Chapter 1- For an hour I have walked and prayed

Once more the storm is howling, and half hid
Under this cradle-hood and coverlid
My child sleeps on. There is no obstacle
But Gregory's wood and one bare hill
Whereby the haystack- and roof-levelling wind,
Bred on the Atlantic, can be stayed;
And for an hour I have walked and prayed
Because of the great gloom that is in my mind.

The first stanza of Yeats’ “A Prayer for My Daughter” keeps running through my head. For some reason that’s all I can remember of it. I’ll have to go look up the rest of it later. I’m standing next to her cradle in the dead of night. The moon glow is coming though the window across the room just enough to bathe her and make her look radiant. I’ve been standing here for a while now, probably too long. But I don’t want to leave her bedside. She seems too small, too vulnerable.

She was an accident, but not a mistake.

She’ll never be a mistake to me.

She’s only 2 months old, but she holds my heart in those tiny hands of hers. As she shifts in her sleep I fold my arms over the rail to the crib, resting my chin on them so I can get a closer look at her. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing her, knowing she came from me.

I’m watching her now for a reason. I don’t think I’ll get many more chances to do this. Tears start to well up in my eyes. I let them fall. She won’t care.

Her mother never gets out of bed for anything short of her daughter screaming for at least ten minutes. And it’s not because she’s trying to get her used to sleeping at night. It’s because she’s lazy. She’s told me so. She doesn’t want her night’s sleep interrupted by our daughter. She also won’t breast feed because she’s afraid certain things will start sagging.

It’s amazing how quickly your perception of a person can change.

Maggie and I can’t stand each other anymore; two years ago we couldn’t have been more in love, it’s all falling apart now.

As I stand here, waiting for her to start to inevitably whimper for her next feeding, I can’t bare the thought of leaving her.

I check my watch, let out a sigh, and go to warm the bottle.

And for an hour I have walked and prayed
Because of the great gloom that is in my mind.

Yeats got it right, there is a great gloom on my mind now. Two glooms in fact. The first is that I may never see her again. Maggie and I aren’t even married, I have paternal rights, but they won’t be enough for any court in this country to rip a newborn from her mother. I think she wants to move away from me, she does want me to see our baby, she’s insinuated as much. I wouldn’t be surprised. The things she’s said....

“Bugs.. Fucking bugs... you’re going to raise her to be a fucking geek- you know that? A little hermit sulking around just like you...”

“Night shift? You want to work night shift? And you’re still going to be the fucking coroner? Don’t get me started...”

“Don’t you cut up enough things? Do you have to dissect me, too?”

“I can’t stand to be around you anymore...”

“What the hell did I see in you in the first place...”

“I could live my life without ever seeing you again...”

Maggie could go to Iceland for all I care right now. It’s her I can’t lose. I tip toe back into her room, warm bottle of formula in hand. She’s still breathing deeply, sleeping tight. The second cloud that hangs over my head is something that Maggie didn’t even know until after we found out we were pregnant. I had to tell her then.

Otosclerosis is hereditary- and in my family. My mother is deaf, and preliminary tests are telling me that I may have inherited it as well. The dried tear tracks on my face are flowing again. I had never thought about that particular ramification of having children. All signs point to normal hearing for her right now. But that could change. I don’t want it to. I watched my mother go deaf, she handled it with as much grace as anyone could. But I still saw the deep struggle within her, and the sadness that penetrated her when she couldn’t hear anymore. She told me she missed hearing my laugh once.

I now fear the day I lose my hearing- if only for the fact that I will miss hearing her laughter.

She begins to stir in her crib and her tiny fists go to her face, her legs kicking out. She makes a few gurgling noises before opening her eyes to reveal them to me.

“Hey my baby girl,” I whisper to her. God forbid I wake her mother in the next room- I’ll have the fight of the century on my hands. I quickly swipe at the tears on my face with the hand that holds the bottle, letting my sweatshirt absorb them. I know she can’t understand- but I never want her to see me upset or angry. God knows she’s heard me and Maggie fighting way too much already.

I reach one hand into her crib and gently stroke a finger down her cheek, all the while smiling at her. She repays me with a happy gurgle and grabs my finger with a tiny fist. “Do you have Daddy’s finger?” She laughs and claps her fists, still containing my finger, together- her legs working fiercely.

I put the bottle down in the crib and use two hands to pick her up, quickly cradling her tiny frame to my chest, her head in the crook of my arm. She’s still so small. I reach back for the bottle then guide it to her mouth. She takes it and starts suckling on it, eyes blue and wide, staring at me.

Maggie says her eyes can still change color. I like to think they’ll stay blue, like mine. The downy fuzz on her head already shows that she’s going to have brown hair like her mother.

I like to think that she might have something of mine, other than the sword of hearing loss hanging over her head.

I walk to the window and sit in the chair next to it. It’s just a wooden chair- not very comfortable, but it will do for now. I start to talk to my daughter. I may use a light soft voice, but I never use baby talk. How will that teach her anything about words?

“You know daddy loves you, more than anything in this entire world. And I’d do anything to be with you always. But it looks like that’s not going to happen.”

My throat chokes up, and I can’t talk anymore without sobbing.

I never thought I wanted children until I saw her tiny pink face staring up at me: so needy, so trusting. I fell in love at that moment.

It kills me a little to think that she may be ripped from me in a matter of years, months, or even days.

I know we can’t stay like this. Maggie and I are volatile now. Nothing good can come of us forcing ourselves to stay together. But I can’t picture allowing my baby to leave my side. But it looks like that’s what I’m going to have to do soon to make sure she grows up in a peaceful house.

I’ll never let her go, though. I could never let her not know who I am.

Even if she never wanted to see me again, I want her to make that decision, not Maggie.

I’m nervous about letting Maggie raise her. When I heard she was pregnant I thought about how wonderful a mother she would be- and how incompetent a father I would make. Seems as though the tables have turned slightly.

“I’ll do everything I can.” I whisper the promise to her. “Everything.”

The bottle slips from her mouth. She’s fallen asleep. I put the bottle aside and rock gently, content to hold her in my arms. Clips of the rest of Yeats’ poem come to mind.

Considering that, all hatred driven hence,
The soul recovers radical innocence
And learns at last that it is self-delighting,
Self-appeasing, self-affrighting,
And that its own sweet will is Heaven's will;
She can, though every face should scowl
And every windy quarter howl
Or every bellows burst, be happy still.

It’s from somewhere in the middle of the poem, I think.

She is innocent, innocent in this situation we’ve put her in. I rest my head next to hers and breathe in deeply. She is my daughter. I would move Heaven and Earth for her. And if it means her own happiness, I will leave her.

I return her to her crib, the tears stinging at my eyes, but this time I do not let them fall. I place her gently back down and stare at her again.

Fate is cruel.

And she will pay for our youth-full indiscretions.

She was an accident, but not a mistake.

The mistake is how wrong it all turned out.

The mistake will be how I will have to live without her.

Chapter 2- When you Wish Upon a Star

Yesterday was Emma’s first birthday. I celebrated by moving out. Rather, her mother celebrated.

When I left with the last box, I cried. So did Emma; she was in her play pen, reaching up for me, wailing at the top of her lungs.

Maggie just smiled and shut the door in my face.

Now I’m just standing here in my new living room, my new apartment, at a loss. It’s too quiet.

No baby gurgles or laughs coming from the next room. Hell, at this point I’d settle for her screaming at the top of her lungs. But she’s with Maggie, not me.

We’d spent the last three months with lawyers and courts, trying to decide how to work this out. In the end I moved out, and legally I get a few weekends and certain holidays, as well as the pleasure of child support payments. Maggie and I both agreed that it was important to get some sort of legal mandate, but she told me that no matter how much she can’t stand me, she wouldn’t stop me from seeing Emma. So, at least for now, all I have to do is ask and I can see her.

Somehow it’s not enough. I walk over to the love seat and sit down, digging in the box next to me. I pull out a stuffed bunny, Emma’s bunny, and hug it to my chest, closing my eyes and thinking of my baby girl. Maybe I’m hoping that when I open them she’ll be there, her brilliant blue eyes smiling up at me.

She’s not there, though, when I open my eyes. Still clutching the bunny I scan the room. I haven’t unpacked anything that I haven’t needed yet, so my apartment is still in boxes and bags, the plain, sterile walls taunting me. I went from a home to a house. I want my home back. I get up and go back to the second bedroom and stare through the open door.

Things had been getting better. Maybe it was because I was leaving, sleeping on the couch and looking for an apartment. Maybe it was because all of our fighting was being done by our lawyers and the only words we needed to say to each other were without tension. No matter the cause it had been getting better and I began to trick myself into thinking we could be a real family, that maybe she would ask me to stay and we could try again. The doorbell stuns me out of my reverie. I walk back through the small apartment, deposit the bunny back in its box, and open the door.

The first thing I see is Maggie with a look of resentment on her face. I take a deep breath, ready for a fight, but my attention is stolen from her by the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Dada! Dada! Dada! Dada!” Emma’s sitting in her stroller at Maggie’s feet, straining at the belt across her, reaching her hands out to me. I abandon Maggie all together and unbelt her, gathering her to my chest and hugging her.

“Hey! There’s my baby girl! Daddy missed you!” her chubby arms wind themselves around my neck. After a few seconds I pull away, shifting her to one arm and using my other hand to smooth her wavy hair away from her face. “I missed you a lot.” I say it almost too quietly, and I’m afraid I might cry again.

“Missed Dada,” she says matter-of-factly before she puts both of her hands on my cheeks and squeezes just enough to make my lips pucker. Then she leans forward and plants a noisy, and slobbery, kiss right on my puckered lips. I stare at her stunned, a smile playing at the corners of my lips and tears forming as she lets out a squealing laugh and claps her hands on my cheeks.

Our beautiful moment is interrupted by Maggie clearing her throat. “Sorry,” I mumble as I grab the stroller with one hand, pulling it in the apartment, and moving back so she can enter. She closes the door behind her. Leaving the stroller by the door I follow Maggie into the center of the living room while she looks over the apartment. Emma’s rested her head on my shoulder now and is playing with my collar as I rest my free hand on her back. She feels so right snuggled up against me. Much better than the damn stuffed rabbit. “Um,” I begin softly, “Not that I’m not enjoying this impromptu visit, but did you have a reason for coming?”

She turns to me and I see the defeat in her body, it doesn’t become her. Her normally sparkling brown eyes are downcast, her wavy brown hair that she gave to Emma is pulled back messily, and her porcelain skin that I used to love to touch so much is almost sickly pale. The sweat pants and t-shirt she threw on for the chill in the air do nothing to accentuate her slender figure. “I’m sorry.”

I tip my head to the side, and she understands my question immediately. She slumps into the love seat and absent mindedly picks up the bunny, stroking the fur. “She cried all last night Gil. I... I couldn’t do anything. She wanted you. You were always... You could.... God, I feel like the worst mother in the world for doing this!” She buried her head in her hands. I wasn’t going to disagree with her. Was this truly the first time she thought about this? About all of the ramifications of what we did? I was ready to interrupt, but she continued. “But Gil, you and I can’t be together anymore. It just...” her eyes pleaded for me to understand. And I did, so I nodded just slightly. She breathed out heavily. “Um,” She ran her hand through her hair and avoided my eyes. She looked nervous- like she did when she told me she was pregnant. So she changed the subject, “Didn’t unpack much, did you?”

“Well, I was keeping busy,” I sway back and forth, Emma still active but calm in my arms, as I moved toward Maggie. “I did a lot of work.” I offer no other explanation. I’ll show her eventually, but not right now. I want to hear what she has to say.

“Um,” she begins again. This time she stands and walks to me, running her hand through Emma’s hair. “I know tonight’s your night off, and I thought maybe you’d like to have her tonight.” It comes out in a quiet rush from her, her eyes never leaving Emma. “I mean, we could get her used to being here right away... and.... and, well. I need to think Gil.” She looks up at me, piercing eyes all of a sudden sharp and throwing her daggers right at me.

It’s almost accusatory, like she’s blaming me for something. But I don’t want to fight again. Not now, and not with Emma in my arms like this. I simply nod and look back at my beautiful daughter. “I’d love to.”

I can tell by her sigh she was ready for a fight. She was almost disappointed that we didn’t have one. She dropped her hand from Emma. “Ok. I’ll go get her things from the car.”

“No need.” I know my voice, lighthearted and happy for a change, surprises her as she turns to go to out to the car.

“Gil, I only brought in her diaper bag,” I start to slowly walk to the second bedroom as she points to it hanging on the back of the stroller, “You need at least her play pen for her to sleep in! Gil! Where are you going?” She stomps after me and stops short at the doorway, mouth agape.

“I told you I was busy.” I walk to the center of the room and spin Emma around slowly. “Emma, do you like your new room?”

It’s the only room in the apartment that’s done. Ok, it’s the only room in the apartment that I even started. I’m lucky I put sheets on my bed to sleep in last night. I had worked frantically, but it was worth it. Emma was smiling, and although I didn’t think she could tell exactly what this meant, the thought that it made her smile made me smile even more.

