Disclaimer: These characters are the property of CBS, inc.
Sorry so long between chapters. I have been up to my ears in a final paper. But it is behind me now, and I am much relieved. Thanks for being patient. This is developing a lot more slowly than I had imagined, but I believe it is taking me somewhere. Just hope you will follow along.
I wanted to make a comment. I had Warrick lie to Sara about her pregnancy test and then tell her it was positive. I didn't realize that it was like Phoebe telling Rachel from Friends until after someone commented in a review, and I thought, 'damn, she's right'. Of course, I saw it and of course it is derivative. Many reviewers were good natured about it. A couple, however, were really bent out of shape; one of them demanding that I rewrite it. The whole idea of reviewing in this vein anonymously, of course, is very silly and unreasonable. In any event, flame away if you must because I am not rewriting one word. It worked in my head and so it stays. No doubt it was a subconscious rendering of what I saw on Friends, but, honestly, so what. Okay. That's out of my system now.
Thanks for reading and reviewing. It means the world to me that you enjoy this.
Sheila
Chapter 6
Hope Springs
Looking out over the bay from Golden Gate Park was one of her favorite retreats when she was a grad student. The beauty and the enormity of the view helped her to slow and organize her thoughts. Today, it acted as a time machine taking her back to a morning when her advisor had told her she had to go to a seminar on bugs. She was slightly hung over and steamed that her advisor had been so authoritarian with her. When she walked into the lecture hall, she was surprised to see that there was hardly an empty seat in the room. She squeezed past people in the third row to get to a seat in the middle. As she sat down, she hoped her queasy stomach wouldn't erupt. Trying to launch herself to the bathroom over 8 laps was going to be anything but discrete.
Already he was up there. Gray-haired with spectacles, he shuffled paper about the podium in silence. She groaned under her breath and slumped in her seat. He was probably going to be another professor who droned through a lecture oblivious to the drooping heads and yawns. Finally satisfied with the order of his notes, he looked up and smiled. There was something about him that made her sit up.
He began his lecture with a story about a woman who was murdered. Her corpse was recovered from a state park, but there was no way to determine time of death because of weather conditions. He told them how he removed the maggots from her carcass and studied their life cycles. The protocol he used for this was long and monotonous, but she hung on every word. He was brilliant and she liked that. Her own genius left her awkward and impatient with most people, and she craved people who challenged her. At Berkeley, there should have been more than enough stimulation for her, but she found herself tired of the arrogance that often followed academicians around like a cloud.
This man, this Dr. Grissom, didn't sit behind a desk opening rejection letters on his latest submission to the American Journal of Biology. He was out there doing real things with real people. He was using his gifts to fight crime. As happened on occasion, she entered into the fray as if he and she were the only two in the room. She raised question after question. Each time, he would stop and cock his head for a moment, considering her words. Then he would patiently and thoroughly answer her. By the end of the seminar she was hooked. She didn't glom onto him at the end of his lecture gushing out her admiration for his intellect. That was so two years ago for Sara. Instead, she headed for the library, looking up every reference on Dr. Grissom she could find.
His lecture series included six seminars over the course of two weeks. Everything else that Sara was doing took a back seat. She was there at each seminar half an hour before anyone else. She came prepared, a copy of his text in one hand, copies of his journal articles in another. She listened intently, jumping in whenever she wanted more. He never grew impatient with her although she wished she could say the same about her classmates. Her obsession didn't go unnoticed, and she took quite a bit of teasing between seminars. Sara was too focused to care.
At the fourth seminar, she saw him scanning the audience until his eyes locked with hers. Then he stopped searching and smiled. A feeling she hadn't had since tenth grade flooded through her, and she ended up too flustered to fully engage with him in the lecture. It was after this one that she stayed until everyone else had left. He saw her still seated, and took his glasses off. He jumped off the stage and sat a couple of chairs away from her. For a moment, neither of them said anything, and then she launched in with every question that had plagued her from his most recent article. Like this, back and forth, stimulating each other, excited about the discourse, they talked for hours.
