A/N: Another awesome chapter from co-author, JellybeanChiChi. It's another favorite of mine, and by the end i just wanted to give Grissom a hug. :)

CHAPTER 52

The day that turned his world upside down. Was it just one day? His world dissolved so many different times. When he thought things couldn't get worse, they did.

So was there one singular day to answer that question posed by the therapist?

Grissom took a deep breath. "His name was Jake Sullivan and he was an ex-boyfriend of my wife. The moment I met him, I wanted him out of my family's life."

From there Grissom spoke about the fights with Jake, the framing of murder, going to jail, being targeted by Rory's nephew, being betrayed by his lawyer that lead to his kidnapping and torture at the hands of Rory Dunbar. Through it all, Jimenez listening, jotted down notes, and let Grissom pause when he needed to and take a breath when he needed to. He handed him a box of tissues at one point, and poured him a glass of water at another point.

Even after an hour of talking, Grissom continued to speak about the aftermath — the fear of returning to prison, the fear of hurting Sara or Daniel during a nightmare or anxiety attack and fear of ruining his family's life, a feeling that has never ever gone away, even now.

"I can't support myself with my name and reputation anymore," Grissom said forlornly. "I don't know where to go from here."

"That lack of knowing, have you ever felt that before?"

"No," Grissom said, putting a shaking hand through his hair. "It scares me."

Grissom opened his mouth, but no words came out. Seeing that, Jimenez scooted his chair to sit directly in front of Grissom. "You don't have to talk anymore, Gil. Just breathe. Let it out. It's OK to let it out."

Just as the tears fell, Grissom lowered his head in his own hands. While his sobs were barely audible, his shoulders shook. Soon he felt Jimenez's hands upon each shoulder for steady reassurance.

When the therapist felt Grissom's shoulders no longer move, he squeezed them gently and then gave a supportive pat on his back. "You need anything? Water?"

Grissom slowly sat up straight, leading Jimenez to naturally sit back in his own chair and give Grissom his space. Grissom grabbed a few more tissues. "Sorry."

"No apologies, no worries," Jimenez said. "That was a lot of shit to unpack, man."

Grissom let out a sad snort. "Yeah. A lot of shit."

"Sounds like a lot of bullshit, too," Jimenez said uncensored. "Framed for murder. What lab worked the case?"

"My lab… well, my old lab. Sara's lab."

"Did you know the investigators?"

"The lead was one of my proteges."

Jimenez stopped for a second. The sorority and fraternity among first responders was almost sacrosanct. To think his own lab — someone he had trained — helped put him in jail must be especially mentally taxing. "That… that must have been tough for you."

Grissom didn't answer right away. He stared at his hands. "Nothing about this has been easy."

Jimenez waited to see if there was more to the comment. But there wasn't. "You know, the way you looked at my daughter's photos and then figured out how to put them on the wall, I can tell you're good at analysis. I want to see if we can use that gift to help you heal now."

"Heal? I feel like I should just move forward."

"You mean forget about all that shit you talked about and just get a new calendar like the last eight, nine, 10 weeks didn't happen?" Jimenez said. "Look I hear you, I do. But I think we both know that ain't gonna happen."

"Rehashing all those … moments it … I can't…"

"It's painful. It's nauseating. It's a helluva lot of shit to sift through," Jimenez said. "But doing it, and using some techniques with your analytical brain will help. I promise you if you stick it out it will help."

"You shouldn't promise that."

"Why? You don't believe in promises?"

"I've broken my share of promises," Grissom said. "Especially lately."

"Tell me how. What was the last promise you broke?"

"I abandoned my wife. I caused her pain. I came damn close to having my son grow up without a father."

"How are you and your wife doing? Has she been angry with you? Making comments that make those broken promises worse?"

It surprised Grissom that the therapist used the term "broken promises," instead of placating him. Somehow that made Grissom feel more comfortable sharing his feelings. "My wife… Sara…" Grissom paused and tried to contain the emotions he felt for Sara. But it was a losing battle. He voice broke as he talked about her. "She … would have every right to leave me. From the time they arrested me, to my time in jail, to me being home… I don't deserve her. I wouldn't let her visit me in prison. She should have left me for that. I was a complete mess … I probably still am… after what Rory did… She should have packed up and left. … But she didn't. She wouldn't. Even when I begged her to. Even after I struck her… She wouldn't do it. She said she needed to be strong for both us because…" Grissom's voice faded out and he wiped the tears streaming down his face. "I can't be weak anymore. She deserves a strong husband. I want to be as supportive and strong for her as she has been for me."

