A/N In accordance with the guidelines set up by fanfic, I've revised this chapter..

Thanks again for all your wonderful supportive comments! I find myself wanting to list your names, but there are too many. Thanks so much! You're all greatly appreciated.

Chapter 9 Moment of Truth

"So you're still uncomfortable being alone in your apartment?"

Dr. Walker was momentarily standing by the large window in his office. His work attire never varied much: like his office design, he preferred sleek modern styles with clean lines and monochromatic color schemes. Unfortunately, this conflicted somewhat with his stocky build. Today, he wore a white turtleneck with snug fitting black slacks along with a dark gray blazer.

Grissom nodded. Normally he studied people as he spoke with them, gauging their reactions and expressions, it was an occupational hazard. For some reason, he had no interest in scrutinizing his psychiatrist. Maybe it was because he was acutely aware that he was the laboratory specimen being subjected to examination. Now he knew what his beloved insects felt like within their glass cages.

Rather than engaging in eye contact with the doctor, instead he tended to scan the room. The modern art pieces, the knickknacks and paintings, which were displayed about the office, didn't appeal to him; they failed to hold his interest beyond a moment or two. He was more of a Renaissance man who preferred classical works. And the journals and diplomas were too far away to readily discern more than the titles. Oddly enough, his gaze tended to settle upon the photos on the desk, which perplexed him.

"Last time we spoke, I thought it might be due to the fact that you associate your apartment with your traumatic experience. However, from our previous conversation, I'm starting to think it might be something else."

Grissom was listening half-heartedly; he had no clue where the doctor was leading. Although he was able think a little more clearly since, a few days ago, his physician had finally cut back on his pain medication, it only allowed him to dwell more on other pressing issues.

"Let's see," Dr. Walker flipped through his legal pad as he sank into his chair. "When you've tried to recall your near death experience, you remembered pictures of people you didn't know. And you're always looking at the ones on my desk too." That captured Grissom's full attention. "What do you think that means?"

"I don't know. It makes no sense. I have no connection to any of these people." He was still completely in the dark about whatever he'd experienced in those desperate moments. He was being to doubt that he'd ever uncover it.

Dr. Walker became more animated. "That's an intriguing choice of words. Whom are you connected to?"

"What do you mean?" Grissom was confused.

"Whom do you interact with? You said you didn't have many friends. Who are your friends?" Dr. Walker prompted him.

He had to think about that. "The people I work with, I guess."

"What about your girlfriend?"

"She's not my girlfriend," he snapped. He was still feeling overly sensitive about his vivid sexual dream, which had served to heighten his inner turmoil over Sara.

Dr. Walker shook his head. "I don't know who you think you're fooling but it isn't me. Or you. I've seen the two of you together. Why do you feel like you have to deny it?"

"I don't want to talk about it," Grissom stated emphatically.

His interest was peaked but he didn't push. "Why is it so hard for you to let people into your world?"

"I don't know. It just is," he mumbled.

"You know," the doctor picked up his legal pad and practically smirked as he read. "No man is an island entire of itself, every man is a piece of the Continent, a part of the main…Any man's death diminishes me because I am involved in Mankind, and therefore-"

"-Never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee." Grissom was so infuriated that he didn't realize that he'd actually remembered part of the quote. "How the hell do you know so much about me?" The quote had reminded him so much of his old self, he'd felt as if he'd been mocked and slapped in the face.

"Your girlfriend talks a lot when she's scared out of her mind. We must have spoken for over an hour the day she contacted me. I believe that was the day that-"

Grissom quickly interrupted, "Yeah, I figured that out." It was humiliating to be reminded of his grievous judgment error.

"Why don't you trust people? Why is it so hard?" Anticipating Grissom's next attack, he added, "I'm not just going by your girlfriend's assessment, I'm aware that she has her own bias. I'm a professional, I've confirmed all of my suspicions during our sessions."

Grissom silently fumed.

"Has someone ever hurt you? A former lover?" he suggested.

He shook his head.

"What's so hard about taking risks? That's what life is all about. Sometimes you win, and sometimes you lose but you have to play the game or it all becomes meaningless."

'Playing the game', something about that phase captured his attention, though he wasn't sure why. The first image it brought to mind was a baseball diamond, but that didn't fit. Though, the more he considered it, the more he became convinced that, even prior to his accident, he'd started to regard his life as sitting on the sidelines, in the dugout, while all the action and excitement was out on the baseball field. Perhaps that was one of his regrets; that he hadn't lived his live fully, that he hadn't participated as actively in his relationships with other people.

Then he recalled one of the factors that held him back.

"People leave."

He'd never acknowledge it out loud; he'd never give that man any more power over him, but his father's lack of involvement and eventual disappearance hurt him deeply, along with the countless others who initially claimed they were friends when he was younger, and then sneered at him and rejected him once they learned of his unusual interests and skills.

