Author's Notes: I live by the motto "things are not always what they seem." Enjoy, and thanks!
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The Last Embrace
by Kristen Elizabeth
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March 1998
"I recommend the cheese." Sara waited for the man to turn away from the buffet before holding out her hand. "Sara Sidle. CSI I, San Francisco."
It took him a second to reach for her offered hand. "Gil Grissom. You were at the lecture this afternoon."
She sincerely hoped her cheeks weren't turning pink with pleasure. "Yeah, I was the one who asked about the mitochondrial DNA."
"It was an intelligent question."
"And you gave me an intelligent answer. Thanks."
Their hands were still clasped. They both realized it at the same time, and broke apart quickly.
He cleared his throat. "So, what's special about this cheese?"
Sara blinked. She'd almost forgotten about the cheese, her carefully thought-out excuse to strike up a conversation with him. "Um…well, it's good."
"Gouda?"
"No, I said…" She stopped when he started smiling. Shaking her head, she muttered, "I can't believe I missed that one."
"I'm a little surprised myself," he admitted. "It wasn't a great effort on my part."
Suddenly, Sara wished she'd paid more attention to the rules of flirting, as outlined by her college roommate freshman year. She shook her hair back and gave it her best shot, anyway. "Maybe it's me. Maybe you're funnier in Vegas."
His smile turned wry. "I have to admit, humor is not my strong suit. In any city." He eyed her. "Or in any company."
"But you opened with that bug joke," she reminded him. "I laughed."
"You're kind, Ms. Sidle."
"Sara. Just Sara."
He nodded. "Sara."
"Do you want to go somewhere?" she blurted out. "Maybe get some coffee? Real coffee, not the sludge in the big dispensers."
A moment slipped by as he considered her offer. "Will we be missed?"
Together, they glanced around the university ballroom, and came to the same realization.
She reached for the plate of cheese wedges. "Let's go, Dr. Grissom."
"Grissom," he corrected her. "Just Grissom."
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The suit Catherine selected had been Nick's favorite. He never wore it to court, not wanting to taint it with anything work-related. Instead, he saved it for special occasions like Christmas Eve services and Valentine's Day dinners.
Sara stared at it. Lying across their bed like that, she could almost imagine that Nick himself had set it out. That they were getting ready for an event of some sort. That he was only in the shower, and would be coming out to get dressed at any moment.
Catherine's voice interrupted her imagination. "There are a few more things I'm gonna need to get. Um…socks?" She hesitated. "And it's slightly surreal, but underwear, too."
"First and second drawers," Sara whispered. "Take a pair of boxers. He only kept the briefs to annoy me. I hated them."
"I don't blame you. There's something so…pedophilic about them." She opened the drawer and selected a simple pair of black boxers. The top drawer revealed socks; again, she stuck with basic black.
"Have they finished the autopsy?"
Sara's question was hoarse. Catherine walked over to the bed and set the boxer and socks onto the suit, taking her time before answering. "Report came in this afternoon."
"And?"
She shook her head. "Nothing we didn't know. Heart attack."
Sara swallowed. "He was thirty-seven."
"He also had a highly stressful job and a family history of heart disease." Catherine sighed. "And let's not forget his addiction to Double-Doubles."
"He ran every day around the block. He went to the gym three times a week. He talked me…me, the vegetarian…into increasing my fiber intake. It just…" She sank down onto the edge of the bed. "It just doesn't make any sense."
"It doesn't," Catherine agreed, gingerly sitting down next to Sara. "You know…I got a call yesterday. From Tennessee." She paused. "He wants to come to the funeral."
The stiffness in her shoulders gave her away, even as she managed to keep her voice steady. "He doesn't need my permission."
"You know him. He doesn't want to make things any worse for you."
Sara fingered the cuff of Nick's suit jacket. "When did he start worrying about my feelings?"
Catherine looked at her for a minute. "He always has, Sara. Even when he left…"
She was abruptly cut off. "I don't want to talk about him. Not while I'm sitting next to what my husband is going to be buried in." Sara briefly nibbled on her thumbnail. "Tell him it's fine if he comes. He should come. Nick respected him. Considered him a friend and mentor." She closed her eyes. "God, I miss him..."
Because she wasn't sure who Sara was talking about, Catherine just put an arm around her shoulders and nodded. "Me, too."
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To Be Continued