JULY AND DECEMBER

Happy ending (revised version)

I wrote the happy ending in 2004 but was unhappy with it. (How ironic)

In the end, I decided to tone down the sappiness. There was no way that Grissom would ever do some of the things I originally made him do!

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

DECEMBER 2004

Grissom suppressed a yawn as the elevator took him to Sara's floor. He was exhausted; driving all the way to Quantico right after arriving from Las Vegas hadn't been very wise. He should have taken the nap that the manager at the Hilton Hotel had suggested.

But taking a nap meant delaying his visit to Sara, and he didn't want to do that. He couldn't wait another day.

Now, as he rode the elevator, he mused on the fact that he was in a federal building, and that his every move was probably being monitored. They had certainly taken long enough to check on his credentials before telling Sara he was there. They hadn't even let him bring the bag he'd brought for Sara. There were gifts in there; they were probably checking them for bombs right now. The thought made him smirk.

He saw his own reflection on the doors of the elevator, and marveled at the fact that he felt as calm as he looked. Shouldn't he be more nervous? After all, there was a lot at stake; whatever happened in the next couple of hours–in the next couple of minutes, actually, depending on Sara's reaction- would determine the rest of his life.

Maybe Greg's enthusiasm had rubbed off on him?

Grissom smiled to himself as he recalled how Greg helped him plan all this; he'd helped with the flight and the hotel reservations, and then he'd provided Grissom with an excuse to see Sara: he asked everyone from the night shift to get a Christmas card and/or gift for Sara, which he would then send to her.

That was Grissom's cue; as soon as Greg started talking about FedEx and DHL, Gil casually mentioned that he would attend a conference in Washington, and that he could drop the gifts to Sara while in the neighborhood.

It was the sort of coincidence that had probably fooled nobody, but no one commented on it.

'The rest depends on you,' Greg said the night before Grissom's flight.

'Now, what are you going to say when you finally come face to face with Sara?'

'That's private,' Grissom had said with a scowl.

But Greg had insisted.

'Hey, I don't want you to say something lame to her, Grissom. Come on,' he prompted, 'Just pretend Sara's here.'

When he saw that Grissom would not even discuss the matter, Greg changed tactics, launching on a long speech on clothes and their effect on women. Grissom listened until Greg offered to help him shop for a new outfit. Grissom balked.

The elevator was now approaching the 12th floor, and Grissom took a deep breath.

And suddenly, he wished he'd planned what he was going to say to her, because his mind was a blank.

The doors opened, and he found himself face to face with Sara.

"Sara," He said, as if she was there by some happy coincidence and not because he'd specifically asked for her.

Her eyes seemed to brighten at the sight of him -but only briefly. So briefly, in fact, that he wondered if he had only imagined it.

Her smile certainly didn't seem like the smile of someone happy to see him. It was a business-like smile.

"Grissom," She said noncommittally.

Gil hesitated for a moment, and then he stepped into the hallway. The doors closed behind him.

For a moment, they stood in the middle of the hallway, staring at each other in silence.

Grissom thought he would know, as soon as he looked at her, whether coming to see her was a good idea or not. He'd always been able to read her emotions, even when he didn't want to; all he'd had to do was look into her eyes.

But this time there was nothing to see, nothing to infer. She simply stared back at him, just as she would stare at a stranger –and not even an interesting stranger at that.

It was unsettling.

She spoke first.

"Let's go to my office," she said, motioning him to follow.

Grissom glanced sideways at her. She was wearing a white lab coat, so at least there was something familiar about her. Her hair was severely drawn back from her face into a tight bun; she wore no jewelry and very little make up -

She glanced at him.

"Everything all right, Grissom?" she asked, cutting into his observations.

"Yes," He said, as if the question surprised him. She shrugged slightly.

"It's just so unexpected," she explained, "Seeing you here, I mean."

"I just dropped by for a visit."

"Dropped by all the way from Las Vegas?" she asked expressionlessly, "That's hard to believe."

She led him to the office at the end of the hallway. It was small, and the few pieces of furniture filled the little space there was -a desk, a filing cabinet, a couple of chairs. The only window was barred.

Sara sat behind the desk and motioned Gil to take a visitor's chair.

He smiled faintly as he sat. Their positions were reversed now.

"So, what are you doing in Washington?" she asked. The cordiality in her tone softened the abruptness of the question.

"Well, actually…" He realized he didn't where to begin. Too late, he realized that Greg might be right; one shouldn't improvise these situations. He should have practiced what he was going to say.

In the end, he repeated the same lie he'd told his coworkers back in Las Vegas.

"I'm in town for a conference," he explained, "When Greg found out, he decided to -"

She frowned.

"A conference?" she interrupted, "That's odd. I keep tabs on all forensic conferences; I don't remember anything about a -"

"It's not on Forensics." He said abruptly, "It's… for Entomologists."

"Oh." She said, "Well, it's still odd, Grissom. December's not a good month for conferences or seminars."