Jimenez took no notes as Grissom spoke, but offered him rapt attention. "Sounds like a helluva woman."

"She is."

"I gotta ask, man, you mentioned even after you struck her."

Grissom nodded. "I had a nightmare and struck her while we were in bed. I … I know… it's an awful thing. And, please know, I never, ever will lay another hand on her."

"So it was a one time thing, and not during an argument or something else?"

"No. No," Grissom said. "I would… I told her if I ever raised a hand she should pick up our son and leave. She promised me she would."

"I can tell from the tone in your voice that was a really painful thing for you."

"It was."

"You need to forgive yourself for that." Jimenez saw a look of irritation cross Grissom's face, something that he expected and laughed at. "You heard me right. And I'm thinking there are more things you need to forgive yourself for, but we'll get into that in other sessions."

After making that statement, Jimenez jotted a few notes. The room became silent, but offered Grissom time to calm his nerves and emotions.

After a couple of minutes of quiet, Jimenez looked at Grissom, whose gaze found its way to one of the photos on the wall. "Think my daughter will approve of the photo display?"

Grissom returned his attention back to the therapist. "Um… Yes. I think she will."

"You know you never truly answered the question about how you and your wife are. Clearly she supports you, but are there any issues you feel tense or nervous about in your relationship? And I mean other than feeling like you got a lot of work to do."

"We're getting along very well. She's pregnant with our second child."

"Well, alright man," Jimenez said, outstretching his arm for a fist bump. Grissom looked bewildered for a couple of seconds before he awkwardly bumped fists. The moment amused Jimenez, but he kept his chuckles to himself. "Good news always helps create good spirits. So does support. Other than Sara, you get support from other family and friends?"

"My mother."

The clipped answer dismayed Jimenez. Someone who worked in law enforcement should have had more people at his disposal for support, especially if he was found to be framed. But Grissom didn't open up about it. And Jimenez wondered if the man realized the lack of support and the fact the lab helped put him behind bars might be subconsciously eating him up inside.

"I meant to ask you before, did you retire because of your health or cause you were sick of it?"

"I wanted to get married and support my family," Grissom said. "I had an opportunity for a fresh start. I took it."

"Shit, no better reason than that. You mentioned a son?"

"Daniel. He's turning one soon."

"A one-year-old and one on the way? Ah man, have you got some fun times ahead of you," Jimenez said with a smile.

"I hope so," Grissom said with a small smile.

"You a stay-at-home dad, or you working?"

The elusive smile vanished again. "I was. Teaching at a university. But after the arrest…"

"I gotcha," Jimenez said. "So, professor, I'm gonna assume you don't mind homework?"

"You're giving me homework?"

Jimenez turned back to his desk and grabbed a couple of pamphlets. "Some reading and some journaling," he said handing Grissom some literature. "You ever heard of EMDR?"

"No," Grissom said looking at the pamphlet. "Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing?"

"That's it. It's a mouthful."

"What is it?"

"It's a technique to help with trauma and post stress developed by an American psychologist in the late 1980s," Jimenez explained. "The pamphlet has links to Websites about it. I think you'll find it interesting."

"Is that something I have to do?"

"We'll do," Jimenez said. "I'm a trained facilitator for the technique, but before we do it, there are steps you have to complete — we call it intake. That's where that analytical mind will come in handy — we start with the brain and the head and we move to the heart and the gut."

Grissom read a little bit more, which gave Jimenez hope the man would be open to this line of therapy. "I know it can be tough to open up about situations. And like I said before you have a lot of shit to unpack. But what I need you to do is journal about what you are dealing with."

"I thought that was the point of talking to you."

