JULY AND DECEMBER

Happy ending

I'd posted this a while ago but decided to do a little revision.

Warning: some sappy old songs ahead (from White Christmas)

Spoiler: Strip Strangler (mention of the FBI agent, Culpepper).

DECEMBER 2004

Prologue: late November

Grissom woke up early in the afternoon. He had crawled into bed after working twenty hours straight on a case that wasn't going anywhere, and he was still exhausted.

What he needed was a full night's sleep, but he knew that if he took the night off, he would not fall asleep. He would simply lie awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking too much. Thinking of her…

Like right now.

Grissom closed his eyes in defeat. Whenever he woke up after a few hours sleep, there was a moment -a few seconds of blissful ignorance- in which he always thought, 'I had a terrible nightmare, thank God I woke up', only to realize that it wasn't a nightmare.

Then he relived her kiss, his rejection, and their final moments together.

He would have dealt with it more effectively if it had only affected his personal life; he would have found comfort in his work, as he had done all his life. Instead, the lab was the one place where he felt Sara's absence the most.

And the worst part was that the people he worked with seemed to know what he was going through. They had taken an unwelcome interest in him lately, treating him with kindness and consideration, as if he were an abandoned lover.

Most of the time they instinctively knew better than to ask him about her; sometimes they came up and baldly asked him about her and her new job, and if he had any news. He was evasive most of the time, merely answering that he didn't know much.

But their interest in him had become too heavy a burden, and so he'd started to keep his door closed, effectively silencing everybody… and putting a strain in his relationship with them.

He didn't think he was being unreasonable; they should have known better than to intrude into his personal life.

But there was another reason for his reticence. The truth was, he didn't know anything about her. He didn't want to admit this; he didn't want anyone to know that she had never answered any of his e-mails or his phone messages.

But her silence was an answer in itself: 'Don't do this anymore. Let me move on'.

He did not send another message after the second week of August. But by then, Sara had contacted Catherine and Greg, and the three had been chatting monthly.

Frustrating chats, according to Greg, since Sara hardly ever said anything about Quantico or about her new home.

Grissom understood Sara's attitude. Not only was she a very private person, she was FBI now. She was bound to be careful; her colleagues were probably her neighbors too, so she couldn't just gossip about the people next door, could she?

And by the little she had told, it was clear that she was doing great. She was working as an assistant instructor in Forensics, but she had already been offered a post at the profilers' unit, as soon as one of their people retired in a year and a half.

Grissom remembered his reaction when Catherine told him this on early September: He had been supremely pissed off.

"She's going to work with Culpepper?" he asked incredulously.

Catherine had relished her chance to reply,

"Hey, it's a job. Maybe she'll rub off on him and improve him. Besides," and she eyed him pointedly, "It's not as if she has never worked with assholes before."

Unfortunately, Grissom had refused to take the bait.

Catherine sighed in frustration.

"You should wake up, Gil."

"What?" he frowned.

"You've been acting as if you're sedated. Ever since that night, you've detached yourself from your feelings. You don't realize this, but one of these days all this accumulated grief will overflow, and-"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, honestly mystified.

"I know you don't. That's why I'm telling you to wake up before it's too late."

She turned to leave, but his words stopped her just as she was reaching for the doorknob.

"I'm relieved"

"What did you say?"

"Deep down," he said, "I'm relieved that she's not here anymore."

She frowned, "Why?"

"I don't have to wonder, anymore." He said simply, "I used to lie awake for hours, wondering when she was going to leave…"

Catherine didn't say anything. There was no point.

It was the last time she had mentioned Sara, but her words remained with Grissom.

He got up hastily. He could only hope that he'd have a heavy workload today. Anything, to keep him from thinking of her –anything to keep his accumulated grief from overflowing.

After all these months, the only one who mentioned Sara in his presence was Greg. Confident to extremes, Greg didn't hesitate to talk about her or about their monthly chats. He would say things like:

"She's doing ok, but she's not doing what she'd like to do; not yet. Culpepper insisted on using her experience in forensics first. Can you believe it? She's stuck in a classroom, dealing with the new recruits when all she wants is to work out there-"

Or:

"She's going to join Culpepper's unit in a year or so. It seems the guy who's retiring is leaving earlier than everybody thought."

