Grissom
winced, and gave her a wry look.
“Showtime—“
he commented, and then began to walk in the
direction of the noise. Sara trailed behind uncertainly, watching him
fish a
flashlight out of his pocket as his stride increased. The sound of
teenage
voices carried in the night, just over the fading chorus of heavy metal.
“—Go
to Donnie’s party instead. It’s fuckn’
stupid to
come all the way out here to do it, Ray! I’ll get dirt in my
panties!”
“Come
on, it’s hot and you know it, Lupe—I thought you
loved me baby . . .” the voice turned into an oily pleading
that made Sara grit
her teeth.
“—Even
make a video of it!” Whoever Ray was, the
label ‘scummy’ seemed to fit, she decided.
The
land sloped, and the gravel path led downhill to a
scattering of mausoleums along the fence; Grissom was moving steadily
towards
the back gate, the beam of his light low on the ground. Sara looked
around and
even as the idea came to her she lifted her skirts and ran. Lightly,
cautiously
she made a wide detour through the dark blue twilight until she was
abreast of
Grissom, maybe seven feet to his right. If he saw her he gave no
indication;
his focus lay straight ahead.
The
flashlight beam rose and caught the young couple
square in the chest, illuminating a broad-shouldered skinhead boy
wearing a
studded black leather jacket and jeans. He held the wrist of a buxom
girl
almost dressed in a too small dominatrix corset and a blaringly blue
spike wig.
They both looked up into the light, gaping. The girl dropped something
onto the
gravel.
“I’m
sorry, visiting hours are over—“ Grissom told them
mildly, letting the light drop enough so that they could focus on him.
Lupe
blushed and yanked her wrist free from Ray’s grasp. He thrust
his jaw out.
“Yeah,
well this is public property—“ came his wavering
bluff. Lupe caught sight of Grissom and clapped a hand over her mouth
for a
second.
“Aw
Jesus Ray, it’s a priest! I don’t BELIEVE
it—“
Her
words seemed to reach him and Ray straightened up a
bit, chest puffing.
“You
know I don’t either, this being Halloween and
all—how do I know you really ARE a priest?“ his
belligerent question rang out.
Grissom gave a faint smile.
“Agnus
Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem,
Agnus Dei qui tollis peccata mundi dona eis requiem
sempieternam.”
At
his calm Latin, Lupe moaned and crossed herself. She
raised her face and wiped a few errant tears away.
“I’m
sorry Father, really. We’ll just haul a . . . away
and not bug you no more okay?”
An
odd little moan carried on the breeze, making Lupe
and Ray turn to look in that direction. Grissom didn’t move
at all.
Ray
turned pale, small beads of sweat on his temple.
Grissom nodded, his voice calm and soothing.
“That’s
a good idea. Let the dead rest in peace, shall
we? I’d hate to see them . . . disturbed—“
“Aw
shit---“ abruptly Ray swallowed hard and snagged
Lupe’s
hand, yanking her back with him as they took off through the half
opened gate
to the ancient
“Boo.”
Grissom
bent and picked up something from the gravel: a
small plastic pumpkin half full of candy.
“Trick
or treat?” he offered.
***
*** ***
The
wrought iron bench was a little cold, but Sara
didn’t mind as she dumped the pumpkin out into her lap and
sorted through it
carefully. Grissom focused the beam on the treats, laughing softly as
Sara
began to pick and choose.
“You
think they mugged some poor kid to get this?
Oooooh, two Zagnut bars!”
“It
could have been a party favor, or a door prize and
I call dibs on the Snickers.”
“What
Snickers?”
“THAT
one—the big one you’re trying to hide under the
edge of your skirt,” Grissom snorted. Sara tried for an
innocent look but
instead merely batted her eyes at him.
“You
want it, come get it—“ came her throaty taunt. He
arched a knowing eyebrow at her, his smile more than amused.
“You
know, the thought of a priest reaching under a dead
bride’s skirt—“ he began. Sara grinned.
“It’s
a Snickers. Giant size—“
“Tempting
a man of the cloth—“ he muttered, but his
hand was already moving across her thigh. Sara laughed out loud and
pulled the
candy out, handing it to him.
