Once more, thank you for the incredible feedback. I'm really enjoying that others like my impressions of the characters. Truthfully, I'm not yet sure how far this story will go, or how it will end, so the feedback you provide really is shaping the story. As for me, I plan to just keep following these two around and peeking into their heads from time to time… Chapter 5
Gil Grissom settled in at his desk and gave a sigh at the paperwork that awaited him. He wasn't able to prove it scientifically, but he was sure that someday he would find concrete evidence that reports multiplied asexually when left unattended. For every piece of evidence at every crime scene, there was a registered report. For every lab test ordered and expense incurred, there was a report. For every conclusion and request for consultation, there was a report. It had been bad enough as a CSI to do them, but now he had to do his own and sign off on the rest of his shift's as well. For every hour in the field, he spent three behind a desk, and it was exhausting just to think about. To make matters worse, his mind was not on his work, and that was a very rare occurrence. In fact, the last time he could remember having this level of distraction had been when he had been worrying about his own upcoming surgery. His mind was quite simply on all that had happened that day, and all that hadn't, and what the hell he should be doing about it.
He managed to get through part of it by the time assignments were passed down from the previous shift, and he thought he was ready to face the world, so to speak. He hadn't seen Sara since they'd arrived in the CSI parking lot. He had watched her park, seen her enter the building, but she hadn't waited for him. He thought that was probably a good thing, because he wasn't quite sure what he was ready to show in private, much less in public. His initial reaction was to change nothing; no one needed to know that he was now questioning decisions that he'd held sacred for four years. But he was terrified that if he did it – if he withdrew from Sara again, even at work – he would hurt her. He had hurt her enough in the past, and the thought of doing more damage was unacceptable.
And yet, he couldn't exactly walk in and throw his arms around her in the break room, either. Well, it wasn't as though that were his style in the first place, but it was a tempting thought. She had felt so warm when he'd held her against him, and it hadn't been until then that he'd realized just how cold his world had become.
It hadn't always been that way. As a teen he might not have had many social skills, but as an adult he had learned them. It had been a great effort, but he had managed it. Years before, he had been an almost normal person, if a little eccentric. But the hearing loss had changed him, and not for the better. In not hearing what was said around him, he had often offended others without intending to be rude. In trying to keep his handicap a secret, he had deliberately been brief with people. And with the fear that they would pity him, he had backed away from even those who might have understood. While he might have joked with his team a few years back, or flirt in complete safety with Catherine, or even play practical jokes on Nick… he had stopped. He had let the seriousness and the fear pull him from those whom he should have been moving closer to, and by the time he had realized the mistake he had developed habits that were hard to break. He had moved back into the shell that had protected him as a child, and it was hard to come out.
He had lied to Sara. He had noticed that he was different as a child. But his nature had been to ignore the snide remarks about his "stupid" mother, back when speechless had been labeled as "dumb". She had been deaf, yes, but she was probably the most intelligent woman he had ever met. If she'd had half the advantages that Sara had – college, training, experience – his mother would have given the young brunette a run for her money in the brilliance category. But his mom had lived in a time when single parents were frowned on and the disabled were considered inferior. Ironically, she had supported them by working in a library shelving books and assisting others in finding what they needed. She was never a librarian – never had the schooling for it – but she had done the job, and had done it without the benefit of words to communicate with. It was one reason that Gil loved books as he did; in the library, everyone was quiet. In the library, his family wasn't so different.
But that hadn't made it easy. What had made it worse was that a few of the kids he had grown up with had known him from before his mother had gone completely deaf, before his father had walked away. Those were the ones who really pitied him, who looked at him with those sad eyes as though he were a street urchin rather than a well-loved and cared-for boy. He wasn't anyone's charity case. His mother had taught him pride as much as anything else. She had taught him to be who he was, and not what the world said he should be. If she could hold her head high – and she did – then he certainly could do no less. But whatever showed on the outside, he did notice that he was different.
So he had made an effort, and he had learned the skills to bridge the gap. He had learned to keep quiet when he knew the answer that nobody else did, and he had learned not to argue points even when he was right. He had learned to watch others and emulate their actions, even if he didn't entirely understand the reasons for the odd dances that they seemed to perform. It all had seemed so silly to him; there were so damned many unspoken rules, and he'd had no one to explain them to him. Unlike everyone else, he didn't seem to pick up on them naturally the way other people did. But he'd been smart enough to learn, clever enough to fit in until he'd found his place in a profession that encouraged rather than despised his exacting standards. Science had been his refuge.
