A/N: Thanks again for reading, and for the wonderful reviews.
Part 4: The Sun and the Rainfall
Chapter 12
Monday, March 11th, 2002
She and Catherine both sat in the back of the Mercedes as Grissom drove them towards Beverly Hills, with Catherine's insistence. Music once again filled the car, lights strobing and lighting up the interior. She read the display. It was "Blue Monday" by New Order.
"Do these lights ever bother him, or you?" she asked Catherine.
"Are you telling me you don't like it?"
"I don't mind. I just thought it would be distracting."
"I can tell him to turn it off, but he probably won't. He loves music. This is the only way he gets to experience it. He'll quote you anything from Shakespeare to song lyrics all day if you let him." Catherine grabbed the file and opened it. She pointed to a picture, saying, "Gina Sinclair and her husband Todd are our main targets of this operation. The scandalous couple of Gleason and Michaels are our way in."
"The Preston Manor?"
"Exactly. We've never been inside. Aether is accessible only through invite. Invitation only. And only another member, or the owners, can invite you."
"How come you've never been invited before?"
"Selectiveness, for starters. Not everyone in Hollywood gets an invite. A lot of us are good, honest, people just making a living. I kicked my drug habit years ago, before I had my daughter. As for nefarious sexual activity, never. I mean, I used to be a stripper, I've seen some things, but this kinky stuff…not my style. They would never invite me. But I give the impression that I don't judge, and I'm willing to look the other way. All the while, Gil here is taking pictures, and documenting conversations, and gathering all the Intel to find the trail that leads to the culprits that we're after. And he is very good at it. He told me once that everyone underestimates him, and others like him, because they see him as a disability." Catherine regarded her and asked, "You can handle this, right?"
"I ran three successful sting operations while in Vice and have a hundred percent solve rate since moving to Homicide. I think I can handle it, Catherine."
"And before Vice?"
"Crime lab. I'm a, uh, Materials and Elements expert."
"Why become a detective?"
She knew all the reasons; they were the same ones she's given Nick and Warrick. She told Catherine, "I guess I stopped caring about why materials broke down to cause accidents and started to wonder why people did to cause murder." She then asked, "You never told me why you do it. Why get involved?"
Catherine took a moment to consider her answer before telling her, "It's not the coked-up rockstar, or the actor addicted to opioids that we're after, Sara. It's the ones supplying the opioids. The ones trafficking the prostitutes. The ones who are taking their kinky, forbidden pleasures too far and murdering people. Those are the people we're after."
"The Sinclairs?"
"We think so, yes. Or at least, they know the names of who we're after. What makes it so hard, and this a very delicate operation, is that some of the people involved are police, politicians…You know, policy makers. Those who could do something and don't." She pulled out a photo and showed it to her. "He's a congressman."
"That's a lot of cocaine. Combine drugs, with that gun on the side table, and add in one bad argument or damaging of pride…That's a time bomb ready to go off. These people have fixers for a reason."
"And they all think the same thing," Catherine said.
"Which is?" she asked.
"Who's going to care about a dead hooker? Or stripper? Or a homeless girl or boy turning tricks to eat? I care. I used to be that stripper. This could have been me. That's why."
She gave a nod as she sat back in the seat. She caught Grissom's sunglasses-covered eyes in the rearview. He quickly moved his head, looking away.
First they had breakfast at Céline's, one of Catherine's favorite French bistros in Beverly Hills. It was on the corner of Santa Monica Boulevard and Canon Drive. There was a pink bar next door, restaurants across the street, and a shopping center. Sara had only heard of Rodeo Drive, and the shopping center in Beverly Hills where all the movie stars did their shopping, but she's never actually been there. In all her twenty years of living in Los Angeles, she's never even been to Beverly Hills. She never had a reason.
"Do you do all your shopping here?" she asked.
"Me?" Catherine said as they sat down.
They picked outdoor seating and sat at a round table on the sidewalk, making it easier for Grissom to watch them both.
"Who else?"
