Title: Race Among the Ruins
Author: Cropper
Pairing: GSR
Rating: Mature for Profanity
Disclaimer: Sadly, the characters herein are not mine. I promise to play nice and return them when I am done.
A/N: Thank you, csipal, ligaras and Frankenbeta. I appreciate all of your hard work on my behalf.
Summary: Too little sleep and too much sleet.
Chapter Seven
"Grissom?"
"Grissom!"
Someone was yelling at him. For the life of him, he could not figure out how he had erred this time. He was a good boy.
"Grissom!"
The disembodied voice was stridently shrill and laced with increasing irritation.
"Damnit, Grissom! It's Sara. Answer me, Grissom!"
"Sara..." It was a whisper, a hope and a prayer all rolled into a simple name.
"It's about time! Don't you ever do that to me again," Sara snapped. "You have to stay with me. No zoning out without warning me first." She knew that she was being irrational and behaving like a shrewish fish wife but he had scared the hell out of her when he would not answer. She had feared the worst and her pulse was racing out of control.
Grissom winced. Shit. He had made Sara mad. How could he have been so stupid? He did not want her to be angry with him. He did not want her to hang up and leave him all alone in the cold. Just once, he needed someone to stay with him. He needed her, even if she was just a voice on the telephone. He had to stay awake. He could not disappoint her. He started to panic. "Sorry. Didn't mean...to...make...you mad. Don't be mad. Good boy." His breathing while labored, was increasing with every word he spoke.
"Damnit, Grissom, I'm not mad," she yelled. "I was worried, I am worried." Sara took a deep cleansing breath. She had to settle down and keep Grissom calm. He was starting to hyperventilate and she could hear the despair dripping from he words as he continued to apologize, his remorse reverberating like a tired and well-rehearsed mantra. "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned..." Oh, God. That was it. That revelation, piercing moment of clarity struck Sara so quickly that her knees nearly buckled. Grissom was reciting his own personal rosary. Her heart wrenched in profound sorrow as she vividly pictured a very young Gil Grissom beseeching his father for forgiveness and receiving only corporal acts of contrition in response.
Her voice was much softer, much more intimate, when she was finally able to continue. "Gris? Shhh. It's okay, baby. Everything is okay, everything is just fine. I'm not mad at you. I know you're a good boy," she cooed. "You're a good man, Gris. You're the one who looks out for all of us, you're the one who takes care of all of us. It takes a good man to do all of that. Only a good man would send his team home and keep working so they can sleep. Only a good man would put the needs of his people above his own. You are a good boy, Grissom, a very good boy."
Grissom answered with a noncommittal grunt, almost as if he was afraid to believe her. Perhaps he was but, if nothing else, at least Sara did not seem to be angry with him any more. For the first time in his life, someone had actually forgiven him. He was not going to be punished. Sara was not going to hang up and leave him to die alone.
"Listen, Gris. I've got some good news," Sara said with a hint of ill-disguised excitement. Archie has narrowed down the cell towers and should have your location pinpointed any minute now. Nicky, Greggo and I are already on the road heading towards Elko. We are coming, Gris, we are on our way. Do you understand? You have to hang on. Can you hang on for me?"
Dead air greeted her plea. "Grissom?"
"Grissom! Are you still with me?"
"Yeah," he coughed. "Still here. Not...going anywhere."
"Oh, you're a real funny guy, aren't you," Sara sneered sarcastically before growing serious once again. "How are you doing? Any change?"
"Cold."
Sara's heart ached; he was cold and alone, hurting and so confused. "I'm sorry, baby. We'll be there as soon as we can."
Grissom did not know why, but he had to ask. "Sara? Am...am...am I really your...baby? He was suddenly shy and uncertain. So much depended on her answer.
"Yeah," Sara sighed, "yeah, Grissom you are."
"Really? Promise?"
Sara knew that the answers to these questions were very important, a sort of litmus test. Grissom's ability to fight could very well hinge on her responses. She had no choice but to be frightfully honest.
"I promise."
"Protect me? Keep me safe?"
"Of course, baby. I'll protect you and take care of you."
"Won't hurt me?"
God, he sounded so young and unsure of himself, not a hint of the smug and confident scientist could be heard. He needed reassurance that someone cared, a hand to hold in the seeping rain.
"I will never hurt you, Gris."
"Need you, Sara."
"I know, baby. The guys and I will be there as fast as we can."
"No. Not guys. You. Need you."
"I'm on my way."
Grissom let his arm relax by his side. He wondered anxiously if Sara was sincere, if she was really coming for him. So many people had accepted invitations only to back out at the last moment. Would she do the same? She had promised, but so had the others. Would things actually turn out differently this time?
He was a ghost in high school. He was the odd-ball kid who was intrigued by death and too damn smart for his own good. He was the freak with the deaf Mother and dead Father. He was the polite kid who never smiled or drew attention to himself. He rarely spoke unless he absolutely had to. He helped in the Coroner's Office after school. He had no friends and did not date. Girls only wanted to spend time with him so he could help them with their homework or be his partner on group projects. He did all of the work and they got the As. He wore his hair short when everyone else grew theirs long. He had tried to fit in with the style of the day but he was a skinny kid with a skinny neck. His hair did not get long. It got curly and bushy and he looked like a damned dandelion. He did not dress like everyone else. Mother thought that jeans, or dungarees as she derisively referred to them, were common. He wore sharply pressed chinos and plaid shirts. He stopped trying to fit in. It was a losing battle. He was a hopeless freak.
