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: A humble bow of appreciation to csipal, ligaras and, in honor of the upcoming MLB season...The Designated Beta. I must also thank Domo Arigato whose thoughtful conversation and gentle prodding brought to light a blatant oversight on my part that needed to be addressed. And, now that we have finally reached this point, I can also say thank you to Gibby. Her YTDAW challenge is what set this lunacy in motion.
Summary: Too little sleep and too much sleet.
Chapter Eight
Grissom shifted painfully and tried to move his legs. The long dormant muscles in his thighs were involuntarily tensing and flexing, jumping and knotting, and he could not get comfortable...well, change positions enough to alleviate the pulsating cramps mercilessly massaging his quads. He almost welcomed the new source of torturous suffering as it aided in his struggle to remain alert and somewhat coherent for Sara. He had grown numbingly inured to his other crippling maladies and desperately sought to retain his sometimes fleeting grip on the present reality instead of retreating dismally into the bitter remnants of his life. As his thoughts fluttered and flitted like rapidly thrumming hummingbird wings, Grissom realized that he was adrift, wavering back once again, reliving moments that were best left buried in the stolid steel cages of his heart.
As expected, he went off to college but, against Mother's wishes, he refused to live in the dorms. It was the first time he had found the courage to openly defy Mother, and it had felt good...right...finally doing something for himself instead of meekly acquiescing to the demands and expectations of another. He had long known that he would never fit in, never be one of the gang. He had stopped caring about social acceptance and resigned himself to a painful life of solitude and loneliness. The dorms would have been an unmitigated disaster. He would get picked on, teased and generally abused. He would lose the control over the emotions he had fought so hard to vanquish and that was something he could not do. He attended school close to home in case Mother needed him, but he was finally physically away. He lived in a dingy off-campus apartment that suited his awful existence. What did it matter where he lived? He spent most of his time in the library and it wasn't like he ever had any company. The only time he ever spent in his little squalid hole-in-the-wall was to eat electrocuted hot dogs, masturbate and cry himself to sleep.
Sometime during his freshman year Mother told him about Ann. She had packed off her pom pons, and short, pleated cheerleading skirts to attend college somewhere up in the northern part of the state. She had still tried desperately to make the "right" friends and fit in. She went to all kinds of parties and sold herself out all in hopes of gaining social standing. Ann had tried too hard and ended up on a slab, dead from a heroin overdose. It was funny, really, in a perverse sort of way. Ann had been just as needy as he, but whereas he had shut down, withdrawn and focused on just surviving, she had chosen to dance on the edge of a blade and live just a little too much. He often wondered if it was accidental or if Ann could not stand playing the game any longer. Deep down, he knew. And yet...who was Richard the Lion Hearted and who was the Cowardly Lion? Did it take more courage to hide or escape?
He had no better luck with the fairer sex in college than high school. The girls only socialized with him because they needed to raise their GPAs. There was one girl, Rebecca, he thought really liked him. And he cautiously let himself care for her. He made an effort, tried to be more "normal" and fit in. He went to football games, coffee houses and tried to engage in small talk with complete strangers. He smoked cigarettes and went to concerts. He started looking forward to seeing her each day and changed his routine so that he could walk her to most of her classes. He was starting to experience a little happiness. The he found out what she told everyone in her house about him – around the Tri-Beta sorority he was known as the sixty-second man. It did not particularly matter to him that it was not true, it was not his male pride that was smarting from the cruel taunts and barbs flung his way. She had no way of knowing if he was a sixty-second man or not. She had certainly never popped his cork or turned his crank. Things had never progressed beyond the furtive peck on the cheek stage. No, what hurt was that it was Ann all over again. Rebecca could not handle the teasing she got from her sisters about spending time with the nerdy science geek so she had made things up, had told lies about him and about them. She said that she was just using him, that he meant nothing to her other than an A in her pre-med courses. She was no different than any other girl he had crossed paths with. Like the others before her, she could not bear to be seen with him because he was a freak. He did not deserve to be loved. He crushed out his cigarette and cried himself to sleep.
Somehow against all odds and laws of nature he matured into a handsome man. He learned how to be charming. He discovered that he could flash his blue eyes, pout and smirk and probably lift any skirt he chose. He could have easily slept his way through the Coroner's Office and most of the police pool if casual sex was all that he had been after.
He met a woman named Michelle and Michelle seemed to accept him for what he was. He dated her, he courted her, he kissed and even made out a little with her. Life was good. His career was taking off and he had something to look forward to during his off-hours. He thought he loved her; had even said those three mysterious words to her. He had eventually proposed and was surprised and delighted when she accepted. He was excited. He was going to "make love" to her and maybe even experience fellatio. He had done an enormous amount of reading and research. He had a fairly good idea of what to do to satisfy Michelle sexually. For the first time since he was five, he was going to be totally naked.
They met for lunch three weeks before the wedding, presumably to hammer out some last minute details. She was going on and on about the florist screwing up and not knowing if the bouquets would precisely match the exact lavender shade of the bridesmaids' dresses. He cared little for such details but they were important to Michelle so he listened attentively and even offered advice. They had gone to a nice restaurant because she deserved so much more than fast food or a dingy greasy spoon. They ate, they chatted, they laughed. Between dessert and the check, Michelle destroyed him. She told him that she was calling the whole thing off. Her friends had finally convinced her that he was nothing more than an embarrassment. His chosen field left little room for social advancement and Michelle wanted to quit her job, join a country club and have lunch with the girls. He could not provide that kind of leisurely life for her. She was sorry, she did love him, but it was just not enough. He could not make her dreams come true and give her everything she wanted. She was leaving to find someone better, someone with more to offer. He understood, didn't he?
Michelle placed her engagement ring on her dessert plate amidst her cheesecake crumbs and strode haughtily from the restaurant. She never looked back. He calmly paid the check, pocketed the ring and made his own escape. He returned to work believing that all of this was his fault because he had allowed himself to get his hopes up and pretend that he could ever be enough for anyone. He had allowed himself to dream and everything had been shattered. When he finally went home that evening, the apartment was practically bare. Michelle had picked over his possessions much as she had picked over his heart. All that was left was the bed, a chair and his books. She left enough things in the kitchen for him to get by with, but not enough for entertaining or sharing. It really did not matter a whole hell of a lot. He had no one to share with. He cried himself to sleep. He would never be enough. He did not deserve to be loved.
There had been no more relationships after Michelle, just a host of first dates and sometimes, if he was very lucky, a second or even a third. Things had never progressed any farther than first base. He reconciled with Mother, finally realizing that she had not abandoned him. She either had not heard the horrible lashes of the belt or had been expressly forbidden by Father to offer solace. Mother had been terrorized as well, and they were inextricably intertwined by Father's lasting legacy of abuse.
He came to terms with his life and the fact the he was destined to be alone. He understood that the only avenue through which he would ever gain any measure of self-satisfaction or self-worth was his work. His job, his career, was all he had. And...it had become everything. True, it did not ease the loneliness or longings in his soul, but it was enough. He could exist and even, in a round about fashion, touch the lives of others for the better.
To Be Continued...