“Gil...” Maggie whispered as she walked into the room, her hands running over things here and there. It was as if she didn’t believe it. “It’s beautiful.”

It was a variation on Emma’s room at home. The walls here were a bright yet pale yellow instead of the pepto-bismol pink Maggie had insisted on. Though the closet sat empty, the door was painted white to match the rest of the furniture in the room. I had ordered the same furniture we had in her house so that she’d feel a little more comfortable. The sheets and shades and anything soft or in prints were in Winnie the Pooh. Not the garish, gaudy prints usually in baby rooms, but a more subdued light blue print on white cotton of the older line drawings found in the books. It was sweet, yet sophisticated. The changing table was fully stocked, and there was a chair by the window, across from the crib.

Maggie stopped at the one thing adorning the walls and stared. Finally she turned around and addressed me. “This is beautiful Gil. I’m sorry it has to be like this. But you and I both know that we’ll be happier, and that will be better for her. I’ll let myself out.”

Was it the soft lighting or the evening sunset steaming through the window that made me think I saw tears in her eyes as she said that? She quickly turned and I heard the door close behind her a few seconds later. I leaned down, kissing Emma’s forehead. “I hope so...” I whispered. Before my mind could wander to analysis of our decisions, my baby brought me salvation.

“Pooh!” Emma pointed across the room to the wall Maggie had been looking at before she left.

“Yes!” I happily explained to her. We moved toward to lone wall decoration: a framed lithograph of the more modern, Disney version of Winnie the Pooh, Piglet, Eeyore, Rabbit and Christopher Robin sitting under a tree, looking up at the stars, one sparkling in particular, and a streak of color in the cobalt sky signaling a meteor. “It’s Winnie the Pooh!”

We walk closer and she points her tiny hand, “Pigit!”

“Very good! That’s Piglet! Who’s this?” I point my finger to Eeyore.

“Yore!” Comes her happy response. She claps her hands together. We play the game until we are out of characters to list. Then I turn to her, my eyes serious, but my tone still light, “This is your birthday present, Emma. It was your birthday yesterday, remember?”

She turns her head all the way to the side and looks like she’s thinking very hard. I’ll have to get a picture of her like that. It’s the most beautiful look I’ve ever seen. “ Em Birfday?” she asks.

“Yes. For Emma,”I point to her, “for her birthday.” I point to the lithograph. “That’s your present from Daddy.” I point to myself. She smiles and leans forward, planting another sloppy, noisy kiss on my cheek.

“Tars!” She smiles, pointing at the lithograph again.

“Yes! Lots of stars. And this is a met–“ I stop myself. She may be smart, but she’s only one. “This is a shooting star.” I say, pointing to the smudge.

“What dat?” She points to the star that’s the brightest. It’s probably supposed to be the north star. But that means nothing. It’s not the reason I bought this.

“It’s your star.” I explain. I know she won’t remember... and I’ll probably end up explaining it twenty more times before she understands. But it doesn’t matter. She rests her head back on my shoulder as I continue and point to it. “There’s a star up in the sky that’s just for you. And you can wish on that star, you know that? You say, ‘twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are, up above the world so high, like a diamond in the sky. Wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight.’ Then you make your wish.”

She yawns and curls up tighter against me her hands reaching around my neck and gripping the short hairs at the base of my skull, she tries to say “wish tonight,” but it comes out as “ssissh tite.”

I hug her to me and walk out to get her diaper bag. We go back to her room and I change her outfit to a warm pink snuggley for bed. I place her in her bed and she immediately curls up and falls asleep. I watch for a few minutes before grabbing the monitor and going out to the living room and regarding the boxes. I put down the monitor, turned all the way up so her deep breaths are reverberated in the room, and start searching through the boxes.

About ten minutes later I come up with the envelope I’m looking for. Smiling, I carry it back to Emma’s room. I pick the lithograph from the wall and open the frame from the back, then slip the parchment from the envelope and into the back of the frame. I look at it one last time before I close the frame.

The calligraphy names one beautiful star in the heavens after Emma Madalyn Grissom, and at the bottom it’s signed “Love, Dad.”

Placing the lithograph back on the wall, I take up watch over my baby. I’ve started working the night shift recently, and I’ve been working very closely with the CSI shift there. It’s fascinating work, but it’s also flipped my nights and days. I’m wide awake, and I’d like nothing more than to just stand here all night and watch her breathe.

“Wish upon as many stars as you want, Emma.” I whisper as I reach down and lift a curl from near her mouth. “Wish on all the stars in the sky. And I hope every wish you make comes true.”

Chapter 3- Hula Baby

Grissom sat in the dark theatre, his eyes looking towards the stage but not focused. Instead of watching the show, every so often he’d look down to the tiny pad in his hands and make notes. His nimble fingers flew the pen across the tiny pad again:

The shoes were untied...

            Going somewhere?

            Coming back from somewhere?

He tapped the pen against his lips then tipped his head again toward the stage. He was trying his best not to be rude, but of the three hour show there were really only five minutes in it that interested him. So he strained his eyes to see the tiny pad in the dark, and when diving into his memory to go over the fresh crime scene he’d had to leave he tipped his eyes to the stage in a conciliatory gesture.

He was thinking about the victim’s shoes when he heard applause erupt around him, it snapped him back to reality and he clapped his hands as well. Just because he wasn’t watching didn’t mean the performance didn’t deserve applause. Besides, he was surrounded by beaming parents- he feared for his safety should any of them think he was disrespectful of their children’s performances.

As the applause died down he twisted in his isle seat and turned his head to the left, whispering to Maggie, “How many more?” He’d only been sitting for an hour, but he was already getting antsy. The June heat and humidity was oppressive in the filled high school theatre.

“She’s after this one.” Maggie huffed, almost mad that she’d brought him. “Just try to watch one dance, Gill? I know that this isn’t exactly exciting for you- but just try to relax?” She paused and let her voice hit a normal- if not agitated- tone as the next song started to blast through the speakers. “And put your work away, please? This is no place for that!” Maggie huffed and went back to watching the young girls dance across the stage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A dance recital is not exactly the place I wanted to spend my Friday night, but I’d go anywhere for her. Emma’s smile as I picked her and her mother up this afternoon was enough reason to get through this semi-torture. If I’d brought a camera with me I would have taken a picture. Her hair was pulled up in pink foam rollers, forming curls that would be let out later. Her face was accented with just a bit too much make-up for my taste. Even if she was going to be on stage, she was only three.

Her costume was guarded from my eyes by the duffel bag Maggie held, and Emma had enjoyed herself by playing “Let’s Surprise Daddy,” and not telling me what she was doing for her dance school’s annual recital. Which also happened to be Emma’s first recital.

Maggie seemed irate as she got in the car, but Emma was all smiles and giggles, telling me about the recital and practically every other dance, but avoiding my questions about hers. I let Maggie stew in her seat while I enjoyed talking with Emma, a smile playing on my lips the whole way to the highschool. After parking, I picked Emma out of the car, letting her settle into my arms, and followed Maggie to a door marked “Dancer’s Entrance.” Emma squirmed out of my grasp and grabbed my hand, running to the door and stopping just outside of it to talk to a girl her age. I smiled. The two girls giggled.

Maggie rudely stepped in front of me and held a ticket in my face. “I’ll meet you in the audience. No fathers are allowed backstage.” She was mad- why? Who knew. I took the ticket and stooped down next to Emma.

“Good luck, sweetheart.” I took her into a hug, she hugged be back. I planted a kiss on her tiny, rouge laden cheek as I pulled back. “I’m going to be watching from the audience. I can’t wait to see this big surprise!”

She giggled and made a show of planting a smacking kiss on my cheek, no doubt staining me with bright red lipstick. “I’m gonna be a star, Daddy!”

“You are a star! You’re my star!” I ran my thumb over her face, smiled, and stood. “Good luck, Emma, I’ll see you after the show.” I turned and walked toward the main entrance. A lump had formed in my throat and I couldn’t quite explain why.

As I found my seat in the auditorium I tried to eliminate the lump from my throat. She was only three, and I already felt like I was losing her, like she was growing up too fast. I shifted my thoughts to work, knowing that it was something I could get engrossed in for at least a little while.

The last few moths, hell, the last year, had been an amazing change at work. I moved from the coroners office to the criminalistics department, and I found the work infinitely more interesting, more encompassing, and more fulfilling. I wasn’t only helping to catch criminals, I was proving the innocence or guilt of a suspect. The beauty of my job rested in the act that it was all science. The data was empirical. The truth was the truth. And I was finding that.

Maggie was sitting next to me now, talking, but I wasn’t really paying much attention to her. Her sour mood had turned me off tonight. I was here to see Emma. The babbling registered somewhere in my consciousness. She was talking about how mobbed it was backstage, how the kids were running around... it was all back ground noise. I just ignored it, adding a head nod here and there. But when she started talking about Emma I started listening.

“She looks so adorable. I hated leaving her back there all by herself...”

I cut her of before she can finish, “By herself? Will she be ok?”

She laughed at me. Apparently she wasn’t as sour as before. “She’ll be fine. There’s a class mother watching her. She’s not really by herself.” I nodded, but the answer barely satisfied me. I saw the smile fade from her face and she looked at the floor. Her mood was back- but there was something different about it. I just stared at her for a second. “Gil? We have to talk.”

“About?” I don’t like this, not at all. There’s something foreboding about the way she said it.

“Not now,” she turned in her seat as the lights faded and music began to reverberate through the speakers. She avoided my gaze. As the young dancers took the stage I retreated to my own thoughts, pulling out a pen and pocket notebook, my mind working out my latest case.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I shoved the notebook and pen back in my pocket and sat up, scooting to the edge of my seat as the dancers left the stage. A twangy guitar started pumping through the sound system, and I watched for Emma as the three year old class ran out onto the stage. She was the third from the right as the class of almost fifteen lined up at the foot of the stage. I leaned out into the isle for an unobstructed view.

She was in a fluorescent pink leotard with white flowers printed on it, pink flowers in her curled hair and around her wrists, and a fluorescent green grass skirt around her waist. The picture she made was so adorable I thought I’d burst, that is, until she began to sing along with the pre-recorded voice.

I’m a little hula, hula baby

From the land of Waikiki

I can hula and I don’t mean maybe

Follow me across the sea

I dance with my eyes

I dance with my lips

I dance with my hands

And I wiggle my hips

I’m a little hula, hula baby

From the land of Waikiki

Emma stole my heart. She sang, moving her hands to motions that went with the words, then danced around the stage, doing simple moves. Once, my eye caught her teacher in the wings prompting them with the moves, but only once. Otherwise, Emma had me enthralled.

When they hit their final pose and the music ended, my hands came together almost violently. I couldn’t keep the smile or the pride from beaming from my face. It amazed me, and she was wonderful.

As the next dance began, I was still thinking about Emma. She was a beautiful, shining star; on stage and in my life. She was only three, but already forming the kind of person she would be. Smart, beautiful, confident, and simply amazing to me.

The next hour sped by quicky, my mind lost in my daughter, all of the amazing possibilities before her and the person she would be.

The night concluded with a finale, all of the girls on stage and the studio’s founder giving a small speech. I found Emma’s beautiful face, and found her staring right back at me. The curtains closed all too quickly, and Maggie rushed out, saying she’d meet me at the car with Emma.

I took my time strolling to the car, admiring the stars and thinking of my baby girl. The car ride home was entertaining, as Emma tried to describe everything she did backstage at a mile a minute pace. When we pulled up in front of the house and Maggie quickly got out, pulling the duffel over her shoulder. She bee-lined it for the front door, pulling her keys out on the way.

I shook my head, I had been paying attention to Emma, but I knew something was wrong with Maggie. I just chose to ignore her at this point. I got out and pulled Emma from the back, her mouth still running, trying to tell me something about dancing poodles. I followed Maggie into the house, letting Emma down and shutting the door behind me.

“Coffee Gil?” Came Maggie’s shaky voice from the kitchen.

“Sure,” I replied. Knots began tying themselves in my stomach. Emma ran through the house to the kitchen, then back to me, telling me not to go anywhere, before she disappeared back to her room.

I sat on the couch, trying to calm my fears. I didn’t know what Maggie needed me to talk about, but it couldn’t be good. She had been sour and avoiding me all night. This was not good. My reverie was broken by Emma jumping in my lap, a badly wrapped present in her hands.

“This is for you. I wrapped it myself!” She laid me and was beaming, so proud of what she was offering me.

“Thank you!” I said as I took it, “do you want me to open it now?” She nodded.

I pulled off the wrapping and stared at her present. It was a framed picture of her in her hula costume, obviously professional, and completely adorable. I looked down to thank her for it again, but she had fallen asleep against me. She must have been so exhausted that the second she stopped moving she just passed out.

