Blackbird
Author wobbear
Rating General/K
Pairing Grissom/Sara, Brass/LH
Disclaimer Not mine, never were.
Spoilers "Inspired", if you could call it that, by the final scene in 9x05 Leave Out All the Rest. And the Beatles song.
Author's note Apologies for the delay since I posted the first chapter/prologue. Life gets in the way sometimes. Hope this was worth the wait. This chapter has had the benefit of a beta by Smacky30, so it and we are very fortunate. Thank you, Smacky!

Summary Ages after the event, a LOATR fic.

2: You Were Only Waiting

I admit I'm surprised to see Grissom's car outside … Heather's house. Why I hesitated there is, uh ― well, I don't officially live here. We've been keeping it, us, on the down low. Down very low. That's one of the reasons I've still got my stylish bachelor pad over in Henderson.

Bachelor pad, heh. It's the casita of a house owned by a guy I know from way back when in Jersey, long ago when I was a beat cop with hair and Tony was a waiter in the local Italian. Tony's come up in the world now and he has a fancy place on the ridge, with the pool and the view of the golf course and all. I'll bet that pool costs him a pretty penny with the price of water in this urban desert.

But I digress.

Long story short, a few years ago when Vegas area property values were booming, Tony bought an investment house down in the valley that he was only going to keep short term, then flip for a profit. The market went sour before he got a bite so he's now stuck with a big house worth less than the mortgage that no-one wants to buy even at a big discount. Occasionally he gets some vacation rentals in there, but he's basically biding his time until the market recovers enough that he can get rid of it, cut his losses at a level he can live with.

So a couple of years ago ― no, wait, it was early 07 ― I moved into the casita. The deal is, I pay him way below market rental (he knows how much money cops make, the ones who aren't on the take) and I keep an eye on the big house for him. He and the neighbors like the idea of having a cop in residence. Except I'm hardly ever there now.

Which is where I came in.

xxxxxxx


As I'm pulling the door closed, he speaks, low and tentative. "Heather … would you stay?"

I wince at the raw plea in Grissom's voice. Even as I wonder at the wisdom of my actions, I see myself closing the door and walking around to the foot of the bed. The thick carpet silences my steps. His left hand is covering his eyes, massaging his temples, while with his right he worries a crease in the bedspread.

I stand there a moment, watching as his fingers fret, as a nail catches on a raised thread in the rich brocade. Then I move toward the head of the bed, balancing with a hand on the nightstand as I crouch down beside him. My robe rustles as I move, and he half opens his eyes. Under the heavy lids I glimpse such naked desolation that my heart clenches. But he needs my help more than my sympathy, so I answer firmly, "No."

After a beat, he blinks, opening his eyes wider. Now confusion fogs them. He frowns, questioning. "N--" His voice catches, so he clears his throat then tries again. "No?"

I repeat that naked "No", shaking my head for emphasis.

"No," I reiterate. "I wouldn't stay. If the love of my life asked me to leave death and despair behind and start a new life together, no way would I stay here, lonely, forlorn."

I pause, seeing his eyes narrow in a squinting scowl. Shrugging, I add, "But I'm not you."

I see a brief flash of fight, of spirit, flicker across his eyes before he huffs out a long breath and rolls onto his back. His bleak eyes wander around the room, quickly passing over my face before skittering away, unable or unwilling, it seems, to hold my steady gaze.

At length he lifts his hands and wearily rubs his face. Rising, I reach under the dressing table and tug the long stool out, dragging it over beside the bed. I settle onto the firm cushioning, and wait in silence. His eyes are closed now, his hands clasped over his belly. But for his thumbs twirling ceaselessly around each other, one might think him asleep.

The gray is more evident in his hair and beard than I recall, a silver sprinkling which is very attractive but hints at the passing of time, the coming frailty of age. But Grissom has many good years ahead of him, if only he can pull himself out of this sorrowful stasis, this lingering limbo and start living again.

I hope I can help him. I owe him my very best effort.

I sigh quietly and get up to pull down the blind, shutting out the rising sun. I turn out the lights, leaving on just one small lamp so I can keep an eye on Grissom. Maybe he will actually sleep now, then we can start work tomorrow. Not "therapy", given his earlier comment, but I know I can get him to talk. And to think. About it all, why he's not with Sara. Where he needs to be. He's been avoiding the big issues long enough.

Sitting back down, I check my watch. He hasn't called, so he should be here soon.

I'll stay with Grissom until Jim arrives.

xxxxxx

So, me and Heather. Or is it "Heather and I"? You can't say "I and Heather" though, can you?

Yeah, I'm avoiding the issue. I could care less about the grammar. See, I'm not good at talking about … personal stuff. "Relationships" I guess is what I mean. Never have been, never will be. Some things just are. I don't see the point in talking about them. Hell, I try not to think about this stuff a whole lot. Not consciously, any way. My dreams, on the other hand, can be … involved.

