A/N 1: Another chapter that is all co-author Jellybean. An amazing job, again! :D Also check out the 2nd A/N at the end :)

CHAPTER 48

Both quiet and darkness enveloped Grissom as he laid in his rehab bed. His roommate slept quietly. The hallways were not bustling, as he would have heard in a hospital room. Being in a rehab bed was definitely a different experience from the tense, constantly noisy environment in prison.

Grissom wished he was lying in his own bed, but at least rehab was quiet. And unlike the hospital, it was a step closer to home.

And it sure as hell wasn't prison.

Yet, he still felt trapped. Trapped by circumstances he had a difficult time believing was not constructed by his own hand. His lawyer might have said it was "flawed logic" for Grissom to believe he was at fault for his imprisonment and arrest, but in the darkness and quiet away from the family who needed him Grissom felt ashamed not to take responsibility for the blame.

But he couldn't afford to focus on the blame when there was so much work to do. When he wasn't in therapy during the day, he was on his laptop researching for job opportunities and writing acquaintances and colleagues for any leads they might give him. Personal email addresses. Professional email addresses. It didn't matter. In the last five days he had already written dozens of emails, but he hadn't received any responses. Yet, he just kept trying because he had no choice. He had to find work.

Not that the lack of response didn't weigh on his mind. As he worked on his exercises his mind would anxiously wander to his vocational predicament. Sometimes he would get so wound up he would press himself harder physically. At least physical pain silenced his anxious thoughts.

With five full days of therapy behind him, Grissom looked forward to going home. Sara and Daniel visited after dinner most nights, which Grissom loved. But he hated how tired Sara looked with each passing day. The past few months had been hell for her and his hospitalization had made things more difficult for her.

As quietly as possible, Grissom sat up in bed and grabbed his laptop. Before he went to check his email, he went to a recently bookmarked site. He smiled as he looked at the picture in the center of his screen. He reached for his cellphone on the nightstand and jotted a quick text.

He went to return his attention to his laptop when his phone binged a text message. "That's the seventh text from you about this. I WILL PICK UP YOUR STUFF AND BRING IT IN THE MORNING. And, yes, for the seventh time I have your credit card. Text me again and I'm buying myself a watch."

Smile on his face courtesy of Brass' reply, Grissom checked his email. Unfortunately, work inquiries were again left unanswered, but there was something else equally disconcerting. There weren't any replies from the city about another pressing matter. Along with being fired after his arrest from his university job, the city froze Grissom's pension benefits. He had hoped the city would reinstate his pension without trouble since he was cleared of wrongdoing.

But it hadn't been the case, and Grissom knew that Sara was checking their bank account five or six times a day. While Grissom did have an emergency account that would keep the family safe, Sara was clearly worried about money. That was an added stressor his wife didn't need.

With calls and emails unanswered by the benefits office, Grissom took a chance and phoned someone higher on the chain of command earlier in the day. Despite the anxiety he felt at the moment, recalling the creative way he had made the phone call returned a slight smile to his face.

"Office of the sheriff. May I help you?"

He recognized the voice of Audrey, Ecklie's receptionist, but didn't try to make small talk with the young woman. "Yes, this is Phil Gruesome. I am returning Sheriff Ecklie's call."

"And may I tell him what this is concerning?" Audrey said with a hint of skepticism.

He had to bite his lip to keep his voice even. "His inquiry about the red Mercedes."

Perhaps it was his emphasis on the last two words that silenced any more inquiries. Anyone who knew Ecklie knew he was a car enthusiast. "One moment please," Audrey said dryly.

A few clicks and Grissom heard an audible sigh as a greeting. After all, both the caller and the call recipient knew "red Mercedes" had nothing to do with cars. "You know there should be a statute of limitations on awkward, drunken incidences. Especially after almost 20 years."

The tale of red Mercedes was one from when both Ecklie and Grissom were CSIs working the same shift. The two had worked an especially difficult case and while Grissom retreated to a poker game, Ecklie retreated to Sleazy Tom's Pub way off the Strip.

