"Repercussions Part 8"

August 6, 2005 (Day 106)
Primm, Nevada
Buffalo Bill's Casino Resort
9:17 p.m.

Sean perused the coffee shop menu while on the other side of the booth, Grissom held Sara while steadily feeding her breath mints.

"Howdy, I'm Janet." The fifty-something husky waitress with bottle blonde hair greeted. "Looks like someone needs a Desperado special…large Sprite and a pile of saltines."

"Yes, she definitely does." Grissom chuckled. "I'll have cup of coffee."

"And for your son?" Janet asked.

Despite her swirling stomach, Sara smiled because this absolute stranger believed she and Grissom were capable of being parents. "He's not our son. We're watching him for friends and having a great time."

"Lucky boy…they took you to ride the Desperado." The waitress winked. "How many times did you ride?"

"Five!" He boasted. "Then Mrs. Grissom hurled so we had to stop."

"I knew it was you!" Janet whistled over to her co-worker Donna. "I was right. They are the folks from TV. We were watching the news the other night and saw Ana Silva's special report." Snickering, she commented, "You were a little more animated on TV. I thought I was watching my soap opera."

"Great…the people of Primm saw us kiss too," Sara moaned. "That explains why I've felt like someone was watching me all night."

"On that note..." Grissom stood up. "I'm hitting the restroom."

"Aren't you going to ask for their autographs?" Sean inquired of the waitress.

"I'll have them sign the check," Janet laughingly replied. "Now what would like to have, young man?"

"Ice cream sundae with chocolate ice cream only, please."

"Coming right up," Janet announced before walking back to the kitchen.

"Sean…it's not like we're on a TV show." Sara felt her sense of humor coming back. "But here…" She took his napkin. "I'll give you an autograph."

To Sean,

You're the coolest kid I know!

Your pal, Sara Grissom

Sliding her napkin over, she said, "Now let me have yours because I'm a big fan. You rode the Desperado five times without hurling. That makes you a rock star in my book."

To Mrs. Grissom,

You're the coolest girl I know.

You're also the only girl who talks to me.

Sean P. Blake – your second favorite scientist

"So girls don't talk to you, huh?" She wrinkled her nose. "That's okay, boys didn't talk to me when I was in school."

"You got Mr. Grissom to talk to you."

"Yeah well…that was harder than riding the Desperado four times in a row and a lot worse on my stomach."

As Grissom returned to the booth, he asked, "What did I miss?"

"Sean and I traded autographs." She showed him the napkin.

Never one to tolerate a mystery, Grissom inquired, "Sean P…what does the P stand for?"

"Phillip, after my grandfather."

Sara turned to her husband. "Do you have a middle name?"

"Yes," He cheerfully answered. "Now you only have two personal questions left."

"Ugh!" She banged her fist on the table. "So not fair."

Sean found the game amusing. "This reminds me of Aladdin and the Magic Lamp. The genie grants three wishes and you have to be careful not to squander them."

"You've read Arabian Nights?" Sara asked. "Scheherazade saves her kingdom by seducing her husband with fantasy tales…excellent stuff."

"I've seen the Disney cartoon too. The book was better."

"There's a cartoon?"

Without interrupting the conversation, the waitress distributed their orders.

Grissom smiled at his wife. "Scheherazade…one of my favorite pieces of music."

"If you think I'm going to ask you what your favorite is, fat chance. I'm on to you now."

"You're dying to know what my middle name is." He needled, "Admit it."

"Fine…I'll still have one personal question left after that. What's your middle name?"

"Aaron." He gloated, "Now you want to ask if there's any significance but if you do, you'll have no questions left."

Sean joined in the conversation. "My name, Sean Phillip, means God is gracious and lover of horses. Although I don't really care about horses a lot. Do you know what your names mean?"

Sara appreciated the freebie from her second favorite scientist. "Sara means princess…doesn't really fit very well, does it? I don't have a middle name." Eyeing her husband, she said, "Who's left?"

While stirring a packet of artificial sweetener into his black coffee, Grissom provided his information. "Gil is an old Irish family name meaning Servant of Christ. My mother chose it as she was quite religious. Aaron means shining light."