"It is, and all those events you talked about are critical incidents. What I need you to do is talk about specifics on how each incident had specific ramifications for you," Jimenez said. "Is there something to pinpoint, to specify what caused grief, lose, broken trusts, broken loyalties. You might not even realize how something is affecting you personally until you examine analytically and putting it on paper."

"That's… a lot. I don't know how to start."

"You ever do a thesis?"

"Yes."

"Did you know exactly where you were going the first time you sat down in front of a computer… what the hell am I saying, we're two dinosaurs. I should be saying when you sat down with your scroll, quill and inkwell?"

Grissom chuckled. "I'm not quite that old, but I understand."

"Good," Jimenez said. "Just take it slow. Look at your situation from the inside out. See what you come up with."

Grissom's first night's sleep after his first therapy session was not the greatest, but it wasn't totally because his mind was on overdrive.

Daniel was fussy all night, and Grissom was up with the boy every couple of hours. In the wee hours, he took the boy's temperature and confirmed he had a slight fever. By 6:30 a.m. both mom and dad were wide awake.

"I really don't think he has a cold or the flu," Sara said. "He might be teething again or maybe something upset his stomach. I can still take him to daycare before I go to work."

"Why do that? It's Saturday. Let the kid stay home," Grissom said. "I don't have any appointments. I'll be OK with him. I can ask my mom to check on us around lunchtime in case he gets worse. But I think he's fine. He just needs to rest."

"You know, if I go now, I can leave a little early for shift, if there's nothing pressing," Sara said. "You sure you're OK?"

"We're fine."

"Don't let him oversleep, then we'll never get him on a good pattern during the day or the night…"

"So don't give him shots of whiskey and see where that takes us?"

"Hilarious," Sara said, swatting dad's arm before heading for the shower.

Arriving a little after 11 a.m., Grissom's mom quickly swooped up her grandson to give him the medical once-over that only a grandmother could.

"No vomiting?" She asked her son in sign language.

"No. Just a slight fever."

"No hives?"

"No. No mom. Just a slight fever. He was just fussy…"

"Did his crying seem different?"

"Different? Different than what?"

"Was his belly distended?"

"You mean like a corpse pulled out of the lake?"

That earned him a hard slap on the wrist from his mother. "Gilbert! That image is not allowed!"

Although he laughed, he signed his apologies and bowed to his mother's expertise as he tickled Daniel's tummy. "Do you think he is OK?"

"He looks tired." She turned to Daniel and made the sign for eating, which the youngster clapped in approval.

Although Grissom followed his mother into the kitchen she shooed him away. "You look tired, too. Go lie down. After Daniel finishes, I will make you a snack."

Making his way to the couch, Grissom put down his cane and laid down. But it was only for a moment. He got up and retreated to his study where he stashed the pamphlets from Jimenez. He opened one of his drawers and took out a couple of journals. After he found one without writing inside it, he placed it in front of him and grabbed a pen.

He still didn't know where to start, but he reverted to a saying he had heard during a creative class he took as a junior in college — "Free writing doesn't need to have a starting point, just the point of the pen."

It was close to an hour later when Grissom stopped. He felt exhausted, but also felt stiff from sitting for so long. He grabbed his cane and stood up, his knee heavily protesting the activity. He slowly made the sojourn to the kitchen but found his mother and Daniel in the living room.

Grissom grimaced as he sat down next to his mother on the couch. His mother noticed while her son's gaze was on Daniel, Grissom's attention seemed to be miles away. She tapped him on the arm.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

"No. Thank you. But no."

"I came into your office to bring you something to eat, but you looked like you were concentrating. Is something wrong?"

He shook his head in the negative. "How is Daniel?"

"Ready for a nap."

Grissom nodded his head, and the two watched as Daniel fought sleep as he played with his cloth blocks. Normally Grissom would get on the floor to play too, but this time he had another idea.

"Mom, since Daniel will be asleep soon, would you mind if I ran an errand?"

"You can't drive, Gilbert."

"No. I wasn't. I'd call a taxi. It won't be long. An hour at the most."

One dynamic between Betty and Gil Grissom that had always stayed true is the respect each other had for the other's privacy. He knew his mother wouldn't pry about what errand and she didn't.

"That's fine, son."

A/N 2: Look for Wednesday postings of the next chapter on 5th September