Catherine picked up her menu and said, "I've got to keep up appearances. I do some shopping here, but only when it's needed. There's nothing wrong with quality products. Take Gil's shoes for example. I bought him those as a Christmas gift, uh, what was it…five years ago? They're called driving loafers, made of Italian leather, and specifically crafted for comfort and with better grip on the soles. They cost me $800. He hasn't needed a new pair of shoes since. Otherwise, when he wore cheaper shoes, he was going through those things left and right from all the driving and walking around that he does. Shoes never lasted him a year."
Their server arrived and Sara ordered a cup of jasmine herbal tea. Grissom handed the guy a note.
"Served black?" the server asked.
Grissom nodded. She figured he got coffee.
Catherine ordered a juice cocktail that came with a shot of rum. Most of the breakfast food was served in the form of a sandwich or a salad, unless you got crepes or a parfait. She and Grissom got the same breakfast sandwich. Egg whites and smoked bacon on a toasted baguette with organic greens and scallion aioli. Catherine got a salad and parfait.
Before they received their meals, a basket of freshly baked croissants was placed on the table along with the creamiest butter she's ever had. "This really is heavenly. That's what Céline means in French. Heavenly."
"I always thought it was the owner's name. Or his wife's."
"Still could be." She eyed Catherine's drink choice once it was placed on the table. It was served in a wine glass. "Isn't it a little too early in the morning for rum?"
"It's never too early for rum," Catherine said as she added the shot to the juice and gave it a stir. "This place has been here for decades. And I'm pretty sure the number one contributing factor is that it serves alcohol before ten o'clock in the morning. You should try the Bloody Mary."
"I'm good."
"Do you drink?"
"The occasional red wine with dinner." She tried to make eye contact with Grissom, but he always darted his eyes away from her whenever she tried. "I prefer beer. I love a good lager." She spotted Grissom's smirk and wondered if it was caused by what she said.
Once their meals arrived, whatever awkwardness seemed to dissolve. It was one of the most pleasant experiences she's had eating out with complete strangers. Catherine talked nearly nonstop, asked some questions about her clothing preference, makeup, etc.
"I'm normally conscientious about the clothes and jewelry I wear. It's not just about price, but the impact on the environment, on people's lives. I don't wear anything made in a sweatshop, no animal testing, and no blood diamonds."
Catherine didn't bat an eye as she said, "I know just the place to go to do our shopping." Then she launched into the story of how she and Gil met, causing him to blush more than once, especially when she mentioned how his father paid her to sleep with him. "Turns out, he had been with a woman before. His father just didn't know it."
Grissom got up, signed something in irritation, and left the table.
Catherine interpreted for him, saying, "Restroom."
She watched him walk into the café. "I think you embarrassed him."
"I'm the one who should be embarrassed. I accepted cash for a roll in the hay with that guy. I mean, at least it was worth it."
"You don't regret it?"
"I never look back, and when I do, I don't regret. That's how I live my life. I made my choices. We all have. Best part of it was I met my best friend. I try to laugh about it, mostly. He's Mister Sensitivity. Good guy, but touchy. He's always been that way."
Catherine had been signing her words the whole time while talking, and eating, when Grissom was at the table. She wondered why she signed when Grissom could read lips.
She asked, "If Grissom can read lips, why do you sign?"
"It's a real strain on him to do it all the time. Reading lips is difficult. You know how some words sound the same? Our minds are working to comprehend what we hear all the time; we're just used to it, and it happens instantaneously. You know whether I'm saying 'too', 'to', or 'two'." Catherine smiled as she pulled apart a croissant and popped a piece into her mouth. "Words also look the same. He's always having to figure out the context clues to understand what's being said. Some words are mumbled, lack proper pronunciation, there's slang being tossed around, and the constant movement of our lips as we both talk and eat…All the questions. Was that a chew? Was it a syllable? Are they even talking? It's a lot of work. Signing gives him a break. Like with us hearing folk, comprehension is instantaneous. He doesn't have to work too hard to understand."
