Chapter 4: Confrontation and Confession

At the crime lab, Warrick, Nick, and Greg looked up as Catherine's cell rang. "Willows," she answered it.
"Catherine!" Grissom's breathless voice ripped through her, and she suddenly had the awful feeling that something bad had happened. He sounded terrified.
"Grissom!" she cried, and the three sitting before her stared at her. "Grissom, what's wrong? Where's Sara?"
He ignored her questions. "Tell Mobley you're not doing the case, tell him to give it to day shift."
"Grissom..."
"Just do it, Catherine," he snapped, a tinge of panic edging into his voice. "I'm your supervisor, you have to do as I say."
"Why, Grissom?" she asked, trying to calm him. He was obviously in no shape to be giving orders. "What is it?"
"I said just do it, damn it!" Then his voice was quiet, pleading, begging with her to listen. "Please! Oh god, please just do it. You have to do it." She realized then that he was sobbing again, and she immediately wondered what Sara was doing at the other end.
There was really only one thing for Catherine to do, herself. "All right," she said soothingly, "all right. Everything's going to be all right. I'll tell Mobley, and we'll be right over. Just hold on, Gil, we're coming." For a few more seconds she could hear him sobbing as he tried to say something, and then the phone was turned off.
"What is it?" Nick asked, a worried look in his eyes. "Are they all right?"
"I don't know. Grissom told me not to take the case. He sounded terrified. He couldn't even talk at the end; he was sobbing."
The three men stared at her. "What... why?"
Catherine shook her head as she dialed Mobley's number. "I don't know, but I want to get over there fast and find out."

For the second time that night, Grissom sat curled in Sara's arms, sobbing, his face buried in her shoulder. Sara sat there simply holding him, wondering what had caused it, wishing she had just done as he said and called Catherine herself.
"Shh, Gris," she soothed as she rubbed his back, "shh, everything's going to be all right. It'll be all right." Finally, he managed to stop crying, but instead of getting up as Sara had expected he stayed where he was with his face pressed into her shoulder. His breath was still coming in shuddering gasps, but he was in control of himself for the most part. They were still sitting that way when there was the sound of a key being turned in the lock. Grissom heard it, and he immediately pulled away from Sara and leaned forwards so his elbows rested on his knees. "Grissom," she began, but she was interrupted as the door was pushed open and Catherine rushed in, the guys right behind her.
"Grissom!" Catherine cried. He barely acknowledged her, his eyes flicking to the four standing in the doorway for only a second before they returned to the floor. Sara shrugged at her friends, and then turned to Grissom as the group took seats. Nick sat down on the other side of Grissom, and Catherine, Warrick and Greg pulled up chairs from the kitchen.
"Grissom," Sara said softly, touching his face. He pulled away from her, still silent, and she let out her breath in irritation. "Grissom, stop it." The group waited, expecting him to say something – anything – but his lips remained sealed, his eyes cast downwards. Suddenly, they all saw that his hands were trembling violently, even though he had clenched them into fists in front of him. "What happened, Grissom?" Sara tried again, and this time, his eyes flicked to her face for a moment. Their icy blue depths were unguarded for that second, and she saw how much this was scaring and hurting him.
"Grissom..." Warrick's voice broke through the silence then, and Grissom shook his head, as though trying to make them go away.
"Don't," he said, voice broken. "I can't."
"Sure you can," Nick said, leaning forward so he could see Grissom's face. Grissom promptly turned away. "Come on, Gris, you need to get it out. Everyone's scared of something; you can't hide from it." Grissom's jaw muscle twitched, telling them that he was hearing them. if not believing them.
"Grissom, you were terrified when you called me," Catherine pointed out, "there had to be a reason you were so worked up about that crime scene. And I think I deserve to know, because I nearly got my ass bitten off when I told Mobley I'd changed my mind."
"Doesn't matter," Grissom mumbled, sensing how frustrated they were getting.
"Grissom, if it freaked you out that much, it obviously did matter," Warrick murmured. "You don't get that worked up over little things, Grissom. In fact, you never get worked up, period."
"I'm having a bad week." Grissom knew they wouldn't buy that in a million years, but he was stalling.
"Wait..." Sara's spoke then. "Was it something I said?" Her four teammates all looked at her. Grissom looked up in alarm, and Sara had her answer.
"What did you say?" Greg asked, realizing what Sara was doing.
"Well, I..."
"Don't," Grissom said, voice strained and tired. "Just leave it."
"I can't, Gris," she whispered sadly. She glanced at the group surrounding them. "I can't remember exactly, but I know he asked what the case was. I repeated...."
"Sara!" Grissom was pleading with her, but she ignored him resolutely.
"I repeated what you told me, Catherine. Multiple homicides, pretty brutal, and then I repeated what Brass told you, about us needing the whole team just to collect all the damn evidence..." she trailed off suddenly, as she turned to look at Grissom. His hands were shaking even worse than before, and his face was pale. Her voice became soft. "And then Grissom said, 'they can't be dead.' Just like he did last night when he was having the nightmare."

