THE DAY WE MEET AGAIN part two
I had already published this, but I made a little revision. Boy, was I red-faced when I noticed some big mistakes. I really wished I had a better grasp of the language! Still, I hope I'm improving…
Note: The case that Sara mentions is based on one of the cases described in the book "Proclaimed in Blood" by Hugh Miller. There's a little note about it at the end of the story.
But just in case you're wondering
What it's really on my mind
It wasn't what you took my love
It's what you left behind
And just in case you're wondering
Will it really be the same?
You know we're only living for
The day we meet again
Grissom closed the window after a while.
He closed his eyes and leant his forehead against the steering wheel. He remembered the last time he had sat like this, in Las Vegas. It felt like a lifetime ago- He remembered the despair he'd felt that night. The absolute hopelessness. He didn't feel that today. He was exhausted, most of all. He wanted to sleep; he didn't care that he was in a public place or that he still hadn't found a hotel. He didn't want to decide, or to think, even… Right now all he wanted to do was to sit in his car and watch the falling rain. It was hypnotic.
After a while, he leant against the door and fell asleep, lulled by the sound and the sight of the rain, a curtain of water isolating him from the outside.
The sound of laughter woke him up.
Grissom opened his eyes and frowned; he rarely fallen asleep in his car- and then he realized that this was a rental. He sat up, suddenly alert. Slowly, everything came to him – the Martins; the leave of absence; going to Chicago, flying to Santa Barbara… visiting Donald Jones…
And Sara.
He shook his head; he didn't want to think about her right now.
He reached out to wipe the fogged up car windows with the cuff of his jacket. He looked outside. Night had fallen it wasn't raining anymore. He had a clear view of the mall and the parking lot, and it looked so festive against the darkness, it reminded him a little of Las Vegas. Only instead of hookers or gamblers, there were couples and entire families going in.
Grissom stared wistfully at them. He wondered what it would be like to go to a mall, holding someone's hand- Sara's, for instance. Or a child's. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine doing something normal, like buying ice cream or pop corn for a daughter or a son… or flowers for a wife.
No, not flowers, he thought immediately, a potted plant-
The phone rang and out of habit, he immediately answered.
"Grissom."
"Hey, baby-"
Sara.
"Sara?" he hesitated, "What's up?" He cringed, the moment those words got out of his mouth. Way to greet a girlfriend. She didn't seem to mind, though.
"Nothing. Just missing you." She answered. "Where are you?"
"I'm-" he didn't finish the sentence.
"Your aunt says you left Chicago yesterday." Sara said after a while.
He closed his eyes, cursing himself. He should have told her.
"I'm in Santa Barbara." He explained.
"Oh." She hesitated, "Are you visiting anyone?"
"No. I'm just spending a couple of days here. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
In the silence that followed, he wondered whether to tell her why he'd come to this city and what he'd done. Some day, perhaps. In a year or two. If they were still together.
"So… what have you been doing?" she asked when the silence became unbearable.
"Nothing." He said evasively.
"Nothing? I thought Santa Barbara was a nice city-"
"It's raining," he explained, "I've been staying in my room-"
"Oh damn," she cringed, "Did I wake you up?"
"I wasn't asleep, Sara." he said soothingly.
"You sound sleepy." She insisted.
"Sara, I wasn't asleep."
"What were you doing?"
"Nothing." he said, but he knew she wouldn't believe that. "Watching TV-" he amended.
"What were you watching?"
"An old movie-" he said slowly.
"Which one?" she insisted.
"It was just an old movie, Sara."
"What was it about?" she asked.
Grissom looked around, trying to improvise,
"Well…" he started, "There was this guy who wanted to confront someone who had hurt him in the past-"
"What do you mean, 'confront' him?"
Grissom took a deep breath.
"He wanted to kill him." He said abruptly.
