A short chapter...enjoy!

Gil Grissom's Romance Part 2

Chapter 25

Sara and Nick had gravitated to the long garden bench in Sara's back yard, sitting in comfortable silence on opposite ends after being banished from the house. They heard the singing of insects hiding in plants and the low sounds of music from the house; night traffic in the distance murmured as an unnoticed backdrop.

Finally, Nick spoke. "I've been patient," he said. "It's been—what? A year since you told us about you and Grissom. Now you need to tell me about it." He had visited in her home to see the gradual disappearance of photographs; tonight, he'd noticed only two remaining pictures of Gil Grissom, one in a group that included Warrick Brown and another of Sara and her-then-husband in Costa Rica.

When Sara turned to face him, even in the dark, he knew the expression on her face.

He added, "I've been worried about you. You don't talk about—about any of it."

They had finished dinner; not a party, but a gathering of friends. Greg and Morgan had left first; everyone pretended the two were just friends. Jim Brass had insisted on cleaning up and Nick could see the man moving around in Sara's house, gathering plates, cups, and glasses; taking his time after sending the two of them outside.

A long moment passed as Nick waited and Sara seemed to stare straight ahead. He almost gave up, brushing off his query by changing the subject.

"He didn't come home."

Her voice was so quiet. But Nick had the sense to remain silent.

She sighed. "I waited. I honestly thought he'd come home—even after we had a disagreement—I thought he'd come back."

She did not mention that she'd planned, counted on him returning, bought new clothes, a dress, told him where she planned to celebrate her birthday. She thought he would walk in, smiling, ready to embrace her, return to their marriage. But it had all been a fairy tale. She had imagined picking up where they left off—talking, enjoying each other, drinking coffee together—as if nothing had happened.

Nick said, quietly, "We didn't know. You—you've always been so—so quiet about—everything."

He heard a quiet laugh. "I know. Like all of us have a life outside of work."

With a gruff chuckle, he said, "No, I don't. I think Greg might. I walk my dog and sleep."

"You watch ball games," Sara said with a laugh. "Sometimes I watch ball games." Her hand raised and pointed at the house. "I'm learning to play the piano—I'm pretty bad, but I'm learning."

Nick realized she had changed the subject. Keeping his voice quiet, he asked, "Do you know where he is? I mean—does he ever come back to Vegas?" And he had to wait for an answer—three minutes passed.

"I don't. We haven't talked much—not at all in months." Another quiet, and sad, laugh. "He gave me an address in LA—Venice—where his mother lived."

"Before she moved here?"

Sara nodded. "Betty never sold it—rented it for years. Beautiful place on a canal with an apartment on the top floor—that's where I sent some of his things."

"So what's he doing? Do you know?"

Slowly, she shook her head. "He's on a ship somewhere. Saving the planet—he sent a card around Christmas. It came from Tokyo," she made another sad laugh. "Once we were going to meet in Tokyo, but things happened—we never got there"

Her hand covered her mouth and even in the dim light, Nick saw her hand tremble. She looked away from the house, at nothing but darkness in a corner of the yard.

They sat together as minutes passed; neither said anything and he knew the subject of Sara's husband—former husband—was closed. In a while, Brass called from the terrace, motioning with a glass in his hand for them to come and they did.

Nick Stokes knew he was no expert on love; it had been years since he'd had two dates with the same woman. But he thought he knew when someone was still in love and hearing Sara's words, he knew. Sara was still in love with a man who had not come home.

Grissom…

It grew cool over the ocean. The moon was high in the sky casting a glow that reflected brightness into the small room. The slow movement of the ship played with the moonlight to create a surreal effect that usually made for a sense of calm.

Yet, Grissom lay on his bed and stared at the pale sky through the open window; a deep sadness had settled on him after an exhausting day. He knew human cruelty from his career in crime investigation but what he'd seen for two days had been as callous as anything he had experienced in law enforcement. And it had affected him in an unexpected way.

Seventy-one sharks had been cut and left to die. Missing their fins; they had counted sharks of all sizes for two days, marking each one with spray paint as they maneuvered the two zodiacs along an area stretching for twenty miles. Somewhere in the vast ocean, a ship carried the fins, valued at hundreds of dollars each, destined for soup. Shark fin soup.

Grissom found it unbelievable—millions of sharks killed for only the fin to prepare an expensive soup for a few people. Most of the sharks were left alive, to drown; the fin being the most valuable and easily transported. Most of the ones he had seen had been dead, choked on blood, thrown back into the ocean. All he had seen in the months at sea—turtles dead from swallowing plastic bags, dolphins mangled in lines, whales scarred by giant hooks—could not compare to the mass destruction of the sharks.

During dinner, the conversation had been only of sharks—from the Jersey Shore attacks to the U.S.S. Indianapolis to Peter Benchley's Jaws, the book and the movie. Afterwards, a small group had talked about environmental groups—Greenpeace, Sea Shepherd, The Cousteau Society were well-known. Black Fish and Shark Savers were mentioned, less known and using methods that did not always conform to global rules.

Tossing back his bedcovers, Grissom knew he would not sleep. He got up, took a few short strides to the bathroom, and was back at the small desk in minutes powering up his laptop.

The screen brightened with a photograph a dark-haired woman, a broad smile across the face of the woman he loved. He had not heard her voice in over a year; a few emails had ended their marriage. Rubbing his eyes, he sighed. At times, he regretted what he had done but—he was still puzzled by how quickly their marriage had seemed to fall apart. Shaking his head, he decided he would not think about it, not Sara, not their marriage, not the years—all the times—they had enjoyed together.

Perhaps, he thought, it was time he made another change. This ship was safe, he knew. On-going research projects, dedicated scientists, state-of-the-art equipment. What did he have to gain—or lose—by taking another direction? He scrolled past the well-known environmental organizations and finally clicked on a name mentioned during the dinner discussion.

On the website, he found a few photographs and little else. At the bottom, he clicked on 'contact us' and sent his request.

He had spent months on several ships, moving up in rank as he acquired experience; he was good at mentoring, advising the students—and he'd found he enjoyed living on a ship. He had learned from the ship's engineer how the diesel engines operated, had learned from the captain how to navigate charts and plot a course.

He'd also taken up drawing during his hours of leisure, something he had not done since college. He drew flowers, trees, and animals and amused himself for hours. He would create creatures of his imagination or set a whale in a flower bed sprouting flower petals. He did it for amusement, filling page after page with pencil sketches.

Checking out more websites, he sent emails with similar requests to several based along the California coast. He could do more; staying safe was no longer his option.

And now, he thought, he was ready to move on.

A/N: And we are moving forward. More to come-thank you for staying with us! A special thanks to those who review.