“If
I’d been really evil I would have tucked it into my
garter,” she saucily told him, peeling the wrapper off a
Tootsie pop.
“And
I would have considered eating it right there,” he
replied, unfazed. Sara considered this and shook her veiled head
slightly.
“I
can’t pin you down, can I? Ever time I think I have
you pegged as one thing you turn into another. Sometimes I think you do
it on
purpose.”
“It’s
a gift,” Grissom took a bite of his candy and
chewed, smiling. Sara waved the sucker at him.
“Like
that Latin—what was it?”
“The
Agnus Dei for the Dead. I’m sure mom mentioned I
was an altar boy back in the days around Vatican II. “
Sara
nodded, looking at him in his vestments. She drew
in a breath and shifted her gaze to the quiet surroundings as she asked
softly,
“You
still believe?”
“In
God, yes. In the teachings of the Catholic
Church—not really. Far too many of their doctrines fail to
take in the welfare
of the souls bound by them. I can’t support their views on
birth control, or
divorce or euthanasia or stem cell research, and it tests my patience
to see
needless suffering and death go on all because of an
institution’s refusal to
move forward.”
Sara
lifted her chin.
“Hey,
there aren’t many religions that support all of
those, Grissom. And quite a few faiths leave those decisions up to the
individual you know. Not every doctrine is meant to be an article of
faith.”
Grissom
looked at her thoughtfully, smiling a little.
“Do
you believe, Sara?”
“We
went to a Lutheran service for the holidays,” she
told him. “Mom liked the fact that they were really into lay
service, and Dad
just liked to sing. “
“Yes,
but you yourself, honey. What do YOU believe in?”
Sara
bit her lip. It was a serious question and she
knew he was interested in her answer. She straightened up a bit and
looked away
from him.
“I
guess I’m an agnostic at heart. I don’t know if I
believe in a God, but the logical side of me sees too much symmetry and
balance
in the world to deny an outside influence beyond that of the natural
universe.
And when I meet people who DO have faith I know there’s
something there beyond
my own limited ability to perceive it. Does that make any
sense?”
Grissom
cocked his head, his eyes bright in the beam of
the flashlight.
“Eloquently
stated, Sara. And yes, it does make sense.”
They
shared a quiet pause full of warmth, and Sara felt
her cheeks heat up. She looked down at the candy again, just to find
something
for her hands to do.
“Um—“
she spoke up, reaching for a bag of M and Ms,
“I’ve got something to tell
you—“
His
expression shifted to a patient wariness as he
pursed his lips. Sara steeled herself.
“Doc
Robbins knows. About us.”
Silence.
She risked a look at Grissom. He held out a
hand and she poured a few of the candies in it. She watched him neatly
sort
them by color before starting on the tan ones.
“Was
he supportive?” came the calm question. She
blinked.
“Uh,
yeah, actually he was.”
Grissom
nodded quietly.
“I
guess it had to happen eventually, despite
ourselves. Al’s pretty discreet, but I’ll probably
be getting a lecture on—“
“On?”
Sara prompted, amused to see Grissom actually
blush a bit. He handed her the green M and M’s.
“On
allowing my libido to deal with my mid-life
crisis.”
Sara
laughed and slipped one of the candies into her
mouth.
“For
the record, I seduced YOU, Grissom. I can
freely state that I was the pursuer in this entire relationship from
the minute
I saw you in Reardon Hall all the way until the hotel outside Cold
Springs.”
“Is
that the way you see it?” he was smiling again, his
body leaning towards hers. In the distance, the lights of
“Of
course. I did just about everything but fling
myself at you, and for a while you seemed to like it, but then . .
.” she
paused, reluctant to mention the entire Hank Peddigrew fiasco. Grissom
pursed
his mouth.
“But
I’d been taking you for granted, and when I
realized someone else had moved in on you, I pretended to do the noble
thing
and let you go. Which was denial, which was how I pretty much handled
with my
deafness as well—if you never acknowledge the situation, you
don’t have to deal
with it.”
“Yeah
well, I can’t say I haven’t done that
myself,”
Sara sighed. Grissom gave a humorless laugh.