"Whoa; that's a bit extreme-"
"Yeah-" Grissom admitted, "But he felt he deserved it. Revenge, I mean." He paused. He had a sudden need to tell her everything. He lowered his voice, "Perhaps he thought that if he killed the person who hurt him, he'd somehow erase the damage done to him." He paused again, "He wanted to do it," he whispered, "He could almost smell the blood, Sara; he could almost see the damage he'd do to the other guy. He wanted revenge more than anything else-"
"And then?" she urged.
He couldn't tell her the truth. He didn't want to admit it, but deep down he felt like a wimp for not hurting Donald.
"I don't know," he said evasively, "I doze off."
"Grissom!" she groaned, "I wanted to know the ending!"
"Sorry." He said sheepishly.
"Aw, it's ok, baby. But what do you think? Did the good guy get his revenge?"
"I think he chickened out." Grissom said quietly.
"Why?"
Grissom looked outside before answering.
"I guess he realized he'd never be able to erase anything." He said with a sigh, "And he'd seen enough violence to last him a lifetime, Sara. He didn't want to be a part of it." He paused to take a deep breath, "He'd been a good guy most of his life, so-" he smiled faintly, "He chose to go on being a good guy."
"Well, I love to see bad guys pay, even if it's only on TV." She said dryly. "We don't have enough of that, you know."
"What does that mean?" he frowned.
"Nothing," she said quickly, "Nothing, it's just-" she sighed, "It's frustrating, Grissom. You know how it is; people hurt and kill others and get away with it- Sometimes it seems there is no justice-"
"Sara? What's this all about?" he asked, concerned.
"Nothing. I just- How do you do it, Griss? How do you keep doing this job, knowing that no matter what you do, there's no guarantee that you'll get the bad guy?"
"Sara, tell me what happened."
"I had a couple of bad nights here." She admitted, "It's one of the reasons I called. I mean… I've been missing you like crazy, but I also needed to talk to you about something. I made a mistake-"
"What kind of mistake?" he was getting worried now.
"I'm going to tell you, but first I'd like to apologize for the things I said the other day."
"What things?"
"I said that you cared too much about the evidence and that you should care more about the victim." she replied.
She paused, but Grissom didn't make any comment. He was actually holding his breath, fearing the worst.
"I also said that love had given me some new insights." She added, "Well… Do you remember the case I was investigating?" she said, "The raped wife, the murdered husband-?"
"Yeah," he admitted cautiously, "You said you had a suspect- "
"Exactly. Well, our suspect committed suicide, Grissom; he shot himself."
"Whoa." He exclaimed, "Case closed."
"Yeah, that's what we thought." She said, "Nick and I even hurried to tell Mrs. Rowe that she wouldn't have to face her tormentor ever again. She was so glad, she cried-" Sara paused for a moment. "We continued working on the case, but only to finish the paperwork. In our minds, the case was solved, Grissom. I confess that for a while I was only looking for the evidence that fitted Mrs. Rowe's story; I believed her- she was the victim, after all. And then last night - " she sighed, "Maybe it was because I was missing you so much, but…" she gulped, "I suddenly asked myself, 'what would Gil do if he were here? What would he say?' And then I looked at the blood evidence as unemotionally as I could. I looked at the pictures, and I visited the crime scene again… I couldn't believe what I saw. There was no blood spatter on the walls, just a light spray…and on the floor, there were drops of bloodMr. Rowe wasn't hacked to death, Grissom; someone simply made all those cuts on him, quietly and methodically, but not in a frenzied attack. I was wondering what else I'd missed from the rest of the evidence, when Doc Robbins called to tell me that Mr. Rowe's injuries definitely contradicted his wife's testimony. Mr. Rowe didn't have any defensive wounds either, and that was very suspicious, so he sent some blood samples to the lab, and-"
"He was drugged." Grissom finished.
"Oh, yeah." She said, "She used her own sleeping pills. She killed her husband, Griss; she did everything herself- She cut him up and then staged the attack on herself; she smashed her head against the walls, put things into her body to make us believe she'd been raped and brutalized -"
Grissom exhaled.
