TITLE: COMMITTED TO THE TRUTH PART 2

AUTHOR: fanofkdc

RATING: G

SPOILERS: COMMITTED, NESTING DOLLS

CONTENT WARNING: G/S, A LITTLE BIT OF ANGST, TEENY BIT OF ROMANCE

DISCLAIMER: NOT MINE

SUMMARY: AFTER THE MEETING AT THE BODY FARM, GRISSOM CONFIDES IN SARA AFTER HE DISCOVERS HOW HIS FATHER DIED.

A/N: THIS IDEA CAME ABOUT AFTER I WAS INDULGING MYSELF WITH A BIT OF ANGST, SO I HAD THE IDEA OF COMBINING SCENERY FROM THE GOOD OLE DAYS WITH MORE RECENT ANGSTY OCCURRENCES.

THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO THE PERSON WHO LEFT A REVIEW SAYING IT WOULD BE NICE IF I FINISHED THE STORY, OR DID A CONTINUATION.

Sara knocked on the door to Grissom's office. "Gris, it's me," she called through the gap between the frame and the door. "Are you free at the moment?"

"Sure, come in," he called back.

She entered the office, and saw Grissom sitting behind his desk, glasses perched on his nose, blue eyes shining through the clear lenses. "Hey. Did you have a chance to speak to your mom?"

Grissom looked at his watch. "Oh, I thought this was connected to a case. Um, I was planning to come and find you after, let you know what happened."

"Is something wrong?" Sara asked in concern.

"I'd just prefer it if we were somewhere private when I informed you of what happened." He took his glasses off, and rubbed the bridge of his nose, an act he seemed to perform when particularly stressed.

"You wanna go somewhere peaceful, tranquil?" Sara leaned back against the doorframe and folded her arms across her chest.

"Like where?" He regarded her with interest.

"There's this cool little lake I found off the Strip, a quiet place, I never see many people around there when I'm there." She shrugged her shoulders. "Thought if you wanna go somewhere quiet where you wouldn't be disturbed, that's pretty much an ideal place."

"It sounds fine," he replied, smiling in gratitude. "Meet me by the Denali at the end of shift, we can drive out together, and then I'll drop you back here."

Sara was waiting promptly for Grissom when he finally finished the shift. "I remember, you were like this all the time when I was up at Harvard. On time for all your lectures," he added with a smirk.

"That's because I had nowhere else to be," she quipped, adding a 'thank you' as he held the passenger door open for her.

"And there was me thinking that my presence lured you to the lecture hall," he joked back.

"Oh, it did, but I would have been there on time or before time regardless of who was giving the lecture."

"You wanna give me directions to this place?" he asked, gunning the ignition. Sara told him the rough direction in which to travel. "You mind if I put some music on?" he asked, glancing at her out the corner of his eye.

"You may do that when you're driving along on your own, and I know I certainly do, but you have company. Where are your manners?"

"I'm sorry," Grissom replied, mock chivalrous.

"Actually, I can't pull you up on that," Sara remarked. "You held the door open for me."

Fifteen minutes later they drew up on a gravel shore overlooking a beautiful still lake. Stretching out in the background were the hills, obscured partially by a cluster of trees. "You sure know how to pick 'em," Grissom commented in admiration, killing the engine. "Only one problem."

"What's that?" Sara asked, pushing open the passenger door and slipping out deftly.

"This place is a little too secluded for you to visit on your own. If, like now, only you and one other person knew you were here, it'd be easy for them to ….," he trailed off uncomfortably.

"Something you wanna tell me? You're not planning to off me and throw me in the lake, are you?"

Grissom frowned. "That's not something you should joke about. But it is a nice spot," he conceded.

Sara led them down to where the edge of the lake met the gravel. "Okay, so spill. What happened?"

"I called the home my mom's in," he replied, slowly and carefully choosing his words, staring out over the lake's placid surface.

In a way, that's the perfect description of Grissom, Sara thought. Still waters, and all that shit. "How did you communicate?"

"They have a person, a translator if you like, that signs whatever you say. But my mom didn't wanna talk about it."

Sara was standing next to him, literally shoulder to shoulder. "What did you do then?" she asked, respectfully focusing on a point far out into the lake.

"I called the coroner's office in Santa Monica and gave them my father's name, date of birth and date of death. They've recently put all their files on to a computerised program, it only took them five or so minutes to get back to me."

"And?" Sensing his unease, her hand slipped into his and gave it a comforting squeeze.

He squeezed back, and did not relinquish his grip. "It was an aneurysm." He snorted bitterly. "Years of alcohol abuse, and he's offed by an aneurysm. It's not fair," he remarked, his voice rising slightly.

"He fight in the war?" Sara questioned.

"Yeah. It fucked him up a lot, he was in the Pacific. He saw a lot of horrible shit, that's why he drank." His head dropped and he stared at the ground.

"How do you feel about it?" Sara let go of his hand and leaned into his side, slipping an arm around his waist.

"How am I supposed to feel? To be honest, deep down I never thought I wanted an answer. And now? I don't know. I suppose I should feel closure, some kind of relief, because I've got answers. But ….". He couldn't finish the sentence. He began to shake, wracked with quiet sobs.

"Hey, it's okay, shhh," Sara whispered, trying to soothe him. She rubbed his back. "You still feel angry?"

"Why would I feel angry?" he asked in bewilderment between gasping for air.

"Because it was kept a secret for forty years. Does that not hurt in some way?"

He turned to look at her. "I don't know how I feel," he protested helplessly. "I feel something, but I'm not sure what it is. I just wish I hadn't spent all these years not knowing," he enunciated through clenched teeth.

"You want some company?"

"Meaning?"

"Not like that," Sara explained. "I just thought, you know, maybe you want me to stick around for a bit, in case you feel like another cry. There's nothing worse than crying and knowing there's no-one to hear."

Grissom shrugged. "I guess. Couldn't do any harm," he added. "Yours or mine?"