Author's Notes: Once again, my thanks go to PhDelicious for being the kind of beta everyone wants and needs on their side. Even more thanks go to everyone who's reading this, for keeping me inspired.
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The Last Embrace
by Kristen Elizabeth
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September 1984
"That's the third time, Sara. You know what that means!"
Sara looked down at the traitorous Coke bottle, then up at the person to whom it was pointing. Ricky Beale. And from the way his bushy eyebrows were waggling, he was much happier about his fate than she was.
She unfolded her long, still-somewhat gangly legs and stood up with a sigh. "Fine. But someone had better be keeping track of the time."
"Go get her, Ricky!" one of the boys shouted out. As Sara headed for the closet, she received several sympathetic looks from the other girls. Carly's party was supposed to be just girls. But sometime after Carly's parents had gone to bed, the boys had snuck in through the basement.
She'd gone to the party thinking that the worst thing that could happen would be that she'd be forced to undergo a makeover. She'd ended up playing Spin-the-Bottle with the guys who used to make fun of her teeth and her flat chest. And now she was being condemned to Seven Minutes in so-called Heaven with one of them.
But she had to do it. Last year she'd been the freak around school because she read during lunch and got straight A's in every subject. Eighth grade was going to be different. And if she had to stand in a closet with a boy for seven minutes to make school more bearable, it was probably worth it in the long run.
Besides, anything was better than being at home.
The laundry closet was cramped and smelled like detergent. Ricky closed the door, and the only light was from the gap at the threshold.
His elbow bumped into her boob and she was having none of that. Sara crossed her arms over her chest protectively. They'd only just started to grow and she was super-aware of them.
"Hey, Sara," he said. "Fun party."
"Oh, yeah." She rolled her eyes. "So…" What did you talk about with a boy who probably didn't even know the Pythagorean Theorem? "Did you finish the summer reading?"
Ricky cleared his throat. "You know we're supposed to be kissing, right?"
Sara sighed. Typical guy, only one thing on his mind. "I've already kissed you twice."
"You didn't even use your tongue."
Her jaw dropped. "I am not putting my tongue anywhere near yours!"
"That's the rules of the game, Sara." Ricky's hand found her arm and circled it. "Just…stand still. I can't see anything in here." She felt him shuffle closer to her. And then, he was all over her.
Her back hit the washing machine as he pushed her up against it. His lips smashed against hers. His tongue was like a wet snake, sliding everywhere. He grabbed at her chest, squeezing the tender flesh he found. He was sweating and he had B.O. But even worse than that…he had a boner. And it was pressing right into her stomach.
But he had messed with the wrong girl.
"Get off of me!" Sara managed to scream around his mouth. She lifted her foot up and brought it down onto his as hard as she could.
"Shit!" Ricky screamed, releasing her.
She took the opportunity to jab her knee straight into his groin. He went down like a rock, landing at her feet in a writhing pile, groaning loudly.
Sara groped for the handle of the door and flung it open. Everyone sitting in the circle was already turned towards the laundry closet. They were staring at her with accusing glares, like she had done something wrong by daring to come out before the required seven minutes had passed.
Carly, the party's supposed hostess, jumped to her feet. "Oh my god, Sara! What the hell did you do?"
Ricky was still moaning and clutching himself. Sara was pushed out of the way as one of his jock friends came to his aid. "She's a freak," Ricky whined to his friend.
Sara looked at the other girls. Surely they'd be on her side. "He tried to put his tongue in my mouth," she explained.
They were not exactly sympathetic, rolling their eyes and shaking their heads. "You should have let him," one girl said with flip of her Farrah hair. "It's probably the last time you'll have a guy who's willing to."
"Who invited the gap-toothed bitch anyways?" another of the guys asked.
Carly sighed. "Sara…if you're too much of a goody-goody to play the game right, just go home."
Sara was very proud of herself. She kept her chin high as she climbed the basement stairs with her overnight bag. She walked home in the dark.
She told herself not to expect anything waiting for her at home. The whole day had passed without comment from anyone. Adam hadn't even shown up; he had a girlfriend in town, and couldn't be bothered with important dates.
Her mother had stayed in bed all day, nursing a split lip. When Sara had asked if she could go to Carly's, she'd hoped the word "party" might jar her mother's fractured memory. But it hadn't.
He was sitting in the kitchen when she let herself in the back door. He had a bottle of whisky and a half-full glass in front of him, but he was smiling. Sara's shoulders relaxed. This was the point where he was still all right. Another few drinks and it would be over. But hopefully she'd be in her room before then.
"Look who's back!" His words were slurred. "Didja have fun at your party?"
Sara shook her head. "No." She walked by him, quickly and quietly. "Goodnight."
As she passed, he raised his whisky to her with a grin. "Happy birthday, kiddo."
She thought she wouldn't have minded if her father forgot her birthday. But as it turned out, he was the only one who remembered.
Because it was safe to say it, and she still felt it despite everything, Sara walked back to him, kissed his cheek and whispered, "I love you, Daddy."
