Author's Notes: Muchos, muchos gracias to my awesome beta, PhDelicious. And thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, even through the site's temporary meltdown.
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The Last Embrace
by Kristen Elizabeth
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May 2005
"You were brilliant."
Grissom lifted his head and looked at the woman sitting on the other side of the hospital bed. "Many parts contributed to this whole."
"And he's modest, too, ladies." Sara smiled awkwardly. "A winning combination."
In the bed, Nick stirred, but the combination of medications on which they had him ensured that he remained asleep. The ant bites up and down his arms and on his face were angry and red. He'd been through the worst kind of hell. But he was alive.
"Sara."
She looked at Grissom. There was desperation in his stare that she'd never seen before. Not even when their eyes had met through the glass and metal barrier of a locked nurses' station window. It scared her as much as it thrilled her.
"It could have been you."
Sara didn't flinch. "I could say the same thing. Any of us could."
Grissom's eyes were red with unshed emotion. "If it had been you…" He trailed off.
"You would have saved me," she said, with absolute conviction.
He shook his head. "Sara, if it had been you, I would have been too far gone to even function."
The clock on the wall counted out a whole minute before she could speak. "Grissom…if this isn't leading to something, you have to stop."
"Are you still interested in having dinner with me?"
Her breath caught in the back of her throat. "Okay. That's something."
Another minute slipped by before she leaned across Nick's sleeping body and touched her lips to Grissom's.
When she pulled back, his eyes were closed. "I'll take that as a yes."
"I should tell you 'no'." She tilted her head to the side, suddenly able to be amused by the memory, rather than freshly wounded. "Just so you know how it feels."
Grissom smiled. "Like I've always said, Ms. Sidle…you're kind."
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Laura hated funerals. If she'd had any say in the matter, her husband wouldn't have even had one. Just a simple cremation and a ritual scattering of his ashes in the waves of the Pacific. Unfortunately, when you're in a mental institution under observation because you solved your martial difficulties with a carving knife, no one bothers to ask for your input in regards to your husband's burial.
She believed in celebrating life, not wallowing in death. Black clothes, white flowers, solemn hymns, tearful goodbyes…it was all she could do to sit with Sara through the first part service. Not that her daughter noticed her. Or anything, really. She sat with Cassie on her lap, staring at her husband's profile in the open casket. When Laura murmured that she needed to excuse herself for a moment, Sara's chin dipped just low enough to indicate that she'd heard.
The vestibule of the church was blissfully, reverently silent. She drew in several deep breaths before fumbling in her handbag for a cigarette and a lighter. It was a bad habit she'd picked up in prison; she only indulged occasionally, when she needed to relax.
As Laura lit up, she noticed the man standing a few feet away, looking up at the stained glass windows. She had the instant thought that he looked as uncomfortable as she felt. And suddenly, she was curious why.
"It's a beautiful church," she said, drawing the man's attention.
"It is," he agreed.
She inhaled and blew out a cloud of smoke. "Did you know Nick well?"
His smile was sad. "I was his boss for almost ten years."
She tapped ash off her cigarette into a potted plant. "He was my son-in-law."
The man really looked at her for the first time. "You're Sara's mother."
"Yeah. Laura Sidle." Laura frowned. "Have we met?"
"No." He hesitated before holding out his hand. "Gil Grissom." He paused, as if waiting for some recognition. When none came, his mouth set in a resigned line. "She's never mentioned me."
She transferred her cigarette to her other hand in order to shake his. "My daughter and I have been…well, I guess estranged would be the nicest word for it…for a long time." A thought occurred to her. "If you were Nick's boss…"
"Yes, I was her boss, too." He cleared his throat. "How…how is she doing?"
Laura didn't delude herself into believing that she was smart. There was a whole lot in the world that she didn't know anything about. But what she did know was how to read people. Maybe it was a genetic gift, like Sara's intelligence. Or maybe it was simply the product of having to read every nuance of her husband's face, to know whether it would be a good night, or one that ended at the hospital.
Regardless, she knew, without much doubt in her mind, that this man was straining to ask his question about Sara without any emotion. Unfortunately, he'd failed. His posture changed when she was mentioned. His blue eyes became darker. He had feelings for her daughter. And they probably weren't what a boss usually felt for an employee.
A good amount of ash gathered on her cigarette as she considered how to answer his question honestly, and at the same time, maybe prod him into revealing something.
"She's devastated. Not that I can blame her. Nick was probably the best thing to ever happen to her, and he just gets ripped away one day. Heart attack at thirty-seven." She tapped the ash away with a dramatic sigh that wasn't entirely faked. "Where's the justice in that?"
"There is none," was his quiet answer.
She agreed by nodding as she took another puff. "So, can I ask why you're out here instead of in there?" When he gave no reply, Laura went on. Sometimes people relaxed if you gave off the same casual impression. "Me? I hate funerals. I didn't even go to Sara's father's. What's your excuse, Mr. Grissom?"
With his hands in his pockets, he looked down at the wood floor for a long moment. "I don't have one. It just seems…safer out here."
"Who's in there that you're afraid of?" He flinched slightly, and this only encouraged her. She was heading down the right path. "Can't be Nick. If you do the same work they do, you can't have issues with dead bodies."
A smile briefly touched his face. He was handsome. Too young for her by a number of years, and probably too old for her daughter by a few more. "Certain bodies are more difficult to deal with. And the living..." His smile withered and died. "Even more so."
Laura watched him through a curl of smoke. The pieces were starting to come together, and they formed a picture of a strange, sad man, doomed to fall into unrequited love with a younger woman who worked for him, while she herself was already in love with a man her own age, who also happened to work for him. It was tragic, really. No wonder he felt uncomfortable in the church.
"Well, maybe you'll work up the courage to go to the cemetery," she said. "Sara needs all of her friends right now to get her through this." She hoped her emphasis on the word 'friends' wasn't too pointed. But he didn't need to get any ideas about comforting a grieving widow.
"Sara's strong. She can survive anything."
The way he said that confused her. Resigned belief with a touch of bitterness. "You sound awful certain about that," she pressed.
"I've witnessed her resilience first hand." His resentment lay bare in front of her, no longer hidden behind a cheerless smile. The power of it startled her more than the double doors that led into the sanctuary swinging open.
The service was over, and the mourners in the back of the church started to file out. Laura stubbed out her cigarette in the plant she'd been using as an ash try. When she looked up again, Gil Grissom was gone.
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To Be Continued