Putting the frame on the coffee table, I lifted her and brought her to her room, quickly changing her into a nightgown and tucking her into bed. As I went to kiss her goodnight I noticed the remnants of the make up still clinging to her baby skin. Suddenly it’s too grown up for her and out of place, it doesn’t belong there. I went to the bathroom, wet a washcloth, and brought it back to her bedside, gently wiping that garish paint from her face. When it was all gone I kissed her forehead, smoothing away the hair there, and left her to sleep.

I joined Maggie back on the couch in the living room, picking up the mug of coffee she brought me and taking a long drink, wishing that it were something stronger. I had a feeling I could use a little liquid courage for this conversation.

“Gil, I uh, I said before that I needed to talk to you.”

“Yes.” I was gonna let her do this her way. If I knew nothing else about this woman it was that she couldn’t be pushed.

“You’re not going to like what I have to say, but I’ve made up my mind and you can’t change it. You’re free to do what you want, but this is what Emma and I are doing, and you can’t change that.” I felt like I was going to throw up, her voice was strong, but shaky at the same time. “I’m not taking her away from you, Gil, but this is what we have to do.”

My heart dropped.

“I got offered a new position in Nevada.”

No. Please God, no.

“Emma and I are moving there in a month.”

A/N: “Hula Baby” is a real song I used to dance to (and practically every baby class at my studio danced to). I don’t know anything about it other than the lyrics. Any dance related things from this point on are taken from my own knowledge from my own studio or from stories other dancers have told me.

_____

Chapter 4: Father of Mine, Tell Me Where Have You Been?

I have become what I’ve feared the most: an absent father.

The pain wretches in my gut again, the mental anguish’s physical representation of my self-disgust. I reach for the Maalox on the table next to me and take a swig right from the bottle, chasing it with some scotch from the glass in my hand. I grimace at the foul taste and chug the rest of the scotch.

Somewhere in the back of my brain I know that this will neither make me feel better physically or mentally, and that it’s probably very stupid to be doing.

But all I want to do right now is drink myself into an oblivion.

And find a way to stop my stomach from turning itself in knots.

 I missed her call. All I want to do is cry. I told her I would be home, and I missed her call. I slump back into the couch, throwing my arm over my bloodshot eyes, the empty scotch glass still in my hand. My left hand blindly reaches out to the table next to me and hits the play button on my answering machine. I’m going to wear out the tape. I don’t care. My eyes well up as her voice fills the room.

“Daddy? Where are you? You said to call you and you’d be home....”

She sounds so forlorn, so lost without me to pick up the phone.

“I wanted to tell you about my new babysitter, and my new room. It’s blue!”

She’s so excited, and I wanted to hear about her new babysitter and her new room...

“And today Mommy and I made up the guest room, so if you wanted to you could visit and sleep over in there....”

I can tell you the Latin and common names for practically every bug on the planet. I can recite several Shakespearean sonnets by heart. I can solve complicated math equations in my head. But I can’t keep a damn promise to my daughter.

“Um, I don’t know where you are Daddy... but call me tomorrow and I’ll tell you all about everyth-“

Then she gets cut off by the machine’s time limit.

She’s in Nevada, I’m in LA.

I’m everything I told myself I would never be.

My stomach lurches again, and this time I get up and stumble to the bathroom, making it there just in time to empty my stomach into the toilet. The combination of scotch, Maalox, and roll I forced myself to eat earlier come back up with an ungodly vengeance. I wretch at the toilet until there’s nothing left in me. I wretch until my eyes sting with tears, and finally I just lean myself over the toilet and sob in wailing hiccoughs of tears.

I grew up without a father. My memories of him are few and far between. I have one picture of him holding me as a little boy. That’s all.

It hurt to grow up without a father. But I dealt with it. I swore I would never do that to any child I had, I swore I would always be there for them any time, anywhere, and love them with every fiber of my being.

I love Emma, I would die for her, but I can’t get my damn ass out to Nevada.

The tears fade and my breathing slows. I lean back onto the tub and tip my head back onto the cool porcelain.

The day after Maggie told me they were leaving I called my supervisor. All I got for my transfer request was a lecture about how precarious my position was. I was a great Entomologist, but my CSI reputation was still being built, I needed roots to advance. A transfer now could be the end of my career. It was a load of bullshit, but I bought it. I respected him and his opinion as a CSI. I fooled myself into thinking that I could visit her as often as possible- I could start making speaking tours, and see her then. Maybe I could even bring her with me.

For a smart man I’m a bumbling idiot sometimes.

I realized my mistake the day I helped them move, the same day that I had to explain to Emma that I wouldn’t be just down the street anymore. The pain in her eyes and her quivering lip were all I needed to tell me that I had made the worst decision of my life. But she was brave. She waved from the moving van and blew me a kiss and even handed me a goodbye present- a picture she drew of me and her. Sure, it was only stick figures, but it was all I had of her anymore.

I haven’t gone into her room since she left. I can’t face it.

I turned to the one thing I could do. Work. Every hour of every day for the last month I’ve worked. Unless I told Emma I would be home to call her or receive a call from her. That’s her new joy, when Maggie lets her use the phone all by herself to call me.

And I missed her call.

I was at the library preparing for a lecture at Harvard I’m giving next week on Criminalistics as a career. My lecture’s going to focus on the beginnings of forensic science and why it’s become important. I was doing research on fingerprinting powder when I found that I was going to be late for Emma’s call. I left the books where they were, threw my things into the back of my car, in the process scaring several librarians at the pace I rushed out of there, and sped to my apartment, only to hear the beep of the machine as it hung up on my baby girl. I sank to my knees in front of the offending machine, tempted to throw it across the room.

Half a bottle of scotch and a third of a bottle of Maalox later, I’m sitting here. Pathetic, and wholly unfit to be a parent.

Without a reputation I’ll never get another CSI job- I’ll have to work my way up from the bottom, or worse yet, I may not even be able to find a job as a CSI. That’s all I can do now. It’s all I know now. My career is moving forward, and I love where it’s moving, but it’s brought my personal life to a stop. Without a letter of recommendation from my supervisor I’ll never find a reputable job, one where I’m as captivated and happy as where I am now. And as much as I’d love to just go out there, I know that the loss of my job as a CSI would be just as devastating to me as this loss- it might manifest in a different way- but I’d never be the same person.

Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

Can’t be happy either way.

I get up and stumble back to the kitchen, rinse out my mouth, then search my cabinets for something to put in my rumbling stomach. I come up with a granola bar and begin to pick at it, afraid to make a return trip to the bathroom.

Shuffling out of the kitchen, I grab the bottle of scotch in my free hand and take a long swig. I stand in front of her door and just stare. I shove the rest of the granola bar in my mouth and tentatively reach out a hand. The knob turns easily, and the door creeks open.

I’m afraid to go in, I’m afraid to desecrate the shrine I’ve created. She deserves so much more than my misguided mistakes. She deserves everything I know I’ll never be able to give her.

I take a cautious step in and run my eyes over the simple beauty of her room- of her essence. I take a swig of the Scotch and reach out my hand to snatch her rabbit. It no longer smells like her, and it’s not as comforting held against me as she is. She calms me, she centers me, she is a reason for being when I think there’s nothing left.

I fucked that up.

I drop to my knees in front of the alter that her bed makes, and bury my face in her rabbit. The scotch slips from my hand and tips over on the carpet, spilling out and staining her light rug. How appropriately metaphorical, me leaving a stain on the thing I worship most. Maybe I’m destined to always screw up.

The tears come again, but this time quiet and streaming.

I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise.

I’m sorry I couldn’t keep any of them.

Chapter 5: Stripped Down

“No, Dr. Grissom, we’re actually actively looking for new members- especially for our night shift team,” Sheriff Brian Mobley explained. “Some labs would be happy to have their status as the number fourteen lab in the country, but we’re looking to move up.”

As he continued to ramble on about how big Las Vegas is and the need for a highly effective criminalistics department, I tried to keep the blatant surprise and disgust off of my face. For three months now I’ve been talking to my supervisor in LA, asking if he knew of any place in Nevada in need of CSIs, if he could make some calls, and he’s been flat out lying to me.

In fact, when he called me and told me the LVMPD needed a hand with Entomology on one of their cases, he explicitly said that he’d spoken with the sheriff and that there were no jobs available, even for a CSI level 3, and that it probably wasn’t a good idea to mention I was the one looking for the job, the sheriff had sounded aggravated. That sorry son-of-a-bitch was lying to me.

It was, in fact, Sheriff Mobley who had come to me, asking if we could talk in his office for a few minutes seeing as I had some time on my hands. He’s spent the last hour trying to woo me away from LA. He falls silent and I see that he’s expecting me to say something. “I’m sorry, I was lost in thought there for a second. You’ve given me quite a lot to think about. Can you repeat what you just said?”

He gives me a small smile. “I just asked if our lab had caught your interest; if you might consider my offer.” No thought is necessary, I’ve been pondering something like this for the last three months.

I stand and offer my hand to the Sheriff, “Sheriff Mobley, I would love to be a part of your night shift.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

We spent almost two hours working out the finer details of my move before I had to excuse myself to look in on my bugs. Even as I was returning to my only passion of late I found that my mind was on the letter of resignation that I was going to write. Good thing I’ll be writing it when I get home, the amount of obscenity I want to put into it now would probably even turn a sailor’s face red.

Trying to let my blood pressure drop, I settle into the familiarity of insects. Each specimen comes out and is noted for its stage of maturity. Over and over again, I do this with every bug I took from the corpse.

I’m just about done when Detective Jim Brass sticks his head in the door of the layout room they’ve let me use. The round man speaks in gruff tones, one liners coming out fast and furious, but he seems like a man I could relate to. Why, I’m not sure, but I feel as though he’s not quite as jaded as many of the detectives I work with back in LA. “Dr. Grissom?” he asks before completely entering. I nod my head and he enters. “I was wondering if you’d want to come with me, do some footwork, see what we can find out?”

“Sure. Just give me a second to finish up.” I point to the jars of beatles, and he cringes in response, taking a reflexive step back. I think he forgot they were in here. The human response to insects has always fascinated me. I smile just a little.

“I’ll uh-“ The unease is obvious in his voice, and I struggle not to laugh, “I’ll meet you in the break room.” As he rushes out the door I allow a laugh to escape, and turn back to recording data on the last insect.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dream Dolls was a run down dive from the look of the outside. Cars lined it’s parking lot, though, and as we walked in the front it was obvious that more than a few gentlemen enjoyed the show. Detective Brass bullied our way in, threatening the owner with various code violations to be allowed in to talk to the dancer. We were finally escorted in and allowed to stand in the back by the bar while we waited for her to get a brake.

Dark except for a few colored strobe lights on the stage and blue lights illuminating the bar, the club looked little better inside. Music blared through huge speakers in the corners, pounding in my chest. The main attraction, of course, was not the atmosphere, but the half-naked women on the stage in the center of the room that also boasted poles at either end. Detective Brass turned to me and shouted over the din as I continued my scan of the room.

“Our dancer up there,” he pointed to the stage where a petite red head was making her way down one of the poles, “was the first on the scene. She and her newly wed husband live in the apartment complex, she was taking the trash out and found the body in the ally.”

I was aware of this, of course. I had read the reports and knew that the twenty year old stripper by the name of Catherine Willows had found the dismembered body in the dumpster behind her apartment, and claimed to have no knowledge about it. Although interviews are usually helpful, I wasn’t too keen on making this one. The few times I’ve had to deal with the “dance” industry in LA I’ve had to speak with people who seem to barely have a second grade education, and getting information has been like pulling teeth. Overall a very aggravating experience.

“You think she knows something?” I yell to Det. Brass. He looks at me with a blank stare.

“About the murder? No. But she seems to know a lot about what goes on at the apartment complex, so maybe she’d notice anything suspicious.” He shrugged and leaned against the wall.

After a few more minutes of mind-numbing and gratuitous displays of flexibility and sexuality, Catherine Willows slinked off stage and over to the bar. The men gave cat calls as the DJ announced her exit, “Let’s hear it for our very own Pussy Cat!” before announcing the next act. The bartender handed her a towel and bottle of water, which she promptly gulped down, oblivious to the hungry looks the customers were giving her, seeing her off stage.

She was relatively healthy looking, and muscular for her size. Her red hair hung in waves at her shoulders, and a headband with two triangular cat ears kept her hair out of her eyes. Her light skin contrasted the black sequined push-up bra and thong she wore. As she moved the cat tail attached to her thong swung back and forth. The bar tender pointed toward us and she nodded, whispering something to him before she began to move. The incredibly high heels she wore caused the muscles in her legs to ripple as she moved toward us.

She stopped about three feet away, posed and crooked a finger at us, signaling to follow her. I tipped my head at her, knowing yelling would be useless. She just smiled and turned. I swear she swayed her hips a little more than necessary as she walked in front of us, taking us behind the stage to the hallway that held the girls’ dressing rooms.

I felt the unfamiliar stirring of attraction deep in my stomach. She was good looking, and manipulative. But she was married, and I was a good ten years her senior. Two very good reasons not to lust after this young stripper. Third was she was part of the investigation. I pushed those feelings away, willing myself to ignore them as Det. Brass began to talk with her. From the first worlds out of her mouth I knew she was going to be a very different experience from my usual interactions with strippers.

