A/N: A very special thank you to the ladies who beta for me. I truly appreciate it! Just a note to let everyone know that there will not be another chapter before Christmas. I thank each and every one who has read and commented. You guys have made my year very special. I hope that you all have a very happy holiday season!

Disclaimer: Not mine.

Chapter 5

December 11, 2007

Sara had been gone for nearly a month and things in Grissom's world were bleaker than he had ever imagined they could be. There was a deep and pervading silence in the house that no amount of music or television could disguise. Despite the emptiness, life continued to move forward. He worked and missed Sara. If he was lucky sometimes he'd even eat and sleep. His every thought, outside of work, was of her. Where she was, how she was and when she would return. It amazed him, and angered him a little, that he had been content without her for almost forty-nine years and now he could barely function for fear he would miss her next call.

Grissom had just stepped out of the shower and could hear Hank barking somewhere on the other end of the house. He was toweling off when his cell phone began to ring. Wrapping the cloth around his hips he hurried into the bedroom and scooped the device up.

"Hello," he said, without looking at the caller id.

"Gil?" Catherine's voice was tentative, unsure. "Is that you?"

He sat on the edge of the bed and dragged a hand through his damp hair. Disappointment made his reply quick and churlish. "Yes, Catherine, it's me."

"Well, you don't usually answer the phone like that. I was just making sure I had the right number," she snapped.

"Sorry," he murmured. "I just thought you might be…someone else."

"Gil…," she began.

"What can I do for you?" Grissom cut her off, not wanting her sympathy.

"You can come unlock the door and call off that beast you have in there." When he didn't respond she continued, "I brought food so come open up."

"I just got out of the shower and I'm about to go to bed." The lie rolled easily off his tongue.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "No you were not. You haven't been sleeping much and we all know it." Again, her comments were met with silence. "Please don't make me sit out here and blow the horn all day. I would hate to see the gossip mongers chewing over that one."

He gave a sigh that spoke volumes to the woman who had been his friend for more than a decade. "Give me five minutes."

He flipped the phone closed and dropped his head into his hands. He sat for a moment before pushing to his feet. He pulled boxers from their drawer and then got a clean pair of jeans from the closet along with a shirt. With a sense of resignation he slipped into his clothes and slid his feet into his shoes. Moving to the bathroom he ran a brush through his hair. With one final glance in the mirror he shuffled off to let Catherine in.

CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI

It's a simple thing, really. People see what they are expecting to see. It's fact. If someone thinks you are giving a patient 3 cc's of a drug then that is what they see. If the plunger doesn't go all the way to the bottom on the syringe they don't notice. It's a matter of mind over matter, if you'll pardon the expression.

In my line of work I don't see the patients who have a head cold or a stomach ache. I see patients who are trusting in me to make sure they sleep and wake up when it's time. I monitor heart rate and blood pressure. I keep them breathing and completely under until the worst part is over. And then I bring them back, slowly, safely, to the land of the living. I guess you could say I've been practicing for my mission for half my life.

I remember clearly the day I realized how much good I could do. It just seemed to come to me like a light going on in my mind. Why should other people have to suffer the way my mother did? Why should a man be childless because his wife could no longer have children and he couldn't leave her? Why should husbands and children watch their loved one as the life was slowly and painfully sucked out of her by an insidious disease? The answer to all of those questions is they shouldn't.

Anyway, all of this became clear to me one day as I watched a little boy crying at his mother's bedside. I went in to consult before she was taken down for surgery. The boy couldn't have been more than eight, maybe nine. Tears were streaming down his mother's cheeks as she held him, stroking his hair and whispering to him and I was taken back thirty years. I was nine years old again and my mother was comforting me, telling me not to be afraid. I was clinging to her and knowing that she was going away. The grief and anger poured over me in a wave and my knees started to buckle. I leaned against the wall and hoped that no one had noticed. The woman started to apologize to me, but I simply shook my head and waited. It had been a long time since I had let myself feel anything about my mother, but that little boy brought it all back. That is when the plan began to form.

CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI

Catherine stood on Grissom's front porch with a six pack and a pizza. Her sunglasses were perched on top of her head and she was looking out at the street, studying the neighborhood. Taking in the quiet street and the neat houses she couldn't help but think how much the place suited Grissom and Sara, or at least the mental picture she had of them. Then the door opened and she spun to face him.

Grissom stood in the doorway, blocking the entrance, and squinted against the bright sunlight. "Catherine, what are you doing here?"

She shook her head at his greeting and shoved the beer and pizza at him, pushing past him into the house. "I wanted a pizza and needed somebody to share it with." She stopped and took a look around, jumping a little when Hank bumped against her. "Who's this?"

"That's Hank," Grissom replied. When she raised her eyebrow in a silent question, he said, "He won't bite. Go ahead."