"And Fowles didn't commit suicide-"
"No, she killed him too." she said mournfully, "Robbins established that Fowles was already dead by the time she staged the fight at her home, and Nick found her prints all over Fowles' place. She had been there many times before the night of the murder. She was Fowles' lover-"
"Why didn't she clean up after herself?" Grissom frowned, "That's sloppy for a cold-blooded killer-"
"She was so focused on the killing part, she just didn't care about the rest." she reasoned. "Plus, she's an amateur actress, and she thought everybody would simply believe her act."
"Did she say why she did it?"
"Her husband was going to divorce her, and Fowles was going to dump her too, so-"
Grissom sighed.
"Are you ok, Sara?"
"You're not surprised, are you?" she said peevishly, "Nothing horrifies you-"
"Sara, we know what people are capable of -" he said reasonably.
"Yes, but doesn't it bother you? Doesn't it ever upset you, that there are people like her out there? I mean, you should have seen this woman; when I told her we had all this evidence against her, she merely smirked. She was proud of herself; she couldn't wait to tell us what she did."
"She felt she was entitled to get revenge." He mused aloud.
"Exactly!" she said, "And she's so glad she did it, she doesn't even care that she's going to prison! Do you know what pisses me off the most? How she looked at Nick and me in the eye and lied to us so easily. She cried for her husband and made us believe he'd been the love of her life… we almost cried with her-"
"Sara." He interrupted, "She didn't do this to you; don't make it personal. You're not- we are not here to judge these people. Our job is to stop them from getting away with murder, and you accomplished that. You did your job. Don't ever regret feeling compassion. Ok?"
"Ok," she accepted a bit calmer, "It upset me more than it should," she admitted. She lowered her voice, "You know, for a moment I understood why some people take justice in their own hands. Like that guy in your movie. Have you ever felt like that?"
"Sara, violence has to stop somewhere; it better stops with us." he said quietly, "We have a choice; we're not sociopaths." He was musing aloud, "We know that all acts of violence have a price."
"Yes, but-" she paused, and then she sighed, "You're right. Don't mind me; I'm just blowing off steam," she admitted sheepishly.
"That's ok. Talking helps, Sara. And you know…there's something we forget too often."
"What's that?"
"We're only human." He replied, "We should learn to forgive ourselves for not being able to do everything." He answered. "We do our job and it's not enough half the time but it is not our fault. We can't help to make mistakes-" He was thinking of little Melvin Martin now. He didn't know if he'd ever be able to forgive himself for what had happened. His words were more for Sara's sake than his own. "-all we can do is learn from them."
"Griss, are you ok?" she asked, "You sound as if you had a cold-"
"Yeah-" he said evasively, "It's this rain, I guess-"
"Why don't you come back?" she pleaded softly, "It's sunny and warm here-"
"I know." He said, taking a deep breath, "I know, I just have things to do-" his voice trailed off. "I'll make it up to you." He said after a pause, "I promise-"
"Oh, I hope so," she said, trying to sound flirty, but failing miserably, "Oh, damn," she sighed, "It's just that… I miss you." She said wistfully, "I miss you so much-"
"Sara-"
"It gets so lonely-" She lamented, "I lie in bed for hours, you know? I just lie there, thinking of you and… " she gulped, "It's so damn frustrating-"
"I know." Grissom said, "Sara, it's hard for me too."
"Is it?"
"You have no idea," he sighed.
"Would it bother you if I said I'm glad?" she said, and he knew she was smiling. "Listen." She said more seriously, "I can deal with anything, ok? I just need to know that you'll be back soon."
"I will, Sara." He said reassuringly, "I just need to deal with some things first. I'm-" He hesitated, "I'm going to visit my mom in Oregon."
"Are you?" she was really surprised, "Oh, wow, Grissom; I'm glad- You two need to talk things out-"
"Yeah." He admitted, then he neatly changed the subject, "Hum, as for that case, Sara-"
"It's solved." She said, "That's what matters, right?"
"Yeah. But are you going to be ok?"
