Sara emerged refreshed and decided to tackle the physically visible challenges. She skirted each
room with the finesse of a ballerina, delivering each room into a perfect order. Managing the articles of her
apartment into refined and defined compartments as she ignored the mismanagement of her non-existent
relationship with one Gil Grissom. She crafted a new system for her forensics magazines and discarded old
clothing vowing to improve her wardrobe. She emptied the refrigerator and cupboard contents of any labels
with overdue expiration dates…(on second thought) of all contents and ran out to the disposal bin in her
bare feet. Revitalized she began going through the last contents of her apartment…photos of the past. She
discarded the evil reminders of her childhood and kept the Harvard photos of the friends she had rarely (if
ever) contacted.
Once she was done Sara sat down in her now cleansed and aesthetically pleasing environment, and yet she
still wasn't any closer to feeling better,
"Screw you Grissom!" she screamed.
Sara couldn't shake him or this feeling he kept on attaching to her remained no matter how much she tried
to cleanse the world around her. Laying in a fetal position on her freshly washed bed sheets, Sara cried
herself to sleep.
Grissom had finally given up…on Sara…on himself. He placed his Denali into park in front of his
townhouse and emerged a broken man. He entered his sterile environment and wondered how he could
keep things so clean when his emotional life was in uproar and turmoil. Gil headed straight for the liquor
cabinet, pouring himself two shots of scotch straight up and then straight down. He poured himself two
more and settled on his couch. He wondered at that point why he had purchased the white leather artistic
piece. It wasn't like anyone ever appreciated it, not that many had been invited, nor did he even find it
comfortable at that point. Now he understood why Brass had an old brown barcalounger in his bachelor
pad…he figured that existing without love…alone…well, perhaps comfort may be a virtue. Gil used to be
comfortable and alone without a barcalounger, but now he was reconsidering his options. Maybe scotch
and a comfortable chair were all he needed…
The amber liquid only heated his own internal frustration at not acting sooner. He was a fool…his mind
reeled from the alcohol. He HAD waited too long…he poured himself another drink. Who was he kidding
anyways…Sara was out of his league. Why had he resorted to that comment anyways?
"Yeah, I'm pretty good at mouth to mouth." What was I thinking!
Grissom abruptly stood up, shaking with contempt for his own inaction in the years of broken opportunities
passed. He was angry at himself for his own resistance and misguided attempts at salvaging "This" and
choosing his career. Newfound realization that all along he had been ruining Sara. Lunging with a clenched
fist…broken glass, a bleeding fist and butterfly wings in tatters were his reminders of his own emptiness.
He sorted through feelings of incompetence as a man who only now realized that love is the bain of
existence.
Sara Sidle awoke with swollen red eyes and a no clearer understanding of why one Gil Grissom
had the capability of doing this to her.
Gil Grissom awoke with a deserved hangover and no cleared understanding of why one Sara Sidle
had the capability of doing this to him.