You don't need to know about that.

And there's the whole police thing.

I've been a cop … forever, it seems. And I know what my fellow officers are like.

It's just easier to keep our situation quiet than for it to be common knowledge around the PD. Even though she's left her old profession behind, cops are like elephants with their memories, and not the most flexible of thinkers. And hey, I can understand their point of view. For a while, no, a long time I looked askance at Heather, wanted nothing to do with her. Frankly, she pissed me off with her arrogant attitude and her air of superiority. And the whole Dominion thing, I could never get with the stuff that went on there.

But things started to change after her attempted suicide by cowboy. After she got a grip, and then Grissom smoothing the way with her ex ― she got to see her granddaughter and started to come around.

I still remember the shock when she made an appointment to come see me. At the time I wondered if she was going to sue me for being short with her when she wouldn't agree to the rape kit. I wouldn't have put that past her.

I remember I was angry that she refused to help with the investigation, and it made me curt. Abrupt. Yeah, well, probably borderline rude. But that's water under the bridge, over the dam, finito.

And when I think back, I should have noticed that she wasn't her usual confident self during that whole hokey western town scenario.

Hindsight's always 20/20, isn't it?

Anyhow, I agreed to see her, all the while wondering if I needed a union rep in there with me. Something made me decide to wing it and face her alone. I have pretty good instincts, and I trusted in them.

Still, you could've knocked me over with a feather when she came in wearing a quiet gray suit, the kind of thing lawyers wear to court, not her black provocative Dominion style. Put me on notice that she was trying to meet me more than halfway. As if the fact that she'd asked to see me in my office, on my turf, wasn't already a big pointer.

Cutting to the chase, she apologised for her behavior ― "wasting police time", those were her words ― and she told me she was getting help, as I had rather forcefully suggested.

And somehow, something changed. We were both very wary, very cautious, but we began getting together every so often, in an out of the way coffee shop ― just talking. Slowly I discovered the person under her mask. But I was still keeping things close, not "sharing" a whole lot: I've been burned before, and by far less formidable women than Heather.

The big change came in November of that year. Heather was looking a little down when we met, and I asked why. Turned out it was her daughter's birthday; Zoe would have been 24. I had just worked a double, I was beyond tired and I found myself blurting out "I know what it's like, to lose a daughter." I know it's not the same, but I feel it every day. And, ya know, it's tiring bottling it up all the time. Ah, Ellie.

A trouble shared is a trouble halved? I dunno, but talking about things does make you feel less alone.

So, I started opening up more and things, uh, developed and we've ended up here. We've come a long way together and it feels good. It's still our intimate secret though and the idea of all Vegas law enforcement gossiping about me and her is … unappealing.

My thoughts are going around in circles.

I am what I am. And what I am, right now, is putting off the inevitable. Delaying going inside to see why Grissom is here, avoiding my private life becoming public. So, yes, I'm a procrastinating policeman.

Thing is, if the shit hits the fan, if the Sheriff or PD get their panties in a bunch about me and Heather, I'll walk away. I've done my 25 years; I can retire on a full pension. I don't have to put up with any grief.

Back to the immediate issue—yeah, seeing Grissom's car outside her place threw me a bit. A lot, if I'm honest with myself. I'm not sure why. Part of me always knew he'd turn up here sometime. I mean, I know they ― what do I call it? ― connected when they first met. Maybe it was a mutual fascination? But I don't know what went on between them. If anything "happened", quote unquote.

We operate under the "don't ask, don't tell" policy. I don't ask Heather, or Grissom, and they sure as hell aren't telling. They're private people, both of them, and I understand that. I appreciate it. I'm that way myself.

I think Heather would tell me if I asked ― but I choose not to.

Whatever "it" was, it's in the past. Now they're friends, as much as either of them ever have friends.

Grissom, he's a good guy. A great guy, even. He doesn't bond easily with people; he keeps his distance, keeps his thoughts to himself. But once he decides you're worth his time, he'll go to the ends of the earth for you. Except for Sara, of course. Great gal, but she seems to confuse him.

Anyway, he's done good things for Heather, and Heather thinks very highly of him. So I don't ask, and they don't tell. Like I said. Live and let live. We're all adults, moving on with our lives. Well, Grissom seems to be stuck in a hell mostly of his own making right now, but Heather and me, we're doing just fine.

I wonder why Grissom parked outside the gates. There's plenty of space on the driveway by the house. Who knows why he does anything these days?

Okay.

Sitting here in my car isn't getting me inside to find out what's happening. Plus it's breakfast time, and I'm hungry.

Heather would have called if she wanted me to stay away, come by later.

I used to be a marine, for Chrissake.

I'm going in.

TBC