Intervals in Broken Time

A.J. Breton

A/N: Whoa, this update is a loooooong time in the coming. My apologies. What can I say, sometimes the real world, really sucks. But now I'm happily back in the land of fan-fiction. Spoilers for Seasons 5 and Six. Please review, and big, big thanks to those of you that have stuck with me.

Chapter 5: Who will mend these broken wings?

Tuesday Afternoon:

He sat in his car after leaving Sara's apartment, his whole body trembling. Sara. She'd tried, desperately she'd tried to reach him and again he'd lured her in and shoved her away.

Gil looked up at his dashboard. He may have been there 5 minutes, maybe 10. It was past midday, he had to go to work that night. Sara was probably already back in bed, sleeping.

He snapped his SUV on and pulled onto the road, but as he came to the turn to reach his townhouse, he drove past.

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Tuesday, Just Before Midnight:

"Where's Griss?" Catherine noticed how very weary Sara sounded.

"I haven't seen him. He should be here by now."

"Yeah? I'll look around for him." Her voice was lifeless.

"Sara? Are you alright? You sound kind of down?"

The smile Sara forced was completely unconvincing. "I'm alright, I just didn't sleep much."

"How's the Hovanec case coming?"

"It's not. No leads on Gerald Mongiardi's location, without him we really don't have much of anything."

"Damn," Catherine shook her head, taking in the younger woman's ragged appearance. "I hate these cases. Little boy; victim; depressing." Her voice was sympathetic and she resisted a maternal urge to tuck a wayward lock of hair behind her ear.

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20 years ago, L.A. Coroner's Office:

"You're kind of morbid, ya know?" Andy was a stout man with bushy brown eyebrows that arched as he spoke. He had an unkempt and scruffy appearance to him, but Grissom had discovered his mind was as sharp as could be, he was one of the city's top detectives.

"Me? Morbid?" Grissom sipped his coffee after snapping off his blood drenched latex gloves. Small spatters of blood, like pinpricks, graced the front of his white lab coat, one large dot of red centered neatly on the name tag: Dr. G. Grissom, Chief Coroner.

"Lot's of people are into their work, obsessed, even, but no one I know, in all my years in this business gets the same pleasure from cutting up corpses the way you do."

Grissom smirked, this wasn't the first time someone had accused him of liking his job a little too much. He set his coffee down and stepped back to the autopsy table, gesturing over it while he responded.

"I get pleasure from solving puzzles. These," motioning to the mangled and sliced opened body of the 13 year old boy on the table, "are tremendous puzzles, better than any cryptogram or crossword."

"Kind of gruesome, don't you think, to compare a person's body to a puzzle?"

"I don't think so. A body is a body. It's just all the little bits and pieces God made us with, no different from bugs or dogs or fish…"

"Do you cut those open too?"

"I have." Grissom nodded.

"Gruesome." Andy chuckled, "Gruesome Grissom."

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Tuesday evening:

He used to come home for the holidays. It'd been years since he'd come back to spend thanksgiving or Christmas with her. He was a hard working boy, intense, he'd always been an intense boy…Elizabeth Grissom shook her head as her fingers warmed on the sides of her coffee mug. Man. Her Gilbert was a man, of fifty years, no less.

My little boy, she thought, sighing. She watched the rain splatter against the kitchen window. It had been raining all day. She thought about the last time she'd spoken to her son. He had called her at midnight on New Years, from work. His message was short, but loving as it scrolled across the LED screen of her TDD box. He had promised to see her soon, but even then she knew she wouldn't. He always apologized for not coming more often, and she always told him not to be sorry, she understood his work was important.

His work was his life. Elizabeth had given up al long time ago hoping for grandchildren. There had only been a few women that her son had ever talked about with her. Since going to Las Vegas he often mentioned a woman named Catherine, who had a daughter, but she never go the feeling from Gilbert that he ever had any real intentions toward her. Much less frequently he had mentioned a woman named Sara. He was very guarded when he spoke about her, like there was something hidden in their relationship. Elizabeth didn't know what exactly Sara was to her son, but she was certainly important to him.