“How can I help you, Detective?” She grabbed the towel she was carrying and slung it around her neck, holding on at both ends.

“Mrs. Willows, we need to know a few things about how you found the body.” Det. Brass said, detached. I could see her eyeing me, looking me up and down. Flattering, but slightly uncomfortable, I decided this was the time to open my mouth.

“Like how you even knew to look for it.”I eyed her back, but this time with the glare I reserved for suspects, not perspective love interests. “Your statement said that you had to dig through garbage to get to it; specifically two large bags of garbage and a cardboard box that was flat and covered the body.”

“There was blood.” She looked at me like I should know what she meant. She wasn’t getting off that easy.

“By my estimation the body had been there at least 5 days, if not more. There wasn’t any visible blood at the scene.” Even the Vegas CSIs had apparently had trouble finding out what was blood spatter and what was dried ketchup. There was no way a twenty year old stripper knew to look for blood.

“Dried blood stains on the inside of the dumpster. Like I told the detective, I knew that Mrs. Anderson’s cat in 4B had been missing, I saw the blood, wondered if the cat had somehow gotten in there and went digging.”

Det. Brass spoke up this time, “Mrs. Willows, even our CSIs had trouble telling the blood from the ketchup.”

“If there’s anything I know, it’s blood. I’m going to school to become a hematologist.” Our stares must have looked slightly surprised. Ok, maybe more that slightly surprised. She got a flabbergasted look on her face before continuing, “You don’t think I want to do this for the rest of my life, do you?” She threw her hands in the air. Then she stopped and calmed herself down with a few deep breaths. “Sorry, it’s just that sometimes, this gets to me, you know? Everyone makes assumptions about what kind of a person you are just because you dance, and here I am trying to work my way through school with Eddie out of work and....” She looked up and stopped, a smile on her features. “Sorry. Anything else you want to know?”

I was now officially mentally, but not sexually, intrigued by this young woman who was paving her way as a stripper. I smiled at her and spoke, “Well, Mrs. Willows, as a hematologist, did you notice anything about the blood that might help us?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The young Mrs. Willows could offer us no more observations about the blood, but did give us some solid information about the residents of her apartment complex, and gave us the name of three young women from the building that she hasn’t seen in a while that she used to see on a regular basis. Probably not a lead, but more than we had before.

Before we left I asked her what she intended to do with her degrees when she graduated. She said she wasn’t sure, but lately it looked like she might not be able to graduate on time as her husband had lost his job and money was tight. I pulled out one of my cards and gave it to her, saying that I was transferring to the LVMPD in about two weeks, and would be working the night shift. I told her to give me a call after she graduated, and I’d see what could do about getting her a job.

Thinking about it as I drove to Maggie’s, it probably wasn’t the best decision. Who knows if I’ll have any pull at all when I get here, never mind enough to get an ex-stripper a job. Technically she was still a suspect in the investigation, and her back ground was a it shaky, but she had a sharp mind, and she was determined.

The thoughts faded quickly though, and the half hour ride out of Vegas to Maggie’s few by. Though not convenient, I had asked Maggie if I could stay with them during my time here in Nevada. I have been without the most precious part of my existence for far too long, and I knew that every second I was in Vegas would be torture if I couldn’t go back at the end of the shift and see her.

Even though I’ve been working various and sundry hours with the CSI crew at the LVMPD, Emma has attached herself to me when I’m in the house. For the most part I’ve been pulling the night shift hours and spilling over into the day shift; it’s allowed me to get to know the crew I’ll soon be working with- and they’re a great group of people. The day shift supervisor, Conrad Ecklie, I’m not so sure of, though. Seems he’s a little too interested in his career instead of the cases.

But when I’m home Emma’s become inseparable from me, something I’m quite fond of for now. She’s shown me her new pool, and how she blows up her own swimmies to go swimming. She’s shown me her new room, and how she plays memory, and the ant colony she found in the back yard. That sparked a three hour lesson on bugs. She was captivated, and I was in heaven. We hunted through the yard, and I taught her all I could about the bugs we found. She’s designated the ants as her favorites, though she can’t really explain why. I mentally noted to talk to Maggie about getting her an ant farm, though it won’t be easy to convince her.

Tonight is the first night that I’ve come home later than noon. I pulled almost twenty hours today cataloging the insects and tracing time of death back to six days.

I pull up in front of the ranch style house and stumble over the lawn to the front door. More than anything I just want to sleep until my pager goes off; when Detective Brass notifies me that they’ve got our suspect in custody and all I have to do is sign my name on the x and enjoy my last three days in Vegas with my daughter.

I pull the key Maggie gave me from my pocket and make my way into the dark and quiet house. I drop my briefcase and suit jacket and make my way to the guest room that Emma had ranted to me about. The few hours of sleep I’ve gotten in the last few days have been restful in the scarcely decorated room. The knowledge that Emma is only a few feet down the hall instead of a thousand miles away soothes my restless nerves and lets me finally not only sleep, but truly rest.

I grab my pajama pants and t-shirt from the chair by the door without even turning on the lights and quickly change and ready for bed in the bathroom. Going down the hall a bit further I sneak into Emma’s room, intending to kiss her goodnight and just check on her as I’ve always been accustomed to. My breath catches in my chest when I see the moon-lit bed is empty.

I panic for a moment.

Then I hear her voice, and my racing pulse begins to slow.

“Daddy?”

I turn around to find her standing in the doorway to my room, rubbing her eyes. “Where were you sweetheart?”

I walk to her and swing her up into my arms, kissing her cheek as she lays her sleepy head on my shoulder. “Mommy said I could wait for you in the guest room when you didn’t come home after dinner.” She yawns and buries her head in my neck. My hand goes to her head, holding her close to me and smoothing down her wild hair. “Daddy?”

“Yes dear?” I’m so comfortable like this, right now. I feel the balance she brings to me, something I never knew I needed until it was missing.

“Can I sleep in your bed tonight? I missed you.”

A smile spread across my face as I bean walking into my room. “Of course.”

“But don’t tell Mommy,” she whispers conspiratorially, “She says I have to be a big girl and sleep by myself.”

“It’ll be our little secret.” I kiss her again and sit down in the bed with her still in my arms. Her eyes are drooping and she’s almost back to sleep. I put her down then lie next to her, watching her drift off.

Before I follow behind her, she works her way over to me in her sleep, snuggling against me and latching on for dear life. Gingerly I wrap her in my arms. Contented, sleep is not far off.

It’s no longer only a short visit. In a few weeks I’ll be back here for good. I can feel the relief washing over me in waves, the tension sliding away finally replaced by hope that I’m not the horrible father I see myself as in the depths of my mind.

Emma still loves me, and whatever damage has been done can be fixed. I’m sure of that now.

I can’t wait to tell her in the morning, to see her face, when I say that I’m moving to Las Vegas and I’ll be just a car ride away instead of a plane ride.

A new town, a new job, and a new beginning for me.

For the first time in months my dreams are sweet, and I don’t dread waking up in the morning.

___

AN- lots of spoilers in this chapter for just about everything from seasons 1-3.

Chapter 6: Can You Keep a Secret?

“Again!”

Emma’s outburst roused me from the light sleep I was in, her jumping on the couch shaking me back to mental awareness. “What sweetheart?”

She tipped her head to the side and got a cute, frustrated look on her face. “You fell asleep Daddy!” Emma points a finger at me then pokes me in my chest. I try and paint a hurt look on my face tinted with mock horror.

“I fell asleep! No!” She laughs at me, and then turns to lie across my chest and look up into my face. “You want to watch it again, Emma?”

“Yup!” She pronounces proudly. “But YOU have to stay awake this time Daddy!”

“Ok, ok!” I lift her off of me and walk over to the brand new videocassette recorder, bought specifically for this purpose, and hit the rewind button. Maggie had warned me that she watched this video practically three times a day. I didn’t think it was possible. I walk to the kitchen to make us a quick lunch of sandwiches while the video rewinds. She sits on the couch and picks up the video’s box, humming to herself.

I had fully intended to watch the movie with her, but last night Brass had called with a break in the case we were working. Even though it was my night off I was compelled to go in and work. We’d closed the case, but now I was exhausted. Emma’s presence had calmed me as per usual, and I had fallen asleep on the couch, not even making it through the opening credits.

“Daddy, the tape’s wound!” She shouts from the living room. I pick up the dish of sandwiches, tuck two glasses under my arm, and grab the carton of milk with the other hand. Making my way back, I hit the play button with my elbow before settling next to Emma on the couch.

She picks up a sandwich and starts munching as I watch her. The apartment is small, cramped, and even less pleasing to me than my last one. The only difference is that this one is in Nevada, a mere fifteen minutes from Emma’s home. Her room here is no where near as spectacular as her old one. The only thing that remains from that room are the Winnie the Pooh prints and her framed lithograph. She doesn’t seem to mind, though.

“Daddy!” She pats my arm. She’s caught me looking at her again. “You said you’d watch the movie!” Frustration shows on her young face, and I have to hold back my laughter. She really has no idea how precious she is to me.

“Sorry Emma. I’ll pay attention.” I lift my sandwich up to my mouth and look at the bright cartoon on my television. The words “An American Tail” flit across the screen. Emma hums with the songs and mouths the words under her breath. I watch her more than I watch the movie. My soul has become contented again. The Las Vegas Crime Lab is a challenge, and Emma is a daily visitor to my humble apartment. I feel whole again.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Grissom, you got a minute?” I’m tempted to correct Brass’ grammar as he pokes his head into the break room, but think better of it and just nod my head. He motions for me to follow him, so I put my crossword puzzle down and follow him to his office. He’d been promoted to the supervisor of the night shift only a few weeks before my arrival, and my previous experience with him helped my transition into the team go a little smoother. The rest of my colleagues seemed to respect him as much as I’ve come to.

I take a seat in his office in front of his desk, while he sits behind it. He’s become a good friend here, letting me in about the secrets of “Sin City” while I’m still getting acquainted with it. He seems to squirm behind the desk, so I smile a little and talk first. “What’s going on?”

“Uh... Grissom, the Sheriff wanted me to make you aware of a case we had a while back.” He was wringing his hands and wouldn’t look me in the eye. I knew something was up.

“Ok.” I sit back into the chair and prompt him to continue.

“One of our CSIs, his name was Miller, he was sloppy at a crime scene.” Brass seemed to get more and more uncomfortable with each word.

It’s not unheard of for things to go wrong at a crime scene, or for even a CSI to lose his head for a second and contaminate evidence. In fact, I’ve done it myself more than once. Sloppiness can also come with age; my supervisor in California started assigning young recruits with him so he could blame his mistakes on them. That ended quickly, along with his job. The name seemed familiar to me, though, and seeing Brass squirm in his chair I knew that this couldn’t be just a simple story of caution. “Wasn’t I hired to replace Miller?”

“Yeah, yeah you were.” He cleared his throat. “He, uh, he slipped up at a crime scene. While he was working he started to get personal. He wasn’t being unprofessional. He was just processing the scene, but his mouth was running, ya know? And it wasn’t even something he should have been hiding, or afraid to talk about...” I saw a sadness cross over his eyes for a second before he continued with the story. “Anyway, the case was about a serial killer- killed kids, teens, found out when we caught him it was because he had been tormented in school when he was young. But Miller didn’t know any of that when he was processing the scene. In the crowd surrounding the scene our killer had come back, and he listened to Miller tell Hawkins about his ten year old daughter’s gymnastic’s competition.”

My breath caught in my throat, there was only one obvious conclusion to this story, and I didn’t want to think that it was possible. I waited for Brass to take a deep breath and finish, but my breaths were coming harder and faster.

“Miller resigned, moved out of state. Jessica’s remains were so mutilated that they decided to have her cremated.” His words were barely above a whisper. He swatted tears from his eyes. “Uh, since then the whole lab’s been very detached about their job and home life. They’ve become strictly separated here. It’s just kind of understood that it’s better this way.”

For the first time since I’ve walked into his office, he looks me in the eyes. “Grissom, between you, me, and the wall, Mobley’s looking to shape up this office. Our CSIs and lab techs are either ready for retirement or just not getting the job done anymore. You’re the beginning of a lot of changes here, and when new people come in, you’re the one they’re going to look to for guidance about how to behave, how to do their jobs. How to act in the office...” he paused, “And on the scene.”

He wasn’t looking at me again, and I knew he had more to say, but all I wanted to do was run home to Emma, pick her up, hold her in my arms, and never let anyone else near her. I was getting antsy in my chair, but forced myself to stay for whatever else he had to say.

“I know you have a daughter, Grissom, and I know that she’s not living with you, but I can tell you from experience that I know that doesn’t mean you don’t love her any less. The Sheriff seems to think that it would be best for all concerned if...”

“If I do what, Jim?” My heart is pounding in my chest.