Dr. Walker recognized these two monosyllabic words were incredibly significant, but he didn't acknowledge it. "Some people do. Usually when things gets tough." He paused a moment. "You know if I were your girlfriend…"

This was getting ridiculous. "Sara, her name is Sara." He wished the doctor would stop bringing her up. Unfortunately, she was the proverbial elephant in the room that he longed to avoid discussing.

"Okay, if I were Sara, I think I wouldn't have even come to your hospital room. Talk about messing up her life. That would've been an ideal opportunity for her to walk out of your relationship. For most uncommitted couples, and even some who thought they would be in love forever, that would ultimately be a breaking point. These types of prolonged stressful situations tend to strain relationships rather than forge them." Trying to get a reaction out of Grissom he asked, "So is your Sara not so bright? What on earth is she sticking around for? She's even showing up late at work for you."

"Shut up," Grissom growled. Nobody talked about his Sara like that. Before the doctor could continue this line of questions, he snarled, "Enough about Sara."

"Well then, what steps do you think you can take to involve more people in your life? Or do you feel that you're ready for that?"

Involve more people in his life? The concept seemed foreign. Did he actually want that? Yet, even before his accident, his thoughts were leading that way. In fact, it seemed to him that he had already taken some steps in that direction, by allowing Catherine and Brass to drive him to his doctor's visits, and having pizza with Brass several times. And he'd let Sara get closer than he ever imagined he could. Maybe it would be okay to love her. Maybe it would be okay to bring her deeper into his life.

Dr. Walker sensed some important thoughts were rushing through his head, so he gave Grissom some time to reflect.

But what about those blasted pictures? What did they mean? Then, it hit him like a ton of bricks. Of course! It wasn't what they physically were; it was what they represented. He seized the memory as it fell upon him. All of the pictures represented loved ones, people who cared about each other. The moths and butterflies, which came to his mind, were the only ones he thought cared about him. Thank goodness he'd been proven wrong.

While he was lying on his bathroom floor, he'd been moved to tears by the thought that no one would mourn his death. That no one, other than his mother, loved him. He began to smile, strangely relieved to have recovered a 'lost' piece of himself.

"I think I'm done," his enigmatic smile remained plastered upon his face.

"Sure you are." Dr. Walker was clearly humoring him. "Same time next week? Then maybe you'll tell me what you're grinning about."

The warmth of the sun's rays felt wonderful upon his face; he was beginning to believe that Sara's grandfather was a wise man, after all. He and Sara had driven to the preserve to bird watch again. Although he hadn't been thrilled the first time, by their third trip, it had grown on him. He'd even found himself eagerly anticipating their current outing.

He enjoyed the fresh air and the solitude of the location. Observing birds didn't require intense concentration and it was oddly satisfying. It reminded him of his beloved insects and his tarantula, which he studied at his home. It made him feel like he could still act as a scientist, and it was a pleasant diversion as well.

The company was wonderful too. He casually reached over to slide his hand over Sara's. Even though his inner factions were starting to battle more fiercely, whenever he was with her, those opposing voices became muffled. Sara seemed less preoccupied, though she hadn't shared more about her family secrets. He'd have to be patient and let her choose her timing. He began to run his thumb across her palm.

"The guys are coming over your place to play poker tomorrow afternoon." Sara explained to Grissom. "It's all set, you can't back out now," she teased.

He grinned weakly, feeling a little nervous. He hoped he hadn't been impetuous making that decision. But, Brass, Catherine and Sara had each relayed several times that Nick, Warrick, and Greg were anxious to stop by and do something with him. Of course, the timing of their latest request had most likely influenced his decision to accept their offer. Nick had called Sara yesterday as she was driving him home from Dr. Walker's office. With the phrase, "no man is an island" freshly ringing in his ears, he felt motivated to make an effort. Of course, Sara had twisted his arm a little, too.

He hadn't seen Greg and Warrick since he was bedridden in the hospital, or Nick since he and Brass had driven him home. He was looking forward to their visit yet he was apprehensive as well. Did they know about his condition? Would they be repelled by it? Or worse, would they pity him? Most likely Sara had described his circumstances but how would they react once they discovered for themselves how much he had lost and what he had become.

And poker? Was he insane? With his former quick wits and keen observatory skills, he'd made enough money playing cards to finance several trips to the Body Farm. Now, he'd be lucky if he could concentrate on the actual cards in his hand. What had he gotten himself into? He sighed.

Sara squeezed his hand gently. "Don't worry, they're not expecting you to be…you know…like you were."

'Smart, capable and confident,' he thought to himself. He sighed again.

"You're..different, but you're still you. They'll recognize that. It'll be okay." Her brown eyes pleaded with him, yearning to comfort him.

