Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or its character, however after watching "Big Middle", I'm really jealous of that woman who got to slap Grissom on the behind. Oh well...
Rating: T
A/N: Okay, so It's 7 am and I have to be at the airport by 9. My sister and I worked late into the night, but we didn't exactlyget to the part whereI wanted to end the chapter.That being said, keep in mind that the cliffhanger in the end is really in the wrong spot. When I return from mytrip in a week I'll be sure to finish this chapter, plus a couple more. I apologize for not finishing for you guys.Please understand. And THANK YOUfor the reviews. Theymake me so happy!
Chapter 4
"Sorry I'm late, Jim. I was talking to Gil." Catherine approached the detective with a troubled look on her face.
"I thought Sidle was doing this one?"
"Well she was, but um…something came up." Brass opened the door to the interrogation room.
"Let me guess, a lover's quarrel?" He let out a slight chuckle.
"It's not funny. Sara's really mad. I wish Gil would just tell her how he feels."
"Yeah, and I wish they would add another zero onto the end of my paycheck. It's not going to happen. He's too…"
"Hey! I've been waiting here for over an hour. I have a team to get back to!" The booming, yet slightly raspy voice that interrupted them belonged to the large, middle-aged man seated behind the table, Coach Gary Muller. Muller was at least Six-foot-four, 200 pounds, with the remnants of a muscular build that had been depleted with age. He wore a black and red Rebels jacket, and twiddled his thumbs impatiently. The first thing Catherine noticed about him was his scar-ridden face. Marks covered his oddly-shaped jaw, and she inferred they were from numerous surgeries.
Chewing tobacco. She shook her head.
"We're sorry to keep you waiting sir, but we had other business to attend to," Catherine replied as she took a seat across from Mr. Muller.
Coach Muller looked up at Brass. "I thought I was gonna talk to that cute brunette chick."
"Well, you're not. This is Catherine Willows from the Las Vegas crime lab."
"Hey, how long is this gonna hold me up for. My boys were supposed to be taking batting practice half an hour ago. It's bad enough that the league won't give them the title they deserve, and now you bring them all in for questioning?"
Brass leaned on the table as he spoke in a stern voice. "Mr. Muller, you and your boys might not be playing again any time soon. You are under investigation for the murder of Michael Mitchell and Kyle Murphy."
"Why me?" Muller shouted.
"Why? Because of the evidence. The evidence is telling us that those two players were poisoned. You knew they were the best in the league and you knew your team was no match for them. I'm thinking you wanted to make sure you could win the title. Unless you can change the evidence, which you can't, I suggest you keep your mouth shut and cooperate with us."
Grissom leaned back against the door to his townhouse, dropping his jacket and briefcase to the floor. He stared into the quiet emptiness that was his home, no, his house. This was not a home. It was merely a bunch of walls and a ceiling that covered his material values from the elements. The fifty-year-old bachelor was getting to the point in his life where he accepted the fact that his house would never fit his definition of home. Home is where you live each day with the ones you love. Home is where you watch your children grow up. Home is where you can return after a long, hard day of work and still feel happy and loved. Grissom had had plenty of long, hard days of work, yet on returning to his house, he still felt horrible. He knew he was missing something in his life. He knew that without Sara, his Sara, his dreams of having a real home would never come true.
Grissom closed his eyes tightly and opened them again, secretly hoping that the emptiness was just a dream.
"Daddy!" An energetic little girl with curly brown hair and bright blue eyes ran to greet him at the front door. She was followed by a black Labrador, wagging its tail wildly.
"Hi sweetie!" Grissom held out his arms for the little girl to run into and quickly scooped her up and kissed her forehead.
"Daddy, guess what we learned about in school today?"
"What?"
"The life cycle of a butterfly! Meta…metam…"
"Metamorphosis."
"Yeah, that's it!" She smiled the brightest smile, ear to ear, and a small gap was visible between her two front teeth. It warmed his heart to see his daughter filled with so much joy.
Grissom put his daughter down and pet his dog. She ran into the kitchen and returned with a large piece of yellow construction paper. "Did you make that?"
"Uh huh. See, I used sparkly paint too!"
"It's absolutely beautiful, Kaylee."
"It goes egg, then larva, then pupa, then adult, and it changes into a beautiful butterfly! Mommy says I'm the prettiest larva she's ever seen."
"You're Mommy's right! And one day you're going to grow up into a beautiful butterfly." He kissed her forehead again, finding it hard to conceal his pride and joy. "Speaking of Mommy, where is she?"
"She's in the kitchen, making dinner."
"Kaylee," a voice called from the kitchen, "go wash your hands for dinner."
"Yes Mommy." The girl turned and started to run for the bathroom, but stopped and turned around suddenly. "Hey Daddy, after dinner can we play with the tarantula again?"
"Sure honey, now go get ready for dinner."