“If you keep her existence quiet. Totally disassociate your home self and your work self. He wants you to be a shining example to the incoming CSIs.” He leans forward. My heart is still pounding, I don’t know what to think of this yet. “I, personally, think that this is going way beyond what is necessary. But maybe it’s not such a bad idea either, though. What happened... it was horrible, and devastating, and an isolated incident. But none of us would ever forgive ourselves if it happened again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

I pulled up outside of Maggie’s house and rushed out of the car. She should be up, they both should be up. I can’t stop the panic rising from in my chest, it’s making my heart race and my breath catch. I ran to the door and tried to use my key, but my hands were shaking. The door swung open, making me jump back.

“Gil? What’s wrong?” Maggie’s standing in the doorway, her eyes filled with concern as she steps out on the porch and puts her cool hands around my trembling ones.

“Where’s Emma?” The fear in my eyes must be palpable, she can sense that something is very wrong. She quietly leads me inside the house to Emma’s room, where I can see from the doorway that she’s sleeping. It takes fighting every fiber of my being to not run and scoop her into my arms.

“She’s coming down with a cold. I decided it would be better to let her sleep.” Maggie grabs my hand and leads me back out to the living room. “I would have dropped her off with you just like I always do, you know that, right?” She sits down next to me on her couch, my hands still enfolded in hers. “Gil, what’s wrong?”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Daddy! I wanna watch Fifuh!”

Emma’s congested voice floats to my ears. I stand from my desk, flipping over the text to hold my page, before heading to sit on the couch where she’s made herself comfortable for the day. I tuck the blanket up around her, covering her Lady Lovely Locks pajamas, and push an errant strand from her eyes, surreptitiously feeling her head for any lingering fever.

“You want to watch Fivel? You’ve already watched it today!”

“But I want to see it again!” I don’t. I make a mental note to buy her another video. Or maybe ten. Anything has to be better than Fivel. It’s a good movie, but not that good. Watching it three times a day can’t be good for her, especially when she’s sick and has nothing better to do.

Her discarded coloring book sits on the coffee table, and I deftly avoid crushing a cerulean blue crayon into the rug with some fancy footwork. I sit next to her and pick up her juice cup and hold it in my lap, seeing that it will need refilling after we settle this. “Why don’t we watch Sesame Street? It should be on soon.”

“Can I still watch Fifuh later?” I pick up a tissue and hold it to her nose so she can blow out some of the congestion. She does, I softly wipe the reddened skin, then crumple it in my hand to throw out in the kitchen. I really have to teach her that the movie’s title is not “Fivel.”

“Maybe.” I stand, and I see her pout beginning to form. She’s only recently discovered that “maybe” quite often means “no.” Looks like I’ll be getting into more battles of wills from now on. Her pout takes a quick turn and she smiles up at me. “Will you watch Sessame Stweet with me?”

“Of course.” I stand and place a quick peck on her head, another covert attempt to gage her temperature. I never really understood how my mother could so easily tell if I had a temperature until now. It’s just something you know. Instead of feeling cool and wonderful, her skin burns my touch. It’s like a siren screaming that something is wrong with her. “I’ll be right back.”

I flip on the television on my way into the kitchen and look at the clock. Not quite late enough for another dose of the children’s Tylenol yet, so I settle for soaking a paper towel with cool water to put on her forehead. I rinse out her cup and head to the fridge to pull out the juice, but I stop for a second, staring at her picture that smiles back at me.

It’s the picture I used to keep in my locker.

I pull out the orange juice and pour some out. Maggie had listened to me tell the story Brass had told me when I had rushed to her house after the meeting two days ago. She’d listened, and comforted me with her shared concern for Emma’s safety. Though I guess in the back of my mind I’d always known that something like that was a remote possibility, the very fact that it had happened in this city, to one of Brass’ colleagues, made it a very real threat to our daughter.

Maggie had agreed with me that discretion was the best answer, even if it seemed overprotective. No calls during work hours, even about Emma, unless it was an emergency. I took all of my pictures of her from work, and survived with only one hidden in the back of my wallet in lieu of the veritable photo album I usually carried. The car seat would stay at home and not in my car from now on, unless Emma was in it, of course. She was more open to the separation of my home and work selves than I thought she would be. For now, it was working out.

At home, I am who I always have been. At work, I’ve become a bit more closed off, more skeptical, and more analytical. So far, this hasn’t been a bad thing. They’ve already started moving the shifts around, our new fingerprint tech, Jacqui, is competent and pleasant. Besides, she makes the best jokes about Ecklie.

My rumination is cut short by Emma’s cough, followed by her demand that I hurry because Big Bird is already looking for Sesame Street. The familiar music is wafting through the apartment now, and I wash my hands and put the juice away.

I join her on the couch, and she climbs into my lap before I can even put the juice down. I slowly slip the cool cloth around the back of her neck. She shivers a little under my fingers, so I pull the blanket on the couch over the both of us.

I pull her close to me as Big Bird tells Oscar the Grouch that his favorite color is blue. He then turns to the camera and asks what “our” favorite color is. Emma says purple, I say green, and we both smile as Big Bird says that those are very pretty colors.

She watches quietly for a while. Then, while The Count is singing about bats, she squeaks out, “Daddy, I still want to watch Fifuh.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Gil, how are things going, if you know what I mean?” Brass falls in step with me in the hallway. I look up at him from my file. I know exactly what he means. And he knows just how much his story affected my behavior.

“Good.” I don’t know if he’s trying to trap me, or trying to be my friend. I haven’t found a balance in that department yet, especially with him. He looks at me like I’m not telling him something, so I stop and turn to him.

“Jim, can you keep a secret?” I huff out. He looks interested and moves closer, nodding that he can. I tip my head at him.

“Yeah,” he reaffirms and looks at me expectantly.

“Good. So can I.” I smile at him before I walk away. I hear his laughter echo down the hallway. Seems as though I do have a friend here after all.

Chapter 7: Fears

I can hear Emma’s crying from the driveway and my heart skips a beat. I rush up to the house and throw my key in the lock, bursting in. Emma’s curled up in the lounge chair, her face red and tears flowing down her face like rivers. Maggie’s standing in the doorway, her arms crossed and her eyes furious. This scene is unfamiliar to me, but I only have a few seconds to analyze it before Emma sees me and charges for my legs.

Maggie had called me while I was on my way here to pick Emma up for the weekend, which includes a visit to the dentist. Emma’s sobs flew through the phone to my ears and I could only think the worst, precluding me from hearing any of what Maggie was trying to say as I put the pedal to the floor and flew here. I’m still confused as Emma attaches herself to my legs and begins pleading with me, her words caught up in her crying and indecipherable.

Maggie walks over and starts to talk over Emma, the din they’re making is quickly becoming unbearable. I hold up a hand to Maggie and crouch down to Emma, pulling my handkerchief from my pocket and wiping her eyes and nose gently.

“What’s wrong Emma?” Her crying has been reduced to a pathetic whimper, and the fiery red splotches seem to be retreating from her skin. I run a hand through her hair, pulling it away from her face, and let my hand rest on her shoulder.

“I don’t wanna go to the Dentist!” With each word I can feel her frustration building again, and before I can even say anything I hear Maggie behind me.

“Emma, you cannot argue your way out of this one- you have to go!”

Emma’s tears well up again and I throw my hand up behind me again, dismissing Maggie and keeping my eyes glued to Emma. She looks up at her mother, then pushes into my arms, surprising me and throwing me slightly off balance with the force she has in her small body. She’s pleading with me again, her words lost in her crying.

I lift Emma into my arms and turn to Maggie. I can’t fathom what she could have said to work Emma up into such a tantrum. Truth be told, I’ve never even seen Emma half as worked up as this, never mind throw a tantrum. This knowledge only makes me more upset, sure that Maggie is the cause of our daughter’s temper. I must look as upset as I feel, because all I have to do is look at Maggie and she shrinks away a bit, but right away she regroups and stands up to me.

I rub a calming hand on Emma’s back, knowing that this could get even uglier than it already is very quickly. “What’s going on Maggie?” I try to ask her as calmly as possible.

“She threw a fit! I told her we were going to the dentist today and she threw a fit. She has to go to the dentist!” Maggie crosses her arms over her chest and waits for me to try to argue that point. I can’t. Emma does have to go to the dentist. But something’s wrong- Emma wouldn’t throw a tantrum about just going to the dentist.

I turn to Emma and softly but firmly ask her why she doesn’t want to go to the dentist. She sniffles a bit. “Because I’m scared it’ll hurt.”

I look at Maggie. She shoots me a look that says I’m wasting my time. I roll my eyes at her before turning back to Emma. “What makes you think it will hurt?” She buries her head into my shoulder and mutters once again that she doesn’t want to go. I lift her chin and look at her pointedly. “Emma? Why do you think it will hurt?”

She looks down and wrings her hands. “Katie, at kindergarten, she went to the dentist. Katie D., not Katie B. And she said that her doctor told her he was just gonna look at her teeth, but then he gave her a shot in her mouth and put a drill in her mouth and she said it hurt and she cried and her mommy wouldn’t make him stop.” Through her rambled story her face returned to it’s flaming red and tears welled in her eyes again.

I looked at Emma, then turned a glare to Maggie. She just threw up her hands and left the room, “She’s all yours Gil, since you seem to know ALL of the answers!” A few seconds later I heard the slamming of the door and her car engine roaring to life.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Emma Grissom?” The young brunette called through the door she was holding open. Emma looked up at me expectantly and I nodded to her, standing and offering her my hand. I smiled at the young woman, and she ushered us into the office and showed Emma to a large blue dentist’s chair and sat me on a stool at it’s foot. I smiled at Emma as the young woman draped a napkin across Emma’s clothes.

As the doctor walked in I saw Emma tense up. I stood to shake his hand as he introduced himself to me, and told him that we were “a little nervous.” He sat down in his chair and faced Emma.

“Hello Emma, I’m Dr. Scott Brians. You’re a little nervous?” Emma nodded her head. “Well, why don’t we just show you everything we’re going to use today?” He pulled over his rolling tray and Emma sat up higher in her chair. “See these? This is all I’m gonna use. If it’s not on here, it won’t go in your mouth. Oh, and this,” He reached to the side of the cart and pulled up the mechanical toothbrush. “It makes a loud noise, but it doesn’t hurt.” He smiled at her, and then she smiled back.

A smile even pulls at my lips. After Maggie left we had a nice long talk. We talked about being afraid and facing fears. We also talked about what it’s like to go to the dentist and why everyone needs to go. Her tears and sniffles subsided as she promised me that if she was ever afraid or nervous about anything again she’d talk to me instead of getting upset. Emma, at just under five years old, as already facing her fears.

~~~~~~~~~~

I rub my hands over my eyes again, and push back to rest in my chair. I’m not getting anything done. Something about the way Maggie’s been acting doesn’t make any sense. Maggie and Emma had grown so close for a while, but now they’re in constant battles of wills. Emma seems to call me every day that I’m not with her. Though I don’t mind it, and even welcome hearing her voice, I know that she turns to me because she’s having trouble with her mother. Sometimes it’s simply telling Emma that she shouldn’t have cookies before bed, or can be as complicated as explaining death when she forgot to feed her ants and they died. My mind can’t concentrate on the files in front of me, it only flashes back through the last year. Emma and Maggie arguing over the dentist, Emma calling more and more to stay with me, Maggie asking to leave her with me for long weekends.

There’s something I’m not being told, and I don’t like it. This has happened only a few times before like when Maggie was pregnant and when she told me they were moving to Nevada, but that knowledge causes fear in me.

“Hey Boss,” Catherine pokes her head in my office and interrupts my train of thought. The stripper come wiz lab tech has been bugging me for weeks to take her out into the field.

“Yes?” I turn towards her.

“I was wondering- hey, you don’t look so good.” She walks all the way into my office. She’s one of the few people around here who seems to be on a comfort level with my somewhat closed-off personality. She’s often not only just barged in here to demand to be taken out into the field, but has even made it a point to try to get to know me, and to tell me about herself. I think she’s growing tired of my cryptic answers, but there’s no reason she should know more about me than is necessary. I’ve amazingly been able to keep Emma a secret from her curious questions.

“Uh...” I stall for time, “Migraine.” She should believe that. I do get them, and this train of thought will produce one sooner or later.

“Oh, ok.” She lowers her voice “I was just wondering if you’d come look at something for me. Something’s not adding up.” She’s slowly backing up, ready to let herself out.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes Catherine.” She slowly slinks out of my office and I wonder, not for the first time, if she realizes how transparent she is about her marital problems, especially the ones she hasn’t yet talked about. I don’t know what they specifically are, but she acts like she’s constantly walking on eggshells now. She hardly resembles the strong woman she once was.

I sadly realize that I see the same fear I feel in my heart in her eyes.

Closing the folder in front of me I get up and head down the hall to the lab. Next week is Emma’s seventh birthday party. If I don’t find out what it is then, I’m just going to have to talk to Maggie.

~~~~~~~~~~

 The smile on my mother’s face when Emma signed “hello grandmother” was priceless.

