These Many Unanswered Whys

Author: Cappuccino Girl

Pairing: Grissom/Sara
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Insert witty reason why you shouldn't sue me here.
Spoilers: None in particular, but having seen the first two episodes of the show would help.
Notes: I'm branching out into another fandom and this is all very new and scary. It's been fun though, and I just might be brave enough to try this again some time. Thanks as always to those people who are a constant inspiration to me.

Summary: When I heard your voice on the other end of that line, I thought you were going through one of those trace-down-all-failed-relationships stages.

She was just rinsing out her hair when the doorbell rang. That always seemed to happen, telephones or doorbells ringing while she was under the shower. A few bars of soap fell to the floor as she tried to reach her robe which hung on the hook at the back of the door. She slipped it on and tossed a gray towel over her head while wandering to the front door.

An all too familiar face greeted her. "Hey."

"Oh. Wow," she said, rubbing her hair dry with the towel.

"I'm sorry, were you just-"

"Under the shower. Yeah, but come in anyway." She opened the door wider so he could enter.

"You look a little busy. Are you sure it's okay?"

She smiled at his concern. "Jeez, Gil, I haven't seen you in like six months. Of course it's okay. Just let me get dressed, and I'll- Make yourself at home."

He wandered around the living room, taking in the familiar space. Pictures of relatives, and educational magazines, and antique mirrors, and the television on in the background. She has a beautiful view of San Francisco, he thought.

"Here. Much better," she announced, as she returned to the living room in old cords and a tee-shirt. Her hair still dripped onto her shoulders.

"So, how've you been?"

"Oh you know. Nothing spectacular or anything. Work, work, more work, and a desperate attempt at a social life." She spun around to face the kitchen. "Drink?"

He nodded. "Sounds familiar. I saw Dr. Palmer at a conference in Chicago last week."

"How's the juvenile delinquency project going?" she asked from the kitchen.

"Highly successful. Two other researchers from the University of Texas have joined as well."

Balancing two glasses of coke and a packet of pretzels in one hand, she flicked the refrigerator door shut and walked back to the living room.

"That's great." She offered him the glass, and then looked with horror at the TV while the credits rolled. "Oh God. I can't believe you caught me at this."

He took a sip of his drink. "Melrose Place," he said after the preview had ended.

She blushed. "You have to dumb down now and then."

"True."

"It all seems so long ago now doesn't it?" she mused, placing her own glass onto the coffee table, and sitting down on the beat up leather chair opposite him. He watched her hands while she tied her hair back into a messy bun.

Eventually he said, "Four years," because he knew what she meant.

She just nodded, twirled a pretzel between her fingers.

They watched in silence as the Fox News anchor told of joy riders causing havoc in formerly peaceful communities. Gil's eyes narrowed, converting stories into concepts. Social Control Theory. Marxist Criminology. Opportunity Theory. Oh, all those missed opportunities.

"I'm moving," he told her.

She glanced up at him. "Excuse me?"

"I'm moving. I've got an offer to go and work at the crime lab in Las Vegas. It'll give me far better opportunities for the future."

"How wonderful," she said, but he could tell she didn’t mean it.

"Houses are cheaper than they are up here, and just because of the distance doesn't mean that I'll have to lose my ties with the university."

University. She tossed her head back at that word. In her head, everything formed a chain. University lead to library, which lead to field work, which lead to tutor, which lead to… Which lead to… She studied the person opposite her while he drank the last of his soda. The ice clinked around the edges of the glass. It all lead to him eventually. Him and late nights and people trying to find themselves in each other.

"Vegas, huh?" she asked.

He nodded, yes.

"Al the songs mentioning Vegas are happy. Gotta be a good sign."


~* *~


"Sara?" a voice at the other end of the phone asked, and in spite of five more years and little contact, she knew.

"Grissom. Long time, no hear."

"I'm sorry about that."

"No need to be."

"Is your fax machine on?" he asked, and he could hear her moving around in her apartment.

She pushed the green button. "Is now."

"Okay, I'm going to send something through. Promise me you'll consider?"

"When don't I?"

And she hung up, watched her future print out slowly onto a slick reel of paper.


~* *~


She sat in the office kitchen, staring at her cup of coffee as though her constant glaring might make it cool down quicker. She knew it wouldn't, but it was worth a try. From behind her, someone slid a thick stack of papers onto the table.

"I'll understand if you don't sign," he said, taking the seat next to her.

She flipped through it without looking up at him. "It's a contract."

"Transferal to this office. I understand if you don't want to."

She tilted her head sideways. "Why wouldn't I want to?"

"It wasn't particularly considerate of me to ask a friend to come down to investigate my own colleagues."

"You needed someone from outside the office to investigate Holly Gribs' case," she told him.

"I could have chosen any number of people, people whom I only happened to know were good, not people like you."

"Like me, huh?"

"Yes. Like you."

She sipped her coffee. He tried not to smile when she made a face as it scalded her tongue.

"When I heard your voice on the other end of that line, I thought you were going through one of those trace-down-all-failed-relationships stages," she confessed.

He laughed quietly, and she noticed how much she had missed that sound. "It could be a scientific method."

"Maybe you can come up with a theory," she teased, repeatedly clicking the pen she was holding.

"It's just- I apologize, Sara. I'm sure it was uncomfortable what I made you do, and if you never want to talk to me again, I'll understand."

"Never want to talk to you? Are you kidding?"

"You're fine with it?" He tapped his foot restlessly on the leg of the table.

She looked at him in that matter-of-fact way. "Catherine didn't give me the friendliest of welcomes, but then I doubt I would have either. She seems okay now, and so do the others."

"This means you're taking up my offer?"

"So many unanswered 'whys'," she said softly, signing on the dotted line.

He observed how she formed each letter of her signature. It looked like swirling winds.

"Why didn't we…"

"Yes," he murmured. "But this was all about the case."

"We always have been."




~ the end ~


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