It was after the fifth seminar that she asked him out to dinner. He hesitated, looking away awkwardly. She quickly assured him that it was merely appreciation for the patience he had shown her. Right after the sixth seminar, she waited for him at the door and they walked out together. The conversation never flagged. Despite his more formal attire, he sat on the grass with her and shared sandwiches. At some point in the conversation, she asked him about the work. He talked about Vegas and the crime lab and the national reputation they were building. He talked about the special issues that Las Vegas had that were unique among cities. And he talked about cases. She hung on every word. His delivery was dry but droll, and she laughed more than she imagined she would. When dusk fell, she offered to walk him back to his hotel. He worried about how she would get home. She promised to take a cab from his lobby.
At the hotel, he turned to her abruptly and offered to buy her a drink. Sara smiled. Ending the evening was the last thing she wanted to do. He drew her out and she talked about her thesis and her professors and the politics in the department. It amazed her how he would listen so carefully, his brow slightly creased as he processed her every word.
Soon it was time to leave, and she didn't want to go. She made noises about going, and he made noises about getting up for a breakfast meeting, but neither of them stirred from their chairs. Finally, she leaned over with only two glasses of wine in her and told him he was cute. One eyebrow arched, only one. She immediately thought of Mr. Spock. He didn't say anything and she felt her skin begin to get hot with embarrassment. She pushed back her chair, ready to mumble an apology of some sort and beat a hasty retreat when his hand landed on her arm. He pulled her back down and reached over to touch her hair. Shivers ran down her spine. Stumbling over her words, she tried to assure him that she didn't do this kind of thing every day, but he only smiled. He got up and gestured toward the elevator and she followed. In the elevator, they stood side by side like strangers, but at his room, he slipped his hand into hers.
It was such a lovely, slow night. He kissed her long and hard as if it were a long forgotten art form. She tugged at his clothes and he whispered for her to be patient. So they touched and kissed for hours. She let him take off her shirt and explore her neck and breasts as if an appraiser inspecting treasure. The longing left her trembling with need and when she wanted to do nothing more than scream, he answered her gracefully with long and gentle strokes. They were like this all night, pushing each other to the edge and then coming together in mutual ecstasy.
When she woke the next morning, she could immediately tell that the spell was broken. He sat at the table by the window stiffly, and turned away when she got up in search of clothes. She sat across from him and he talked to her about friendship and concerns and age differences and busy schedules. She didn't react much to what he was saying because in that moment she had expected nothing more than what they had. She had no idea that the longing would build in her again after he left, and that no one around her satisfied the desire she felt for him.
He promised to stay in touch, and, amazingly, he did just that. E-mails, phone calls, lunches when he was in town or passing through. She called him when she needed an outside reader for her thesis, and he flew in for her thesis presentation and defense. Every time, she knew they were sleeping in the same city, she hoped that he would draw her in again, but he never did. But, they often lingered in conversation, huddled together in a bar or a hotel lobby until the sun came up as if neither of them quite knew how to be without the other.
When she came to Vegas, she expected their relationship to resume. It didn't. Her feelings of desire mixed with frustration and anger and confusion. And years of this tension, this imposed control had left them far more lonely than they had ever been before. Sara caressed her stomach constantly now. She didn't want to attach. It was important that she keep her options open. She was sure that reason was not on her side. Being a parent was unmanageable considering his history and current lifestyle. But like she had with Grissom, this was a desire that was quickly moving beyond her control.
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Grissom reached over to the right careful to hold steady to the roof. He ran his gloved hand through the rain gutter pulling out the leaves and other debris he found. He reached again to capture some twigs when the ladder he was perched on jerked precariously. Slapping both hands onto the gutters, he hung on tightly. When the swaying stopped, he looked down and his mother was glaring at him, her hands on her hips.
"Mother!" He called. Quickly, he scurried down the ladder before she decided to rattle his ladder again. He jumped off and looked at her. "What are you up to?"
"What are you doing on my roof?"
"I was cleaning out your gutters." Grissom was brushing debris off his shoulders.
"I already have someone to do this."
"Do you remember when he forgot?" Grissom emphasized his point with signs.
"Gilbert, that was 13 years go. He doesn't forget anymore."
"And breaking my neck was going to prove a point?"
"You are not here to do my yard work. You have big issues to think about. It is Wednesday and you still haven't talked to her."
Grissom rubbed his eyes under his glasses. "I'm going to tell her that I will be supportive of whatever she decides. And I am going to do that this evening just as soon as I reach her friend, Matthew, because I do not have Sara's number."
