Yo!Bling/Snickers- Symphony of Change

Okay everyone I have another fanfic for you all to read. This one is a multi-chapter story and I do intend to give you guys regular updates.

This one is Yo!Bling and some Sara!Drama mixed in. But it will, eventually, be turning into a Sara shipper too.

Umm... not much else to tell you, I don't think. Please let me know what you think. And please tell your friends about it if you like it.

~Written by LostLadyKnight and her better half Bauerfreak~

Symphony of Change- Chapter 1

I’ve spent the last two hours staring at the quarter inch think line of paled skin that wraps itself in a complete circle around my left ring finger. The discoloration in my skin acts as a shining reminder of all of the deformities I have in my life. The tan line is a slowly fading reminder of the two years I wore a gold band on that finger, a glittering symbol of the lies that perpetuated my life. The only distraction I find from dwelling on my failed marriage, wounded heart, and broken spirit are the one hundred and four black and red cards and the multitude of green, red, blue and various other colors of casino chips that I share at this table with two strangers and a dealer who, over the last few days, I’ve come to learn is referred to as ‘Slim.’ I allow my eyes to break the trance they’ve formed with that particular part of my anatomy long enough to study the two cards I have before me on the table, pound back another shot of tequila, and gesture to the dealer I’d like a hit. I’m unsure which I should feel worse about in my life, the fact I married a woman I couldn’t love, or the gambling habit I’d almost defeated, almost.

A little more thought and the continued careful study of the place of absence on my finger leads me to a conclusion I can live with for now. Though many people have been hurt as the result of my gambling, one I’ll never forgive myself for, I feel no shame in the fact that I’ve returned to one of the former Braun casinos in search of a rush, a not-so-cheap thrill. No, all of my shame lies in the knowledge that I rushed myself into a marriage with a woman I didn’t love and doomed both of us into a life that would, best case scenario, end with us being older, on the verge of leaving our prime, bitter, and divorced.‘Welcome to hell’ I think to myself as I pound back another shot of tequila and push the remainder of my chips into the center of the felt table. A last ditch attempt to save the remaining spoils of my paycheck. Turned up in front of me I see a queen of diamonds and I secretly peek beneath it where I find burrowed the five of clubs, after consideration of the dealer’s six of spades showing I feel confident in gesturing for a hit when my turn comes around. The seven of clubs, naturally, twenty-two points and bust. One more shot pours its way down the back of my throat as I stand and begin to navigate my way out of the casino, following close behind me is a private demon telling me that there is something horribly wrong with my life, that something is missing.

Despite all my angst, the person my mind keeps settling on has been a secret object of my desire for years...Catherine. Cath. She's been there with me through the ups and down, unknowingly forming a bond between the two of us over the years that I am constantly wondering whether it could turn into something more. Friends turned into something more all the time, but it never seemed to be a possibility with the two of us. She's been my coworker, my boss, since I've known her. When I'm drunk is when I really believe that something more could happen between us. After wallowing in my own self pity for what I assume is only about half an hour longer, I get it into my slightly inebriated mind that it would be a good idea to go visit Catherine.

Being a CSI, I am well aware that even an arrest will get me fired from my job, so I smartly call a cab, which promptly shows up at the front of the casino minutes later. In this town, they've got cabs all over the place for this very reason. I stumble in, my head still spinning from the shots I've taken in a too short period of time, and give the cabbie Cath's address. I check my watch and notice it is almost one in the morning. The middle of the day for us night-shift CSI's, but her daughter Lindsey might be sleeping.

Catherine’s off tonight. Both of us are. After you’ve worked so many hours without taking time off in a given month, they make you take two nights to yourself. Catherine and I both worked our max, probably because we didn’t have anything else waiting for us. Ever since we stopped being friends our social lives have both plummeted into this pit of nothingness. I would, with anyone else, be worried that I would be an unwelcome obtrusion at this hour, however if I know Catherine, and she hasn’t changed that much in the past two years, I know this isn’t so. She’ll be up, even when she’s off she can’t sleep at one in the morning. She’ll be sitting behind the screen of her computer in the office at the back of her house. She’s probably wearing those gray sweat pants and some skimpy white t-shirt, and those thick black framed glasses that look so sexy on her when her hair is straightened.

Her porch light is on, and always is, because Cath is always prepared for anything that could happen. As I get out of the cab and pay, I wonder just how happy she'll be to see me. Maybe she'll even be pissed that I showed up on her front porch, but in all my drunkenness, I don't care. Slowly, I make a special effort to go around the lawn, stepping instead on her driveway and sidewalk, so as not to disturb her perfectly manicured grass. My specially trained ears, however, notice a curious sound as I approach the porch. I stop in my tracks, and look to my left, down the side of Cath's house, and I hear it distinctly now. A rustling of the bushes. Assuming I have a perpetrator on my hands, I reach for my gun, but realize I don't have it with me, of course. I'm not on shift. Instead, I holler loudly, "Hey!" and whistle at whoever is over there. I hear some frightened whispering, one I identify as a male, and the other a female. "Come out of there!" I tell them.

I’m about to plunge myself into the bushes and grab the people within them when I see a streak of black hair light out like a man on fire. After a moment’s hesitation I decided to turn my attention to his abandoned friend, in the bushes. I reach in quickly and remove a squirming teen, but not just any squirming teen - the blonde hair and blue eyes belong to Lindsey. I quickly divert my eyes as I realize that she’s wearing a skewed bra but no shirt, and allow her to cover herself before either of us speaks.

“Lindsey, what the hell?” I ask.

“I could ask you the same thing War-rick” she hasn’t called me Warrick in years, I’ve always been ‘Rick or Uncle ‘Rick.

“Your mom’s gonna be livid when she sees what you’ve been out here doing” I start to tell her but she cuts me off before I can continue.

“What makes you think she’s not going to be livid to see you? You’re drunk, and she hates you.”

I sigh heavily, somehow not surprised that Lindsey knows so much about her mother's social life, or lack thereof. Lindsey and I have been buds since she was a little girl. I suspect she knows I have a thing for her mother, but her insightfulness frightens me a little at this moment. Realizing she's trying to change the subject from the fact she was fooling around with what looked like a much older guy in the middle of the night without her mother's permission, I got back on her. "Where's your shirt?" I ask her, knowing this wasn't going to look good if Cath answered the door to this. Lindsey rolls those blue eyes and turns around to the bush, and retrieves a skimpy blue tank top that doesn't seem to cover her up any better when she turns around with it on. "Thanks for ruining my evening." She spats under her breath, maneuvering past me towards the door.

Lindsey pushes into the front door, which for only a split second, reveals a fairly well lit house. I lean forward to try to follow her through the door when it slams in my face and I all I hear is the muffled sound of “Mom, someone left a pile of trash on our front steps again.” Apparently she didn’t even try to hide the fact that at fifteen, she was coming home in the middle of the night. I guess she knows that my next step will be to tell her mother exactly what had gone down in the yard. She decided not to try to sneak in, but to blatantly announce herself, for the pleasure of a jab in my direction. I feel wounded. There was a time when she worshipped me. Now all I am to her is the drunken coworker of her mother, someone they both used to trust, and now apparently don’t.

From on the porch, I hear the muffled sound of Catherine, sounding confused on somewhat irate. I wonder if I should leave to give them some privacy, since obviously Cath wants to tear her to shreds, but I decide against it for Lindsey's sake, hoping that one day she'll understand why it's not a good idea to make out with guys in bushes. I ring the doorbell, and after some delay, an angry looking Catherine answers the door.

"Warrick?" She says my name with a certain amount of disgust. I raise my eyebrows a little in apology, knowing this didn't look that great, showing up on her doorstep at one a.m. Before I have a chance to respond, she turns back to her wayward daughter, who is currently brushing out some of the tangles in her blonde hair, with a slight tinge of her mother's reddish color. "Did Warrick have to bring you home?" She questions her fifteen year old harshly.

I can see Lindsey’s angry face twisting into a retort that can only get her into more trouble, so before she has the chance to say ‘why don’t you ask him’ I lean forward and, bailing the kid out of a lot of trouble, say “No, no, Cath it was nothing like that.”

“It wasn’t?” Catherine asks me, her voice betraying her anger, confusion, and relief in one breath.

“No. Lindsey was, uhh...” I can’t decide if I should lie for the girl and save face in her eyes, or if I should tell Catherine the truth and quell the anger I can tell she’s felling towards me. If I dime the kid out, Catherine will be so angry with her she won’t have the energy to maintain the rage towards me that she’s trying to hide.

I decide that even though Lindsey will probably hate me, her mother needs to know what she'd been up to. Since I like the kid, I decide to cover up some of the truth, at least the part about her having her shirt off. I have to earn at least some brownie points with the teenager, even though with her comments about me being trash, perhaps she doesn't deserve it. She was a teenager - not exactly the most apologetic time in anyone's life. Lindsey's eyes are tearing into me, silently begging me not to tell on her, but a look at her, conveying this was needed; it was for her own good, though of course she wouldn't understand.

"She was outside, with some guy kissing" I blurt out. "I was just coming to see you, and..."

I'm cut off by Catherine's angry voice, directed at Lindsey. "Chad?! Are you sneaking around with Chad again, young lady?"

I mentally cringe as I see Lindsey prepare to make teenager mistake number one. Yelling back at your mother is never a good way to get yourself out of trouble, and I’d pretty much just given her a ‘get out of jail free card.’

“Well, I wouldn’t have to sneak around with him, Mom, if you’d just let me date whoever I want” the kid retorted.

I can tell this isn't a fresh problem between the mother and daughter, who had been through so much together over the years, and not one that could be easily and peacefully resolved. For some, all the drama brought them closer together, but with Lindsey, it seemed to cause her to resent her mother. Catherine is about to answer her back, when she remembers that I am standing there.

"We'll talk about this later." Cath informs her, causing the teen to roll her eyes. "Go to your room and get to bed. You've got school tomorrow." Lindsey glares at her mother, then at me, and promptly begins to climb the stairs to her bedroom, immaturely stomping every step up.

We regard each other for a few moments, neither really speaking. I can tell that the anger, hurt, and whatever that other emotion is isn’t all because of Lindsey. I’m starting to feel a great deal of regret in coming here. All I’ve done is brought Catherine grief. I step inside and close the door behind me despite my urge to walk back out the door and go running into the night like, Chad was it? Like Chad himself had. I know that the two of us can’t go any longer without speaking so I finally settle on a befuttled apology.

“I’m, uh, sorry I came like this, and caused so much trouble.”

Catherine's chest puffs out, and then she lets out a loud, dramatic sigh as she turns and starts walking towards the cream-colored couches in her living room. She runs those long, delicate fingers through her light red hair, evidence of her stress, which I'm still guessing is a combination of Lindsey's behavior and my presence.

"No need to apologize," She lies, and I follow her, assuming she doesn't mind if I stay for at least a few minutes, since she hasn't kicked me out the front door. "I guess it was good timing that you found Lindsey." She picks up the half-filled wine bottle sitting on her coffee table and pours herself another quarter-filled glass. "Lately, I haven't been able to keep track of her. I assumed she went to bed hours ago."

“You know how kids are when they start dating someone new” I say, trying to console Catherine a little bit. “They think they’re the only person in the world that matters.”

Catherine doesn’t speak. She just looks me in the eyes for a few moments, holding my gaze. I can tell she’s trying to size up the situation, trying to decide if she really wants me here at all. I have hope though, because I can see her face soften as she looks at me, and I can see her eyes lighten. For yet another time in my life I’m thankful that she could never stay angry with me for very long. For a moment longer she looks at me, and then as though she decided to forget her rebelling teen, she asks “So, why’d you come here anyway?” To my delight her words were simply curious and didn’t hide any disdain or annoyance, and to my pleasure she doesn’t look away after she’s done speaking.

My original plan of coming over here seems so childish and juvenile now. I momentarily lose my train of thought, getting caught in the midst of her gaze, the way her make up-free face makes her look even more beautiful, her tank top hugging her in all the right places. Why had I thought it was a good idea to come here? What did I hope to achieve? To tell her I was head over heels in love with her, and expect her to say the same to me; that all the dramatics and angst we'd gone through was just a bad dream, and we were set to live the rest of our lives together? Yeah, that sounded idiotic, now that I had the chance to sober up just a little bit.

"Um..uh.." I stumble, scratching above my eyebrow nervously, "I was just thinking about you." I realize I sound like a middle schooler, crushing on the head cheerleader.

I feel my face start to redden when her eyebrows and face contort in surprise. Now, I want to crawl underneath her couch and hide for the next year, hoping she'll forget that idiotic line of mine. I feel the need mounting inside of me to apologize, but she beats me to it.

"Really? And just how often do you think about me?" By the look on her face, I can tell this is slightly entertaining to her. It's not fair the way guys and girls interact. Guys make themselves out to be idiots for the amusement of their female counterparts. I’m still a little drunk, or at least that’s what I’m telling myself, or else I doubt I would have had the courage to say the words that next came out of my mouth.

“Maybe a little more often than I should.”

She doesn’t speak. She’s telling me, by not saying anything, that she wants me to continue on. I am a little bemused at the idea that women, even without saying anything, always maintain the control in situations where men could be branding themselves with mortal embarrassment. I search her eyes for the inspiration to know what the right thing to say next would be, but all I find is the desire to kiss her. I divert my attention to her hair, still on a quest for the right words, but simply find the need to be lost in it. Then, for some odd reason, I feel that a glance to her chest would show me the right path, but it doesn’t. All I find there is the exhilaration of wondering what it would be like to caress her breasts. Finally, in an attempt to dig myself out of the hole I put myself in, I divert my attention to my own flesh, to the pale band of skin that had me so enraptured earlier this evening. It’s here that I found my motivation to speak.

“I guess... I think about the way things used to be. I think about what we used to be, and I think about how much I miss it. I think about how much I hate that even though neither of us have gone anywhere, it feels like there’s a thousand miles between us.”

Catherine's eyes have been on me the entire time, something I haven't had the courage to mirror myself. I look away, searching on the floor for...I don't know what, then I finally venture a glance at her face. Her expression is regretful - but of what I’m not sure. Regretful of the same things I am? That I let her get away one too many times, and that I fear I may be too late? Or regretful that I came over tonight in the first place? Her mouth opens and closes a couple times, in attempt to form some sort of polite response. I'm sure she's going to put me down, but her answer gives me a small inkling of hope.

"Warrick, um. I'm not sure what to say other than...I miss things too, but I'm not sure if we can ever get back to that place we were. Too much has happened."

“I know that.” I do, I’ve always known it. As a matter of a fact I’ve known that we would never have what we did before the moment she noticed the ring on my finger, so long ago. I should have told her, or talked to her about it. I should have at least involved her in some way, it’s not like I thought she wouldn’t care, or want to be there for me.

“I guess I didn’t come here to change it all, but to say that I’m sorry. Sorry for all of the things I said or didn’t say, and for letting this happen.”

“Warrick...” she tries to speak to me, but can’t find the words.

It would be polite, if two decent people who hadn't hurt one another were standing here instead of us, for Catherine to say it was alright, that it wasn't my fault, but I know she can't find it in her to say that. She shouldn't have to, because I'm the one that's screwed things up between us, with all that Tina confusion. I can tell she doesn't want to hurt me by telling me the blatant truth - that I'd hurt her worse than any other man, more than Eddie even.

"Cath," I stop her, my voice low. "It's okay. I shouldn't have come." I clear my throat and turn around, heading for the door, hoping that she'll stop me and I don't know what. What do I expect? For her to run after me and kiss me like they do in the movies?

"Warrick." She calls, her voice tinged in tiredness. I turn as I reach the door, and she comes around the side of the couch. I wait for her to continue, and she stands right in front of me. "Maybe we should talk about this some other time. When you're not...um...” ‘Drunk’ I mentally add for her.

“Goodnight” I tell her. There is so much more I have to say, but this feels like the right thing to say. I’m elated, slightly, at the idea that she didn’t hit me in the face for saying what I did. Or that she didn’t tell me I was all to blame, even though we both know it’s true if she’d have said it I would have been crushed. Maybe now that it’s all out in the open our friendship can start to heal. Once the door is closed behind me I begin walking up her road, and remove my cell phone to call a cab.

As I trudge along after I've made the call, I can't help but feel there's a load off my chest, but some of it is still there. It had been a simple apology, and my grandmother had always told me that actions speak louder than words. Now that I'd promised change and expressed interest in patching things up, I have to prove it to Cath. Prove that she means the world to me, and that I care for Lindsey too. Tomorrow, when all the alcohol clears my head, maybe I'll think up a master plan about how to get Cath back into my life permanently, even if it is just friendship. With all the crap I've pulled, I might just have to live without the possibility of ever being romantically involved with the beautiful, amazing woman I had wronged. As the cab pulls up, I promise myself, and Catherine, tomorrow.

 

Re: Symphony of Change by Bauerfreak and LostLadyKnight

My main pairing for Cath is CatNip but I like YoBling fic too. Please continue soon!

 

Re: Symphony of Change by Bauerfreak and LostLadyKnight

Symphony of Change- Chapter 2


I feel very fragile, which is not something I like to admit to on a regular basis, as I lay here in this uncomfortable hospital bed, an IV in my arms, and numerous expensive medical machines surrounding me, recording my every heartbeat and any problem with an annoying beep. This has in turn stopped me from getting any resuscitative amount of sleep, because every time something even minute goes wrong, a nurse rushes in to check my vitals. As a result of this lack of sleep, I have developed a rather hideous pair of bags under my eyes, which seems to go well with my overly pale skin (even by my standards), and tired, dull complexion, which only further adds to my new look of resident weakling. I pride myself on my strength, my diligence, my firm refusal to give up, so this - being trapped in a twin-sized bed 24 hours a day - is sheer torture. I watch the hours tick by, nurses and doctors and coworkers stream in and out, and it's all a blur to me. After over a week of consciously being here, I'm still waiting to be snapped out of this nightmare, and then I remember what happened to me.

