Chapter Three
Much love and gratitude to Ghibli for beta duties.
II
Blood was ever blood and death still smelled the same and yet, Sara almost felt as if it all took another shade in Boston. Perhaps it was her perception that had changed or perhaps it was the air, clad in the salt of the sea - the only smell that was ever constant. The dead became ashes, houses rose and fell, car spewed their gases and rusted. The sea was ever there.
She had started to think she'd be ever there, too, as "ever" as humans could manage. And now the past yanked and allured and beckoned.
Grissom.
She stared at the phone again, debating even as she knew the choice had been made. Even if Grissom had been unavailable, she had called. She would call again. And he would be back in her life, almost like a ghost that could grow substantial if only she let him.
If she let him... If she went back, kissed him, forgot betrayal, forgot hurt, lost herself in the world of justice and puzzles and blood and lived, one last time...
Silence in the night, shadows in her mind. She had to leave in the morning, had to before she'd be tempted to forgive him and lost herself in the process. But first, she wanted one last goodbye, one last memory.
"Sara," he said in surprise as he opened the door. "I thought..."
"Hush. Tomorrow," she lied, a lie that felt almost worse than all of his, for this lie would give him hope.
He nodded, and the hope in his eyes was a dawn even in the dark of night and she almost wanted to be warm in it forever.
Almost.
Almost a daydream, but her pride rebelled. It could not be like that. It would not be like that. But she could still fantasize, could still feel just a little bit more alive for considering it. No harm in that, as long as she knew reality.
She dialled before she could overthink it, overfear it, overwant it. The nurse who answered sounded the same, or perhaps it was merely the ring of hospital in the voice. This time, Grissom was awake and she could not help but feel a moment of uncomplicated joy. She would hear his voice again.
"Sara?"
"Hey, Grissom," she replied, listening to him draw breaths. "I heard you gave everyone quite a scare."
His chuckle sounded pained. "Not as much as the car gave me."
"Yeah..."
"I'm glad you called," he hurried out, almost sounding like a rehearsed line. "I know... I mean, it's been a while."
"Yes," she agreed. "They think you're gonna be all right, Warrick said."
"In body," he replied. "I miss you, Sara."
She closed her eyes and breathed, breathed, breathed. It was easy to hold a grudge against a shadow and a memory she could manipulate. It was hard against a living, breathing entomologist she had loved, might still love.
"I... I miss all you guys," she managed, a safe truth of sorts. "Even Catherine."
"Even me."
"Yes."
The silence didn't feel wholly uncomfortable, almost like an offer of rest in running a marathon. Though perhaps the image of Grissom working out was not the best to recall at this moment.
"I'm glad you're all right," she said, trying not to remember anything at all. If she didn't remember, maybe she wouldn't want to hang up on him or blurt out something she couldn't take back later. "I should probably let you rest."
"I think I've rested myself to within an inch of boring myself mindless," he said softly. "I'm almost hoping for a gruesome murder to happen."
"With undetermined time of death and lots of creepy crawlies?"
"Bliss."
They both laughed, and for a moment it was almost like the years were drawn away, like curtains before a window, letting her see. Pain and hurt and his voice, whispering her to sleep.
"Would you visit if I asked?" he asked suddenly, shattering the glass and leaving the window open.
"No." She refused herself to think over it, refused herself to be tempted. She had left him, but he had left her first and the balance was now even. If she came just because he asked, the power would be all his and trust would not be restored. She might still love him. She wasn't sure she still trusted him.
Power and trust mattered. Her mother had taught her that.
He said nothing and the silence was alluring, desiring, hurting. It was almost as if all that was unspoken had been spoken still, but not in words.
Forgive me said his silence.
No said hers. But I wish I could.
"I'm sorry," he finally said, voice tired and uneven, death's echo in it still.
"Rest now," she replied. "I'll call when you feel better."
"Thank you," he said and then he was gone, leaving only the ghost in her memories. So much for not remembering. Three years on and all the walls she had erected seemed to shatter like glass.
Grissom's breath, like a lullaby for her tired self, rocking her near sleep. Grissom's heartbeat, reverberating in his skin, in her skin, in her heart, a symbiosis of heartbeats. Grissom's hands, warm against her back, palm and lines of life against the weathered skin of hers. Grissom's eyes, a caress of gaze, anchoring her before drifting away to sleep.
"I love you," she whispered then, and only then, daring not the words in daylight and his gaze.
Grissom's lips, curving to a faint smile, already promising tomorrow's morning kiss.
"Good."
She put down the phone and stared out the window, seeing twilight crawling in across the sea and over Boston. She had built a home here, she had been content, if not happy. And still she suddenly longed for the desert, for the bright lights of nighttime Las Vegas and the lullaby of breaths.
She hadn't forgotten. She had chosen not to remember and now she was beginning to remember just why. Blood was ever blood, but life wasn't ever life. Humans adapted to their surroundings, fitted themselves to new puzzles and adjusted to new people. Her life wasn't as it had been. The lab was another, James was not Grissom, the people she worked with were not Warrick, Greg, Nick or Catherine.
Was it enough to be content?
She wouldn't come if he asked. But maybe, just maybe, she could come unasked.