Chapter 14

Carefully walking down the stairs, she heard Helen and Roger engaged in a lively discussion about Celine Dion, whom they'd seen the night before.

"She's too thin," Helen insisted.

"She has curves," Roger said, starting the risotto.

"Sure in her hair," Helen teased.

"How is he?" Roger asked, noting Sara had returned.

"Truly exhausted and a little battered from his boxing match." Sara replied, accepting her refreshed glass of wine from Roger.

"The next time you two can take a four-day weekend, please come to my house on the water. It's relaxing and very quiet. Good for a rest." Helen remarked.

"And you are always welcome up at the cabin, with or without Jim," Roger said, over his shoulder.

"Thanks to the both of you. Roger. can I help with the soup?" Sara asked.

"Thanks, it should be hot enough. Just ladle it into the three bowls. There'll be enough for Moss, if it's not too spicy." Roger commented.

They had a nice quiet dinner, ignoring the activities of the past week. Instead they talked about Helen's upcoming show.

"Well, perhaps I should go to California, first, see the show, pick up the Jenkins, deliver it here and then head home." Roger suggested quietly.

"I'd love that, Roger," Helen said, reaching her hand out to his forearm for a squeeze.

Sara excused herself to go upstairs and try to catch a nap before work. Grissom was dead to the world. She stripped down to a tank top and underwear and got under the covers, smelling him, and sharing the warmth that he had created in the short time he had been asleep.

At nine-fifteen, she woke up from her internal clock, feeling refreshed. She picked up her clothes and Grissom's, putting them in the hamper, before getting dressed for work. She walked down the stairs and noticed Roger wasn't in the living room.

Staying with Helen at the suite.

See Moss tomorrow at ten for brunch.

Roger

Sara smiled, picked up her electronics and her gun, checked for anything else, grabbed her purse and headed out the door.

She pulled into the lab and after dropping off her purse in her locker, she went to the break room in search of some coffee. Her phone rang.

"Sidle,"

"Hi, Cookie,"

"Hi, Jim," she still found it endearing that he called her these sweet names. No one else on the team could get away with it.

"How is he?"

"Helen sent him to bed a little after seven. He should be up in an hour. What's going on?"

"I just need to talk to him. I've got the night off; still here at home. It's nothing heavy, it's just…"

"Okay, try to get him to eat something. Remember, bland is better. Oh, and Jim, not too much booze, okay? And don't let him smoke." Sara said, sternly.

"Gotcha, have a safe night out there. The Sheriff will be there most of the night, and David is covering in the morgue. Seb and Al are having a family moment." Jim said, as he headed to his car.

"Thanks for the heads up. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Night, and thanks,"

"Bye,"

"Bye," Jim said, slipping his phone into his jacket pocket.

He was wearing his most comfortable clothes; an old pair of jeans, a worn pair of driving shoes, a thin blue t-shirt that said BAYONNE on it, and his favourite tweed jacket. He got into his car and lit a cigarette, remembering Sara's threat not to let Grissom smoke. Thirty minutes later, he pulled into the guest parking area of Grissom's townhouse and let himself in. He took off his holster, gun, phone, and jacket. Slipping off his shoes, he scrunched his toes in Grissom's carpet, before heading to the liquor cabinet and pulling out the bottles of Maker's Mark and Jameson's. He poured himself a whiskey, topped it with tap water, and parked himself in front of the television on the sofa, the volume low. Half an hour later, he heard Grissom rummaging around upstairs and then saw him appear at the top of the staircase.

"Hi," Jim remarked softly.

"Hi," Grissom said, slowly walking down the stairs.

"I need to get some things off my chest," Jim said, sipping his whisky.

"Okay, just give me a minute to make a drink."

"Oh, and just so you know the rules: no smoking, please eat some plain food, and try not to drink everything."

"Roger or Sara?"