"I just figured since he's so good at it—"
"Just because you're good at something doesn't mean it's not work or has its hazards. We get overstimulated. Our eyes hurt, or burn and go dry when we read for too long, don't they? You can still wear yourself down. So can he. He gets a really bad case of dry eyes and is prone to migraines."
Before Grissom got back to the table, she wanted Catherine's honest opinion about something. "Does he have a problem with me?"
Catherine glanced off to where Grissom disappeared to and said, "No. What makes you think he does?"
"It's just that I get a sense that I make him uncomfortable. He can barely look at me."
"Oh, well, that. He's pretty shy—"
"Not with you."
"I've known him for twenty years. We've had our moments."
She didn't know what Catherine knew or didn't know. However, given the fact that she said that she's known Grissom for twenty years, and that Annie told her that Catherine had been his lover in 1982—and she helped him in undercover operations–then she had to think that Catherine knew who she was. Still, she had to thread carefully.
"Catherine, do you know who I am? My history with him…?"
"Yeah, about that. I thought it might be awkward for the two of you, but…You took the assignment, so I guess I thought you were fine with working with him. It did surprise me, though."
"Why? Why would it be awkward?"
Catherine said as if it should've been no big deal, or secret, "He's the one who saved you."
He was the one who saved her? She thought that the police were the ones who found her. She took a moment to regroup as she took a drink of herbal tea. "Grissom saved me? Were you there?"
"Not physically there when it happened, but I helped him track you down."
She nearly gapped as she stared at the woman next to her. "I—I had no idea. You helped him to find me?"
"Yeah," Catherine said as she too just realized that she had no idea. "I thought you knew."
"No. I, uh, I don't remember anything about my past before…"
Catherine raised her eyes in surprise. She let out a breath before picking up her drink and taking a sip. "Maybe I should keep my mouth shut."
"Catherine—"
"Sara, I don't know what I'm supposed to say. It's police business. I really thought you knew. I'm sure Gil can tell you all about it."
"Why can't you?"
"Because like I said, it's police business, and I wasn't there when it all went down. He went off alone…Look," she said as she lowered her voice and leaned closer to her across the table. This was a sensitive subject. "Gil's a very private, reserved guy. He keeps a lot to himself and…I blame it partly on what happened that night when he found you. Something changed inside him. He withdrew so far inside himself, I thought that…The best way to describe it is like a light went out. Inside, he went all dark. Relationships, personal relationships, forget about it. He hasn't even dated in God knows how long. That shell that came over him and surrounded his heart is still there. At first, I thought it was the work. I thought he shut down in order to do…this. But that wasn't entirely it. I think he's afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"I don't know. He never told me."
"I thought he's your best friend. But you never talked about it."
Catherine sat her glass down as she told her, "Gil's my best friend, but…I'm not his. I honestly don't think he has one. And if I am his BFF, he has a funny way of showing it."
She had one more question. "So, you don't know what he does at the warehouse?"
Catherine wrinkled her head in confusion. "Warehouse? What warehouse?"
At that moment, she felt him move behind her and drop back down into the chair on the other side of her. Grissom grabbed his cup of coffee, took a drink, and then spotted their eyes in him. He signed something that she swore was "What?" considering the very innocent and confused look on his face.
Catherine answered by signing something. His eyes widened slightly before he glanced her way. Then he signed something furiously to Catherine who was signing back just as aggressively. It was like sitting between two people having an argument in a foreign language and you were the odd one out. Whatever was being said, they were both growing increasingly annoyed.
Catherine finally stopped, shook her head, and said, "He'll answer whatever questions you have, but he has to clear it with the PD first. I guess it's classified or something."
She caught his eyes and saw a pain in them that made her heart ache. She had believed this whole time that it had been the police who saved her life. It hadn't been the police, or her parents because they couldn't, but this stranger who had decided one day to walk her to the library and back so she would be safe. He had cared so much for her life that he took it upon himself to do what no one else could.
In her journal entries, she had called him Valjean. He had been her friend. And in her last message, she had been so desperate that she called out for him to find her.