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The hardest adjustment to make in coming back to the lab as just another CSI was losing his office. The space now belonged to Catherine, who had replaced his shelves with a buttery-leather couch and his functional metal desk with a wood and glass monstrosity that would have set anyone else in the lab back a paycheck or two. But not everyone had a large inheritance from the estate of Sam Braun.
Fortunately Catherine was as generous in life as her father had been in death. Or maybe she'd anticipated a potential problem and taken the measures necessary to eliminate it before it caused any friction on the already-overtaxed graveyard shift. Either way, she'd made arrangements to partition off part of the office that she wasn't using, and converted it into a mini-office for him. It wasn't much, but it was a place to rest his fetal pig.
Two weeks into his new job, which was really just his old job minus the endless paperwork and looming responsibility that came from managing five other people, Grissom was settling back into the familiar pattern of his life before Nick's kidnapping. Before his relationship with Sara had been irrevocably changed.
Grissom reached into the top drawer of his desk. It had been the smallest one he could find in the basement storage area, and it barely fit in the space Catherine had afforded him. But he was still grateful for her gesture of goodwill. He needed a quiet place where he could escape every now and then.
Underneath a stack of papers, he'd hidden a framed picture of Sara; he pulled it out and set it upright on the desk. In Tennessee, it had sat on his nightstand, a constant reminder that all good things must come to an end. He had every inch of the photograph memorized, but he could still stare at it for hours. Her smile was warm, wide and freely-given in the days before the lectures had started to take him away on weekends…before he'd met…
"Grissom, I've got your…" Warrick came around the flimsy partition, catching him completely off guard. He fumbled for the frame and tried to scoop it back into his desk drawer, but he was too late. "…tox report." He paused. "What are you doing?"
"Waiting for that report," he said, standing up to block the picture with his body. He held out his hand for it.
Warrick handed it over somewhat reluctantly. "Sure." Having completed his task, he backed up a step. "See ya."
"Warrick." Grissom waited for him to turn. "Thanks."
"For what? It's just a tox report."
Grissom shook his head. "No. I meant…" The thought was there, but he had no idea how to express it.
Out of everyone he'd left behind, he'd always imagined that Warrick would be the most understanding. He'd explained it to him once, how quickly he would leave when it was his time to go. No parties, no goodbyes. With one small exception, he'd remained true to his word.
But ever since he'd returned to the team, no shoulder had been chiller than the one he'd received from Warrick. As they stood face to face, he realized there might as well have been a brick wall between them. And he had no idea how to maneuver around it.
"If you want to say something, say it," Warrick said with a touch of impatience.
Grissom released a breath. "Is this animosity temporary, or here to stay?"
Warrick put his hands on his hips with a strained chuckle. "I don't know, Grissom."
"Honesty is the best policy."
"Nick always thought so." There was a pause. "You know…my best friend spent the last two years of his life thinking a man he respected in so many ways wouldn't ever forgive him."
Looking down at the floor, Grissom nodded. "I know."
"You let it be his fault. When it had nothing to do with him."
"There were a lot of misunderstandings."
"All he did was love her. And all he wanted was your forgiveness for it." Warrick's brow furred. "But you wouldn't even give him that."
He glanced up. "I couldn't even give it to myself, Warrick."
"You crashed their wedding. Drunk, if I remember correctly. At least you could have come to his funeral." Shaking his head, Warrick stared at his former boss. "His funeral, man! Nick's dead! He's…" He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, forcing everything back. Everything except his anger. "He's gone."
Grissom had no will to defend himself by correcting Warrick. Besides, the man was only wrong about one thing.
"So, yeah…I got animosity. And I don't know when it's gonna clear up." Warrick turned and started off. "From now on, get your own damn reports. I don't work for you anymore."
Grissom ran his hands down the length of his face twice following his departure. While he'd never imagined coming back would be easy, he hadn't known it would be this hard.
His cell phone rang and he listlessly reached for it. "Grissom."
"Gil? It's me."
"Reese." He hung his head. When it rained, it stormed. "Is something the matter?"
On the other end, she hesitated. "No. I just…I just heard you're not coming back. Is it true?"
He let out a sigh. "Yes. I've taken a position here in Vegas."
"Why?" The question was small and soft.
Grissom had no idea what to say. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This was a situation he'd allowed to get completely out of control. And now he had to deal with it.
"Reese, you're an intelligent young woman. And you will go far in this field. I'm honored to have inspired you to whatever degree I have."
"I don't understand," she said, her voice rising a notch. "I thought you liked…" She stopped. "I thought you liked it here."
Grissom pinched the bridge of his nose. "You knew that my appointment at UT was only temporary."
"Yeah, but…I transferred up here just to…"
He gently cut her off. "I never asked you to do that."
"You didn't seem to mind that I did, though."
"Reese…" Grissom lifted his shoulders. "I don't know what to say. If I led you to believe something…"
There was a click and then the dial tone.
Closing up the phone, he shook his head. The photo of Sara lay face down on a stack of file folders. He slipped it back into his desk drawer.
No matter what his intentions, he usually ended up hurting someone.
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To Be Continued