A/N: Thank you to everyone who keeps reading...more coming.

Gil Grissom's Romance Part 2

Chapter 31

Grissom lay on his back in the darkness on a very comfortable bed with both hands behind his head. The bedroom was one of two on a short hallway, on the opposite side of the house from where Sara was sleeping. He had taken a long, hot shower in the spacious bathroom; a room he had once thought to be small. He had almost forgotten how it felt to enjoy a shower. And then grab a large, soft towel to wrap around his body added luxury to the process.

Sleep was postponed for a while as he gradually developed an amazing light of truth. Occupied with the beautiful woman who had offered this bedroom, his mind had steadfastly refused to rest. His thoughts had been racing around his brain like an every-accelerating whirligig. He knew he loved her; and based on photographs in her house, she still loved him—why else would she keep photographs of their honeymoon trip in her living room.

In the quietness of a house he'd once known well, he realized he needed to change. He knew he was no longer the man, the supervisor, of one of the top crime labs in the nation; he was not sure what had made him push himself, and his life, into some solitary chamber. He would never say the past few years had been uninteresting or a failure. He had enjoyed it—and yet, his enjoyment had been at the expense of a woman he loved—one he loved very much, he admitted.

And, as he lay on a bed she had made, between sheets she had selected and smoothed with her hands, he knew he could no longer stand aloof, unwilling to be involved in her life. He would seek to set at ease, to alleviate damage he had caused. To make Sara's life easier—and, in the end, love her as she had loved him—as she would love him. He had left her; truth be told, he had deserted her because of his failure. Nothing she had done had caused the fracture that led to their divorce. He could change and with that thought, his eyes closed.

Surely, it had only been a few minutes that he slept when he jerked awake with an unfamiliar sound intruding upon his brain. Trying to clear his eyes of weary sleep, his brain of foggy dreams, he knew someone had entered the room.

Sara.

She sat on the edge of the bed, near his feet. As his eyes adjusted to wakefulness, he saw she was dressed, yet there was no early dawn light seeking its way around the window blinds.

When he moved, she spoke, "I hate to wake you—but I'm leaving—I—I thought you might want to go. Hodges has been found. Alive, but barely."

Immediately, he was out of bed and pulling on pants he'd left folded near the bed. And asking questions, "Where is he? Did he turn himself in?"

"No," Sara said softly as she handed him a shirt. "Someone called from the hospice where his mother is—was—she died a short time ago."

"They called you?"

"No, no—he is at the hospice and left a note to call Greg who called Catherine and me. They are already there."

Grissom gathered his wallet and glasses, stuck his feet into his shoes, and said, "I'm ready." He buttoned his shirt as they headed out the door. "What did he do? I mean—alive but barely."

"Greg said there is a long note—returned to the hospice, drank antifreeze after shooting Ecklie. The hospice has a key card entry system, so he got there, went in the back door, and wrote the note, then stretched out on the sofa in his mother's room. Evidently, the employees check on patients, but not their visitors—no one thought about him until a new shift arrived. Even then, it took several hours for someone to realize he was—was dying and not just asleep."

Grissom grunted softly, asking "Wasn't there a deputy outside?"

"Yep," Sara answered. "Hodges has always been a sneaky—always been smart so I'm sure it was easy for him to slip in without being noticed."

"Does he say why he killed Ecklie?"

Sara nodded. "Greg says it is in his letter." When Grissom remained silent, she continued. "Hodges' mother was depressed when she took the overdose—either real or imagined, Hodges decided it was Ecklie's fault that his mother overdosed. Then he learned Ecklie was visiting Heather's gym and that's where he—he tracked him—that's it in a nutshell."

They continued in silence for several long moments.

Then, Sara asked, "What connection did Ecklie have with Heather?" He watched a ghost of a smile appear and disappear across her face. Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she added, "Come on—I know you know."

A quiet chuckle. "Honestly—this is true—I had never heard of 'Lady Heather' until Jim and I landed on her porch years ago. I'd heard of fetish clubs but none specific. She popped up again later, another murder—and Jim and I had a long talk about her and who were her 'clients'—Heather was one-of-a-kind—intelligent, an anthropologist who would equal any professional educated…"

Sara made a sharp turn, jostling him in his seat; deciding he wasn't winning points by praising Heather Kessler, he rushed ahead, saying, "Jim knew Ecklie was a customer of one of the fetish clubs—I never asked—and Heather would never say. Years later, when she became a therapist, I visited her about a case—to ask a few questions—her phone was on her desk and when it rang, I glanced at the number—it was Ecklie's personal number. I surmised that Ecklie was still—still involved with Heather on some basis."

"Life coach," Sara whispered. Then she spoke louder, saying, "We all know Heather knew the 'right' people when she was never charged for whatever when on after her daughter was killed." She glanced at Grissom. "Not you—even though everyone thought you two were more than friendly—friends—what do you call Heather?"

"A friend, no more, no less."

"Come on."

He heard a tease in the lift of her voice. She continued, "Did you have a safe word?"