And the time he'd taken to learn the emotions of others, to train himself to respond appropriately, had been invaluable to him as a CSI. He could gauge an expression because he'd been doing it since he was young. He could see a lie or feel the truth because he had been puzzling it out for so long. He had taught himself to actively look for clues about people, about what they really meant and wanted, and that self-training was what had made him good at his job.
But all those skills had become more than rusty as he'd retreated from the hearing world. He had thought it would be less painful to lose people if it were him making the choice, but he had been wrong. Pain was pain. And now, having hurt himself and most of those around him to one degree or another, he was having to mend fences and rebuild bridges while relearning the art of doing so. Thankfully some friendships had been strong enough that they had only bent under the strain he'd put on them, like the ones he held with Brass and Catherine. And yet over and above all that, he'd been trying to learn something he'd never really known. He'd been trying to learn to understand the mind of a woman, and it was just now occurring to him that perhaps the best way to understand a person was just to ask what the hell they meant. For someone so smart, he felt incredibly stupid for taking so long to come to such a basic conclusion.
So with that in mind, he decided that work would be "business as usual" for himself and Sara, at least until he could ask her what she thought about the matter. He would follow her lead, whatever it was.
That lead, it turned out, was surprisingly simple to follow. Sara had breezed in for the assignments just as she always had, griping about unwrapped meat sandwiches in the fridge and playfully teasing Nick about something. Grissom had divvied out the cases as equitably as possible, pairing Nick and Sara for a DB on the strip and Catherine and Warrick for a missing person report in a nearby housing unit. Thankfully, the lack of activity that night gave him the opportunity to stay and battle with the ever-growing mound of paperwork that occupied his desk.
It also gave him the freedom to go by the Lab and ask a personal favor of Greg. He explained the situation, requested that it not be hidden and yet not be announced, and waited for the results anxiously. The simple tests he'd ordered would take Greg only a few minutes, so he planned to drop back by the lab and get them later on shift. To his surprise, Greg brought them by in an uncharacteristically quiet manner, passed him the sheets of paper, and without a word went back to work.
He looked over the results with absolute trepidation. What could be in them that would have Greg so solemn? And yet he found nothing really out of the ordinary on her tests. Her blood alcohol had dropped to point oh-four, which was quite acceptable by any standard, and the rest of the results were normal or near that. He did note that she was slightly anemic, and made a mental note to mention it to her. And yet still this didn't surprise him; it was a common problem for vegetarians.
Reassured by the results, he filed them in his cabinet and went back to work. Finally he managed to get into a rhythm of sorts with the reports, and gradually the forms moved from the in-box to the out-box. By the time he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in that sure feeling he was being watched, he was nearly finished. Glancing up to see what had alerted his senses, he saw Sara standing in the doorway watching him. He took off his glasses and gestured her in and to a chair.
"How'd it go?" he asked.
"It was a fairly straightforward case," she told him. "Homeless man was found dead by one of his friends. We processed the scene, but there were no signs of anything out of place. He was old, his health didn't appear to be good, and nobody in the area saw anything more than him laying down for a nap in an alleyway and not getting up. The abbreviated autopsy is pending, but I'm not expecting any surprises." She looked over his desk for a moment with surprise. "You've been busy."
"I hate paperwork," he grumbled. "But it only gets worse if I put it off."
She nodded at that, and then he watched as she took a breath, held it, and then let it out carefully before repeating the action. He sat quietly, knowing she was working herself up to something but having no idea what. "Shift is over in ten minutes," she told him.
He glanced at the clock, nodded, and gestured with a hand for her to continue.
"So, if you're not busy… I mean…" She took another breath, let it out, and then spoke quickly. "Would you like to get some breakfast?" she asked. "With me, I mean."
He watched her for a moment, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table so that his fingers came together in a triangle shape. He knew what that question had cost her. The last time she had asked, he had been less than polite in his refusal. Only now, thinking back, did he realize that there must have been just as much embarrassment and pain in her apparent anger as there had been actual irritation. She had put herself on the line, and he hadn't even realized it, much less responded to it. And yet now she was doing it again – asking him again – with the same risk that she had taken before. Only this time, she knew what his likely response would be, and she still asked. He wondered if he would ever have that type of emotional courage.