"You are going to tell her that you will support anything she decides?"
"Yes, mom."
"So all the options are equal to you?"
He closed his eyes. "It's not my choice."
"What do you hope will happen?"
Grissom looked away from the intent eyes of his mother.
"Gilbert, do not act that this is some dispassionate decision for you. If you want this baby, you have to say so."
"And my wanting this child is best for whom? Do I look like good father material? Can you imagine me with a toddler?"
Olivia Grissom snorted. "I woke up one morning after I had been married a year. I just found out that my hearing loss was progressive and irreversible. I had a husband who was working 80 hours a week trying to establish his business, and he was showing no interest in learning how to communicate in sign language. No one was buying my art. And then I found out I was pregnant with you. You think you are unprepared."
"You are a wonderful mother." He signed to her gently.
"None of us come prepared. If you have love in your heart then you can be a wonderful parent, Gilbert."
He didn't say anything.
"You can't be in control all the time. Life is no fun that way. How did I not teach you to live in color?" He started to answer, but she turned and walked away, waving away any comments he might make to her retreating back. . He stood there silently for awhile. Then he pulled the ladder down and dragged it back to the shed.
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"Cath, I need a couple days." Warrick trotted up to walk alongside his boss.
She raised her eyebrow at him and shook her head. "Grissom still hasn't come back. Ecklie's going nuts with all the cryptic messages he keeps leaving."
"Yeah, I know it's tight, but I have a situation. I need to be there for a friend."
"Who?"
Warrick screwed up his face. "Can't do that, Catherine. I promised."
She stopped and looked at him. "Then the answer is no."
He let out a deep breath as she started to walk away. "Catherine. Sara needs me. I need to go."
She stopped in her tracks and turned slowly. "And this has something to do with Grissom being gone?"
He shrugged. "Probably."
"Those two can't go a week without screwing up each other's lives."
"Yeah."
"She really needs you?"
He nodded. "I wish I could tell you more."
She sighed. "Go. Do whatever it is she needs you to do. I'll make it work with Ecklie. Tell them both I think they are a couple of idiots for managing to have the most complicated relationship in the world for absolutely no reason at all."
He smiled. "I'm sure they would love to hear that."
She rolled her eyes and took off in search of Ecklie.
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"Matthew?" Grissom paced back and forth in the dunes behind his mother's house.
"Gilbert! How are you?"
Grissom winced into his cell phone. "Well, it's been a fairly confusing week."
"Really? Tell me more."
"I'm still trying to reach Sara. It's imperative that I talk to her. Can you help?"
"You want her phone number?"
"Yes." Cool, salt air whipped through his hair.
"You're going to talk to her on the phone?"
Grissom felt irritation rise up in him. He turned his face into the sandy wind. "Matthew. Please!"
"Well, it seems like talking to Sara requires something a little personal than a phone call."
Grissom grew quiet. The wind whistled through the long, tough grass that dotted the dunes.
"Gil? Are you there?"
Grissom blinked. "I'm here. Listen I'll call you back."
He snapped the phone closed and headed back toward the house.
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Sara poked her head into the morgue. There was something about the silence of a morgue that was louder than any other silence. Thomas sat in a corner hunched over a small desk illuminated only by a small desk lamp. She slid in the door, and smiled at him when he looked up.
"I have news, Thomas."
He sat back, an oversized white lab coat hanging past his knees. "Hope?"
"Her name is Attica Jones, born February 2nd, 2000 in Sioux Falls, South Dakota."
His face screwed up. "Attica is the name of a prison."
"And a small girl who never made it to the age of 5 years."
Thomas nodded.
"Local police in Sioux Falls will notify her family. I expect that someone will come to pick her up in a day or two. Can you make sure that she is ready?"
"Do we know they didn't do this to her?" He stood there, lost in the big coat.
She wet her lips. "She's been missing for nine months. We've collected all the evidence that can be taken. It's time to put her to rest, Thomas."
The young man looked down and shuffled his feet.
She smiled gently at him. "Thanks for taking care of her."
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Sara lay on her sofa and stared at her book shelves. They were a mess. Books were stacked in piles on the floor. Only a few books had yet made it onto a shelf. Around the shelves, open boxes littered the floor. The warm, yellow walls were bare. Her stereo system lay in a corner, loose cords sticking out from underneath.