I don’t remember all of it. I can’t. Just certain images burned into my mind. First I’m standing next to my car and someone approaches me then the world goes black. Then I have a freeze frame where my chest feels like it’s being crushed and all I can see around me is rain and mud. Another flash and I figure out that I’m under a car. My final memory before the hospital involves me being a least a hundred feet from the car and finally awakening to see Grissom standing over me, the sun casting a celestial glow about him making him look like both a hero and an angel. I don’t remember how I got that far away from the car. People keep asking me and it’s frustrating, because I just can’t remember.

They’ve told me that I’ve been here for three months and though I’ve been drifting in and out of consciousness things have only began to stick in the past week or so. It’s a wretched thing, being in the hospital and even though I couldn’t escape if I wanted to I still feel a pang of guilt clawing at the back of my mind. There are people out there that don’t know where I am, and are probably beginning to wonder if I’ve stopped caring for them all together. Though the tension causes pain in the IV I’ve got coming out of the back of my hand, I cross my fingers and silently will them to remember that I love them.

I've been unsuccessfully trying to nap for the past hour or so. I've found that if I'm pretending I'm sleeping, it stops people, especially Grissom, from fussing over me so much. I cannot stand to be made a big deal over. Yes, I'm injured, and yes I've been through an ordeal, but that doesn't mean I'm broken. And Grissom - all the ways I love that man - does not seem to know what to do with himself. I can tell he's grateful that I'm okay, and that he cares for me deeply. But unfortunately, his presence here over the last week has been comforting, but also somewhat suffocating. He's afraid to leave my side, thinking that if he turns his attention away for one second, that I'll slip into a massive coma or start having seizures. After months here, I am stable in the medical sense, but more confused than I’ve ever been.

Unfortunately he hasn’t left my side in the past four hours, not even to go to the bathroom, and noticed my fingers cross when I made the movement. I slam my eyes closed forcefully begging him to think that he was just seeing things, and that I’m still asleep. It doesn’t work though because I hear his gentle, sweet, voice ask me if I’m awake. I’m torn. I love the blasted man dearly but he’s so infuriating. I’m not a child nor a china doll and I’d like to be treated as though I’m not going to break. I know that I’ll crush him if he thinks I’m pretending he’s not beside me so I give him a faint ‘morning’ in reply even though I’m unaware if it’s morning, noon, or night.

My eyes flutter open to the familiar sight of his caring face. I should be thankful that I have a boyfriend so in love with me, that he spends every single hour of his time off of work here at the hospital with me, nursing me back to health. Only, I'm not. He's reassuring, but he's not helping. I feel like a child in elementary school, with a teacher who's always hovering over my shoulder, checking my work. It's not like it's the worst thing in the world, but to me, it's torture. I know I must tolerate him a while longer. Hopefully, when I'm released from the hospital in a few days, he will back off a little and actually let me lift a finger to do something for myself. Until now, I am left trying to stomach hovering Grissom, who has now walked to the edge of my bed.

"Did you sleep well?" He whispers, as if he's afraid he'll burst my eardrums. I nod, a total lie, of course, but I don't want to worry him any more than I have. Grissom doesn't need all the added stress of me being in the condition I'm in. I feel like a burden to him, not his girlfriend.

“Have you slept?” I know he hasn’t and by the guilty look on his face my suspicions are confirmed and for once in my life I’m happy he doesn’t take care of himself.

“Go home and get some sleep, walk Bruno, and for the love of Pete feed both of you” I order him out of my room, with two ambitions in mind. I do want him to care for himself and Bruno, but I also want a stolen moment by myself.

Grissom opens his mouth to protest but I raise my fingers first to my lips and then to his before saying “I’m going to be right here when you get back, go.”

On Grissom's way out I hear him ask someone what they're doing, and I realize that someone's trying to come into my room. A few moments later I hear a voice I never thought I'd hear here trying to calm my lover down. I’m overwhelmed with a combination of resounding joy that he’s here and anguish that he’s meeting Grissom on these terms. Well, he knows Grissom. We took an entomology lecture under him together, but it has been more than a decade. I listen to them bicker for a little while.

“Just who do you think you are? You can’t just waltz in to someone’s room.” Grissom obviously thinks he’s with the press. They’ve been bothering me a lot in the past few months and probably will continue to do so for a long while.

“I’m not just anybody, now let me go in and see her.” I hear concern in his manly voice. In a voice I know so well that I don’t have to see a face to know it’s him.

“I’m Sara’s emergency contact and nobody gets admittance without going through me.” It’s kind of sexy, or it would be if he wasn’t being an ass, the way he’s fighting for me.

“Look Mr. Grissom, I don’t care, I’m going to see her right now.”

If I know Grissom he’s about to whirlwind the poor man with a thousand questions and then call hospital security and have him removed, so I speak up loudly and down the hall, “Oh Alexander just get your ass in here already.”

Both men instantly stop their bickering at the sound of my voice, which I find strangely boosting to my ego. I smirk a little, hoping that has done the trick. Grissom is standing in the doorway, and turns his head towards me, shocked that I am speaking to this other man who he thinks is trying to harass me. Shocked, he just stands there looking at me in confusion, and this allows Alexander to step past him and into my room. His face is a combination of so many things, and so reassuring to me - worry, relief, love, annoyance - but mostly love.

"Sara." He calls to me with such adoration in his voice I think I might melt into a pile of goo right there. Moments later, he's crossed the room and enveloped me in kind of a half-hug. I am saddened that he has to see me like this. I know my hair is probably greasy, I smell, and I'm probably a tad bit grouchy.

"Hey." I smile through all my confusion. He's holding my hand, the one with the IV in it, his thumb gently stroking my pale skin, just gazing into my eyes, like a former lover should after not hearing from his beau for probably several months.

“Thank God you're okay." He whispers, sensing correctly that Grissom is hovering near, straining to hear what he is saying. "We were so worried about you." He tells me, and I of course believe him. I've been wanting to call him or write a letter to tell him that I'm okay - well, that I've been involved in an 'incident', to put it lightly, and am recovering well at a local hospital. But alas, Grissom hasn't really stepped away long enough for me to be able to call him, sadly, and I still feel incapable of writing.

"Is Ryan here?" I ask him, my throat giving away the dryness I feel in my mouth. He smiles at the mention of the teenage boy.

"He's in the waiting room. I told him to wait until I was sure you were really here and ready for him." I feel like crying in relief that Ryan is here, just down the hall, when both have been miles and miles away in California. Grissom has overheard parts of this, and is growing more confused by the second.

"I hate to barge in, but who is this guy?" He questions me.

“Griss, this is Alexander Fisher. You might not remember him but he was in that lecture course, the one where I met you, with me.” I decide to plunge right in and remind him that Alexander was someone he could remember too, if he tried.

“Well I’m sorry, I don’t remember you” Grissom says, stepping forward hand offering Alexander his and to shake it. “You and Sara stayed in contact all this time?”

“Gil,” I don’t call him Gil except for very intimate moments, and he knows that I’m about to tell him something very sensitive I can see his face express worry and fear “Alexander and I have more than just stayed in contact... he’s my husband.”

Grissom resembled the Big Mouth Bass that hangs above his office door. I can tell he's trying to form some kind of word, but his mind renders him incapable. I know I should have told him about Alexander - that would've been the wise thing to do - but we aren't really what you would call an item anymore. Sure, we were still legally married, but we lived in separate states, and the sex has been sporadic over the years. Well, for some couples, that doesn't exactly make a strong difference between being married or not. For what it was worth, I still love Alexander (and I still love Grissom), but we had kind of agreed to just be friends. Only, I could never bring myself to file the divorce papers.

Grissom needs me to speak. I can tell that he’s been rendered dumfounded and just can’t seem to get his brain to function enough to find what to say. I’m at a loss too, but Alexander is holding my hand and I’m trying not to lose the man, well the men, that I love.

“We’ve been married since graduate school, but I’ve been here, with you, for eight years. Look, I know we have a lot to talk about, and please, don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate...” He started to assure me that he didn’t hate me, but he just can’t say the words. I guess I understand, I’d hate me too. I can tell he’s wounded, maybe even destroyed by what I just told him and I need to respect that he’s got to think it through. To my pleasure he does something that’s good for both of us, he gives us time. “I think I’ll go home now and let you two catch up a bit. I have some things to think about, and then, Sara, I think we should talk.”

“Me too.” I tell him, hardly above a whisper. On his way out the door I’m overcome with a feeling of loss and I inaudibly tell him one last thing “I love you.”

He offers me a small smile and says he loves me too, but I wonder if it's hard for him to say. I wouldn't have been able to say it if I found out Grissom was married to some lady secretly for years. I sigh as I watch his back turn, and he leaves from our sight. My sadness, however, is quickly masked when I look back up at Alexander, and see his loving, but guilty face.

"I hope I didn't cause any trouble." He apologized, pulling the chair that Grissom had been sitting in up closer to my bed. I shake my head in dismissal.

"My fault." I tell him. Alexander has known about Grissom, so at least I don't have double awkwardness to deal with. Hopefully, that doesn't make us bad people, but it sure feels like it. "I wanted to call and write, but I couldn't find..." I'm cut off by his words.

“It's okay, baby." He assures me, stroking my hand again. "We're here now." Alexander whispers, looking deep into my eyes. I feel blessed, but cursed, to have two men in my life that love me and care about me so much. Love can be an amazing thing when it's mutual, but sadly, with two amazing men to pick from, I have never truly felt like I was in love with either of them. I've had strong feelings for both of them, but I've never pictured myself ending up with either of them.

If someone asked me, I mean truly asked me, who the love of my life was I could answer them, and it wouldn’t be that hard. The man that I love more than any other in the world is not Gilbert Grissom, nor is it Alexander Fisher but another. My son, Ryan. It’s true when they say that there is no love in the world like the love that a mother has for her child, and though some may be shocked to hear it, I’m no different. I love Alexander, God do I. He’s been the best friend I’ve ever had for years, we’ve been together through so much and he’s never left my side. But we knew when we got married that it wasn’t “forever love” and that in time our marriage would crumple and fail. We merely married because we knew that we loved each other in a way that only two best friends ever could. We knew that though the love wasn’t that of a passionate affair, it was unbreakable.

Grissom. I’ve had such a crush on Grissom since I was still just a teen that I don’t know how exactly I love him, but I do. I love him, I guess, in a very similar way to the way I love Alexander, except without the certainty that he’s going to love me in return for an eternity. Grissom is my dear friend and my comfort zone, and I don’t want to give that up. But Ryan - I love him more with every breath I breathe and every beat my heart takes. He’s the whole world to me suspended in my life like an angel. I would give up anything, everything, for my son without thinking twice. He’s my heart and my life. But no matter how much I love him, there is a piece of my heart still searching for something. Searching for, as I put it a moment ago, my “forever love.”

I must be rather obvious when I'm thinking about my son, because the next thing I register is Alexander chuckling at me and shaking his head in amusement.

"Thinking about Ryan?" He asks me knowingly. I don't know how I've managed to go on living without seeing Ryan for all these months. Well, it helped that I wasn't really aware of my own body for a while, I guess. I smile and nod at Alexander's question, feeling rather maternal that I'm that obvious thinking about my son. I never thought I'd be a good mother, but when I'm around Ryan, all that floats away. I love him dearly, and that's all there is to it.

"Can I see him?" I request, and can't believe I'm slightly afraid that he'll say no. I'm sure Ryan's been through a lot these past months, wondering what's going on with me. For a time, I'm sure they both wondered if I was still alive. Alexander nods at my request and kisses my cheek, a reminder of our enduring friendship. He winks at me when he rises, and then walks towards and out of the door. I look down and smooth out a wrinkle in my bed sheet, feeling more nervous now than I believe I have ever been. I wonder if Ryan is upset with me, for not calling or writing, and that in all his teenage angst he wonders now why he's lived all his life with his father, and never with me. My fears are soon dismissed, however, when I saw that tall, dark handsome son of mine standing in the doorway, his face lit up with joy like a five year old being told he gets to go to Chuck E. Cheese.

“Look at you.” I say to him as he wanders in a little more closely. I haven’t seen him since last Christmas and the fourteen year old must have shot up a whole foot since then. He lets his long hair flop into his face a bit as he smiles at me brightly, but he doesn’t come too close. I can tell, by the way he sat in the chair beside me rather slowly that he’s afraid to touch me. “Get your butt over here and give me a hug right now” I order him, with a smile back to Alexander who’s standing in the door way grinning at me.

Ryan stands over me and hugs me meekly but I won’t let him get away with it. I pull him tightly and hug with all the strength I can muster, while ignoring the pain I just put myself in I kiss his forehead and finally let him escape. “I’ve missed you so much, Rye.”

He smiles at me and sits back down, but stares me in the face for a few moments before I see his usually deep brown eyes start to brighten into that shade of hazel green they become when he’s upset by something. “Mom, you’re really okay? Really?”

“Yeah honey, I’m fine.” I try to assure him, but also his father. I reach out and tousle that dirty brown hair of his, which he's grown out to that length he knows I absolutely love on him.

"I've been through an ordeal, but I've been well taken care of." I tell him, which is true. He doesn't need to know about the nightmares I've been having, and the horrible flashbacks. Physically, I am fine, and that is all my teenage son needs to know. He nods in understanding, and looks quite relieves.

"I see you grew your hair out again. I love it." I smile and ruffle his hair even more. He smirks that smirk he only saves for me that I've missed so much - that look that says, 'Mom, you're crazy, but I love you'.

"He needs a haircut." His father smiles from the end of my bed, looking over at our son jestfully.

"I got one last week, Dad." My son smartly quips.”

We talk for a while, my husband, our son and I. Ryan fills me in on all the details of his life including the fact that he got into a private high school in our area for the start of his freshman year. I tell him I’m proud, and I am. Alexander tells me about the firm and how he’s the third most senior practitioner now. Before long he’ll be made partner and given that illustrious pay increase that will separate our little family from the upper middle class.

About an hour into our visit Warrick came to see me, he didn’t stay long, and since Ryan was in the restroom and Alexander was getting some more coffee I didn’t have the opportunity to introduce

them. Warrick told me that he came by to see how I was today, and gave me a small white teddy bear. He said he was feeling pretty horrible that he wasn’t by in the couple of days prior and that he’d make it up to make it up to me somehow when I was back on my feet. Warrick and I have grown to be pretty good friends over the years and from time to time spend evenings together at the movies. Perhaps he’ll pay for my ticket next feature we see. I took the time to assure him that everything was alright, and didn’t fail to notice the wedding band was absent from his finger.

Apparently, or so he told me, the breakdown of his marriage was fairly old news and I was the last to know. I believe him because the tan line from his ring looked fairly well faded, but still bright enough to call attention to the fact that something was missing. After a short chat, only about five minutes long, he bade me farewell and returned to whatever had him so distracted and absent seeming.

For the next hour or so, I just enjoy the company of Alexander and Ryan there with me. There's so much for us to catch up on after being apart and without communication for so long. Soon, Grissom wanders back in, visibly distraught over the fact that guy was still here, and there was now a teenage boy with him now. He tried his best to hide his displeasure, but it was obvious to everyone in the room Grissom wanted them to leave. After a few last words, Alexander stands up and walks over to me.

"Well, Ryan and I are gonna go get a bite to eat." He informs me, and I notice his distinct lack of physical touch. Grissom is staring a hole into the back of his head, and I'm sure he feels it. Griss wants him OUT. I nod, and we exchange our goodbyes. He kisses my forehead and I glance at Grissom as he's doing so. The look on Gil's face is distraught, and perhaps a little hurt. I don't want to hurt either of these men in my life, and know it's past the time I should have figured my feelings out for them.

I’m half tempted to throw a pillow at Grissom for making my family leave me, but I know that he’s justified in wanting some time alone with me, and honestly I’d like to be alone with him too. I almost missed him while he was gone. I search my brain for the right thing to say and then finally settle with “How’s Bruno?” Small talk seems like the safest avenue, for the moment.

“He’s fine. He ate like I’ve never fed him before in his life, and I think he’s tired of being cooped up like that, but I don’t blame him.” He tells me, only humoring me because he knows that deep down I love the dog almost as much as I love him.

“Aren’t we all?” I ask, saying how tired I am of being cooped up as well. I make a mental note to take Bruno out for a good, long, run when I’m home and finally able to escape the over protectiveness of the people that love me.

Grissom allows his face to shift from mild mannered to troubled and he asks a question I’ve seen on his mind since he arrived. “That kid, was he your son?”

I nod. It’s all I can say. I don’t know how fundamentally this is going to change the musing and result he came upon while he was at home with our dog. I can’t be sure how he’s going to react so I just lay he idly hoping he’ll speak sooner rather than later, so I don’t go mad from the suspense.

I can't exactly blame him for asking the next question out of his mouth. In the last couple hours, I've suddenly become this person he never knew, with a life he never knew existed.

