Author's note: I'm going to forego the excuses. Suffice it to say, I wish I had posted this literally months ago, and I hope those of you who were enjoying this story before can enjoy it again. We're so close to the end now, and it's been such a great ride, at least on my end, despite the long breaks between chapters. I want this story to have the ending I always meant for it to have, and I thank all of you who reviewed for keeping me going.
This chapter fought me tooth and nail every step of the way. I'd love to hear from you about how it turned out.
Moments of Truth
Chapter Ten
"Would you get your damn head in the game?"
Officer Whitehead shook fingerprint dust from his work boots, cursing under his breath and shooting an icy glare Greg's way.
Greg looked up, and swallowed a lump in his throat.
He was too damn emotional for this job tonight.
"Sorry." Greg accompanied the words with a slow shrug of his shoulders, looking apologetic.
The burly cop shook his head and walked away.
Nick approached Greg's side, sealing an evidence bag.
"You got nothing to be sorry for," Nick told him, without meeting his eyes.
"I'm clumsy tonight."
"Happens to the best of us," Warrick chimed in from just a few feet away, gesturing to a mess of molding cement that was starting to dry on one leg of his pants.
Greg nodded his acknowledgement and turned back to continue fingerprinting the outside door knob of the first-floor motel room.
"Hey, Greg?" Nick called quietly, looking a little uneasy.
"Hmmm?"
"Greg?" Nick called again, waiting for him to look at him.
"What?" Greg asked, turning to meet his gaze.
"You do good work."
Nick nodded at him, as if to confirm what he was saying.
Greg just looked at him. Surprised. And then a little touched.
"Yeah," he said after a moment. "Yeah, some days, I guess. I'm no CSI-Three-Nicky-Stokes, but…"
He shot a friendly grin Nick's way, and the slight awkwardness of their serious moment was broken. Nick allowed himself a little smile too. And then got back to work.
Greg finished with the fingerprints quickly, and then found himself wandering toward the motel parking lot, looking for Brass.
"Hey," he greeted when he found him, standing off to the side of the action, supervising. Or maybe just thinking.
"Hey. How's it goin' over there?"
"Typical, save for a minor mishap or two. How are things on your end?"
"Going about as well as usual," Brass told him, in a tone that said that that wasn't very well.
"You doing okay?" Greg asked as casually as he could manage.
"Sure, sure. You know."
"Yeah."
The two men watched the crime scene rather than each other.
"Hey Brass?"
"Yeah?"
"You think they've started yet?"
Jim Brass sighed as he looked at his watch.
"Not yet. But soon."
…
Gil Grissom silently cursed himself.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Even now… even with the person he was closest to in this whole damn cruel world about to go into a surgery she might not survive… even when the least rational parts of him wanted to cry or scream or plead…
Even when it might be a case of now or never…
He still wasn't sure he could say what he needed to say.
He'd made an unconscious but very real promise to himself so very many years ago, to be so very careful with three particularly tender words.
Even if he was ready to say it – and he wasn't altogether sure that he wasn't – he didn't know how to go about it.
And so he stood outside her hospital room, and waited.
He watched the others come and go. Saying whatever they needed to say.
He waited his turn. Dreaded his turn.
And cursed himself.
…
Grissom and the others had told Sara to keep a positive attitude, to believe she would survive the surgery just fine.
She couldn't think like that, Greg had told her again and again.
But she had to think like that.
She didn't want to be positive.
She wanted to be prepared.
She wanted goodbyes.
She had shared a few words with Brass earlier, during a brief visit, and though they hadn't had time to say much before he had to get back to work, they'd both said all that they needed to say the day that she had told him that she was sick.
Nick and Warrick and Greg had all been by, separately, just before shift. All of them wanting her to know how hard it was going to be to work tonight. All of them wanting to know what they could do for her.
She'd asked Nick and Warrick to keep an eye on Greg for her. If it came to that. To tell him, once in a while, because she couldn't anymore, that he was good at his job.
She'd also thanked Nick, of course. For finding her brother. For giving her a chance.
He'd gotten teary. She'd gotten teary. It was the story of her life, lately.
She'd asked Greg to find a way to be there for the others. If it came to that. To check in with them, make sure they were doing okay. She'd asked him this for his own sake. Because all she had left to give him was something to give her.
Now, Sara needed to speak to her brother before anyone else.
He was preparing for surgery, too, after all, and he needed time to say a potential goodbye of his own.
It was a just-in-case sort of goodbye, since the risks were far lower for Josh, but Sara knew he planned to run up a bit of a phone bill calling a certain special six-year-old in Albany.
