A/N: I say this all the time but it's so very true - I have the greatest betas in the world. Thanks so much to Cropper, LosinginTranslation, Mingsmommy and Superlibn. They are incredible - and they like to torment me.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never will be. Oh well.
Chapter 10
December 15, 2007
Other than the occasional trip to the bathroom or to the kitchen for water or an apple, Sara hadn't moved in two days. Her hair was greasy and plastered to her head. Her teeth felt like they had grown fur. And she was beginning to think she probably smelled like the inside of Greg's apartment. She knew she needed to pull herself together but she couldn't seem to find the energy to care.
An insistent pounding on the door dragged Sara from the questionable joy of Jerry Springer. She never really intended to watch the show but once it started she found that she was unable to turn it off. Kind of like a train wreck; she hated to see it but couldn't make herself look away.
"Go away," she mumbled to whoever was creating so much noise. Either they didn't hear or chose not to comply because the racket continued. Sighing, she threw off the blanket and pushed to her feet.
A wave of dizziness washed over her and she honestly couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten anything substantial. She waited for the room to right itself before beginning to move toward the door. Ruefully, she tugged at her pajama pants when they began to slide off her hips.
Her irritation turned to cold, hard anger when she opened the door to find Laura on the other side. "What are you doing here?" she bit out, one hand on the doorknob and the other on her hip.
Laura's eyes moved over Sara from head to toe. "You look like shit." When Sara's mouth dropped open in disbelief, Laura added, "And you stink."
A flush of embarrassment colored Sara's cheeks. "I didn't ask you to come here." She crossed her arms defensively and took a step back. "You can always leave."
Holding a bag in one hand and a ratty, dusty shoe box in the other, Laura pushed past her daughter and into the tiny kitchen. "You need to take a shower. I'll make us some lunch."
Sara crossed her arms over her chest and thrust out her chin. "You have a lot of nerve just showing up…"
Laura cut her off quickly. "Stop it, Sara. Just stop it." She set the bag and box on the counter and turned to face the younger woman. "I'm here to give you what you want. Just go take a shower." She sounded tired, as if she were resigned to her fate. Turning away she began unloading the bag she had brought.
Shock had Sara rooted to the spot. Her desire to know about her past warred with her longing to show her mother the door. Finally, she stomped off to the bathroom, shooting back over her shoulder, "I'm a vegetarian," before slamming the door.
Laura smiled and set about preparing the food she had brought.
Sara started the shower before stripping off her clothes. When the water had heated she stepped in, moaning at the heat against her cool skin. She stood there for a long while, allowing the steam to help clear her mind. As the warm water sluiced over her aching body, Sara wondered at her own sanity. She had all but decided to give up this madness. Yet, here she was, preparing to return to the fray. Resolutely, she lathered her hair, scrubbing away the indecision of the past two days along with the oil and smell that she had accumulated.
Sara emerged from the back of the house thirty minutes later, showered and dressed with her damp hair in a ponytail, feeling almost human for the first time since she'd left her mother's. She was greeted by the delicious aroma of baking bread. She pulled out a chair at the small dining table and sat down, eyeing Laura warily.
"It smells good." Sara blushed as her stomach grumbled in a testament to her words. "What is it?"
"Potato soup." Laura checked on the bread. "I love it, but it's hard to cook for just one. So I freeze it." Moving to the refrigerator, she pulled out a pack of shredded cheese. "I usually put bacon and cheese on top. Since bacon is out of the question, we'll use extra cheese." Turning to face Sara, she took in the gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes. "I made some coffee, too. You want a cup now?"
"I'll get it." Sara stood and moved into the kitchen, pulling down cups. "How do you take it?" She poured coffee into the two mugs and began stirring sugar into hers.
Laura turned with a smile of thanks. "Black is fine."
Sara picked up her cup, leaving her mother's on the counter for her, and moved back over to sit at the table. The silence between them stretched out, every second making Sara more anxious. Laura was pulling the rolls from the oven when Sara could take it no longer.
"Why did you come here?" Sara took a quick sip of the almost too hot brew and grimaced as it slid down her throat.
Giving a chuckle, Laura shook her head. "You never had any patience. Apparently, some things haven't changed." She put the bread in a basket she had found in a cabinet and began to ladle the soup into bowls. "Come over here and give me a hand." Seeing the look Sara was giving her, Laura once again shook her head at her daughter's impatience. "Let's eat and then we'll talk."
Sara's sigh of frustration was her only response as she stood and moved to help Laura with the bowls.
A short time later, the dishes were stacked in the sink and the two women were settled on the couch in front of the fire Sara had built. Laura had brought the box over and placed it on the coffee table. Sara was curled into a corner of the sofa with her legs drawn up while Laura sat stiffly beside her, feet firmly on the floor.