Leaving Catherine to get acquainted with the dog, Grissom moved into the kitchen. He placed the pizza on the counter and slid the six pack, minus two, into the refrigerator.

"Nice place," Catherine said, coming into the room with Hank on her heels.

"Thanks. We like it." Grissom's response was automatic.

Catherine slid onto a stool and took the beer he had set out for her. She watched as Grissom moved around the space, pulling plates from a cabinet and silverware from a drawer. He looked different to her; smaller somehow and a little lost. Work Grissom was definitely holding up better than home Grissom.

She took a sip out of the bottle in her hand. Lowering it to the counter she began picking at the label. "So, how's Sara?"

With a grunt, Grissom opened the pizza box and studied the contents. Reaching in, he pulled out a slice and put it on his plate before turning the box toward his visitor. "She's okay."

"And how are you?" Her voice was soft, non-confrontational, but managed to get his ire up.

"I don't need your sympathy." His voice was laced with bitterness and pain.

Catherine studied the man across from her. "This isn't about sympathy, Gil."

Grissom took a bite of the pizza. It tasted the way he imagined cardboard would taste. He managed to swallow it. "What is it about then?"

"Damnit, Gil!" Catherine's anger exploded, surprising them both. "Would you stop being so fucking passive?! Tell her how you feel. Do something!" She paused to catch her breath. "Before it's too late." The last was whispered, her anger had fled leaving behind sadness and pity.

Pushing his plate away, Grissom picked up his beer and took a long drink. "She's knows how I feel."

"Does she? Does she know that you're a wreck? Does she know that you are working double after double? Does she know about you tearing Greg a new ass at a scene last week?" Sarcasm dripped from her words. She was goading him and she knew it. But sometime, with Grissom, it was the only way.

His head popped up at the mention of Greg. "How do you know about Greg?"

She waved her hand as if to dismiss his question. "That's not important. What's important is that you are worse than you were," she gestured helplessly, "before. You're working too hard. You've shut yourself off from everyone. You're not sleeping. And you've lost at least ten pounds."

Grissom averted his eyes and schooled his features into the blank mask he had perfected over the years. He couldn't allow her to see the truth. "Catherine," he said in a cool tone, "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

Giving in without giving up, she said, "Fine. But Friday morning we are all going out for breakfast and you are coming with us." Grissom opened his mouth and she cut him off with a glance. "This is not open for discussion. You are not going to lock yourself up in here and wait on her to come back."

"Don't you think I owe her that much?" Grissom's question was quiet, his eyes tired.

Catherine's lips twisted up in a wry smile. "She certainly waited long enough for you. But this is…it's different, Gil."

Grissom shook his head. "How? How is it different?" Grissom's voice was sad. "She waited seven years for me to decide. Seven years. I can wait a few months."

"So she is coming back?"

"She says she's coming home when she… There are things you don't know, Catherine, reasons that I won't explain." Grissom's tone brooked no argument.

Holding up her hands in a gesture of surrender, she said, "I don't need to know her reasons. I'm sure they are valid. I just don't want you to waste away in here and she wouldn't want that either." There were tears in her eyes and she swiped at them. "I care about what happens to you. We all do. Stop pushing us away. At least pretend to let us help."

With a nod, Grissom agreed.

CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI CSI

Grissom sat at the desk in his study, his hand on the phone. It had been a week since Jim had told him to find some evidence. He was positive that someone was killing women at St. Rose's he just needed to prove it. He had always believed that you couldn't crunch evidence to fit a theory, but his problem was there was no hard evidence to support it. He was stuck with only supposition and no way to do anything about it.

He had been mulling the issue over for days. A few Google searches and he had obtained all the information he needed to contact the families of the dead women. He thought of how impressed Sara would be with his Google-fu, as she liked to call it, and he smiled. There was a list of phone numbers on the desk. He hesitated now only because it was a line he had never crossed before and once he did, he knew he could never take it back.

With a sigh he leaned back in the chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. How many times had he watched Sara tread right along the edge of going too far? How many times had he dragged her, kicking and screaming, back to the other side? But not him; no he was always analyzing, considering all possibilities, holding himself back from any hint of emotional involvement. He wasn't the risk taker, she was. Even when he needed time away from work he had a plan. Sara, however, was a free spirit. She wasn't afraid of anything, except herself and where her emotions could take her.

A sharp laugh escaped Grissom as realized just how messed up the two of them were, and how absolutely perfect they were together. He held that thought close for a moment, treasuring it, until another one struck him. If Sara was willing to change shouldn't he be? He couldn't just sit here, doing nothing, waiting on her. He needed to do something to make himself worthy of her. The more he thought, the more his resolve strengthened. With a determined glint in his eye, Grissom picked up the phone.