Since moving out to Vegas four years ago, this was the first time Emma’s seen her grandmother and been old enough to know it. I’ve been preparing Emma for months now, telling her how my mother was special and that we’d have to use a special language to speak with her. Emma soaked up the ASL that I was able to teach her, even if it was a bit sloppy.

Sitting at a picnic table in Maggie’s back yard, I allow the two most important women in my life to converse in their special way while I survey the scene. Maggie did a beautiful job setting up the streamers and birthday decorations. The large yard, with it’s almost green grass and small inflatable pool, is happy and inviting. Emma’s friends from school and their parents fill the yard with conversation and laughter.

When we came in Emma ran over to us, hair in ringlets and clad in a baby blue dress, she was the picture of beauty. After a hug she ran to her friends to tell them she would be back, then planted herself in my lap at the picnic table and began to show my mother all the signs she knew.

The sheer beauty of the scene pulled at my heart, and it killed me inside to realize that I was not here with them all day setting up as a father should be, but rather arrived more like a party guest.

Though I wasn’t paying attention to their conversation, every once in a while Emma would tap my shoulder and ask me to show her a sign, then would turn back to my mother. I had hoped to search out Maggie, but she’s been keeping busy entertaining and brushed off my offer for help earlier.

Emma tapped my shoulder again and whispered in my ear, “How do I say ‘ant farm’?” I smiled down at her, and moved my hands out in front of her. I watch the conversation for a few minutes and realize that Emma’s bragging about my birthday gift to her. Maggie finally broke down and allowed me to get her the ant farm she’s wanted for years. A smile spreads across my face as I push the sadness that had covered my heart away. Even if it’s only for a few minutes, I am in complete bliss.

~~~~~~~~~~

I’m faintly aware of a car door closing as I wrap the pink towel around Emma as she emerges from the pool. I swing her up into my arms and carry her to the table at the front of the yard where Maggie’s placed the cake I made and all of Emma’s presents. The dozen other wet kids run behind me, their parents trying to get them to take towels or at least put their shoes on, as I settle Emma behind the table, my mother in a place of honor beside her.

As the rousing chorus of shouting six and seven year olds sing “Happy Birthday,” I see Maggie out of the corner of my eye. She’s greeting a young, good looking man at the gate to the backyard with a semi-passionate kiss. I can feel my stomach drop like I’m on a roller coaster, but I turn my attention back to Emma. She blows the candles out and Maggie’s sister takes the cake from in front of her to cut it into pieces for the demanding children.

Emma begins ripping into her presents, gushing over a Barbie doll, as my mother pats my hand to get my attention. She signs “who is that?” as her eyes direct me to Maggie and the man she has her arms around. Before I can reply that I don’t know, Emma turns and quickly signs “Mother boyfriend.”

My mother’s jaw drops, as does mine. After opening another present, Emma turns to us and quickly but deliberately signs D-O-N before she goes back to open another present.

Chapter 8: The Green Eyed Monster and the Brown Eyed Girl

Her name was Sara Sidle, and for a minute she made me forget my shortcomings.

From the minute the words came out of her mouth, I knew she would be different from the other students that I'd met: I knew she would one day be a damn good CSI. I met her at the Harvard lecture I gave last week.

The introduction of this amazing young woman into my life turned out to be a breaking point for me. Since Emma's revelation about Maggie, I’d thrown myself into my work with even more vengeance than before, making sure I was available only to my daughter. Maggie introduced me to Don, the successful Wall Street banker out here to start his own investment firm, and had tried to explain why she’d kept him a secret from me for almost a year, but I was too upset to want to hear any of it.

Don’s existence meant that I had been, or eventually would be, replaced.

Though Emma’s calls to me were still as frequent as they had been before, they now also included stories of the things she did with “Mom and Don.” It crushed my heart every time he would do something that made her happy, something I felt I should be doing.

In the end, I had come to realize that Maggie had been right in hiding her relationship from both Emma and me. She hadn’t wanted Emma to get attached to someone who wouldn’t be in her life very long. I can only guess that she had anticipated what my reaction would be. That doesn’t mean to say that it hurt any less.

Emma is blissfully unaware that every time Don buys her a stuffed animal “because he was thinking of her,” that he’s really trying to lure her affections away from me. Maggie has even begun to ask him to pick her up from school and have him accompany her to her ballet classes when she can’t get away from work, tasks, though menial, that used to be mine. My sadness was only assuaged when Emma demanded that I be the only one allowed to take her to the dentist.

While the whole situation has only succeeded in making me retreat deeper into myself, I have a small flicker of hope that Emma is on my side in all of this. She has not once canceled a day with me, though Maggie and Don have repeatedly tried to bribe her with trips and movies. Emma even traded a brand new Barbie Don gave her to a boy at school for a can of worms. Now that’s my girl.

But even for all of Emma’s efforts, it’s painfully obvious that they’re trying to keep her from me. This means that Maggie’s breaking the only promise that ever meant anything in my life.

My work soon became my reason for everything, it was all I had left that made me feel useful, it was all that was left besides her that could illicit any kind of spark of humanity in me. I saw myself becoming even more withdrawn and quiet than I had been in years, retreating to my old high school tricks of becoming a ghost to avoid social interaction.

It is so much easier to just shut down than to have to deal. Shut people out, deal with them only on the surface, and make your life as uncomplicated and basic as you need it to be. My life consisted of Emma and my work.

I feared more than anything that it would soon no longer include Emma.

I still wasn't happy, and it wasn't a life, but it was an existence.

There weren’t many constants in that area of my life anymore, either. New staff and interns were streaming into the LVMPD at a rate I could hardly fathom. Catherine had finally become a CSI level one, and my team was quickly getting replaced, as well as a new, more modern facility was being constructed for us. The only constant there, besides Brass’ reserved trust and friendship, was that there would always be crime scenes and bugs for me to lose myself in.

When I left for my now annual lecture class at Harvard, I was almost dreading it. Of all the lectures and speeches and master classes I've given, I've never found that I got anything in return for it besides the pay. The students that came were mostly forced, and very few even looked like they could stand to be there. I was getting fed up. If they weren't going to appreciate what I had to say, my time could be damn well spent better elsewhere.

The lecture went as planned. I spoke, they looked bored senseless. As always I invited the students to come up and ask questions after the lecture. There were only a few students who came up, and they spouted the usual questions: "What's the most (fill in your favorite adjective here) crime scene you've ever found?" "Why did you choose to be a CSI?" All the usual. When I thought they'd all gone, I turned back to the podium to get my briefcase, exasperated, and silently swearing that I would never do another college lecture again, when I heard her voice for the first time.

"Dr Grissom? May I ask you one last question?"

Without turning my head toward her I answered in the affirmative, noticing that she had used "May I?" instead of "Can I?" It seems silly, but it clued me into something about her personality- she was smart, and precise about what she wanted.

"You spoke about how sometimes it's only one small piece of evidence that can make or break a case, and well, I was wondering, what do you do when you can't find that piece? When you know exactly what you're looking for, but it's just not there, and you know that without it, you could be determining someone's future? When you could be sending an innocent man to jail or setting a criminal free?"

It was the first truly intelligent question I think I had ever been asked about my job since I started doing those damn seminars. I turned to her halfway through her question and just watched her talk. She was young, confident, and beautiful. She was beautiful in a way that I had always dreamed Emma would grow to be, but she had brown eyes instead of blue. Her eyes spoke volumes of her intelligence, her curiosity, and a knowledge of life that made her different from the rest of the mindless drones that dominated the campus.

"Well Miss..."I looked at her, waiting for her to fill in the blank.

"Sidle, Sara Sidle." She smiled at me and hugged her notebook closer to her.

"Miss Sidle, I do believe that's the most intelligent question a student has ever asked me. And an intelligent question deserves an intelligent answer, but do you mind if I ask you a question first?" I leaned against the podium, and smiled at her nod. "Why don't you want to know about all of the things the other students asked me?"

She tipped her head to the side in thought for a second and then turned back to me. "Well, first off, I was paying attention to the lecture, and most of what they asked you was either covered in the lecture, or not pertinent to the topic. Then there's the fact that if I wanted to know about gruesome things I could just go to a movie! Plus, that's not what it's about- it's about the victim, and finding justice, and letting the evidence talk to you." My surprised facial expression must have confused her, and she paused before eking out, "At least, that's what I understood from your lecture."

She looked a bit sheepish, but I just smiled at her and picked up my briefcase. "Miss Sidle, I believe that you have a better grasp of forensic science than many of my colleagues. Is there someplace more... comfortable that we can sit and talk? I'd like to answer your question, and any others that you could come up with." She smiled at me, and then led me out of the lecture hall.

Our evening was spent in the local coffeehouse where she continued to ask thoughtful and challenging questions.

It wasn’t until I found myself getting turned on by how passionately she talked about science that I forced myself to realize there was quite a significant age difference. I shifted in my chair and returned to focusing on what she was saying. That proved to be harder than I had anticipated.

Her eyes sparkled.

Her smile sported a peculiarly alluring space between her two front teeth.

Her movements were graceful.

When I started listing box scores in my head I knew that I was in trouble.

I ended the night as gracefully as possible, and sighed as I watched her walk away, realizing it would probably be the last time I would ever see her. Even for all my struggling not to notice, she was exquisitely beautiful, with a mind and passion to match, even surpass, the physical.

Back in my hotel room, I allowed my mind to think the thoughts I had suppressed before. It had been years since I had been attracted to a woman in such an immediate and strong way. Not since I fell for Maggie had I been so deeply drawn to a woman. But not only was she significantly younger than me, she was now technically a student.

But only technically, my mind screamed.

My mind also quietly reminded me that I could search the entire world for the rest of my life and never find someone so perfect for me, or at least that’s what it seemed from my first impression of her.

But then I remind myself that I didn’t give her my card or ask her for her number for a reason, for so many reasons to be truthful. She is too young. She’s sort of a student of mine. And then, of course, is the screaming fact that I have a seven-year-old daughter and that when I initially saw Sara my first thought was that I’d want Emma to be like her.

It seemed convincing at the time.

My dreams had other ideas.

The next afternoon I walked into the lecture hall fairly positive I would not be seeing her, and slightly downtrodden at that fact. While yesterday’s lecture had been about general forensics, today’s was a special request by one of the professors about the role of a coroner in the forensic investigation. Apparently several of his students were interested in becoming coroners.

Since I was practically positive there would be a dozen or less people at the lecture, I abandoned the podium I used for last night’s presentation and sat on the edge of the stage, hoping to make this presentation more geared to a question and answer session rather than me rattling off facts they were only pretending to write down, and with the topic much more highly specialized than it was last night I was expecting only students who would be interested and educated on the subject matter.

I asked the handful of students to move down to the first few rows as I looked at my watch. It was a few minutes past and I doubted there would be any more stragglers. As I began to introduce myself in case any of the students had not been at the previous night’s presentation, the rear doors bust open and in flew Sara Sidle, looking a bit harried. When she saw that there were decidedly less people than the night before, she tried to hide a blush as she made her way to the second row on the isle- right in front of me.

She smiled a gap-toothed smile at me.

I smiled back.

Either fate was playing with me, destiny shoving her in my face, or she was one perseverant girl.

We wound up at the coffeehouse again, this time talking about everything but the kitchen sink. The kitchen sink constituting personal lives. My initial reaction to her seemed to be right- she may be the perfect compliment to me.

That was amazing and frightening at the same time.

I again ended the night when I resorted to box scores.

Sara told me she’d see me the next night at the lecture.

Even a cold shower couldn’t stop my mind from fantasizing about a faint hint of something I thought I saw in her eyes.

The third lecture was about crime scene reconstruction.

She was there, and when I presented a crime scene to solve, she was the first one to point out that they were missing some key facts necessary for analyzing the scene correctly. Even the CSI level II that had helped me put together the presentation hadn’t noticed that.

This time we ended up walking through a park, a comfortable silence pervading when we weren’t discussing fingerprinting powder and luminol.

Two cold showers and an instructional pamphlet on fingerprinting desiccated corpses couldn’t keep her from invading my thoughts the entire next day.

The fourth night she sat in front while I lectured on proper collection procedure. I swear that for the first time she wasn’t listening to a word I was saying, but rather staring at me with a reverence in her eyes.

It was almost like the scenes at the beginning of the Indiana Jones movies where his classroom is packed with girls fawning over him, not the subject matter.

Another walk in the park, however, demonstrated that she knew every bit of information I had presented, and again sparked amazing questions. As we ended the evening I had this urge to kiss her, stronger than I had ever felt it, but denied myself the pleasure of feeling her lips beneath mine. I rushed out a bit faster than I probably should have.

The receptionist barely caught me as I rushed into the hotel, my mind repeating the evening. She handed me an envelope. Once on the elevator, I opened it to reveal a bright pink slip that touted “Phone message” in bold letters.

“Gil, call right away, any time. Need to talk,” was all the note said, with Maggie’s name and number scrawled at the bottom.

My heart jumped in my throat as thousands of scenarios passed through my mind. Was Emma ok? Was she hurt? Sick? I threw my things inside the door to my room and let it slam itself closed as I rushed to the phone. Sitting on the side of the bed I dialed and drummed my fingers as it rang.

“Hello?” Maggie’s voice was hoarse, she had been asleep. If she was sleeping it couldn’t be anything life threatening.

“Maggie? What’s going on?” I was sick of pleasantries with her.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next evening I rushed through my presentation, already nervous about what I was calling my “final encounter.”

I saw her discretely hanging behind everyone else as they left, waiting by the doors at the top of the lecture hall. She smiled when she caught me staring, but I couldn’t return it. I waved her down to me.

As she approached I shoved my hand in my pocket, fingering the business card I intended to give her. Even though my home number was scribbled on the back, it hardly seemed like enough for the woman I felt I was somehow destined to meet, for the woman who reawakened the man in me that had been hiding dormant under the father and the CSI.

“I’m afraid I can’t stay tonight,” I let slip out as she nears me. I can see her face fall. I feel the need to explain myself, though I know I can’t. For all we’ve talked about she knows nothing about Emma or what seems now like my secret life. “Something’s come up back in Vegas, I’ve been asked to take an earlier flight, and I need to leave for the airport now.” It’s true, but I know I’m purposefully letting her believe that this is something work related.

“Oh, well, that’s fine.” I can see she’s disappointed, but is doing her best not to show it. “I had a few questions, but I’m sure if I do enough research I can find out for myself.” She pauses and avoids my gaze. I wonder if my face looks as devastated as I feel. “Besides, it’s probably better that I do it that way, anyway. I’ll learn more.”

“You’re a wonderful student, Sara. You have an amazing mind, and though I know you’ll do wonderful in any path you chose, you’d go far in forensics.” I see a smile tug at her lips while she hugs her notebook closer to her, examining her shoes. “I’m not lying when I say you’ve come up with more intelligent questions than some seasoned CSI’s I know.” I pull the card from my pocket. “Here. If your research doesn’t yield what you’re looking for, just call.”

I see a genuine smile erupt as she takes my card.

“My home number’s on the back if, uh, if you can’t get in touch with me at the lab. I usually work the night shift, so there’s no need for you to stay up late just to ask me a question.” She slips it into her pocket after a quick glance at the back.

She turns to go, then turns back. “I just-“ she closes her mouth as she turns away, but turns back quickly, “I just wanted to say thank you. You’ve really taught me a lot. You didn’t need to talk to me every night, but you did. That means a lot to me. So, thanks.” She smiles one last time, albeit a sad smile, then walks out the back doors tot he auditorium, and out of my life.

I know that I may never see her again, but since speaking with Maggie last night that’s lost it’s importance. I gather my things and head out the side door and into the taxi that will be stopping at my hotel to pick up my luggage, then taking me to the airport to go back home to Emma.

My heart breaks a little more when it occurs to me that she won’t be calling Vegas home much longer.

Chapter 9: Wish You Were Here

My feet are practically dragging up the steps, my eyelids drooping and squinting against the setting sun at the same time. Brass sent me home, and I can’t say I disagree with him: pulling a triple shift wasn’t exactly the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but I couldn’t stop, couldn’t rest until it was finished.

The last twenty-four hours were not only long. They were horrific.

As I turn the key in the lock and lean against the door to open it, I will the images of the young girl, battered and bruised, out of my mind. Kidnapped by a known pedophile, the ransom note had given her less than a day to live. I couldn’t stop working; stop thinking, until there was some kind of resolution. We were lucky this time.

I push into the apartment and almost trip over the mail. I slam the door behind me and pick it up, shedding my jacket and tossing my briefcase onto the couch. If I thought cases involving children bothered me before, I hadn’t anticipated how hard it would hit me after having my own child.

I kick my shoes off in the direction of my closet and toss the mail on the kitchen counter before reaching up to the top cabinet, pushing aside the cooking wine in favor of the bottle of scotch hidden behind it. I gulp greedily from it, languishing in the burn it causes down my throat and comforted by the warmth spreading through my body. The bottle falls from my lips and lands on the counter with a louder thud than it should have, and I lean on the counter, my head falling in my hands.

After a case like this I used to be able to run to Emma, to spend a day or night with her and her boundless optimism and youthful ignorance. No matter what I saw at work, I was always able to be a different person when she was around, and she could always heal the fissures of doubt and disappointment in humanity my job caused. But now she lives in New Jersey with Maggie and Don, just across the river from the firm that had given Don the “offer of a lifetime,” as Maggie had put it.

I couldn’t make Emma choose. I couldn’t even ask her to choose hypothetically.

I know I gave up the fight too easily, but I thought I was over and done with the part of my life that included lawyers and custody battles. So I relinquished, and over a long weekend with Emma, I explained that Mommy was moving to New Jersey with Don, and that I needed to stay in Nevada; that it would just be like I was at a seminar, but she would be the one in the new place. She seemed to accept that it was what she had to do, but made me promise she could visit me, and that I would visit her.

It would be almost 10 p.m. in New Jersey right now, long past Emma’s bedtime, so even a phone call was out of the question. I took another swig from the bottle. She’s only been gone three months, and I can already feel my life starting to slip away from me again. But I can’t just pick up and move every time Maggie gets a whim to start her life over. I have a promising life here. And no matter how many doubts I have in Maggie’s parenting abilities, I could never tear my daughter away from her mother. The decision now is far more agonizing.

I try to push these thoughts from my head and am again confronted by today’s case. I slam my fist on the counter, desperate to get away from it all. My eyes fall on the mail and I begin to sort through it, hungering for even a mail-order catalogue to amuse myself if only for a brief moment. Between the bills and the solicitations my hands fall on an envelope that makes me smile more than I ever thought would be possible today.

I tear it open slowly, reverently. From inside I pull two papers; one is covered in brown lines and black dots, the other in Emma’s beautiful scrawl.

Dear Daddy,

            I remembered to feed my ants today. They were very happy that I did. Mommy said that if I forget to feed these ants I can’t have anymore, so I fed them. I drew you a picture of them. I hope you like it.

I look at the paper with the black dots on it again, focusing my eyes a bit more this time. It is, indeed, a rough drawing of what her ant colony looks like. Maggie wasn’t quite happy about the ants in the first place, but the fact that Emma continually forgets to feed them hasn’t helped any. She’s currently on her third “generation” of ants.

            I went to my new school today. My teacher is Mr. Vincent. He’s very nice. There was a boy Johnny who was gonna squish a Japanese beetle on the playground, and I told him what it was and not to squish it, but he didn’t believe me and told me I was stupid and just a girl and didn’t know anything about bugs. So I told Mr. Vincent and he had Johnny look up the bug and he saw that I was right and he had to apologize. I told him my Daddy was an entimolologist. Everyone thought it was really cool that you get to play with bugs all day.

I laugh out loud. Finally, someone else thinks it’s “cool” that I get to play with bugs. I make a mental note to teach her how to spell entomologist.

            Mommy says that she will find me a new dance school soon. Will you come see me dance? I want you to. I miss you. Please come visit soon. Mommy says it is too soon for me to go visit you and I have to be a big girl. But maybe if you come visit me she won’t get mad.

My eyes swell with tears, but I force myself to read the rest with another gulp of alcohol.

            Don helped me put your picture in my new room. I don’t like my new room, but it’s better with the picture now. My bed feels funny and my pillow is different. I want to go back to my room in your house. Every night, before I go to bed I wish on a star like you told me to. I know you have to play with your bugs and work and stuff, but I still wish that you were here sometimes. It’s ok though because we will visit each other and I will write you more letters. Will you write me letters? You don’t have to draw me pictures if you don’t want to. But I will still draw you pictures.

            Sometimes, when I’m wishing at night, I think of the song Fivel sings. We’re far apart, but I know we’re wishing on the same star, daddy. I love you.

Your daughter,

Emma

The emotion is caught in my throat and I almost miss the post-script.

P.S.- we learned how to write letters right in class yesterday. Did I do a good job?

I read it again, and by now darkness has taken over the Nevada landscape. I look out the window and find the North Star, the one I taught Emma to wish on. Even with all the lights of Nevada, I can still usually find it. I see it, bright as ever.

Yes, Emma, you did a wonderful job.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Ok, now carry the one...” I hold the phone to my ear with my shoulder while I finish packing my briefcase for my upcoming shift. It’s just after three in the afternoon and I stifle a yawn as I shut my briefcase.

“Ok, now what?” I can tell she’s confused, but is following my lead. I look at the scribbled notes next to me.

“Now you can subtract down the columns like you would if there were no decimals, ok?” I hear her mumbling numbers to herself and stand, putting my briefcase by the door. Helping Emma with her math homework has become a daily task. Almost every evening around three she calls, waking me up and presenting me with this assignment’s conundrum, which I happily guide her through. If she doesn’t have a problem, which is few and far between, she happily tells me about her day, or how her ants are doing.

I still haven’t figured out exactly why these calls started, but I refuse to look a gift horse in the mouth. Sometimes I just can’t help but think which would be the sadder situation, if Maggie and Don were too wrapped up in themselves to help Emma, or if they just couldn’t do third grade math. On a happier note, it has kept Emma a part of my more daily life, and I’m almost more in touch with her now than I was when she was here in Vegas at times.

“I think I got it!” she shouts, then happily spouts a number. A quick look at my scrawled notes on the table reveal that she’s correct.

“You did! See? I told you that you could subtract decimals.” I move into the bathroom and stare into the mirror. I’m still hoping to catch a few more hours of sleep when I get off the phone, so I haven’t changed out of my flannel pajama pants yet. The scruff on my face gets a long stare while I decide whether or not to shave today. I’ve often thought of growing a beard, and even started growing one when Emma was two, but she tugged on it and said it was scratchy. The next morning I was shaved clean.

“Thanks Daddy!” I can almost see her smile through the phone. I rub a hand on my chin and let it fall to my bare chest as I decide to shave later. My bare feet pad against the wood floor to the couch where I sit, listening to her excited voice as she tells me about school today.