"Sara,"

Grissom smiled, but continued to make a drink. He then went into the kitchen and took out the day old pasta. Putting it in the microwave, he heated it up and waited. Four minutes later, the microwave pinged and Grissom took out hot pasta. He picked up his drink and joined Jim in the living room.

"I'm all yours," he said with a smile, sitting in a comfortable chair, facing Jim.

"Please, don't interrupt. I've been working on this for a while. I take full responsibility for your kidnapping. My guy on the door didn't do his job. As a matter of fact, LVPD did a piss poor job on this whole case. Secondly, I apologize for jumping the gun at Kang's suite. I heard you shout and I thought you were making a move. Lastly, I apologize for Sofia. There was always something about her but I just chalked it up the fact that I didn't like her, much." Jim said, pausing to sip his whiskey.

Grissom ate his pasta, thoughtfully. He sipped his bourbon and then walked into the lab room. Jim rocked his head back onto the sofa, feeling miserable. Grissom reappeared with his sketchbook and placed it in Jim's lap.

"Last twelve or so sketches," Grissom remarked.

Jim opened the book and thumbed to the back. He then thumbed forward until he came to a clean page. He looked through, seeing Senior, Doc, Seb, Jim, Sara, Grissom, Sofia, Helen, Kevin, and Sara again, in tears, Paul, Kang, and Jim on the floor. He put the book on the coffee table and took a large hit of his whiskey.

"Ecklie committed himself. He had a breakdown the day you were kidnapped. Andy figures that Sofia admitted her plan and the fact that she never loved him and he couldn't handle it."

Grissom sipped his bourbon, rubbing his beard, deep in thought.

"I can relate," he said, softly.

"How are you?" Jim asked, leaning forward, over his knees.

"Tired, sore, but as my mother pointed out, happier. I feel a certain lightness in my life. Now, if I could just not feel so damn tired all the time, I'd be a happy camper."

Grissom looked over to his friend and saw a deep sadness on his face.

"Damnit, Jim, I'm sorry. I forgive you. I never blamed you for any of it; not for a second." Grissom said, leaning forward and reaching for his hands.

"Ouch, uhm, thanks, I needed that," Jim said, feeling the pain in his chest.

"Who had my Dad's watch?" Grissom asked, out of the blue.

"Kasgar killed your father, but Kang's security guard was wearing it at the suite."

"I see,"

Jim settled back on the sofa, nursing his whiskey, as Grissom sat opposite in the chair. They sipped their drinks and told funny stories; finally falling asleep.

Tuesday 8:00am

Sara unlocked the door and walked into the townhouse. She put her electronics in the clay dish along with her gun and walked into the living room. She frowned, seeing Grissom sprawled in a chair, his head at an impossible angle. Jim was lying on his stomach, stretched out on the sofa, breathing softly. Yawning, she reached over and touched Grissom's shoulder. He stirred slightly. She kept at him and finally he opened his eyes. Sara walked in front of him and helped him to his feet. He looked at Jim and then followed her up the stairs to the bedroom.

She shut the door behind them as he started to pull off his clothes. She waited, taking the phone messages out of her pocket.

"Griss?"

"Yeah?"

"I have some phone messages for you."

"Okay, put them on the bureau, I'll return them when I wake up." He said, looking at her, the fatigue evident on his face.

She looked at the stack and put them on the bureau before walking into the bathroom. Something about her actions intrigued him and he went to the bureau and thumbed through the messages. There were a number he expected; Seb, Dr. Wu, Andy, and Rory. He set those aside and then started on the rest. There were four messages from a Tim Thorpe. The phone number was a mobile, nothing else. He set those aside and kept looking. The next three messages were from Larry Evans; again just a number, no note. Setting those aside, he looked at the last message; it said simply, Sam with a number. He pulled on a shirt, took the note, and headed down to the lab room.

He picked up his sketchbook as he passed Jim and closed the doors before turning on the lights.

Grissom sat at his drafting table and dialed the number.

"Speak," the voice said.