"That's intriguing," Sara ruminated the significance. "Servant of Christ, shining light…and you're a crime solver bringing sinners to justice who often holds a flashing light. Hmm…there's an argument for prophecy."

"So I guess you're in the wrong job, Sara," Sean teased as he scooped another decadent spoonful of dessert.

"Apparently I missed my calling as royalty."

As Sara nibbled on crackers, Grissom continued staring. "Just ask it and get it over with before you slip up and ask something else and then never find out."

"I really can't stand you sometimes." She tossed her empty cracker wrapper on the table. "Why is your middle name Aaron?"

"It's my father's name, although he had everyone call him Ron."

Smiling brightly, she picked up another packet of crackers. "That was worth burning my last question."

Being the observant boy he was, Sean swallowed his latest heap of ice cream then announced, "Mr. Grissom, did the kids at school make fun of you because your initials spelled GAG?"

"Yes, but not every day. They rotated between making gagging sounds and a few other terms of endearment."

"You should hear what they call me…"

Retreating into her own thoughts, Sara faded out of the conversation. I don't have to ask Gil the reason he doesn't use his middle name or initial. Now that I know it's his father's name, the reason is obvious. Last week, after he told me the rollercoaster story, he spoke briefly about his father's actions, particularly about how he couldn't wait for his 18th birthday so he could rip up the next check from his father and mail it back with a scorching note. The intense hatred in his eyes as he spoke about the cowardly man left me no doubt regarding his feelings. I've only seen that look in his eyes on a handful of occasions and each one of those times, he was interrogating the vilest criminals. I'm certain he removed the middle name the day he cut his father out of his mind and his heart and those cuts, even forty years later, are still trying to heal. I know first hand how deep wounds can be tricky to mend. Even though you stitch yourself up, one wrong move…one ugly reminder…and the flesh tears open leaving you raw and vulnerable.

It's hard when you have so many unanswered questions and no one to offer even the weakest explanations. Would I feel better if I could ask my father why he was so quick to flash to rage? Would he reveal something from his past that would provide a logical explanation? Would he tell me he just didn't know any better and he didn't know how to get the help he desperately needed? Would he tell me how he would do things differently if he were given the chance? Would any of that make me feel better about being his child? About being the child left behind? I'll never know. Dr. Myers has asked me to make peace with my father like I have with my mother's memory. She wants me to write him a letter and bring it to his grave, but I'm still not ready. I guess I still have too many unanswered whys to forgive him just yet. So why did I keep his name all these years? I guess because as much as I don't want him to be a part of me, I can't deny that he loved me…loved us. He just didn't know how to love right…neither did she, and I'll never know why.

"Sara?" Grissom pulled her close. "You look a million miles away. Are you feeling okay?"

Sean held his fully belly. "Please don't hurl."

"Just a little rocky from the ride still." The love in his eyes rescued her. "You know…when we passed the arcade earlier, I saw they had Centipede. I used to kick ass at Centipede."

"I played a little Centipede in my younger days," Grissom warned. "It was always a favorite among Entomologists. Wait…you're not thinking of making another bet, are you?"

"I want my three questions back," She declared. "I have a thirst for knowledge that isn't quenched."

"One game, winner takes all."

"You're on."

"Sean, you can play the winner," Sara informed him. "Which means you'll be playing me."

Crime Lab
Break Room
9:34 p.m.

Greg was alone in the room filling up his coffee mug when Catherine strutted in. "I'm the boss tonight, Greggy, so how about you start sucking up by pouring me a cup of Joe?"

"You know I love it when you boss me around." He grabbed an empty mug. "If I get out of line at any point tonight, you have permission to spank me."

Joining him at the counter she remarked in a disturbed voice, "I sincerely hope you and Grissom don't have the same arrangement."

"No, he prefers to kick me in the ass…usually when I need it." He extended the mug. "Here you go Lady Catherine…I submit to you."

Blowing into her mug, she snickered, "That reminds me…Warrick will be a little late tonight."

"Good…cause I have something I want to ask you."