~~~~~~~

“Grissom and Willows, 419 on the strip. It’s a nasty one.” Brass hands Catherine the assignment sheet and we get up to leave. Until last week when Johnson retired, Catherine had done her CSI training under the LVMPD veteran. As the only other CSI level three on the night shift with more than a years experience, her training’s fallen into my hands. “Grissom? Hang back a second.” Brass barks before quickly handing out assignments to our two temporary replacements from day shift. “Walk with me.” He tips his head toward his office.

Once inside he hands me an envelope. “That came for you today.” There’s no name on the return address, just that it’s from California.

“That all?”

“No. Cavallo rejected your request for vacation time in June.” Brass falls into his chair, pulling out a folder with the request I’d handed in a month prior when Emma had called excited about her new studio’s recital.

“What? Why?”

“Said that we can’t afford to have you gone for a week in our busiest season, especially when it looks like you’ll be our only consistent CSI for a while.” Brass looked troubled. “Day shift’s demanding their people back, and Mobley’s dragging his feet on hiring new people. This lab’s gonna be a mess for a while, and we need you here helping to rebuild it.” He nods toward the paper I hold in my hand. “Family business?”

He’s referring to the reason I put down, a vague reference to a family function. “You could say that.” Even as we speak I’m trying to think of possible answers tot he problem, to appeal the decision or to accept it and find a way to break it to Emma.

Jim interrupts my train of thought by leaning forward and whispering. “If you can cut this down to two, maybe three days, I think I can bargain with him. It’s bureaucratic bullshit and we all know it. Worse comes to worse, just call in sick. I know what it’s like to miss your daughter, Gil. Make sure you get to see her, no matter what.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Daddy!” She runs into my waiting arms outside the dancer’s entrance. I throw my arms around her and lift her into the air. She sprouted a few inches since the last time I saw her, but she’s just as beautiful. She kisses my cheek, and I know there will be a bright red stain there, but I don’t care. “What did you think?”

“I thought you were wonderful!” Her hair is piled on her head in tiny curls, and she’s in a satin and tulle ballet gown, pale pink and yellow, making her look like the princess that she is in my mind. “I’m so glad I could come! You were beautiful sweetheart!”

“Thank you Daddy!” She nuzzles up against me, happy to be in my arms, and content to be carried to the car. Maggie and Don left after the show, decidedly happy to give me some time alone with her. She yawns and leans into me, her arms circling my neck. I shoulder the bag she dropped on the floor with all of her things in it, then walk out to the car.

As we reach the car, she mumbles into my neck, “Do you really have to go Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart, I do. I wish I could stay longer, but this was all I could do right now. Soon I’ll be able to visit longer, I promise.” I unlock the car door and gingerly place her in the back seat. I reach around to the front and pull out a bouquet of red roses to lay in her hands. “You did wonderful tonight, Emma. I love you.”

She smiles and yawns. “I wish you were always here Daddy,” she manages to get out before her eyes close.