And he did.
"Why?" she asked him. "Why me? You didn't even know me? I was just some kid you met one day. I don't even know how we met. But why look for me? Why did you care?"
Grissom had watched her lips, took in all her questions, and signed his answer. Catherine spoke his words. He said, "Because you trusted me to be your friend. That had to count for something."
Saturday, March 13th, 1982
Catherine stole one of my egg rolls as I stole a cigarette from her purse. Using her zippo lighter, I lit it up. Leaning back into the red leather booth, I blew out the smoke as I stared up at the white ceiling covered in colorful flyers announcing concerts for various punk bands around Los Angeles. They were also plastered over the mustard-colored walls.
~"Someone will call, something will fall
And smash on the floor…"~
We were seated inside of Atomic Café, which was a weird combination Japanese American diner where Ramen bowls were placed on the menu next to burgers and fries. It was also a punk haven in the Little Tokyo neighborhood of Los Angeles. A five-minute walk took you to one of my favorite bars, Al's.
~"Without reading the text, know what comes next
Seen it before and it's painful…"~
Al's Bar was inside of the American Hotel and was the place to go for the passionate insanity that was punk music. Atomic was also one of the first places to feature punk music on the jukebox along with new wave, rock and roll, and also Japanese songs.
Catherine wore a black jean jacket over a multi-colored flannel. Her long legs were barely hidden by the min-skirt that matched the jacket. Red boots stuck out from the booth as she stretched out over the seat and leaned back against the wall.
I asked her, /What song is playing?/
~"Things must change
We must rearrange them
Or we'll have to estrange them…"~
She stopped chewing her food to listen. I thought that was odd. Why did she have to stop eating to hear? Did everyone have to do that? "The Sun and the Rainfall," she answered.
~"All that I'm saying
A game's not worth playing
Over and over again…"~
Good song. I liked the lyrics. I nodded as I picked up my coffee and took a drink as the door opened and a brigade of people nearly fell through it. I intentionally sat facing the door so that I could take note of every face that walked in. So far, none of them I recognized as being associated with the Russian mob.
The crowd growing inside Atomic was the hangovers from Al's Bar. It wasn't all spiked hair, torn jeans, and leather jackets. There were plenty of people in worn work shirts from working the docks and warehouses. Guys with glasses in loose jeans and polo shirts. A mixture of outcasts, rebels, blue-collar workers and science geeks were all talking about the bands they'd just witnessed playing either for the first time or the hundredth. Bands like the Misfits, Sex Pistols, The Creamers, Cathay de Grande, and The Super Heroines among others.
Once, years ago, I spotted Sid Vicious in the same red booth I sat in now. Suzie, one of the servers, told me that David Bowie would drop in whenever he was in town. I had yet to have a Bowie sighting, but maybe one day.
The door opened again. Edith, my favorite bartender from Al's, stumbled in with the lead singer from Undated wrapped around her waist. She wore a black dress with the sleeves torn off, exposing the tattoos on her shoulders and arms. Her black hair was a mixture of curly twists and spiky thorns. Cigarettes were hanging from their mouths; I could tell by their scrunched-up faces and wide eyes that they were laughing.
Catherine caught my eyes as she said, "Stop staring."
I wrote a note, telling her, 'I have to stare. It's how I watch people.'
"Stop people watching. We need a new plan of attack."
We did. All Friday night and today, we spent talking to every motel manager where the women were murdered and daughters taken. I was able to take pictures of two of the registry books for the days before and of the murders. Catherine did a lot of explaining, making up some lie that I was looking for my brother and niece. There wasn't a single manager who recognized Mr. Red Shirt, but I wasn't expecting them to. It'd been so long ago, years for some. Some of the managers were new, or worked different shifts.
Once I got the film developed then I could cross reference any repeating names. Then I'd go back to La Vista Motel and see if any of those names had been used during the time Sara had stayed there. At least a day or two before her mother was killed. If I found a match, then I would have to make sure it was the guy.