"Greg, how many times do I have to tell you…"

"Not that." He grinned. "I'm over that." Walking over to the couch, he broached the subject. "It's about my relationship with Tawny."

"Relationship?" As she sat next to him she commented, "Uh…I didn't get the relationship vibe from what Warrick told me you said about her. I got a distinct booty call vibe."

"Yeah…" He stared into his mug. "I'm more serious about her now."

"Oh, Greggy…" His puppy dog eyes made it clear that she had to give him a reality check. "Please tell me you didn't fall in love with your plaything? I've known girls like Tawny all my life. She'll dump you as soon as she finds a guy with a fatter wallet. You should have seen her drooling over Grissom's. That should tell you something right there."

"She's not really like that and well…there's uh…we're kind of linked together because…"

"Don't tell me." Her eyes snapped open. "She's pregnant?" The shock in her voice barely reflected her astonishment. "Jesus, Greg…how could you let that happen?"

"You know, not to be dismissive but…I've already been down this path and reconciled all of it." Clearing his throat, he spoke confidently. "The facts are, she's pregnant, the baby is mine and we're keeping it. We don't have a romantic or physical relationship right now, but she's living with me and we're going to see what happens over time."

"Sounds very responsible of you." Catherine was a bit shocked. "Greg, you're growing up before my eyes. What's next? A normal haircut and the elimination of shocking colors from your wardrobe?"

"I'm keeping the hair, but I probably won't be able to afford shocking designer clothes with a baby on the way."

Resigned to the facts, she reached out. "So how can I help?"

"Well…" Enthusiastically he explained, "Turns out Tawny's dad was a math teacher and before she ran away from home, she was an honor student who took school very seriously. I'm encouraging her to pick a focus and try college. What I'd really love is if you would talk to her and give her some optimism that she can go from stripping to a traditional career. I think you'd be an excellent role model for her. What do you say?"

"As long as you warn her not to call me ma'am!" It still irritated her thinking about it. "Is she still stripping?"

"No, I told her to quit and move in with me so she wouldn't have to worry about covering her rent. She had a studio, but it was in a really high-rent building. I couldn't stomach the thought of all those men leering at her while she's pregnant or ever now that she's with me. I want to take care of her you know…she's my responsibility now whether we're a couple or not."

"Wow, Greg." Catherine locked her eyes on his. "For the first time ever you're turning me on. Not many guys would care about a pregnant stripper they've known for three weeks and those who would most likely would only toss some cash her way."

"Don't tell Warrick you're hot for me, okay?" He laughed into his mug. "I'm not much of a brawler and he would wipe the floor with my scrawny ass."

"I'd love to talk with Tawny." She patted Greg's thigh. "I could meet her at the Cheesecake Factory after her lunch shift tomorrow."

"I'll call and see what time exactly and let you know." His appreciation overflowed into a smile. "Thanks a lot."

"Little Greggy is going to be a daddy." Standing up she sighed, "That must mean I'm getting too god damn old!"

Primm, Nevada
Buffalo Bill's Casino Resort
Coffee Shop
9:52 p.m.

After he was certain Gil, Sara and the boy were gone, the man took a seat at the empty counter. Flagging down Janet, he politely said, "Excuse me, Miss?"

Janet smiled at the snappishly dressed, silver-haired senior who thought of her as a 'Miss' and not a dowdy ma'am. Everything about him screamed high roller: his golfer's tan, his pearly white capped teeth and his TAG Heuer watch. Since it was a slow night and the only generous tip she got was from Gil Grissom, she was willing to turn on the charm for another chance at a decent tip. "What can I get you, handsome?"

"A cup of coffee…" Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a platinum billfold thick with cash. "…and some information."

Janet's eyes lit up. "Cup of coffee coming right up and my brain will be yours for the picking."

"Thanks, Sweetie." He winked. "I need skim milk with that instead of cream."

"Cholesterol trouble?"

"Let's just say a life of excess finally caught up with me. I had a heart attack when I was fifty-three and cleaned up my act for a while, but I eventually fell off the wagon. A little over two years ago…the day before my seventieth birthday, I was in the hospital having a triple bypass. My doctor back in Boca Raton is still amazed I lived." He sighed heavily. "Eventually everything catches up with you and bites you in the ass."