The two weren't friends but when Ecklie got too drunk, the bartender asked whom he should call and Ecklie gave him a number from his PDA — Gil Grissom, although that's not the name Ecklie gave the bartender.

"You were the one who gave me my alias," Grissom recalled hearing the bartender ask, "Is this Phil Gruesome?" followed by the request to pick up Ecklie before he gets pummeled by a regular or robbed by a couple of call girls. "I could have left you there. You seemed to have been enjoying Mercedes' company."

Mercedes Bendsover — a fiery redhead with an obvious penchant for wordplay — was one of two ladies who intimately and scathingly had flanked Ecklie when Grissom had arrived to the pub. Despite the embarrassing memory, Ecklie let out a soft chuckle. "I was willing to let you have the other lady… what was her name?"

"Twizzler Snowflake," Grissom recalled without missing a beat.

"She liked you, Gil. You could have started a wonderful life with her."

"I don't regret taking that pass. Although maybe I shouldn't have dragged you out of the bar."

And "dragged" was stated in the literal sense. Because they weren't friends and because Grissom had to prematurely leave a poker game, he was less than patient with his drunken coworker. After a few minutes of trying to use reason, Grissom grabbed Conrad's arm. But he had not been prepared for Ecklie's rough response.

"I apologized for punching you in the stomach and slapping your face years ago," Ecklie said. "Not sure why you are revisiting that memory now."

"I figured Phil Gruesome could get you on the phone easier than Gil Grissom."

"Gil Grissom. Always thinking," Ecklie said. "You home?"

"Rehab. Knee surgery."

"Good luck with that," Ecklie said sincerely. "This about Sidle?"

"Actually," Grissom started, feeling uneasy about the subject, "it's… it's about my pension. It hasn't been reinstated."

Grissom heard the familiar creak of a chair as someone leaned against it. "That can take some time, Gil. You know that."

"I do, and I normally wouldn't be calling you about this but I've received no call backs or email replies from benefits or Human Resources," Grissom said. "I'm at my wits end here, Conrad. It's not just me that needs peace of mind, it's Sara as well. We've been without my salary or pension for more than two months."

"I understand," Ecklie said. "Have you started looking for work? Making contacts?"

"I have. Yes."

"You getting any bites?"

"No."

"Would a letter of recommendation help?"

The unsolicited question surprised Grissom. "It couldn't hurt. Are you offering?"

"I am," Ecklie said. "And I'll try to find info about the pension. No promises but…"

"No. Whatever you do I appreciate it," Grissom said. "Thank you, Conrad."

Before getting off the phone, Grissom gave Ecklie his personal email. He had hoped to hear back from Conrad, but when he saw a reply sent at 11:30 p.m. from the sheriff's personal email address, Grissom was shocked. He had only talked to Ecklie some 12 hours prior and attached to the email was a word document — a glowing letter of recommendation.

While the attachment lifted Grissom's spirits, the text of the email gave him grave pause. A look of concern and concentration marked his face as it was illuminated by the dim light of his laptop.

"Gil. Let's keep this exchange as private as possible. I delved into the issue you asked about and I suggest you talk to your lawyer about this issue and about ways for you to move forward. Politics and pride are tricky and there seems to be something and someone holding up the process. Good luck."

Her day started with her new normal — bone tired and on the verge of tears. After her alarm would sound, Sara would stay in bed for a moment and wipe stray tears from her eyes.

She would chalk up the experience to hormones. Yet, deep down inside she knew this new normal also stemmed from uncertainty about so much with her life.

But she tampered down her emotions. She had a lot of work to do. Daniel counted on her to be a good, sensible mother. The lab counted on her to be a competent, driven employee. Her husband counted on her to be his rock.

There was little time for sleep, much less tears in Sara's life.