Sara was tempted to get in on that phone call herself, to speak to the niece she'd never met, and tell her that she was her family, and she'd been thinking a lot lately about what family meant, and that she wanted to know her.
But that wouldn't be fair to the kid. Especially not if she died. And there was no denying that she might.
She'd have to send her a message.
Just in case.
"You do me a favor?" Sara asked quietly when Josh came into her room again.
"Another one?" Josh teased, a gentle smile on his face as he made his way over to her bedside.
"You'll tell her about me?"
"Already have," he told her simply. "But I'll tell her again."
"Tell her I wanted to know her."
"I will." He waited a beat. "But five bucks says you'll be telling her yourself."
He forced a smile when she said nothing in response.
"What's the matter?" He asked lightly. "Not a better? Aren't you supposed to be from Vegas?"
"Could you stop…" she asked him, feeling her throat tighten with the threat of tears for what must have been the millionth time. "Could you just stop pretending this is no big deal? When I'm lying here… trying to figure out how a person says thank you… for something like this…" she whispered the last of this, and hot tears filled her eyes.
"Far as I'm concerned, Darlin," he started, his voice barely louder than hers. "This is just us getting closer to 'even'."
She opened her mouth to say something, and he cut her off.
"We'll save the mushy stuff for later."
He squeezed her hand, bent over to kiss her forehead briefly.
Her tears spilled over onto her cheeks, and she watched him nod and then turn to head for the door.
He stopped just before exiting the room. Hesitating. Afraid to leave her, because he knew as well as she did that this could be it. All they'd have left together, after all of these years.
Truth be told, he was all talk. He wasn't any more sure than she was that this would turn out right. Life had never favored either of them much.
He stood there by the door, and pressed his lips together hard for moment, warding off tears of his own.
"Always did love you more than I ever said," he told her. "Still do."
He nodded to himself, and tried to turn and leave.
"Hey," she called.
He turned back, his head bowed but his eyes looking up at her.
"Goes for me too," she told him.
"I'll see you later," he half promised and half pleaded.
And then he slipped out, and she lay there, in near silence, waiting.
Catherine approached her bedside a moment later. Looking a little overwhelmed, and a lot determined.
She sat down, ready to get right to the point.
But Sara had something she'd been meaning to say, too.
"Can I ask you a favor?" Sara asked, before Catherine could speak.
"Sure," Catherine answered easily, fully expecting Sara to ask her to be there for Grissom if she didn't make it through.
Sara struggled to take a deep breath.
She'd thought about this too many times… and never said it out loud…
"Lindsey's going to want to know everything… about Eddie. She saw him hurt. And he died. And he was her dad." Sara broke off for a second. "And I've been that girl… Sooner or later, she's going to ask a lot of questions."
"She's, uh… she asks me about it once in a blue moon."
"When she wants to know everything… when trying to understand who he was and why he died starts to mean a lot to her… when she wants to know why no one was ever punished…" Sara's face crumbled into tears. "Can you just promise me you'll tell her I tried?"
"Sara…" Catherine shook her head, getting more than a little emotional herself. "It's not… you gotta know that… " She shook her head some more, at a loss, then finally just nodded. "I'll tell her. She'll know."
Sara managed a hint of a nod.
"I'll tell her," Catherine continued, "That some cases can't be solved, and it's no one's fault except the person who committed the crime. And then I'll tell her that there are a lot more bad guys who got away from me than you." Catherine waited a beat. "Of course, then I'll have to point out to her that that's only because I've been at this job longer than you."
They shared a sad little smile, and then Catherine took a deep breath. Ready to say what she'd come in here to say.
"You should know…" she started, the words sounding sincere but rehearsed, "I know we've had our differences. But we've always been two smart women on the same side of the fight. And I've always known that. And it always mattered."
Sara gave her a crooked little smile.
"You hated me."
"I hated that I had no reason not to respect you." Catherine paused. "And that was a long time ago." She paused again, took another deep breath. "I'm not eager to deal with the trail of broken men you'd leave in your wake," Catherine told her. "And as much as I didn't want you on the team when you first got here… that's about as much as I'd hate to see you go now. Especially like this. So you're going to have to win this fight."
"I'll try."
Catherine nodded, and then got up and wandered toward the door, seeming unsure about whether she was finished with this little visit or not.
She did make her way out the door after a moment, and then it seemed to Sara that she was alone for a long time.
It was probably just a few mere minutes. But she might not have many left.
When Grissom finally stepped into the room, she had the thought that he looked about as shaky and pale as everyone said she did.