"Tell me about it." She set a cup and saucer on the counter. "Found out I had diabetes last year. I know it's a stupid thing to miss but…I miss Double Stuff Oreos."

"Filet Mignon is what I still crave…slathered in butter and tossed on the grill, with a twice baked cheese filled potato on the side…followed by a double of my favorite Scotch." Smiling, he lifted his coffee cup. "Coffee with skim milk and fake sugar is an acquired taste. I've acquired it because I'm a stubborn bastard and I'm not ready to die at seventy-two or ninety-two."

"You look fit as a fiddle to me." Smoothing her apron over her thick waist, she groaned. "I'm twenty years younger than you and I can't climb a flight of stairs without getting winded. My doctor says I need to drop eighty pounds."

"You'd drop it fast if you had my personal trainer. She's a real hard ass…and I mean that literally and figuratively." Laughing, he returned his cup to its saucer. "The joke around the gym is all she needs is a whip and they'd have to call the place a fetish club."

"You remind me of someone," Janet remarked as she stared at the charming man before her. "This is going to sound really weird but…your eyes and when you laughed just now…you remind me of…"

"Gil Grissom?"

"How did you know I was going to say that?"

Extending his open hand, he introduced himself. "I'm Ron Grissom, Gil's father. But let's keep that between you and me, Janet." He tossed a hundred dollar bill on the counter. "Which brings me to the second part of my order tonight…information." He pulled out another c-note and stacked it on top of the first.

"What do you want to know?" She asked as she tucked away the money in her bra.

"Absolutely everything about them from the moment they walked in here." He sat back in his stool. "You see…I've been keeping tabs on my son his whole life, but he doesn't know that. The last time I saw him in person was a few days before his ninth birthday…that is until today. He'll be forty-nine on the seventeenth. That's forty years Janet…forty god damn years. I've seen photos, but seeing him in person…seeing me in him…having you see him in me…I'm glad my ticker is strong again because it's been a little overwhelming."

Janet, a fan of soap operas and dime novels, was fascinated and eternally grateful that it was August, the coffee shop was empty and the Desperado was closed for the night. Now the odds of anyone coming in were slim. "Hey, don't get me wrong, I'm happy you gave me the cash, but this story is so intriguing I would have told you what you wanted to know for free or, in exchange for me asking you some questions."

"What do you want to know?"

"Why the hell you waited forty years to see your son?" Then it hit her. "You heard he almost died in that building."

"It's what got me here, yes." Leaning forward he picked up his spoon. "I've thought about it many times over the years…like clockwork actually. Every time the calendar would switch to August and I'd be reminded of his birthday I'd think this is the year I'm going to try. But then when I thought of the details…how I would approach him, what I would say, how I would react when he cursed me out, which I expect him to do and certainly deserve…I'd get overwhelmed and not know what to do so I'd let the day come and go without doing anything."

"Until he almost died right before his birthday and you thought one day you might be too late!" Janet announced as if she'd solved a Sherlock Holmes mystery.

"I always thought I would be the one to die before I saw him again, never occurred to me it could be him." Aimlessly stirring his coffee, he said, "But you want to know what really motivated me to get off my ass the most?" He glanced up at the attentive waitress. "Sara." His eyes lit up. "Did you happen to catch her smile?"

Janet sweetly chuckled, "Yes, once she got over her rollercoaster nausea."

"That's the other thing about her tonight I found fascinating….she's so feisty and strong-willed. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I'm an excellent reader of people so I figure she wanted to keep up with the guys and wouldn't quit." Folding his arms across his chest, he grinned until the corners of his lips started melting into a frown. "She reminds me so much of my first wife…Gil's mother, Jillian. He wouldn't see it, because by the time Gil was old enough to remember her, she had lost her spunk and that beautiful smile."

"How many times you been married?"

"Three."

"How many times you been divorced?"

