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: Sincere thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read and review thus far. Your time and efforts are greatly appreciated. csipal, ligaras and Darth Beta are the best.
Summary: Too little sleep and too much sleet.
Chapter Nine
"Grissom? You hanging in there, baby?"
The man in question had been silent for quite some time and Sara was growing more anxious with each passing mile.
"Thirsty."
"Yeah," she commiserated, a touch of sympathy clouding her tone, "I'm sure you are. How's everything else?"
"Cramping. Don't... feel good," he mumbled, as if ashamed of his self-perceived weakness.
That was a serious admission for Grissom. He rarely spoke of affliction or discomfort so even if he downplayed his helplessness by simply stating that he did not feel good, Sara's uneasiness blossomed more fully.
"We're coming, Gris. We are on our way. Greggo is driving like a crazy man and Nicky is trying to crawl under the floor mat."
Grissom grunted with amusement, delighted with the oral picture Sara had painted for him. "Don't blame...Nick...I've ridden...with Greg. Not fun."
Sara laughed and felt the coiled tension ease just a bit. He was still with her and fighting for her. She could not help but marvel at his strength. Despite all of the vulnerability he had revealed and raw emotion he had shared with her throughout this harrowing ordeal, Grissom was still the strongest man she had ever met. She was flooded with new respect and engulfed with a warmer, stronger tide of love.
"Sara?" Grissom's voice was growing steadily weaker, more strained with each second ticking off of the clock. Sara was having difficulty deciphering the subtle nuances of timbre in his tone that had always spoken to her more vividly than his actual words. She could not miss the tentativeness with which he had murmured her name. Something important was bubbling to the surface. Grissom was about to launch a broadside and Sara braced for impact.
"Hmmm?"
"Love me? A little?"
Sara did not hesitate. "Nope." Her response was glib, bordering on flippant. Despite the gravity of the circumstances, Sara could not resist the urge to toy with him. He was going to have to work for this one; six long years of playing the line, or reeling her in and letting her run, had taken a toll. She had made one major concession already by admitting that he was her baby. It was his turn, he was going to have to say it first.
Grissom's chest exploded with an excruciating lethal dose of pain. Why did he have to ask that? Why could he not continue to pretend, continue to dream? He was cold and frightened and so alone; a terrified child at last summoning the flagging courage to peek beneath the bedskirt to face the omnipresent monster always lurking, always dwelling just beneath the slats. He was a quivering little boy again, jumping at the slightest creak in the floorboards, seeking a warm hand to grasp and help him battle the darkness. All he wanted was for someone to love him, for Sara to love him. His oldest, ugliest demon had brutally materialized in a mangled rental car in the middle of nowhere. How pathetically appropriate, how devilishly ironic; a fitting exclamation point to the ruin that was his life.
The intense physical agony he had been pushing back for the last several hours was a tickle compared to the white-hot lance currently piercing his heart. He had always known, with morbid certainty, that Sara could, and most likely would, destroy him. More than any other person he had ever allowed to peek at the freak within, Sara had the absolute power to carelessly flay him into shuddering strips of worthless flesh, to shatter the last of his fragile humanity. He had made one major miscalculation, however. He had not known that Sara's rejection would make the pain inflicted by Father's heavy black leather dress belt comparable to the stroke of a feather duster.
"'S okay. Not...not...surprised," he finally managed to stammer. Grissom was struggling to keep his tone neutral and detached. He did not want Sara to realize the absolute devastation her single casual, unfeeling word had wrought. He did not want her to know that she was the executioner who had just gleefully signed his death warrant. He did not want her pity. He could not handle her concern. All he wanted was to be allowed to slip away into the night with a single shred of dignity intact.
"Huh?" Sara was taken off guard by Grissom's response. Surely he knew that she was just messing around, that she had not been serious. Not even Gris was that clueless. Or was he? A quick pang of fear shivered through her soul when Grissom continued in a carefully controlled monotone. He had taken her literally, accepted her word at face value. He truly believed that she did not love him.
"Nobody...ever did...does."
"WHAT are you talking about? Nobody ever did or does what?"
"Love me. Don't deserve..." He could not complete the thought, could not give it a firm voice, for to do so would somehow make it more real, something made of brick and mortar as opposed to an angry shout relentlessly vibrating through his consciousness dictating his every emotional move. He had always believed, with whatever innocence life had left him, that if he refused to give his inner spectre corporeal substance then perhaps he could somehow alter his fate, change his destiny. It was the one hope he had clung to all of the years and now it was vanishing, another sand castle washed away by the tide. Nothing and no one could save him now.
"Gris, what don't you deserve?"
Damn, she just never gave up. Sara was going to make him say the awful words. Fine. If she wanted to humiliate him as her final revenge, so be it. He owed her that, the grim satisfaction of complete degradation, considering how badly he had treated her at times. All things must end and the circle would finally be closed. He would die as he had lived, broken and bloody, void of hope, untouched by love.
"I...don't...deserve...to...be...loved."
Grissom furiously ground the truth through tightly gritted teeth and blood-caked lips. The beast had finally been set loose. He sniffled. The tears began to flow. He did not care if Sara heard him or not. Nothing mattered anymore. His tears coursed harder as he tuned out Sara's voice and let go of his sole remaining childhood dream, one that he had selfishly guarded with a miser's zeal. He had never removed the shrink wrap or slit open the package to examine it by the light of day. It was all he had left, one last hope that someday he would find someone to love him, to kiss away the tears, to tell him that everything would be okay, to hold him, just hold him. He glanced at the phone in his hand and thumbed the end call button. It was over. His life had come to its bitter end.
He was almost fifty and still a virgin in so many ways. His heart, while shattered and stony, had never been touched. His heart had never seen the light. He wrapped it in an iron-clad condom and existed. When the pain became too unbearable, when the overwhelming need for just a little warmth and compassion caused an overload of sensation and emotion, he would jack off, clean himself up and cry himself to sleep. He was a freak. He did not deserve to be loved.
He honestly did not care that he was a physical virgin. Getting laid was not high on his list of priorities. Sure, he was insanely curious and quite certain that he would enjoy the experience immensely, but he wanted so much more than that. Hell, if all he wanted was to shoot his wad he could have hired a professional years ago. He just wanted more. He did not want a one-night stand, he wanted a relationship. He wanted someone to talk to, to hold him, to make him feel special, to let him know that he was worth the effort, that he could be enough. If he got some action, well, that would be a bonus. He wanted someone willing to expend the time and energy to get to know the little boy and very frightened man behind the quirky, quipping scientist. He wanted someone who would accept him for all of his failures and shortcomings and not judge him too harshly because he was not perfect. He wanted someone to like him because of who he was and not what he was perceived to be, someone who believed in him. For the first time in a long time, maybe since his fifth birthday, he wanted, needed to be loved. He was so tired of being alone. He was so tired of having to live in the cold. He had fallen in love and that had never happened before. He did not know how to be in love. He did not know how to love. He was afraid.
To Be Continued ...