"It's Grissom,"

"Oh, hang on," there was noise in the background, and then silence.

Grissom looked at the wireless phone to make sure he was still connected.

"You still there?" the voice asked.

"Yeah,"

"Good, look, I need to see you alone. It's about your old man. I have something for you that he gave to me for safekeeping." Sam Braun said.

Grissom took a deep breath before answering.

"Sam, this has been a pretty rough week. Can we cut to the chase?"

"Grissom, this is personal, not business. Please meet me here at The Rampart as soon as you can. I don't think you should bring Captain Brass."

"All right, Sam. I'll see you in thirty minutes."

"Good, my guy will be at the main entrance. He'll escort you up."

"Fine," Grissom said.

"Good bye," Sam said.

"Bye," Grissom said, hitting the button to turn off the phone.

He thought briefly about his next move and then walked upstairs. Sara was changing out of work clothes and into a nightgown. He stood for a moment, watching her, before pulling off his shirt, passing her to walk into the closet. He pulled down a pair of khakis and a dark oxford shirt and started to get dressed.

"Hey, what's up? Where you going?"

"I need to go see someone about my Dad. I should be back in a couple of hours."

"Grissom, you need to meet Roger for brunch here at ten. Don't forget." Sara said, knowing not too press to hard.

"Thanks, I'll be here." he said, kissing her quickly on the cheek.

He gathered up Seb's message, slipped on the Rolex, and headed downstairs. Glancing at Jim, who was still asleep, he took his phone, wallet and keys before heading out to his car. He opened the door electronically and got in, turning on the engine and then the radio. He shuffled through the CDs until he came to Peter Gabriel, and settled a little deeper into the leather seat. He set the phone in hands free mode and called Seb.

"Robbins,"

"It's Grissom,"

"Oh, hey, thanks for calling back. How are you?"

"Tired, better," Grissom said, hedging as he backed the car out of its parking spot.

"Look, I'll get right to it. I've heard some stuff. The Dept of Treasury is looking for the money, as is the D.E.A."

"Uhm, do you know Larry Evans or Tim Thorpe?"

"No, who are they?"

"I don't know. They've called the lab several times looking for me."

"I'll look into it. Where are you now?"

"I'm meeting an old friend."

"Oh, well, have a nice time."

"Thanks, I'm sure we will." Grissom said, concentrating on the traffic, which was heavier, now.

"Bye,"

"Bye," Grissom said, pushing the button to disconnect the phone.

He drove another fifteen minutes, before pulling into The Rampart's parking area. He decided not to valet and parked in the lot, arriving at the front door five minutes later. A tall blonde man watched him intently as he crossed the parking area to get to the front door.

"Dr. Grissom?" the blonde man asked.

"Yes,"

"Please follow me. Mr. Braun is expecting you."

Grissom followed the man to a secluded elevator. He pulled out a key card and the door swung open. With another wave of the key card, the elevator started to rise. A few minutes later, they were on the fifty-second floor. The door opened and the blonde man motioned for Grissom to leave the car. He was unsure, and then he saw Sam Braun walk towards him. He stepped out of the elevator cab.

"Thanks, Lou,"

"Any time, Mr. Braun,"

Sam reached out his hand and Grissom shook it, feeling a little off center. He motioned for Grissom to sit in a leather chair.

"Would you like to join me in some peppermint tea?" Sam asked.

"Please,"

Sam motioned to a young man in a dark suit and tea was brought out immediately.

"You have joined an unfortunate club, Grissom; ulcer patients."

"My uncle and my mother had them. It's genetic,"

"Bullshit, but if that's what you want to believe, I'm not going to argue." Sam said with a tired smile.

They sat in relative silence.

"You ready?" Sam asked.

Grissom nodded, sipping his tea.

"I knew your father. His business and mine were different, but his clients came to my casinos and so we became uneasy colleagues. When you came to Las Vegas, he would ask about you. He admitted to me he was an awful father and a worse husband. I told him if that was the case, that I would not, under any circumstances, tell you of our relationship.