"Three." He shrugged. "The third time wasn't a charm…trophy wife, but the pre-nup saved my ass when she took off with a guy half my age. The second marriage was an honest attempt, but the passion wasn't there and it ended amicably."

"And the first time?"

"That was the real deal. From the moment I met Jillian I knew she was the one. The chemistry between us was undeniable. Everyone in college knew we'd end up together. Everyone except her." Thinking back on the happier time he laughed from the belly. "It was the chase of a life time …."

Ron Grissom hung out in the hall just beyond the door for Room 117 where Jillian Cleary had her watercolors class every Monday, Wednesday and Friday from four to five. He was certain she'd stay late as she did every Friday when most kids were rushing out the door to get ready for a weekend of parties.

At the stroke of five, as predicted, the students and the professor fled, leaving Jillian alone. It was time to make his move. It would be his fourth move this month and it was only November fifteenth, not that he was counting.

"Is this Economics 101?" He asked in a clueless tone as he walked into the room full of easels and paint.

"Here we go again." Jillian tossed her thick mane of curly auburn hair off her shoulder before she resumed painting. "Don't you have some fraternity party to go to?"

"Why do you insist on thinking I'm a party boy?"

From behind her easel, she glared. "Maybe because you were discovered passed out at the campus fountain with a bunch of your cronies?"

"One time! Hardly makes it a habit." He meandered from easel to easel checking the students work. "Some of this stuff looks like finger painting to me."

"What would you know?" She snipped while hiding her smile behind her palette. "You're a business major."

"You say that like it's a crime."

"Tell me the last book you read that wasn't a required text," She asked as she dipped her brush in pale pink paint.

"Uh…I…let's see…hmm…well…"

"Has anyone ever told you that you're extraordinarily articulate?"

"No."

"I'm not surprised." Her lips thinned into a smile.

"Ouch!" He covered his heart with his hands. "You keep treating me this badly I'm going to refuse to hang around you, no matter how much you beg."

Flabbergasted by his statement, she lowered her brush and gawked. "When have I ever begged you to hang around me?"

"Well you don't directly ask," He explained. "It's more of a body language thing."

"You mean like when you asked me out last Saturday and I shook my head vehemently while telling you no?"

"But we both know you wanted to say yes." Turning his back, he sensed her breaking into a grin. "Okay, you see this painting…and I use the term in the loosest manner…" He pointed to a white canvas covered in only splats of yellow. "I'm sorry, but this looks like someone brought in their dog and had him pee on the canvas. If I had to name it, I'd call it Rover Discovers Snow and Takes a Leak." When he heard her muffled laughter, he was pleased. "I hear you over there laughing at my joke."

"It belongs to Susan Hayes. She said it's lemons crying," She informed him. "But I prefer your interpretation, mostly because I can't stand Susan."

With his hands in his pockets, he strolled towards her. "Why would lemons be crying?" Her mouth was curved into a full smile and his eyes devoured its beauty.

"I suppose they could have their reasons." Dipping her brush in pale green, she made a few swift strokes.

"Do you think they're crying because they're being juiced? I mean that's gotta hurt, right?"

"If that were the case why wouldn't she just say it was a painting of lemons being juiced?"

He cracked a grin as wide as hers. "Because then it wouldn't be all dark and mysterious. You artsy types always like things complicated. Who would buy a painting of lemons being juiced? No one. But you market it as a bunch of tragic lemons bawling their eyes out over social injustice and voila…it's a hot commodity."

"Marketing major," She huffed.

"Art freak," He teasingly countered as he came behind her to assess her work. "Now this…this I get."

As usual, his proximity unnerved her and yet she hoped he wouldn't retreat. "You think so?"

"Absolutely." He lowered his voice to a silky cadence. "The gentle brush strokes, the delicate touch, the amazing use of color to represent mood…"

As he spoke she felt his warm breath on her ear.

"Your painting is crying out to me," He said in a soulful whisper.

"What's it saying?" She asked while her breathing increased from the feel of his body against hers and the knowledge that he shared her artistic vision.

"It's saying…" He placed his hands on her shoulders. "…take a chance and ask Jillian out one more time, because you made her laugh and that's always a good sign. So what do you say? Can I take you out for dinner tonight, Jillian?"

