Sunday Morning Memories
A/N: This will be the final chapter. I really hope that you guys enjoyed the story! Feel free to leave reviews. I apologize profusely for the late update! Writer's Block attacked me like a pit bull with rabies. In my world, we pretend that Mea Culpa was a sick nightmare and the Sandman has a vendetta against us.
Disclaimer: All errors, whether they are grammatical or spelling, are mine. Unfortunately, while I own the novels, season 4 DVD set and other CSI memorabilia, I do not own CSI, the characters, or the actors/actresses. (What I would give to have William Petersen!)
He wasn't sure what had hit him. He felt the freezing sensation of an ice pack on his forehead. The image of a woman standing over him, cradling her right fist in her hand came into focus.
Strangely enough, the last thing that he remembered occurring was him telling Sara, "I'm sorry, but you know how much my job means to me." He also remembered her cutting him off and a sudden crack resounding.
Oh, was his first conscious thought. He sat up and took in his surroundings. Sara was standing in front of him, looking uncomfortable. He stared past her. It wasn't until now that he glimpsed the many cardboard boxes scattered and stacked on top of one another. He turned to her and asked, "Are you moving?"
Sara ignored his question. "I'm so sorry, Grissom. I--"
He shook he head. "No, I deserved to be knocked unconscious." Grissom realized he was still seated on the floor. He climbed to his feet with as much grace as a newborn horse.
"Sit down on the couch," he heard her voice float across the room from the kitchenette. It had been so long since he'd heard it somewhere other than his memory or her answering machine, that it satisfied him the way food would a starving man.
She rejoined him with two steaming cups of coffee and sat herself down on the loveseat across from him. There was an awkward silence as the pair sipped at their cups. Both tried desperately to figure out how to say what needed to be said.
Sara lowered her cup first. She set it carefully on the small, glass top coffee table sandwiched between them. "Why are you here?" It occurred to her that the question might have come out sounding rude. Frankly, she didn't care. Nope. Not one iota.
Well, maybe a little.
It appeared that Grissom was having trouble phrasing his thoughts. His mouth opened and closed several times. Sara decided he looked somewhat like the pet goldfish, Blondie, she owned as a small child.
Finally he settled upon, "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, Sara. I've realized that I need you in my life. Not just at the lab but in my personal life as well. Everyone on the team misses you. Even Catherine."
She gave a derisive snort. "Not possible. She hates me."
"No one hates you, Sara. We all love you. I love you." He'd said it to her before but the words still seemed foreign to her. They rolled off of his tongue with ease and she wasn't surprised or happy when her heart felt like an iron vice had squeezed it.
Music filled his ears. He realized that Sara's stereo was still out, sitting a lone on the floor. The singer's voice sounded familiar but Grissom couldn't place it.
"When you refuse meYou confuse me
What makes you think I'll let you in again
Think again my friend
Go on misuse me and abuse me
I'll come out stronger in the end"
Sara rose from her place on the loveseat. She had to distance herself from him. There was no way he was going to suck her back in. She was sick and tired of being pushed and pulled. Strung out and collected again like a yo-yo.
She picked up his empty coffee cup without asking him if he was through and deposited it into the sink. "I guess I should be the one apologizing here," she sighed as she padded across the hardwood floor. "You knew that this wasn't going to work. You tried from the start to tell me so. But I'm pushy, stubborn, and pigheaded. I forced this to happen. I pushed us together."
"And does it make you sad
To find yourself alone
Does it make you mad
To find that I have grown
I'll bet it hurts so bad
To see the strength that I have shown"
Grissom hated knowing that she was right. He had it in his mind from the very beginning that it was doomed.
But now? Now he was hell bent on getting her back. He'd learned just how much he needed her. She was the crazy glue that held him together.
"You ain't ever coming back to me
That's not how things were supposed to be"
"We were condemned to failure, Grissom." She collapsed onto the loveseat and curled her legs underneath herself. "To answer your question, yes. I am moving. I gave Ecklie my notice."
"You take my hand just to give it back
No other lover has ever done that"
Sara looked away from his face and worried her bottom lip with her teeth. Her cheeks were pink with emotion, her eyes dark and thoughtful. She was beautiful. For a moment Grissom thought about the feel of her bare skin against his.
"Do you rememberThe way we used to melt
Do you remember how it felt
When I touched you
Oh, 'cause I remember very well
And how long has it been
Since someone you let in
Has given when I gave to you"
"You can't leave Sara. I need you here."
Her head slowly turned towards him. Their eyes locked and she saw the pleading look in them. For once he had let his guard down completely. He looked scared. She had never seen him in such a state.
No. He wasn't going to do this. He'd hurt her too many times already. Who's to say that he wouldn't do it again?