"I will. I was angry," she admitted, "But you're right, I was taking it too personally and that was a mistake." she sighed, "Feelings cloud my judgment sometimes. I've got to learn not to do that-"
"Sara, feelings are important too-" he protested, "You've taught me that."
"Oh. Have I?" she seemed to be smiling, "Good." She said, "Hey," she added after a moment, "When are you coming back?" He didn't answer immediately and she cringed. She hated to sound so needy. He'd be back when he was ready, not before. "Hey, look." She said softly, "Just call me when you do, will you? Call me from the airport, and no matter where I am, I'll go and pick you up-" she said, "I'll leave any crime scene and any autopsy to pick you up-"
"Thank you baby," he said softly. He frowned when he realized he'd said the 'b' word, but he didn't take it back; it was really the best term of endearment he could think of right now. "Thank you."
Mother you left me, but I never left you
I needed you, you never needed me
So I've just got to tell you goodbye, goodbye-
('Mother' by John Lennon)
Grissom was pleased. He had timed his arrival well and had been able to check into a hotel just before coming to see his mother.
If anybody had asked him why he didn't stay at his mother's house, he would have frowned. He would never have considered that an option; he had never even been inside her house. He always met her at a public place: A museum, a restaurant, or a hotel. Or an auditorium, like tonight. Her mother's former students had decided to celebrate her 70th Birthday by holding a small ceremony. They had flown in from all over the country for this. Professor Grissom had really made a difference on several generations of deaf kids and their families and they wanted to thank her properly.
Grissom entered the small auditorium and was immediately spotted by a young woman.
"Dr. Grissom!" she greeted, speaking the words and signing them at the same time.
Grissom signed his greeting.
"Come with me, please," She said, gently taking his arm and leading him to the front row. "Here's your seat. Are you staying for dinner?" she signed quickly, not waiting for his answer. "I hope you are. Please excuse me." She said and went to accommodate the new arrivals.
Grissom sat and looked around. Some people in the back rows already knew him and waved. Grissom waved back and then turned his attention to the stage. They had set a velvet armchair in the middle, with several chairs arranged on each side. There were also several flower arrangements, a big banner that read, "Happy Birthday, Professor Grissom," and a big screen on the left.
Grissom felt a bit restless. He hadn't come just for this celebration; he had come to talk to his mother. He had discovered many things about himself these past weeks and he needed to share this new knowledge with her. He needed some answers too. He had so many questions-
He was so engrossed by his thoughts, that at first he didn't notice that people were getting up and turning to look at the stage. When he did, he saw his mother being led to the stage by two young girls.
Professor Grissom sat on the big armchair and smiled at the young men and women who sat on the chairs around her. A girl got up and started signing. Everybody in the auditorium turned to the screen to watch her as she signed her words. After her brief introduction, a guy got up and talked about Professor Grissom.
Grissom had a little trouble following the quick-as-lightning movements of his hands at first, but he understood most of what was being said. They were all practically saying the same thing: How Professor Grissom had understood their problems, how she had been more than a teacher- this guy was practically saying that Professor Grissom had been like a mother to him.
How ironic, thought Grissom.
Grissom sighed and looked around. These affairs always turned out to be longer than expected. Not that he was looking forward to the end either. He knew that as soon as this ceremony ended, his mother's former pupils –now all grown up- would approach him and tell him what a lucky man he was to have such a mother. In the past he had always muttered, 'Yeah, right," without really knowing why; all he had were some vague memories of something unpleasant happening to him years ago… But tonight these memories were not vague.
Grissom thought again of those questions of his. During his flight over from Santa Barbara he had told himself over and over that he was entitled to some answers, but deep down he was afraid of them too. What if they were not what he needed to hear? If he asked her, Did you take the rap for me?' or 'Were you angry with me for ruining things and for shooting him?, what would she say? What if she said yes?
Grissom forced himself to stop thinking of this for a moment. He didn't want to get emotional. He simply wanted to talk to her, calmly and rationally, and accept everything she told him. He only wanted to know the truth.
The truth.
