Somedays, I pray
Someone will blow me away
Make it quick
But let it burn
So I can feel my life fade
Well I'm a waste
And I can taste
How bitter I've become
And it's more than I can bear
An hour later, the two were seated across from one another in an overstuffed booth at the back of a twenty-four hour diner, silently sipping their respected cups of coffee and waiting on their meals. It wasn't any place special, just a hole-in-the-wall a couple miles off strip, well known for its anonymity. At six in the morning, it was practically deserted, with about six other couples scattered throughout the open room. Christmas music from a radio behind the counter quietly added to the cadence of the room, shading the deep conversations of the diner's other occupants. Fake greenery strung with blinking Christmas lights ran across the low wall that divided their table from the rest of the world, and Sara found herself staring at those damn lights, cursing them for their ability to annoy the hell out of her and yet leave her utterly transfixed.
Her musings were cut short as their waitress, a robust older woman with wild, crazy white hair and an off-kilter nametag stamped with the letters EDNA, approached their table.
"Two fried eggs with a side of bacon and sausage," Edna said, in a voice that could only be attributed to years of hard alcohol and smoking three packs of cigarettes a day, as she threw the plate down in front of Greg. "And blueberry pancakes for the lady. Now, is there anything else…" a fit of hacking coughs stopped her mid-sentence, as she doubled over and leaned on the table for support, her elbow dangerously close to Sara's plate. About thirty seconds later, her coughing spell ended and Edna walked away from the table, leaving a disgusted Sara and Greg behind.
"Okay, so please explain to me how you can willingly light a cigarette after seeing that?"
"Now I see, this whole taking me to breakfast thing was really just an excuse to launch your anti-smoking campaign," a slight smirk danced on Greg's face for a split second, never reaching his eyes.
She smiled nonetheless, trying to appear lighthearted enough for the both of them. "Well, now you've gotten my ulterior motives all figured out." A brooding, stony silence was his only response. Even though it was obvious that he wasn't in the mood for conversation, Sara kept talking to him, asking him questions.
"So why aren't you at home with your family? I mean, it is Christmas and all."
Greg stopped poking at his eggs and set down his fork. "I could ask you the same question."
"Ah, but I asked you first."
"Well, my mom and I don't really see eye to eye that much anymore. She's" he paused searching for the right words, "a little overbearing, so I try to avoid her by all means necessary. And when I overheard Nick saying how badly he wanted to go back to Texas, I saw my chance for a lecture-free Christmas and I couldn't pass that up." He took a quick swig of his orange juice and fixed his eyes on her smugly. "Now, I believe it's your turn."
"Well," she began, smiling wryly, "my mom and I don't really see eye to eye."
"Oh, now that's just plain mean." He really was smiling now and that distant look was fading from his face. "So are your parents still together then?"
Sara cleared her throat and shifted her weight, obviously unnerved by the question.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry, I just-"
"No, it's okay. My dad just—well, he died when I was younger."
Greg didn't give her the shocked look she was expecting, instead giving off nothing but curiosity. "Mine did too."
The two stared at each other for a moment, both realizing just how little they knew about the other. Despite working together for over four years, they really hadn't gotten that close. In fact, this was the first time she'd ever met Greg outside of work.
Sara asked the pending question first. "How did he die?"
"Car accident. He fell asleep at the wheel on his way home from work. Wasn't wearing a seatbelt, so you know how the rest goes."
She nodded and continued with her questioning, although the goal behind her questions had changed. "How old were you?"
"Ten."
"Wow, you were just a little kid. That must have been hard."
Greg nodded, accepting the sincerity of her words. Refusing to suffer the brunt of the questioning any longer, he started hailing his questions at her. "How old were you?"
"Sixteen."
"How did he die?"
She cleared her throat. "He was murdered."
"So that was why you became a CSI then, huh?" Sara had noticed the shift in their question and answer game, but she responded anyway.
"Well, I had an amazing mentor who showed me just how exciting this field could be."
Greg's expression became dark. "Grissom." It was a statement, no question needed.
Sara awkwardly smiled, uncomforted by his tone. "I – it's hard to explain. He helped me out when no one else would, he taught me so much."
"So since your dad died, he became your father figure. Like a dad, right?"
His tone angered her. "Greg, don't–"
He held up his hand apologetically, and flashed a small smile. "I'm sorry, Sar. I'm a little on edge and I didn't mean to take it out on you. It's just been a rough day, you know?"