That got Grissom's attention. His head snapped up, and the look of horror in his eyes terrified them. He hadn't even realized what he had said to Sara earlier, and he had no idea that he had called out in his sleep while they were still in the house. "You didn't..." he gasped, "I didn't say..." He couldn't finish. Images were flashing through his mind – images of his team, sprawled dead on the floor in front of him, in a growing pool of their own blood. He heard the gunshots clearly; saw the man fall under his gun. "No," he mumbled, pressing a hand to his head as the shots echoed and ricocheted around his brain, and five pairs of dead eyes stared back at him from the floor. He could vaguely hear voices, calling him, hands trying to hold him, but he jerked away. "No!" he screamed, trying to get away from those eyes, those sightless eyes that filled him with pain and rage. "No!" And then, suddenly, a sharp voice called his name, and the hands became arms wrapped tightly around him. Sara, he thought, Sara's got me, everything's all right if Sara's got me. He focused on her voice, as she whispered to him, and the feel of her arms around him, and slowly, the eyes and the bodies disappeared, and the gunshots were quieted. He was safe as long as Sara had him.

Slowly, Grissom's trembling body stilled, but his eyes remained tightly closed. The team had been stunned at his reaction to the words. Nothing they had done had seemed to calm him, until Sara finally took him in her arms and held him, and whispered to him softly until he was still. "He'll be all right," she assured the team quietly as she stroked his hair, "it'll just be minute."

None of them were surprised at how she had handled it, or him. They had seen the connection more clearly than her or Grissom; that was for sure. Now, as they stood off to the side, watching Sara run her fingers through his hair and kiss his forehead gently, they were just relieved that she was still able to care enough for him to help him when he so obviously needed her. From where they were they couldn't hear what Sara was saying, but obviously it was the right thing, because Grissom began to talk, his voice soft. They all had to move in closely to hear him. "I'm going deaf," he whispered, and his voice shook. He offered no explanation as to why, or how – he was aware that they had figured it out for themselves – but he felt the need to tell them still. He needed to say it out loud, and have them hear it. "I haven't been ignoring you I just... I just don't hear you. I was scared. I'm sorry, if I've hurt you. Any of you." He stopped then, taking a breath. "I..."

"You're exhausted, Grissom," Catherine said softly, pushing a little. "You haven't had enough sleep for the past week."

"Nightmares." It took a lot of effort for him to say it. He didn't want to think about it. "Two. One I haven't had since I was a kid... it started right after the other one. Sometimes I get them two or three times a night, if I force myself to go to bed. They just started a few weeks ago..."

"This has been going on for weeks?" The shock in Sara's voice was obvious. He shuddered as he thought of those weeks. "Yeah," he murmured. "Weeks. Nights were short, days were long; God, they were long. I stayed awake so many times, afraid to close my eyes. But I always drifted off in the end, and I always woke up screaming." He felt Sara's arms tighten around him protectively, and he let himself lean into her strength. "I'm breaking rules all over the place," he whispered, closing his eyes again.

