled, so he gave in and sank down on the couch after Sara refused his offer to help.
She set a plate down on his lap, then sat down next to him. They ate in silence, Sara glancing up at Grissom every now and then with a nervous expression on her face.
"You look good," she finally said, desperately wanting to know what had caused his sudden change in demeanor.
He only nodded in reply, staring intently at his plate.
Finally, Sara could take it no more. She set her fork down on the table, leaning over to be closer to Grissom. "Gris, what's going on?" she asked, her tone of voice telling him that he had better answer.
He looked up at her slowly, and then glanced back down at his plate, taking an exaggerated stab at his food. "They…they've found the guy who did it."
Sara froze, staring at Grissom with wide eyes. "They got him?
He nodded, scooping up the last bit of food. He finished it, then stood up, moved to the kitchen, and dropped the plate in the sink. "I'll get those later," he said idly, moving to grab his jacket from the living room.
"Grissom," Sara said, her voice warning him. He stopped and turned to her, his hands nervously clenched into fists. "Where are you going?"
He sighed, glancing at the door as if contemplating escape. "I'm going to the station. They're going to interrogate him."
"Do you really think you should see that?"
He nodded. "I have to. I have to know why."
Sara sighed, stepping closer to him. She put a gentle hand on his arm. "Then I'm going with you."
* * * * * * *
Nick glanced up as the door behind him opened, allowing Grissom and Sara to step through.
"Gris," he began, stepping towards the elder CSI, "I really don't think you need to be here."
Grissom gave him a severe glare, then moved past him to peer through the glass. "Is that him?" he asked softly, gesturing to the man sitting at the table with his lawyer in the interrogation room, waiting for Brass and Catherine.
Nick didn't answer immediately, getting another glare from Grissom. He sighed, recognizing the near-maniacal glint in the supervisor's eyes. "Yeah, Gris. That's our guy. Larry Roberts, the manager at the hotel."
Grissom nodded, his jaw clenched, then turned back to the glass. He stared at the pale, jittery man for a moment. "What evidence did you get?"
Nick cautiously stepped next to Grissom to also look through the mirror. "We've got your mother's blood all over some clothes in his trunk, your mother's belongings with them. He also had no plausible alibi, easy access to the room, and he ran after the murder." He glanced at Grissom. "Fool-proof. We wouldn't even need a confession."
Grissom gave the slightest of nods, his attention still set on the hotel manager. His eyes only left him for a second when the door in the room opened, letting Brass and Catherine inside. Catherine sat down across from the suspect, while Brass took his usual spot in the corner.
Catherine cleared her throat, pulling some papers from a folder. "Mr. Roberts, we've found significant evidence indicating that you attacked and murdered Mrs. Grissom the night she stayed in your hotel."
Roberts smirked, crossing his arms and leaning back. "Like what?"
Catherine arched an eyebrow, casually sliding evidence photos across the table. "Like her blood all over your clothes. Also her wallet, ring and watch in your car."
"It all points to you," Brass added.
Roberts glanced down at the photos, his confident smile fading.
Catherine shook her head. "You left a tell-tale path of evidence."
The lawyer leaned forward, shooting a glance at his client. "You don't have a murder weapon. No jury in their right mind would convict him for first-degree murder with this."
Roberts closed his eyes. "I dumped the knife in Lake Mead," he whispered. His lawyer shook his head and leaned back.
Catherine frowned. "Why dump the knife and not the bloody clothes?"
He gave her a small, sad smile. "I liked that shirt."
"You thought you could get away with it?"
Roberts shrugged. "Just an old lady. Figured no one'd miss her enough to care."
Sara saw Grissom stiffen next to her, clenching his hands into fists. She thought for a moment that he was going to bust out the glass to get to Roberts. But he didn't; he just kept watching.
Catherine worked her jaw, trying not to let her anger get the best of her. She hid her trembling hands by shuffling her papers.
"You thought that no one would care if you attacked, robbed, and killed an innocent woman?" Brass asked, his voice dripping with disgust.
Roberts looked up at him. "Yeah. I mean, the lady was at the end of her rope anyway. She was alread dyin'. I just helped speed up the process. You see the meds she was takin'? Damn lady had cancer."
Catherine shook her head. "Doesn't matter. You killed her, and that's a crime." She gathered up her papers.
The lawyer shook his head. "We can make a plea bargain," he said, desperation evident in his voice.
Brass shook his head. "No go. We've got all we need."
Catherine reached for the door, her emotions finally getting the best of her. "For your information, someone did care about that old lady. And you've just stolen the only family he had from him." She stood there for a moment, giving Brass a nod.
