Sources

Chapter 5

Grissom walked into his townhouse slowly, throwing his key on the counter. He filled a kettle with water and set it on the stove, then sat down on his couch with his head in his hands. Closing his eyes, he thought back to the moment when he could have made things right again... could have had everything he'd ever wanted.

FOUR MONTHS EARLIER

Grissom and Sara entered the elevator of the Tropicana Hotel, arguing good-naturedly about the implications of an article in the latest Journal of Forensic Identification. As Sara gestured wildly while quoting statistics from other publications, Grissom found himself just watching her and smiling. They had been getting along better lately, tentatively trying to become friends again. They'd missed each other, though neither would admit it.

Grissom shifted his kit to his other hand and pressed the button for the 15th floor. Sara kept up with her tirade until Grissom interrupted with, "That's not what Anderson has theorized."

She rolled her eyes. "Anderson! Don't get me started on Anderson! Did you see his piece where he had the audacity to- "

Sara stopped when the elevator lurched to an abrupt stop. The lights had gone out, and all was deathly quiet. "Griss?"

"I got it." He picked up the elevator phone and waited to be connected to an operator. Sara couldn't even see his outline, but listened nervously as he talked. "Yes, our elevator has lost power and we're stuck here. Could you please send someone to help us?"

He didn't speak for a long time, and Sara felt her fear rise as she waited. Finally, he said, "I need to speak to Captain Jim Brass. Tell him it's Gil Grissom from the crime lab." He hung up the phone.

"What's going on?"

Grissom noticed the waver in her voice. "I don't know. They said that they won't be able to get us out for a while, and that they couldn't say why because it's a police matter. Hopefully Brass will-" He was interrupted by the ringing phone.

"Brass? Yeah. Really. How long? Brass, we've got a DB on the 15th. I see. Okay. Keep me informed. Yes, Sara is here too. Okay."

Sara shivered as he hung up. "What'd he say?"

Grissom sighed. "Someone phoned in a bomb threat. They say if anyone leaves the hotel they'll detonate the bomb. PD's combing the building with dogs and bomb detection equipment. They cut the power in case the bomber tapped into the security cameras." He chuckled ruefully. "Believe it or not, we're not high on their priority list right now."

Sara sank to the floor. "Griss, I should let you know. I'm not a fan of elevators. It's not bad when we're going from floor to floor, but I tend to freak out if they're stopped."

He felt his way over to her, sitting beside her and putting a friendly arm across her shoulders. "You know, the Otis was not the first elevator in history. Louis XV commissioned one in France back in 1743, more than a hundred years before Otis' elevator. Louis called his The Flying Chair."

Sara smiled in spite of herself. "You think my fear stems from not knowing the history of elevators?"

"Nah, I was just trying to distract you." He squeezed her shoulder, and with that simple action she felt her nervousness dissipate. Grissom was there, and how could anything bad happen when she was in his arms?

They began talking about past cases, competing to see who had the weirdest story. Grissom had fifteen years of experience on her, but Sara trumped him with a doozy she'd had in San Francisco. A serial killer had targeted long-haired women, murdering and scalping them. It turned out he was eating their hair in a bizarre attempt to get more protein in his diet. When they identified the killer and entered his home, they found him dead on the floor, having choked on a wad of hair.

"Death by hairball," Grissom chuckled. Sara sighed.

"The media portrayed it that way too. Made all these puns about how he must have been a 'cat burglar' and how he 'couldn't swallow his own behavior.' Everyone found it so funny." She frowned. "I didn't. Nine women lost their lives because this guy was mentally ill. I kept thinking about their families and friends, all the people whose lives had been ruined."

He found himself stroking her arm lightly as she spoke. Sara told herself that it was to comfort her, but in truth Grissom couldn't help it. Once his fingers made accidental contact with her smooth skin, he couldn't stop touching it.

"That's what makes a good investigator, Sara. Maintaining perspective. No matter how strange or pathetic the criminal's motives are, we have to remember that we are providing some justice on behalf of the victims."

"Do you remember the case with Frankie Lesh and Jenny Orland?" She felt him nod in response.

"Sure, they were the teenage couple that committed suicide when their parents made them break up. They shared a couple of bottles of sleeping pills."

Sara sighed. "Part of me was actually envious of those kids. I mean, yeah, it was stupid of them. They'd have turned eighteen in a year and would've been able to be together with or without their parents' consent. But there was something so romantic about it."

"Romantic?"

"They both knew that they would rather die than live another day apart. They both knew that the other person didn't think life was worth living without them. Isn't that love? Don't you think?"

Grissom grunted. "I don't know that a fifty-year-old bachelor is any expert on love."

Just then the lights in the elevator came back on. Sara's brown eyes met Grissom's blue, and they stared at each other for what felt like hours. He stole glances at her lips, only inches away.

"Grissom?" she breathed. "Can I ask you something?"

He licked his lips nervously. "Uh. sure."

He knew what was coming. She was going to ask him out to dinner again. It didn't matter how much he wanted to spend an evening with her, how good she'd look in a slinky dress, how soft her lips would feel under hers. He needed to say no. He couldn't risk the effect it would have on their careers, or the chance that she'd tire of him and break his heart. Just say no right away, when she's barely gotten the words out. Otherwise, you'll never have the courage to say it.

She looked deeply into his eyes, and he felt his reserves start to melt. Say no. Say no. Right away, say no.

Sara willed herself to get the question out fast, before she lost the nerve. "Grissom, do you think you could ever love me?"

"No." His answer came so quickly it shocked them both. It took a second for Grissom to realize what Sara had asked, and he felt his heart stop.

Her eyes grew large and filled with tears. Shamed, she turned her head away. Grissom felt like his throat was closing up, and he struggled to breathe as he watched her sob. He pulled his arm from her shoulders even as his brain screamed at him to keep it there.

The elevator lurched to life, and the doors swung open to reveal a haggard-looking Jim Brass.

"Gil, Sara, sorry it took so long. We found the guys who made the call, and it was a prank. No bomb. Sorry you were in there so long, I know Sara doesn't like elevators."

Grissom wondered how Brass knew about Sara's fear and he hadn't. While he puzzled over it, Sara leaped to her feet and exited the elevator. She told Brass that she needed to go home, and he nodded at her understandingly.

Watching her dash away, Grissom was filled with anguish. He ached to run after her, grab her and kiss her until she understood the depth of his love for her. But he didn't. He sat and stared at Brass without hearing a word of the man's account of the night's events. All he could think about was how he'd missed his chance, his perfect chance.