"Stop!"

Now incredulous, laughing, as she said, "Stop? You used the word stop?"

He had forgotten how she could tease. He said, "No, we never had a safe word because all we ever did was talk. And drink tea."

A low humming sound came from Sara as she executed another sharp turn. She said, "Almost there."

Catherine had managed to keep the situation low key. Two patrol cars were in the parking lot; one man was standing at the door.

As they entered the building, Sara asked, "Who else is here?"

The man answered, "Catherine Willows, Vartann, Greg, you two—and Nick Stokes came in with Greg. Sheriff Willows said to keep it quiet—you know, because of others here."

The place was quiet; only a few people in the halls. A woman in a blue shirt pointed to a room where another deputy stood by the door. He pushed the door open when Sara and Grissom approached; Nick turned as they entered, shaking his head as he mouthed "He's gone."

At their look of confusion, Nick added, "He was in a coma when we arrived." Shaking his head, his hand rubbed his eyes, he said, "I know this has to be one of the most bizarre…" He threw his hands up before placing them on his hips. "What was Hodges thinking?"

Greg and Catherine joined them.

Greg handed Sara a clear plastic evidence bags containing several pages. "It's all here," he said. "While everyone was on the Strip looking for him, Hodges was here. The empty container is in the bathroom along with empty beer bottles."

Catherine suggested they leave the room and find another place to talk, which turned out to be a small chapel near the entrance. During the short walk, Sara called Doc Robbins who, without questions, said he would be there in fifteen minutes.

While they waited, the group talked, quietly, subdued by the gravity of the situation. By the time Doc Robbins arrived with Dave Phillips, work had been divided, appropriate people had been notified, and the task of closing the lives of two significant individuals came to rest with the intimate friends in the chapel.

None in the group was overly religious yet the simply furnished chapel seemed to work to bring recent events into a bearable acknowledgment; each one reaching an understanding that involved regret, puzzlement, and compassion.

It took several hours to complete the details of an investigation that was not a 'normal' crime scene. The new sheriff made one mistake—telling the new lab director to be thorough so there would be no questions about the process. Everyone in the room seemed to draw the same breath.

Lou Vartann said, "Sara and Greg are always thorough, Catherine."

Everyone breathed again when Sara made a poignant laugh. "I'm going to love working with you, Catherine."

And then Catherine laughed, saying, "I don't have any business here—so—so I think I'll go meet the press. Be politic—wise—all those things."

Nick and Grissom left with Catherine while Greg and Sara finished up.

Greg seized the opportunity. He said, "Okay, tell me."

Sara shot a glance his way, saying nothing.

Persisting, Greg said, "Grissom's back in town. How did that happen? And where'd he sleep last night—at least he disappeared for a few hours and arrived with you."

Shaking her head, Sara almost grinned before twisting her mouth and biting her bottom lip. She said, "He came with Nick. From what I know, Grissom had been on a boat following fishermen who he followed into San Diego harbor. Got caught trespassing—that's how Nick found him. I called Nick who said he'd come and bring help—help was Grissom."

Greg helped pack away the last evidence bags. He said, "It must be weird—I mean, having him back after all this time."

"He's here for a few days, Greg. I offered him a bed in the house. He slept. So did I—apart."

Kneeling in front of a box of evidence, sliding the last bag into the box, Greg asked, "Are you two talking? About—about not being married? About what happened?" Greg's voice became serious as he said, "He—he broke up with you over the phone—or email! He wouldn't even return to—to talk—you packed up his stuff!"

Sara extended her hand to his as he started to stand, holding it in hers for a minute before speaking. "Don't be angry with him, Greg. He's a good person—and—it's complicated."

"How is it complicated, Sara? You made a home here—and then he left, came back, left again and again. And one day he didn't come back. Until yesterday."

Letting go of his hand, Sara backed away, leaning against the wall and bringing her arms across her chest. Rolling her eyes skyward, she sighed before making a soft laugh. "It's you and me now, isn't it? Like Grissom and Catherine were when we came to the lab—God—I was so green! And pretty much awed by both of them." A long moment passed before she continued, "I've been in love with Gil Grissom since—I'm pretty sure from the first time I laid eyes on him." Softly, she scoffed. "I'm hopeless, aren't I? And I'm fairly certain he still loves me." Pausing, keeping her eyes upward, she said, "We couldn't have children. And we tried everything—every way. And it just didn't—would not happen."

"I didn't know," Greg whispered. "None of us knew—he left you because you couldn't have his children?"

Reaching for her case and the one Greg carried, Sara headed to the door. She said, "No, it's not that—it's—it's never been simple with us."

Greg reached ahead of her and opened the door, balancing the box of evidence as he did. "Just so you know, Morgan and I are pretty tight—I mean, as a couple—you know that, right? I—we've talked about getting married and having kids."

Sara smiled. "You should do it," she said.

A/N: We appreciate all of you! Some have been with us since the first story! What a long fun journey this is! Thanks to all!