“The
worst thing about what I did was I ended up
hurting so many people, Sara. I let you all down in the field, I
shirked my
responsibilities and I acted as if my condition didn’t affect
things. And
you—my God I hurt you worst of all, honey. I pretended to be
doing the right
thing when under it all a tiny part of me wanted to make you suffer for
choosing someone else. I don’t think I can ever make up for
that, Sara.”
She
dipped her head, feeling the sharp prickle of tears
and fighting them back. His words stunned her with their honesty and
part of
the pain they created came from his confirmation of her suspicion. She
blindly
reached for his hand, grabbing it tightly.
“It’s
okay. I can’t fault you for being human and that
means your dark side too—“ Sara muttered.
His
fingers gripped hers back so tightly it was almost
painful.
“Yes
you can. I was an ass. I went back over the
Sillmont case before signing it off and realized from the seating
layout that
Peddigrew was at the cafe with someone. It wasn’t a far jump
from there to
figure out why you were depressed after that. And still, I did
nothing.”
The
self-loathing in his voice startled her; Sara
turned her head to see him rub his other hand over the bridge of his
nose.
“Then
the lab blew up, and I was so stunned that MY
people were hurt, that my safe little cave had been violated that I
wasn’t
thinking straight. You asked me out--I couldn’t handle it.
“
“Gris,
those three days following the blast I was
jacked up on adrenaline. Feeling omnipotent, okay?” Sara told
him softly,
urgently, “I knitted three sweaters, cleaned out my
closets, refinished
an entire dining room set—I wasn’t exactly thinking
straight either. I asked
you out, and yeah your rejection hurt . . . but it also got me grounded
again.
Got me back on track, despite my embarrassment.”
She
squeezed his fingers and he finally looked up at
her, his smile so woebegone that it pierced her heart. He cleared his
throat.
“Can
I apologize NOW for any future stupidity on my
part? I suspect there’s going to be a lot of it--”
“You
won’t be alone, so don’t beat yourself up just
yet,” she replied with a hint of tartness. Her smile took any
sting out of it,
and Grissom drew in a shaky breath, looking slightly relieved. Before
he could
say more, a faint buzz echoed out. He fished out his cell phone and
answered it
tersely.
“Grissom—“
Sara
slowly packed up the candy, looking expectantly at
him while he spoke quickly into the phone. As he hung up, he sighed.
“They
need you in to process a female suspect. That
will probably take the rest of the shift.”
Sara
tried to hand him the pumpkin but he shook his
head with a grin and rose with her from the bench.
“Okay,
I’ll take it with me—maybe Greg can give it to
Wyatt. And uh—I guess I’ll see you. . .”
“
. . . At home,” he finished firmly. “You have no
idea
how much I want to kiss you right now.”
“You
can’t. We’re on the job and you’ll get
green all
over you,” she reminded him, laying a hand on his chest to
hold him back.
Grissom’s eyes twinkled, but he gave a nod. Carefully he took
her hand and
turned it, palm up, to drop a kiss into the center of it, his beard
tickling
her skin.
“Good
point. I’ll see you later then. Tell Warrick to
leave the copy of his deposition on my desk, and remind Nick
he’s still got two
cases to be signed off before end of shift.”
“Will
do. Are you going to be okay out here?” she
asked, looking around the dark cemetery. Grissom nodded with quiet
confidence.
“Absolutely.
Don’t worry about me. I’ll be home soon,
Acushla.”
Those
were the words that came back to haunt her.
***
*** ***
There
were too many papers on the desk. Sara frowned,
trying to figure out their order, but every time she tried to focus on
the
topmost one they shifted and blurred. Frustrated she looked at the desk
and
recognized it as Grissom’s but there were photos on it. One
was a framed
picture of an empty high chair. The other was of Olivia, but she was
clinging
to the arm of a man Sara recognized as Frank Sinatra.
Confused,
Sara looked again and she was standing in the
walk-in pantry of the Ocean Inn, looking at shelves and shelves of
canned
peaches. Miles of canned peaches, all Late Bloomer brand, the mature
sweet
variety which her mother preferred—a can fell, ringing as it
hit the brick
floor, ringing, ringing---
Flailing,
Sara sat up and reached for the phone, barely
awake as she fumbled for it on the nightstand.