"Rules, Grissom?" Warrick asked, slightly confused. Grissom took a shuddering breath. "My rules. The ones I set a long, long time ago, to keep my life ordered and neat, and empty of anything that couldn't be understood. My big one – don't think about anything that threatens that. Cause if you don't think about it, it'll go away." The group exchanged glances. What would posses Grissom to force himself to live like that? "It worked. Since I was seven years old, it worked, until a few months ago. Then my great, golden rule to an uncomplicated life stopped working." His hands were trembling, and he clenched them to stop it, as he gritted his teeth. "Just because you don't think about it doesn't mean you'll miraculously be cured, and hear again. And then a few weeks ago – just because I didn't think about the nightmares during the day, and ignored them, didn't mean they wouldn't come back again, night after night, week after week. Now that I actually think about it..." He laughed bitterly at the words. "Now that I actually think about it, I can't believe it's worked for all these years... last night, when you... when you found me in the bathroom. That was the worst one, ever. Mostly, they're both the same every time they happen. Except for that one. It was different... worse." His eyes reflected his pain as he thought about it. "That one... it's always at a crime scene," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper, "and you're already there. Even Greg. Brass is outside – you're already collecting evidence. I... I ask him how he's doing, and he always says, 'do you have to ask? Multiple homicides, pretty brutal. This one's definitely going to take your whole team, even if it's just to collect all the damn evidence.'" The group exchanged looks, remembering that Brass had spoken those exact words to Catherine not more than twenty minutes ago. Grissom continued. "And then I hear these gunshots, coming from the house, and I start running. I always think to myself, you should let Brass handle it, but I can't, because it's my team in there. My responsibility, and the only people I've ever allowed into my life for as long as I can remember. But I never get there in time..." His voice broke as he recalled the dream, and relived it through his telling. Tears rolled down his cheeks. "God, everyone's dead, and you... you're eyes are open, and you look so scared. In a pool of your own blood, all together. And then some guy's coming down the stairs, his gun pointed at me. I always think I recognize him from somewhere, but I can't make out his face too well. He's talking, but I can't hear him, and I know he killed you... all I want is to make him pay for it. So I do." At this statement, his hands seemed to stop trembling, and his eyes became distant, as though he were somewhere else even as he talked. His voice was strangely soft, and even though tears still trickled down his face, he seemed to be unaware of them. "I empty my gun into him, and then Brass is there, trying to hold me down, and calm me down, but all I can hear are the gunshots, over and over again. And then I'm screaming, and fighting him. All I want to do is kill someone. Mostly the officer who was supposed to clear the scene. I don't kill him, but it definitely isn't for lack of trying. By then I can't move, and my legs give out and I'm falling. And then I wake up. The other night... The other night was so different." He snapped back to the present then, his eyes haunted and tormented. The tears had returned with new force, and he was suddenly sobbing again. "You... you're bodies... the bodies were ripped apart, and he had written a message in your... in the blood. 'How do you like your birthday present, Gil?' And then the guy is coming down the stairs, and for the first time his face is clear, and I know exactly who he is. I know exactly why he wrote what he did, even though somehow I know it's nowhere near my birthday. And I woke up. I could still see it, even after I woke up. I tried to turn on the lamp, but I was shaking so much... I knocked it off the table, and cut myself. There was so much blood... so much blood... had to be dead... so much blood..." his voice trailed off, and once again he was lost in his own world.

For a moment a stunned silence filled the room. Then Catherine broke out of her stupor, and gently pulled Grissom's face towards her. The dazed look in his eyes was so similar to the one he had worn when she had first showed up at his apartment. "Cath," he mumbled, and Catherine gently ran her hand over his face. She wanted to cry, but she couldn't because Grissom needed her. He needed them all. "Grissom," she whispered. "Grissom, who was the man?" For now, she thought to herself, we're going to treat this like it could actually happen. Nick, Warrick and Greg were silent. They didn't really know what to say. Obviously the authenticity of the dream had terrified Grissom, and that in itself scared them. They were pretty sure it was safe to say that Grissom had never gotten so upset over anything in his life.

Grissom's dazed eyes stared straight through Warrick, who peered over Catherine's shoulder. "My dad. It was always my dad. Only that was the first time I really knew."

"What?" Sara whispered harshly, her grip involuntarily tightening on his hand. He didn't seem to notice. "The present..." Grissom mumbled, recalling his childhood. "My dad left when I was five..." Grissom laughed bitterly to himself. "I was just the opposite of most kids. I blamed my mom for his leaving. I thought he left because she went deaf. I was so sure it was her fault - I refused to learn sign language. But then he came back, two years later. I heard him talking to mom in the living room... even though she was deaf, she could speak and read lips... he wanted her to leave with him. He had never wanted me. I was one big mistake. God, that hurt. I hated myself. It was my fault he'd left, and I'd blamed it all on my mother, and made sure she knew it. She started yelling at him, screaming for him to get out of her house. She said she didn't know how he could be so 'heartless,' as she put it. She was so angry, because he'd left us..." His voice trailed off, but the team had grown used to it. He was doing it a lot as he spoke - losing himself in memories he hadn't thought of in years. "She said she didn't really care that he'd left her, but he'd left me, and that was what made her mad. He'd never written... never sent a present on my birthday. She was furious. He was furious. Started going on about getting me for stealing his wife. She tried to stop him, but he just pushed her out of the way and told her to let him deal with me." Grissom's voice became very soft then, and they could hear the exhaustion in it. A tear rolled down his cheek slowly, but there was really nothing left in him to cry. "I tried to run, but he grabbed me around the neck and hauled me back. Broke my ribs... shattered my leg, and an arm, and broke my collarbone... broke my jaw, and my hip. I had a concussion. I don't even really remember exactly what happened, but mom came into the room with the baseball bat she'd given me for my birthday the year before, and started hitting him with it and screaming. He hated me so much... but he still loved her. She was the only one he ever really loved... And even after I made sure she knew how much I hated her for two years, she still loved me. That's the other dream. The one I haven't had in years... I just... I just relive that over and over again..."