Heaving out a sigh that bordered on a groan, Laura ran her hands up and down her thighs. "Okay. I guess the best place to start is at the beginning."
Sara gave her a nervous grin. "That would probably be good."
Laura reached out and picked up the box, placing it on her lap. Lifting off the lid, she gazed down at the contents. Her voice was subdued and her hands trembled a little. "I haven't talked about this stuff in a very long time. I've tried to not think about a lot of it. Things weren't supposed to turn out like they did. You should know that."
She turned to see Sara shaking her head. "I don't know that. But I need to. I need to understand."
Nodding, Laura reached into the box and pulled out a picture. She studied it a moment before passing it to Sara. A wistful smile spread over her face. "We were happy once. I don't want you to think we were always like…like the end."
The black and white photo showed her parents, both of them impossibly young, with their arms around each other. They were smiling at the camera. Sara could almost feel their happiness just by holding the picture. She looked at her mother, her confusion evident. "So what happened?"
"Be patient, Sara. Let me tell this." Laura smiled to soften her words. "He was so handsome and so…so sure of himself." She reached into the box again and this time came out with a stack of photos. "He made me think anything was possible."
Laura shuffled through the pictures, taking a moment to look at each one. "Have you ever felt that way, Sara?" She looked up and watched the emotions play over Sara's face.
Her first thought was, Gil makes me feel that way. Like we can do anything as long as we do it together. Biting her lip and fighting against the sudden rush of tears, Sara nodded. "Yes," she murmured in a choked voice.
"Then you understand." Laura wondered yet again what demons had forced her daughter to leave a man she so obviously loved. And what demons kept him from coming after her.
Sara held out her hand and Laura placed the pictures in it. "You were so beautiful. Both of you." Studying her mother, Sara continued, "I never thought of you that way."
"By the time you were old enough to remember, we weren't so beautiful anymore."
Sara cleared her throat and swiped at damp eyes. "Tell me about him, about the two of you."
Laura handed Sara the box, watching her daughter as she picked through the only tangible links to her past. It may have looked like a beat up old box but it contained everything she had saved from her life before that day. Almost all of the photos were of Laura and Mike; a few were color pictures but most, as dictated by the times, were black and white. The yellowing and the curled edges bespoke their age. She didn't realized how nervous she would be to see Sara looking through them. In an effort to relax, she picked up her coffee cup and settled back against the cushions. She took a fortifying sip, cradling the mug between her hands, and began to speak.
CSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSICSI
Grissom hadn't heard from Sara in five days and he was beginning to worry. They had fallen into a rhythm of talking every two or three days. She would usually call him after the meetings with her mother. But that last meeting was supposed to be two days ago and not a word. His hand hovered over the phone lying on the arm of the couch. He had picked it up and put it down too many times to count in the last hour. She had told him to call but he hesitated to cross that line for fear of pushing her further away. So far she had been the one to initiate their contact. Then he remembered his promise to himself earlier in the week. Change meant taking risks. With a determined glint in his eye, he picked up the phone and dialed Sara's number.
Just before he pressed the button to send the call there was a quiet knock at his door. Flipping the phone closed, he muttered a curse and pushed up off the couch. Hank raised his head from his spot under the coffee table and chuffed out a soft bark.
"Some guard dog you are." Grissom shot the dog a look and would have sworn the beast rolled his eyes. He reached the door, pulled it open and his mouth dropped open in surprise.
"Hello, Grissom." Heather smiled at his shock. "May I come in?"
Regaining his composure, he stepped back and gestured her inside. "Please."
She removed her sunglasses, piercing him with her brilliant green eyes. At that moment, Hank trotted toward them to investigate the new arrival and instinctively Heather recoiled. "Hank, sit," Grissom commanded and walked over to pet the dog's head when he obeyed. "Good boy," he murmured scratching under his chin. He used the distraction of Hank's appearance to gather his thoughts.
Heather waited patiently, seeing through his ploy but allowing him to take a minute. When he straightened up she studied him. He looked haggard; tired and thin and pale. "How are you, Grissom?"
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Grissom cocked his head and watched her. "Did Jim send you?"
Now it was her turn to be surprised. If Grissom hadn't been watching her so closely, hadn't had so much practice reading people, he might have missed the slight widening of her eyes and the parting of her lips. She quickly slipped her mask back in place. "Why would you think that?"
"Speaking from experience, your powers of discretion are somewhat lacking," he chided. When she merely studied him, a smile tugged at Grissom's mouth. "I saw the two of you out in Henderson night before last."
"You may not have been as discrete as you thought either." Her eyes sparkled and her full lips tipped up in a smile. "Jim knew about the two of you long before you told the rest of the team."