"Nah, it's okay," she began, feigning lightheartedness, and obviously changed the subject, "I guess I became a CSI because I was always a science nerd."
"No surprise there, I guess some people are just born with the science gene, huh? I mean, I used to be such a nerd –"
"Used to?" she could resist teasing.
"Haha," he sarcastically muttered under his breath. "Anyway, I USED TO be such a nerd in high school. My girlfriend at the time," he sent her a quick smirk, sensing the look of disbelief on her face, "that's right, I had one. Anyway, she used to say that I reminded her of that guy Brian from the movie The Breakfast Club. She used to call me that sometimes. Though, the first time she did, it confused the shit out of me," he paused, remembering. "Just so happened her ex-boyfriend's name was Brian." He finally stopped talking and realized that he had been rambling…he blamed his nerves, or possibly his need to salvage the conversation. "God, I love that movie."
If Sara noticed his nerves, she ignored them and tried to reestablish the lighthearted conversation. "Never seen it."
He shot her a look of horror. "What?"
"I guess I just never got the chance".
"Well, you haven't lived. How could you have been a teenager in the eighties and never watched that movie?"
Sara was cracking up now. "It couldn't have been that good."
Greg raised his right hand in the air, swearing in. "It changed my life." He dropped his arm and grinned. "No, but it really was an—"
"Awesome movie, and my life won't be complete until I see it." She grinned and lifted her coffee cup to her lips, blowing on it before taking a sip. The steam spread across the table, floating across the slowly decreasing space between them. With the recent turn the conversation had taken, she had forgotten the whole purpose of this breakfast and took the turn to get back on topic.
"So how do you feel about today? Everyone's first suicide case is tough," she stated as she set her mug down. "But you handled it amazingly well."
The smallest trace of a blush flickered across Greg's cheeks as he flashed that mega-watt smile for the first time since they'd left the Johnson home.
"Thanks. I just—felt like I—I don't know." Greg shifted his weight and nervously pulled at the sleeves of his dark jacket. "I knew why he did it."
Sara tilted her head, puzzled. "Well, yeah Greg, it's usually easy to uncover if the victim left a note."
"No Sara, I understand why he did it." In that moment, his eyes locked in on hers; she had never noticed just how expressive his eyes were. She felt as if she were literally staring into his soul.
Then suddenly she understood. The explosion at the lab came crashing back into memory, months of suppression finally wearing off. She could hear the glass shattering, could feel the heat of the blast, as if it just happened yesterday. And she remembered the face of Greg, meeting her eyes as his head fell to the ground, falling into unconsciousness.
Suddenly, Sara realized that the conversation was going deeper than she imagined. And she had no idea what to say.
"You know, I though that the worst of this would all be over when I could finally go a whole day without thinking about the…you know…but it's been over a year and I still can't…"
Sara reached over and grabbed his hand, comfortingly. "I know. I still can't enter the lab without it all coming back to me, but I know that in time, it will get better. I mean, I know that it's been over a year, but eventually it'll be just like it never happened. You know what they say: 'Time heals all wounds'. "
Greg drew back. "For you maybe, but how can I ever get over it, when I have to look at what it's done to me every single day for the rest of my life? How can I get past what I have to see every day?"
'Partial to full thickness burns on 75 percent of his body'.
"I'm just like Ben, you know. Everything he said, I understood. And I don't blame him. I was…" He stopped and leaned back from the table, away from her, away from the conversation. He ran a hand through his unruly dark hair and smiled at her apologetically.
"I'm saying too much. I'm just…going to stop talking now."
Their plates of food sat off to the side, virtually untouched – which was fine with Greg, because, with the way the conversation was going, he didn't feel much like eating. As awkward as the situation was though, Sara kept on pushing. He understood what she was trying to do, and he appreciated it, but the whole situation was just…bizarre.
"Greg, come on. You know that only future serial killers keep their emotions this bottled up." Sara smiled encouragingly as her thumb traced the lines on the inside of his palm. "So spill."
A final tight squeeze and then Greg released her hand gently. With the reserved look he sent her, Sara felt that the conversation was over. And she was right. Moments later, Edna was back, collecting their bills. Still hacking, of course.
Neither said a word as they waited for their change. Sara began flicking the Christmas light closest to her, hitting it with her index finger each time the light blinked.
"Is it supposed to be this hard?" his voice was barely a whisper and he refused to meet her eyes, instead staring blankly into the illuminated greenery.
