A/N: Another chapter-answering some questions in our way, not as tptb would do it!
Moving Forward
Chapter 2
Grissom left the path as it circled around the broad meadow, already covered with early wild flowers. He had noticed large animal tracks as he walked the trail but none appeared to head in his direction. A few feet beyond the path, he pulled fencing wires apart and crawled between two strands. The fence was a victory—preventing wild horses from trampling the research field—and well marked with yellow caution tape tied to each post. The tape reminded him of his previous career for only fifteen seconds as he picked up his backpack and carefully made his way to the center of the twenty acre patch of isolated land.
He could walk all day, slow, meticulous steps, his eyes searching for larval host plants, yet, he had discovered, he had a nose for finding the right plants. Methodically, he had marked off small sections and examined each area, carefully marking certain plants. His notes and graphs marked where he had looked on previous days so he walked to a large, flat-topped boulder, placed his back pack and water jug in its shade, removed a small camera, several small purple marker flags, and headed south.
A few minutes later, surrounded by leaf mold, plants growing in soft dirt, he found larvae, certain it was what he was searching for.
"Yes," he breathed, sinking back on his heels. He knew he would be here for a while.
In Las Vegas…
The narrow café had its windows covered with large posters of food, announcing breakfast was served twenty-four hours a day. Parking was limited so Jim waited for Sara to pull into a space and then pulled in behind her car.
The revolving door whooshed with cold air as the two entered. Immediately, Sara knew Jim Brass was known at the small restaurant when three waitresses called him by name. One pointed to an empty table and another brought coffee to the table before they got to it.
"Apple juice," Sara said when asked if she wanted coffee.
In the middle of good-natured banter, Jim ordered his "usual" and added that Sara was a vegetarian.
"I'll take a waffle," she said quickly.
The waitress continued her teasing for another minute before leaving them and quickly returned with a tall glass of juice. She asked, "Is this a new girlfriend, Jim?" but did not wait for an answer as an order was called up for her.
"So you come here often?" Sara asked him.
"Not every day, but often enough to know names—and they know mine." He added contents of several blue sugar substitutes to his coffee, stirred, then used the spoon as a pointer. "Okay, Missy, you will not get away from your promise—breakfast and you talk!"
Sara laughed. "I'm fine, Jim—really fine. Gil is fine—we are—we are great."
"Is he home enough? I saw him last summer when he showed up out of the blue—and you took vacation days then." His smile cracked across his face. "Around Christmas, you were looking—well, let's say I noticed a certain look about you."
Sara smiled and nodded. "Christmas was good—great."
Jim's entire face lifted in mock surprise. "Okay—now—where's he keeping himself?"
"We've kept it quiet, Jim—we have reasons. He has a grant with the Nevada Fish and Wildlife to 'investigate' the Mount Charleston blue butterfly—which was placed on the list of endangered species last fall."
Brass made a grumping sound. "Talk about keeping things secret—you haven't said a word! He hasn't called me!"
Sara shook her head and grimaced, saying, "Jim, everyone in the lab knew about that—that horrible debacle with Basderic—and being suspected of murder—and half the lab believes I cheated on him! When I finally got my head together, I decided my personal life needed to be private."
"Well, that was a tough situation, but I knew you and Gil would work things out." He pointed the spoon to her left hand. "What's with the missing ring?"
With her thumb and finger, Sara turned an imaginary ring on her left hand. "I was so angry, Jim—about so much that was happening. And I took it out on Gil—over the phone which is never good." A smile ticked up the corners of her mouth. "We made up."
A quiet laugh came from Jim. "It's true, isn't it?"
Another smile, a bigger grin, "Yeah, making up is the best part."
"But where's the ring?"
Smiling, Sara said, "On my finger when I'm home—but not while I work."
Confusion showed on Jim's face.
Again, Sara smiled and spread her left hand on the table.
At that moment, the waitress returned with plates of food; Sara's waffle and bowl of mixed berries and melon took up a small space. Jim's breakfast filled the rest of the table—a platter of eggs, bacon, and hash was placed before him. Added around the platter was a bowl of fruit, a bowl of oatmeal, a small plate with three biscuits, another bowl of white gravy, and a basket filled with jam, jelly, honey, and butter packets.
With an open mouth, Sara watched in silence as he broke up bacon and stirred pieces into the eggs, buttered two biscuits and poured gravy over them, added honey to the oatmeal, and liberally sprinkled salt over everything except the fruit. When he picked up his fork, he motioned to her food.
"It's good—on Sundays I get the pecan waffle. Now, eat up—while it's hot."
Sara laughed and Jim grinned. Taking her time, she spread whipped butter across the waffle, then picked up a small container of syrup and carefully began to pour a drop into each square of the waffle.
"Keep talking—I'm eating—but I want to hear about the missing ring—why?"
She had about half the waffle covered with drops of syrup. Placing the container near her plate, she said, "Here's the short version: Twice in my life, I have almost been killed." Sara raised her hand and held up one finger. "Natalie—targeted Gil and me because she saw us together. I ended up in the desert, under a car, nearly drowned, almost died from sun stroke—you know that story." Second finger went up. "Ronald Basderic—I don't have to remind you of that one."
Jim was so surprised—or astonished—that he had stopped eating; a fork was in one hand, his knife in the other.
"So—after the embarrassment—the humiliation—of being the object of office gossip—I decided my personal life would be private—very private. As far as anyone connected to a crime knows, I have no personal life! And," she smiled, "Gil and I are fine—we live in the same house, sleep in the same bed—better than we've ever been! He does work more days than I do—but we work that out too."
A soft, deep laugh rumbled from Jim's chest, quickly turning into face-changing joy. He said, "I needed to hear this—I needed to know you are happy. That Gil is happy—that some of us end up being okay—not okay—but fine!" He motioned to her waffle. "Eat!"
They ate and as Sara had far less to eat, she finished first.
Brass noticed. "Tell me more—I want to hear all. What had you so angry—back when—you know, you told the old guy off on the phone."
Shaking her head, Sara said, "Oh, Jim—you know how things escalate. I was trying to get my mother moved to Vegas—it took almost five years with her history to find a place. Work was non-stop. I'd try to get out of town and some crisis would occur—broken water pipe or water heater goes out—or the weather. Then Betty began to have health problems. Hank was sick. And Gil would call when I couldn't talk—I didn't want to call him when I knew he'd be sleeping."
She reached over and forked a strawberry from his uneaten bowl of fruit. "It wasn't his fault—we got so busy with what was going on around us that we forgot to take care of each other." Slowly, she ate the berry before she said, "At some point, both of us realized if we were to move forward, we needed to be together—not living thousands of miles apart!" Smiling, she shrugged her shoulders, saying, "And that's the story, Jim."
He pushed his empty plate away and stacked several bowls on top of it. "Well, you two can keep a secret," he chuckled. "He never showed much interest in females. Yet I knew Gil was interested in you—I think we all did. But then, it became so normal—the two of you—that none of us realized you were," he wagged his hand, "a couple."
"Tell me about Ellie."
Sighing, Jim shook his head slowly. "She's going to plead guilty—forget the 'insane' plea her lawyer is pushing her to do. And I'm paying him—can you beat that? She'll go to prison for a very long time—I'll never live long enough to see her out. But—I think I can live with that. It's—it isn't want I wanted for my daughter but it's what I have."
"I'm sorry, Jim."
"Me, too."
A/N: Tell us what you think? Not complicated was it? This one will be 4-5 chapters. Thanks for reading!