Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Thanks to LiT, Mingsmommy and Superlibn for the beta work. I truly appreciate all they do. This link will explain the dream that Grissom has a little further down - if you're interested. www.hmk.on.ca/plantmeanings.html
December 31, 2007
I hold the thin yellow page in a hand that still shakes. A speeding ticket. How could I have been so careless? So brainless? It was a beginner's mistake, plain and simple. It is the kind of mistake that could get a man locked up for life, or worse. It is the type of mistake I cannot afford to make.
I hear Renee moving around the house. I want her to be quiet, to be still. And I feel guilty for taking out my problems on her. I love her and want her with me always, but right now, until the threat of Gil Grissom is put behind me, I need to be alone. I need to think and I can't, not with all the noise she is making. I want so badly to tell her my troubles. To explain my behavior. Instead, I close my eyes and I pray.
I pray for strength and wisdom. I pray for patience. I pray for the souls of those whom I have saved and for those still needing my help. I pray for the souls of my mother and for my dear, sweet wife. And last, but not least, I pray for the power of the Lord to help me in defeating my enemy.
As I commune with God, the noise of the world drops away and I find the peace I have been searching for. In the silence I hear his voice, God, speaking to me. "Never give up, my child. Never give up. You are the instrument of my Will."
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Sara shoved the last of her things into a duffel bag and zipped it up. Picking it up, she slung the strap over her shoulder. Walking through the small cottage, making sure all the lights were off, she took a last look around for anything she might have missed. Satisfied with the status, she grabbed her purse and keys, and locked the door behind her.
The call from Brass scared her. Expecting either her mother or Grissom, Sara hadn't checked the caller id. So when the detective's familiar voice came through the speaker her stomach jumped into her throat and her mind immediately conjured up an image of Grissom hurt, bleeding, dead.
"What is it? What's wrong? Is it Grissom? Is he okay?" Even to her own ears she sounded terrified. And Brass must have picked up on it, because he immediately began to reassure her that Grissom was fine.
"Sara." She could hear him as he tried to talk over her, but the questions kept tumbling from her lips. Finally, he all but yelled her name. "Sara! He's fine."
She had actually been shaking all over when he barked at her. "Are you sure?"
"I promise." For a moment the only sound was her ragged breathing, while they both waited for her to calm down. Then he asked, "Are you okay?"
Her chuff of laughter sounded hollow. "Yeah. I'm fine." She could still feel her heart beating in her throat, but the sick feeling had passed. "Tell me what's happened."
Brass started out by running through what he knew, outlining Grissom's determination to find the evidence of the women being murdered. Sara held her tongue, not letting on that she had heard all of it before, allowing him to tell the story in his own way. But when he got to the part about Grissom being suspended she couldn't control the gasp that escaped her.
"Why the hell did Ecklie suspend him?" Her anger bubbled over and her words were clipped.
Brass' voice sounded tired. "I don't know. Ecklie didn't tell Catherine and I haven't talked to Gil yet."
Sara was already in the bedroom, pulling the duffel out of the closet. The phone tucked between her shoulder and ear, she asked questions and listened to Brass' answers while she started packing. In the middle of it all, and despite the circumstances, she found herself enveloped in an overwhelming sense of peace. A peace she hadn't felt in…well, ever.
For the second time, she heard Brass call her name. And she thought she heard a woman's worried voice in the background.
"Sorry, Jim. I'm packing." She moved into the bathroom, grabbed her razor and toothbrush and threw them into the bag.
"So…you're coming back?" He had sounded so skeptical that it stopped her in her tracks.
Swallowing past the lump that had taken up residence in her throat she nodded. "Yeah. Of course."
"Don't come back just to leave him again." His voice was quiet, but she could hear the conviction. "I don't know that he'd survive it."
"You wouldn't have called me, if you didn't think I should be there." Her voice trembled with anger and guilt.
The sky began to spit rain as she started down the steps. She jogged over to the car, threw her bag in the back and checked her watch, noting that it was already noon. If she drove straight through she could be in Vegas by ten o'clock.
With one final glance at the roiling grey waters of the Pacific, she reversed out of the driveway and headed home. Home to Grissom and Hank and the rest of her family. With a smile on her face, she pointed her car southeast and didn't look back again.
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After talking with Eckile, Grissom left the lab and headed home. He went through his morning routine; letting Hank out, eating, taking a shower. Then he pulled out a bottle of scotch, a bottle of water and a tumbler and carried them to the living room. Sitting down on the couch he poured himself a drink. Two fingers of scotch and a splash of water.
The first sip burned. Not the painful burn of fire but the warm, welcome burn of an old flame. Grissom sat there alone, surrounded by all the things that reminded him of Sara and sipped from the glass.