He was an angry teenager but careful not to show his rage. As far as everyone was concerned, he was well-adjusted. Mother thought that he was handling puberty just fine. She thought that he fully accepted that his world was often as silent as hers, especially at home. Mother just thought that he was a quiet kid, wrapped up in his books and experiments. Mother had no idea that he was angry, that he cried himself to sleep, that she had helped to transform him into the freak that he was. He was angry. He would never be accepted and he would never fit in. He was a freak and none of his peers wanted to spend time with him away from academics. No one knew anything about him other than the fact that he was a flipping brainiac who could help them get good grades. No one ever bothered to ask what he liked, what made him happy or what kind of books and music he liked. He wasn't sure of all of the answers himself but he would have liked to have the chance to find out – a chance to share just a little of himself outside the hushed walls of his entombed soul. Nobody cared. Nobody gave a damn. He was a freak. He did not deserve to be loved. He cried himself to sleep.
Once, a girl, a cheerleader named Ann, asked him to the Sadie Hawkins Dance. He was sixteen-years-old, overloaded with raging hormones and had never been on a date. He was skinny and awkward and painfully shy. He was a freak. He was sixteen-years-old and had never come close to kissing a girl. He allowed himself to get excited about the dance, he allowed himself to hope. When the Friday of the dance rolled around he went off to school with a little extra spring in his step. Ann was going to give him a flannel shirt that matched hers and a big homemade bow tie thingy with her name on one side and his on the other. He practically skipped through the halls as he searched for his date. He finally spotted her up by the restrooms. Ann was wearing her flannel shirt and bow tie but some other guy's name had been sewn on. Her tie said "Mike", not "Gil". And some lanky jock type was hanging out next to her wearing HIS flannel shirt and bow tie. He was crushed, destroyed, but allowed no emotions to show. He gave his cruel would-be date a casual nod and went about his day as if nothing had happened. He endured the snickering behind his back without a crack. He somehow made it through the day and rode his hated bicycle home. There would be no hope for him, no anticipation of anything good, no excitement. He should have known better than to break his own rule of expectations and longing. He ran into his room, flung himself carelessly on his bed and sobbed harshly into his pillow. He was a freak. He did not deserve to be loved.
Ann stopped by his house the next day to explain what had happened. He politely asked her in and brought her a cool beverage. He listened silently and respectfully as she told her tale. She really had wanted to take him to the dance but all of the other cheerleaders had made fun of her so she had asked the captain of the basketball team instead. He understood, didn't he? Her reputation was at stake. She had worked so long and so hard to fit in, to get into the right cliques, that she just could not risk being seen with him. She liked him but just not enough. They could still talk, be friends and do homework together, but she could never go out with him. Socially, he was a disaster. Everybody thought he was a freak. There was just no way they could ever date. He thanked her for coming over and walked her to the door. He continued to be polite when they ran into each other in the halls. He still helped her with her homework. He acted as if nothing had happened. And he cried himself to sleep. He was a freak and did not deserve to be loved.
He asked a girl to prom when he was a senior. He had still never been out on a date and Mother was pestering him to go. He did not want to go to the prom, had no desire to go to the prom, but the whole high school social experience thing seemed so very important to Mother. She told him that if he would just try harder to fit in the other kids would not think he was such a big freak. Mother wanted him to be just like everyone else, to do all of the same things the other kids did, to be normal. His own mother thought he was a freak and was, as usual, disappointed in him. He had let Mother down yet once again. He did not deserve to be loved. He cried himself to sleep.
He wanted to make Mother happy so he screwed up his courage and haltingly asked a girl to prom, a girl from his advanced science class. Janie was almost as geeky as he was and he thought that he might actually have a chance with her because he never noticed any other guys hanging around her. He was very, very surprised when she accepted his stammering invitation. He gave her plenty of opportunities to back out, to save face, but she always assured him that she honestly did want to go out with him. Two days before the event he asked her what color her dress was. Mother told him that he had to get her a corsage and that said corsage had to match her dress. As he asked, he noticed that her eyes were red and that she looked as if she had been crying. Janie tearfully told him that she could not go to the prom because her grandmother had just passed and the funeral was going to be on Saturday, the day of the dance. She was really sorry because she had been looking forward to going with him. He nodded silently and politely offered his condolences. There was little else he could do.
He wandered aimlessly after school. He did not feel like facing Mother and trying to explain what had happened. Besides, if he stayed out later than usual she would erroneously assume that he was hanging out with his classmates, going out and being normal. Finally, tired and hungry, he trudged home. He ate supper, did his homework and went to bed. He cried himself to sleep. He was a freak. He did not deserve to be loved.
Years later, when he was working as a coroner, he looked up Janie's grandmother. The old woman really had died two days before the prom. He went to the library and researched the obituary. The funeral had been scheduled the day of the dance. For the first time in his life he had not been lied to – he had not been given some lame excuse, some tired story. Maybe Janie had been sincere and wanted to go out with him. Or, maybe Janie had been just as desperate. It really did not matter anymore...water under the bridge and all of that stuff.
It was funny, really, that he had even bothered to check out her story years after the fact. All those years, all those years that he had perfect access and he had never bothered to look up his own father's death certificate. Nobody ever told him why his father did not wake up that hot summer day so long ago, nobody ever told him why his father died. Father's death was always going to be an unsolved mystery in his mind. Grissom often wondered why he checked Janie's "alibi" but never looked into the death of his own father. Maybe he just did not care about Father. Father did not care about him; Father did not love him. Janie? Maybe, just maybe, had luck been on his side and things had just turned out a little differently, Janie could have been someone he could have cared about. Maybe, just maybe, had her grandmother not died when she did, Janie could have cared for him as well. Maybe, just maybe, he would not have been such a big freak. Maybe, just maybe, he could have found someone to care about him as well, someone to love him. Maybe, just maybe, he could have quit hiding behind his stone facade and stopped sobbing into his pillow at night.
To Be Continued...