I, too, thought he had died on 9/11, until I started getting weird emails from him about six months ago. Kang had found out he was alive and then your father was in trouble. He wanted me to help him launder some money. The amount of cash was too much for the time frame he had. Instead, I had him bank it. He told me he wanted the bulk to go to you and some to your mother. As he became older, and lonely, he realized what he had done to you and her. He wanted to fix it, but it was too late. The only thing he could do was give you the results of his adventures; all legit and clean." Sam said, standing to walk to a wall covered in paintings.

He pulled at a painting of a dark landscape and it swung on invisible hinges, revealing a large wall safe. Quickly, he opened it and removed a small box and a book. He closed the safe, replaced the painting and walked back to Grissom. He put the two items on the table. Opening the small box he revealed a beautiful ring; platinum, diamonds, and sapphires.

"He told me he bought this in 1970 for you to give to your wife when you got married. I'm not sure I believed him at the time, but I do now."

Grissom reached for it, noting the faded velvet covering the box. The ring was spectacular. Sam turned the book around so it faced Grissom. His name was on the outside. Slowly, Grissom opened the notebook. Immediately he shut it and stood up, pacing. Sam stood up with him.

"You okay, kid? It's just his sketchbook. In the back are the routing codes for the banks and the safe deposit keys. You can look at it at your house, if you want, I mean, it's yours." Sam said.

Grissom took a deep breath, held it and then let it out. He turned and looked at Sam.

"Sam, it's been a tough time for me. If I could take the notebook home..." Grissom started.

"It's yours, Grissom. He wanted you to have it. Put the ring in your pocket. Give it to that cute brunette I see you with. I'm around if you want to talk about your old man." Sam said as Grissom slowly picked up the two treasures.

"I bought that watch for him in Shanghai," Sam said nostalgically, noting the Rolex peeking out from Grissom's sleeve.

Grissom stopped and looked at him, shaking his head.

"It truly is a small world. Thanks for this, Sam. I'll call you soon. I need to meet a friend for brunch."

"No problem, Grissom. I just wanted you to know that he did love you, but business came first." Sam said, honestly.

"Yeah," Grissom replied, heading out the door.

9:30am

He didn't remember how he got down to his car, nor did he remember the drive home. He walked up the stairs and entered the townhouse. Jim was awake, sipping coffee with Roger at the dining room table.

"The prodigal son returns!" Jim said, teasing, realizing at the last minute that Grissom was upset.

"Shut up! God damn it, am I always going to be reminded that I'm his son?" Grissom said so violently, he started to shake, as he paced back and forth in the living room.

"I'm sorry, Gil" Jim said, standing slowly.

"What's happened, Moss? Who upset you?" Roger asked, standing as well.

"You'll love this. Guess who was a friend of my father? Sam Braun." Grissom said, setting the box and notebook on the breakfast bar before reaching for the Maker's Mark.

"Oh, no, that's not possible." Jim said, his voice soft.

"Who is Sam Braun?" Roger asked.

"Catherine's biological father, a suspected murderer and casino owner," Jim elaborated.

Grissom leaned against the breakfast bar and took large gulps of Maker's straight, to calm down.

"That notebook looks like yours. Your mother said your father sketched, also. Is that his?" Roger asked, opening the cover and slowly flipping through the pages.

Grissom nodded, not looking at him or the notebook.

"What's in the box?" Jim asked.

"A sapphire, diamond engagement ring that he allegedly bought for me when I was fourteen," Grissom said, his voice low.

Jim walked up to him, noticing the colour draining from his face.

"Okay, man, let's get you sitting down, okay? Nice and easy," Jim said, helping him to the sofa.

They sat together for twenty minutes in silence. Grissom calmed somewhat and then he would remember something that would set him off and he would start to hyperventilate. Finally he seemed calm.