"Well," she began feigning lightheartedness, "you're asking this to a woman with obvious daddy issues who's never seen The Breakfast Club. I'm probably not the best person to ask. I might be a little cynical." Greg snorted. "Ok, a lot cynical, but God Greg, today you've almost got me beat. I don't even think I was this bad at your age. Just imagine how bad you'll be when you hit thirty."
Greg burst out laughing, and for a moment, the bright-eyed young man she knew was back. "Just how old do you think I am?"
"I don't know, about twenty-five, twenty-six." Sara smiled, puzzled as to what was so funny.
"Well," Greg broke his intense eye contact with the Christmas lights and smirked at her. "I'm thirty-one."
"Really?"
He leaned over the table toward her, truly smiling now. "Yeah, so now you can date me without feeling like you're robbing the cradle, right?"
She pursed her lips in mock seriousness, ready to respond, but was cut off as old Edna walked back with their change, and something else that she had hidden behind her back.
"You were lookin a little mopey there sweetie, so I thought this'd cheer you up. Merry Christmas, hun," she said as she pulled out the mystery item – a Santa hat – and placed it on Sara's head. With a wink toward Greg, who was giggling like a little girl, she turned and walked away.
Sara immediately moved to take it off, but Greg stopped her. "Come on, Sara. It's Christmas. Plus, it looks cute." He pleaded, cheekily winking at her. Sara could feel her face unexpectedly blushing, something that threw her completely off guard.
Once the duo made it outside the diner, Greg pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Taking a seat on a nearby bench, he inhaled deeply, enjoying the slight burn and slight lightheadedness after the first drag.
"Did you learn nothing from meeting Edna?"
"I think I'd have to smoke a hell of a lot more cigarettes to sound like Edna," he leaned over, pressing his elbows into his knees, and stared at the bustling street in front of him.
Sara walked over to him and stopped directly behind him, leaning on the back of the bench for support. Somehow, she couldn't find it in her to sit beside him – he was no longer the coworker she'd known for years, he felt like a stranger. She looked down to take in this familiar stranger, and, pulled back in horror.
The neck of Greg's shirt had gaped out in his current sitting position, and peeking out of the top of his shirt like distorted spider webs, were Greg's everyday reminders of the explosion. She realized how dumb it was of her to believe that he survived the explosion without a mark, but, once the bandages came off his face with nothing left behind, she assumed it would be the same for the rest of his burns. Out of sight, out of mind, you know. But now she was face to face with the explanation for Greg's reaction to the Johnson suicide, and she felt like an oblivious idiot.
At that moment, Greg turned to face her. "You can sit by me, you know. I swear I won't blow smoke on you."
"I just want to thank you for this." Greg stated once she had joined him on the bench.
"Oh please, I didn't do anything except bombard you with hundreds of questions and take you to breakfast at a diner with greasy food."
"No," he began as he reached to straighten her Santa hat. "You made me forget about everything else for a while." He lowered his hand from her hat, now brushing her hair out of her face. "And remember that everything else isn't that big of a deal." He dropped his hand and turned forward. "I mean, I always forgot that the essential outcome of the explosion was that I survived it. Sure it left me a little different than I was before, sure it freaks people out when they see it, sure I can't go to the beach without an over shirt anymore, but that's nothing when you compare it to the face that I'm still alive." He exhaled, and the duo once again watched the smoke spread throughout the winter air, "I only wish Ben had figured that out sooner."
Sara patted his thigh, "I do too."
"I wish that he had someone like you in his life, someone who could always tell when something was wrong in his life and could make him feel as if his life was suddenly worth living."
Greg paused, thinking he'd said too much.
She smiled and met his eyes. "Greg, is this the part where you tell me that I make you feel alive again?" Greg's nervous laugh was cut short as Sara continued talking.
"You know, I still haven't seen The Breakfast Club, and it sounds like my life is wasted unless I do. Do you have a copy of it?"
Greg gave a short nod.
"Your house isn't too far from here, let's drive over there and watch it, what do you say? I mean, I can think of nothing better to do on Christmas, can you?"
And I'm a bore and I'm sure
I'm a thorn inside of you
That has torn at you for years
The alcohol, the Demerol
These two never could replace
What a minute with you could do
To put a smile on my face
AN: Okay, this has to be the longest time without an update in the history of CSI fan fiction…I think it was about two years? This story just stuck in my head and I just HAD to complete it. Anyway, it's finished, and I hope you all have a VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS! Please review!