“S-Sidle
here—“
“Sara,
it’s Catherine. Listen, is Grissom with you?”
came the slightly strained voice. Sara stiffened. She looked around the
bedroom
quickly, seeing only her costume draped over the chair. A glance at the
clock
confirmed it was a little after six thirty in the morning.
“No.
I’m off—“ she replied, trying to sound
natural and
not succeeding as she quickly climbed out of bed. Catherine gave a sigh.
“Damn!
He’s not answering his pager or his phone, which
isn’t like him. Warrick went out to Bunker Brothers, but the
parking lot’s
empty.”
“Did
you try his house—his place?” Sara corrected
herself as she made a quick search through the bungalow rooms, fighting
the
adrenaline.
“I’m
standing outside on the steps right now, but his
parking place is empty here too. You saw him last—did he
mention any errands or
trips he had to make?”
“Nnnnnno.
I left him at the cemetery when I went in to
process Mona De Gresse and he told me he’d be fine. Have you
called the
hospitals?”
“I’m
on the verge, believe me. Nick and I have been
trying to get a hold of him since three with no luck.”
Sara
swallowed her panic and drew a deep breath. “I
left him around one—“
“Okay,
let’s go ahead and call around,” Catherine
decided. “Brass can alert the Highway patrol and the
dayshift. With any luck
Grissom will show up and we’ll all look silly, but better
that than—“
Sara
didn’t want to consider the alternatives.
Fifteen
minutes later, Desert Palms hospital confirmed
that they had three John Does currently admitted, but only one was
Caucasian.
Sara was already there, pacing, when Warrick and Catherine arrived,
both of
them looking strained and anxious. She looked up at them.
“Hey.
The nurse is getting permission for me to go have
a look at the guy. Says it was a car accident.”
Warrick
and Catherine glanced at each other in a way
that sent a shiver down Sara’s spine.
“It’s
Grissom,” Warrick sighed. “The EMTs recorded the
license of the vehicle when they filed the report—Brass just
phoned us with it
on the way over.”
“Just
NOW? What the hell took so long to notify us?”
Sara burst out angrily, glaring at Warrick. He shook his head.
“No
ID. Looks like he was rolled by either whoever hit
him, or some Bad Samaritan shortly after. And since he was wearing that
costume, the hospital assumed he really was a priest so
they’ve been calling
the Diocese.”
Sara
looked from Catherine to Warrick, stunned, but
before anyone could say something, a nurse scurried over.
“We’re
prepping him for a CT scan, but the doctor says
if you can verify his identification—“
Sara
moved automatically, and Catherine, who had been
closest to the door, stepped back, blinking. Warrick laid a hand on her
shoulder holding her for a moment as Sara slipped into the room first,
striding
over to the bedside. She let out a gusty sigh of relief.
“Hey
Grissom, I thought you told me you were going to
be okay—“ she murmured softly, crossing her arms to
keep herself from reaching
for him, touching him. He looked up at her blearily, but his smile was
strong.
His
left cheek was scraped showing a tint of betadine,
and a gauze patch was on his temple, the faint trace of rust color
leaking
though it. The hospital staff had taken the cassock off, and the shirt
under it
as well; in his tee shirt and crucifix Grissom looked pale and tired.
He let a
bandaged hand slide across the sheet draped over his thighs.
“I’m
fine,” he replied, eyes locking on hers for a long
lovely moment. Catching sight of the other two CSIs he
cleared his throat
and added, “ The SUV, however, is going to need some work and
I’m grateful the
office paper’s up to date on it. Someone took my watch, so I
have no idea what
time it is.”
“Time
for you to rest and let the doctors get through
with you. What happened?” Catherine asked softly, coming to
flank Sara. Warrick
stood in back, peering between their shoulders.
“I
was out at Bunker Brothers. I left the cemetery
around two on a personal errand—“
“—Personal
errand?” Catherine echoed. Grissom gave her
a bland look.
“Bathroom
at the nearest convenience store.”
“Ah.
So you took off, despite all the available . . .
trees—“ she began, trying not to grin. Warrick
failed utterly and Grissom shot
them a glare.