Grissom's reaction was always the same: he hummed, "Mmmmh." and he continued peering into a microscope, or picking up evidence from a corpse, or whatever his task was at the moment.

It was late November when Greg finally got fed up by Grissom's apparent indifference. They were both examining a sheet.

"I miss her." Greg said out of the blue. "Sara, I mean."

"Mmmmh."

"She was a good friend."

"Mmmmh."

"I mean, she is a good friend."

"Mmmmh."

"Maybe you don't know this, but-" he paused until Grissom glanced up, "-I used to have the biggest crush on her," he finished, with a little wistful smile.

"I noticed." Grissom said dryly, before turning his attention back to the sheet. "You were rather eloquent about it."

"I was too obvious, huh?" Greg smiled sheepishly; "Well, I just never learned to repress my feelings, Grissom."

"Mmmh."

"I told her." Greg said after a moment.

"Told her, what?"

"That I had a crush on her."

Grissom pretended to be engrossed by a spot on the sheet.

"She was nice about it." Greg said, with a far away look in his eyes, "She let me down gently. She was flattered, she said. That she loved me, but not like that. She also said that she was too old for me-" He scoffed, "Talk about double standards. She was in love with you, after all."

Grissom dropped his magnifying glass.

Greg was glad to see him react at last, but it was a short-lived triumph. Grissom recovered and continued his examination.

Greg shook his head. He knew that Grissom had grieved for Sara in his own way; but what angered the young man was Grissom's apparent resignation.

"I can't believe you can go on just like that, you know?" he said softly, "I mean, you don't see her, you don't talk to her- I couldn't do that. I mean, I don't have a crush on her anymore, but I still like to talk to her. We all do, actually. Nick and Warrick write, and so does Catherine-"

"Good for you."

"And when she writes back, I have the feeling that we're her only friends in the world. She's doing it again, you know."

"She's doing what?" Grissom frowned.

"She's letting the job take a hold of her life."

"You don't know that." Grissom argued.

Greg found a brownish-colored spot on the sheet and he carefully scrapped a sample.

"She's ok." Grissom said, more for his own sake, "Otherwise she would come back. She knows she can come back any time she wants-"

"Maybe she doesn't know that. Maybe you should tell her." Greg said, and when he noticed Grissom's expression, he added, "I know, I know. You think she's still pissed off at you and that she won't take your call or answer your e-mails. Am I right? Well, then maybe you should do something to appease her first."

Greg looked expectantly at him, but Grissom simply continued collecting evidence and filling envelopes with hairs and little unidentified specks.

"Of course…" Greg said after a moment, "If you don't know how to do it, I could help you." He paused, and he smiled when Grissom looked up. "I could write to her and mention –very casually, of course- that you're pining for her."

He waited for Grissom's approval. He got none, so he added, "I could send her a happy Thanksgiving e-card in your name. Or maybe I'll just tell her 'Grissom said hi'-"

"Greg-"

"Wait, wait," Greg said with growing enthusiasm, "Why don't I just tell her that you're grieving like crazy for her? That'll get her attention!"

"Greg, Sara's trying to build up a new life." Grissom said calmly, "We have to give her some space."

"She sure has plenty of space over there; she's all alone."

"She'll find someone, Greg." He said reassuringly, "She'll do great things at the FBI-"

"Yeah, maybe." Greg nodded, "But she'd be happier here, Grissom. We care about her. We're her family. Do you think Culpepper will appreciate her like we do?"

Grissom didn't think so. In fact he had been feeling uneasy about this assignment.

"Besides," Greg added, "Her whole focus is in her job now. Do you think that'll change? It won't. She's just like you. The job will always give her an excuse not to open up to anybody, and in five or ten years she'll be just like you. Is that how you envision Sara's life?"

"She's not like me," he frowned.

Greg groaned.

"Oh, man you're just…" he paused, "You don't understand Sara! She's a workaholic, just like you. She's tried to open up but now she's afraid. Remember Hank? He was interested, but he got impatient with her. It's not just the fact that she loved you too much to give anybody else a chance, Grissom. She's just afraid of falling in love; she runs away from it… but she would have stopped for you."

Greg paused, and Grissom had time to remember her efforts to convince him.