"Nuncle?"

"Yes, Moss," Roger said, closing the notebook.

"In the back of the notebook are the routing codes for the money. Can you quietly check around? There have been people calling the lab, Seb is looking into it. He thinks they're all scam artists." Grissom said slowly, his energy waning.

"Sure, why don't you take a nap before lunch?" Roger said, walking up to him.

Grissom lay down on his side. Jim sat in the chair nearest him, pulling the cotton blanket over Grissom's shaking frame.

"Just relax, will you? We're here, Sara's upstairs, your Mom is at the hotel. All is right with world." Jim said, trying to get him to smile.

The look that Grissom gave him was unsettling and unsettled until Roger put his hand on Grissom's back.

"Sleep, Moss. No cheesy scrambled eggs until you nap."

10:15am

Grissom relaxed to his touch and fell asleep quickly. Jim stood up and walked to the notebook, flipping to the back pages, looking at the bank routing codes.

"Hey, Roger," he called softly.

Roger looked at the list of banks and knew he was out of his league.

"Maybe Seb can help on this?" Jim asked.

Suddenly Grissom's phone went off. He rolled over and answered it, unaware of anyone else in the room.

"Grissom," he said, standing up slowly and walking into the lab room.

"It's Seb. The people that called you, Evans and Thorpe, I think? They are not government employees. My advice, Grissom, get a lawyer, an accountant, and don't talk to anyone you don't know."

"I have an accountant and a lawyer; all right, I'll get to work on this. Thanks, Seb,"

"You're welcome."

"Bye,"

"Bye,"

Sara walked down the stairs, awakened by Grissom's earlier outburst. Jim sat near the sofa. Roger sat at the breakfast bar, thumbing through the notebook.

"What's happened?" she asked.

"Grissom found out that Sam Braun was an acquaintance of his father. Also, I guess the will is out there because people are calling the lab." Jim replied.

"Well, that lays it out pretty clear. Where is he?" she asked.

"The lab room; he's still upset," Roger remarked softly.

Sara nodded before walking into the lab room. Grissom was sitting on his stool at the drafting board, his right hand holding his head. The music from the CD player was soft and comforting.

"Hi," she said, standing ten feet behind him.

Grissom turned to face her, his face was pale and he looked tired.

"Hi," he replied.

"I think Roger needs to make his plane and Jim needs to go home and sleep, but they both want to talk to you before they go." Sara suggested.

Grissom stood slowly and walked to her, feeling her strength as she embraced him. They walked out together and saw their friends.

"Moss, I have to get going to the airport. I don't have the contacts for the banking information. You need to work with Jim and Seb on that. I've been out of the game too long." Roger said, standing, slightly embarrassed.

Grissom walked to him silently and embraced him tightly. They both pulled out of the embrace and looked at each other.

"Your Dad's sketchbook is filled with sketches of you and notes; it's more of a diary, really. He hurt you, but somehow, he loved you, too." Roger said softly.

Grissom looked at the floor, unable to comment at all.

"Gil, I gotta go, too, and I'll drop Roger at the airport. Make a copy of the back page of the notebook, fax it to me at home, and I'll follow up with it at the office tomorrow, okay?" Jim said, walking up to his friend.

Grissom opened his arms and embraced his friend tightly. After several minutes, they parted.

Roger and Jim hugged Sara and then they headed out of the townhouse.

Sara looked at Grissom. He looked lost, in the living room.

"It's a little after twelve, and I'm still tired. I'm going to take a nap. Want to join me?" She elaborated.

He looked at her, still looking lost and defensive, before replying.

"All right," he said, going to the stairs.

She reached around his neck and kissed him softly. He reached for her and returned the kiss two-fold before heading up the stairs to go to sleep. Entering the bedroom, they stripped to underwear and got under the sheets, gently embracing. Within moments, Sara was asleep. Grissom was restless, finally falling asleep after almost an hour.