Wherefore

Chapter 7

When I was a little girl, I discovered a nook under the stairs of our home, between the coat rack and the hall closet, partially behind the umbrella stand. It was a tight fit, even for a skinny seven-year-old. Nobody noticed me when I hid in there, hugging my knees to my chest.

It wasn't that I was afraid. I knew there were times that my dad hit my mom, but it never happened outside of their bedroom. No, outside of that room they wore their brightest smiles to greet guests of our B&B. Outside, they were warm and loving and sweet to each other, if a little indifferent to me.

I wasn't hiding from anything, really. I just loved to observe, to see how people acted when they thought they were alone. I'd watch as my mother hummed absently while vacuuming the carpet, or as guests set up a board game in the living room. My father was my favorite person to observe, though. He'd settle into the big armchair by the fire, the cat curled up in his lap as he thumbed through an ancient copy of Walden. In those moments, when he didn't know I was there, I somehow felt closest to him.

And now here I am again, concealed and observing. Ian's fallen asleep, and I wonder for the umpteenth time how babies seem to gain twenty pounds when they're sleeping. Settling him on my shoulder, I take a seat, watching through the two-way mirror as Juliette steps into the interrogation room.

She looks calmer than I'd be. There are still faint trails of tears on her cheeks, but her grin is wide and genuine as she catches sight of Grissom. "Hey, stranger."

He stands up and nods awkwardly, returning the grin. "Hey. I asked Sara to keep an eye on Ian..."

"Yeah, she's got him. They're taking a walk outside," she fibs. "So... should we..." She motions to the chairs.

"Sure."

They sit across the table from one another, maintaining a balance of estranged familiarity.

"He's a cute kid," Grissom says. "Ian, I mean."

"Yeah," she agrees, and they fall silent for a while, until he speaks.

"Julie, let me start off by saying..." He sighs. "I'm so sorry about your mom. And I'm sorry I wasn't more of a support for you when she died."

"You were," she replies. "Really. In the only way you knew how. You went out and found her killer. I couldn't have asked for more."

Grissom squirms a little. "And I'm sorry about Robert."

"Not your fault."

"I should've-"

"Gil, please. Stop. You couldn't have seen this coming. I didn't. I married a man who would murder my mother. So right now I'm dealing with enough of my own guilt issues. I really can't handle yours too."

He finally nods. "Okay. Fair enough. So what now?"

"You mean what will I do?"

"Yes."

Juliette looks a little lost. "I guess I'll go home, and... you know... bury Mom."

Blinking, as if he hadn't considered that eventuality, he swallowed. "In one of her wool suits?"

"With the big buttons? Yeah, probably."

"Service at the cathedral?"

"Yeah." She gives him a ghost of a smile. "I didn't get married there, you know."

"I didn't know, no."

"Well, after you and I had picked it for our wedding, it didn't seem right to marry Robert there... so we held our service at Our Mother of Sorrows." The smile fades. "An omen, I guess."

"Look, Julie..." He clears his throat, the loud noise echoing in the little room. "The reason I wanted to talk to you... I just wanted to apologize. For that letter I wrote you after you called off the wedding."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I had no right to say those things. I've always regretted it."

"The break-up?"

"The letter."

"Oh." She looks vaguely disappointed. "Well, I'm sorry too."

"For breaking up with me?"

"No," she says with certainty. "No. We weren't right for each other. I know that. I'm just sorry for ruining your life. For making you so... I don't know. Broken."

I haven't seen Grissom hurt often. Usually he's got his emotions under tight rein, watching the world in bemused detachment. But the way his face is clouding over, I know a storm is brewing.

"What are you saying?" he asks, a hint of anger in his voice.

"I'm saying you make me sad," she replies honestly. "You're fifty years old, and your whole life is your work. I doubt you have any real friends. You string that poor smitten girl along-"

"Don't talk about Sara," he growls suddenly through clenched teeth. "Don't you dare."