She had no interest in organizing the clutter around her. It amazed her, in fact, that she had lived 9 weeks like this. At some point, she assumed that it would make sense to turn this apartment into a home. Her hands hadn't left her stomach since she lay down. The shape had become more pronounced. She'd spent 15 minutes in front of the mirror looking at the curve in her abdomen. Her breasts had grown as well, and were amazingly tender. For the first time in her life, she felt voluptuous. Unfortunately the stress of her current situation didn't allow her to enjoy it.
Making a decision was becoming easier and easier, but she refused to allow it to happen just yet. It was important that she imagine all of the consequences of the different options. She hadn't had positive thoughts about mothers, any mothers, for a very long time. Thinking of herself as one left her with a queasiness that morning sickness couldn't touch.
Her doorbell rang, and anxiety shot through her body. She assured herself that he didn't know where she was; she could control their next contact. This being the only thing she could control at this point. She pulled herself up, and shuffled to the door. Two familiar faces crowded her peephole. She opened the door and let Marc and Matthew in. Marc gave her an odd look and walked by. Matthew leaned over and whispered in her ear. "Your t-shirt. The pregnancy you aren't having is starting to show."
Sara looked down and saw that her tight tee was still bunched up above her stomach. She tugged it down over her waist. Marc was sitting in her vacated spot on the sofa. Matthew was pulling take-out boxes out of a bag. "I was just getting sleepy, guys."
"You don't eat well. I have Mrs. Fishbaum's vegetarian borscht here. It's fabulous." Matthew disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with bowls and spoons.
Sara rolled her eyes.
Marc shook his head at her. "You're going to eat whether you want to or not. Matthew has decided. Understanding him as a force of nature makes it all go down easier."
Matthew took her hand and twirled her into his hip. He let his hand rest on her abdomen for a moment. She gasped and pulled away. Matthew blinked in surprise. "Honey!"
"I'm not ready." She mumbled at the floor.
"But—" Marc put a hand up to stop him. Matthew sat down heavily in a kitchen chair.
"Maybe we should go." Marc motioned for Matthew to get up.
Sara put her hands up. No. No. I'm sorry. Please stay. Let's eat some soup."
They sat down and began to sip the rich, slightly sour soup. Matthew looked over at Marc who shook his head furiously. Matthew creased his brow in protest. Sara looked up to watch the dinner theatre in front of her. "You want to ask me something, don't you?"
"It's okay. We'll eat in peace and leave you alone." Marc murmured over a spoonful of soup.
She turned to Matthew who was looking chastised. "Go ahead and ask me."
"We should let you eat in peace." Matthew mumbled.
"Too late, boyfriend. Tell me what's on your mind."
Matthew looked at Marc. "Well, you have an appointment tomorrow, and we or, I guess, I was thinking that you shouldn't go alone. And Marc can open his schedule for the morning, and I can shift a couple of meetings…"
Sara stared down at her bowl. "Thanks. I mean it."
"So we get to go?"
She smiled. "Okay."
The doorbell rang. Matthew jumped up and went to the door. Sara looked at Marc who merely shrugged. A few moments later, Matthew brought in a tall, handsome man with the skin of café and emerald eyes.
"Warrick!" Sara blinked in surprise. She got up and hugged him. Marc went over and shook his hand. Matthew stood there, a confused look on his face. Marc turned and gestured at Warrick. "Warrick, this is my partner, Matthew Stone. Matthew, this is Warrick Brown. I know Warrick from a couple of Forensics conferences."
"Really?" Matthew's eyebrows rose.
Marc rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and he's my secret lover here to get a look at the competition."
Matthew narrowed his eyes while they laughed at him. "If that's the case, then I'm sure he'll see how hopeless it is and go home."
Warrick reached over to shake his hand. "I wanted to check on Sara."
She smiled at him. "That was nice."
"I know you have an appointment in the morning. I thought maybe you might need some company."
"Thanks Warrick. That's great. I will have a lot of support with me."
The doorbell rang. Again Matthew disappeared into the entry. Warrick raised a brow at Sara. "You having a party or something?"
She shrugged.
Matthew came back into the room, and turned to usher in the man who filled all the space in her dreams. Grissom stood silently next to Matthew and surveyed the room. His eyes stopped when he found Sara.
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TBC