Fic: Of Life and Living: Chapter 3 (G/G)
Title: Of Life and Living : Chapter 3
Author: Laurelgardner
Rating: Will go to NC-17
Pairings: Grissom/Greg, Sara/Nick, Warrick/OFC, Catherine/OMC
Summary: Gil Grissom and Greg Sanders have resigned themselves to certain realities. All of that is about to change.
Author's Note: This story takes place five years after the events of season 5. A lot has changed in this time; Greg is a level 3 CSI and happily out of the closet, Ecklie is gone (ding, dong, the witch is dead!), Sofia is assistant director of the lab, Catherine is happily remarried and head of the Reno crime lab (but don't worry, she still plays a part in this tale!), Warrick has returned to night shift, and Nick and Sara are not only married but are heads of day and swing shifts, respectively.
Warnings: Happy story with a few dark themes. References to murder and child abuse, but hey, this is CSI. Nobody we care about gets raped, killed or pregnant, so no worries there. Mostly, this is a character study/romance with lots dialogue and eventually, sex.
Disclaimer: If you can still recognize these guys as the characters from CBS's CSI, then I don't own them.
Previous chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
One of the problems with working nights, Gil had learned, was the difficulty in finding good times to call friends.
Mostly, it hadn't been a problem for him. What friends he had he contacted only infrequently, and that was usually by e-mail or letter. More likely, though, he would bump into them a few times a year at whatever forensic or entomological functions he knew them from in the first place. That was enough for conversation, for catching up and keeping in touch, which was all he needed. He didn't have confidantes, he didn't have a 'support group', and he liked it that way...usually.
On the rare occasions in his adult life when he had found himself really needing someone, there had been one person he had always called upon - the use of a telephone not being a live issue for her - but she had died peacefully in her sleep four years ago, and since then...well, he'd simply made do without.
Gil missed his mother dreadfully. And as if missing the woman herself wasn't enough, he absolutely ached for the loss of what she'd represented in his life; someone who knew him. Someone with whom he could communicate with virtually no effort on his part. An escape from the exhaustion that marked his interactions with almost all other human beings, the feeling of constantly being scrutinized but never understood.
Sitting on his leather couch, he stared at his phone. In his mind, he heard it ring, picked up the receiver, and listened to the sound of a familiar but unexpected voice at the other end; someone who had never made an effort like this for him before, but had always wanted to. He imagined a few lines of the conversation they might have, how it would all feel so much like coming home, being found.
Frowning at himself, he shook off the fantasy. That wasn't going to happen. At least, he had no reason to believe it would.
No man was an island, as much as he might like to be, and the adult thing to do right now would be to deal with the reality of his situation. He went to his study and sat down at his computer. Remembering Greg's words to him from the previous day, he began to compose an e-mail, typing Catherine's address in the 'from' blank. He wrote haltingly, deleting almost as much as he left in. Finally, he had a short letter finished.
Dear Catherine,
I hope this letter finds you well. I do not, however, hope that it finds you in Europe with Charlie, because then I might be forced to feel jealous.
Of Europe, that is; not of Charlie. I just thought I'd clarify.
According to Greg, you've complained that I don't e-mail you of my own volition. Well, here's my answer to that, though I'm not sure if this really counts, as it is merely another response, this time to the message you sent me through him.
I'm glad to hear that you and your family are well. Tell Lindsey that I while I sympathize with her college application plight, I'd like to remind her that the tedious paperwork only gets worse from here on out.
I'm sure Greg has updated you on how things are going at the lab. If he told you what a wonderful level 3 he's turned out to be, you should know that he isn't exaggerating. Much. Sophia's presence as lab director is a long-awaited breath of fresh air. All the usual suspects from the old team are doing exceptionally well; you would be proud of them.
My only concerns with work right now are of a personal nature. I find myself at a crossroads of sort and am faced with a dilemma. I would appreciate your help and would like to talk to you soon.
Always,
Gil
Gil stared at the last paragraph, reading it over and over and waiting for it to stop feeling so naked there, hiding at the bottom of a message that otherwise matched the normal, casual tone of his correspondences with Catherine.
Minutes passed. Gil drummed his fingers on the top of his desk, but didn't send the message. Finally, he clicked the e-mail window closed without saving it. The decision he had to make was his and his alone, and it would be his even if he talked to Catherine about it. And besides, there really was only one answer he could give Sophia.
He stood up from his desk with a sigh, suddenly feeling very, very tired.
Still, he was ambivalent about his choice. Part of his mind still quietly scolded him for the fact that he was incapable of reaching out when he needed to, even to Catherine. Catherine, who'd known him for the better part of two decades, worked by his side most of that time. She'd seen him through the hearing loss, the crap with Ecklie, his mother's death...he'd seen her through a divorce and a second marriage. Hell, he'd been the one to give her away at her wedding to Charlie, that was how close they supposedly were...
...yet he couldn't ask her for help.