She hoped Sara was a nice woman. She hoped she was patient, although if she was involved with Gilbert, patience was a requirement. Elizabeth smiled. He could be such a reserved boy at times. Long gone was that little, glowing child who loved to sing and draw for his mother, who would pick flowers from the neighbor's garden for her, and who would put his small arms around her to comfort her when Sean said something horrible. The thought of her ex-husband melted the smile off of her face. Sean could be intense too, and also cold. She never understood how Sean could be so emotionally cut off while his brother, Daniel, was so warm and loving…

The vibrations from her door buzzer snapped her out of her ruminations. Setting the mug down and unconsciously tidying up as she went, she moved to the door. Quickly she ran a hand over the front of her blouse and opened the big, wooden door. Her mouth dropped open.

"Mom," Gil signed, "I need you."

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Back in Vegas, 2:00 am:

Two hours had passed with no word from Grissom. Everyone was worried now. Even Ecklie, who had been called and informed that one of his supervisors was AWOL had calmed his angry rants and now wore an etched expression of worry.

Everyone was on assignments, collecting samples, documenting evidence, but no one was really thinking about their work. Visions of Nick in a coffin haunted them all. Grissom's SUV was gone from his house, there was no sign of struggle. His cell phone was turned off, all calls to it went directly to his voicemail. Preliminary investigation uncovered that Sara was the last person to talk to him.

"He just wanted to go over the Hovanec case," she lied to Brass, trying to look nonchalant, "He was concerned that we were missing something."

"So he woke you up just to go over a case?"

"Yeah. You know how obsessive he is sometimes."

"Did he say he was going anywhere? Did he mention anything unusual?"

Unusual? Sara thought, no, no, nothing unusual, he just came barging in, gaped at me, mentioned his father, said he could destroy me and called me his girl. Nope, no sir, nothing strange about that.

Out loud she tried to sound apologetic, "No, he really didn't."

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Thermite. Two otherwise innate elements, that when combined produce a heat so intense they burn each other out, destroying each other.

"I guess some couples shouldn't be together."

Sara's words echoed around Gil's head as he sat on the bed in his mother's guestroom, what had been, decades ago, his room. Mother had fussed over him, made him dinner, insisted he eat, demanded to know what was going on with him. He hadn't answered. He didn't know. Hours had passed, it was close to 2 AM and he knew that there was probably an all out search for him in Las Vegas. Dozens and dozens of man-hours would be wasted looking for him. Resources diverted trying to discover what happened to him. One phone call could end that wastefulness, let his colleagues know where he was and that he was alright.

But he wasn't. Dear God, I am not alright.

He felt absolutely fractured, broken. He should be upset that he was causing this much trouble, he should feel ashamed for acting so impulsively and selfishly, but he didn't.

Memories whirled around his head, unwanted, he rocked in the dark room, back and forth, eyes burning with unshedable tears. A deep sigh ripped out of him and he collapsed backward onto the bed. He grit his teeth together, his hands bound in tight fists. He demanded his body to sleep, and not for the first time in his life, he silently prayed that he would never wake up.

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Days Earlier:

Gabriel Hovanec watched in the silent darkness of his bedroom. He was anxious. His dad, his real dad, was coming to see him. Gabe knew it was too much to hope that dad would take him away from this place, but just to see the man, to have the glimmer of promise…he forced himself to sit still on the bed. His eyes were transfixed on his window. Dad had said that he would arrive at 3 AM at his bedroom window, all Gabe had to do was wait, and let him in.

Mom and Peter, the man Gabe had known as dad all his life, were in bed. Dad, or Peter, sometimes got up in the middle of the night, Gabe would hear the man's heavy footsteps in the hallway. He'd get a beer or smoke a cigarette, and then go back to bed. Gabe hoped to God that Peter didn't wake up while dad was here. He would go tell mom, and mom would….