"To tell you the truth," Greg said, "You're not the guy I'd choose for her," he smiled faintly, "but then I can't be impartial about it, right?"

"I wouldn't choose myself for her either." Grissom said slowly.

"But you love her." Greg said, taking off his gloves, "You do, right?"

Grissom sighed.

"I thought so," he said "I thought about this a hundred times, Greg. Look." He tried to explain, "She might have stopped for me; but she would have left eventually." he gulped, "And then I would have been left alone."

"You're alone now." Greg said, patting his shoulder in a kindly gesture, "And even if she had stayed with you for only a month or a year or a week…" he smiled wistfully, "Oh, man. Think of the memories."

December 2004

Love, you didn't do right by me; You planned a romance

That just hadn't a chance-

My one love affair didn't get anywhere from the start

To send me a joe who had winter and snow in his heart

Wasn't smart

"Oh, for God's sake" Sara muttered when she caught herself singing that damn song again. She leant back in her chair and sighed.

What a day.

Not only was it Monday –the day when most of the recruits came in with a hangover- now there was also that song to deal with. She couldn't get it out of her head.

It was her fault, of course; no one had forced her to listen to the CD, or to accept it in the first place.

Last night, Dianne Lee –one of the other assistant instructors- had asked Sara to come over to her place to discuss their classes for the week. They'd done it before; they lived in the same building, and it was convenient.

This time however, there was a big difference, and Sara noticed it from the moment she saw the pained expression in Dianne's face.

"Come in," she said, and moved aside to let Sara enter.

Sara gasped.

She'd just stepped into a place taken out of The Twilight Zone.

Gone were the austere colors of Dianne's furniture, walls and floor. Everything had been smothered under a garish display of Christmas decorations.

"It wasn't me." Dianne said quickly, "My mom's visiting and she insisted on doing all this." She dropped her voice, "She even brought her old rugs -"

Dianne's mother turned out to be a nice, elderly lady who absolutely loved Christmas; she was even watching the movie 'White Christmas' on her daughter's DVD player when Sara arrived.

"You don't mind, do you?" Mrs. Lee had said, "It's a weakness of mine. I love musicals."

"It's Bing Crosby she loves," Dianne muttered to herself.

"And why not, may I ask?" Mrs. Lee replied, "Look at him," she said, motioning them towards the TV screen. "He was the handsomest." Mrs. Lee did turn to Sara and inquired if she didn't mind.

And Sara had assured her that it was ok, even though she dreaded the night ahead. She didn't like sappy musicals and this one looked like the sappiest, with its fake WWII decorations, so plainly made out of cardboard.

But Sara stayed. She needed help to plan her classes, and she also wanted to give Dianne some respite from her mother's Christmas mania.

Actually, it wasn't that bad in the end. Mrs. Lee's turkey sandwiches and eggnog and cookies had been a nice change from the usual pizza and soda that they consumed on nights like these.

And although she would never admit this aloud, she'd grudgingly accepted the fact that sometimes even sappy musicals can hold one's attention.

She'd even hummed one of the songs from the movie –long after it had ended- and Dianne's mother noticed.

"You liked the movie!" she smiled, "Isn't it the greatest? Wouldn't you like to listen to the CD? I brought it along with me, but I know Dianne's getting tired of listening to it."

"Well…" Sara hesitated, "I really don't…"

"Take it," Dianne mouthed desperately behind her mother's back, "Please."

And that's how a Christmas album had made its debut in Sara's old CD player. Hence the song that was now stuck in her head.

'Well,' Sara thought impatiently, 'As soon as I'm finished here, I'm going to go home and listen to every CD I own. At least those were recorded in the last five years."

The phone on her desk rang and she answered it quickly, needing the distraction.

Sara frowned as she listened to the receptionist. She recognized the voice but the words didn't seem to make sense. Something about a visitor… Las Vegas… Dr. Grissom…

It couldn't be.

"Are you sure?" she insisted. But of course, the receptionist wouldn't have announced a visitor if she hadn't thoroughly checked on the person's credentials.

"Let him in." Sara said mechanically.

Sara put the phone down and stared at the wall opposite her desk.

"Mr. Winter-and-Snow himself." She said.

She took a moment to compose herself and then she walked to the door.

TBC