A/N: First fanfic of any kind so PLEASE be gentle, but constructive. This takes place post Pirates of the Third Reich and yes, it is GSR:).
Love and Loss
As dawn began to break slowly across the Nevada sky, Gil Grissom entered the interrogation room with a cup of the county's best (read: not very good) coffee in each hand. He lowered himself wearily into the molded plastic chair, knees protesting the long night, and pushed a steaming cup across the table towards the silent figure on the opposite side that had yet to acknowledge his presence. He sighed inwardly as he toyed with the Styrofoam in his hand, not sure that he was actually up to drinking it, and knowing there were still many miles to go before he slept.
He began hesitantly; "Heather…" Not even a flicker to show that she realized he was in the room. Her usually serene face still bore the mottled blotches of her violent tears, but her face was dry. She had retreated fully into herself at the crime scene. By the time the rest of the cavalry had caught up to Grissom at the horrific scene of Lady Heather's vigilante justice; she had calmed her wracking sobs and been placid as a kitten when they loaded her into the waiting Tahoe. She hadn't even spared a glance when the rest of the stricken CSIs had carefully cut Sneller down for the paramedics to attend to. She rode quietly to the station, her bloodshot eyes staring out the window at the nothing of midnight in the desert.
Now, as they faced each other across the table under the glaring fluorescent lights of the police interrogation room, she showed no more animation than she had then. Merely sat; looking straight ahead, but not seeing the tired man who sat, looking back at her. Regardless of their rocky history; it hurt something deep within him that this forthright and powerful woman should appear now so defeated. Something like seeing an eagle brought to ground – majesty, strength and power reduced to a pile of feathers.
"Heather, you have to know that you will be held responsible for what you did out there tonight." Still no response. He dropped his eyes to the file in front of him. "If he dies…"
"I can only hope that he does." Her words weren't much more than a whisper, but his head snapped up as though she had shouted. She hadn't moved, but her eyes were focused on him now; that steady gaze brought to bear on his face with a chilling lack of emotion. "Do you think I care?" Her laugh was humorless. "I would have done more to him, and worse," her voice trailed off, "if you hadn't stopped me."
"But I did." He said firmly. "You can't take justice into your own hands no matter how abhorrent the crime. That isn't how it works."
"No." she rejoined quickly eyes flashing, some fire still burning in her broken depths; "That isn't how it works. But did you honestly think; you who are such a student of human nature Mr. Grissom; that someone like me could simply wait around for the rusty wheels of justice to mete out punishment that would be in no way commensurate with the crime?" She cut her eyes away, lip curled in disgust. "Death was too good for him."
"Lady Heather, he began again gently, noting abstractly that they had both fallen back to more formal modes of addressing one another other; ducking behind formality like a shield. "I'm sorry for your loss. I know how painful this must be for you."
"Pretty words Mr. Grissom." She replied without heat. I have no doubt you've said the same thing to countless others who have sat within these walls." She shook her head. "But you don't know. You couldn't possibly." Her eyes met his again. "You are too afraid to love to ever really know what it is to lose."
Before he could respond (as though he know how to respond to such an accusation), there was a knock and Sara's curly head appeared around the door. She leaned in the doorway leaving most of her lanky body out in the hall.
"Griss?" He nodded her into the room. She spoke to him, but watched Lady Heather with a mix of wariness and an investigator's curiosity. "Brass just called from the hospital. Sneller's going to make it." She handed the case folder to Grissom and addressed Lady Heather with her usual aplomb. "Looks like you're just going to get charged with attempted murder…you know, instead of the actual kind."
"Sara." Grissom said censoriously looking up at her over the rims of his glasses.
Heather glanced up, showing sudden interest in the young CSI.
He pursed his lips thoughtfully as the two women regarded each other silently across the room for a moment before Heather turned away, the ghost of a sad smile gracing her lips. Sara looked slightly puzzled but simply glanced at him before she turned towards the door citing evidence awaiting her return to the lab.