“Think
about it, Cath—bad enough to desecrate holy
ground by urinating, but in THIS costume as well?”
It
was too much. The relief of finding Grissom alive
added to the incongruous image of him, as a priest taking a leak was
enough to
make Catherine burst into giggles and have Warrick snorting behind his
hand.
Sara’s mouth twitched, but she kept her gaze on him, longing
to touch his hand.
He caught her eye and she saw him give a tiny sigh.
“Okay,
okay, you did the right thing. So you took off
and--?”
“A
Grey Lexus ran the red light at the corner of
“We’ll
check the scene ourselves,” Warrick assured him
firmly. Grissom shot him a grateful look and a doctor came in, holding
a chart
in her hands.
“I
assume that the three of you are here to confirm
that this is Gilbert G. Grissom?”
“Gilbert—I
never get used to that, you know?” Warrick
murmured to Sara. Catherine nodded, giving the doctor a gimlet glance,
taking
in the other woman’s girlish appearance from barrettes to
pink sneakers.
“That’s
him and he’s ours. What’s the diagnosis?”
“Excuse
me, but I’m right HERE if you don’t mind
including me on the discussion—“ came
Grissom’s testy growl. The doctor stepped
over to him and managed a smile.
“Initial
triage indicates a concussion from contra coup
blow at the left temple, along with three broken fingers and some
abdominal
bruising from the airbag, all pretty standard injuries when broadsided
in a car
from the right. We’d like to run you through a scan just to
make sure there
isn’t more damage internally since you were unconscious for
quite a while, Mr.
Grissom. “
“You
were out?” both Sara and Catherine demanded at the
same time. Grissom flushed and looked mutinous but the doctor nodded.
“Oh
yes. Anyway, I need you folks to leave so we can
get on with this. Are either of you two ladies a Miss Sara
Sidle?”
Sara
looked up and nodded; the doctor handed her the
clipboard.
“Since
you’re the second name listed as the emergency
contact on Mr. Grissom’s insurance I’ll need your
consent for treatment.”
“What?”
“Hello?
I’m perfectly capable of giving consent
on my own behalf—“ Grissom objected. The doctor
shook her head as Sara blushed.
“Sorry
Mr. Grissom, but you were brought in
unconscious. Until we get HER signature we can’t authorize
the scan,” The
doctor told him as she pulled out a penlight and checked his pupils.
Grissom
flinched a little at the bright light. “It’s HMO
policy.”
Catherine
was peering over Sara’s shoulder at the
forms, smiling crookedly.
“Well
Gil, since you’re in good hands at the moment,
Mr. Brown and I will see what we can do about catching the Lexus. Sara,
you sit
on him if you need to, all right?”
Sara
didn’t dare look at Catherine’s face, but nodded
instead, keeping her focus on the papers in her hands. Warrick patted
Grissom’s
shoulder.
“Glad
you’re in one piece—“ came the soft
mumble.
Grissom nodded tightly. Warrick followed Catherine out as the doctor
frowned.
“You’re
going to have some headaches for a few days,
that much I CAN tell you. I’ll give you something for the
pain once we have the
scan back. Do you have someone who can keep an eye on you for the next
seventy
two hours?”
“Yes—“
Sara broke in firmly. The doctor smiled and
pulled up a wheelchair, motioning Grissom to get into it. He eyed it
disdainfully, but the doctor merely glanced at Sara, who glared at Gil.
He got
into the wheelchair, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.
The
two women went back to their conversation.
“Good.
I’ll give you the care sheet for concussions,
but in a nutshell he shouldn’t sleep longer than four of five
hours at a time.
Bland food, quiet music on low volume, no operating heavy machinery or
driving
either. He can read and watch television for a few days.”
Sara
nodded; Grissom could see the instructions
engraving themselves on her mind. He gave a sigh, and the doctor shot
him an
amused glance.
“No
alcohol for a few days, but sex is fine, as long as
you’re not swinging from chandeliers or anything. Moderation
in the mattress
mambo, all right?”
Both
Sara and Grissom went matching shades of rose; the
doctor picked the clipboard up and gave a snort.
“Patients
always want to know but are too embarrassed
to ask—thought I’d beat you to the punch. Shall we
go?”
