A/N: Thank you for reading!
Gil Grissom's Romance
Chapter 12
"Somebody young and beautiful shows up. Somebody…we could care about. She offers us a new life with her…"
Grissom felt utterly drained. He had been outwitted at every turn and it occurred to him that this physician might be smart enough to evade all the investigative techniques available. He rubbed a hand across his face. He had not slept in the last twenty-four hours—longer than that, he realized. There was no more to do.
"I need to go home and sleep for a few hours," he said before realizing he was alone in the interrogation room. Jim Brass had left the room after Dr. Lurie.
Vincent Lurie—Grissom was certain the man had killed two people. And there was not one piece of evidence. Closing his eyes, he could visualize the face of the young woman—so similar to Sara's that he had imagined her in the house.
Suddenly, he fell back in the chair, closing his eyes and raking a hand through his hair, his mind struggling to clear his thoughts. His words to Lurie had been impulsive, had taken shape from a part of his brain that he usually managed to suppress except in his dreams.
What was she doing now? Grissom could picture her laughing at Greg's jokes, smiling her impish smile, the one that held such promise.
Exhaustion filled every cell in his body. Sighing deeply, he wished he were home in his bed.
Hearing the click of the door, he looked up. Sara Sidle stood in the doorway.
"I—I heard," she said softly, "about Lurie."
She had caught him off guard, while his brain was still fogged by his confrontation with Lurie and by lack of sleep.
For an instant he thought she had heard his words to Lurie. He wiped a hand across his eyes and then pinched his nose before realizing her words indicated she had heard about the lack of evidence; perhaps had seen Lurie leaving the building.
She walked into the room, a white cup in her hand, saying, "I thought you might want tea." She handed him the cup and sat down next to him.
He sipped the tea; slightly sweetened with a hint of lemon. She had fixed it to his taste—perfectly. So was she, he thought, as he looked at her. She was watching him, concern furrowed her face. For the first time in hours, his thoughts wandered to something other than brutal murders; he thought of what it would be like to be in bed with this woman.
She asked, "What are you thinking?"
Slowly, he passed his hand across his face. "Food—I need to eat."
Quietly, she laughed; it seemed she knew he wasn't truthful. She said, "I'll drive. We can find you food."
Grissom thought, how does she do this? She could always get him off balance with her gentle teasing and an insight that seemed to know him better than he knew himself.
She got up and moved toward the door. He watched her walk, moving gracefully. He noticed her slender hands, holding the door for him. Heavily, he pushed himself out of the chair, willing his feet to move without stumbling.
Somehow he made it out of the building; voices rose and fell in a dull mist and slipped incomprehensibly through his numb brain. He knew he was following Sara but little else made sense to him.
Yet he asked, "You are working late."
Her hand came to his shoulder, rested there for a few seconds before she smiled. "I've slept since you have, Grissom. I came back in." Her eyes met his, briefly, before she looked away.
And in her dark eyes, he saw unexpected sadness, until he remembered Debbie Marlin, so much like Sara in looks, about the same age. He asked, "Did you see Debbie Marlin?"
Sara hesitated.
He said, "She looked like you."
"Catherine said she did."
Sara took a few steps; he followed and when she opened the door of her car, he crawled in. And after that, his head fell against the headrest and, for the first time in hours, he closed his eyes and instantly slept.
Grissom knew it was a ten minute drive to his house, but as Sara face focused in front of his eyes, he thought he had been asleep for a few seconds; thought they were still in parking garage, until she said, "You're home."
Slowly, he managed to lift his feet and move out of her car. His head hurt, his legs were unsteady, and he quietly cursed as he stumbled trying to get keys from his pocket.
Saying, "I'll do it", Sara took the keys from him as she slipped her hand around his left elbow.
A few minutes later, she had opened the door to his condo and had both of them inside.
"If I could lie down for a few more minutes, I'll be fine."
