Belated

"Look, I told you, I don't know anything."

Grissom sighed. The kid wasn't cooperating, and shift had ended two hours ago. He stole a glance at Sara, who was observing the teenager through narrowed eyes.

"Derek, you're fifty miles from home," she said slowly. "You and your friend were in a seedy neighborhood in downtown Vegas. It doesn't sound like a random shooting to me."

He glared at her. "Well, it was. We were just walking through that alley, and a woman came out of nowhere and shot Jared. I'm telling the truth."

"If that's the case, then how come you said the shooter was male an hour ago?"

Grissom suppressed a smirk as the boy paled.

"I didn't-" he began feebly, then quieted when Sara motioned to the tape recorder on the interrogation room table. "Okay, it was a woman. She was. I don't know. Old. Like. thirty."

Sara stole a glance at Grissom, who was suddenly finding his notes very interesting. "So this old woman, was she using a walker when she came up to you?"

"This isn't a joke!" he shouted, startling them both. "My best friend is dead." Tears pooled in his eyes. "It wasn't supposed to go like this."

"How was it supposed to go, Derek?" Sara asked gently. "Why were you in Vegas?"

The kid traced the edge of the table with his finger. "It was Jared's fifteenth birthday," he said miserably. "We went to Vegas to get him laid."

"How did you get here?" Grissom asked.

"Hitched a ride."

Sara drew in a sharp breath, and Grissom frowned slightly before turning his attention back to Derek. "So the woman in the alley. she was a working girl?"

"We thought she was," Derek replied. "We were walking after her, offering her money, and she just-" He took a shuddering breath, tears spilling down his cheeks. "She pulled out a gun and shot him. She didn't even say she wasn't a hooker. We would've left her alone if we'd known."

They allowed him a few minutes to collect himself, then told the officer on duty to arrange for a sketch artist to take a description of the shooter.

"Fifteen years old," Grissom said to Sara, shaking his head as they left the room. "Where were you on your fifteenth birthday?" The question was meant to be rhetorical, but when she didn't answer, he turned to look at her.

She was staring straight ahead, a flush creeping up her neck. "Hitching a ride to Vegas."

"Right," he scoffed as they walked into his office. She shrugged and looked down. "Are you serious?"

"You never wanted to escape?" she asked, her expression growing stormy. "Just. leave everything behind?"

He watched her for a moment, then closed the door. "Sure, I've felt that way," he admitted, his throat feeling tight. He took a seat behind his desk and she sat across from him. She regarded his mounted insects while he twirled a pencil between his fingers. Finally he worked up the nerve to ask: "What were you leaving behind?"

The corner of her mouth quirked. "I was dating this guy who lived in the same foster home as I did. We were together about a month. Then on the night of my fifteenth birthday we got in an argument, and he slapped me."

The pencil snapped as Grissom felt an unfamiliar rage roiling inside him. "What did you do?"

"I, uh." Her face was grave, the lines on her forehead growing deeper. "I flipped. Started screaming at him. Grabbed a lamp and threatened to kill him."

"Good," said Grissom, who looked as though he wanted to do the same.

"Not good." She flashed a mirthless smile. "I wanted to kill my abusive partner. Sound familiar?"

He closed his eyes briefly in comprehension. "You were afraid of becoming your mother."

Sara nodded. "Thumbed a ride to Vegas. I was here a couple weeks before the cops picked me up and took me back to California."

He swallowed, wondering yet again how she'd managed to overcome her violent past.

"What about you?"

He looked up to see her gazing at him speculatively.

"What about me?"

"How did you spend your fifteenth birthday?"

His first instinct was to lie, to paint a benign picture of cake and gifts. But trust was a two-way street, and she'd been open with him. "I visited my dad."

"Your parents were divorced?"

"Yeah," he replied, staring at the broken pencil. "He left when I was five. Never came back. So I tracked him down and went to see him on my fifteenth birthday. Told him we didn't need him, that he wasn't worth knowing."

Sara watched his cheek twitch, and knew he was telling the truth. "How'd he take it?"

"He was fine with it," Grissom replied, attempting to sound nonchalant. "So I told him I'd make it my life's goal never to end up like him. abandoning a family, not taking responsibility, always on the run."

"Well, you succeeded," she said quietly. "You're responsible and stable. You didn't become your father."

"No," he agreed, lost in thought.

She cocked her head. "Is that why you didn't. why you don't date? Because you're afraid of ending up like him?"

"No. That's not what I'm afraid of."

"What, then?"

This was insane. He'd already told her way too much. But her face was kind, and he was too soft in her presence. "My mom just kind of shut down after he left. It was a different time back then. A deaf woman raising a son wasn't exactly an attractive prospect for suitors. She'd found love for a while, and then he left, and that was it. She's spent the past forty-five years all alone, sitting in silence and remembering happier days. I don't want to end up like that, Sara."

"You won't," she said, her eyes blazing.

"Why not?"

"Because you never let yourself have happy days in the first place, so when you sit alone in your townhouse, there's nothing to remember."

Her words seared a painful trail through his heart. It was true. Day after day, he lay in bed and watched the sun move across the sky, casting shadows on the empty space beside him.

"So I guess you're a proponent of the whole 'better to have loved and lost' school of thought," he intoned, staring at her hands.

"Most people are, Grissom. Most people want to have loved in their lifetime."

"I've loved," he said sharply, his eyes flashing at her, then he looked away. "You don't have to date someone to know you love her."

Sara felt a rush of adrenaline. "We'd work, you know. You and me."

He raised an eyebrow, a bubble of hope rising up, making him dizzy. "How do you know?"

"Because I'd never leave you, so you wouldn't end up like your mom. And you'd never lay a hand on me, so I wouldn't end up like mine. We'd just be. us."

"That." His face softened. "That would be nice."

"Yeah," she agreed with a bittersweet smile. "It would."

They stared at Grissom's desk, barely visible through the mounds of paperwork and stacked files. "How would you have liked to have spent it?" he asked suddenly.

"Spent what?"

"Your fifteenth birthday." There was a definite twinkle in his eye, and her pulse quickened.

"I. I have no idea. How would you have liked to have spent yours?"

"Going out for pizza," he said, grinning broadly. "Seeing a movie, maybe. You up for it?"

She pursed her lips. "You inviting me to your fifteenth birthday party?"

"Maybe."

Sara sat for a moment, an incredulous smile spreading slowly across her face. "Well, if you're buying."

They ambled out of his office and made their way toward the exit, trying to ignore the fluttering in their chests.

"You know, it's good that you're inviting me to this one, because I couldn't have made your actual fifteenth birthday party. Wasn't born yet."

"Hey, if you're willing to overlook how handsome I am, I'm willing to overlook how young you are. We all have our flaws."

Grissom bumped her shoulder as they walked into the sunlight, their long shadows overlapping into one.

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