"And when were you planning on telling me about this?" His eyebrows raise, and suddenly I feel like a child being interrogated by a disappointed parent. Grissom has known me for over ten years now, and somehow I've been able to hide the fact that I'm a mother. I don't know why I've been so diligent about hiding it from people. I adore Ryan, but it's just not something I readily share, because I get the questions about if he lives with me, and I have to answer that no he doesn't, and then I get those looks - like I'm a bad mother, or don't love my son enough because I can bear to have him live away from me.

Well, I can't bear it. It kills me to have Ryan away from me, and this situation is just so hard to explain, so I just avoid it. But now, as Grissom stares back at me with those impossibly hurt eyes, it has come back to bite me in the butt. I feel like I would've rather endured years of those questions and looks, to avoid the heartbreaking look on Grissom's face right now.

“I can’t explain why I didn’t tell you. I guess I was just afraid you’d leave me.” This is the most honest answer I can think of right now, and I’m sick of lying to him. “I was twenty-two when I met you and instantly smitten. I guess I figured telling you that I was married and had an infant son would ruin my chances. Then, though we never lost contact for long, we weren’t exactly best friends and personal issues didn’t come up. When you asked me to stay out here in Vegas with you, I sat down with Alexander and we talked about it for a long time and decided that I had to do what was best for me, and that was take every chance I had to be with you. I never told you because I just couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.”

“So you blame me?” He asks rather scornfully.

“No, I don’t blame you. When I came here, it was only going to be for the Holly Gribbs case, and then it turned into the fall, then the year, then…” I make a motion with my hand, feeling I didn’t need to continue. “Eventually, I had to make a choice that I’ve lived with every day for eight years, and that I was happy with because I had you.. You’re not to blame, I’m the only one who owns that, but it was worth it.”

I let out a breath, feeling I needed to continue still. "I never intended for my marriage to Alexander to fall apart, but I never really expected it to last this long." I go on. "And Ryan - I knew he was in good hands with Alexander, and I get to see him on holidays. Maybe that makes me a bad person, but that's just the way things are." I huff and cross my arms, almost pissed with Grissom for making me spill all this information to him. But I remind myself this is all my fault. I brought this upon myself, and there's no one to blame but me. Grissom seems at a loss for words.

"If I had known about all this, things would have been..."

"Different." I finish for him. "I know. But you didn't know, and this is how things are."

“So, where does that leave us?” He asks, taking up the seat next to me. I take it as a good sign that he’s sitting here and obviously willing to work things out.

I stop and regard the situation for a moment and at a midpoint through my introspection I realize that I’ve had a really long day and a lot of things happening to me, and that I’m exhausted. Though I’m sorely tempted to think of my own good health and finish this conversation quickly, I decide that Grissom deserves the last drop of my energy. “I’d like it to leave us where we were. We have a good thing, I don’t want to mess it up.”

I breathe out a long, drawn-out sigh, and close my eyes, tired from all the emotions of the day. I've lived the last year of my life taking it for granted that Grissom will always be there, though I have recently found him slightly annoying. And now, with this mess I've caused, I wouldn't be surprised if Grissom wants to cut things off with me for good.

"Well, it might be too late." He tells me, causing my heart to drop. My eyes shoot up, looking at his normally expressionless face, and find deep hurt there. He's hurt that I've basically lied to him all these years about so many things. I've foolishly told myself over the years that I wasn't really lying to him - I just wasn't telling him the whole truth. I should've known better - I've been preaching that to Ryan for years, that a half-truth is really a lie.

I’m half tempted to beg him to take it back and to reconsider. I think I’d grab him by the face and hold his cheeks in my hands, but I’m just too tired. I gaze into his gray eyes for a few moments and when I can tell he’s about to speak again, about to end it, a nurse walks in. She looks at me and concern spreads on her face, obviously I’m not up to having a visitor anymore. She knows he’s been by my side for months but senses it’s time for him to go.

“Sir, I’m sorry but it’s time for Ms. Sidle to get some rest now.” I silently make a note to hug the woman when I get the chance. She just rescued me when I most needed a rescuer.

Grissom leaves me and before I’ve time to watch him walk down the hall and out of my sight I’m overcome with sleep.

 

Re: Symphony of Change by Bauerfreak and LostLadyKnight

ack more more....will you fix it? oh darn I didn't see the Snickers part. I'll keep reading for the YoBling though even though I'm a big GSR fan. And I do read other pairings now and then; I've been unable to put down so to speak Meg's Back to You lol

 

Re: Symphony of Change by Bauerfreak and LostLadyKnight

Well the idea is that it's going to be Snickers... but in the chapter we're writing right now Grissom is buying an engagement ring. Anyway... we'll see.

The next chapter will be up in a few days. I'm hoping more poeple will jump on the band wagon with this one and read it.. but if not I'll keep posting it for you.

 

Re: Symphony of Change by Bauerfreak and LostLadyKnight

Nice start LLK!!! I like this story! Keep up the good work.

 

Re: Symphony of Change by Bauerfreak and LostLadyKnight

Symphony of Change

Chapter 3.

I’m reclined in one of the chairs in the break room, a habit I picked up from Greg a few years ago, waiting for Grissom to walk in and assign us to our tasks for the evening. I hope that I have a fairly straight forward case tonight because the dozen or so shots I had last night are still working their magic on me. Well I’m not drunk, but I have a headache to boot. I can’t let myself forget the two glasses of water before bed anymore, or else man, I’m out of it all day. I’m sitting here, in the dark, flipping through a magazine that the person before me left, something about surf boards and other beach bum gear. Sara has a subscription to the same magazine, but I know it can't be hers. She hasn't been here in months. I turn the page and a bright orange and yellow add displaying the magic of some sort of board wax reminds me that normal people don't read with the lights off, and if I don't get up and flip that switch, the next person in here is going to know I have a hangover.

I'm overly thinking about my actions and the way I'm presenting myself this evening, because I know it is easily apparent that I'm hung over. If Grissom knew, he'd have one of his hissy fits, and make me go home for the evening. Work, however, is about my only outlet at the moment, besides drinking and gambling of course, so I find it vital that I be able to work this evening, even if it may be tougher than usual. Nick moseys in a few moments later, nursing most likely a strong cup of coffee, and we make eye contact. Immediately, I can tell he knows I am hung over, and that really puts a damper on my chances with Grissom. I know Nick's gonna bust my chops on this one - how could he not? Such an easy target such as myself, waiting for the Advil to kick in, and fighting the strong urge to kneel at the porcelain throne for a while.

"Rough night?" He asks me simply as he sets his Styrofoam cup down with a light plunk on the break room table. He has that look, like he's just gonna eat me alive all day long about this.

If I hadn’t known Nick for years... scratch that, if Nick hadn’t known me for years I would attempt to lie to him and tell him that I just have a headache from sleeping on the pullout in my old apartment while I get myself situated again. Unfortunately, as I said, Nick has known me for years and wouldn’t believe me for a moment. “I may have had a little too much fun.”

“By the look of it man, you had one hell of a night!” He says, pretending to be envious. I know that in all truth he wouldn’t want to be me right now, nobody would. Nick looks from me to his cup of coffee and back again and then hands it to me. “Man why do I miss all of the good parties? You look like you were with a couple of gorgeous blondes until all hours of the morning.”

I have to laugh to myself at the irony. I was with a pair of beautiful ladies last night, but it wasn’t all fun and games like Nick’s implying. If Nick wasn't such a good friend, I might be tempted to lie to him about my facts. Of course, I'm not about to get into the heart of all my problems here in the break room, with Greg within earshot, a long night ahead of us. I let out a tired and humorless chuckle.

"Trust me, man. It wasn't that kind of night." I make eye contact with him again, and he's the type of bud that can tell just from that I have a problem on my hands, and not one appropriate to talk about at work. He nods and suddenly finds his watch fascinating for a few moments.

"You wanna grab a bite later?" He offers predictably. Nick's the type of friend that will cancel his plans at the drop of a hat if he knows one of his friends is down or in trouble. I appreciate the offer, I tell him, but somehow I feel like talking about it with someone will only further propel me into this abyss of angst and desperate need for the red head that walks into the room moments later. God, does she know how much power she has over me by her mere presence? The way she looks so powerful, walking into the room like she owns it in those black high heels, striped pant-suit, and feminine blouse that shows off an enticing amount of that fantasy-inducing chest of hers.

Catherine doesn’t stay in the room long. She was apparently just here to collect the water bottle that was sitting on the counter. She does, however, take the time to greet us and tell us that she’s heard that it’s going to be a pretty slow night. As she walked past me, though, we made eye contact for a few moments and then she seemed overly eager to get out of the room, but not before asking how I was feeling. I can tell that the display between us was enough to tip Nick off that a few drinks were only the start of my problems from the night before. Not a full second after Catherine is out of the room Nick makes fast eye contact with me and raises and eyebrow. He can’t help but let an enlightened sounding “oh” escape his lips as he tries to decide if he should ask me about it or not. He decides against it because he is a rather astute guy and knows that this just isn’t the time or place. Instead he just give me a knowing nod and after an awkward silence he breaks the tension by bringing up Sara. We exchange a few words on her behalf, discussing her physical and mental health over the last few days, and making our own predictions about how fast she’ll be back in the field once she’s out of the hospital.

When Grissom walks in a few minutes later, holding papers in his hand, looking at us over his glasses, I purposely avoid looking directly at his eyes, because apparently one can instantly tell my mental status by those alone. I stare just below his chin, hoping not to draw attention to myself, and hope he'll pass the assignments out quickly.

"Nick, you'll be with Greg on a suspicious 419 at the Palermo. Warrick, you'll be with Catherine on a burglary in Henderson." He informs us. I let out an audible groan that only momentarily causes Grissom to study me. He must not notice my current handicap, because he turns and leaves without another word. Nick and I both stand and he gives me a firm clap on the shoulder.

"Tough break, man. Just keep the discussion to work, I guess." He gives me a little advice as we both start walking to the locker room to gather our gear.

Catherine walks into the locker room a few minutes after Nick leaves and I pass her the assignment slip that Grissom had given me. I watch her face express a few different emotions, none of them too terrible, before she confirms that she’s read it and says that she wants to drive. She’s got to get a few things together so I just sit down on one of the benches and stare at my thumbs for a while so she can get ready.

A picture of Lindsey falls out of her locker and flutters to the floor in front of me and I lean down slowly and pick it up. I remember the picture, I was there the day it was taken. It was the end of June when she was about nine I think, a few months after Eddie had died. The whole lot of us had to work on the Fourth so we had all decided to go to Lake Mead that Saturday and set off a few fireworks and have some burgers before we had to be in for work. Well, Grissom and Greg weren’t there but I remember distinctly that Catherine, Lindsey, Sara, Nick and I were, and I’d like to say that Archie was too. Anyway, Lindsey was wearing a red, white, and blue dress and holding two sparklers that I’d just lit for her when Nick gets her attention long enough to snap the photo. She was wearing a necklace I’d given her and told her that it would protect her when she thought she needed her dad. It was my Grandmother’s, and I can still see the chain

hanging around her neck and into the side of her collar.

I pass the photo back to Catherine and say “Hard to believe that’s the same kid I found in the bushes last night.”

She accepts the picture from me and glances at the photo of her beloved daughter at far easier age than the scowling teen she'd said goodbye to earlier. She smirks and lets out a small chuckle at the smile Lindsey wears on her face. A thumbnail lightly grazes over the necklace Lindsey has on, and she remembers just as I have, that I was the one to give it to her. I feel partially like Lindsey's parent, after knowing her all these years. I know that the hurt I'm experiencing about what Lindsey said to me last night, about how she pretty much didn't want me near her, was nothing compared to all the teen angst Lindsey surely threw her way on a regular basis. I had surely only gotten a taste of Lindsey's attitude and sharp mouth. How did Catherine put up with that kind of hurt from day to day? After gazing at the picture for a good ten seconds, Catherine secures it back in place in her locker door with her magnet a little firmer this time.

"She used to be such a happy kid. Sorry again you had to witness that last night."

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m never going to mind sticking up for her.” I say with a genuine smile in Catherine’s direction. “You know, I’d forgotten all about that day until right now.”

“It was one of the rare, really good days Lindsey and I had that year.” Catherine says, lost in introspection for a few moments. “That was the year Eddie died, you know?”

“Yeah, I remember.” I say, and then I point at the photograph, now hanging back in its rightful place beneath a picture of Catherine, her sister, her mother, and Lindsey from the vacation they all took together at the beginning of this summer.

“She’s wearing the necklace I gave her,” I leave out that it was once my grandmother’s or that I would probably have given it to Tina had it still been in my possession when I’d married her.

“Yeah, you know I think she still has it.” But Catherine changes the subject by closing the locker door quickly. I stand up and take both her kit and my own in my hands and prepare to follow her out of the building and into the Denali that she’ll be driving to the crime scene. I silently wish that we’d found more common ground to stand on in the couple of minutes in the locker room, because I have a feeling this is going to prove to be a very awkward evening, starting with one hell of a tense car ride.

Cath already has her keys out, so I let her claim driving today with no fight. Usually I tease or argue with her about her driving skills, but today I know that wouldn't be a good idea. I feel like I'm on a thin string with her - that she's being nice about things right now, and not bringing up my drunken house call. Part of me wishes that she would bring it up, because I know that eventually we'll need to talk about what we are, and if we could ever be something else. I can't help it - I'm a guy, and I don't like awkward shit. I can't stand to not know where I stand with someone, but women of course have a way of turning any situation dramatic. Soon, we're both buckled up in the Denali heading for Henderson, the air conditioning turned up high to blow away the blazing late summer heat.

We drive along in pure silence for a while, apart from the steady constant blow from the vents. After about fifteen minutes, the car has reached a tolerable temperature, and it's beginning to get slightly cold. I reach out and turn the air down, in turn creating a rather deafening silence I wish I could cover up. If I were to turn the air back up suddenly, she would sense in all her female perceptiveness that I was indeed awkward about the situation - that I knew I had messed up by showing up on her doorstep. But still somehow, with this hangover and this awful silence, I don't regret it.

Finally, being a man like I said, I can’t stand the tension so I lean around into the back seat and flip my kit open and remove a bottle of water. Once I opened the cap and drank liberally I lean the bottle towards Catherine and offer her a sip. I don’t know if she can tell that I did the entire display simply because I wanted to speak, or if she buys that I was just really thirsty, but she takes the bottle and drinks from it. Now since she’s a woman and all, and though I made it through four years of college and a decade working at the number two crime lab in the country, I’ve never learned women so I can’t be sure, but I feel like this was a good sign.

Once she’s done with the drink and passes it back to me she says “Thanks, ‘Rick.” Now again, I’m no Casanova, but I can’t help but feel like her utilization of my nickname is a pretty good thing.

“You, uh, want to listen to something?” I point to the radio.

Her right hand rakes through her straight reddish hair, another sign, I say to myself, that she is relaxed with me, and not angry. If she was in no mood to talk to me, her hands would be gripping the steering wheel, and she would be sitting with that perfect posture she adopts around people she doesn't fully trust.

"Sure, but no rap." She warns me, knowing that on occasion I like to sample a little of that genre, like any guy in his twenties or thirties. I smirk and nod as I turn the dial to a classic rock station, one that I know she likes. Hey, it can't hurt, can it? Once I settle on the station, I lean back in my chair and observe her tapping her manicured fingers on the wheel, her head bobbing slightly side to side with the beat - almost so little not to notice, but with my keen eye around this woman, I make note of it. She's in a good mood. This is a very good sign for me, I know, so I just sit back and let her jive to the music without comment for a couple songs, allowing her to loosen up.

I kind of watch her enjoy the next couple of songs until one she doesn’t particularly like comes on and she turns down the volume, I guess so we’ll have the chance to talk. She gives me a second to see if I’m going to go first, and then decides to go ahead and just let it all out there before we’re too close to our crime scene to really talk.

“So, do you, uh, want to talk?”

“Yeah” I say, which is only a half truth. Things are okay between us and I just don’t really want to go back to the awkwardness that we’ve been feeling the last twenty four hours. I analyze the place where the tint becomes almost invisible at the top of the windshield and think about what I should say. I’m trying to decide just exactly what she wants to hear, but it’s so hard. I know there are so many things I can do or say that are going to make this go from bad to a lot worse.

“Hey Cath, listen, I’m really sorry about coming over like that last night. It was stupid.”

She sighs loudly, still looking straight ahead at the road, and not at me, making me feel like she expects me to explain more. Not a good enough apology, I think to myself, which I'm sure is a G-rated version of what she's currently thinking. She doesn't say anything, so I feel compelled to continue, hoping I won't say anything stupid. Neither of us would be surprised if I do, though.

"I, uh...I let my emotions get the best of me." I try to explain my actions, but not make excuses, because I know that pisses her off. "I realize it wasn't the best timing." I've been speaking to the windshield all this time, and finally turn to look at her face. I can only see a side view, but I can tell she's carefully considering what I have to say. Not that she's accepting it, but she's at least not biting my head off yet.

"I'm sorry I put you in that situation. It wasn't fair."

“No it wasn’t” I think I can fairly honestly say that this is probably the first time that Catherine agreeing with me didn’t feel like some sort of validation in my life. Usually all I need is a few words of agreement or support from her and I’m pretty much set. Not this time.

I drum my fingers on the grip bar in front of me for a few more seconds before I speak again “I know. I haven’t exactly been fair to you much at all in the last couple of years. I haven’t been much of a friend, either.”

“I wouldn’t say that, ‘Rick.” Her eyes meet mine for a split second before she speaks again, if the radio hadn’t been turned way down and the air conditioner on low, I wouldn’t have heard her. “It takes a good friend to be there for me like you were last September with Lindsey and Sam and all.” She leaves out the fact that she thought she’d been raped, but I know this affected her too.

