Moving
Sometimes, when he's tired, Grissom speaks as though I died under that car.
He'll rail against Natalie for a while, then blame himself for an even longer while, then switch back to blaming Natalie. There's usually a fair number of expletives involved, and sometimes a couple of tears. He'll round out the tirade with a rant against God, Jesus, the Creator, whoever it is that's forsaken him and me and both of us.
Eventually he'll stop and look at me, mumbling an apology into a tissue.
It's not like I'm not here, I want to remind him.
Most days, things are fine. Not as easy as they were before... but fine. He tells me about work, about the challenges and the triumphs he's encountering every night. Part of me wants to jump in the car and head back to the crime lab, taking inventory of what I need to restock my kit during the red lights. But then I remember the feeling of a taser to the ribs, and my energy wanes. I can take some more time, I tell myself.
But I do miss Grissom. Strange as it may sound, I miss him.
Things aren't the same. We don't walk the dog together in the park, don't do dinner at Giraldini's, don't even go to the movies. I think on some level he likes the fact that I hang out in one place, because then he always knows where I am. And he only has to worry if I'm not there.
"I miss you, Sara," he whispers one morning, when he thinks I'm sleeping. "I miss you, I miss you."
We haven't had sex since the... since the car, and it's been months. Months and months of nights spent lying in bed and feeling his breath on my neck, and nothing. I wish I could just flip over and jump him, but I know I won't. I wish he would jump me, but it wouldn't even occur to him. So the days and the weeks and the months go by, and I learn to settle for kisses.
A few years ago, the idea of Grissom kissing me at all was enough to make my knees weak and my head spin. I force myself to remember that. I force myself to remember a lot of things, especially one day when Grissom wakes me accidentally after his shift has ended.
"Long night," he sighs, kissing my cheek. "There was a triple homicide at the MGM Grand. I had to pull Nick and Catherine off three active cases to try and cover it."
There's more to it than that, I can tell. So I wait.
He's quiet for a while, then he murmurs, "I kind of got into it with Nick."
I manage not to sigh.
"You don't - he started it," he says.
Very mature, Grissom.
"I was in my office, packing up, and he came stomping in, saying he was stretched too thin and his cases were suffering. I told him we were all under a lot of stress and that things would calm down soon. And then he said-" He breaks off, swallowing hard, and I can't imagine what has gotten him so upset. "He said I need to replace you. He said you're never coming back."
My heart twists violently, pounding in my chest. Nick wouldn't say that. He... he wouldn't. He's been nothing but supportive and wonderful when he's come to visit, always telling me to take as much time as I need. There's no way he would say that about me.
Grissom sighs, reaching for my hand. "I'll work it out with him, don't worry."
But I do. I worry all the way through Nick's next visit, when I realize something's off about him. He's forcing his light conversation and phony laughs, and I want to cry, because Nick is anything but phony.
I'm bored, I'll admit, but the idea of going back to the lab right now... he told me to take as much time as I needed, and I need more time. That's all there is to it, Nicky. I need more time.
It doesn't occur to me that I might not get any more time, until Grissom comes in one day in tears.
"I don't know what to do, Sara." He's sobbing, really sobbing, and I'm not sure I've ever seen him sob. "I can't do this. I'm trying so hard, and they don't - I can't, honey. I can't."
Oh my god, if he's breaking up with me-
"They want me to turn off life support," he whispers finally, gripping my hand so tightly it hurts. "The doctors, they say you won't ever wake up. They say the damage was too severe."
Ever is a long time, I tell myself. I'm just resting. It's been a rough life so far, and I need some rest. I'm just recharging my batteries.
"The insurance ran out a while ago, and they think I'm crazy for paying to keep you here. They say I should pull the-" He breaks off, swallowing a sob. "I can't do it."
Damn right you can't. I just need a little more rest, and I'll be good to go.
He knows that. I know he knows that.
"Catherine thinks it's cruel," he continues, his voice cracking. "She says you wouldn't want to be kept alive like this."
Catherine also thinks her plastic surgery looks natural.
"I don't know what you would want," he says. "We never talked about this scenario. I guess we should have, but I thought we'd have more time." He strokes my fingers lightly. "The thing is... on some level I know they're right."
No they're not.
"You wouldn't want to spend the next fifty years lying in a hospital bed."
I won't. I just need some rest.
"We just... we didn't get the time we expected, Sara. We always said we'd spend the rest of our lives together." He draws a shuddery breath, and I can feel him leaning closer toward me. "We still will, it will just have to be shorter than we thought."
Right, exactly, we still... what?
"I can't do this anymore. The day-to-day, it's all just pointless now. I go to work, I come here, I let the dog out, I sleep, I come here, I go to work. It's this never-ending cycle, and every day it kills me a little more."
Wait.
"There's a family in Summerlin who said they can adopt Bruno early next week. Their kids are in high school, and they have a big yard out back. They're nice people, Sara. They'll take good care of him."
There's no way he's saying what I think he's saying.
"I've sealed the garage door shut with your car inside, double-checked to make sure there's no ventilation. So it's just a matter of timing. I've got some cases at work that need finishing, and I'll have to testify at the trials. I'll redo my will, and make sure Catherine is put in charge of your care. She'll make the right decision."
I have to be crying. It's impossible to feel like this and not be crying.
Doesn't he know how much his life is worth? Doesn't he see all he has to live for?
"I wanted to be with you when I died, but it's better this way, I think. I've bought a couple of burial plots at that cemetery that we walk- used to walk past. It's a shady spot, I think you'll really like it."
Move, Sara, move. Squeeze his hand, flutter your eyelids, something. Stop him, save him.
I focus on my big toe, willing it to twitch.
"They don't make coffins for two people, but at least we'll be buried side-by-side. At least we'll be together."
Move. Move move move move move.
He kisses my lips lightly, lingering for a moment. "I love you, Sara."
Then stay here... stay here safe with me until I can kiss you back, just stay and-
"I'll see you soon." And he's gone, and he's gone, and I'm here, and if I could just... move...