"We're a weird bunch." He said evasively.

Sara didn't comment on that. She merely looked at him and waited.

Grissom glanced away. He noticed the few FBI posters on the wall behind her, and then he looked down at her desk, where the few objects on it were all work-related. There was nothing personal in her office; if her name hadn't been on the door, he wouldn't have known where to look for her.

"So." Sara said, interrupting his musings again.

He looked at her, and it suddenly hit him, the fact that she probably didn't want him there, looking at her office and at her desk, prying into her new life -

He forced those thoughts to the back of his mind.

"So, you're teaching the seminars now." He said amiably. It was pointed, how much their roles had changed. Even their seating arrangement was reversed. This was her office and her desk, and she was in control now.

And by her behavior so far, it was obvious that she was not going to make things any easier for him.

Just as he'd never made it any easier for her.

He searched for something safe to ask.

"So, do you like teaching?"

"I do," she nodded. She kept her gaze on him, as if waiting for the next question. When Gil didn't speak, she added, "I, hum, have a class in ten minutes -"

He took the hint. He still hadn't told her what he was in Quantico for.

"I got you some gifts," he said abruptly.

Her eyes widened.

"You do?" she asked.

Grissom realized that she thought the gifts were from him, and so he rushed to explain.

"Everyone from the night shift sent you something," he said quickly. "It's a huge bag," he added, "I was hoping to bring it up with me but the people downstairs wouldn't let me. They probably think I brought a bomb with me," he added, and in a tone that said, 'can you believe those idiots?.'

A year ago, she would have laughed in complicity; now, she simply nodded.

"We're pretty vulnerable here," she explained, "We have to take precautions."

He noticed the 'we' and the patronizing tone she used. She really was part of the FBI now.

The thought saddened him.

"They're just Christmas gifts, Sara." He said gently, "Everybody sent you something, by the way. Even people from other shifts chipped in."

He watched her as he said this. She'd been frosty and serious all along, but as soon as she heard him mention her coworkers, her expression softened. Finally, she flashed him a genuine smile.

"How's everybody?" she asked.

"They're ok," he said. "Busy," he added.

She smiled, a faraway look in her eyes now.

He leant forward. "They miss you, Sara."

She held his gaze for a moment and then she dropped it.

He deliberately added, "But you already know that; Greg says he's been asking you to come back from day one."

She didn't reply but there was still a faint smile on her face, and Grissom took this as a good sign.

"Sara, I was wondering if we could talk-" he started.

She pressed her lips together, thus erasing the smile.

"Well," She hesitated, "I have classes all afternoon -"

"That's all right," he said good-naturedly, "We can talk later."

"-and I have some paperwork to do." she finished, still without looking at him.

"I can wait, Sara."

"Grissom, this is a bad time -"

"Can't we go out? Later?" he said desperately, "I was hoping we could talk over din-"

Sara looked up sharply and flashed him a look that said, 'Don't you dare say that word.'

It worked. Grissom didn't finish the phrase. But he wasn't discouraged at all. Ironically, seeing her react like this gave him hope; it meant she wasn't as indifferent as she appeared to be.

And she was clearly chagrined at her sudden lack of control. She took a deep breath and when she looked at him again, her expression had somehow changed, the frostiness gone, replaced by wariness.

"Grissom -" she said, "Look. It's not that I don't appreciate what you did," she said slowly, "I do. I just don't think this is a good idea. If you leave the gifts at the reception area, I'll go pick them up later."

Grissom looked at her. He knew she could have simply have him escorted out of the building. The fact that she didn't do this gave him yet more hope. He didn't want to take advantage of her good nature, but there was no other way.

"Sara, I can wait until you're finished with your paperwork," he said calmly. "I have nothing to do today," he said, "Or tomorrow," he added before she could voice another objection. "Besides, I promised to deliver those gifts in person."

Sara sighed.

"I guess we could go down to the cafeteria-"

"Sure." He said, "If you don't mind people eavesdropping on us."

He was shamelessly manipulative when he had to.

Sara opened her mouth to reply but the sound of the elevator doors opening interrupted her. Suddenly, the hallway became alive with the voices of several people talking at the same time. Sara's pupils.

Sara glanced at her watch and then at Grissom.

"The new recruits," she said. She rose from her seat, "I've got to go -"

Grissom rose too.

"What about us?" he asked.

"Grissom -" she glanced at the door. She didn't want anyone listening to this conversation.

"Couldn't we meet somewhere more private?" He asked hurriedly, "The guys sent cards too and I think some of the messages are quite emotional; you don't want to read those in public."

She was silently pleading with him but he ignored this.

"Sara -" he started. "Please," he said simply.

The magic word.

"All right." She said. "We can meet later, at my apartment." She patted the pockets of her lab coat and took something from one of them –a card. "My apartment is at the Stafford Building. I'll be there at eight." She said, "Just show the card to the guy at the reception desk."

TBC