“I mean, we hadn’t really said ‘boo’ to each other in months and there you are, helping me like that.”

“Catherine, that... that was nothing. I don’t care what’s going on, I’d never not be there for you through something like that.” I can’t believe that she was surprised by this, and suddenly I feel like an even more horrible person. I let her feel like that. I let her think I just didn’t care about her at all anymore. If she truly didn’t know that I’d be there for her, no matter what water passed under the bridge, then we have a lot more problems then I ever realized.

"Rick, you have been there for me more times than you know." She tries to convince me, and for some reason she seems to be trying to pump me up. I wonder if she feels sorry for me - the fact that I put my heart out there last night, and she didn't take. Kind of like a cheerleader agreeing to a pity date with some average joe.

"You've gotten me through so many rough times. Lindsey too. And you think I should be mad about you showing up on my front door?" She questions me like it the most ludicrous thing she's heard all day. "At the very least, 'Rick, it's flattering. But, uh..." She looks down momentarily, as if she's trying to decide whether to continue. "It lets me know your heart's still in this. That the fantasy's still there."

My phone picks this inopportune time to ring. Figures - I get the woman of my dreams telling me she's glad the fantasy is still alive and the phone rings. I bet it's Grissom. He always screws things up for me in the lady department. I grumble a little apology, more annoyed with myself that I didn't put my phone on vibrate or silent. I reach into my cargo pocket and retrieve the ringing phone, looking at the caller ID. To my surprise, it's Lindsey. I'm afraid to answer it, because I figure she's calling to chew me out about ratting on her last night. I clear my throat, trying to act nonchalant, because I know Cath will ask lots of questions afterwards if she knows her daughter is calling me for some reason. I flip the phone open and bring it to my ear a bit nervously, though I think my voice hides it well.

"Warrick Brown." I answer, all-business, so Cath won't suspect anything. I don't know why I'm being all sleuth about it. That sweet voice that can turn sour at a moment's notice greets me on the other end.

"Warrick? Hey, it's Lindsey."

“Hey, what can I do for you?” My response must be adequate because Catherine doesn’t seem suspicious.

“Well I was just calling to say thanks, for the other night, I know you could have had me in a lot more trouble than you did.”

We arrive at the scene within the next couple of minutes in my conversation with Lindsey, so I gently gesture to Catherine that I’m going to take the call in private. I know I can’t tell Lindsey that it was ‘no sweat’ because in truth, I shouldn’t have let her off so easy. Once I’m well out of Catherine’s earshot, I make the decision to give up the truce I have with the fifteen year old and say what’s really on my mind.

“Just because I didn’t tell on you doesn’t make it okay. There are some things you mom just doesn’t need to hear her kid is doing, it would break her heart. Lindsey I know you’re growing up, and I know you like this guy, but you’ve got to be careful not to do something you’re going to regret.”

“You know, ‘Rick, I thought you were cool.”

“I’m not trying to be cool. I care about you, believe it or not, and I don’t want to hear that this guy hurt you, or worse...” I can’t bear to finish the idea. He could get her pregnant, get her involved in drugs and God knows what, he could aid in her flunking out of school. Guys like him were bad for girls like her.

“I thought you trusted me ‘Rick. I thought I could trust you.” I know she’s making the same face that Catherine makes when she’s angry, her cheeks and lips are becoming thinner and her eyes are probably glowing with rage. “I guess I can’t.”

The girl sure knows how to drive a stake into my heart. She might as well be, the way that kid guilt-trips me. At times like this, I wonder if I could ever be a good father to a daughter. I feel like a softie, but I also know I have to stand my ground with this one. I stay firm just when I need to, even though it's the hardest thing to hear her tell me that she can't trust me.

"Lindsey, that's not true. You're not an adult yet, and you're naive if you think that guy has your best intentions at heart. He's using you, and I don't wanna see you get hurt." I pray that I'm getting through to her, but Lindsey predictably has a smart, stabbing comeback for everything an adult looking out for her best interest does.

"I don't know how to act like an adult?!" Her voice is growing pointier and harsher. "If you're a model adult, that leaves something to be desired. Yeah, sorry. I guess I'm not to the point in my life, as an adult, where I show up drunk on someone's doorstep like some loser.”

“Lindsey, I’m not going to try to lie and say that I haven’t made mistakes, but you don’t have to say things like that, I’m really just looking out for you. I don’t think your relationship with this guy is a good idea.” I really don’t want to be fighting with her but I don’t know... It’s amazing to me how much power the Willows women have to send me into this emotional turmoil. At least one of them understands that I care.

“You think you’re one to be handing out relationship advice? Do I have to remind you how you treated MY mother? You’ve made mistakes too Warrick, and a drunken apology isn’t going to fix them. I hope you know how much you hurt her, how much you hurt both of us, and I hope you know that I’m not okay with you trying to saunter back into our lives. If you hurt her again... I swear Warrick, I’ll...”

“Lindsey, I never wanted to hurt your mother... I never wanted that.” I feel slightly crushed, I realize that I’ve made a lot of mistakes in the past. I never realized how profound of an effect the things I’d done had on both of these ladies that I cared so much about.

“Sometimes it’s a little to late for ‘I never wanted’ Warrick, and sometimes people give you a second chance when you don’t deserve it. I can’t believe I almost did. You are a pretty horrible human being.”

I can't believe the way Lindsey is speaking to me right now. She used to look up at me with those big blue eyes, and they made me feel like I was worth something. Now, her words cut into me like a knife, making me feel about four inches tall. Not because she's being unfairly mean - everything she is saying is true, and she knows it. I stumble thinking of a response, but soon realize I won't have the opportunity. The phone clicks off, and I realize that Lindsey has hung up on me. It feels like a slap in the face.

"Lindsey?" I check to see if she's there. "Lindsey!!" I yell into the phone quite loudly, not even thinking about those who might be around me. I let out an annoyed grunt, shaking my head as I slap my phone shut. I start pacing around in place, and I soon realize that someone is watching me. Looking up, I see a confused and, if I'm not mistaken, slightly ticked off Catherine Willows. I gulp, hoping that look isn't for me.

"Was that Lindsey?" She demands, exasperated.

“Yeah... she just called to... set me straight on a few things.” I give her a half smile. “No harm, no foul, just a, uh... conversation between friends.”

Catherine isn’t amused in the slightest by my beating around the bush for Lindsey’s sake and the look she gives me insures that we’re on the same page about that one.

“You don’t look like you were just having a conversation with a friend ‘Rick.” Then she goes off on some tirade about how she specifically told her daughter to stay off the phone and that she was grounded for the next two weeks, no privileges.

“Cath she just wanted to apologize about last night, honest.” And this was the truth, or at least a version of it. I know that the beginning of the conversation was the teen’s way of apologizing without actually saying the words. I know I never apologized to anyone when I was fifteen, no matter how much they deserved it.

“That daughter of mine...” I could tell that she was very disconcerted by the conversation that I’d just had with her renegade daughter.

She shakes her head and raises those eyebrows as if she's run out of things to say about Lindsey, or doesn't even know where to start.

"She just doesn't listen, and I'm SO tired of her just ignoring everything I tell her to do, and NOT to do, for that matter..." I reach out and touch her shoulder, but she pushes it away, and then turns to walk to the crime scene, knowing she's getting into something not appropriate to be discussing at work.

"Catherine." I call after her, much like I tried to get Lindsey's attention minutes before. She stops and turns to look at me. Her face is painted with frustration, and it's challenging me to dare try to give her some advice, or to tell her to calm down. I decide to be honest with her, because I know me fibbing for Lindsey's sake isn't helping her. "Alright, she went off on a rant when I tried to tell her off a bit about last night. But, Cath. It's not like I've never been served my mistakes on a plate like that before."

Catherine turns around quickly in a way that makes her hips, chest, and hair swing with this grace and extenuation that she’s always possessed, a constant throwback to her previous career. I try to ignore the things I’m thinking that are not appropriate for the place nor the time. The expression on her face helps to quell my growing desire as she’s obviously demanding I explain just how the things her daughter said were okay.

“Besides, the only reason she’s so upset with me right now is because she loves you so much... I mean... man she’s like a tiger.” I laugh, “If I ever doubted she was yours, the way she fights for people she loves, that’s all you.”

Her eyes narrow at me slightly, as if trying to calculate my sincerity. What I say is true, though I know if Catherine had overheard how Lindsey had spoken to me, she would not at all be pleased. I don't know why I'm protecting Lindsey still. I guess I feel that in part I'm protecting Catherine too, by not making a big deal about the teenager's mouth. Catherine sighs and looks down at her foot - her pedicured toes peeking out from beneath her heels.

"Funny. The only person I ever see her fighting for is herself." She quips, and I can just see that description fitting the firey blonde I spoke to moments ago. Her voice is calmer now; more contemplative. I can tell she just doesn't know what to do with Lindsey - whether to tighten the leash, or give her more space, like she's surely been demanding.

"I mean," Her voice sounds so hopeless suddenly, "I know teenagers are supposed to be rebellious and mouthy, but - " She gestures to nothing in particular, not even sure how to reference all the crap that Lindsey throws her way. "I don't know if this is normal."

I feel like she's crying out for help, but I think she's asking the wrong person. I have no kids, no experience as a parent. But I sense that what she wants is just someone to listen to her. I’ve told Catherine countless times in her life that if her daughter is anything like her, and I can imagine that Catherine was the same teen to a T, then she’ll turn out just fine. I’ve never lost faith in this but maybe something is wrong with Lindsey. It’s obvious that she loves her mother more than she’s willing to let on. She didn’t even think about that fact that Catherine had her on the punishment from hell when she was threatening me not to hurt her again. It’s like both of them just don’t know how to communicate with the other. Catherine is done waiting for me to respond to her and walks into the house where she sees a rookie standing in the kitchen, she can’t even talk to me and we were having a conversation. Maybe I just stumbled into something, I mean, Lindsey and I were communicating, just not well. I’m starting to think that the two of them need to be locked in a closet together and not let out again until they’ve talked, really talked.

Once at a crime scene, Catherine is always all-business, and this time is no exception. Though I can tell she has a weight on her shoulders, she doesn't let it interfere with her work, as she asks for a summary of the findings from the officer, and kneels down next to the body to begin her part of the job. I always have to remind myself to work when I'm with Catherine, because I could just watch her all day. Does she know how beautiful she is when she's pondering a crime scene? The way her perfectly manicured eyebrows crinkle in thought as she thinks out loud about what she's seeing. If she does, today she is very into torturing me. I manage to make it through the collection of evidence. When we're all finished, we pack up our stuff and load it back into the Denali, having made no mention of our previous conversation since we'd entered the house. Cath tosses the keys to me this time, exhausted from the scene and from her stress with Lindsey. As I start up the car, she touches her fingers to the bridge of her nose, letting out a tired moan.

We’re halfway back to the heart of Vegas before either of us speaks. Catherine has been holding her cell phone in her hand for twenty minutes and I know she’s trying to think of a good thing to say to her daughter. I give her another moment to make the call and then decide to break the silence. “I was going to go see Sara after I clocked out... why don’t you come with me? It’ll be good for both of us to think of someone beside you,. me, and Lindsey for a while.”

“Yeah, okay, but I want to be home before Lindsey goes to bed... I think I need to talk to her about a few things.”

“I promise to get you home before curfew, little miss.”

Despite her frustration, she gives me a full Catherine smile. She scratches at the back of her cell phone with her fingernail for a minute, and then finally puts it back in her purse. I've found from my limited experience with teenagers that arguing or questioning one over the cell phone is recipe for disaster. I imagine Lindsey has outright hung up on her mother many times, like she did with me. We share some more small talk on the way back to the lab. I try to keep the topics away from anything having to do with Lindsey and teenagers in general. Hopefully, by the time she gets home to speak with her daughter, I'll have her calmed down and not tear the thing to pieces, though she just might deserve it. After shift is over, we both make our way over to the hospital, to pay a visit to Sara.

Catherine enters Sara’s room ahead of me but we both notice the two people who aren’t Grissom in her room. Naturally he’s not there, he’s at work. Sara waves us in and sounds very happy to see us but doesn’t even notice, it seems, that there are strangers in her room. One is about my age, tall, brown haired and brown eyed. He’s dressed well like he has a good job. The other person is a teenaged boy. He’s tall and has a mop of deep brown curls, and is dressed to an equal calabur as the man. I assume it’s his father. Once the two have had time to process that we’ve come into the room they both stand, following the boy’s lead. The youth, all manners, extends his hand first to Catherine and then to me.

“I’m Ryan.” he introduces himself, obviously used to having to introduce himself to new people. The older gentleman does the same, telling us his name. After a few awkward glances and Ryan’s insistence that Catherine take his seat the question of the hour comes up. Just who are they?

Sara seems a bit awkward also, and what I can only describe as a kid who's been caught doing something she shouldn't. I see her move to sit up a little straighter, and she smiles over a little at the teenager and the older man. The man gives her an encouraging nod. She then proceeds to give us the abbreviated story of how they came to be sitting beside her. Later, I find out that she doesn't want them to introduce their roles to strangers, because Sara hasn't told everyone who these people are. Sara smiles at us, somehow her eyes sparkling through all the pain and aches she's experiencing. Cath reaches her hands out and clasps one of Sara's between hers, like a little sandwich. They haven't always gotten along, but whenever one of them needs a little female comfort, they're there for each other. Another amazing thing about Cath, how she can push all the drama aside when she needs to.

"How are you feeling?" Cath asks her. I can almost visibly see Sara sigh at the question. How many times has she been asked that?

I watched a range of answers swim through Sara’s head as she tries to decide just how to answer what seemed to be the question on everyone’s mind lately. First she met me in the eyes, then Catherine, then her son Ryan, and last Alexander, her husband. It’s weird for me to think of him that way and I know that on our next movie date I’m going to have a lot of questions. But Sara does have a husband and I see him standing before me, and she does obviously care about him a great deal because she turns to him for comfort at almost ever turn, it seems. After holding his gaze for a few moments Sara looks back to Catherine and I, simultaneously taking Alexander’s hand in her own and locking fingers, and she speaks.

“I’m feeling a great deal better, actually.” She forces a smile. “Now that Alexander and Ryan are here I dunno. I’m just a lot better.”

“We’re glad they’re here then.” I say and give them a welcoming smile. I know that Catherine and I both probably have our reservations about this, and our concerns about how it’s affecting Grissom, but you can tell with one look at them that they’re her world, or at least a huge part of it. I always knew that there was something that made Sara Sidle tick, something that made her, her. I think I’ve finally figured it out.

“So, pardon my asking, but how long exactly have you two been married?” I’m tempted to reach my hand out and stroke Catherine’s back, she’s trying her hardest to take everything in, and I just want to lighten the load on her shoulders. See if we weren’t dynamic people we’d just stand here and be shocked and say something along the lines of well congratulations, we’re very pleased to meet you both. But we’re not static, and we have other things to consider. I know that Catherine and I are both thinking of Grissom too, a man we’ve both been very close with for a number of years, quite a few longer than Sara. We’ve both had our disagreements with the brunette and have had to work a great deal harder to grow to love her than we’ve had to with others. The problem is that though on paper we should be loyal and in defense of Grissom, we’re also good friends with Sara too. Should we be excited or nervous about this? Happy or sad? Relieved or worried?

I’m half sitting on the table beside Sara’s bed and behind the chair that Catherine is sitting on. Alexander is standing on the other side of Sara’s bed, holding the hand that belongs to the arm with a cast gently in his fingers, and Ryan is sitting cross legged at the foot of Sara’s bed while she begins to answer. She kick’s her son, another title it’s hard for me to give someone in relation to Sara, gently on the knee and asks

“How old are you again, eleven?” He gives her a playful jiggle on the ankle and corrects her.

“Oh, you’re that old? Then we must have been married, oh, sixteen years? Right babe?” She glances back at Alexander for approval.

“Something like that.” He playfully responds to her.

Their playful banter is a sign that they're more than comfortable together; that they care about each other a great deal. I find it endearing, and at the same time, wonder if Catherine and I would be like that if we were married. For a moment, I picture us in her living room, playfully joking around with each other like it was second nature. I must be in a daze, because the next moment, Catherine's hand is on my forearm, and everyone's looking at me, waiting for me to answer a question I have been too caught up in my thoughts with to answer.

"Uh-um what?" I stumble, looking from person to person for help. Sara smiles a little and clears her throat.

"I asked how work is going." She repeats for me. I feel relieved that it's a question I can easily answer.

"Oh - fine. You know, it's work. Same old same old." Catherine fills her in a little on specific cases - Sara seems actually entertained by the details. As we all know, she lives for work, but by the way she keeps glancing at her son Ryan, I know that her heart beats for him. After the small talk about work dies down, Catherine looks again to Ryan.

"So, Ryan. You're fourteen? That makes you a freshman in high school?" She checks, interested in this son of Sara's we never knew about. He looks like a nice kid to me, but then again Lindsey looks like a sweet, gentle girl.

"Yeah. I go to a private school back in Cali. I like it alright, besides the homework, of course." He shrugs and offers Catherine a small smile.

“Tell her about Omnipoint Prep” Sara prods him, obviously very proud of him for whatever the accomplishment was.

“Mom, it’s not polite.” he tells her. Perhaps he feels that he’d be bragging, or I don’t know. Either way the kid seems to be obsessed with giving a good first impression, and he’s doing a pretty good job.