He had screwed up…in so many ways; letting Sara down, crossing the line with Rodney Williams, believing he was capable of change. With a muttered curse, he tilted his head back and finished the first drink in a single of swallow. Relishing in the warmth that spread through his veins, the instant relaxation, he poured a second.
His phone rang incessantly, one call after another. Brass, Catherine…Catherine, Brass. One or two were even from Al. He kept waiting for one, or all of them to start banging on the door. But they didn't. He was surprised and grateful and, if he chose to admit it, a little sad. As much as he appreciated their concern, he wanted nothing more than to indulge in a little self-pity, drink a little scotch and get some sleep. Tomorrow he would decide what to do. Maybe he'd take all that free advice he'd been getting lately and go visit Sara. Maybe he'd even bring her home.
Draining the rest of his drink, he glanced at the bottle sitting on the coffee table. With a sigh, he set the glass down and pushed to his feet. Two was enough. Drinking away his problems had never been his style, although he could certainly understand the appeal.
He thought about calling Sara. He knew she would understand. He knew she would be supportive. But he didn't want to worry her. He didn't want her running back because he had done something stupid. So, in the end, he did what had always worked for him…nothing.
With his glass in the dishwasher and the scotch back in the cabinet, Grissom let Hank out for one last romp around the yard. Then, doors locked and curtains drawn, he crawled into bed. For the first time in months he slept. Deep slumber that wrapped around him like a blanket, warm and soft and safe. And for the first time in years he dreamed of his father.
He looked just like Grissom remembered. Alan Grissom was tall and slim with horn-rimmed glasses and a crooked smile and work-roughened hands. His pants had dirt smeared down the front and his short-sleeved shirt matched the blue of his eyes. His hair was the same rich brown as Gil's had once been, but straight, with a heavy lock falling over his forehead. The two of them sat on the back steps of Grissom's childhood home, shoulders and knees touching as they looked out over the close cut grass and beds of flowers that dotted the space.
The words his father spoke were odd, disjointed. But they had one underlying theme, the plants he had loved.
Alan reached over and picked up a long tendril of jasmine. The vine was wrapped around the railing and the sweet scent of it perfumed the air. "Did you plant some of this, Gil? It's what makes a home." He turned to look at his son, the green leaves and yellow blossoms a backdrop for his piercing gaze.
Gil's mouth moved but the voice was from more than forty years earlier. "I tried, Dad. Really."
Again he pointed, this time at a flower bed along the fence. The periwinkle was in full bloom and the bed was a riot of purplish blue blossoms. "See that? Doesn't matter how much you have. It's this," again he tugged at the jasmine, "that makes it worthwhile"
Gil shook his head. "Why are you telling me about plants? There are so many things I need to ask you."
Suddenly, they were standing at the back of the yard in front of another bed. Beautiful yellow and variegated tulips grew in profusion. "Look at those. They remind me of your Sara." Gil simply stared and his father laughed. "I know all about her. And if you'll pay attention, I am answering all your questions."
Alan turned and began to walk as Gil followed. He could feel the plants brushing against his pant legs and a light, musky fragrance filled the air. "Lavender?" His voice was deeper now, but still more youthful than normal.
His father nodded. "Lavender. Every woman needs lavender."
The lavender gave way to a field filled with daffodils and Gil could feel his father tense. "These are the root of evil. Pardon the pun, my boy." His hearty laugh echoed around them.
As quickly as the field had appeared it was gone and they were standing in Gil's old high school. The bell was ringing and classes were changing, students rushing by, jostling them as if the two men were invisible. Alan placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "I have to go, Gil. But remember what I said."
"But, Dad…" The voice was his own, deep and weathered and full of confusion.
"Think, Gilbert." His father smiled, his eyes sparkling with humor and love. "You can do this. You're halfway there." And then he was gone.
The fourth ring of the telephone snatched Grissom out of the dream. Fumbling, he managed to get it open and to his ear. "Hello?"
The device was silent for so long he almost hung up. But then a slightly nasal female voice said, "Dr. Grissom?"
He cleared his throat and scrubbed at his eyes. 'Yes."
"I…uh…I'm sorry to wake you." There was a slight catch her breath, as if she were crying. "This is Elizabeth Bethune."
It took him a moment to place the name but when he did, he sat up on the edge of the bed. Shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, he said, "Elizabeth. What can I do for you?"
This time her sob was more pronounced. And her voice, when she spoke, was barely a whisper. "I think we need to talk."
Excitement shot through his body. This was it. The one thing he'd been waiting for. "Tell me when and where. I'll be there."