I knew someone that I could call on to get the car registration. Mr. Red Shirt drove a new 1982 Chevy Impala. He got a new girl every year, and I wondered if he also got a new car every year as well. That would make tracking him more difficult for the police. And this guy seemed to be very smart.
I had to be smarter.
A hand landed on my shoulder. It was Edith. She smiled as she said, "Hey, deaf guy. Haven't seen you in a while. We've missed you."
I felt the heat on my face as I removed the cigarette from my mouth and pointed to Catherine.
"Ah, you got a girl. Good for you. See ya," Edith said before she walked away.
While I smoked, my eyes traveled down her back, her legs, and then back up as her hips moved. Catherine caught me watching Edith walk away. She grinned. "You like her. Why don't you ask her out?"
I shook my head. /No./ I took a drink of coffee to hide the embarrassment of getting caught.
"Why not?"
/I'm deaf./
Catherine already picked up on a few signs to where I didn't need to write everything down. I told her she was smart. She said, "So? We dated…For a day."
She wouldn't understand. So, I wrote her a note explaining. 'I'm the deaf guy.'
"Yeah. And?"
I tapped the note again. Making her really think about it.
She finally did as she said, "I see. You're an antidote."
Antidote? My mind worked back over the word, the sentence, and realized that I read her lips wrong. She said "anecdote".
I wrote, 'Or the punchline. Or the cause. They all know my name; I told them what it was. Even spray painted it on the damn wall at Al's Bar. I'm still the 'deaf guy'.'
"Shouldn't you be glad to be the cause? Don't punk people celebrate and rally for the disenfranchised?"
'The only reason I'm disenfranchised is because hearing people think I am. I don't think I am. I don't need a band to make a song about me. This "deaf, dumb, and blind kid sure plays a mean pinball"…but we don't care enough to remember his name.' I told her as I quoted The Who's song "Pinball Wizard".
Catherine read my words and said, "You're touchy."
I nearly rolled my eyes. Picking up my cup of coffee, I took a drink as I glanced around and the place as it started to fill up. A lot of people made me nervous. Add in alcohol and punks and you could get a riot. Or a food fight. There was a story going around that they had to kick Andy Warhol out once. I would've loved to have been here for that.
She tapped me on the hand. "How'd you know The Who's song lyrics?"
'I can read.'
"And you read the lyrics off of albums?"
/Yes./ I then wrote, 'It's no different than reading poetry.'
Catherine smiled, saying. "You read poetry?"
I shrugged. /Yes./ As that amused her, I finished my coffee and signed for a refill to Suzie who was supposed to be waiting on us but was too busy talking to Mel, the bass player for a band called The Maggots.
"What's the plan, Gil? Do we stay here all night?"
~"You're the one I like best
You retain my interest
You're the only one…"~
It was after midnight. We were exhausted, and hungry, but I didn't want to stop searching. This was just a pit stop. I wanted to get back on the road and head back towards Santa Monica. There were so many places we didn't get to. Hell, I didn't know. I needed a good night's rest but opted for a refill on my coffee instead.
Suzie finally arrived at the table and poured me a cup. I showed her a note that read, 'Thank you.'
Catherine said, "While you think about it, I'm going to the bathroom."
~"If it wasn't for you, don't know what I'd do…"~
I watched her the whole way down the hall. A tense ache filled my gut as I knew what she was going to do. Sure enough, I saw the signs as she walked back to the counter. Her nose was red and she was jittery. Instead of sleep, Catherine opted for a stimulant to keep her awake.
~"Unpredictable like the sun
And the rainfall…"~
As she slid back into the red leather booth, she said, "I still don't know why we're doing this. Why are you so determined—"
/She's my friend./
"Friend? She's ten."
'She trusted me. I walked with her to keep her safe, and she was taken.'
"That's not your fault."
/What if it is?/ She had no idea what I said, but I knew it. That thought kept rattling around in my head. I told her, 'If you went missing, I would look for you.'