He heard a soft laugh before Sara said, "Why don't you get to a flat surface first."
"I'm okay, just a little fuzzy in the head."
She guided him toward his sofa, managing to fluff a pillow before his head sank into it. A minute later, Sara was covering him with a blanket.
"Thank you, Sara." Grissom breathed out, his eyes closed. He heard the door shut but nothing else as a deep-dreamless sleep claimed him for the first time in hours.
Hours later, when Grissom woke, the magnitude of his headache was less than it could have been. And a couple of aspirin would chase it away. Leaning upright, he watched as the afternoon sun caught and reflected surfaces around him. He had done all he could do for Debbie Marlin. He knew her case would enter the 'cold case' files; her killer would go free. A young woman who enjoyed living, who cast a spell over those she chose—a young woman who looked so much like Sara, who had smiled as Sara had once smiled. Sara—who was drifting, waiting—who brought him home without complaint; Sara—who had not forgotten him when he had reached his lowest point in years.
His head fell back to the pillow. He held himself to meticulous honesty in his work and had always exercised caution in his social relationships. Yet in all his principles, in his resolutions to remain above personal interactions, he realized he was an observer of life. Like a chest player, he had ordered his life, especially since becoming the lab supervisor, around work, his professional position.
After a while, he managed to get himself off the sofa and into the shower where he let cold water rain down on his shoulders, helping to clear the cobwebs that remained in his mind. Leaning against the tiles, warming up the water, he resolved—again, committing himself to avoiding—not to pursue this new life offered by Sara Sidle. His chest ached as he thought of Sara; he had never anticipated a young woman who could cause the disruption of his contrived existence.
As Grissom was eating—a chicken casserole prepared by his housekeeper—his doorbell chimed and, complaining all the way to the door, was taken by surprise to find Jim Brass.
"I thought you'd be up by now," Brass said as he walked into Grissom's home.
Giving Brass a critical look, Grissom asked, "Why are you here?"
Brass waved a hand, saying, "Knew you had a tough time letting Lurie walk away—thought I'd keep you company for a while—away from everyone."
"You want a drink?"
Wiggling his nose as he sniffed the air, Brass asked, "Do you have any more of what I smell? I'd like to eat something."
Grissom pointed to the kitchen and walked to the refrigerator. "Some kind of casserole—chicken—that Juanita cooks."
Brass mumbled an agreeable consent and followed Grissom.
In a few minutes, he had his own plate of hot food delivered from the microwave in Grissom's hand. After several bites, he said, "With this kind of cook, you really don't need a woman, do you?" He waved his fork. "Good housekeeper keeps you fed, your house clean, your clothes clean." He scooped up a fork of the casserole with obvious enjoyment.
Eyeing his friend with some suspicion, Grissom slowly resumed eating his food. Jim Brass seldom showed up at the door and, as they sat in silence, he tried to read his friend's face, but Brass could hold a poker face against any Hollywood actor.
Brass was the one who broke their silence with a sigh and then leaned his elbows on the table. Looking Grissom in the eye, he said, "I think you need to tell me about this young and beautiful woman."
When Grissom shook his head in an attempt to dismiss the statement, Brass added, "Because Sara heard every word of your little speech to Lurie." There was no pity in his voice, but a heartfelt regard for his friend.
Dropping his eyes to his plate, Grissom remained silent for long moments until, finally, he spoke, telling Brass of the long-hidden desire—and his love—for the young and beautiful Sara Sidle. When he had said all he could, there was a long silence as Brass seemed to process all he had heard.
Finally, he said, "Next to Sara, you are the most private person I know. No one knows what either of you do away from the lab." Grissom's eyes lifted and met those of his friend who smiled. "I'm just saying—what you do in private can stay there."
The look on Grissom's face became one of puzzlement.
"I'm saying, pal," Brass said as he pushed his plate away, "that I could do it."
A/N: And more to come for season 4. We appreciate hearing from you!