"You! You had me going!" Flicking her brush, she splattered him with pale green paint. "You drive me insane!"

"Is this a yes?" He asked while ducking her flying brush. "Because I'm getting mixed signals."

"No!" She tossed her palette in his direction. "I will not go out with you tonight or any night!"

"Has anyone ever told you that you have one hell of an Irish temper?" He yelled while holding up his arms to defend himself from additional projectiles.

"Yes!"

"I'm not surprised!" He sought refuge behind the easel with the lemon painting. "Look…these lemons are already crying, so don't throw things at them and upset them anymore."

"Stop it!" She wanted to loathe him but she couldn't. "Stop making me laugh."

"The Catcher in the Rye!"

"What?"

"You asked me the last book I read…The Catcher in the Rye. I couldn't think of it before because you had me all flustered."

"I make you flustered?" She reached down and picked up her palette. "You were top in your class freshman year and the most successful member of the debate club but I render you verbally incompetent?"

"Yes and…why do you know so much about me if you don't like me?"

"Don't flatter yourself, I read it in the school newspaper." She walked over to the sink to fetch some towels. "I remember everything I read."

"Really? I don't buy that."

Leaving her wad of paper towels on the counter, she boldly approached her unrelenting suitor. Placing one hand on his shoulder she locked her eyes on his and said, "If you want to know the truth, I'm a virgin. I really am. I've had quite a few opportunities to lose my virginity and all, but I've never got around to it yet."

"Um…well…I…" His mouth kept flapping but no sounds emerged.

Grinning, Jillian removed her hand from his shoulder. "That's a direct quote from The Catcher in the Rye. You know…the last book you read."

"I knew that."

"Sure you did." Her eyes rolled hard as she turned her back on him.

"I blew it, didn't I?"

"Yep." She resumed cleaning up her paint mess.

"What's a good Catholic girl like you doing reading Catcher in the Rye anyway?" When she ignored him he huffed, "Here…at least let me help you." Hurrying to the sink, he grabbed more towels. "I didn't mean to make you mad," He assured her as he joined her on the floor to wipe up the remaining paint.

"Who is the main character in Catcher in the Rye?" She snipped.

"Holden Caulfield," He answered while focusing on his clean-up effort.

"And what does he mean when he says he wants to be a catcher in the rye?"

"He wants to be a guard for the children so they can play without the danger of going over the edge of the field." He stopped wiping and looked up, happy to see her smile again and thrilled that she was only a foot away. "I uh…figured that was a metaphor though…he's trying to protect their innocence...trying to prevent them from plunging into adulthood."

"Very good."

"You know…here I am on my knees and suddenly I'm asking myself…Ron Grissom, are you too proud of a man to beg a beautiful young woman to go out with you?"

"What's your answer?"

"My answer is normally yes, but since it's you…all bets are off. So on my knees, I'm asking you…please go out with me tonight."

"No way." Her smile spread so wide it hurt. "Not with you covered in paint. You'll have to clean up your act if you want to take me out on the town."

Lifting his hand to his face, he checked for paint. "Oh."

"And on the other side over…" Reaching out, she smoothed her fingertips over the green streak on his cheek. "…here." The pit of her stomach whipped into a wild swirl and try as she might, she couldn't remove her hand.

The feel of her delicate fingers against his skin thrilled him and instinctively he covered her hand with his.

Hearts hammering, they inched closer, each feeling the pent-up desire of a year's worth of cat and mouse games coming to a head. Without a word exchanged, they fell into each other's arms and let their parted lips fuse in a tantalizing kiss.

"Wow," Janet sighed from her soul. "I'm so flattered you chose to tell the story to me."

"Don't be too flattered." He held out his coffee cup for a refill. "Dozens of bartenders around the globe know it too."

"What went wrong? Why did you get divorced from the love of your life?"