She seemed to deflate a little and I wondered if her anger and combativeness had anything to do with the cocaine. "Okay, so say we find a recurring name. How do we find out it's the right guy? You know, we can check the phone book for an address. But that's only if he's local, and if he used his real name, and if it isn't John Smith with a thousand possibles."
'Car registration.'
She did laugh that time, I could tell. "You're kidding? How—"
I'd already written my answer, 'Your father. He owes me.'
"My father owes you for what? He just met you." Without asking, I reached inside her purse and pulled out the bag of white powder. "Hey, what's the big idea? That's mine."
I pointed to myself.
"You want to do a line?"
I shook my head then pointed to myself. Then I showed her the butterfly twist-tie and pointed to myself again.
She put two and two together and got four. "It's yours," she said in wide-eyed shock. "You're a coke dealer?"
Her eyes got wider as she looked around the room. I realized that she yelled it out for everyone to hear as all heads and eyes turned my way. I handed the bag back to her.
She signed /Sorry/ as she took it and put it in her purse.
I only shook my head and took a long pull off the cigarette. Exhaustion was settling in as I blew out the smoke and rubbed my head. Checking my watch, I saw that it's been 38 hours since I last slept. Catherine's bright blue eyes were teasing me as she took a sip of her soda and licked her lips.
I felt desire building as I watched her lips. Okay, maybe the urge to want to have sex with her didn't completely fade away, but it wasn't as constant. She was a beautiful woman, and we did already have sex. And she was open to it.
She was also a mind reader. "Am I getting you all hot and bothered?"
I smiled around the smoke, tapped it out, and signed, /I want a beer./ There was a liquor store not too far away. I could pick up a case, get a hotel room, and drink myself into a coma. I was so fucking tired.
Catherine got up only to slide in next to me. She was practically sitting on my lap. "I got something better than a drink. I guarantee you, after tonight, you'll no longer be referred to as 'the deaf guy'," she said right before she kissed me stupid.
~"Things must change
We must rearrange them
Or we'll have to estrange them…"~
When I closed my eyes, the entire world disappeared except for that kiss. I opened my eyes in time to see her moaning a word that looked strikingly similar to my name before my lips found her neck as I laughed. She grabbed me by my hair, yanked my head back, and kissed me so hard my head spun.
~"All that I'm saying
The game's not worth playing
Over and over again…~
Ten minutes later we had a room at the American Hotel above Al's Bar. Neither one of us wanted to make the drive to her apartment, especially since I stopped on the way and grabbed a case of beer. We both wanted to feel something good after an entire 24 hours of thinking about nothing but death and stolen children who'd been murdered.
Catherine wanted her needs quenched until she was spent and sated in bed. I wanted a cold beer and a peaceful mind. Any desire that had momentarily risen up, teasing at the edges of my control, were now gone.
She knew it before I told her. I saw it in her eyes as I leaned heavily against the elevator wall to keep from falling over from exhaustion. She leaned into me, held onto my leather jacket, and smiled. Behind that smile, a lingering look remained. It wasn't regret, but it wasn't love either.
"I'm too wound up to hang out in a hotel room where nothing's going to happen. Thinking of uh, going for a little drive. Find Ed. Depending on how my night goes, I might not be back until the morning. Okay?"
I nodded. /Okay, bright eyes,/ I signed, making her smile wider.
"What was that?"
I found my pen and notepad in my jacket pocket and wrote, 'Bright eyes. It's a nickname. In the deaf community, we are given a sign that is associated with our names, like a nickname, so we don't have to finger spell our names all the time. I decided to give you 'Bright eyes'. It'll mean Catherine.'
Handing her the note, her eyes brighten with each word she read.
"What's yours?" she asked.
I didn't answer. I kissed her cheek and stuck my hand into her purse. I found her pack of cigarettes and lighter. Then I waved bye as the elevator doors slid open. There were two room keys, I tossed her one. That was if she came back. Like she said, she might be gone all night.