"She's head over heels for you, Gil. And I've seen the way you look at her, I know how you feel."

He turns and stares at his reflection in the mirror, and for a moment I imagine that he's looking right at me, that he's acknowledging all that Juliette is saying. "You don't know what you're talking about," he says finally.

"Is it because she looks like me?" she persists. "Is that the problem? Well, get over it, bud, because Sara can't help the way she looks. She can't help that criminalistics is her calling, she can't help being brilliant, and she certainly can't help her feelings for you."

Grissom runs his hand over his beard, frowning. "I know what I'm doing."

"You're making a mistake."

"Yeah, well, you know all about making mistakes, don't you?" he shoots back.

She snorts. "You made just as many mistakes as I did."

"Are you kidding?" he asks incredulously. "I gave you everything I had."

"No," she says tightly. "No. You gave me what you thought I wanted."

"What are you talking about?"

She's shaking her head over and over in exasperation. The gentle Juliette I've known all week has become a prickly bundle of nerves, and I have to wonder how many years these two have been waiting to hash this out. "Look at yourself, Gil. You're quiet, and introspective. You like candlelit restaurants and taking long walks at night. You'd rather stay in and read forensics journals than go out dancing."

"So?"

"So what did we do together when we were a couple? We went out to loud nightclubs and parties, and you were funny and sociable. And then we'd get home and you'd be completely wiped out from the effort. I never got Gil Grissom. I got the man he thought I wanted him to be."

He pauses for a moment. "You did want me to be that, Julie. Every time I was myself, you'd call me morose and dull."

"Which is why I called it off," she says, resignation in her tone. "It wasn't really about the job, or the strain. It was because I knew that there was someone out there who would love you because of your quirks, not in spite of them. And I knew there was someone for me, too. Someone who actually liked going out and being social."

He nods slowly. "And that was Robert."

She shrugs, rather miserably. "I loved him, and he loved me. What is it you used to say, that the course of true love never did run smooth?"

"Not me," he corrects her lightly. "Shakespeare."

"You always had a thing for him," she smirks. "Never had so many Romeo and Juliet lines quoted to me in all my life."

"I was trying to be romantic."

"You were."

Grissom cocks his head in acknowledgement, looking pensive. "I, uh... I was thinking of going to your mother's funeral, to pay my respects. If it's okay with you."

"I'd like that. I'll let you know when the service will be held." She straightens in her chair, pulling her purse into her lap.

"Thanks. When are you planning to go home?"

"Soon. Suitcases are already in the car. I'm catching a flight in, uh..." she checks her watch, "four hours."

"Okay." He bites his lower lip. "Julie, I don't know what to say..."

She smiles sadly. "Parting is such sweet sorrow?"

"Something like that."

She reaches across the table and takes his hand, squeezing it gently. I'm gripped by a sudden pang of jealousy. That's the most intimate embrace Grissom and I have ever shared, and I want to pull his hand away, to claim it as my own.

"Seriously, what are you going to do about Sara?" she murmurs, and he sighs heavily.

"I don't know."

"Just tell her how you feel."

"It's not that easy."

"Grissom, wake up."

He looks up at her, clearly startled at her use of his last name.

"I mean it," she insists. "Your life is half over, whether you like it or not. And I don't care if you've got abandonment issues, there's a woman out there who adores you, and you're not being fair to her."

"I know."

"Then do something. Ask her out to dinner, buy her roses, the whole nine yards. Not because she needs it. She'd be thrilled just to curl up on the couch with you, watching TV. She doesn't need it, but she deserves it."

"She deserves better than me."

"Probably," Juliette agrees, earning a scowl from Grissom. "But she wants you. Do you want her?"

Red is creeping up his neck, and he looks horribly uncomfortable. Yet when he responds, his voice is clear and certain. "Yes."

"Can you tell her to her face?"

"Probably not," he admits. "So I guess, you know..."

"What?"

"I guess it's a good thing she's watching us from the observation room."