Grissom wondered what these kids would say if they knew his truth about Professor Grissom. He smiled faintly. They would simply not believe it. They loved her too much to care.
Well, there were other truths about their teacher that only he knew: For instance, they didn't know that she had gone back to school at a time when deaf adults weren't encouraged to do so, or that she had been forced to study in children's classrooms where kids ridiculed her and teachers disliked her. It had been extremely hard for her… but she had prevailed.
Grissom admired that.
Actually, he had always found it easy to admire Professor Grissom. He had the highest regard for her. It was the woman behind that he had trouble with. Whenever he met his mother in private, he simply didn't know what to say. They barely hugged or speak, and they immediately turned their attention elsewhere- a book, a piece of art, or a meal. They were polite, respectful of each other's privacy and their own. They acted as strangers who shared the same name…
Well, he didn't wonder why they were like this, anymore.
Grissom turned his attention back to the stage. One after the other, the former students talked of his mother, but it was the last who really surprised him: She told of some courageous actions performed by his mother: Going to the authorities when she suspected this girl was being abused, and then paying for counseling-
Grissom didn't know his mother was capable of such heroic acts.
It was hard to imagine a 'gutless bitch' doing all this, he thought cynically, and suddenly he had the feeling that his mother had changed so much that she simply didn't remember his past. He suspected that if he asked her about Donald Jones, she would simply look blankly at him and deny everything.
He looked at his mother again.
Professor Grissom's face graced the screen, and Grissom noticed how moved she was by the man who was speaking right now, and how proud she looked as he described his achievements.
Grissom wondered if she had ever been this proud of him. It seemed that she had never taken any real interest in his life. Did she even know what he did for a living? Suddenly he was tempted to go up and say, 'Hey, I've done great things, too; be proud of me!
He scoffed. It seemed petty to think like this. After all, he wasn't deaf –
He froze.
He ignored the rest of the speeches, concentrating instead on that last thought. It was an elusive idea that suddenly took form… And it was quite a revelation.
It all came down to this: He was not deaf.
By the time Professor Grissom stood up and thanked her students, he was looking at her with a new understanding. Now he thought he knew why they had acted like strangers.
Being deaf had been a source of pain for her mother; if he had been deaf, they would have shared that pain together. But he wasn't deaf, and in her eyes, he'd been born with all the advantages. No matter the abuse he suffered or the problems he faced; in her mind he was better off than any of these kids, better off than her. In his mother's eyes, he'd never really needed her – or she'd never felt she could do anything for him. And when he rejected her and asked her to leave him alone –she had accepted it and simply started a new life as Professor Grissom. His role as a mother was finished.
Grissom quietly came to a conclusion he had missed all those years: She had moved on with her life-
But he had been left behind. Despite the passing of time – forty years, for God's sake – a part of him was still calling out for his mom, waiting for her to save him.
It had to end. Grissom took a deep breath and made a decision. He couldn't keep waiting for his mother; he needed to grow up and he needed to move on.
Grissom looked up and this time he tried to see his mother through the eyes of an adult, and not from a damaged kid's perspective.
It was heartbreaking.
What he saw was a fragile, thin woman who had been a borderline anorexic for forty years; someone who didn't have any friends or anybody to share her life. Sure, she'd had a rewarding career and she had helped all these kids, but she had isolated herself. She never let anybody come close. Someone had told Grissom that professor Grissom visited her students' homes and meddled in their lives, but she never let anybody enter her home.
Grissom realized that whatever mistakes she had made, she had punished herself for them.
"Mom." He whispered, "I'm so sorry."
He saw his mother rise to thank her students. She was witty. She was sweet- she seemed to remember everybody by name. The audience waved their hands in appreciation.
When the ceremony ended, everybody rose, hurrying to greet the professor. Grissom avoided the students who looked like they wanted to talk to him and forced his way through the crowd until he reached his mother. He gently patted her shoulder.
She turned.