He stepped forward as another officer cuffed Roberts. "Larry Roberts, you are under the arrest for the murder of Evelyn Grissom."
Nick turned to Grissom as Roberts was led out of the room, being told his rights by the officer. Grissom seemed distant, and didn't watch as Roberts exited. Nick sighed, patting him on the shoulder once before turning to grab his jacket. The sound of the door opening startled him, and he turned just in time to see Grissom disappear. He exchanged glances with Sara, then they both headed after the supervisor.
Grissom stared at Roberts' retreating back for a moment before taking off after him. Both Brass and Catherine saw him coming. Catherine froze, unsure of what to do. Brass, however, stopped and indicated that Roberts should turn. Getting no reaction from the murderer, he turned him around, giving the man a second to see Grissom before he was shoved against the wall. The other officer made to pull Grissom away, but Brass held him back.
At first, Roberts was confused as to what was happening. Then he saw the eyes, the bright blue eyes set with anger. And for a long moment, it was if he were looking into his victim's eyes again.
He expected the man to shout at him, but he didn't. Instead, Grissom spoke in a low voice, though it enticed more fear than shouting ever could.
"Was it worth it? Was killing her worth what you found, you sick piece of shit?"
Roberts smirked, wondering what this man could do to him. "Piss off," he said, trying to shove Grissom off him.
With an expression that frightened Sara, Grissom grasped Roberts arm, slamming him into the wall forcefully.
"Listen to me, you sick son of a bitch. You think you're going to get off easy, but you're not. I'm going to make sure you burn. With every bit of power that I possess, you will burn for what you did to my mother." He used the same soft, steely voice as before, sending a chill down everyone's spine. "You'd better hope you get the death penalty, cause if the state won't kill you, I will. One way or another, it's over for you."
Roberts stared at Grissom fearfully for a moment. He'd gotten a lot of death threats in his life, but he felt as if this guy were actually capable of carrying out that threat. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You hear that? He's threatening me." Roberts turned to Brass. "That's police brutality. I could sue."
Brass shrugged. "I didn't see anything." He looked at the younger officer. "You?"
The cop smirked. "Not a thing, sir."
"There you go," Brass said as he grasped an open-mouthed Roberts' arm. The man was still gawking when they turned a corner, giving Grissom one last glance.
Grissom sighed wearily, leaning against the wall as he rubbed his temples. The encounter had been mentally exhausting. He'd seen some cold-blooded killers in his days as a criminalist, but it was completely different to look into the eyes of the man who killed his mother. He was only vaguely aware of Nick and Catherine as they watched him--Nick from his hiding place by the doorjamb of the interrogating room, and Catherine from against the wall. They exchanged glances, seeming to be debating over who would approach Gris. Both were worried about their friend, but both were also afraid of bearing the brunt of Grissom's excess anger.
Catherine apparently won--or lost—and stepped over to Grissom, putting a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her, his eyes betraying his fatigue and pain. "You okay?" she asked gently.
He nodded slowly, then gave her a typical, "Yeah, I'm fine."
She squeezed his shoulder. "All right." She looked down for a moment. "You know, we all appreciate you holding back with that guy. It'd be kinda hard to work if our hallway became a crime scene."
He gave her a small smile, appreciating her attempt to lighten the mood. He glanced at the spot where Roberts had disappeared, then headed toward his office, leaving the other CSIs behind. He threw open the door, and was greeted by the obnoxious singing of the Big Mouth Billy Bass. He flipped on the light, suddenly feeling as if he were some place where he could finally escape.
He walked the length of his shelves for a moment, glancing at the various jars. He occasionally picked one up, studying the contents before replacing it. He put some food in his tarantula tanks, then sank into his chair. He idly looked over the memos and files placed on his desk, all awaiting his attention and signature. Then he sighed, leaning back in the chair.
His office did seem to offer some bit of comfort. It was a place of science, where emotions had no purpose. Anger, grief, and even hatred had no purpose here. It allowed him to breathe, to take a break from the emotions that constantly threatened to overcome him.
A soft knock on his door caught his attention, and he looked up to see Sara silhouetted in the doorframe. "Hey," she said, moving further into his office. They did get him, huh?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Hotel manager. Didn't think anyone would care," he said, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice. *Guess the office isn't working.*
She pulled a chair up next to his, staring at his face. When he didn't react, she put a hand on the side of his face. His eyes shot up to meet hers.
"It's all right, Grissom. It is. Nick and Cath caught the guy. He'll spend the rest of his life realizing just how stupid he was."