He watched after her until the door closed turning back at Lady Heather's low chuckle. "She knows what it is to love I think…but not to lose. She has never had that which she most fears to lose." She gave him a long look and then continued matter-of-factly; "They will charge me and let me out on bail, I am a businesswoman with strong ties in the community, regardless of how distasteful they may be to some. I will go back to my life and I will mourn my daughter. Eventually I may go to trial, but we both know that even the worst case scenario means a slap on the wrist for me. In time I will be much as I once was, poorer for my loss, but richer for having had Zoe in my life…for having loved her."
She turned away then, lapsing back into silence. Grissom simply watched her until another rap on the door let them know their time was up. He nodded at the officer waiting in the hall and the door swung open.
Without prompting, Lady Heather rose and started toward the door, some amount of her lost dignity regained in the course of their exchange.
"I have loved…" Grissom stated quietly.
"No Mr. Grissom." She replied. "You have feared."
And she was gone.
It was 8:00 in the morning and the end of a very long shift. As the rest of Las Vegas began a new day, Gil Grissom was ready to end his. Returning to CSI from the police station, he walked slowly back to his office mulling thoughtfully over his conversation with Lady Heather as he went. He marveled at the dominatrix's uncanny ability to lay his soul bare with a flick of her words. His fascination with her…proclivities had ebbed as he began to understand the need for her corner of the world – the hunger for control…and submission; an outlet for unusual desires. She herself was a puzzle of sorts; a mistress of deviant behavior and psychology who had become both victim and perpetrator when reduced to her simplest form – a grieving mother.
As he passed the trace lab a familiar mop of curly brown hair caught his attention and he stopped outside the glass doors to watch her. She leaned occasionally over a microscope, making copious notes in the case log on the table next to her. A soft smile curved over his lips as he observed his prodigy at work. He doubted she knew how proud he was of her work or how hard it was for him to resist taking a chance…
Lady Heather's words came back to him unbidden as he stood watching the one woman he knew he could love given half the chance. "You are too afraid to love to ever really know what it is to lose". He hesitated on the balls of his feet, feeling an unfamiliar compulsion to prove someone wrong about his lack of emotion, willing himself to go in and talk to her, but instead turning and continuing on his way down the hall with a sigh.
Two of the day shift lab techs were startled and nearly crashed into him when he stopped abruptly in the middle of the hall, pivoted on his heel and walked back through the open door to the lab before he could talk himself out of it.
"Sara."
Startled, she looked up, face resolving into a gap toothed grin as she recognized him. "Hey Griss." She gestured at her notes. "I'm just doing some double checking. I figure this case is a slam dunk." She pantomimed the basketball move. "But it can't hurt to be thorough."
"Have breakfast with me."
Her jaw actually literally dropping would probably have been amusing if he wasn't so concerned as to what her answer would be. Had he taken too long?
"What?" she asked as though she may have misheard him.
"You know, breakfast." He gave her his most charming smile, though he was disconcerted to realize just how important her answer had suddenly become to him. "It's a meal that some people have in the morning…it often involves eggs."
"Yeah. I know what breakfast is." She looked at him suspiciously. "I am just not sure why you want to have it…with me."
"I came to a realization this morning Sara; one of the great epiphanies of life."
She quirked an eyebrow at him, "Oh?"
"Yes," he said, nodding seriously, leaning one hip against the table and crossing his arms. "I realized I have wasted far too many years on fear."
"You're afraid of breakfast?" she asked playfully.
When he didn't respond, she drooped a little in her chair, her face pale and solemn in the dim lighting of the lab. "You're afraid of me?"
"No," he replied. Fighting against his own reserved nature he reached out and touched hope; brushing the tendrils of hair that framed her face. "It is a fearful thing to love what death can touch."
Her eyes were big as she stared up at him for a long moment. Finally she asked, "Who said that?"
"I don't know." He admitted with a wry twist of his lips, "but it could have been me." He moved his hand from where it rested in her hair and gently cupped her cheek. "I have let fear of what might or might not happen inhibit me for too long. I want…" he hesitated, and then smiled. "I want to take you out to breakfast."
Her answering smile could have lit the room and certainly brightened his heart as did her reply when it finally came.
"Okay. I'd love to."
He had to start somewhere after all.