“Nonsense,” Sara scolds him gently “See these two are pretty much family and family likes to hear about how great the next generation is doing.”

“Yeah, son, tell ‘em” Alexander steps in and backs his wife up, pressuring their child out of his modesty. If only it was that easy for Catherine and I to get our kid to behave. Did I just say that? Her kid. Her kid.

“Omnipont Prep is a private high school about an hour away from dad and I, you have to meet certain standards just to be invited to apply. I got in.”

“Certain academic standards” Sara stresses, beaming with pride.

I watch Catherine beam back at Sara, both knowing exactly how she feels to be proud of her child's accomplishments. Only, I don't think Catherine feels like she has as much to be proud of at the moment, but she's wrong. By many standards, Ryan is a much stronger, certainly more respectful kid, but I know from speaking to many parents they are proud of their child no matter what. I speak to parents who have lost their children, and find the biggest source of enjoyment for them seems to be a simple smile; a hug; spending time together. Lindsey isn't a bad kid by any means, but I can tell Cath is weighing her own daughter up against Ryan. At Butterfield, she makes average to above average grades, usually letting at least one C slip out each semester. She's never been that interested in school, which frustrates Catherine, I think. Cath rants all the time how Lindsey's priorities seem to be all mixed up - how friends, the Internet, and ballet all come before hanging out with her.

“Well that really is impressive Ryan, congratulations.” I say, stealing the opportunity from Catherine before we both look like horribly judgmental people.

“How long do you guys think you’re going to be staying?” Catherine asks.

“Oh, a few more weeks probably. Rye’s school is starting up late and they’ve given us some computer information so he doesn’t fall behind.” Alexander tells us.

“Well, Ryan, I’ve got a daughter just a little older than you if you ever want to get out of the hospital and be shown around the town by someone who knows what kids are into these days. I’d be willing to let her off of being grounded for a few hours one night next week or something.” Catherine is making the offer of the century and maybe hoping that Ryan will rub off on her daughter a bit.

“Thanks Mrs. Willows, but I don’t think I want to impose on her.” Ryan says, again all manners. It amazes both of us, he’s even more mannerly than either of us, maybe even more-so than Nick.

“Nah, she’s a really nice girl and I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.” I know Lindsey very well and I know that she is very accommodating to others when they’re not trying to be adults. She’d probably be happy to show him around, and would probably even make friends with him pretty quickly. She’s not a cold hearted bitch, she’s just taking the teen angst thing to a whole new level.

Ryan seems somewhat relieved at the mention of a teenage girl. I'm sure he's been bored sitting around the hospital the last day or so. There's nowhere really for him to go right now - most of the fun places in Vegas require you to be over 21. I think he would be good for Lindsey to hang out with. With most people, I can just tell pretty easily if they're a good person or not. Ryan seems to be a model kid - perfectly well mannered, and one who definitely would know how to treat a lady right. I'm sure he's learned this mostly from his father, because Alexander has

treated Sara was the utmost respect and care. The kid has a lot going for him.

Soon, a nurse comes in and informs the group of us that visiting hours will be over soon. We politely say goodbye to Sara, Alexander, and Ryan, leaving them to have the last few minutes of visiting hour to themselves. I hear Catherine sigh contentedly as we leave the room and head for the elevator. Stealing a smirk and a glance at her, I notice she seems more laid back and at ease than she was at work.

"You seem better." I comment to her as we wait for the elevator to come to our floor. She looks at me, her expression calm and collected.

"I wish Lindsey was more like Ryan sometimes. I like that kid."

Catherine does seem better but I’m not convinced that she’s feeling top notch at the moment. However I’ve got hope that I can have her in a pretty good mood if I just spend a little more time with her. At least, I hope a little more time with me will help.

“Hey, no reason to head home just yet, the night is still young. Want to go have dinner or coffee or something?”

Catherine runs her hand over her hair several times as she sighs, contemplating my offer. I wish our attraction to each other was so obvious and defined, that she would snatch up my offer in an instant, but it's not. I am still vying for her attentions, hoping like a nerdy kid in high school that the popular girl will pay just a little bit of notice to me. She looks at me and smiles barely.

"Sure. Coffee sounds kind of good, but I'm not hungry. And I need to get home soon to have another pleasant chat with Lindsey." She reminds me. I nod as we step off the elevator on the ground floor of the hospital.

"I can help you think of ideas of what to say if you want. Not that I'm an expert parent or anything." An amused chuckle escapes her ruby lips. "Neither am I, Warrick. Neither am I."

“Aw Cath, you’re doing a great job with her.” I tell her, she’s heard me say this a thousand times before, I know, but I can’t help saying it again. “She’s just hit a rough patch. She’s a good kid.”

Catherine and I didn’t speak for most of the ride over to The Java Bean Plantation. I’m driving because though she’s starting to relax a little Catherine is still so tense I just want her to have the opportunity to zone out for a little while. What I really want to do is pull the car over and message her shoulders, her back, her neck. Why is it that I have the desire to do these things when I’ve promised her that I’m only interested in building our friendship at this point? If I don’t quell these desires I’m afraid that I’m going to end up hurting her again, neither of us are ready for the things I want yet.

About five minutes later, we are both sitting at a little booth at Java Bean Plantation, waiting for our coffee orders to come up. Cath ordered a Latte, and myself a plain coffee. She shakes her head at me as we wait.

"How can you just order coffee at a coffee house? You can get coffee at CSI all the time." She seems more at ease now, but I know the conversation will soon turn serious. I smile widely, a little embarrassed by my choice of refreshment.

"I like it. What can I say?" Cath shakes her head at me, and then the kid at the counter calls our order out. "I got it." I promise her, and quickly retrieve our two cups. When I return, we both take a sip, letting out a relaxed sigh, glad to be in each other's company outside of work.

"So." I begin, marking the beginning of our discussion of Lindsey. "I'm guessing you think you're a bad mother right now, by what you just saw from Ryan." I venture the guess. She sighs and turns her cup around a few times on the table with her fingers.

"How can I not? He's perfectly well-mannered. Obviously a good student. I've tried so hard with Lindsey. I've always been there for her, and she back talks, lies, blows off schoolwork. I mean, how can I not think I'm a failure?"

“Well, the kid’s been sheltered” I state my observations bluntly. “I mean, I guess I don’t blame Sara, after all she’s been through and all. But the kid... it’s like she made him grow up in a box. Private schools all his life, wealthy father, perfect parents. Sara’s all the way out here in Vegas–which I’m sure she did because she felt like she wasn’t good enough. They probably pressure the kid a lot and watch him like a hawk. He’s only polite because he doesn’t know anything else. Trust me, Lindsey’s a lot more prepared for the real world. You gave her armor that and that’s something that kid doesn’t have.”

Catherine's quietly considering what I have to say, all the while toying with the rim of her cup. Her eyebrows occasionally crinkle in thought in such a sexy way, that I almost want to kiss her. Her concern for Lindsey makes me all the more attracted to her - she is such a good mother, and she never gives herself the credit for it. Neither does Lindsey.

"Yeah, but what gets me with Lindsey is the lack of respect." She explains, giving her hair a slight push back. "I mean, if I would've talked like her to my mother, I would've gotten slapped." This is obviously one of the things that bothers Catherine the most about her teenager. And it's true - Lindsey has a mouth, but what normal teen doesn't? Sure, Ryan is polite in public, but I'm sure there's been a few heated words exchanged over the years.

She’s so damn sexy, and one of the things that I like about her so much is the fact that she can be so passionate. I mean, she’s so wild over Lindsey having a better life than she had that she doesn’t see that Lindsey’s on the same path she was, but on a much safer scale. I would love to sit down with a teenage Catherine, because I bet she was just as wild and out of control at fifteen, probably at ten. She notices me watching her, with that look, the one that I used to give her. Well, I still do, but I haven’t let anyone else see me in a couple of years. She decides not to reprimand me but to respond to my last words.

“Yeah but one of these days she’s going to mouth off to the wrong person. Besides I’m her mother... she should have a little more respect.”

I nod and give her a sympathetic smile. Though I'm trying to be helpful, I'm not an actual parent, and we both know it. I don't know what it's like to live with Lindsey 24/7.

"Cath, I know you don't feel like it right now, but you're doing a hell of a job with Lindsey. Besides you, she's pretty polite to other people. She does decently in school, and she's not into drugs and promiscuity. Some parents can't even say that."

She sighs, and gives a tiny smile, looking down at the liquid in her cup, which she has barely sipped. "Yeah, I guess. I just wonder what she'd be like if Eddie were around, you know? All those studies that talk about how important having a father around is. She hasn't had that since she was nine.”

“Well she has me.” I say, without even thinking. Her eyebrows arc up so high on her forehead I think they’re going to recede into the back of her head. I cough. “And Griss, and Nick, and Greg, too.”

“Oh...” Catherine almost says, seemingly a little disappointed that I added the others in as a protection clause. “Yeah... I know that... but it’s not the same.”

I nod slightly for a few moments in understanding. I know what it's like to grow up without a father, and though it doesn't always feel wrong - it just never seemed quite right. We always got along just fine, my mother and me, and then my grandmother and me. But as I got older, I always thought back to certain events and wondered how things would be different if my father was there. I bet Cath thinks about this all the time.

"You always know you can call me if you need help with Lindsey." I tell her, thinking I have never really said that out loud, but I mean it. I would be there in a heartbeat if Cath ever needed me for anything.

"Thanks." She says, but I know it's more out of politeness. "But I think she thinks of you guys more as uncles, not as any sort of authority figure. She's a nice kid most of the time. It's when she pulls something like...making out with Chad in the yard, that I wish Eddie was here."

I have this violent urge to lean forward and take both of her hands in mine. I want to make her look into my eyes and I want to tell her that I am there for them. That I want to be. And no matter what happens, or doesn’t between her and me, I still love Lindsey like my own. I resist the urge though. I’m just sitting here, staring at her hands, and contemplating everything I’m feeling at the moment. Why is it all so complicated?

“Sorry." She apologizes after her rant when I don't jump in. I have been thinking about how much I love her, so I hadn't yet thought of a good counterance to her problem. She takes a big sip of her coffee as I clear my throat.

"Don't be, Cath. I am there for you and Linds. If you need back-up, if you need me to talk to her, I'm your man. I care about you and Lindsey, Cath. A lot. I don't want you to sit back and suffer by yourself." Catherine is studying me curiously, so I look away for a moment uncomfortably. I hope she realizes that I mean every word of that, because I would literally drop everything at a moment's notice to help them. Finally, I seem to have convinced Catherine of my loyalty to her and Lindsey.

"Thanks." She says simply, and we both sit there in silence for a few moments, sipping our drinks.

After about a solid five minutes of sipping and silence she stops, withdraws her hands from the table for a moment, and leans back in her seat. She studies my eyes in a way she hasn’t in a long time. I watch her suppress a smile on her lips but it’s evident in her eyes. She’s still watching me, but shifts back onto the table, draping her hands around the mug, but not clasping it in her fingers. She starts fiddling with a stirrer from the table to keep them busy. She hasn’t broken eye contact the whole time, and finally she speaks.

“Hey, ‘Rick, can I ask you something?”

The way she words the question makes me feel like I'm being let in on some amazing secret; that I'm really special to her, and she only trusts me with this question. Well, I hope it's that way, anyway.

"Shoot." I tell her, trying to contain my excitement that she's choosing to confide in me. There's a long time when she probably wouldn't have - would've gone to Sara, or Greg, or Nick even. But she chose me.

"Would Eddie hate me for how she's turning out?" It's the last question I thought she would ask, but I guess it makes sense. I readjust my posture in my side of the booth and lean onto the table in thought.

“Of course not.” But, Cath seems to take a lot more convincing than that. "You're doing your very best, which is all anyone could ever ask. He wasn't exactly father of the year, Cath. All the good things in Lindsey, she has from you."

“Hey, ‘Rick” She says again, this time she settles back in her chair and stays that way, but for the first time in days I see her whole body relaxing.

“Hey Cath” I joke back.

“One more thing”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

I smile, thinking that is all I'll ever need to be happy for the rest of my life. Knowing I helped Cath in some way; made her feel better, or helped her realize what an amazing human being she is. As we sit there together in the early evening, just sipping and enjoying each other's company, I can't remember a time when I felt happier.

 

Re: Symphony of Change by Bauerfreak and LostLadyKnight

Glad you updated again I'm anxious for the next part to see what happens with Lindsey.

 

Re: Symphony of Change by Bauerfreak and LostLadyKnight

wow! great update. i love to read looong chapters
and i really enjoy it. all these interactions between Catherine and Warrick were very good described. can't wait for another update

 

Re: Symphony of Change by Bauerfreak and LostLadyKnight

Here's a little more for you all!



Symphony of Change

Chapter 4

Walking up the stairwell like I have done perceivably hundreds of times in the last few months, I wonder how many more times I'll have to do this before Sara comes home with me permanently. Every week, the doctors promise us, just one more week. It is frustrating to say the least, to be promised and promised, and for it never to come true. I mean, I know they're trying their best, but having my Sara gone; not being able to wake up with her beautiful, angelic face next to me on my pillow; every morning I have to go without that is such a shame. I'm over fifty years old, and have never really loved a woman until now. And frankly, I haven't known what to do with it. I mean, isn't love in itself the greatest gift in the world?

People are always worried about where a relationship is going; marriage and such. I have never been the type of person to pursue marriage unnecessarily. I find I fall out of love too quickly - but not with Sara. This time, it's different and I feel it in every ounce of my body. I've come to realize in the last few days, with this revelation about Sara already being married and all, that I want to spend the rest of my life with her. Is it jealousy? That's what I'm afraid of. But is it normal to miss someone so much your body literally hurts whenever she's away?

I want to marry Sara. I’ve known it, at least a part of me has, since the day my friend Heather tried to kill herself last May. I spent so much of my time and energy trying to help Heather that I didn’t see or even speak to Sara for a period of almost twenty four hours. I felt terrible. It felt as though I was committing an act of adultery to Sara, even though Heather had claimed my heart years before. Things with Heather were heated and passionate, but with Sara they struck a deep new chord in my heart. I knew I loved Sara in the same way I’d loved other women in the past, the way I’d loved Heather a long time ago. I told her this, in my own way, through a letter while I was away. But it wasn’t until I could see the pang of jealousy and hurt in her face, while she tried to fight with herself to be trusting and open. It was then that I knew I loved her more deeply and with more of my heart than I could ever love another woman.

How can I marry a woman such as Sara? One who commands all of my heart, and expects that she will until the end of time, when she forces me to share her heart with another man? How is it that I love a woman so completely that never truly cared enough about me to make me her one and only? They say trust is the most instrumental part of any relationship. It is the seed from which every branch of a relationship will grow. ‘It is like a vase... once it’s broken, though you can fix it the vase will never be the same again.’ I remember the anonymous quote my mother used to tell me when I lied to her as a child. What relationship do we have if its very foundation is cracked?

Moments later, I reach her hospital room, which has been decored with flowers and balloons for months - always a steady stream coming in. It reminds me of how different we are in some ways as people. I once told Warrick that when I'm gone, there will be no cake in the conference room. I'll just be gone. But with Sara - the whole team acts as if it is missing a vital organ. With her gone, people seem to think like their best friend has gone missing. I admit it. Work is just not the same without Sara, as evidenced by all the teddy bears and cards from our coworkers adorning her room. I walk in slowly, and my heart drops when I see that her husband and son are in the room once again. Not that they really have anywhere else to go. The fact that they exist poses a problem to my idea of marrying Sara. Though she assures me that they're not married in the emotional way, they're still married. All this time I thought Sara belonged to me, when really she and Alex were legally married.

“Hey you.” Sara’s face lights up as she sees me step into the room. I can see the happiness flush into her cheeks at the sight of me. It feels good to know that she still cares for me, even if her husband and child are in the room.

“Hey.” I greet her. I cross the room and put my arms around her and kiss her gently on the forehead. Once I’m done greeting her I say polite hello’s to Alexander and Ryan and then shift myself into a chair next to her bed, possessively taking her hand in my own.

“How’s home?” She asks me. I know she misses Bruno. I wish I could bring him by to visit her for a few minutes, she’d be so happy about it.

“Bruno’s fine, and so are Tiger, Marie, and Dave.” I tell her. Making sure she knows that our dog, and the three house plants she insisted we name were still alive and well. She just smiles.

I notice that Alexander seems to be sporting some sort of headache this afternoon, the way he's draped lazily in his chair; his fingers massaging his temples. Perhaps he suffers from migraines like I do. Whatever it is, he is not a happy camper. Ryan, poor teenaged Ryan, in all his politeness, is visibly bored and in dire need of some kind of distraction from all this. Sara looks over at him and smiles.

"Baby, you look tired." She tells her teenager, rubbing at her own face tiredly. Ryan adjusts his position in his own highly uncomfortable chair and clears his throat, not wanting to make his mother worry.

"Yeah, a little." He admits. I study the kid from the edge of Sara's bed. The kid has been away from all his friends for almost a week now. He must be bored out of his mind, just wanting to talk to someone his age. Though I know I'm not the most interesting person in the world for a fourteen year old to converse with, I offer my services.

"You wanna go get a bite to eat Ryan?"

The fourteen year old doesn’t answer me. He merely looks at his mother and seeks a look of either approval or warning. She, however, makes eye contact with me and thanks me, and then turns to her child and tells him to go with me if he pleases. The boy, though not looking eager, stands walks with me to the door. Once we’ve taken a few steps out of Sara’s room I decide to break the conversation barrier now, while we still have a hope of saving our meal from a deafening awkward silence.