Pouring a dash of milk in his coffee he pushed out a sigh. "Same uncontrollable passion that brought us together killed us in the end. It's a long story and not one I care to tell. The short story though…her stubbornness about something ended up costing her and caused our marriage to suffer and I was angry at her for ruining what we had and what we were working towards. Eventually she shut me out and when she did, I walked away." As he churned the milk into his coffee, he said, "I think she believed that, like when we were back in college, I wouldn't stop pursuing her…but I wasn't the same man I was in college after everything that happened. I had become a pathetic shadow of him."

"Would you do the same thing if you had a second chance?" Janet asked with baited breath.

"The only time you can answer that question correctly is when it's already too late." He set his spoon on the new napkin Janet had placed on the counter. "Of course, knowing what I know now, I would do a lot of things differently, but the guy I was back then would always make the same selfish choices. I had big things I wanted to accomplish and I sold out. Here's another thing I didn't realize until it was too late…sometimes the things you thought were the most important end up leaving you empty at the end of the day…or at the end of your life, as discovered when I was hanging onto a thread in the hospital two years ago. My career always came first and I have the bank account to prove it. But now I'm an old man who is so lonely that he has to pay people to stick around. I pay a housekeeper to cook and clean for me. I pay a personal trainer to kick my ass. I used to pay bartenders to listen to my stories and now I'm paying you."

"Is that what you're going to try and do with your son?" Janet leaned against the counter. "Try to buy your way into his life?"

"Wouldn't work." Ron folded his arms across his chest and smiled. "He's his mother's boy. The day he turned eighteen he returned the hefty check I sent him and told me to go to hell. I still sent money to Jillian though. She needed it so she couldn't turn it down."

"Hmm."

"So tell me what you know." He lifted his coffee now that it had cooled. "What did you learn about them? Do you know the boy's name?"

"That's not their boy. They were babysitting him for friends."

Ron stopped in mid sip. "And here I thought I had a grandson."

"I wouldn't lose hope." Janet laughed. "I saw Gil and Sara on TV the other night after the rescue. Between the way they were kissing and considering how much younger she is than him…I bet they have plans."

"They do look very in love." In a bittersweet voice, he commented, "But what scares me is so did Jillian and I once upon a time. They've only been married a little over a week…they're newlyweds. The first year of marriage is a bear."

"On TV they said it was a relationship five years in the making."

Ron was caught off guard by his own laugh. "I have no doubt that was my son's fault. If he inherited his mother's stubbornness and my self-centeredness, what chance did Sara have? Considering he's almost fifty and just starting a family I fear, like me, he chose career over happiness."

Always the romantic, Janet countered, "Or he just didn't find the right woman until now."

The Grissoms'
11:26 p.m.

After brushing her teeth once more, Sara emerged from the bathroom wearing her favorite fluffy pink bathrobe. "Honey?" Upon glancing around the room, she saw her husband was nowhere to be found and took the opportunity to go to the stereo and load a special selection.

"What are we going to listen to tonight?" Grissom asked as he entered the room and saw her at the stereo. He was a little disappointed to see her already wearing her bathrobe. She only wore that after, or when there wasn't going to be a before.

"We're going to listen to a little Opera," She answered before turning around. "You see while I've been home alone at night,I started listening to some of your CDs. But sometimes I have questions and you're not here to answer them, so it's frustrating."

"What can I do to help?" He asked through a stealthy grin, suddenly suspecting there was more on her mind than just an opera tutorial.

With a flick of a finger, she turned on the music. "Tonight I'd like to study Bizet's Carmen…Habanera specifically."

"Intriguing selection," He remarked while the first enticing notes of the piece floated through the candle-scented air. It was clear to him that Sara picked the song in isolation, for if she knew the tragic end to the opera and how close it hit to home, she wouldn't like it as much.

With an innocent expression and her fingers coiling around the belt of her robe, she walked towards him. "Tell me a little about the story."

"Carmen is a gorgeous gypsy girl living in Seville. She's a free spirit…someone used to turning the heads of men without much effort." As he spoke his eyes savored the mischievous glint in her eye. "Habanera, your song of choice tonight, is sung by Carmen. It's in the first act...she sees a group of men, factory workers, returning from their lunch break and decides to explain to them that love obeys no laws…specifically that love is like a rebellious bird…that's what she's telling them in this mesmerizing aria."

