Sara woke up feeling rested and refreshed. A smile forming on her face, she let out a long breath, turned over and reached out her hand. The space beside her was warm but empty. Her smile fading, she pushed up onto her elbows and pricking up her ears heard the muffled sound of the shower running. Lying back down, she gave a sigh of relief then rolled over and buried her face in his pillow. His smell was everywhere. God, how she wished she could wake up like this every day. Well, she thought with a smile, she'd rather he was in bed too, but she'd take what she could.
Should she get up too, or wait for him to come back to bed? Would he? After all, he'd slunk out of bed and into the shower without waiting for her to wake. Did he regret them making love the previous day, she wondered suddenly? Did he think things were moving too fast between them? Did he feel like she'd forced his hand? But if that was the case, why choose to go to sleep in their bed? Why not stay on the couch? And what of his chat with Brass? Had that changed their precarious status quo?
Getting up, she grabbed her robe, slipped it on and made her way to the bathroom. The door was shut, and her hand on the handle she hesitated briefly before lowering it. He hadn't locked the door and so she went in. For a moment, she stared at him through the frosted door, even contemplated joining him in the shower but then thought better of it. He didn't seem to have noticed she'd come in, so quickly she splashed a little water on her face and brushed her teeth. How long was it since they'd shared this much intimacy?
She was studying her pallid reflection in the mirror when he turned the shower off. She picked up the towel he'd prepared, sat down on the closed toilet lid and waited. He opened the stall door, startling as plastering a small on her face she handed him the towel. He hesitated briefly before taking it, then stepping out onto the mat began towelling himself dry. His mouth was set in a grim line. His eyes were flat and circled by dark rings as they avoided hers. The feeling of dread and foreboding she'd felt on her way home from work returned with a vengeance.
"I didn't mean to wake you," he said at last, offering her a tight smile as turning toward the mirror he tied the towel around his midriff.
Sara's smile trembled. This wasn't the kind of greeting she'd been hoping for. Her heart felt heavy, and she struggled to find the words to ask him what was going on. She had so many questions that she didn't know which one to voice first without appearing pushy or worse desperate, and so she just watched through the mirror as he reached for a hand towel and dried his hair. Dropping the towel to the edge of the sink, he opened the wall cabinet and slowly rummaged inside.
Standing up, Sara silently reached inside a drawer and passed him the bottle of Advil. "That's all I have," she said, catching his eye in the mirror, and taking the bottle from her he gave a nod and a small smile of thanks. She watched helplessly as without wasting time he twisted the lid open, shook out a couple of tablets into the palm of his hand before popping them into his mouth. Bending over, he cupped his hand to the faucet and washed the pills down with some water.
He was looking old and tired suddenly, the worse for wear, and she wondered how much he'd really had to drink. Brass had appeared in good form when he'd turned up at the lab, so even if they'd shared a glass of whisky or two after their beers, Grissom had to have carried on drinking after Brass's departure. Could his drunken state explain why he'd ended up in their bed rather than stayed on the couch? Could it explain why he'd snuck out of bed and was acting the way he was now? Because he felt rough? Ashamed for showing so little self-control in front of her? Guilty because he'd come to a decision and was about to break her heart all over again?
"I couldn't get comfortable on the couch," he said, as if reading her mind. "I hope it wasn't too much of a shock finding me in the bed."
How could he be so far off the mark, she wondered? How could he not know that that was how she wanted to come home from work every day? With him in bed, so she could snuggle into him and forget the world out there? Feeling her eyes fill, she turned away. Damn Brass, she thought then, damn him and his good intentions. Why couldn't he have left them alone to work it out for themselves? Grissom was being so civil, so cold and distant, it was as if they were back to square one and the previous day had never happened.
"I'll just…go make us some coffee," she said, and regretted the words as soon as they'd left her lips. What if he misconstrued them and thought them critical and reproachful of the fact that he was hungover?
When Grissom joined her in the kitchen, he was looking a little hesitant, almost sheepish, but better now that he was dressed in fresh clothes. She'd got hastily dressed herself and was now sitting at the table nursing a mug of strong coffee. A matching one waited for him, and sitting down across from her he picked it up and shakily brought it to his mouth. There was only awkwardness between them now, forcing Sara to keep her distance, and that very much against her will.
"Thank you," he said, lifting the mug toward her after he'd taken a cautious sip.
She acknowledged his thanks with a nod. "How are you feeling?"
He flashed her a quick smile. "I'm fine," he said, and the sharpness and defensiveness in his tone warned her not to pry further.
Avoided looking into each other's eyes, they uneasily sipped at their coffees for a moment.
"I'm not an alcoholic, if that's what you're thinking."
Sara startled, his comment coming out of left field. "I'm not thinking that at all," she said in an incredulous whisper.
He sighed, then wiped a weary hand down his face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so..." he waved his hand in front of him, searching for a word that didn't come. "I've had a rough night."
She nodded her head, but otherwise kept her face impassive and free of judgement, and bringing her mug to her lips waited for him to open up about his talk with Brass and tell her that he'd changed his mind, that Brass was right and that getting back together when everything was still so uncertain between them would be a mistake.
"The drinking's…under control," he said instead, holding her gaze steadily, and that was when she understood all that his words didn't say, that he'd had a problem in the past, a problem he was prepared to admit to her. "In fact, I hadn't got drunk in a very long time." He sighed, and she could see in his eyes the need to confess and justify himself, that he feared she'd think less of him for knowing without fully understanding. "It…helps—helped take the edge off, you know?"
Again she nodded her head, then reached a shaky hand toward his on the table but he made no move to take it and so she left it there resting between them. She knew exactly what he meant about using alcohol to dull his pain, and wanted to show she wasn't judging him for it. After all, she'd sought solace in alcohol herself in the past, to almost disastrous effects, and hadn't it been for Brass's intervention, where would she be now? And then she thought back to Betty's words the previous day, when the older woman had reluctantly told her that Grissom was hurting too, and she realised that she probably didn't know the half of what he'd been through.
"Sara, those last few years have been tough on me too. Sure, I had my work and I got a lot of satisfaction out of it, but Sara, the divorce, not having you in my life anymore, that was…hard." The word died on his lips, and he swallowed. "Walking away from you was…well, it was like voluntarily cutting off a part of me. It was a physical ache that constantly gnawed at me inside."
"Then why did you?" she almost asked, but stopped herself in time. They'd gone over that already. Instead, she made herself hold his watery gaze. It was how they could move forwards that mattered, if that was what he still wanted, of course. And even though he was opening up to her, right then she wasn't so sure any more. He stood up and picking up the coffee pot on the stand refilled his mug. He turned and lifted the pot toward her, and she shook her head. She was already too much on edge as it was.
"You're right," he went on as quietly he took up his seat again. "Life at sea is lonely. I'd lay there in my cot at night and think of you." He circled an open hand over his head and in front of his eyes. "I'd close my eyes and I'd see you. I'd picture you at the lab, or out with the team having fun, or home alone and I'd watch you sleep. Well," he offered a sad smile, "I always imagined you home alone even though I feared you'd moved on and were happy with someone else."
"There was no one else," she said in a whisper. "There is no one else. I've told you before. There could never be."
"I know that now," he replied with a soft smile that for the first time lit his eyes, and reached for her hand.
She wondered whether now was the time to tell him about her own struggles, about Taylor Wynard and Basderic, but decided not to. She was surprised Brass hadn't told him, but she'd made him promise at the time and visibly he kept his word. She would tell him, but now wasn't the time. She'd made mistakes too, mistakes she regretted deeply but owning up to them now wouldn't help either of them.
"Gil?" she said softly, giving his fingers a squeeze. "Tell me. What happened last night after I left?"
His gaze averting, he gave a lengthy sigh but remained silent.
"Jim came by the lab this morning," she went on, finally acknowledging the elephant in the room.
A wry smile forming, Grissom met her gaze and nodded his head. He didn't seem surprised. "He said he would," he said, and she realised then that he'd probably feared Brass's input would have got her to change her mind about them. Could that explain his caution now?
She gave an empty laugh. "The way he spoke I was half-thinking I'd be coming home to an empty house."
Grissom flicked his gaze away, but not before she saw the truth of her words reflected there. "I thought about it," he said in a sigh, looking back at her, "leaving, I mean. In fact, I almost did. It seemed so much easier." He paused, stared at her solemnly. "But I couldn't, not without explaining, not without saying goodbye."
Sara drew her hand back, raked it through her hair uneasily. "Like I did, you mean."
He sighed. "No, Sara. I didn't mean it like that at all."
The conviction in his tone, the earnest look in his eyes told her he was being honest and telling the truth. Tears welled in her eyes, and glancing away she pinched her lips to curb their flow.
"Honey, you got to stop feeling guilty for the choices you made."
She refocused watery eyes on him.
"You blame yourself. You think that if you hadn't left the first time, the second time even, we wouldn't be in the mess we are now. But I'm not sure that's true." He paused and wiped at his lips, and she waited for him to finish his train of thought, because he was right, she felt guilty. If she'd faced her problems and stayed in Vegas then, he would never have left CSI to join her and they'd be happy and probably still be working together now.
"When I left CSI," he went on, his gaze briefly taking a distant turn, "when I left Vegas to be with you, I was ready to leave. It was time I got out. I was tired, disillusioned with the job, burnt-out again. I couldn't see the good and beauty for all the evil and ugliness in the world anymore."
"You'd have taken a break," she cut in, "like you did when you went to teach at Williams."
"It wouldn't have been enough. For the first time, I truly understood why you'd left, how a prisoner of your own life you must have felt, because I was feeling it too."
And then she'd gone and left him again. A tear wound its way down her cheek, and keeping her eyes lowered she wiped at it quickly. He paused, and reaching for her hand again gave it a strong squeeze.
"Don't get me wrong, I was missing you and wanted to be with you too," he added playfully when she made herself look up, and she smiled through her pain. His face became serious again. "But it was time for me to leave Vegas and everything that went with it. I never regretted leaving, still don't regret it now. I put the place behind me, and if it weren't for you I wouldn't be looking back. I guess, what I'm trying to say is that we both made choices, Sara, choices that had consequences, and we're still making them now."
Sara gave him a slow nod of understanding. "So it is goodbye," she said, wiping a knuckle to the underside of her eyes. What else did she expect? That he would just cancel his plans and stay?
He gave a slow nod of the head in reply. "I'm catching the 7.45 flight this evening."
Sara swallowed, managed to keep her tears at bay this time. This parting would be painful, they always were, but she needed to stay strong and keep sight of their long-term plans, whatever they entailed. She couldn't expect for all the problems in their relationship to be fixed after two days. Her eyes slid to the oven clock. 7.45, that gave them a few more hours until he'd need to leave. "I'll give you a ride."
"You don't need to do that."
"I want to." She gave him a tremulous smile, and he nodded his head gratefully.
"Even without Jim's input, I would still be saying goodbye," he then said. "I can't…not go. We're a small crew and finding – let alone training – a replacement would take too long. And—"
"And you want to see the project through. I get that, and I'm not asking you to stay. I have no right to do that. Staying would have to be your choice."
He swallowed. "I know."
"And I get that you can't make that choice right now." She closed her eyes, releasing more tears, and nodded her head, resigned now but grateful for the peace of mind those two days talking and explaining and beginning to forgive had brought her. "What did Jim say?" she then asked as reopening her eyes she took a sip of now lukewarm coffee.
He shrugged. "Nothing I didn't already know." He gave a mirthless chuckle. "He made me feel like a teenager, the unworthy boyfriend of his precious daughter." A look of sadness flashed across his eyes and he glanced down at his mug before bringing his eyes back up to her face. "Sara—"
"Don't," she countered, and wiped at the tears running down her face. She didn't know if she was angrier at him for leaving or at Brass for sticking his nose in where it wasn't wanted. "Don't tell me you agree with him. Don't tell me that getting back together would be a mistake. How can you believe that after yesterday? What happened to 'We can make this work, I know we can'? The mistake would be not to give each other a second chance when we clearly…" Her voice caught, and too choked-up to speak she stopped.
Grissom averted his gaze and shrugged a helpless shoulder.
His caution, or was it fear and indecision, riled her. "Gil?"
Sighing, he looked back up. "I don't know, Sara. I honestly don't know anymore. The selfish part of me wants you to leave everything behind and come live with me. Leave this place, so we can start afresh somewhere new, far away from here, but I know it's not possible." He paused, made himself hold her stare. "It's not possible because your life's here, Sara."
Sara lowered eyes full of tears as he spoke.
"You've made yourself a good life here, a life you deserve and you've worked so damn hard for. And I understand that you can't give it up."
"But Gil, don't you see? I can't give you up either. I don't want to. These last twenty-four hours, they've opened my eyes to what I was missing. We have to find a way to make us work. I'll wait for you."
He smiled sadly. "I can't ask you to do that."
"You're not asking me to. Besides, isn't that what I've been doing all this time anyway?"
Her words gave him pause, and he watched her for a long moment without speaking. "Is this what you truly want?"
Pondering her reply, Sara thought back to Brass's words and her promise to him that she'd put herself and her wellbeing first. Grissom made her happy like no other man ever could; he completed her. How could she let him walk away again? Taking from each other what they could offer had to be better than nothing.
She flicked her eyes to his hand holding the mug and reached for it. "Yes. Yes, it is," she said with conviction. "San Diego isn't Paris, or even South America. We've learned from our mistakes. We've learned the hard way. I know I have, and I think from what you said you have too. We can make this work, I know we can."
He laughed. "You're quoting me now?"
She waved her hand between them. "Isn't this what you want too?"
"Of course it is!" He looked at her beseechingly. "But I don't want you to be unhappy."
"Not having you in my life makes me unhappy."
He pushed to his feet suddenly, the chair scraping noisily on the tiled floor. Her face splitting into a wide, beatific smile at the newfound resolve she saw in his eyes, she stood up too and opened her arms out to him. Their embrace was long and heartfelt, each feeling like they'd finally reached an understanding. They didn't claim it would be easy, but they wouldn't fall into the same traps again. Grissom pulled back and smoothed her hair, and cupping her face in his hands stared at her intently. Whereas earlier his eyes had been cold, hollow and empty, now they shone with warmth, love and happiness.
"You hungry?" he asked. "You want some breakfast? I got a bunch of stuff in yesterday."
She gave him a slow shake of the head – breakfast could wait till later – and taking his hand led him to the bedroom.
They didn't have long until she'd need to drive him to the airport and she intended to make every second count.