He sat down by her bed, and leaned in close to her, and reached out with a feather-light touch to brush his fingers over hers.
He couldn't seem to look at her.
He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.
So she went first.
"Do you remember… the first time we met… the first time we talked… you commented about… that I was one of six women at the seminar…" She studied his eyes, noted the vague recognition.
"Yes."
"And I told you," she continued, a bit breathless. "That… statistically… most girls lose interest in science by sixth grade. That the call to be cool is just too strong. And you looked at me… and you said it was tragic…" She paused, and he turned dark, watery eyes up to meet hers. "You used that word," she told him meaningfully. "And I just stood there, looking at you… thinking, 'here's this man, who's seen what he's seen and knows all the horror of the world as well as he does… and to him, this is tragic.'" She paused, waiting for him to meet her eyes. "And just for the record… in case you were wondering… Because it seems to me that this is something you should know… I'm pretty sure that that's when I fell for you. Right then and there."
He exhaled a ragged breath, squeezing one of her hands between his.
"Sara…" his voice nearly trembled. "I don't… I don't want to say that you're everything to me. I've never wanted to say that…" He paused for a long moment. His eyes tortured. His jaw set. "But Honey, I think it might be true…" He took a breath, composed himself a bit. "I let things get in the way, and it wasn't just the job… and I'm not saying this now because it looks like I won't have to face a real relationship with you, because I wish I could count on having to face that fear instead of this one. I hope, I pray, that…" He quieted. Grappling for the words. And when he finally found them, they weren't his own. "That, 'this is not the end. It is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.'"
He looked into her eyes, and waited. Seeing recognition there. Hoping she would have the answer.
Because it would mean so much.
Just to know. To be reminded. To be reassured.
That they were still riding that same wavelength.
Still united by their twin minds.
Like they always had been.
Like maybe somewhere in this crazy twisted world there was some semblance of something meant to be.
"Winston Churchill," Sara breathed.
Grissom nodded.
And broke down.
"I do love you," he murmured. "God help me, I do love you."
…
For too many hours Grissom sat through that unique hell that is waiting while a loved one goes through a surgery that might not be survived.
For all the peculiarities of his character, this experience really wasn't any different for him than for anyone else.
He sat still and tense until Catherine made him get up and walk, because his hands were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had gone white, and the rest of him was hunched over in his chair in much the same state.
He paced for a while. Thinking. If a random series of curses and pleas and bargains with any available higher power could be called thinking.
He'd give her everything he had. He'd promise forever. He'd be someone's husband, and even someone's father, if that's what she wanted. He'd do it all. Without a second's hesitation. If they could just have more time…
When his legs threatened to fail him, he sat down.
Several times he stopped just short of begging Catherine to get someone to get some answers.
It was too damn many agonizing hours before they finally had something to tell him.
But nothing had ever been more wholly worth the wait.
"Things went as well as can be expected," the doctor informed them.
And Grissom's knees threatened to give out again.
"She's… she's… she's okay, she's doing well…?"
Grissom cautiously released the breath he was holding, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"As well as can be expected," the doctor repeated, and though there was a note of warning in his tone, Grissom didn't hear it.
He heard very little after that, in fact.
He tried to listen, to get the relevant information, but he couldn't hear over the rushing blood in his hears, couldn't see through the sheen of his own tears.
"She had her transplant," he said to Catherine, when the doctor had gone.
Just wanting to hear those words out loud.
"I know," Catherine said, indulgently, smiling.
"And she's doing well."
"Reasonably well. I heard."
"I… need to go find out when I can see her."
"I'll call the others," Catherine offered, and Grissom looked up at her as if that thought had never occurred to him.
"Yes. Please do."
She gave his shoulder a quick squeeze, then pulled out her phone and turned to wander down the hall in the opposite direction from him.
She never saw him drop into one of the ugly little hard plastic chairs. Never saw the single, pronounced rise and fall of his shoulders and chest as the relief hit.
He sat with Sara just as soon as they let him.
Rejecting the thought that there were still no guarantees.
Embracing the thought that she was healing.
Still weak, still sick, still lying in a hospital bed, pale and lifeless and hooked up to too many machines…
But it all looked so different now.
She was healing rather than dying.
Getting better rather than worse.
And now they had a future. Together.
It was an absolutely mindblowing thought.
He couldn't picture it.
But he held onto it. And to her hand.
And he remembered the important things.
Sara was okay. And Sara was everything.
That was what he had established today.
Sara was okay. And Sara was everything.
And this was just the end of the beginning.
…