“So uh, want to go down to the Cafeteria, or if you want I could take you out someplace... we have a few places not far from here.”

I'm not used to these teenager types. Well, most of the teenagers that I know are somehow involved in a crime, so usually they're not good news. Lindsey's the only other teenager I know, and she can be tolerable most the time, except when she gets in one of her moods. Ryan, on the other hand, seems to be a grade-A kid. He's respectful, which includes listening to my rantings politely on occasion. The kid scratches the back of his head as we walk to the stairwell.

"Uh, I'm pretty sick of cafeteria food. Maybe we can go out?" He asks, as if he's not sure if this is an acceptable answer or not. Humility, I think they call it. Ryan doesn't assume he knows everything like some teenagers do. I genuinely like the kid, which is a lot more than I can say about most people under the age of eighteen.

"Sure thing." I promise him. We walk down the stairwell in silence, just the sound of our feet meeting the floor in a steady patter. Soon, we are out the main doors of the hospital, and I decided to lead him towards a good burger place just down the road. "Are you a vegetarian like your mother?" I ask him, just to make sure, since we're heading to a cow factory after all.

He smirks and shakes his head in amusement. "Heck no. I live for a little meat."

“Good.” I breathe out deeply and laugh a little. “Ever since your mom moved in I haven’t kept any meat in the house. I haven’t had a good burger in... years.”

“Mom told me you’re the reason she doesn’t eat meat.” Ryan tells me.

“I guess I am guilty of that one...” I laugh a little as I lead him to the ‘green’ parking deck and towards my car. As we get closer I remember that I took Bruno to the vet the other day and haven’t had the chance to vacuum it out since. “Oh, uh... that one over there is mine.” I point to the vehicle I’ve called my own for a few years now. “Sorry if there’s hair and a little mud. I took my dog to the vet the other day and he jumped in a puddle on his way back in the car.”

“Mom’s compulsive... she’d have vacuumed it out before she even got home.” He tells me. “One time when I was five I spilled a cherry slushier in the back seat, and even though we were five minutes from home she stopped at a gas station and scrubbed the seat. My dad kept telling her we could get it later.”

I smirk and laugh a little. That definitely sounded like Sara. Certain things she was crazy over, and there was no possible way to sway her away from her beliefs. "I can picture her doing that." I tell Ryan, as we both get in and buckle up. Carefully, I pull out of my parking spot, and we're on our way out of the garage. We drive along in comfortable silence at first. I'm the adult, so Ryan probably feels like I should be in charge of the conversation. At least that's how I felt when I was a kid. "So, are you missing any school at the moment?"

“Not yet.” he tells me with a shrug. “Dad says we can stay until mom gets out of the hospital, in case she needs us. But I know he has to go back next week for a few days to do something with the firm.”

“You don’t sound as excited about the possibility of missing school as most kids I know.” I say, thinking about Lindsey and how she’s grown to dislike school over the years.

“It’s a tough school.l” he tells me, “And if I fall behind I’m never going to catch up. But I’d rather be with my mom anyway. I really missed her.”

I'm tempted to pry into the kid's desires about which parent to live with - if he prefers living with his mother or father - but I don't think this would be appropriate.

"Well, I know she loves having you around." I decide to tell him as I pull into the parking lot of the burger place. Soon, we have been seated a booth inside, and handed our menus, when Ryan gets a bit of a worried look on his face. "Something wrong?" I ask him.

He looks up, like he's been caught doing something he shouldn't have, and clears his throat nervously. "Oh, uh, I forgot to ask my parents for money to eat out." He explains. "If it's okay, I'll just tell my dad to give you some when we get back."

Damn, the kid is so polite and worried about adults liking him. I hold up my hand and shake my head a little, letting him know it's okay. "Don't worry, it's on me today." Ryan smiles and sighs a little in relief.

"Thanks, Mr. Grissom. That's very nice of you." I smile at his answer - this kid is so likable. Ryan orders a bacon cheeseburger with extra fries, while I opt for a chicken sandwich. After the waitress has taken our menus, we are left staring across a table at each other, with absolutely no distractions left, only time to talk.

I think for a moment about the last thing he said to me and say “Hey, everyone calls me Grissom, you don’t have to call me ‘Mr.’ it sounds weird anyway.”

“Thanks.” He grins at me a little and then tells me “Mom calls you Grissom in her letters.”

“She wrote about me?” I ask, a bit surprised. I mean I know we’ve been in a relationship for a while now but... it’s just interesting that they knew about me, even though I didn’t know about them.

“In almost every letter” he tells me. “You didn’t know? She talked about you watching her write a few times.”

“I guess I never realized she was writing to anyone special” I admit.

“Every day.” he told me squarely. “She didn’t miss a single letter until... well... the incident.”

Ryan has a regretful look on his face that he mentioned 'the incident'. Sara's probably explained to them how it all came about, and how I'm partially, no probably completely responsible for why it happened.

"Yeah." I tell him softly. "I bet she wanted to." Ryan nods and used his straw to poke the ice cubes around in his glass absent-mindedly. Only, moments later, I find out he is deep in thought.

"Mr. Grissom? I mean...Grissom. I've been trying to figure out. Why was my mom going out with you if she's married to my dad? I mean, I thought she was happy with my dad." When this kid decided that I was someone to confide in about his thoughts about his parents is lost on me. I scrub a few fingers over my chin in thought - mostly nervousness - at the gravity of the question. How could I answer this and not end up hurting Sara or Alexander?

"Um...well," I bat at my salt and pepper hair nervously. "That may be something you want to talk about with your mom. I can't answer that for her." I tell the teenager honestly. He nods, as if expecting this answer, and stares down at his ice cubes again. "But I can tell you that I didn't know she was married. All this time...I didn't know, Ryan. Because I would never want to hurt people like that."

“I mean, I’ve know about you for like ever. Well... I mean when I was really little they told me it was because ‘Mommy’s prince lives in Vegas’ but as I got older I knew she was here ‘cuz of you but I didn’t know why.” Then he ran his fingers through his long hair he said “I mean, when we’re all together it’s like the perfect family... but when she’s with you it’s like she never wants to come home.”

“Well your mom and I have been really close for a long time. But I’m just as confused about all of this as you are.”

I feel vibrations through the table that Ryan is kicking at the table leg in nervousness. For some reason, he thinks I am safe to open up to - and I am, really. It's just that kids don't normally share their feelings with me and all. I hope I'm not totally screwing him up.

"I like you, Grissom. But I haven't always. I've always just wished my mom would come back and work in California near us, so we could be a family again. But I don't think that's what she wants. And my mom gets really depressed when people try to make her do things she doesn't want to."

He speaks so maturely, and while he's Sara's kid, he seems to know her so well. Most kids can't analyze their parents as well as Ryan seems to. He's right - Sara doesn't like to be told what to do, and doesn't like to be handled. For the first time I wonder - is me having Sara really worth this kid having to go through so much pain? I'm trying to think of an answer to his statement when the waitress swings by with a tray carrying two plates.

"One bacon cheeseburger," She sets the plate down in front of a slightly saddened Ryan. "And one chicken sandwich. Enjoy." I unroll my napkin containing my silverware, stealing a glance over at Ryan, who has since dug into his burger hungrily.

“Want to know why I stopped hating you?” He asks me, taking a break from his sandwich. I have to remind myself to chew and swallow before I choke myself to death in shock.

“Yeah, I guess I do.” I tell him bravely. I might as well face my fears now, rather than worry about finding out at a bad time later.

“About a year ago... Mom’s letters got happier” He tells me frankly. “I mean she wouldn’t admit it, not really. I don’t think a lot of people could tell, but when she was seeing that guy Hank her letters weren’t as happy. Then it was okay for a while, but when you and her actually happened... she just started writing so much happier.”

I just nod. I know that Sara loves me, but I never realized that other people could tell so... profoundly.

"Speaking of her exes... I don't know what he did... but since I'm in town you think you could get me that Hank guys address?” He balls up a fist implying he wants a few rounds in a ring with the guy. I smile and nod at his threat. I've wanted to beat a bit of sense into Hank myself, but then again, if he was still with her, she couldn't be with me.

"It's a good thing she moved on from him. He wasn't good news for her." Ryan nods in agreement and takes a sip of his Coke, and we continue with our meal. As I drive Ryan back to the hospital later, our conversation has me thinking. Is it so clear to Ryan that Sara and I love each other? And if it is that clear, should I do something with it? I mean, I've never been one to needs a woman to declare she loves me - I can just feel it in a kiss, the holding of our hands, a hug. Somehow, with Sara, I need to hear it. I need to hear that she loves me, because sometimes I'm afraid it's not true. If we don't say it, is it really true? What I need to do is label it. I need to put a title on what we are, so it's clear to everyone else that we belong together; that we're an item. I need to make Sara my wife.

We retrace our steps all the way back to Sara’s room where I return her child to her, whole, unharmed, and with a full stomach. I think I’ve done well for my first day out with him. I feel proud of myself like I passed a pretty hard test without even studying. Granted it was a lot easier than it should have been. The kid had more manners and class to him than a lot of adults I spend time with on a regular basis. For a while I stand in the room and talk to Sara, Ryan, and even Alexander a little, and I realize that I really don’t hate her husband. He’s a good, decent man, and I can see why Sara would want to marry him. It’s a little uneasy, though, standing in the room with a man who’s been married to Sara for quite a few years, and wanting her for my own. I wonder what he thinks about me. I spend a little time with the small family, but then feel like I’ve worn out my welcome with their family time, which is strange because I’ve been the one at her bedside the last few months. They all say goodbye politely, but I’m sure Alexander is relieved to see me go. I feel like I haven’t been home in forever to see Bruno, so I make a quick stop to give him a walk, feed him, and give him a little TLC. When I deem him thoroughly loved, I hop back in my Denali and drive off to the CSI Headquarters.

I arrive at work, about an hour from the time I left Sara at the hospital and I'm greeted by a host of people in the break room. I can tell by the looks from face to face, who knows about Alexander and Ryan and who doesn't. I'm not really prepared for the conversation that I know everyone is going to try to incite me into, so I just nod a hello to everyone and depart back to my office where I plan to busy myself with paperwork, and await the eventual visit from Catherine. She's a dear friend and she cares about me so I can foresee her arrival to talk to me.

I ponder a case file for a few minutes before I hear that familiar click clack of high heels on the floor just outside my office. Though I know it couldn't be Sara because she's not around, I instantly identify the owner of those heels to be Catherine. I still can't understand how she can wear those things for hours at work, but after so many years, it has become her trademark sound; almost like a theme song. Her slender figure appears in the doorway a few moments later, as the clicks cease.

"Hey, Bugman." She greets me, and I look up, to find her predictably perfectly put together, her light orange hair curled perfectly, looking professional and somehow sexy at the same time. I take my glasses off and smile at her as she comes in farther.

"Hello." I tell her as she drops a file on my desk. We've never been much for small talk, usually right to the point, with no beating around the bush. "Did you get that shift report in?"

She sighs and tousles her hair slightly, indicating she is already tired. "Sure did. It's a miracle, though." A furrow my eyebrows, realizing she opening up to me a little that way not many people do. We've been friends for so many years, and while I greatly value my friendship, I still don't understand why she would want to confide in me. What have I ever really done for her?

"Why's that?" I ask her as she turns to go back out the door, obviously wanting to make this quick.

"Oh, just more teenage angst and disobedience for Lindsey. But I managed to get the report done." She tells me. I'm not sure if she wants me to ask her more about this - it's always hard to tell with her. She knows I'm not exactly the greatest person to ask for parental advice. Hardly anyone at CSI is a great person to ask. Most of us are single and childless, and deal with some of the worst juveniles mankind has to offer.

"Oh. Sorry." I tell her, not knowing what else to say. She smiles a little, knowing I have nothing to offer her in that department. She shifts her body again and then walks into my office and closes the door behind her. She sizes me up visually and then says what I knew had been on her mind since I walked into the building.

"So, I met Alexander and Ryan."

"Oh, yeah." I shift and offer her my ‘I'm a trooper' smile. "So did I."

"What did you think?" Catherine asks me gently.

"Oh... I don't know. I'm adjusting." I give the same smile again. I remember the time so long ago when she came to me before my surgery. She's always known how to be there for me.

"Come over sometime next week, we'll talk." She invites me gently. I don't have time to accept before Nick knocks on the door to come in.

"That sounds great. We'll talk later." I promise my long-time friend. She nods and exchanges a quick hello with Nick as he walks into the office with a single sheet of paper; probably a trace of DNA report he wants to discuss with me. He clears his throat as he sits down at one of the chairs in front of my desk.

"Trace report eliminates our top suspect in the Henderson case." He tells me, gesturing with the piece of paper. I sigh and nod my head, getting more and more frustrated by that certain case we're working on.

"Well, we'll just have to go back to square one. Talk more to the witnesses." I suggest, and he nods affirmatively, knowing how much more work this will mean. However, for once at work, the cases aren't really on my mind. Well, these last few months, Sara has always been on my mind, but more so today. Nick seems like a safe person to talk to - he always has. He's a genuine guy and a great friend, though I don't always treat him the same. At work, I'm very professional and rarely speak about my personal life, which is why I think Nick looks so taken off guard by my next sentence. It's a tone I don't often use - one of vulnerability; of taking a chance; of admitting I have no idea what I'm talking about.

"Nick, do you mind if I ask you some advice on a personal matter?" I fiddle around with my glasses nervously. He's obviously blown away that I've asked him. I watch him shift in his own skin a little before he just nods approval to me. I point to the chair across the desk from me and he closes the door and fills the chair I've asked him to. "I just...uh... wanted to talk to you because I know you and Sara are close... I just wanted to ask some things."

"Uhh... I'm not sure if I'm comfortable talking to you... if you're having problems" He says to me, I know she'll fill him in soon if he doesn't already know.

"I just need some insight into what she's thinking Nick, without it coming from her." I can still tell he's uncomfortable, but he really does probably know Sara the best out of the other CSI's. I hope I know her well enough to predict her answer to what I'm thinking, but I'm not one hundred percent sure, which is why I need Nick's insight.

His tongue wets his lips momentarily, and he nods for me to continue. "Shoot."

I let my glasses drop softly to my desk and run my hands over my face for a moment, pondering just how to put this. "Well, the last few months, obviously, I've been doing a lot of thinking about my life, and especially my time with Sara. And I think I've come to realize...that I'm in love with her in a way I've never loved anyone else. And that I want to do something about it."

Nick quirks an eyebrow and nods, trying to follow me. "Such as..." He prompts me to continue.

I clear my throat slightly. It's like saying it is admitting to someone I want to spend the rest of my life with Sara, and that is somehow frightening to me. "Do you...um...I think I want to ask her to marry me."

"Well, why do you want to? I mean... did something happen?"

"Have you met Alexander yet?" I ask him. It's not like Nick to be so oblivious of the things going on in her life. Maybe he doesn't know about them yet. "Or Ryan?"

"No." Nick scratches the stubble on his chin "I haven't, who are they?"

"The other men in Sara's life." I tell him. I don't know how else to put it.

He obviously thinks that Sara couldn't possibly be cheating on me. I guess that's a relief to me, in some way because I know that she never expressed to him that she was unhappy with me.

"Are those her kids or something?" His question only makes sense coming from Nick. I explain everything I've learned about Sara's other life over the past few days and then we regard each other in silence for a while.

Finally I speak. "So, Nick... what should I do?"

"If I had a girl like Sara," He tells me in a way that makes me pang with resentment and jealousy for a moment "I wouldn't ever let her go."

His steady eye contact with me after he makes the statement drives the message in even more seriously. I know Nick deeply cares for Sara, and it seems we both know just what a special person she is. I hold his eye contact and nodded appreciatively at his advice.

"Yeah. Thanks, Nick." I tell him, thinking that was all the advice I would ever need. It's clear to me that Nick's urging me not to let Sara slip from my fingers. We say our polite goodbyes and he stands up and leaves my office to go about his day.

I feel so much better, even confident now that Nick has affirmed my feelings about where I need to take things with Sara. I feel like I have the cat in the bag. Now that I've mustered up the guts to ask her, I'm sure she'll say yes without question, then we'll get married, have kids, and live happily together for the rest of our lives. I smirk to myself, excited, and already picturing in my mind how the proposal will go. I don't even think I can wait until she's out of the hospital. Maybe, this will give her the extra boost she needs to get herself out and back to her normal life. And years later, when she recounts the event to family and friends, she'll be holding my hand, and squeeze it when she fondly remembers how I proposed to her as she lay fragile in that hospital bed. But, I'm get ahead of myself. All I know now is that I am completely in love with Sara Sidle, and I'm going to make her my wife.

I know I'm getting ahead of myself with the idea about kids but I'll make myself comfortable with the idea of being a part of Ryan's life and that's a leap from where I once thought I'd be. I guess my love for Sara can do anything to my heart.

I want to propose with haste, therefore I can't wait until she gets out of the hospital so I start plotting now. Her favorite flowers are red poppies and have been ever since she read the book "Wizard of Oz" when she was a very small girl. I may not be the most romantic man in the world but I do know poppies are a must for my planned venture. I put a call into a florist... I order one thousand poppies. She's also a fan of Gilmore Girls, and since she made me watch so many of the DVD's with her I know that's how Max Medina proposed... only with a different flower. Now all I need is a plan for getting them dropped off, and a ring. I look at my watch and decide I can make it to the jeweler's before I go back to see her. The last thing for me to do is to iron out the kinks in the timing.