"Grissom," she said softly. A tear slithered down her cheek. "It's too late."
Marina Del Rey, California was a place that she had never been to before. It was funny how many places she'd never been to in her own home state. Her childhood had been spent in Tomales Bay, just outside of San Francisco. She was living at El Caballero Apartments in Hawthorne, just nine miles from the lab in Marina Del Rey.
She tried to tell herself that it was by accident that she had wound up in His hometown. It happened to have the best job opportunity. Honestly.
The sign caught her off guard the first time she'd seen it. It was large and white. The words Roadway Art Gallery, and underneath that Owned by M. Grissom, painted in bold black smiled down at her.
She had passed it daily driving to work for a month straight before she'd decided to visit it. Sara knew that Grissom's mother owned an art gallery in Marina Del Rey. She just never dreamed that she would come across it.
The little gallery was painted in pastel colors. The walls a light purple, trimmed with white. It reminded Sara of a very large, square Easter egg. She strolled a long the hallways, taking in every painting and photograph. The pictures were breathtaking. Grissom's mother had exceptional taste.
It didn't take long for Sara to find her favorite painting. The artist was Jean Pales. The painting came a live for Sara as she stared at it. She could almost feel his brush striking the canvas, painting a lovely scene of a woman and man engaged in a Waltz. The woman's dress, a lovely, white gown was pristine, and Sara had to wonder if the artist had captured a real situation.
Her gloved hand in his, the other on his shoulder, she had a look of pure adoration on her face. Her dance-partner's face wasn't visible as his back was turned toward the onlookers. Sara could tell that the painting meant something to artist. It was so much more than a box of supplies, a canvas and a couple dollars in his pocket.
"Do you like it?"
Sara spun around quickly. The woman speaking to her was shorter than she. Sara found herself staring down into the second most captivating eyes she'd ever seen. Crystal blue, like her son's, they reflected light and shined like a crystal prism hanging in the sun.
Sara thought for a moment, and remember Grissom telling her that his mother was deaf. 'Yes'. She signed; trying desperately to recall the few words he'd taught her to sign. Mrs. Grissom looked so much like her son when she laughed that Sara very nearly fled the art gallery.
"It's okay," she said. "I can read lips and can still speak clearly."
Sara smiled at her, relieved that she didn't have to look like a total ass.
"It's a beautiful painting, is it not?" She asked.
Sara nodded her assent and turned back toward it, studying it closely. "Where did you get it?" Sara asked.
"I picked it up on a trip to Paris a few summers ago."
Sara's eyebrows nearly disappeared. "Which is your favorite?" She questioned.
Mrs. Grissom smiled at her. "I don't have a favorite. I love them all." She motioned for Sara to follow her and strolled down the hall and turned into a room on the left. On the far wall she pointed to a painting.
"This is my son's favorite."
"Paysage aux Papillons" she read. "By Salvador Dali." She smiled at the picture. It wasn't a surprise that it was Grissom's favorite.
The painting was odd. It appeared to be a large, stone wall in the middle of the desert. Two butterflies fluttered against the wall, casting shadows off and making the dry, barren setting seem appealing.
Tears slid down her face and she admonished herself for crying in public. She hated to do so, even if it was appropriate in this bleak setting. Fittingly, the sky was overcast and gray mirroring the mood of the many people in the cemetery.
She approached the casket and placed the white lily in her hand amongst the others. She'd been touched by death several times in her life. Only one other had ever shook her like this.
She'd befriended Grissom's mother and they had frequent visits. She would teach Sara sign language, they'd visit different art galleries together and have lunch. Not once did she ever let on that she knew Gil.
"Sara?"
She turned slowly, feeling like she'd been caught sneaking a cookie before dinner. "Hi, Grissom."
He looked dumbfounded. His tear stricken face distressed Sara and it was all she could do to keep from rushing to him and wrapping her arms around him. He was dressed in a dark suit, white dress shirt underneath and an ice blue tie that complimented his eyes. Catherine has probably picked out for him.
He looked incredible. Incredibly tired. The lines on his face seemed to show bolder than ever before and she could tell that he'd been hurting for months. Much longer than when he'd found out about his mother's death.
He advanced toward her slowly. "What are you doing here, Sara?"
She didn't have the strength to square her shoulders or hold her chin up. She knew she'd see him here, but she wished that he didn't see her. "Just…paying my last respects."
He was befuddled. "To whom? My mother?"
She nodded.
"How did you know my mother?" His shoulders were slumped forward and Sara was aware that all he needed right now was a friend to console him; Too many losses in too few months.
"C'mon," she replied. "I'll tell you about it over a drink."
He followed her out of the cemetery and to her car.
A/N Lyrics from Maroon Five's Through With You and Not Coming Home. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews!