A/N: Thank you for reading-yes, this will be a sad story. But there will be laughter, love, and little kids.

Thanatos

Chapter 2

Gil Grissom loved his life.

As he drove from the airport, his exuberant children kept a constant chatter of conversation going. One was quick to point out a brief glimpse of the ocean; the other called attention to newly blooming flowers. Both talked about their shoes—Will pointed out Gemma was wearing her shoes on the wrong feet.

He dropped them off at day camp after giving each the correct backpack and switching Gemma's shoes to the correct foot. As he often did, he thought about his children as he made his way home. Age, he knew, was part of his happiness with his life. Most people had been married for decades, often several times, by the time he and Sara had married and had their first child. His age had brought a genuine gratitude for the happiness of sharing life with someone he loved as much as he liked.

Their two children had expanded his life in ways he had never imagined—he enjoyed every new experience of being a parent. He loved teaching the kids about his work, enjoyed taking them to the beach as much as he loved putting them to bed; he even loved the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Arriving home to a quiet house, Grissom went to the bedroom and stared at the big bed, properly made because his wife was a tidy person. As he looked around the bedroom, he was conscious of all the sounds and all the activity when his family was in the house and it made him even more aware of his wife's absence. The only things out of place in the bedroom were two open suitcases already packed with children's clothing.

He turned from the bedroom and headed to the kitchen where he put away breakfast cereals and bowls, wiped up a few spills, and picked up scattered toys. He opened the door to the deck for the dog—Skip was supposed to grow into a small short-haired terrier but had proven those predictions wrong to be a big, shaggy white dog of surprising intelligence.

Grissom poured dog kibble into the bowl and talked to the dog as he would another person. "I'm calling your old buddy to arrange for you to stay with him for a while," he said. The old buddy was Nick Stokes who had found the puppy and convinced the Grissom's to become dog owners. He gave the dog a couple of strokes and felt the vibration of his phone.

Checking the screen, he read Sara's quick message of her arrival at the hospital and, hopefully, she would know more in a few hours.

As she entered the hospital room, Sara's next breath was one of relief.

There was a time when Sara had been frightened of the man in the room. She managed to work with him and gradually realized he had her back in more ways than work situations. She knew they had developed a genuine friendship and—because he'd been slightly drunk—revealed to her how he felt about the relationship she had with Grissom. He had given unsolicited advice to "hang in there". Their friendship had grown to be one of love and trust and care; her children loved the man unconditionally.

Sara had learned about his illness when Jim Brass had handed the phone to his physician, directing the man to tell her about his diagnosis and prognosis.

It was hard to believe the man who had been an enormous presence as a Las Vegas Detective was the same pale person reclining in the hospital bed. Sara had seen death, been with her mother and mother-in-law when both had died. But this was different; she had to blink several times to dispel tears.

Catherine had moved to the bedside as Sara took a moment to place her rolling suitcase behind a chair. Then she moved swiftly to take her friend's outstretched hand.

"I knew you'd come," he said.

"Of course, I'd come, Jim."

With a weak chuckle, Brass said, "Where's the old guy? And those lovable kids?"

Sara leaned over and brushed his cheek with a kiss before saying, "They're coming—soon."

Catherine pushed a chair near the bed and said, "I'm going to find something to drink—be right back." The door closed with a quiet wisp and she was gone.

Sara slipped into the chair and pulled it closer to the bed. She said, "What can I do, Jim?" Her fingers smoothed the soft navy fabric of his pajama shirt. With a smile, she said, "Always the best dressed guy around."

No matter what, Captain Brass was known for his well-fitted suits, his immaculate shirts, and his perfect ties. In retirement, he had taken to wearing collared golf shirts but Sara was certain he'd never held a golf club.

Another soft chuckle before Brass said, "No reason to get lazy about dressing even when one's at death's door."

Sara's hand closed around Jim's hand as she said, "Is it really…"

Brass nodded, "Yeah, this stuff is a killer—I—I guess it's been going on for months. Lost weight, had no appetite then when I went for my eye check-up, the doc said I had jaundice." He made a slight shrug, adding, "And that's what got me here."

It had been six or seven weeks since Sara and her family had visited Jim, talked to him every week, sometimes more often. She had not noticed weight loss but from the appearance of his face, the feel of his hand, she knew he'd had significant weight loss since their last visit. And he had never mentioned health problems—even when he was losing his sight but when he'd had his corneal transplant, she—the entire family—had come.

Today, she managed a smile at her thoughts because his reason for the transplant had been his wish to see the faces of her children.

At that moment, the door opened and Catherine Willows returned with two cups of hot water and tea bags and one small bottle of apple juice on a tray.

"The nurse said you might like juice instead of tea, Jim." Catherine moved a table over the bed for the tray then pulled another chair to the opposite side of the bed all the while chattering about her efforts to fill two cups with hot water, find tea bags and sugar, requesting juice.

Sara reached for an insulated container and scooped ice into a plastic cup before pouring two inches of juice over the ice. "I'm afraid this is a far cry from your favorite," she said as she stuck a straw into the cup.

Catherine sat across from Sara, dipping a tea bag into hot water several times. As Sara did the same with her tea, Catherine talked about what was happening in her life, with Lindsey and her granddaughter.

As Sara sipped the tea and Jim took two small swallows of juice before handing the cup back to Sara, Catherine continued talking. There were roles in every gathering, Sara thought, and Catherine's was to do just as she was doing—talking about everything but the condition of the man in bed.

After a few minutes, Catherine's phone chirped with a call and with a glance, she stopped talking, made a motion with her hand, and left the room.

As the door closed and the room quieted, Sara offered the cup to Jim; he shook his head as she asked, "What can I do for you, Jim?"

A/N: We appreciate all of you-and a special appreciation for those who send words of encouragement!

Love live GSR!