"What happened to your dad?" Greg's question was soft, hesitant. He wasn't entirely sure of himself. He almost felt as though he shouldn't be asking Grissom to tell him anything. His fears were banished as Grissom met his eyes. "He ran. Nobody heard from him again. I stayed in the hospital for weeks. Councilors came to talk about it with me... for the most part they talked, and I pretended to listen. They thought they understood, but they didn't. They never could. They all left me alone after a while. And I finally discovered if I didn't think about it, and pretended it didn't happen, it didn't hurt. Only the nightmares were there, and those could be ignored just as easily when I woke up. It always worked..." They could see how hard he was fighting to stay awake, despite all the sleep he'd had in the past hours. "The dream..." he mumbled sleepily, looking a little ashamed of himself, "I panicked. It just... it scared me. It's just a coincidence. I'm sorry I freaked out like that..." He let sleep claim him then and his body relaxed against Sara. The group surrounding him let out their breath. None of them had realized they had been holding it.
Catherine stood then and began pacing, running her hands through her hair. The look on her face was half worry, half anger. She stopped suddenly when she realized everyone except the sleeping Grissom was staring at her. She sighed. "I just... I never knew."

"None of us did, Cath. We had no way of knowing," Warrick said soothingly. "You know he never talks about the important things." Sighing again, Catherine knelt down next to Grissom and gently touched his cheek. "Everything's going to be all right, Gris," she told him softly, more to reassure herself than anyone. "Everything's going to be fine." He sighed in his sleep then, and turned his face into Sara's shoulder. The guys and Catherine grinned, and Sara smiled shyly. The feeling of fear and uncertainty that had enveloped the room before was now gone.

For a while they all sprawled on the floor around Grissom and Sara, talking quietly. Then, Catherine finally stood, her hunger getting the better of her. As though he sensed that Catherine had left a hole in the little circle surrounding him, Grissom stirred restlessly in his sleep, and Sara ran a hand over her face, whispering quietly to him until he was still again. "I don't know about you guys," Catherine said quietly as Nick's own grumbling stomach interrupted the silence, "but I could sure use some food. As soon as we get Grissom into his own bed, I'll see what I can make from what he's got in his kitchen. Nick, Warrick, you think you can get him up?"

"Sure, Cath," Nick and Warrick replied in unison. Reluctantly, Sara let them pull the sleeping Grissom from her arms. "Be careful," she snapped quietly at them as Grissom stirred again, and his eyes flickered open.
"Relax, Sara," Warrick hissed back good-naturedly as he supported the still half-asleep Grissom. "We're being careful."
"You don't have to..." Grissom's voice was slurred as he managed to get his feet under him.
"Take it easy, Gris," Nick said soothingly, "we've got you. You're fine." Getting him into his room, they set him down gently on his bed, and Sara pulled the covers up over him.
They were just about to leave, when Grissom suddenly reached out and caught Sara's hand in his own. He was struggling to stay awake. "Sara," he mumbled, and she turned to look at him.
"What is it, Grissom?" she asked quietly, gripping his hand gently, so as not to disturb the bandage.
"Can you..." he looked away from her, suddenly shy. "Can you stay...? I mean, just until... until I'm asleep."
Sara wanted to grin at his words, but she forced herself to just smile calmly at him. "Yeah," she whispered, sitting down on the edge of the bed and gently brushing her free hand through his hair. "Yeah, I'll stay as long as you need me."
"Thanks," he murmured, as he finally let himself go.
"You're welcome," Sara whispered in reply, eyes shining. She ignored the group behind her as they chuckled quietly to themselves.
"We'll save you something to eat, Sar," Nick said, patting her on the back. "When you're sure he's settled, come on out, and bring the pillows and stuff, all right?"
"Sure Nick, whatever," she said absently, her gaze fixed on Grissom. "Just give me a minute."

TBC...