~"Things must change…"~
Once in the room, I dropped my overnight bag and headed for the window. I opened it up all the way and felt the night breeze hit my face. Sitting on the ledge, I smoked another one of her cigarettes and drank the beer. The room had a view of the city. Beyond the bright orange and yellow lights, between the skyscrapers, was the dark openness of nothing. My head was pounding with what felt like a million thoughts that'd slammed into one another. The crashing pileup of my life was laid out before me in that dark night sky.
I didn't like any of it. I didn't like the eyes on me when Catherine announced what I was in the diner. Or the ever-mounting fear of the Russians that bristled down my back every time I looked over my shoulder. The handshake with Sam Braun in the desert. Sara, missing. My father, gone. Mother, gone. Catherine, a woman who didn't even love me, my only friend. All the blood on my hands.
Catherine had asked me earlier in the day what it was like being deaf. I told her to stick her head under water. She just smiled, but I felt that threatening pressure of water pressing down on my head. The hallways and rooms of that hotel were full of drunken or drugged up aquanauts. That's what they all were. Even Catherine. They were all under the surface of the dark ocean water, struggling to live and survive, as the water held them down.
~"Things must change…"~
As for me, I was Major Tom from David Bowie's "Space Oddity". A lost astronaut floating out in the vacuum of space. Forever tumbling, sinking, further and further away toward death. I wondered if I would ever be found. If the tumbling would ever stop. If there would ever be a time when I could breathe easy again like I had once before when everything didn't seem so impossible.
I fought to keep at bay the wave of despair that suddenly gripped my chest. It was crushing. I knew what it was. The weight that pressed so hard into my chest and clouded my head with a darkness that never saw a sunrise.
There were no words to describe it because no English word existed for what I felt. It was where I cried alone in silence. It was where I shouted out all my pain in the void of space. It was where I yearned and ached for a love so strong that it stopped the tumbling and tethered me to the ground. A love that sent me crashing back down to earth, where I could resurface and breathe clean air once again.
What I felt…was toska.
~"Things must change…"~
Tuesday, March 12th, 2002
~"Things must change (if it wasn't for you, don't know what I'd do)
Unpredictable like the sun…"~
Catherine walked back inside her house with Grissom behind her. He'd been awfully quiet today, and distant, more so than usual. She knew he was in his head. Whatever thoughts that were swirling around inside it had put a damper on his mood. Even with his usual stoic face she could read him. It was in the way he carried himself, the urgency in which he moved or didn't move.
She wondered if he'd slept because his legs were sluggish and he appeared worn down, and it wasn't due to all the shopping. They made a detour to drop Sara off at home before he brought her home. He hadn't played any music in his car, which was a first. There was always something playing, even if it was just an instrumental there was music.
He sat at her kitchen counter as she pulled down a wine bottle. She poured them both a glass and sat his glass in front of him before she sat on the other side of the black quartz counter.
~"Things must change (someone will call, something will fall)
And smash on the floor…"~
Raising her hands, she signed to him, /Are you okay?/
/Been thinking./
/You've got me worried/ she said before she took her first sip of the red wine. /What's on your mind?/
/Sara. This assignment. I think that she likes me./
"Oh, boy, here we go," she said out loud as she nodded. She knew it. Sara tried to hide it but she saw the dreamy eyes that she'd casted his way. Every dress she tried on she would look at him to see his reaction. If Gil didn't like it, she didn't even entertain the thought of getting it. /Sara's a grown woman. She can make her own choices. So can you. You're both adults, act like it./
/It's not that simple. We have a date planned for tonight. We want to get familiar with one another so we're not so uncomfortable, like you said./
/And you're afraid she's going to make you feel some sort of way./
He took his first drink of wine before telling her, /She already has./
She saw the way his shoulders slumped. A weight settled in and she knew it. She knew it before he told her.
/When I first saw her the other day, I didn't know at the time who she was, not until she told me her name and I figured it out. But, when I looked at her, all I saw was this beautiful woman. What I feel now, after getting to know her…When she's near me, I can't breathe. Given the assignment, and with how close we need to get, the environment we're going to be in…There's a part of me that thinks it's wrong, but another part that thinks…/
He stopped. He couldn't say it. She already knew but she needed him to address it. This was what his problem had been all day.