He wished he could believe her; he wanted to, very badly. He didn't like being plagued by doubts. In addition to his memory and concentration, his accident had affected his ability to regulate his emotions and make decisions. Opening up to other people was such a foreign concept for him, even under the best of circumstances. Why did he think he was ready for this?

Because even the old Gil Grissom had finally recognized that he longed to feel needed and loved. He was shocked by the intensity of that memory regained from his near death experience. It was as if he'd somehow straddled a cosmic barrier and had a conversation with his old self, only to discover that they weren't as fundamentally different as they appeared to be. True, both men were terrified by the concept of emotional closeness, let alone intimacy. Yet, they each craved it.

Before his accident, his hectic life had provided more than enough distractions. His work and his numerous interests, all helped him to delude himself that he was content, that he had all that he required. He was self-sufficient; he didn't need anyone. He'd become adept at occasional casual encounters with nameless faceless women to meet his sexual needs. He was relatively happy and secure in the knowledge that no one could get close enough to hurt him.

How did that song go?

And a rock feels no pain. And an island never cries.

He couldn't recall the rest, but it echoed his feelings. He was safe. Thus, he had no motivation to take risks in relationships that would inevitably lead to disappointment and despair. For almost fifty years he managed to ignore the gapping hole within him that silently yearned for more.

However it had started to catch up with him, even prior to his accident. He hadn't been able to identify it, he wasn't a man given to self-reflection. But gradually he became aware that it was there. Rather than deal with it, he simply denied it. He was good at that. Unfortunately, it had taken a near death experience to completely force open his eyes.

With his distractions were gone, he had nothing left other than his overwhelming awareness of his need. He was out of excuses. He wanted to be more connected to people and thus, it was time to start taking risks, even though it was even more frightening for him in his vulnerable condition.

Sara had given him some privacy, turning her attention back to the trees. He glanced at her profile, once again feeling an ache within him that he couldn't recall their first meeting. Opening up to share more of his life with his colleagues was risky. The thought of opening his heart to Sara was terrifying. Why had he held back in the past? What were his reasons?

He was scared. Well, of course he was scared, but of what? He wasn't any good at this self-analysis type of stuff. When Sara had started getting closer to him, violating his perimeter, he was thrilled yet cold fear cut through his gut. When she'd asked him out, he was paralyzed. He didn't know why he felt as he did, his gut just screamed NO. It was as if he were a deer caught in a set of headlights. He froze, he couldn't do it.

Most likely his encounter with Dr. Lurie had helped him to understand his fears better. As he spoke with the man and mentally visualized his affair with Debbie Marlin, he could see himself in that man's place. At first, it would be heavenly, being caught up in the passion and the thrill of being head over heels in love with her. But then when reality hit, he realized he was a flavor of the month and that she was ready to move on. That type of rejection would destroy Grissom. In fact, it did destroy Dr. Lurie; it led him to committee two heinous murders. Even if there weren't sufficient evidence to convict him, he'd have to live with the knowledge of his horrendous acts for the rest of his life.

However, as he currently reviewed his conclusions, he'd neglected a critical variable. Debbie Marlin wasn't Sara Sidle. Although their physical resemblance was striking, their styles were night and day. According to friends and neighbors, Debbie Marlin had dozens of doctors parading through her house. Over the last five years, he was only aware of one man, other than himself, in Sara's life. And he'd hurt her badly. Catherine had made sure to relay that information to him, years ago.

And their relationship wasn't a fly-by-night type of thing. They'd kept in contact over the years, even when they'd lived in different states. She'd dropped her life in San Francisco and driven to Vegas at his request. She'd stood by him during this stressful ordeal. He didn't even want to imagine about how awful this ordeal would've been without her.

And who was he kidding? It was too late not to get hurt; he was already in love with her. He was already vulnerable. Why not take the plunge and go the distance? Why not find out what her lips tasted like, how smooth the skin on her back felt, how she moaned when she was aroused, if she hogged the covers at night, or if she even wore pajamas at all?

Why not?

He grasped her arm, and she turned to look at him. Their eyes held one another. It was only an instant but it seemed like an eternity. Grissom licked his lips in eager anticipation and bent towards her. Sara smiled; her eyes were sparkling as she bent closer to him to bridge the distance between them.

Then, almost imperceptibly, something changed. Grissom stopped edging closer, his expression became stormy. An involuntary cry of despair came out of Sara as she leaped out of her chair and ran off.

He roughly slammed his hand into the arm of his wheelchair, winching in pain. What in the hell was wrong with him? He couldn't do it.

TBC

A/N No, I'm not trying to be mean, or play with your minds, even though Leslie called me some colorful names after reading this : ) There are valid reasons, which will all be addressed in Ch 10. If I can catch up with the rest of my writing, I'll try to post it early.