Lost in thought, he watched her expression gradually change from a hopeful nervousness to a disappointed embarrassment. It took him a moment, but finally he realized that he hadn't given her an answer. He had merely thought it, and had sat there. "Yes," he blurted out as she began to stand. "I mean, I'd like that."
The smile she gave him was gentle and almost shy, and he could see the relief in her expression. "I'll go change," she told him. "Do you want to meet here, or out front?"
"Here's fine," he said. "I have two more folders, and then I'm out of here."
She smiled as she left his office, and he sat there for a moment looking after her before grabbing a folder. But instead of managing to complete his work, he was interrupted once more by the sensation of being watched. Glancing up to the doorway, this time he saw another beautiful woman standing there, and yet he didn't feel his pulse accelerate or his heart skip a beat. "What do you need?" he asked her.
Catherine Willows smiled down at him. One of his oldest and dearest friends, she was one of the few people who had never bothered with pretense. It was one reason that she was so easy to be around; she hid nothing. If she was feeling it, you knew about it, and there was little doubt as to what she wanted at any given time. "Just getting ready to go," she told him as she placed another file folder in his in-box. "Wondered if you wanted to grab a bite to eat?"
He looked over at the thin folder and glanced back quizzically. "Finished already?"
"Teenage daughter," Catherine said with a tone of absolute boredom. "She spent the night with a boyfriend and didn't tell her parents. She came in this morning before we could finish with the questioning. I swear, if Lindsey ever pulls a stunt like that you're going to be investigating me for murder."
He gave a quiet laugh, grateful that the missing teenager had met with no foul play. He was tired of seeing children butchered; knowing that a child was just being a child was actually refreshing. "She'll probably be grounded for life," he remarked.
Catherine nodded. "So, what do you say about breakfast? My treat!"
He had to smile at her. Either she was getting ready to pump him for information on something, or she was going to give him another lecture on letting people into his life. He loved her for it – really, he did – but he could only handle one woman at a time, and as dear as Catherine was to him, she was only a friend. "I can't this morning," he told her. "But I'll take a rain check."
Catherine gave him an exasperated sigh as she stepped into the office and reached into his in-box. "You have three folders left," she said in an irritated tone. "And I know you worked straight through. You probably haven't eaten anything since you got here."
In truth, he hadn't, but it had simply been because his mind had been elsewhere. "I'll go eat," he told her. "But… I have plans."
"Plans," she said sarcastically. "Right. What are you going to do? Grab the Deluxe Breakfast from McDonalds on your way home?"
"Actually," Sara said as she slipped in behind Catherine and took a seat in the chair while Catherine hovered at the desk, "I was thinking more along the lines of a Waffle House."
Gil almost laughed as he watched Catherine's eyes widen. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, as though she wanted to say something, and then she seemed to think better of it and she began backing toward the door. "Oh," she finally stammered. "Plans. I see. Well, um… have a good morning," she told him as she did an about face and headed out. Sara broke into a wide grin and a slight blush as Catherine made her hasty departure, and he laughed openly.
"You realize that the rumors will be flying by the time we come to work tonight," Sara told him with that same grin.
He looked at her a moment, his humor waning for a moment. "Is that a problem?" he asked. Had he misread things again? Wasn't this what she wanted? Wouldn't she have been more upset if he'd changed his plans with her just to prevent talk around the office?
Sara gave a careless shrug. "I'm going to get it from Warrick, but I think Nicky will be cool with it. Greg, I'm not so sure, but he's grown up a lot lately so I think he can handle it."
He smiled at her again, this time in relief. "Two minutes," he told her as he held up two fingers, and then he went to work furiously on the remaining folders. Thankfully they were thin and he'd already been familiar with their contents with the exception of Catherine's final case, so he hadn't exaggerated much about the speed of his completion.
"Finished," he told her as he tossed the last folder into the out-box.
"Great," she answered. "And, if you don't want waffles, that's fine. It was just an idea."
"I love waffles," he told her honestly. "Especially with a side of bacon."
She gave him a dirty look when he said that, but then she smiled. He escorted her out of the office with his hand unconsciously at the small of her back, flicking the light off as they left.