Sara's not exactly what you'd call a fancy woman, though she definitely has a certain natural beauty to her, so I know she won't want a huge, dazzly wedding ring. I pick something simple - not because that's what I think Sara is, but because she doesn't need all that extra glam. She shines in her own right, and any diamond on her hand would seem cloudy and dull in her presence. I smile to myself as the salesman wraps up the ring, picturing the look again on Sara's face when I ask her in my mind to marry me. She says yes, and we share a passionate kiss. She whimpers into it, like she can't bear to stay in that bed, away from me for any longer. Like it hurts that she can't be with me right now.

When I have paid and the ring is safely inside the box, sitting like the wonderful surprise it is in my jacket pocket, I walk quickly out to my Denali. On the way out, I keep touching the box, just to make sure it is there, and that I'm really planning to do this. I can't lose this, and I can't mess this up. It's the single most important thing I have ever done in my life, and I'm so incredibly nervous.

Starting up the Denali, I try to push these thoughts out of my mind and relax. I think of my butterfly collection...but they remind me that nothing compares in beauty to Sara. I think of my migraine headaches...and they remind me of how much my heart aches for her. Luckily, the drive to the hospital is not that far, and I can't seem to go fast enough. Speeding down the street which the hospital is on, I finally reach the parking lot, park in about two seconds flat, and practically sprint to the door.

I duck through the air conditioned double automatic doors and slip into the hospital on the third floor, Sara's floor, quickly. I've learned in the last few weeks of being here every day that if you park in the parking deck, around this one corner and on the third floor, it takes about four minutes to get from car door to Sara's room. Anyone else, those who still navigate the hospital and follow that light purple line on the ceiling, takes seventeen minutes and thirty seconds. That is if they don't get held up by traffic in one of the ICU hallways.

Today I'm walking more briskly than I have in weeks, since the first day I was here, and I receive an admonishing look from the nurse behind the circulation desk, even as I step over the threshold into the hospital. I nod and give the woman a smile and slow my pace to one that is acceptable for walking within the walls of a hospital, and take the few turns that have been forever ingrained into my mind, heading straight for my destination.. It takes me, today, only two minutes and forty-four seconds before I'm standing in Sara's room.

The odds are with me today, as I come to realize there is not one other person in the room with Sara, a rarity. No nurses, not her current husband and son, who are probably out getting dinner right now. I feel like I'm in the middle of a soap opera, trying to sway an already married woman into marrying me. It's not like she and Alexander are really married anymore. Sara crinkles her eyebrows when she sees me. I guess I must have a bit of an odd look on my face, so I clear my throat and mentally force myself to change my expression. Trying to play it cool, I walk over to her bedside, my right hand inside my jacket pocket, running my thumb over the delicate felt over and over again. I hoped that would be calming, but if anything, it made me feel even more nervous. Today, I can't seem to hold even simple small talk, as Sara asks me about my day.

"It took you a while to get here today." She smiles, because we both know I'm all about routine. I smile sheepishly, the reason I'm late making the butterflies in my stomach flutter even more.

"I, uh...I had to run a few errands." I explain it away. She nods and her eyes move up and down my torso as I sit down next to her. I wonder if she knows, and she senses that I'm acting differently for a reason. Women have an innate ability to read their men like a book.

"Are you okay?" She asks me when I don't talk for several prolonged moments.

The ring is burning a hole in my pocket and it's all I can do not to just propose right here and now, but naturally the florist is late. I check my watch again momentarily and then smile at Sara and say "Actually, today I'm great."

I know she's concerned about me because I'm behaving oddly, but this is the most exciting thing I've ever done and the waiting is driving me insane. I make another attempt at banter and small talk trying to while away the time until my plans are set into motion. I hate relying on other people when something important needs to be done.

I see a change in Sara's eyes and realize that the florist must be approaching behind me, so I turn and shift my body to allow them to enter, first with one boquet of poppies. I smile at Sara again and say "I've missed your smile, really seeing you smile, so I thought I'd do something to brighten your room."

They keep pouring in with poppies, three men, all wandering in and setting them all over the place. By the time they are done it looks like the red sea exploded and splashed color all over Sara's tiny room. I can see her counting silently, as I pas the final strand of flowers to her for her to hold in her hands.

"One thousand red poppies?" she asks me, and then her face brightens and her brown eyes glow golden.

I forgo taking a knee. That seems to be a foolish tradition in my opinion, and I simply lean forward and place a kiss gently on her lips. I have her mind otherwise occupied, with the sensuality of the gesture, that she barely realizes as I slip the open felt box into her unbroken hand and rub the back of her fingers gently with my thumb. I lean back, pulling out of the kiss, and await her realization.

As my lips depart hers and I pull back enough to see her entire face, I notice that her eyes are indeed not on me, but on the object I have placed in her hand. Surely, she's hypothesizing, like the scientist she is. Light, black, felt box. Beautiful diamond ring inside, and me gazing at her like she is the most beautiful thing that ever walked this planet, which she is, of course. But instead of that look of pure excited joy on the face of women in the movies, she looks a bit frightened. However, I still find I flitter of happiness in her eyes when she looks at me.

"Gr...Grissom, what is this?" She stutters, looking between my eyes and the ring I have given her in hope she'll ditch Alexander for good, and continue on that windy path we call life with me.

"It's uh." I stumble also. "It's an engagement ring." I tell her, and she nods slightly, studying my face. She seems like she finds my nervousness slightly cute, though that's not exactly what I'm going for.

"Oh." Sara said with a hint of humor in her voice, expecting me to continue with the whole she-bang. I let out a tiny chuckle from my nose at how ridiculous I'm being and gently take the ring from her hand and retrieve the ring. I grasp her left hand lightly in mine and very gently slide it on her finger. It fits perfectly, just like how she fits me.

"Sara? Will you marry me?"

"Gil." She says quietly studying me like she did that day so long ago when we first met. "After all that happened the last few days, after everything, this was the last thing I expected."

I'm starting to grow nervous, she hasn't said yes yet. She must see the nerves prickling at the back of my neck because she spreads her lips thin and exposes that sexy gap between her teeth.

"Are you sure?" she asks me. I don't even dignify her inseccurites with a response. I just gently close my fingers around hers, a gesture I hope she takes to mean I want her hand in mine for eternity.

"Yeah Grissom, Gil, I' will marry you."

 

Re: Symphony of Change by Bauerfreak and LostLadyKnight

Yay I'm happy...but I know it's not the end.

more soon!

 

Re: Symphony of Change by Bauerfreak and LostLadyKnight

*takes a deep breath* I FINALLY CAUGHT UP!!

wow! you're amazing at writing! so much detail! great job!! i love YoBling and Snickers!! can't wait to see more of them both!

 

Re: Symphony of Change by Bauerfreak and LostLadyKnight

New chapter for you!


Symphony of Change

Chapter 5.

For the first time in several days I step into Sara’s room and she’s the only one in the room. She’s sleeping with a copy of Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West draped over her fingers. I remember that Nick purchased the book for her about a week ago when he’d finished reading it himself. He’d been told about it by his teenage niece. I’m stuck by the image of Sara laying there with the paled ivory paperback grasped in her fingers. The image of the witch looking back at me with her protective hold on the young monkey, Sara almost looks as protected by the frightening green figure. Irony before my very eyes. I realize that we can never truly understand the people around us. No matter how long we thought we’ve had to grow to understand them.

It doesn’t surprise me, for some reason, that Sara’s heart has been alighted for many years by The Wizard of Oz. It grants her a purity that she probably hasn’t known since childhood. Finally, I understand why I was assaulted by the overwhelming presence of red poppies in this room. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to make her smile. I just can’t help but wonder which gesture she took to greater heart, the book she clasped in her fingers from Nick, or the flowers that loomed around her in the room. Both were manifested from her love of Baum’s book.

A sudden glint makes me aware of the diamond that she wears on her finger and I realize that the flowers were a dramatic display of romance, and the utmost attempt made by my dear friend. My heart makes me smile for a moment while I realize that Grissom must have truly reached to the edges of his expansive mind to pull of something so touching.

Sara's weary eyes flutter open, sensing someone else in the room with her, and I smile apologetically for waking her. I wonder how on earth she manages to get any sleep at all when she's such a light sleeper.

"Hi Sara." I greet her softly, as if when I speak too loudly, I would burst her eardrums. She smiles and rubs at her eyes, sitting up. I notice that she immediately tucks her left hand underneath the sheet, as if to hide her ring.

"Hey, Cath. Sorry, I was sleeping.” I take the seat next to her bed, the one that is always otherwise occupied by someone else.

"No, no. Sorry I woke you. I was just coming to see you. I haven't been over in a while. She smiles appreciatively, and I know she's probably so tired of doing this. All she really wants to do is sleep until this is all over, I assume. I'm dying to know about the ring on her finger, but she doesn't seem that excited about telling anyone. Or maybe it's just me. "So, how's your day been?" I ask her.

Sara scrubs her right hand tiredly over her face, as if she doesn't know where to begin. "Alright, I guess." She tells me softly, and something in her voice tells me it hasn't been so. Isn't she thrilled that Grissom, I assume, gave her a ring?

"Cath, can I ask your advice about something?” She asks me out of the blue. I sit up a little straighter in my chair, slightly thrilled that Sara is picking me to talk about something obviously important. I cover my hand over hers in support. "Of course.”

“Well,” She plays with the cast on her left arm a little and then looks up at me. It has taken us a long time to get to the point in our friendship where we’re comfortable talking to each other openly, but we both know that the other is a good and valuable friend. Not to mention, in a field dominated by men, we’re both fortunate to have a female coworker and team mate. Perhaps the most resounding instant which has built trust between us was the time I came to her when I knew of nobody else to turn to. When I believed I’d been raped and left with no memory of the evening before. Sara picks one last time at the cast on her arm and then removes her hand, finally displaying the ring to me. “I was just wondering... well... what do you think of Alexander?”

This was, of course, not the question I expected. Did Alexander propose to her again? Did he desire to remarry her and change their relationship? “Well, honestly, I don’t really know what to think. He seems like he cares very deeply for you.”

Sara must have sensed what I was thinking because she says “Uh, oh... no. No. The ring... isn’t from him.”

There's a pause when neither of us says anything, because we both seem to know what a big deal this is. Someone proposed to her, and it wasn't Alexander. Was it who I suspected?

"Then...who's it from?" I ask the obvious question. Sara sighs a little and looks down at her feet, not entirely comfortable with answering the question, it seems.

"I want to keep this...confidential for now." She first clears up, and I nod in understanding.

"I won't tell I soul." I promise her, and mean it. Sara's trust is a fragile thing, I know, from being her friend for so many years. I know it takes a long time to earn her trust, but it's very easy to break. I, for one, do not intend on doing anything to hurt a woman who's already been hurt too many times.

"It was...it was Grissom." She says softly, and I can tell immediately she's not as thrilled with this as a woman who's just been proposed to should be. I do the polite thing, though.

"Congratulations. That's great." I tell her, smiling at her.

"Is it?" She asks me.

I’m taken aback by her last question. I’ve never once, until this moment, entertained the thought that Sara was anything less than happy with Grissom. I’d also never thought that he might propose but that idea never felt as preposterous as the idea that Sara wouldn’t be thrilled. I think of the way it feels when you’re in love with a man. The tingle you get when you think of him and the warmth you feel just knowing that he’s there, or would be if you ever needed him. I can see in Sara’s interaction with Alexander that she feels that warmth with him, but perhaps neither man in her life gives her that tingle. “I, uh, guess I never thought that you’d be unsure.”

“Neither did I.” she confesses to me.

“Is it because Alexander is back? Are you having second thoughts about being with Grissom because of him?” I ask, thinking that this is probably the case. I do realize, however, that sometimes a woman’s heart can’t be explained so simply. Mine never can.

“No.” She tells me. “All of the love I have for Alexander, he’ll still be nothing more to me than

my lifelong best friend. My rock. My guiding light. I know that’s a tremendous amount to be to someone but he’s just not... not the one.”

“You don’t think Grissom is either?” I ask placing my chin on my upturned palm as I allow the weight of my head to pass from my wrist all the way down to my elbow as it sits on my crossed knee.

“I just... don’t know.”

I give her a half-smile and rub the back of her hand, letting her know that a lot of things don't always make sense. That I understand her dilemma, though I can't imagine myself in the same position. Is there someone she stacks everyone else up against, like I do? Is she waiting, like Rapunzel in her high tower, for the right prince to come along? And somehow, in her heart, she feels neither Grissom or Alexander is the right one?

"Well, if you're not sure, the worst thing would be to go through with it while you're having these feelings. I think you owe it to yourself and to both those men to have a good long think about it." I advise her, which is all I can come up with at the moment.

She nods, but seems worried by this prospect. "I think he wants to have the wedding pretty soon."

“Well,” I say with a half smile “There are two things you can do about it. Either you can run away and move back to California and just avoid the whole issue altogether,” this I say in pure jest. Then I give her a more serious answer “Or you can tell him that you want to take your time with the wedding, because you want to focus on getting better first. It’s logical and he’s whipped enough I think he’d go along with anything you say.”

“If only that was the truth.” she mentions. She fears, I can tell, that the only reason he proposed was because he wanted to stake some sort of claim over her. He wanted to express his ownership of her to anyone else who might try to step in his way. “I just can’t help feeling like he just wants to... I don’t know... posses me.”

Feeling possessed by someone else is something I know Sara would never be comfortable with. She is a highly independent, driven woman, who does not want to be taken care of. And yes, I can picture Grissom wanting to take care of her, and refer to her as 'his wife', and taking her to important events with him. This goes with Sara as much as tomato ketchup goes with ice cream.

"Well, I think that's something you need to talk to Grissom about. Let him know how you're feeling, because marriage is about being honest with each other." I think I sound like Dr. Phil, and not in a good way. Sara seems satisfied by my advice for now. I hope she doesn't feel like I’m trying to pawn her questions off to someone else, but I really feel like these are issues they need to address together as a couple. A nurse enters, knocking lightly on the door, knowing that Sara has a visitor.

"Excuse me, ladies. Visiting hours will be over in five minutes, so our patients can get some rest."

I smile to Sara and tell her that I’ll be back to see her soon, then after wishing her luck with Grissom and her feelings I wander down the hallway towards the parking deck. Unlike Grissom, I enjoy parking on the lower level of the deck and wandering the halls of the hospital, and the many corridors of the parking deck between Sara’s room and my vehicle, or vice versa. The quarter of an hour that it takes me to arrive at Sara’s room, in the bustle of the day, provides me with much needed time for introspection and quiet contemplation.

I find it humorous, as I buckle myself into the driver’s seat of my car, that Sara came to me of all people seeking advice in matters of the heart. Currently my love life is as messed up as one from the daytime serial shows that housewives are known for being addicted to. I don’t even know my feelings at them moment. Well I’m pretty sure I do, but I’m still suppressing them. I’m afraid to let something so strong scratch its way to the surface again. What if I get hurt?

I settle for men I don't really want all the time, and while we make love, I pretend it's the man I really want to be with, though it seems it will never happen. I was into him for years, and it just never seemed the right time. Then Tina came along and messed things up for a good long while. And now Warrick seems like he may actually have a crush on me, and I'm scared. What if this is just a little fling? What if I give my heart and body to him, and he gets scared and runs off? What if Lindsey scares him off? I know she's been giving him hell, and he's wondering what it would be like to live with her all the time. I keep driving, my hands and feet subconsciously taking me down the correct roads, making stops at red lights, until I'm pulling into my own driveway.

Sighing, I turn off the ignition, and just sit in the car by myself for a few long moments, wondering if this will be the last peace I'll get once I head inside to be with Lindsey. Does it make me a bad mother, to want to avoid seeing my own child sometimes? It's just that she's so damn difficult I can't stand it. Finally, after a couple good minutes, I've composed myself and my thoughts enough to head inside and face whatever mood Lindsey decides to be in today. As I open the door that leads in to the living room, I'm pleasantly surprised by the smell of cooking food.

Lindsey is fifteen and barely knows her way around the kitchen to make herself breakfast in the morning, so the prospect that she’s actually preparing a meal is foreign to me. I walk into the kitchen and though Lindsey is nowhere to be found I see a piece of computer paper laying on the kitchen counter covered in various grease stains, red splotches of sauce, and a recipe for a spaghetti dinner.

Lindsey steps back out of our walk in pantry holding a loaf of Italian bread in one hand and a shaker of garlic powder in the other. Apparently she intends to make garlic bread too. I find myself grinning from ear to ear looking at my daughter. I can’t help but wonder what she’s done to feel the need to buy me off this way, but for now I’m not going to let it bother me.

“What’s all

this?” I ask my child. My beautiful, wonderful, generous child.

“I... I just wanted to do something for you. Cuz I’ve been a real bitch lately. Mom... I’m sorry.”

She makes eye contact with me as she finishes, and I can see the sincerity in her eyes, almost a foreign thing to me. It seems nowadays whenever Lindsey speaks to me, I'm trying to decipher what is true and what's a fib, but in this moment, I can tell she's genuinely sorry, and her actions show just how steadfast she is in fixing her mean ways. I let out a pleased sigh and walk over to my teenager, enveloping her in a warm hug.

"Oh, Lindsey." I breathe out and just enjoy the feeling of her in my arms, something she doesn't let me do very often. "You have not been a bitch. I know you're just confused about everything. I just want you to talk to me." I explain.

Lindsey doesn't communicate with me like she did when she was a little girl. Everything she says and does is like a puzzle, and I have to figure out what she really means, and how it all fits together.