He went into his bedroom and stretched out on his back in bed, pausing only to kick off his shoes first. Counseling, he thought. The idea of it didn't seem distasteful to him, as such, just...heavy, somehow. It would almost certainly be nothing but a huge waste of time, as he doubted there was much chance that a perfect stranger would be able to tell him anything useful about himself.
He thought about what it might be like to give up the supervisor position. He remembered himself in the days before he'd had it thrust upon him; he'd been happy then, hadn't he? But that fact was a coincidence, he was pretty sure; it had been his life that had changed him, not his work.
And time. His passion for his vocation had carried him heedlessly through his twenties and thirties, and quickly, so quickly. Forty had given him pause, but still he'd felt there was time, time for a life, time for the connections he knew he needed. But his few attempts at relationships had ended before they'd started, and by fifty, he'd given up hope. Men like him didn't find love after fifty.
It was this fact that made him miserable, then. Not the job. Besides, where would he be if he gave up his work, even in part? At least now he had a purpose; without that, there would be nothing left of him.
The decision was made, then. This was his calling, it had always been so. There was no point in mourning for what he'd never have; it wasn't meant to be. He still had a lot left to do.
Sighing, he closed his eyes and slipped into sleep.
* * * *
Greg spent most of the next night's shift trying desperately to get Grissom alone, if only for a moment, but the man seemed determined not to sit still for two minutes at a time. Finally, after several hours of tracking him through the lab as he moved from trace to ballistics, from there to DNA, back to trace again, over to the break room to consult with Adele, etc...Greg finally decided that the best chance he was going to get would be to catch the man in the hall.
Glancing up from his microscope, he spotted his chance as he saw the man walk swiftly by. Greg sprung from his seat and followed him.
"Gil," he called. Grissom spun around at the sound of his given name. Besides Sofia, Greg was the only person left who regularly used it.
"Greg," he responded cordially. He allowed Greg to catch up with them, then continued walking.
"I wanted to talk to you," said Greg quietly.
"So talk," said Gil.
"I just wanted you know," said Greg. "Your little chat with Sofia yesterday? I wasn't there for any of it."
Gil frowned. "If I'm not mistaken, Greg, you were there for all of it."
Greg made a frustrated gesture. Gil apparently didn't understand what he was saying.
"Well," he said. "You should know that...I know it's none of my business."
"And you should know that I meant what I said to Sofia about you."
He tossed off the comment so lightly that Greg was stupefied for an instant. Before he could think of a reply, they turned the corner and came face to face with none other than Sofia herself. Instantly she, Grissom, and Greg stopped in their tracks.
"I was just looking for you," said Grissom.
Sofia looked at him curiously. "Do you have something for me, or do I have something for you?" she asked.
Gil sighed. "Why don't you give me that number?" he asked. Sofia beamed at him, but he merely shrugged.
"What can I say?" he said. "I didn't want to fill out another form."
* * * *
(Recorded in the office of Dr. Ellen Greene)
GREENE: You're certain you're comfortable with being recorded?
GRISSOM: I can't think of any problems with it. Tell me again why you do this?
GREENE: Oh, it's purely for my own benefit; I'm terrible at taking notes.
GRISSOM: I see.
GREENE: When we're finished, I can give you all the originals. I don't make copies.
GRISSOM: I'd appreciate that.
GREENE: All right. I'll make a note of it. (pause) Now, Gil, can you tell me a little something about why you're here today?
GRISSOM: Well, I don't mean to sound uncooperative, but in all honesty, I'm here because I'm required to be.
GREENE: Uh-huh. Well...my kids have the day off from school today, so I'd much rather be at home myself. We have that much in common. All right then, tell me what brought this about. Your being required to be here, that is.
GRISSOM: My supervisor seems to think it'll turn me into a good leader again.
GREENE: You don't sound as if you believe that.
GRISSOM: No. I don't. Whether I do my job well or do it poorly, it's my own responsibility.
GREENE: That's true. But it's true of everything else in your life, as well. I'm not a miracle-worker; I'm just here to help you look at things from a new perspective. Think of me as...an ALS for your life, I guess.
GRISSOM: An ALS...?
GREENE: I know a bit of the lingo. You're not the first CSI I've had in here.
GRISSOM: Ah.
GREENE: But the rest is up to you. And that brings me to a very difficult question.
(a pause)
GRISSOM: Which is...?
GREENE: You sure you're ready to hear it?
GRISSOM: Yes.
GREENE: Gil, what do you want to get out of your sessions with me? Assume, for a moment, that I am a miracle-worker. What would you ask me to do for you?
GRISSOM: I'm not sure I can answer that question.
GREENE: Good.
GRISSOM: Good?
GREENE: Yes. Most of the people I work with come up with an answer pretty quick, and it's usually so far off the mark that we have to spend weeks just trying to work our way around it. People who think they know what they want can be their own worst obstacles.
GRISSOM: And what about people who do know what they want?
GREENE: They're pretty rare. But they understand this; happiness is a journey and not a destination.
(a pause)
GREENE: Something I said has made you think. I can see it in your face.
GRISSOM: I've just never thought of things in those terms before.
GREENE: Which terms? A journey?
GRISSOM: No. Happiness.