"Mom." He said, but when he looked into her eyes, all he could think of was that she was looking at the man who had shot her boyfriend and looked like the husband who had hurt her. She was smiling at him, and he forced himself to sign a single word. "Congratulations."
"Thank you." She signed, "Are you coming to the banquet?"
He didn't have time to answer. The same girl who had led him to his seat was now taking his mother's arm.
"Oh, sorry Dr. Grissom, but you mustn't be selfish!" she said with a smile, "You have her all year around; we only have a few hours to share-"
"Of course," He said. He looked at his mother. He had only a few seconds for this… he needed to do something. He awkwardly touched her face, and carefully said, "I'm very proud of you, mom."
Her eyes widened in surprise. She opened her mouth and it seemed that she was going to say something… but she never had a chance; her students were already taking her away. But she kept her eyes on him... until they turned a corner.
Grissom stood alone in the middle of the hallway.
"I forgive you." He whispered. "I love you. I'll move on now."
After a moment, he turned and left.
He was at the airport, staring at people coming and going. He decided not to stay in Oregon; he wasn't ready to talk to his mother. All those questions of his needed answers, but it wasn't fair to expect this mother to deal with them.
He was trying to figure out what to do and where to go now. He needed someone to put things into perspective- Actually, what he needed was a shoulder to cry on, but he didn't want to burden any of the people he loved, and that ruled out going back to Vegas or Chicago.
He took a deep breath and dialed his friend Gary Cole's number.
"Hey, Gar."
"Gil? Heeey!" he greeted, "How're you?"
"I'm-" he paused, "I'm ok."
"Great. What are you up to? I talked to Sidle and she told me you were in Chicago."
"I'm in Oregon now." he said.
"Oh, you saw your mom? How's she?"
"She's fine, but she's a bit lonely, I think. Could you drop her a line or two? It might cheer her up."
"I will." He said cautiously, "Are you ok, Gil?"
"I'm…" he took a deep breath, "I need some help, Gar."
Cole paused.
"You do?" he asked after a moment. "Tell me about it." He said cautiously.
"I just need someone to talk to." He said, trying not to make a big deal, "I thought you might know someone who -"
"Someone to talk to?" he repeated and Grissom snorted.
"You want me to spell it out, don't you? Ok, here goes: I need a shrink. Happy?"
Cole didn't say anything.
"Gar? You there?" Grissom asked, "Look, if this makes you uncomfortable-"
"It doesn't!" he said quickly, "I'm surprised, that's all. I mean, I'm glad that you want to talk, Gil. Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes, I am. I've put it off too long. I just don't want to do this in Vegas-"
"I understand." Cole said. He knew very well that defense lawyers loved to use this kind of information to undermine prosecution proceedings. "I'll find you someone here." He said firmly, "When are you coming to San Francisco?"
"I can be there tomorrow at noon."
"Great. We'll get the guest room ready for you-"
Grissom faltered a little. He'd never get used to people doing nice things for him.
"Thanks, Gar." He managed to say, "Maybe some other time."
"Gil, we would really like to have you." He insisted, "It's about time you got reacquainted with your champions too, you know." he added.
Grissom was going to say no again, but he paused. For years, his friend had felt guilty for not helping him. Maybe it was time for Gary to heal too.
"Look, why don't I check into a hotel that's close to your home?" proposed Grissom, "Then we I can drop in for dinner or breakfast, and talk. And I can help cleaning up cages too."
"Great! I'll tell Maggie."
EPILOGUE
Grissom adjusted his tie before entering the CSI lab. He wasn't due for work yet, but he had decided to drop by. He needed to get used to the routine again, but he also needed to see his coworkers' reaction.
He didn't meet anyone; it seemed that everyone was busy at some crime scene. Or at the rec room, he thought morosely.
The first person he met was the supervisor herself.
"Catherine? Where's everybody?"
"Relax," she said dismissively, "Technically the night shift has not yet begun, Mr. Impatient." She wasn't surprised to see him; he had called her to announce he'd drop by. But she did a double take when she noticed the clothes he was wearing. "What's with the suit?"