Grissom nodded, then covered her hand with his. "I know, Sara. I know. But…" he paused, looking down at his desk, "but it doesn't stop the pain."
Sara smiled sadly, slightly surprised that Grissom would admit to his feelings so easily. "I know it hurts, Gris. It takes a long time for it to go away." She removed her hand from his face and stood up. "C'mon. Let me drive you home."
He nodded. "Yeah. I have a funeral to arrange."
* * * * * * *
Sara barely heard the words of the pastor as he spoke, his voice melding with other noises in the environment to become a constant buzz in her head. She tried to focus on what the man was saying and would succeed to a certain extent, only to lose herself in her thoughts once again.
She lifted her eyes to study Grissom, who was standing next to her. Sharply dressed in a suit and tie, he was looking a lot better than he had a few days before. After the interrogation, Sara had taken him home, where he'd slept for another six hours. He'd emerged, finding her settled on his couch, and admitted that he'd never slept so much before in his life. He was staring intently at the pastor as he spoke, but Sara could tell that he too wasn't hearing a word that was said. He'd receded into himself again, and Sara hoped that he would be able to come out.
Looking away from Grissom, her eyes fell upon the other CSIs gathered about the gravesite. Nick shifted uncomfortably on his feet, both from wearing the stuffy suit and thinking of the man that had put Mrs. Grissom in her grave. Catherine's face was calm, and Sara was unable to catch even a glimpse of what the blonde was thinking. Warrick seemed the most emotional, casting small glances in Grissom's direction every now and again. He was concerned about his mentor, and made no effort to hide it.
A small smile crossed Sara's face when she looked to the next person. Greg was dressed in a nice suit, though he kept his oddness by wearing a Goofy and Mickey Mouse tie. When he had first shown up, Catherine had pitched a small fit about the tie, saying it was completely inappropriate. She'd even gone so far as to make Greg take it off and wear an extra one that Nick had brought in case the one *he'd* wore wasn't fitting. Grissom, however, had intervened and said that Greg was fine. And after Greg confessed that he really didn't know how to tie the thing, Grissom had tied it for him, giving the young lab rat an appreciative pat on the back.
Sara scanned the rest of the crowd, seeing many familiar faces. She saw Brass, O'Riley, Vega, Jacqui, Bobby, and Archie. All were here to pay respects to a woman they had never met. For many of them, it wasn't so much to pay respects to Mrs. Grissom, but to pay respect to Grissom himself. And for all of them to take the time to drive out to Marina del Rey for the funeral meant a great deal to Grissom.
"Sara," a soft voice said, cutting into her thoughts. She turned to see Grissom staring at her with a hand on her shoulder. Blinking, she looked around a few times, seeing that the crowd was beginning to disperse. "You okay?"
She smiled. He was asking *her* if she was okay. She should be asking him! She wanted to tell him this, but refrained, choosing instead to just nod. "Yeah, Gris. I'm fine. You?"
He returned her smile, though it seemed a little half-hearted. "I'm fine," he parroted. "You ready to go? We'll have to leave soon if we want to make it in by the start of shift."
Sara nodded, amazed at how quickly Grissom was trying to re-immerse himself in to his day-to-day life. It was odd, and yet it was so...Grissom. It was just the kind of thing that he would do. Try to fight away the pain with work. "Okay. You want me to drive?"
"Sure," he said, handing her the keys. "You go ahead...I'll be right there."
She glanced at the fresh dirt of the gravesite, then nodded. Giving Grissom's shoulder a squeeze, she made her way to the SUV.
Grissom stepped up to the stone and knelt down. For a long moment, he simply read the words engraved in the marble over and over to himself. *Evelyn Ann Grissom. April 6, 1932 - September 14, 2003*. He idly ran his hand over the letters, as if trying to memorize the feel of them. He pulled a rose from one of the wreaths, gently placing it on top of the stone. He let his hand set on it for a long moment, then slowly stood up.
He sighed, knowing that it was going to be hard to move on, to go on with life. He would constantly be reminded of his mother. He would hear her voice, hear her laugh, everything that was her. He would see them everyday...He glanced up at Sara's retreating back and allowed a small smile to cross his face. At least now, with Sara by his side, it wouldn't be so hard.
END
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Well, the end to another story! Once again, I hope you guys enjoyed this story as much as I did writing it! Thanks to all those who left reviews. Those things really do inspire me to write more, just 'cause I know someone out there is interested!
Special thanks, once again, to Grissomgal71 for her beta job on these last few chapters. You're the best, Jamie! : )
~Gris