The Break
The day Grissom arrived in Williamstown, he didn't call Sara.
He told himself it was because he was so busy. Had to meet with the student whose apartment he was subletting, to go over utilities and such. Had to unpack, and buy groceries, and work on lesson plans. Lots to do. Tons.
Of course, that wasn't why he didn't call her. Truth was, he wanted her to be the one to call.
They hadn't parted particularly well when he left, and in his more insecure moments he pictured her moving out of the townhouse while he was away. Packing up her books and DVD's, carelessly emptying her underwear drawer into a plastic bag with her bottles of conditioner.
She should definitely be the one to call, he decided.
On the second day, he talked to Catherine. She told him about the case she was working on, and how its political ramifications were making the mayor breathe down her neck. She spoke of pressure, and Lindsey, and the Lake Tahoe weekend she had planned with her sister.
She didn't speak of Sara, and he didn't ask.
On the third day, he taught his first class. The students were bright and attentive, and he quickly found himself slipping back into teacher mode. The class lasted ninety minutes, and when it was over he felt a strange mix of euphoria and exhaustion. He was walking across campus, flipping out his phone to call Sara and let her know how it went, when he remembered he was waiting for her.
So instead he ate lunch at a pub on Spring Street, then walked slowly back to his apartment. The wind was brisk, and the cold air did its best to chase the demons from his head.
Warrick called on the fourth day. "Just checking in to see how your class is going," he said quietly, and Grissom was surprised to feel a twinge of melancholy at the sound of his friend's voice.
He told Warrick about the students, the Williams campus, the Northeast climate. He asked how the other CSI's were doing, but Warrick just replied that they were all fine.
On the sixth day, he caved.
"Hey, sweetie, it's me. It's, uh. about four o'clock, so you might be asleep. Just wanted to say hi. and that I miss you. Give me a call when you get a chance, okay? Bye."
On the tenth day, she still hadn't called.
She was probably tired from going out at night, partying with men her own age. Men with dark hair and six-packs, men without emotional baggage. She'd let them buy her a drink, then drag them back to her bachelorette pad and screw them raw.
"Hi Sara, it's me again. Hope everything's okay. call me, when you get a chance. I miss you."
Greg called on the fifteenth day, with a question about insect regression tables. Thankful for the (rather weak) segue, Grissom mentioned that he and Sara had had a similar case, and asked to speak with her.
There was a long pause, and finally Greg replied, "Oh, she's. um. not here."
"Is she out on a case?"
"Um. yeah. Yeah, she is."
Greg was a rotten liar, and the self-doubt was starting to infiltrate Grissom's dreams now. He'd fall asleep only to watch Greg leaning back on the break room couch while Sara rode him slowly. "Oh, she's. um. not here," Greg would whisper as Sara clenched around him.
"Hey honey, it's me. Please call me. I don't know why you. just. just call me, please."
Catherine would tell him, he decided. Catherine was an in-your-face, tell-it-like-it-is kind of woman. No sugar-coating.
"Um. fine," Catherine answered warily, when he asked how Sara was doing.
He waited for her to elaborate, and when she didn't, he felt his heart sink. "That's it?"
"That's it."
"So why isn't she returning my calls?" he blurted out.
"You'll have to talk to her about that, Gil."
"How can I talk to her about it when she won't answer my calls?"
"I don't-"
"Is she seeing someone else?" He hoped to God he didn't sound as pathetic as he felt. "Is that what this is about?"
There was a long silence, after which Catherine finally offered, "Are the two of you. dating, or something?"
His classes became more and more disorganized and aimless. The students with whom he'd worked so hard to connect seemed to grow aloof. There was little variety in the food options, and it was too goddamn cold, and why wasn't she returning his calls?
Nick. Surely Nick would help him.
"Hey, Griss, how's the East Coast treating you?"
"Can't complain," Grissom said, smiling a little. It had been nearly three weeks since he'd heard those familiar Texan tones. "Listen, Nicky, have you talked to Sara lately?"
"Sure."
"Good, well. I need to get in touch with her."
"Oh. um. I'll take down your message for you, how's that?"
Grissom rubbed his eyes wearily. "Nick, I've been leaving messages for weeks now."
"You have?"
