Disclaimer: I do not own CSI.
Note: This chapter is written from Grissom's perspective. Please read and review!
As Grissom massaged his temples with the fingers of his right hand, he bought himself time to consider his situation. Sara might talk to him if he tells her why he doesn't respect her. Well, this is interesting- she might NOT talk even if I do answer her and I already do respect her. Why doesn't she understand that?
After several long seconds, Sara gave an exasperated sigh, jerked the passenger side door open, and flung herself from the vehicle. Grissom knew this flurry of angry activity stemmed from his lack of answer thus far, and he didn't want to lose her now. Grissom called out, "Sara, wait." She continued her trek to her apartment complex's front doors. The only thing left to do was to follow her. Grissom exited the Denali in a hurry because he knew that once Sara crossed the threshold, she'd never open the automatically locking lobby doors for him. He caught up to Sara just as she walked through the doors; he followed Sara inside, and again said, "Sara, wait." This time, he added, in a rather small voice, "Please." Sara glanced around at him as she began climbing the stairs to the second floor, but didn't say anything. Grissom continued following Sara until they reached her apartment door. "Sara, please, I want to talk."
"Fine. I can't wait." The sarcasm was practically dripping from her words as the two of them entered the cozy, well-decorated living space. Grissom closed the door behind him, feeling trapped as he did so, and remained standing by the door.
"Griss, I'm not going to attack you," Sara said, with a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. "You're allowed to sit down."
Grissom moved to the couch and sat down. Sara chose the armchair next to the couch, and crossed her legs and arms as she sat down. Grissom noted her defensive position, and it only served to make him more nervous than he already was. It was now or never…
"Sara, I don't know what to say. I know you are angry with me, and I feel like I have hurt you as well." Getting no response to his words, not even a non-verbal one, Grissom could only hope he was on the right track. He took a deep breath, again massaging his temples, and continued, "Sara, do you remember when you said to me, 'I wish I was like you. I wish I didn't feel anything.'? It took me a while to understand where those harsh words came from, and it took me even longer to give justice to them. I want to explain why you felt it necessary to accuse me of being unfeeling." As Sara scowled and looked like she was going to interrupt, Grissom held his hand up and implored, "Please, Sara, let me continue." She settled back into her chair, her bold brown eyes fixing on Grissom's, allowing Grissom to note the emotions in Sara's face. He saw curiosity, hurt, discomfort, and maybe even embarrassment.
Grissom continued, "Sara, I am not unfeeling. When I first chose to use my love for insects and science in a forensic capacity, I learned quickly that it was necessary for me to hide my emotions. On my first case as a forensic entomologist, I was taken to a dump site; a 6 year old girl had been buried in a shallow grave, so shallow that she was not protected from the elements or the carnivores. Her form was hardly recognizable as human, she was so damaged. As I catalogued the quantities and varieties of insects that were residing in the poor girl's body and collected specimens for testing and creating a timeline, I found tears rolling down my cheeks. I was a grown man in my 20s, for Heaven's sake, and I was crying. I hadn't cried in years. I was a man; men don't cry." Again Sara opened her mouth, ready to interject, but Grissom wanted to continue his monologue uninterrupted, so again, he held his hand up to stop her.
He continued, "My supervisor caught me crying as we both helped the coroner lift the body onto a stretcher, and he wasn't tactful enough to ignore it. He seemed to feel that my tears brought into question my 'ability to cope with the presented assignments I'd have to deal with for the duration of my career as a forensic entomologist' and had nearly decided not to give me a contract, even though my insect evidence on that case brought the killer to justice. I asked for one more chance. I have not cried since then. Most of the time, I work each case strictly as a scientist and not as a being with emotion, or attachments. If I couldn't detach myself from my science, I would have walked out of the lab a long time ago and never come back. But, Sara, I've come back, day after day after day. I've seen corpse after corpse, some young, some old, some with tiny unborn babies inside that were denied the chance to ever meet this cruel world. I've seen bullet holes, burial sites, melted flesh, insect-infested eyeballs, desperate suicides, severed heads, psychotic suspects, and millions of other horrific things. I've been attacked by suspects, I've listened to the reasons for the violence and animosity, I've seen families torn apart, both literally and figuratively, by crime. And yet, I am able to go home every morning and savor the flavors of a home-cooked breakfast. I am able to appreciate the beauty of the sunrise. I can enjoy a movie, a baseball game, or a book. I can do these things because I leave the job at the lab. I have to do that, Sara, or I would be consumed with grief every minute of every day. I would be crushed by the weight of it all."
Grissom sighed and took a deep breath. Telling Sara all of this, telling her about the time he cried, was difficult, and yet, what he still had to say would be harder still. Sara had uncrossed her limbs. She was perched now on the edge of her seat and continued to stare into Grissom's eyes, giving him the strength he needed to continue. She did not attempt to interrupt again.
Grissom closed his eyes. He could not talk to Sara about their relationship while able to note her physical beauty, much less while able to note the intensity of her gaze. After another steadying breath, he continued. "Sara, I have just explained to you that I do feel, but have learned not to show my emotions. Because I suppress my emotions at work, I suppress them almost always; you know how many hours a week I spend in the lab and out in the field, and I come home in the mornings to an empty townhouse, therefore I have no reason to be emotional. That said, I want you to know, I NEED you to understand, Sara, that I care. I care deeply for my team, for my job, and, and, and I care deeply for you," Grissom stammered.
At that moment, Sara reached out and took Grissom's hand. He squeezed her hand gently and gave her a wry smile, which she returned after a moment's hesitation. "Keep going," she urged him. "Keep talking."
"I can't, Sara. I don't know what to say."
"Just tell me the truth, Grissom. Tell me why."
"Why what?"
"Grissom! Just tell me why you CAN'T be in a relationship with me. Why, Griss? I don't get it!" Sara's hair was in her eyes as she yelled at him, and Grissom, without thinking, leaned forward and swept it back behind her ear. Sara's ranting stopped immediately.
"Okay, Sara. Okay." Grissom's voice was exasperated. "I can't be in a relationship with you because I need my job. The lab is all I know, Sara. The people there, including you, are my everything. I live for my job, Sara, and if I lost that because I let my guard down around you, I might still have you, but I'd lose Brass, Catherine, Nicky, Warrick, Greg, Doc Robbins, and everyone else there. I'd no longer be able to use my science to find justice for victims of vicious crimes. I'd be reduced to an unemployed middle-aged man, wasting away in a lonely townhouse collecting bugs and completing crosswords. Or I might still have the lab and everyone in it but you, and I'd forever have to live with the guilt I'd carry for having lost you your job. Sara," he said, his voice softening and cracking, "Can't you see, I've given this a lot of thought and a relationship wouldn't work. I'd never forgive myself if our choices caused me to have to live without your witty comments, without being able to partner with you on my cases, without being able to stare at you as you bend over a microscope with your brow furrowed as you study evidence, without being able to listen to you banter about with Greg, without being able to stand so close to you by the evidence table that I can count each of your eyelashes, without seeing your beautiful body lean against my office doorframe every morning as you say goodbye. I would no longer be whole."
Sara's mouth was slightly open as she stared at Grissom. His mind was in turmoil. He dropped Sara's hand, hung his head, and waited for an answer.