Author's Notes: In the middle of writing the next chapter of "Letting Go," this story came to me out of the blue and wouldn't go away until I wrote it down. So, enjoy without worry that I've hit a block on my other fic;) Thanks for reading!
The Hubble Factor
by Kristen Elizabeth
When everything was said and done, it was a lovely ceremony. Elegant, tasteful, maybe a bit over the top, but the bride was pushing forty and this being her first trip down the aisle, no one blamed her for going overboard.
Still, eight bridesmaids? That was just walking the fine line between extravagant and tacky. There were so many of them, in fact, that the groom had been forced to call upon practically every man he knew (and could stand) in order to give all eight women an escort.
Warrick Nick, Greg, Brass and Doc Robbins were all lined up according to height, waiting with the groom at the altar. Catherine stood on the bride's side, having been the one to introduce the happy couple.
And that was how Sara Sidle ended up sitting through Gil Grissom's wedding alone.
She hadn't planned on attending. And really, she wasn't even supposed to be there. No ivory and gold-embossed invitation had ever arrived in her mailbox, requesting her presence and asking whether she wanted chicken or fish at the reception. It gave her a delicious sense of sedition to crash Joy's perfect day. Although technically, early on Greg had asked her if she wanted to be his date. If she had to, Sara could simply claim that she'd taken him up on his offer.
There really was no good explanation as to why she'd gotten up that morning and decided to go to the wedding. Maybe it was to avoid going in to work and seeing pity on the faces of those co-workers who liked her, and satisfaction on the faces of those who didn't. Maybe she needed an excuse to pull out her one nice dress from the depths of her closet.
Or maybe it was as simple as she had to see it for herself to make it real.
Because in all honesty, the past two months since Catherine had leaked the news had felt like some horrible nightmare that she couldn't escape. That night had been the first time Sara heard Joy's name, and the first time she felt instantaneous hatred towards someone she'd never met.
The story, as she'd later been forced to learn, was that Catherine met Joy, the principal of Lindsey's private school, when she was called in for a conference. They kept in touch and eventually Catherine decided to play matchmaker between her new single female friend and her oldest single male friend.
The rest was history.
Sara's head pounded as the minister asked for the rings. Were they so far into the service already? At least she hadn't missed the part where everyone gathered was asked if they had any objections. Not that she'd have the guts to actually stand up. Besides, what would she object to? The future happiness of the man she loved?
That was just her good, saintly, altruistic side speaking. Her bad, selfish, wounded side wanted to scream, "I object! I object to being lead on for six years! I object to falling in love with someone who never loved me back! I object to becoming the laughing stock of the entire crime lab! I object to pink sprays of roses on every pew and an opera singer belting out 'Ave Maria' and eight freaking bridesmaids!"
But she didn't. Sara sat through the entire ceremony, her hands shaking, her eyes glassy, until it was official. And Gil Grissom was married.
The reception was held in one of the Bellagio's ballrooms. It probably set the happy couple back a few grand, Sara figured. But nothing was too good for Joy, right? If she'd wanted it, they probably would have had the reception on the moon. She snickered, imagining Joy slowly jumping up and down the makeshift moon aisle, her perfect blond hair smushed flat by a heavy astronaut helmet.
"Okay," Sara muttered to herself. "No more trips to the open bar."
For the one hundredth time, she checked her watch. The bridal party was an hour late. Probably still taking pictures. It was just inconsiderate. Thoughtful couples planned ahead and either put a good chunk of time between the service and the party, or took the pictures the day before. But Joy probably would have fainted at the thought of Grissom seeing her wedding dress before the big day.
"Bridezilla."
"Did you say something, dear?"
The little old lady sitting at the seat next to the one Sara had placed herself at had probably sat on the bride's side, so Sara smiled and shook her head. "Nothing. I'm just looking forward to the YMCA."
"Oh, I'm afraid I don't know that one. My favorite part is the bouquet toss. Of course, I haven't had to try to catch one for…goodness me…forty-eight years now. Are you married, dear?"
Sara crunched down onto a piece of ice. "Only to my job."
The woman reached out and patted Sara's had with her weathered one. "Maybe today will be your lucky day and you'll catch it. A pretty girl like you shouldn't be alone."
She bit back ten sarcastic remarks because the lady was just trying to be nice. It wasn't her fault that life had conspired to ensure that Sara would always be just that. Alone. "We'll see."
The bridal party arrived just then. In the middle of their introduction, Sara made her way to the bar.
"Would you care to dance?"
It was a good thing she'd stopped drinking during the salad course or else she might have stumbled as she accepted and Greg led her onto the dance floor. That could have drawn the attention of the bride and groom, who had so far failed to notice her presence even as they made the obligatory rounds to thank their guests.
Greg was a pretty good dancer. Under other circumstances, she might have had a good time.
"Nice ceremony, huh?" she asked, breaking the silence that had fallen over them as they danced.
His forehead crinkled up. "I never knew there were so many shades of pink. And eight bridesmaids? What the hell?"
Sara could have kissed him. Until…
"So…" he continued rather awkwardly. "How are you, Sara?"
She tightened her grip on the back of his neck. "Don't do that," she ordered in a low voice. "Don't you dare feel sorry for me."
"I don't! I…" Greg sighed. "I'm sorry. I just…I saw you sitting alone in the church and at dinner and I just…"
"Felt sorry for me. I should step on your toe with my heel."
"Please. You weigh, like, five pounds. It would barely break through the leather."