"Yes, at least ten or twelve messages on her home phone."
"Weird," Nick muttered. "Well, there must be something wrong with the machine, then, because they haven't recorded."
It took him several seconds to put it together. "How would you know that, Nick?"
"Um."
"Nick, have you been-"
"Griss, I gotta go, Hodges is here with. the results. from the. thing."
It didn't take much convincing to get the dean to let him out of the rest of his teaching contract. From the look of relief on the dean's face, Grissom could be assured that there had been complaints about his declining instruction. He booked a flight to McCarran that morning.
She could ignore his phone calls all she wanted, but she couldn't ignore him banging down her door. A cab took him back to the townhouse, and he was surprised at the surge of affection he felt when he stood on the steps. In a matter of months, Sara's presence had made his house into a home. He was coming home.
"Sara?" he called, throwing his bags down in the foyer. "You here?"
Her books were still on the bookcase, her favorite CD still in the stereo. He ran up to the bedroom, and sighed in relief when he saw her clothes hanging in the closet.
There was a large stack of mail on the counter, and he thumbed through it idly. A utility bill caught his eye and he frowned.
She should have paid it last week.
Maybe she found it strange to sleep without him in the house, he reasoned. Grabbing his car keys, he headed for her apartment building.
By the time he reached her door, Grissom was nearly twitching with nervous energy. He raised his hand to knock, just as the door opened to reveal the startled, guilty face of Nick Stokes.
"Griss. what are you doing here?"
It made sense, really. Sara wasn't the sort to go out and take random men home. She was the sort to find love with someone with her interests and passions. Didn't mean Nick didn't deserve to be punched in the head, though.
"How long?" Grissom managed, swallowing his fury.
Nick looked puzzled. "How long what?"
"How long have you been sleeping with my girlfriend?"
After a moment, understanding dawned on Nick's face. "Oh, man."
"Just tell me. I don't see why everyone felt the need to-"
"Come on," Nick said, stepping into the hallway and locking the apartment door. "I'll give you a ride."
The drive was silent, although Nick looked like he wanted desperately to say something. After a few minutes, a small apartment complex came into view.
"This is it," Nick said, pulling into an empty spot.
"Your place?"
"Yeah. Sara's inside."
Nick turned his key in the lock and opened the door, while Grissom stood on the welcome mat and tried to gather his strength. He'd known, when he started seeing Sara, that it could end up like this. He'd weighed the risks. It was time to accept the inevitable, and appreciate what he'd had, for however short a time.
Then, he saw Sara wheeling herself into the room. A long white cast stretched from her right foot all the way to her upper thigh. Her face paled when she saw him.
"Grissom?"
"Oh my God," he murmured, making his way over to her. "What-"
"Fell down a flight of stairs at a crime scene," she supplied, as he knelt down beside her. "It was horrible. I completely compromised the scene. Even managed to smear some of the victim's blood spatter on my way down."
Grissom took her hand gently, as Nick disappeared into the next room. "When did this happen?"
"The day you left," Sara sighed. "I was so distracted. So who told you?"
"What?"
"Who told you that I-" she stopped suddenly. "Wait, if you didn't know I was hurt, why are you here?"
"I kept calling the house, and there was no answer. I got scared," he admitted.
She squeezed his hand. "Nick said I could stay with him, since his place doesn't have any stairs. It was too hard to get around in the townhouse or my apartment building. Warrick's been looking after your place for you. bringing in the mail, feeding your bugs."
"I thought my worst fear had come true," Grissom said softly. "I thought you'd found some amazing, handsome, charming man who could match wits with you and sweep you off your feet."
"I did," she whispered. "So if he needed to go off and take a break, I wasn't about to ruin it for him. Everyone promised not to tell you what happened. This teaching gig was supposed to be an escape for you."
Winding his arms around her, he pulled her in close. "Honey, I won't ever need to escape from you. This trip showed me that it doesn't matter where I am or what I'm doing. if you're not with me, it's hell."
Sara nestled her chin against his shoulder. "Any chance we can get a temporary ramp put in the townhouse?"
"Absolutely. And until it's installed, I'll just carry you around, wherever you need to go."
"See that?" she said, pulling back to kiss his nose. "Back two minutes, and already sweeping me off my feet."