Her days felt long, and today was no different. She got through her morning at home with Daniel, took him to daycare, went to the lab, returned to the daycare, came home to change, she sat for a moment in car with the engine still running. The car felt cool, but for a moment she directed the air vent directly on her neck and chest. Pregnant during the summer months of Nevada was not the most fun experience in her life.

As she opened up her shirt a little bit to get some cold air on her sticky chest, she caught a glimpse of Daniel in the backseat. He looked like a mini-Hulk in his car seat as he got his body stiff as a board willing himself to push the straps and free him from his carseat. He would do it for ten seconds, wait a few moment and then puff out his chest again for another futile effort.

Sara tiredly rolled her eyes and then turned around. "Hey. Bruce Banner. Until you learn the dexterity involved in unsnapping the release button, no amount of pushing is getting you out of the chair."

Daniel stopped, dramatically pouted his lips and then let out a singular "BING." Then he let out a succession of "bing, bing, bing, BING" before trying to push himself out of the straps again.

The bing sound was something new, and Sara wondered if it was something he had heard in daycare. And while he said the word with great conviction, he was still an 11-month-old cutie, one who never ceased to make Sara chuckle.

"OK. OK, I get it. You want out," Sara said. "But I'm only going to strap you into a stroller, because mommy doesn't feeling like holding you all the way to daddy's room."

As Daniel kicked his feet and let out random "ma" and "da" sounds, Sara transferred him from the car seat to a stroller she had taken out of the trunk. Once in the stroller, he was just as adamant about not staying stationery.

"It's all about go, go, go with you," Sara said as she put the diaper bag in the pouch under the stroller and then pushed it toward the entrance. "I wonder where you get that from?"

It was a rhetorical question, and even though Sara talked to Daniel like she would some adults, he most likely didn't understand every nuance of her conversation.

But then again, her son did have an immediate retort to her question.

"Ma!" Daniel said. "Ma. Ma. Ma. Ma. Ma. Ma."

Sure it was probably him babbling, but it still made Sara wonder.

"You might be cute, but you're a smart ass, Danny," Sara said smiling, despite herself. "And I know exactly where that comes from."

Although she was prepared to walk through the halls to Grissom's room, she found her husband waiting for her in the lobby by the reception.

"What are you doing here?" Sara asked worriedly. "Is something wrong? What's the matter?"

"Honey," Grissom said soothingly. "Nothing's wrong. I just was excited to see you two."

He leaned toward her to kiss her cheek before sitting back down on the chair to be at Daniel's eye level. "Hey buddy," Grissom said holding the boy's hand. "Have you been a good boy for mommy?"

"He's been a handful."

Although not spoken with a hint of anger, Grissom recognized the exhaustion in the short statement. He stood back up and rubbed Sara's back. "Did you eat dinner?"

"Yes," Sara said, a little exasperated. "Gil, I texted you and told you I was going to eat at home and feed Daniel before I drove here. Didn't you get it? Have you been waiting here since dinner? Why didn't you eat?"

Despite the anxiety and frustration in his wife's voice, Grissom kept his smile and his voice even. "Sara, honey, I was just making sure you ate. I did get your text and I haven't been waiting here so long."

"Oh."

"Are you feeling OK?"

"I'm just…" She stopped her thought. "Are we going to go to your room? Because I really need to pee and I'm not sure why we are still in reception."

Grissom took the stroller from her hands and pushed it forward. "I'm sorry, hon. Of course. If you need to walk ahead of us, go ahead."

Yes, she needed to pee, but she needed a little space too, so Sara took Grissom's offer and speed walked to his room.

A/N 2 : Message from JellybeanChiChi, concerning Sara "arguing " with Daniel.

When my youngest was that age my youngest niece was a teenager spending the night and she remembers being woken up by Carlos who stood in his bed going, "Bing... Bing... Bing... BING!"

My niece shouted "Shut up! I'm trying to sleep!"

Bing bing bing bing

So I was kinda putting him into the story 🙂