Grissom excused himself while Adrian visited with his mother and sisters. He stepped outside the hospital into the night air, inhaled and tasted Nevada. It him, it had a rare flavor—woody, nutty and cool. Like a fine wine, he tasted Nevada as a nightly ritual. He looked up at the night sky and for the first time he noticed how bright the stars were. Then he realized how long it had been since he studied it for hours. Then he realized why it had been so long: it was the color of Nicolette's eyes—a strange mixture of blue and violet, sparkly and mysterious.
Suddenly, he heard soft footsteps creep up behind him and then stop. He felt his heart race, expecting Nicolette to wrap her arms around him.
Instead he heard a small voice of sweetness pipe up, "Monsieur?"
Grissom turned and instead saw one of Nicolette's twins. "Hello. Sylvie, right?"
"No," the twin frowned. "Fleur."
"Oh," Grissom said, discomfited. "I'm sorry."
The twin broke into a smile. "I'm just kidding—I'm Sylvie. Good guess, monsieur."
Grissom laughed to himself. He knew Sylvie had been the one in the gray shirt.
She tiptoed up to him, her hands clasped behind her back, as if concealing a surprise. She had a bashful smile on her face. "What are you looking at? Stars?"
Grissom ducked his head in embarrassment, like a child caught doing something wrong. Then he gave a short, brusque nod.
Sylvie sidled up beside him and brushed a few hairs from her face. "Adrian was teaching Fleur and me the names of the stars, but he hasn't for awhile. Do you know their names, monsieur?"
Grissom glanced down at Sylvie, who was looking right back up at him, face full expectancy. "Some," he admitted.
"Will you teach me?"
Again, Grissom looked up at the sky, his eyes searching. He scratched his beard. "Well, see that row of three stars over there?"
"There?" Sylvie pointed.
"That's Orion's belt. And those two stars above it, they connect to make Orion."
"Oui, I see it," Sylvie replied. "His arms are up over his head, aren't they? Is he holding anything?"
"A bow and arrow."
"Is he killing something?" she asked, scared.
"Not yet," Grissom pointed up again. "He's standing by the river Eridanus and with him are his hunting dogs, the constellations Canis Major and Canis Minor, also known as big dog and little dog. They're hunting Lepus and Taurus, the rabbit and the bull."
"It sounds like a story."
"It is a story," Grissom replied, like talking to a student. "According to Greek mythology, Orion died when he stepped on a scorpion, the constellation Scorpius. The gods felt sorry for him, so they put him and his dogs in the sky as constellations. They also put all of the animals he hunted up there near him. Scorpius, however, was placed on the opposite side of the sky so Orion would never be hurt by it again."
As he stood looking up at the sky, Grissom lost himself up there. He felt weightless, bodiless and lightheaded, as if he himself were floating among the stars. Then he felt a warmth in his right hand. He looked down.
Sylvie had entwined her fingers with his. They were holding hands.
Grissom's first reaction was to recoil, pull away from Sylvie and go back inside. But the way they were standing, something about how the moon reflected off Sylvie's face, making her seem so pure and innocent, and lighting her eyes like ceremonial candles and how she tilted her face upward toward the sky…it felt nice, just standing there, not talking.
He tried to see it at the eleven-year-old girl's perspective—her older brother, her role model and savior, had been teetering between life and death for many hours and was now confined to a wheelchair for life; her father used to beat her and her sister; her mother was a nervous wreck. She was looking for, obviously, a strong male paradigm to replace those who could not be with her, to keep her safe and to teach her the names of the stars.
"Where are his pantalons?" Sylvie spoke out of the blue.
"Excuse me?" Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Who's pants?" He remembered a lot of French from when he was in his relationship with Nicolette.
Sylvie squeezed Grissom's hand. "Orion. He has a ceinture but no pantalons," she gave a soft laugh. "Where are they?"
"That's—"
"He should have them or he will get sick. His mother will be mad for him running around nudité."
"I—"
"I mean, isn't he cold?" Sylvie frowned.
Grissom tightened his lips, trying not to laugh. "I suppose so," was all he could say.
"Hm," Sylvie looked up at the sky again, searching for, possibly, Orion's pants. She began to hum the French lullaby she and her sister had been singing earlier. She was still gripping Grissom's hand and he was beginning to feel uncomfortable. She spoke again, "Monsieur? You 'talk' to dead people, right?"
"In a manner of speaking," Grissom replied.
"What do they tell you? Do they ever tell you what happens when you…you know, give up the ghost?"
"Give up the ghost? No. They tell me stories."
"What kind of stories?"
Grissom glanced quickly at her inquisitive face, soft and blue in the moonlight. "About how they died."
"When I die," Sylvie announced, "I want to return as the buckle of Orion's belt."
"Interesting choice."
"What about you, monsieur?"
"I'd like to be a cockroach."
A second set of footsteps approached, and Sylvie let go of Grissom's hand quickly, like she had touched something dirty, and clasped her hands behind her back like a police academy cadet.
"Sylvie?" Nicolette's voice sounded. "Are you bothering this nice man again?"
"No, Mamma," Sylvie said innocently.
"I was worried," Nicolette came up behind Sylvie and put her hands on Sylvie's shoulders. "You shouldn't wander, cher."
"Je suis désolé, Mamma," Sylvie apologized, looking up at her mother.
"C'est bien, cher," Nicolette assured her daughter, stroking her face with one hand. "Go inside, s'il vous plaît, Sylvie. Fleur is looking for you."