She couldn't help but smile. "Still. You wouldn't get your deposit back for the penguin suit."
Greg's hand splayed across her back. "Shocked the hell out of me, seeing your face in the crowd."
"Thanks, Greg."
"In a good way," he corrected himself. "I didn't think you were…"
"I wasn't invited." She brought her lips to his ear. "I crashed."
He shook his head. "Why would you do this to yourself?"
"Because…I'm a masochist?" When he didn't laugh or chuckle or even grin, Sara shrugged. "I don't know."
"Do you still love him?"
Sara tilted her head back and gazed at the grand chandelier for a long moment. "He was the first man I loved and he'll probably be the last." She looked back at him. "Such is life, right?"
Greg pulled her into a hug. "Sara…I'm sorry."
"I swear, Greg, I will grind my heel right into your toe."
"I'm not sorry for you." He kissed her forehead. "I feel sorry for him. He married a witch when he could have had the princess."
His words touched her deeply. She had to get away before the tears started up. She'd held them back through the engagement, the ceremony and most of the reception. They wouldn't be held back any longer. "I…um…I had too much champagne. Excuse me."
The ballroom's bathroom had a line, so Sara ran to the one down the hall. It was blissfully empty. No one would hear her cry. It was the one thing in her life that she could control.
She emerged almost an hour later to the faint sounds of the Village People emanating from the reception.
"Dammit," Sara said out loud. "I missed the YMCA."
"Sara?"
Her breath caught in her throat as Grissom appeared from around a tall potted plant. Why, oh why, did he have to look so good in a tuxedo? Why couldn't he be one of those guys who just never fit one, either looking uncomfortable or stiff or…for lack of a better word…geeky?
He was none of those things. He was polished, he was stylish, he was handsome. He was married.
Sara's eyes lingered on the gold band that now decorated his left ring finger. "I'm Greg's date!" she blurted out. "I didn't crash, I swear!"
Grissom, noticing where her stare was focused, discreetly slipped his left hand into his pocket. "Sara, you're more than welcome here. You should know that."
She blinked. "Sorry. I've always thought that the lack of invitation to an event was a good indication of whether or not I'd be welcome there. I'll know better in the future."
"Sara…"
"Should make attending the AAFS awards banquet a lot easier."
"I didn't know what to do," he admitted. "I didn't want to leave you out, but I thought an invitation might be…"
"Don't worry about it," she cut him off. "It was a no-win situation. For both parties." A long, painful moment passed. "Is the line in the men's room long, too?"
"What?"
Sara gestured to the ladies room. "I didn't want to wait, so I came out here. I figured you had the same problem."
"Oh. No. I'm just…" Grissom cleared his throat. "I needed some air."
"You're hiding." He shot her a look, and she clapped a hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry, Grissom. An open bar and the one-time borderline alcoholic don't mix."
"It's all right."
"No, it's none of my business. I mean, it's your wedding day. If you need a breather, who the hell am I to question it? It's not like I…" Sara stopped. "Sorry. I'm quiet now."
Grissom shook his head. "I wish you wouldn't be."
"You wish I wouldn't be what? Quiet?" Sara blinked. "Okay…"
"I wish you'd yell at me."
She could have been knocked over with a single puff of air. "Excuse me?"
"You'd have every right to."
Sara ran her tongue over her lips. "I hope I'm interpreting what you're saying right, or I'm going to feel very stupid in a minute. Grissom…if you think I'm holding some minor flirtations several years ago against you, I'm not. My feelings were mine and mine alone." She smiled sadly. "Like Ms. Raitt says, 'you can't make your heart feel something it won't.'"
"Sara, do you really think that it was just you?"
"I have to," she said after a minute of staring at him. "I just watched you marry another woman. The evidence never lies. Right?" When he said nothing, Sara took a shaky breath. "I just wish you could tell me…why couldn't it have been me?"
He ran his hand down his beard. "I don't have the words, Sara. I never have."
"Yeah. I got that memo a long time ago." The YMCA ended and they could both hear the DJ start to talk. Sara closed her eyes. No doubt it was time to toss the bouquet. Her last moment with Grissom was over. "You should get back in there. Your wife is waiting for you."
"I know." Grissom looked down at the expensive carpet. "My wife."
Gathering all of her courage, Sara stepped forward and kissed his cheek, catching them both off guard. The two seconds her lips touched his skin seemed like a lifetime. Finally, she pulled back. "I want to wish you every happiness in the world, Grissom. You deserve it." The words stuck in her throat and she had to abruptly step away from him.
He reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek. "Sara…"
She took another step farther away. "I'm really trying here. Please don't make it any harder." Grissom opened his mouth to go on, but she held up her hand. "I have to go…get some sleep. I become acting supervisor in couple of hours. Until you get back from Hawaii, anyways."
"Will you still be here when we…when I get back?"
Sara bit down on the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste blood. "I'm not running away. I might have come here for you…but I stayed this long for me. This is my home. The ring on your finger won't change that. And if you plan on hiding your hand in your pocket every time you see me from now on, people are going to start to get ideas about you."
He withdrew his hand. "I just…didn't want to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you, Sara."
She lifted her shoulder. "We don't always get what we want."
She was gone by the time the new Mrs. Grissom came looking for her husband to pull him back into the festivities. The last place on earth he wanted to be.
Fin
A/N: If you've ever seen "The Way We Were" or the "Sex and the City" episode that references it, you understand the title. If not, drop me an email.