Grissom's eyebrows drew together in confused concentration. He looked as if he were attempting to puzzle out when Jim had discovered their secret.
Taking pity on him, Heather explained. "He overheard a conversation between you and Sara one day. Something in the break room, I think, about a burrito."
He thought for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. "I can't believe he knew and didn't say anything. He always had very strong opinions about Sara and me pursuing a relationship."
It was Heather's turn to shrug. "Judgment is not upon all occasions required, but discretion always is."
"Very true." Grissom studied her for a moment. "I must say, I was surprised to see the two of you together."
Dipping her head to hide the blush tinting her cheeks, Heather gave him a shy smile. "He makes me happy."
For a second he looked as if she had punched him. "Then you should hold on to that." His voice was soft and he couldn't meet her direct gaze. Finally, he cleared his throat and gestured toward the living room. "Come in and have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Some tea perhaps?"
"That would be lovely." Moving past him, she sat on the sofa, her eyes moving around the room, taking in the warm colors and rich fabrics. This room was definitely not something Grissom would have designed. "You have a beautiful home. Your Sara has good taste."
Grissom winced. "She does indeed." Gesturing toward the kitchen, he added, "I'll be right back."
Heather took a moment to really study her surroundings. The walls were a deep red that should have been too dark but somehow only made the large space seem cozy and inviting. The furniture was plush chenille in a lovely camel color. She ran her hands over the fabric, appreciating the softness. There were throw pillows in several vibrant hues. And while they should have clashed, they managed instead to give the space a bohemian feel. The tables were made of a medium wood and were large and chunky. In a corner of the room was a beautiful Chinese armoire, its delicate carvings making it a thing of true beauty. There were shelves overflowing with books and candles on every surface, along with framed photos of Grissom, Sara and their friends. It was a lived in space that was very pleasing to the eye, as well as the other senses.
Grissom returned with tea service for two set out on a tray. He placed the tray on the coffee table and poured for them. He slowly lowered himself into the chair across from her. Hank settled by his feet, propping his head on Grissom's knee.
They drank their tea in silence for a bit. Finally, pinning him with her gaze, Heather began, "What you said before, about holding on to happiness, applies to you, too."
"Does it?" His voice was tired and his hand absently rubbed over the dog's head.
Heather wondered for a moment if Grissom realized that he and Hank had the same sad-eyed gaze. "You know, Grissom, when I met you I had certain notions regarding the two of us." He opened his mouth to say something but she cut him off. "But, even then, I knew that there was something that would never allow us to be together."
"I was attracted to you, Heather." Grissom's cheeks colored and he looked decidedly uncomfortable with the situation. It seemed almost sacrilegious to speak those words in this place, in Sara's home.
"Don't feel guilty, Grissom. I was never a threat to Sara." Her words were soft and soothing.
He pressed his lips together. Her ability to read him still amazed him time and time again.
"Your attraction to me, and mine to you, wasn't enough. It never would have been." She gave him a soft smile and tucked her hair behind her ears. "Then I saw you and Sara in the same room and everything became clear."
He thought back to the day he and Sara were together in Heather's hospital room. "How could you possibly have gleaned anything from that meeting?"
Her husky laugh filled the space. "I can't believe you asked me that. I make…made my living by knowing what a person wanted merely by observing them. And you two spoke volumes without even looking at one another." She paused, reliving that scene in her mind. "There was something in each of you that reached out to the other. Almost as if you were touching her and she you." With a sigh, she whispered, "I envied her then. More than I can tell you."
"So you weren't involved with Jim at the time?" He released a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
Shaking her head, Heather said, "No. But that didn't stop him from coming to me after it was over and explaining, in no uncertain terms, that you belonged to Sara and that I should keep my hands to myself." She smiled at the memory. "We spent some time talking about what you had done for me. And, the rest, as they say, "she shrugged, "is history."
Grissom's expression was one of stunned disbelief. "He told you to keep your hands off me?"
"Not in so many words." She chuckled at his indignation. "Don't worry about it. That's not why I came."
"Then why are you here?"
"What am I supposed to do? You were the one who said we were friends. It is my job, as such, to offer you comfort and counsel." Grissom raised an eyebrow and Heather leaned forward, her eyes boring into his. "If she makes you happy, Grissom, then don't let her go."
"It wasn't my choice, Heather. In case nobody was watching, she left me." Grissom voice held a trace of the bitterness he felt.
"Grissom," she soothed, "I don't know what happened. But I do know that you are miserable. Don't let her go."
With a look of determination that Heather had seen more than once before, he replied, "I never intended to."
Heather's quote is from Phillip Dormer Stanhope, 4th Earl of Chesterfield. And courtesy of