"Yes, Mamma," Sylvie said quietly, almost in a whisper. She very quickly, discreetly, stroked Grissom's hand with her forefinger before leaving. Grissom felt a chill run up his arm with the gentle silky gesture and out of the corner of his peripheral vision, saw the eleven-year-old girl leave.
Once they were alone, Grissom and Nicolette were quiet. He cleared his throat and glanced at her.
"She's quite a girl, Miss de L'eau," Grissom said.
"Don't I know it," was her plain response. Nicolette flipped her hair back. "You can cut the crap now, Gil."
Grissom was taken aback. "Excuse me?"
Nicolette faced him, her face and eyes firm, "I've known who you were the moment you gave me the handkerchief last night, you menteur. You lied to me while I waited for my son to come out of surgery."
"Our son," Grissom corrected firmly, coolly. "Don't you mean our son, Nicolette?"
"Cassez-vous," she spat at him.
"Don't give me that," Grissom faced her, angrily. He clenched his fists inside his pockets to keep himself from losing his head.
"I can say whatever I want."
"So can I. You owe me five hundred dollars." Grissom surprised himself. He never complained or spoke of money. Never. Until this point, he didn't care about what had happened to the five hundred dollars he'd left for her twenty years ago. Now, he was so infuriated it was all he could think of.
"I owe you nothing," Nicolette crossed her arms over her chest defiantly.
"Except an apology."
"For what?"
"You put me through hell, Nicolette," Grissom replied angrily. "You rejected me and said you wanted to abort our child!"
"I did want to!" Nicolette shouted. "I almost did!"
"So what happened?"
"When I got to the clinic…I lost my nerve. So I didn't do it. I fled."
"You fled. And you didn't call me? Didn't even attempt to contact me and let me know what was going on? Just upped and went back to Canada?"
"I thought you would be angry," Nicolette's eyes dropped.
"What, angrier than I am now? That's bullshit, Nicolette, and you know it. What would happen if we never met tonight? Would I have gone a lifetime without knowing I had a son?"
"No. No, no…I—"
"And I loved how you referred to our five-year relationship as a 'brief affair'. Was that all it was to you?" Grissom glared at his former love.
"That's what it felt like."
"Why?" Grissom dropped his voice dramatically. "Just why, Nicolette? Why did you hide this from me?" he gestured towards the hospital. "Were you not listening that day? Didn't you hear what I was saying?"
"I heard," Nicolette sniffed back tears. "But like I said back then, I didn't believe you."
"So you would have rather been with Robert Meullier as opposed to me?"
Nicolette slapped Grissom across the face. "Fils d'une chienne!"
Grissom did not move, did not react to Nicolette's violent action, just touched his cheek once, to make sure his lip wasn't bleeding or anything. He forgot how hard she could hit. "I deserve that. That was insensitive of me," was all he said, in a cool, calm and even voice, his signature in taxing events.
"I suffered, damnez-le, God-damn it!" Nicolette shrilled. "You have no idea what I suffered, Gil. Mon Dieu, I suffered like a starving dog tethered to a pole! I suffered for eight miserable years! My children suffered! They were denied the love they deserved by a cruel man I was not allowed to leave!" Nicolette stomped and paced. "You know what? Screw it all. As soon as my son is well enough, I am taking him and my daughters back to Quebec! Not even Palo Alto, fuck America! I need to go home."
"You can't do that."
"Fuck off, yes I can!"
"No, Nicolette. You can't," Grissom approached her.
"Touch me and I'll scream rape!" she threatened.
Grissom put his hands up in front of him. "You wouldn't do that."
"Like hell I will. Watch me."
"If you take Adrian back to Canada, you can be arrested for tampering with an investigation."
"Why?"
"Someone tried to kill him tonight, Nicolette," Grissom reminded her firmly. "He can help us find out who did it."
"I don't want to put him through anything like that."
"Too bad. He's the only survivor, he most likely saw who did it, or else got a good look." Grissom didn't mention Marquita Dali, Pancha Nichols's niece, who had been knifed through the hand by the said criminal.
"I won't let you talk to my son again!" Nicolette hissed.
"Then I'll get someone else to talk to him. Either way, he will be a part of this investigation, no matter what you call him—yours, mine, ours—I don't really care. What I do care about is catching whoever did this," Grissom's hand went to his pocket, reaching for his cellphone. Nicolette flinched when she saw his gun in the holster. "I'm calling in CSI Nick Stokes to come talk to Adrian. You respect him and he'll respect you."
"You're one to talk about respect."
Grissom shook his head in disgust and dialed Nick's cell.
"Stokes."
"Nicky, I'll need you to come down to Las Vegas Medical come talk to Adrian Lowe about the robbery."
"I thought you were down there already?"
Grissom turned his back on Nicolette and lied as quickly as possible. "I need to talk to Al Robbins and then I have some stuff to give Sara and Warrick. Catherine will be with Marquita Dali and you're the free man."
Nick groaned and sighed. "I'll be there."
"Adrian's mother Nicolette will meet you at the entrance," Grissom added, glaring at Nicolette over his shoulder as he said this. "She'll take you to his room."
"Gotcha."
When Grissom hung up, Nicolette had a few more words.
"If that man should damage him in any way, I will have your ass, Gil."
"His name is Nick Stokes. Again, you will treat him with respect. I'll not let your disdain for me get in the way of this investigation," Grissom said firmly. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to the lab."