Grissom made his way into the kitchen, savoring the smell of the home-cooked meal, passing the refrigerator that was covered in photographs of his friends and family . Everyone was smiling at him. Placing his hand around his wife's waist he whispered in her ear, "she's quite the entomologist."
She turned around. "She's following in her father's footsteps." They greeted each other with a quick kiss. Sara stroked his cheek and smiled brightly. "She spent a whole hour teaching the dog about arachnids. I guess she didn't realize she put Toby to sleep."
Grissom laughed, "That's my girl!" He was quite satisfied. Everything was perfect. "I love you, Sara."
"I love you, too."
A loud clap of thunder sounded outside and Grissom could feel his whole house shake. He rubbed his hands over his eyes and then made his way into the empty kitchen. He grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer and a bottle of beer from the fridge, then made his way back into the living room and threw himself onto the couch. It was the love seat, to be exact, but could you really call it that if you sat on it by yourself all the time?
Grissom placed the ice pack on his head. He came home to try to fix things with Sara but he had no idea where to start.
Catherine was right, he thought to himself as he took a sip of his beer. I would be missing out on such a great life.
Grissom looked at his reflection in the TV across the room. For an instant, he could swear Sara was seated right beside him, her head lying gently on his shoulder.
He spoke aloud to himself, "I'm seeing things. I really need to do something about this."
But where do I start?
He glanced down at his cell phone and remembered the time a few years ago when she asked him to dinner. He remembered how he declined; acting as if it were the most outrageous offer he had ever heard. But deep down inside, his raging emotions caused him so much confusion that the easiest solution seemed to be simply saying no.
"By the time you figure it out," her voice echoed inside his head, "you really could be too late."
The thunder sounded again.
I'll ask her to dinner. Then I can tell her everything.
Grissom pulled out his phone and dialed Sara's cell number. It rang several times, to no avail.
"Damn it," he exclaimed quietly, and pressed the redial button.
Sara didn't even need to look at the caller ID to know it was Grissom calling her over and over again.
By the fifth call she had had enough. "You're too late!" She screamed with all the power that remained within her emotionally exhausted self and threw the phone at the wall. Lightning flashed outside as the phone hit the wall and broke into numerous pieces.
Sara heaved herself back onto the couch. The pounding rain outside reminded her that she could no longer hold back five years worth of pain. Through the salty tears in her eyes she could see three empty bottles of beer and a fourth one that she had opened before his last call.
"Look what you've done to me," she cried, ashamed of the sight, and buried her face in the pillow. Through the sobs, the thunder, and the pounding rain, she could hear her house phone ring; one of the most horrible, painful sounds she had heard in a long time. Grissom's name flashed on the ID.
He ignores me for five years and now he wants to talk?
Sara clenched her fists as she got up and walked in a trance to the phone. Her blood boiled as she saw his name flash over and over again on the display. The ringing shrieked in her ears. The pain was too much for her to handle.
Finally, she grabbed the phone and cried into the receiver. "Leave me alone!" Sara slammed the phone down. It was then that she decided Las Vegas was no place for her.
"Sara! No! Just listen to me…"
Click.
It was too late. Sara had already hung up.
He had ignored his feelings for five years. He knew he was meant to be with her. He was not giving up this easily.
I'll tell her how I feel once and for all. If she doesn't listen to me then at least I know I lost her trying to get her back.
Lost. Grissom shuddered at the word. There was no way he would let that happen this time. He picked up the phone and dialed again.
I'll go back to San Francisco. I'll have a boss who respects me. Sara muttered to herself as she got a pad and pen from the kitchen. I'll never have to deal with his stupid job and his stupid bugs. Stupid paperwork, stupid quotes, stupid experiments… She sat down at the coffee table and took a long sip of her beer. Stupid Lady Heather, broken promises, Sofia… She pressed the pen into the paper. Stupid blue eyes, stupid smile, stupid concern, stupid holding my hand…
The sobbing returned as she wrote, her tears falling onto the paper.
Her writing was interrupted by a knock at the door. For a millisecond, she hoped it was Grissom, then thought better of it and shook the thoughts from her mind. Sara wiped her eyes and made her way to the door. She opened it slightly to see a large stranger with scars lining his jaw.
"Can I help you?"
He smiled. "I hope so. Are you Sara Sidle?"
"Yes, why do you ask?"
"Well, I was hopin' that you could help me contract a Dr. Gil Grissom."
That name.
He continued, "I saw him on the TV the other day, and I know he can help me with some…evidence."
"Dr. Grissom and I aren't exactly on the best terms right now…"
"Let me guess, a lover's quarrel?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Who are you and why are you here?"
"That's not important." The man stuck a gun through the opening in the door and pointed it at her face. "Where's Grissom?"
To be continued...
A/N:Something to ponder over for a week ;-). Oh by the way, I'm considering having Grissom shave his beard at one point... How many people wouldn't mind the lack of scruff and how many people couldn't possibly survive without it? Thanks!