"I know, Mom." She whispers, sounding like the sweet little girl I fell in love with all those years ago, a long cry from her usual self these days. "I'm gonna try." She promises, just as the beeper on the timer goes off. Lindsey smiles at me proudly, because she's taken so much time and effort to prepare this meal. She takes my hand and leads me towards the already set dining room table. "Just sit down, and I'll bring it to you." Lindsey instructs me, beaming.

While she make a few trips between the kitchen table, which we have tucked away behind the other side of the counter, and the stove I while away waiting for her to serve me by trying to rub the finger prints off of the large glass table top with my thumb. My chosen occupation for the moment, being smudge wiper, isn’t working out because I’m leaving as many finger prints as I’m removing. After she’s done setting up the table with the banquet of noodles, sauce, and bread Lindsey talks to me.

“I called Warrick the other day.” She says bluntly “I had something I wanted to thank him for, but I got really mad at him. I kind of ended up yelling at him. Mom are you going to let him hurt you again?”

I sigh, trying to think of how to answer this. It's not like adults always intend on hurting each other; it just happens. Warrick never intended to hurt me, but he did by default when he up and married Tina. It's easy to get your heart broken, and not always someone's fault per se. I can't really say that he'll never hurt me again - I know he would never intentionally do that. But it wasn't out of the realm of possibility I would allow my heart to be broken again.

"Lindsey, it's complicated. There's a lot of history, and Warrick would never hurt me on purpose." Lindsey shakes some parmesan cheese onto her plate as I push around the spaghetti, getting it thoroughly covered with the tomato sauce.

"But, Mom, you need to quit chasing after him. He's married to Tina isn't he?"

It’s funny to me the way she asked the question. For some reason I get the feeling that she knows somehow about the divorce, which comes as a surprise to me because since I found out the two of us have done nothing but fight. It makes me feel a little on the spot the way she’s asking me the question, as though I’m trying to break up his marriage.

“Honey,” I say, opting to pretend that I don’t suspect that she already knows. “I would never, never, even think about the possibility of anything with a married man. That’s just something I’d never do.”

“So” she pushes her food around on her plate. “You’re not thinking about giving him another chance? Or... he’s not married?”

I give her a little suspicious smile, wondering just what she's up to. "He's not married, Linds. He's going through a divorce." I inform her.

Lindsey nods and seems to contemplate that for a few moments. "So...when he showed up on our doorstep the other night he was..." She trails off to let me fill in the blank. I finish chewing the bite I've just taken and then wipe my mouth with a napkin.

"He's just a friend, Lindsey. He came over because he'd had a rough evening." I explain, which was true. I don't explain the subsequent conversations we've had, and about the suspicion I think that Warrick wants our platonic relationship to turn into something more now that Tina's out of the way.

"Yeah, right." She teases me. "Who shows up in the middle of the night when they want to just be friends?" I give her a playful glare as I twirl some more spaghetti.

I push my food around for another moment or two, and take another bite. It’s actually very good and for the first meal she’s really prepared for anyone other than herself I’d say it’s fantastic. I wonder if I could convince her to take a culinary classes, I’m pretty sure that her school offers a few. I can’t help wondering how she really feels about all of the possibilities that are developing with Warrick. I mean, I don’t even know how I feel about it. I finish my bite and then swallow slowly. Finally I test the waters a little further. Grateful that we’re finally able to talk again, I only hope that our rift continues to mend

“Everything you’ve said so far about this has been negative... and I think I’m feeling the same things you are, so I understand.” I take breath and continue to contemplate my words carefully “But, do you think that there’s any way it could be a good thing?”

She decides, much to my pleasure, to go at this in an adult way. I don’t know what happened to change her mind about the way she talks to me, but I think I like it. I do have a suspicion that it’s because of this thing with Warrick. She’s so afraid that I’m going to end up hurt again that she’s focusing more on that, and on me, than on herself and her anger. Perhaps he was right. Maybe she is a tiger when she cares about someone.

“We trusted him completely mom. Both of us. We thought he was always going to be there for us... and then he just goes off like that and gets married. It wasn’t fair. I hate him for doing that to you. I hate him because he made you cry like that.” She stops and then added something almost inaudibly. “I used to hate dad every time he made you cry too, sometimes I still hate him cuz of it.”

"Well, the fact that we haven't gotten together isn't Warrick's fault. I've dated my share of guys, Linds, so Warrick probably figured I wasn't interested." I reason, and realize Lindsey probably thinks this excuse is as lame as I do.

"He's had plenty of chances." Lindsey tells me. "And I just don't like that it always leaves you disappointed and hurt. That's not fair." It's amazing to me how Lindsey can act like she hates me most of the time, but deep down there's feelings like this. She's protective of me, and is going as far as hating Warrick, a really wonderful guy, because he's hurt me in the past. I'm touched that she's being this protective of me, but it also complicates the situation so much more. When Lindsey was a little girl, she loved any guy I introduced her to as long as he was nice, and maybe dangled her upside down by her feet. Now, it was much harder to impress Lindsey Willows, and apparently Warrick was not doing a very good job.

I guess if I really had to think about it, the reason why Lindsey’s so angry, and why I’m still pretty angry, is because she trusted him. Lindsey loved Warrick. He was a part of our family and a really amazing friend to both of us. We were both betrayed to him. It’s hard to trust someone, to love them, and have them just break your heart like that. I can’t really remember who I’m talking about myself or my daughter.

“So, you don’t want me to pursue this with him?” I ask.

“Only if you promise that if he hurts you again we can put your CSI skills to good use against him” she grins at me a little. Then, unsure about where to take the conversation down a different avenue. “How’s Sara doing? You haven’t said much about her in a while.”

I nod, realizing I haven't kept Lindsey as in the loop as she deserves about Sara. Sara babysat Lindsey a couple times as a child, and she didn't mind Sara now as a teenager, which was more than she could say about some people.

"She's better. The doctors say she should be out within a week or so." I wonder if I should let her in on the news about Grissom proposing. Lindsey's put me in a sharing mood, so I decide to. "Grissom proposed to her yesterday." Lindsey's eyebrows shoot up, and she gets a bit of a disgusted look on her face.

"Those two? Married? Barf." She retorts as she cuts a meatball into two pieces.

"Well, she said yes." I tell her, but decide not to dive into the conversation I had with Sara earlier. Lindsey would surely run her mouth to someone and Grissom would find out the wrong way.

Instead, I rethink the last time Lindsey and I were in to see Sara together and realize that she probably doesn’t know the half of what’s going on. I work a rather revealing smile onto my lips and then say “I know something way juicer than Grissom and Sara.”

I know that I’m mimicking my dear friend Jim Brass’ same phrase that he used with me a few months ago. At the mention of the work juicy Lindsey’s eyebrows shoot up. “Sara’s already married, and she has a kid.”

“No?” She’s dumbfounded. “She was such a horrible babysitter when I was a kid, she was so boring. How old’s the brat?”

“He’s actually a really nice kid” I tell my daughter. “He’s fourteen, but he acts more like he’s thirty. And not a ‘Greg’ thirty either, a real thirty.”

I know my definition of a "nice kid" and Lindsey's differs greatly. To Lindsey, a nice kid means a guy with a nice ass, and who's a good kisser. Of course my definition is the more accurate one according to society as a whole, as I go on to explain.

"He's polite, pleasant. And pretty good looking." Lindsey gives me a look. "Sounds like a real thrill. And no one had met them before now?" She comments before taking a sip of water.

"He is. They live in California, but they're here visiting. Actually, I think Ryan's probably getting pretty bored. I bet he'd like someone to show him around town a little." Lindsey rolls her eyes a little at the not so subtle suggestion that she be his baby sitter. Only, it would probably be more like Ryan babysitting her, the way she acted sometimes.

"I'm not getting stuck with Sara's nerdy son. He probably does Diabolical Sudoku in his sleep."

“He might.” I admit, he is pretty smart. “But honestly you can’t tell from looking at him. His father seems pretty loaded and he has the best clothes. They both always look sharp.”

“I’m guessing by the look on your face that you already told them that I’d babysit him, didn’t you mom?” She let out a deep sigh, I can see in her eyes, face, even in her fingertips that she wants to yell at me. However she just sits silently for a moment and says “Fine, if you take me off grounding there’s a party on Friday I can take him too. Parents will be there, it’ll only be about forty kids, and before you ask... yes Chad’s going to be there. It’s his cousin’s place.”

“Is it a senior party?” She knows I only ask this because I’m not pleased about her spending time with a bunch of seventeen and eighteen year olds.

“For the most part, Mom, but we wouldn’t be the only underclassmen there.” I decide that she’s been pretty good today, and in interest of keeping on her good side I nod and tell her she can go. “Thanks mom.”

“You have to be home by eleven, you have to be nice to Ryan, and you have to keep up this whole good kid act.” I lay out the ground rules.

“Deal.”

The rest of dinner, we have pleasant conversation about a variety of things. As we begin to clear the plates, I realized that we haven't had either a meal without arguing, or a silent meal, in such a long time. I really wish our evenings would go this pleasantly more often, but I knew that wasn't in the cards, really. Still, I decided to live for the day, and enjoy it while I got it. Lindsey even begins to help me with dishes, but I tell her that I'll do them, since she took the time to cook such a wonderful dinner for me. She smiles and disappears into her room to start homework, or probably to IM her friends, or a combination of both. Just as I'm scraping some of the burnt ground beef off the bottom of the pot (yes, I need to teach Lindsey about Pam Spray), my cell phone rings. Usually, I'd just ignore it, but for some reason I turn the faucet off and dry my hands just in time to see that it's Warrick on the caller ID. I'm pleasantly surprised, and answer immediately, wondering what he wants. "Warrick?"

“Hey Cath” he greets me, finally sounding completely back to his normal self. I’m overwhelmed with relief that he’s alone and not drunk, drinking, and by the lack of background noise, not in a casino. I’m trying to suppress what I know would look like the smile of a giddy teenage girl. I’m just glad that my daughter’s up stairs.

“What’s up?” I ask gently, as I gently begin drying the few dishes that I’d finished washing while I wait for him to explain why he’d decided to call.

"Umm," He begins, and I feel empowered a little by the fact that he sounds nervous. Warrick never sounds nervous when he calls me. Always confident, suave, not at all fearful of how I'll respond to him. "Just, uh, hanging out." He tells me, which I know is not the reason he's calling. Guys are so obvious sometimes, and clueless. I can tell he wants to ask me something, but I can only wonder what it is.

"That's nice. How's your day been?" I strike up some casual conversation, hoping that this will set his mind at ease and cause him to spill the beans about whatever's bothering him. We talked about this and that for a few minutes, until I've poured myself a glass of wine and settled myself on the couch for some well-earned relaxing. "So." I decide to call him on his behavior. "Did you really call me to ask me how my day went?"

“Sorta, yeah” He tells me. “By the way, it’s great that you had a good evening with Lindsey, just hearing that made my whole night. And, I did want to know how things were going with her, so that really was part of my motive for calling you.”

“Well,” It’s not that I’m not thoroughly enjoying this conversation, because I am, but I was thinking of trying to get a movie with Lindsey in before we both went to bed for the evening. “Was there anything else ‘Rick?”

“I just... uh... had a good time the other night when we had coffee.” he takes a deep breath and I can hear the nervousness recurring.

I decide to ease the nervousness a bit, “I did too, but I always enjoy it when we do things like that, we should do it more often.”

“I thinks so too.” He tells me, I feel like now is as good a time as any, so I stand and start walking towards Lindsey’s bedroom. I’m at the top of the stairs, standing in her door way, pointing at the phone and mouthing ‘Warrick’ before he finishes “So, I was thinking, why don’t we do it more often. We could have dinner, Friday night maybe? My treat?”

I smile a little to myself and Lindsey, he’s owed me a ‘fabulous dinner’ for several years now. I look to Lindsey for approval, and she tells me that it’s ‘my funeral.’ It’s all the yes I need, I think. But I plan to take things very slowly with him.

"That sounds great." I tell him, trying not to sound like a bubbly teenage girl who's just been asked out by her crush. Lindsey is eying me suspiciously and smiles when she sees me clenching my first, doing a little 'cha-ching!' motion. Warrick sounds surprised that I said yes.

"Really? I'm so glad you said yes." He tells me, and I can tell he's really nervous about this for some reason. I know he knows that we've been attracted to each other for years now.

"Where are you taking me?" I ask curiously, in a slightly flirty voice. Lindsey stands up and crosses the room, hoping to eavesdrop on my conversation. If I had been on the house phone, she would've already picked up another line and listened in. I let her put her face up close to mine, and hold the receiver so both of us can hear.

"You'll just have to wait and find out." I can hear him smiling over the phone.

I'm about to respond, when Lindsey beats me to it, and in perhaps one of the most embarrassing moments of my life, she blabs, "My mom looooves you!! Don't forget to kiss her good night!"

I snatch the phone back away from her, appalled at her outburst, and she starts giggling almost uncontrollably. I try to compose myself, clearing my throat and pushing a wisp of hair away from myself.

"Sorry about that." I apologize, but Lindsey had the guts, or the balls maybe, to tell him what I truly wanted. Yes, a kiss would be nice.

"You better not hurt her, or I'll hunt you down and paint your fingernails red!" She yells from across the room.

I’m more than a little annoyed at my daughter’s regression back to being a six year old, but I’m so giddy right now about my impending date with the man of my dreams I decide not to care. Since she wants to act like a six year old, I’m going to retaliate the way I did when she was that age. I plan to tickle attack her as soon as I’m off the phone.

Warrick coughs a bit and then says in a low voice that only I can hear. “Well I was thinking we’d go a little slower than all that Cath, but if you wanna jump right into the sack I could be convinced to go along with it.”

“Warrick Brown!” I chide loudly, “That is not what my teenage daughter was insinuating.”

He laughs cheerfully “Oh I know, but you can’t blame a guy for trying.”

I'm grinning so widely my cheeks hurt. While I know Warrick would never take advantage of me like that, it's nice to know that he seems to want what I want eventually. "Well, we'll just have to see what happens." I tell him, eying my very sneaky teenage daughter. We wrap up the conversation and say our goodbyes. I then slam the phone down on Lindsey's desk, and she starts cracking up, knowing how humorfully mad I am at her right now. While I hate her for doing that to me, it's exactly what I needed.

"You can't be mad at me for saying what you were thinking!" She puts her hands up in defense and begins to back up, seeing me approaching her stealthily.

"That's where it was supposed to stay! In my thoughts!" I point out, though of course she already knows this. I reach out a deliver the first of many tickles, right under her jaw line where I know she's very ticklish. She screams a little in delight and pushes my hand away.

"Okay, I was wrong, but I think you got the response you wanted! Am I right?" I smile at her and grab at her sides now, not giving her a response. In the next few moments, she becomes a ball of giggling, squirming girl on her bed, trying to dodge my next move, but failing miserably.

After tiring both of us out with the tickle fight from hell, that ended with me being pinned to the bed and laughing uncontrollably with my daughter at the advantage. We lay there in her bed a while, and contemplate the posters she has on the ceiling above us, after we’ve discussed all the singers, actors, and models above us we talk for a while more about other things. For the first time in years she just talked to me about things. I am finally starting to understand this whole Chad thing, even though I don’t like it. The kid is a legal adult after all. But, she says that he’s bright and charming, and from the stories she’s told me, I sort of believe that he cares for her. Not that I’m going to welcome him and start calling him my son or anything, I’m still going to be wary of him, until I get to know him a bit better. After a while Lindsey receives an IM and we watch the little window flash orange for a while before I decide to go down stairs and finish the dishes that I’d started earlier.

Once I’ve finished doing the dishes I wander back up stairs. I’m going to peek my head into Lindsey’s room, say goodnight to her, and maybe grab the copy of Gone With the Wind that I let her borrow to read about a month ago. I look into the room and I see her laptop laying on its back in her bed where it had flopped from her lap when she’d fallen asleep. Her blue eyes are hidden by eyelids that are already starting to wiggle around from REM sleep. I pick up the computer and close everything out, then place it on her desk. I leave a note saying that she can be an hour late for school in the morning if she needs to finish any homework taped to the top of it. When I lean down to reposition my daughter and tuck her in, I see the glint of white gold on her neck. It’s the necklace Warrick gave her when she was younger. I don’t think anything would have made me happier than seeing this. My daughter still cares about the man I think I very well could, and may, love with all of my heart.

I leave the room gently, after placing a kiss on my baby girl’s head and slip out of the room quietly. I push into my own bedroom and lay on my bed and flop my cell phone onto the other side of the bed beside me. I try opening the book I just stole back from my only progeny and reading for a while, but no matter how much I love the novel I just can’t focus. I close the book and snatch my cellular into my hand quickly. I flip through my speed dial list and as I’m about to call Warrick I stop and try to figure out why I want to call him so badly. I know why though. I want to say goodnight to him. I feel like I won’t ever sleep again if I don’t hear his voice wishing me sweet dreams and the tantalizing subtext of his deep tone telling me that he cares about me. I know, however, that whatever we have is way too new for me to be calling him for such a silly reason so I opt not to. I simply type the single word in a text message and press ‘send.’

 

Re: Symphony of Change by Bauerfreak and LostLadyKnight

ooh I'm glad you updated Poor Sara. More soon!

 

Re: Symphony of Change by Bauerfreak and LostLadyKnight

Nice update...very nice. Very well written and interesting. Cute banter between Catherine and Warrick, and I also like the mix with Lindsey.