Well, Gabe decided it was probably best if he didn't think about what his mom would do.

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As a young girl Sara had learned the importance of silence. Sometimes when there was no where to hide, the best thing to do was to just be absolutely still and quiet. When one was quiet one could hear the noises that would be masked otherwise, noises that could alert approaching danger.

She had been very good at listening which was what one did when one was quiet. She'd gotten very good at recognizing subtle sounds. The old wooden floorboards in her parents' house would whisper to her, warning her. Light, cautious steps were mom's. They were dainty and careful, they would stop briefly before entering a room, crossing the threshold with a minimum of disturbance. Slightly louder, often clumsy steps, with an irregular rhythm were her brother Eric's. The floorboards whispered the loudest under her father's feet. His steps were heavy, quick and never hesitant. He crossed thresholds without pause, opened doors swiftly with a kick from his toe. When Sara walked she tried not to make any noise at all. She had found that if she stayed toward the edges of a room, close to the walls, the boards there didn't creak as much, she was small, and she could glide unseen and unheard through the rooms of the house.

Like a ghost.

Like a whisper.

Like a forgotten memory.

But daddy never forgot about her for long. He might have ignored her for days, never acknowledging her existence, but sooner or later he would catch sight of that small ghost, hugging the walls of the hallway, or he would hear that tiny whisper of air as she moved past. Then the silence would be shattered, and noises of chaos would envelop Sara entirely.

Sara sat thinking about the power of silence, listening to the quiet of the Crime Lab. She gazed down at the crime photos of Gabe Hovanec. Grissom was still missing. She was two hours into a second shift, even though Catherine had not so gently suggested that she go home, get some sleep. Sleep was the last thing Sara wanted.

"I could loose myself to you…I could destroy us both…" She whispered the words Grissom had said to her in her apartment. Was that why he had run? Was he scared of her? Of himself? Where would he go? Where was his haven? Where did he go when he needed to find silence?

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"Uncle, I don't want to do this anymore."

Daniel Grissom looked down at the dark haired boy, kneeling before him.

"Gilbert, you know you must. What would your mother think if I told her you disobeyed me? She would be so disappointed in you, she trusts you to be a good boy." Daniel watched the tears stream down the boy's face as he reluctantly leaned forward again, moving slowly.

"Ummmmm…" Daniel groaned, placing a hand on the back of the boy's neck, "you're a good boy…my boy…" Daniel leaned his head backwards, closing his eyes. When the man opened his eyes again, they were a different color, his face had changed, his features fuller, rounded. Slight scars on his chin were now covered by a salt-and-pepper beard.

"I love you Gabriel…" his new voice sighed.

Gabriel Hovanec, now the boy on his knees, looked up into the eyes of Gil Grissom, he pulled back, his eyes a mix of rage and fear.

"I would have done this for you, dad…this is what you wanted…"

Gil woke up in his mother's house, screaming, his fists pounding against his own chest.

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"Imagine you have a deep dark secret…but instead of being able to hide it, it was on your skin, for everyone to see."

Grissom's words rolled through Nick's memory. A deep dark secret exposed to the world. The world was about to see Gerald Mongiardi's secrets. Well, maybe not the world, but the Graveyard shift, minus Grissom was. Nick had to practically choke back the disgust as he set up Mongiardi's laptop, secured from the man's vehicle when he had been pulled over on the north side of town.

The hard drive was filled with photos of young boys, undressed, alone or in pairs, posed in contrived sexual positions with each other or with faceless adult men. They originally just wanted Mongiardi for questioning, but now it was apparent that this man wasn't going to see the light of day for a long, long time.

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To be continued...

Soon, I hope, I know this was kind of a short chapter, but I needed kind of a transitional piece to set up where I want this to go. Reviews welcome.