"I have a meeting later." He shrugged.
"Damn, I wish Sara were still here-" Catherine muttered, "She would have appreciated the view."
"Where's she?" he asked.
"Probably home. It's her free night."
"Oh." He said indifferently, "Ok, Catherine; let's talk about your cases."
Grissom was sitting at the visitor's chair, reading some reports. After a moment, he started to notice that she was glancing over his shoulder when she thought he wasn't looking. Intrigued, he turned to the door, just in time to see about a dozen people gathering by the open door. They were mostly members of the night crew, but there were also a couple of guys from the day shift. Jacqui stepped forward. She was carrying a small cake in her hands.
"Welcome back, Grissom." She said.
He stood up. He was tongue tied, but only for a moment.
"Thank you." He said, really not knowing what else to say.
Fortunately, they knew him too well to expect speeches from him. They simply entered the office and shook his hand, murmuring words of welcome. They were obviously glad to see him, but they knew better than to invade his personal space or make a big deal about his return.
The exception was Greg, who clapped his back.
"Hey, boss. Glad to see you back."
"Thanks, Greg." He said. Then, to everybody's surprise, he took the cake from Jacqui's hands and settled it on the desk. He took the knife that Warrick offered and cut a slice. He looked at his friends and colleagues and said, "Thank you, everybody."
And just in case you're wondering
Will it really be the same?
You know we're only living for
The day we meet again
So hold on, and don't let go
Time heals, you know
I know…
Later that evening, Grissom checked out the time: 7:05. He had arrived almost half an hour early, but he didn't mind. He wanted to enjoy the anticipation. He glanced up and down the street, and smiled when he saw the bookstore. He walked up there to window shop. He looked at the books, but without paying much attention. He was thinking of all the things that had happened since the last time he had been here, when he had watched Sara leave with Hank.
That was in the past now.
The two weeks he had spent in San Francisco had helped him heal. He'd spent time with his old friend and he had talked to the therapist that Gary had recommended. He had relived painful moments, but he felt less burdened now. She had given him the names of a couple of therapists he might consult in Las Vegas; they were elderly retired shrinks who liked to play golf and listen. They were very discreet.
Yes, many things had changed, and for the best. Still, he was nervous and insecure about today. He had the uneasy feeling that his entire relationship with Sara depended on this date. He was willing to do anything to make it a success. He had made reservations at that Italian restaurant in the corner; he had cleaned up his home, in case they got back there afterwards... and he had even put on a suit and a tie.
Grissom nervously hoped Sara would like him dressed like this. He smiled a little, wondering if she might be having similar thoughts. Whatever she wore tonight, it would surely be a far cry from what she was wearing yesterday: She had picked him up at the airport –true to her word, she had come straight from a crime scene- and she was still wearing coveralls.
Yesterday they had barely had time to do more than kissing; she had to go to the lab and he needed to sleep. But they had talked on the phone afterwards, and Grissom had asked her to come here.
He had never forgotten seeing her wait for Hank, and he had never gotten over his wish to do something nice with her.
Grissom spotted her as soon as she turned the corner; she was ten minutes early. He enjoyed seeing her walk to him; she looked beautiful and sultry in a flowered dress that hugged her body in all the right places. She smiled when she saw him standing there.
"Hey." She greeted
"Hey." He said, taking her hand and kissing her cheek. They stepped back to admire each other.
"You look great in that suit." She said appreciatively, "Blue looks good on you."
He smiled.
"You look beautiful." he said quietly, "You are beautiful."
For a moment they simply stared at each other, enjoying this perfect moment.
Grissom gently tugged on her hand.
"Let's go." he said.
And they walked hand in hand to the restaurant, and towards the rest of their lives.
So hold on, and don't let go
Time heals, you know
I know…
THE END.
Thank you so much for reviewing my story! It was really encouraging.
Note:
In the book "Proclaimed in Blood", the woman not only kills he husband and her lover, she also kills the husband's girlfriend. Plus, she actually decapitates the husband.