/What?/
/Should I care what people might think? Should I shut myself off to her? Shut my heart off from feeling anything at all? Should I lie to her when she asks me how I feel about her? Because if she asks…The truth is…I can see myself loving her./
"Oh, Gil. Of all the people—"
/I know, Catherine/ he signed quickly, cutting her off.
She saw the sign that meant her name but read it as "Bright eyes". It made her smile every time she saw it. She was also right. He loved Sara. This was a serious complication.
It took her a long time to answer, before telling him, /I think you should be honest. I haven't seen you like this in a long time./
/Like what?/
/Vulnerable. Open. I think maybe that shell you put around your heart was to protect you from what you feel, and had felt, for her./
/I don't understand. You think I fell in love with a child?/
/No. I think you felt something so deep that it cut you so bad that you shut yourself off in fear of what it might have been. And now, here she is a grown woman that makes you question your feelings. Feelings you haven't felt in years. Like love. It wasn't romantic love, or anything sexual, back then, but now…the love that you're feeling for this woman might be all those things./
He sat for a long moment, thinking, before telling her, /I believe in God, in fate, and I knew there was a reason for us to cross paths, but I never thought that one day that I would love her. Not like this./ He shook his head in near disappointment in himself. /I don't know what to do./
/I see. Let me ask, does it really matter to you what I think?/
/You're my friend, of course I care about what you think. I don't want you to think I'm a bad guy if something happens between me and Sara./
/Gil, there are only two people on earth who I know would put their life on the line for me, my daughter, and you're one of them. As for you and Sara, if you find yourself wanting to be with her, to love her, and cherish her for the rest of your life, because you can be that dedicated, I won't think you're a bad guy for it. We can't help who we love. I only care if it's for the right reasons./
/Meaning?/
/You have to tell her. And I mean everything. She can't go into this blind to who you are and the things you've done. That's not fair. Level with her, let her make her decision once she's well informed./
He agreed. There was so much he had to explain first. So much she needed to know. He pulled out his cell phone and sent Sara a text. Once he pocketed the phone, he told her, /I texted her, 'Let's do dinner Friday night. I'll pick you up in the morning for breakfast. There's a lot we need to discuss first.'/
/Good. That's where you need to start. With the truth./
/Thank you, Catherine, for not judging me./
Catherine saw the sign again for her name. /That's what friends are for./ Then she said, /Gil, do you know that you still haven't told me what your deaf name is. It's been twenty years, are you ever going to tell me what sign represents Gil Grissom?/
He was surprised by the question, probably thinking she forgot all about it. /It's 'sign name', not 'deaf name'. We aren't supposed to give ourselves one. It's to be given to us by someone…who cares. A family member or close friend; a spouse, but only if they're deaf./ He let out a deep breath that seemed to come out from the very bottom of his lungs. It looked like it hurt. /No one ever gave me one. My mother said she gave me my name when I was born, and she wasn't going to call me anything else. I never had any deaf friends. My father never—/ He shook his head and shrugged. /It's okay. I've been estranged from the community for a long time, so…it seems fitting to just remain G.I.L./
~"Things must change (without reading the text know what comes next)..."~
Oh, she gasped as she saw the sadness that he tried to hide in that shrug of his shoulders. It wasn't okay.
~"Seen it before…"~
She stood and walked around the counter to pull him into a hug. Whatever she wanted to tell him never escaped her lips as she just held him. His entire body was so tense it broke her heart. He was so despondent, and scared. More afraid than she's ever seen him before in her life, and it had nothing to do with a job, but his heart.
~"...and it's painful…"~
After a very long couple of minutes, she finally let him go. He stood, kissed her cheek, and left her house.
~"Things must change…"~
TBC…
Disclaimer songs used: "Blue Monday" by New Order and "The Sun and the Rainfall" by Depeche Mode
PS: The Atomic Cafe and Al's Bar were both real places. Unfortunately, they're both gone now. The American Hotel still exists, though.