"Are they listening?" She asked in a husky whisper as she stopped in front of him.

"Of course…because she's a siren. They can't take their eyes off her and her voice drives them wild with desire. They all fall for her charms, that is except for one man, Don Jose…he's playing hard to get and it frustrates her. She just sang these words…he says nothing, but he pleases me."

"Is he really into his career?" She inquired while slinking around behind him. "Or does he just not know what to do about the situation?"

"A little of both." He chuckled from her questions and the delightful feel of her hands gliding over the back of his shirt. "You know…Habanera is considered by many, me included, to be the most seductive piece of opera music ever written."

"I had no idea," She purred in his ear before returning to her place in front of him. "Tell me…what color dress does Carmen usually wear?"

In perfect unison with the first crescendo of the music, he answered "red" and she yanked open her robe.

When he saw what she revealed he released a pleasure-filled gasp. "It's the infamous red opera dress."

On the next crescendo she dropped the pink robe. "And I see it still has its hold over you."

"On a hanger it wouldn't, but on you…" He lunged for her hand but she snapped it away just in time. "I thought Don Jose doesn't want Carmen?"

"He gives in a few songs after this, but you're more enticing than a gypsy girl and I'm a lot weaker than Don Jose." Reaching out once more, he captured her wrist and pulled her into his chest. "This is a very nice surprise you planned."

"I had a feeling you'd enjoy it," She commented in a sultry tone as she grazed her lips over his. "Next week we'll probably be forced to make love every day and because it will be baby making love we'll feel compelled to be sweet like we did last month. Tonight's not about conception so I thought, why not get a little wild?"

Recalling her outrageous performance in San Francisco the last time she wore the dress, he optimistically inquired, "How wild?"

"That depends…" Pulling away she flashed a devilish grin. "How much cash do you have on you?"

Her answer and the fact that he still had plenty of money left in his wallet thrilled him. "Start the song over and let's see what you've got, Carmen," He playfully announced as he pulled out his wallet and took a seat in the arm chair in the corner of the room.

When he heard the familiar first line, L'amour est un oiseau rebelle, que nul ne peut apprivoiser…love is a rebellious bird that nothing can tame…he knew he was in for a treat. Relaxing back in the chair he devoured her with his passion-filled eyes and rejoiced once more that she was his wife now and forever.

"Jillian, this isn't the way I want your first time to be," Ron sweetly pleaded as he began buttoning his shirt. His twenty-two year old body begged him to shut up, but his mind wouldn't listen. "We're in a field. And you should be in your oil painting class. And you're Catholic. And…I wanted you to at least have an engagement ring first."

Sheltered from the rain under a thick shade tree, they had been playfully kissing on their picnic blanket for an hour when things suddenly intensified. It was understandable after two years of building desire.

"Where isn't important…a ring will come when you can afford it." Her cheeks flushed, she assured him, "I'm ready now. I love you and I want more. Only passions, great passions can elevate the soul to great things".

"Shakespeare?"

"You always guess Shakespeare," She teased as she sat up, dropping the blanket which had been covering her instead of her rain-soaked blouse. "It's Diderot." Reaching out, she slipped her hand beneath his shirt and urged him closer. "Kiss me again because we need to stay warm."

Her voice and her body beguiled him and even though every fiber of his being told him not to, he covered her mouth in a fiery kiss. "Jillian we shouldn't…" He weakly protested one more time. He knew once she set her mind on something there was little he could do to sway her…not that he really wanted to, he just thought it was the responsible thing to attempt. When he realized there would be no turning back, he brushed her damp hair off her face, and captured her eyes with his. "I love you…I'll love you forever."

As Ron Grissom stared at the ceiling of his hotel room, he wondered the same thing he did every time the memory haunted him. If he hadn't given into the passion, if Gil hadn't been conceived on that rainy afternoon causing a chain of events that would change their lives forever, would things have turned out differently?

The story continues in: Second Chances - The 4th installment in the series.

Series Teaser: who needs one, who will need one, and who deserves one?

Thanks,

Maggs