I kiss her on the cheek and push the flyaway strands of hair behind her ears. “I’m always with you, Sweetheart, even if I’m not here.” I close the door and round the car. I know she hasn’t heard me, but it doesn’t seem to matter that much.

She hasn’t forgotten me, as I feared. And my short vacation, made possible only by Brass, has proven to me that Don has in no way captured Emma’s affections away from me.

~~~~~~~~~~

My mail today consisted of two interesting things today. The first was a short letter from Emma which was accompanied by a drawing of the roses I’d given her, which now adorns my refrigerator.

The second was again addressed from California, but this time I knew who it was from.

Dr. Grissom,

            I cannot thank you enough for the letter of recommendation. Needless to say, what ever you said got me into the program. I am truly in your debt.

            Also, thank you for the article on the uses of physics in forensic science. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to seduce me into forensics. I have to say, the article was very tempting.

She then went on to outline her findings from the article, and I smiled. She was every bit as bright and intelligent as I thought her to be. At the bottom, she had signed it Sara Sidle.

I pulled out a chair, pen, and pad, and began writing.

Miss Sidle,

            Invest in a subscription to the Journal of Forensic Science. I am trying to lure you, and I do not believe I will take no for an answer...

Chapter 10: A Rose By Any Other Name...

I straighten my tie in the mirror one last time before walking towards the door. I feel remarkably out of place, but I will not leave. I tug on my cuff links as I walk down the small hallway. This whole week has been incredibly awkward and difficult and, as always, Emma has been my saving grace in all of this. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t still be here.

I knock lightly on the door and Jennifer, Maggie’s sister, opens it just a crack. “Oh, it’s you. Come in.” The disappointment in her voice is palpable, and makes me happy that I was never really part of her family.

I walk into the small room, Maggie’s standing in front of the mirror being primped by her three bridesmaids. Though radiant, there’s something wrong about her wearing the extravagant white dress and going through such a fuss, even if it is her first wedding. Maybe it’s the Catholic in me, or maybe it’s because I know how much she’s hurt me, but she seems far too innocent in that dress.

“Maggie, you look beautiful.” I catch her eyes in the mirror, and give her a slight smile. For all we’ve gone through, I can’t help but wonder what things would have been like if we’d made different choices.

“Thank you, Gil.” She smiled back and held my gaze for a few seconds. She really was a gorgeous woman. One of her bridesmaids stole her attention and I turned to find who I came looking for. She’s in the corner, practically obscured by her peach satin and cream lace, with tiny peach roses woven into her hair. Her eyes are big and she’s watching me, a nervous expression on her face. It seems they’ve all forgotten she’s even here. I’ve been waiting for her to plow herself into my legs any second, but when she doesn’t move, doesn’t even say anything, I walk cautiously over to her and crouch in front of her.

“Emma? Why are you over here?” I try to keep my tone light, and her beauty pulls a smile to my lips, despite my feeling that something’s wrong.

“Aunt Jennifer said that they needed to do their grown-up things and that if I wanted to make Mom happy I should just sit here and not move and be very quiet.” Her voice was barely a whisper. Something told me that “Aunt Jennifer” had been a little more venomous in her words than Emma was letting on, especially with what I can remember of her.

“Well, I came to get you, it’s almost time to walk down the aisle. Are you ready?” She nodded and smiled. “You are a vision in peach, my dear, absolutely stunning! Can I see your dress?” I took her hand and pulled until she stood up, then lifted it so she could spin under my arm. She did a little turn, and then took a curtsey with a huge smile. “Simply breathtaking!” She giggled and dipped her head under my scrutiny.

A knock sounded loudly on the door, and the young wedding planner stuck his head in. “Ten minutes ladies! Everyone should please make their way to the back of the church!” I stood and offered my arm to Emma, who was still a little too short to reach it without me sinking it down slightly. Technically, neither of us held a part in the wedding party. It seemed obvious as to my situation, but I was downright livid when I heard that Emma was not in the wedding. Don’s niece was apparently a better choice for flower girl simply because of her age.

Maggie had placated my anger and Emma’s disappointment by getting a dress made for her and allowing her to precede the flower girl down the isle, and though she wouldn’t be standing with the bridesmaids, she would be sitting in the first pew with her grandmother. It was only by Emma’s request that I’m here now, escorting her.

Emma grabs her bouquet of flowers and takes my arm as I lead her away from the women, who don’t even seem to know that she’s left, and to the back of the church to get ready. On the way we pass Ann, Don’s teenage niece, who greets us and tells her “Favorite nine-and-a-half-year-old” how beautiful she looks before smiling and heading back into the church. I was immediately comfortable with the blonde teenager, who’s been baby-sitting Emma on and off for over a year, when I first met her this week. She and Emma get along famously, and she was a big part in helping keep my social faux pas to a minimum.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Grissom, when my mom married into this family I couldn’t tell any of these people apart, either. They were stuck up aristocrats then, and they’re stuck up aristocrats now. The only difference is I can tell their pinkies apart now,” she’d joked quietly at the rehearsal dinner. Her down to earth manner made me glad she was around Emma as often as she was. I couldn’t have created a better friend for her.

We reach the back of the church and I help Emma peak around the doors to look into the decorated church. Don apparently spent a fortune on the wedding, and from the looks of it, his family definitely wasn’t hurting for money. The excess I’d seen tossed around this week was almost sickening.

The wedding planner was back, shouting commands and ushering us around into a line. I smiled to Emma as I heard the organ music begin.

~~~~~~

I open the door and Emma rushes in under my arm and spins around in the living room, her dress poking out from under my suit jacket she had commandeered because she was cold. Even with the August heat, the air conditioning in the hall created a bitter chill towards the end of the night. I can’t believe she’s still awake as it’s nearing almost two in the morning. She danced through the reception, talked my ear off on the drive to her house, and is now dancing in the living room. Closing the door and locking it behind me, I just stare at her for a second. She never ceases to amaze me.

“Ok, let’s go!” I say as I rush across and scoop her up, throwing her over my shoulder and carrying her down the hall to her bedroom as she erupts into a fit of giggles. “It’s way past your bedtime missy!” I toss her gently on her bed and kneel in front of her.

“Awww, Daddy! I’m not ready for bed!” She pulls my jacket around her. “I’m almost ten! I can stay up later now! And today’s a special day!”

“Well, all ten-year-olds should be long asleep by two a.m.,don’t you think? It’s even past my bedtime. Besides, yesterday was a special day, but today we have a lot to do! You don’t want to be tired for the flight, do you?” Her eyes grew wide as I spoke. I’d almost say she’d forgotten that in just a few hours we’d be taking a plane back to Vegas so she could spend the week of Maggie and Don’s honeymoon with me. I definitely think I got the better deal.

“Ok, but I’m not sleepy yet!” Emma’s eyes were wide and she was torn. “I don’t want to be tired for the flight!” Her palpable indecision was almost comical, and I fought to keep a straight face.

I put my hands on her shoulders and pulled my suit jacket from her. “How about this. You put your pajamas on, then we’ll wash your face and we can take the flowers out of your hair so that you can keep them and not smush them into your hair while you’re sleeping, and then I can read to you. Would you like that?” Emma nodded and jumped off the bed and ran to her dresser, pulling out a pair of baby blue pajamas with sparkling stars patterned on them. “I’ll be right outside, call me when you’re ready for a story?” She nods again, and I close the door to her room behind me, giving her a sense of privacy.

Going into the spare room I strip out of my suit and throw on a pair of soft sweat pants and a t-shirt. The suit gets packed into the open suitcase by the bed and I check to make sure I have all the things I need for the next morning laid out before I lug the two cases to sit next to the front door, leaving only a small carry-on by my bed. I go back one more time for the case that Maggie packed for Emma and add that to the pile by the door.

I can hear Emma splashing as I pass the bathroom, signifying that she’s probably making a mess trying to wash the makeup off of her face. I take a quick walk through the house to make sure it’s ready to be left for a week. Maggie and Don are spending the night at the hotel where they had their reception before leaving tomorrow afternoon, so it’s become my job to lock up. My over-cautious nature has me checking each outlet and window on my journey through the house.

As I’m double bolting the back door I hear Emma whimper from the bathroom. I stop for a moment, listening for it again. This time I hear an angry, frustrated sigh, before I hear her bare feet running through the hall and a loud “Daddy!” reverberates through the house.

I meet her halfway in the kitchen. She has tears in her eyes and a contorted face to accompany the handful of knotted hair, flowers, and bobby pins she’s holding above her head. “Daddy! I can’t get it out!” She tugs her hand one more time to demonstrate, but only succeeds in pulling her head to the side. Her energy’s fallen and now she’s overtired, and I can see the tears begin to spill from her eyes.

“Ok, ok. I’ll get it out.” I lift her onto one of the chairs at the table and turn her so I’m looking at the nest of hair on her head. “Wow.” I can’t help but marvel at the mess she’s created. Her well-placed curls that were interwoven with flowers and bobby pins have morphed into a knot that more resembles something I’d pull out of my drain. I take a deep breath and extract her hand first without much trouble.

Strategy demands that I extract the larger flowers next, which does little for the mess. After carefully pulling out the bobby pins the hair has taken on a life of its own, almost doubling in size.

“I’ll be right back, Emma. Don’t play with it, ok?” I leave her on the chair and go to the bathroom, desperate for some help on this. Water will only make the mess worse. I grab a comb from the drawer and start searching through the cabinets. Finally, finding nothing else, I grab Maggie’s bottle of conditioner and bring it out to the table.

Emma watches me as I mix the conditioner in a plastic cup with water and bring it next to her with a frightened expression. “Just trust me, ok?” She nods, but is still apprehensive. “Tell me if I pull too hard, but I might have to pull a little, ok?” She squeaks out an okay as I start on the right side of her head, separating a small clump from the rest. I soak the comb in the conditioner and water and start at the edges, working my way up her hair.

It took almost twenty minutes, but Emma’s hair has finally returned to it’s usual look, a little wetter for the ware, but untouched for the most part. Her eyes are drooping, but she insists that she wants to hear a story before bed, citing that I promised, and I did.

She snuggles into her bed and I perch next to her, letting her cling to my side and rest her head on my chest. I reach down to her night stand for a book, but she stops me with a question.

“Daddy, are you still my daddy now?” I can’t see her face, but I hear hurt and fear in her voice.

“What? Of course sweetheart. Why wouldn’t I be your daddy?” I tighten my arm around her back.

“Well, one of my friends at school said that when a mom gets married that the man she marries is your new daddy. But I don’t want a new daddy. Then I asked Ann because her mom got married and she said that she liked her mom’s new husband, but that didn’t mean he was her daddy.”

“I will always be your Daddy, Emma. Nothing can change that, ever. Always remember that. Don will take care of you like he’s a dad. But he’s not your dad unless you want him to be. I’m your Daddy. I always will be.” A tear formed in my eye as she clung closer to me.

“Do I have to change my name?”

“What?”

“Mommy changed her last name. Do I have to change mine, too?” She looked up at me with plaintive eyes.

“That which we call a rose, by any other name, would smell as sweet. So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, retain that dear perfection which he owes without that title.”

As I end my quote I see her looking up at me, eyes big and round. She doesn’t even have to ask her question. “It’s a quote from Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare. It means that no matter what your name is you will always be the same person. A rose, no matter what you call it, will always smell like a rose. But no, you do not have to change your name. You can, if you want to. Keeping my name shows that you are my daughter and not Don’s. But I would prefer you stay just the way you are.”

“Good, because I want to stay the way I am. And I want you to stay my Daddy.” She snuggles closer to me.

“Then that’s how it will be. Always.” I lean down and kiss her head. “Get to sleep. We have a big day ahead of us.”

Chapter 11: The Secret Life of Gil Grissom

The shrill ring of the phone pulls me from my sleep. I’ve gotten used to Emma calling every day, waking me up and starting my night by spending some time, even if it is only through the phone, with my daughter. But my body’s telling me that it’s too early to be getting up, so I keep my eyes closed while I blindly reach for the phone. I’ve already been disappointed more than once by hearing the voice of a telemarketer when I was expecting to hear Emma.

“Grissom,” I grumble into the phone. I pull the receiver back a little when the first thing I can hear is a screaming baby.

“Gil?” Her voice is strained and tired, and I can sympathize with her. “I’m really sorry, I can’t come in to work tonight. Lindsey’s sick and screaming her head off, Eddie’s nowhere to be found... I just can’t leave her like this with the sitter...”

“It’s ok, Catherine. Take care of Lindsey first. What’s wrong with her?” I snuggle back down into my bed and under the duvet, the air conditioning leaving a chill on my bare skin. Peak at the clock reveals that if I can get back to sleep I’ll have at least another two hours before I hear about the most important events in George Elliot Middle School today.

“I have a doctor appointment in an hour, so I’ll know for sure. She’s kind of coughing, and just crying a lot. She’s getting so worked up from crying I can’t tell if she has a fever or not. I think it might just be a cold, but she’s miserable.” There was defeat in her voice.

“Do you have a humidifier?” I look over at the night stand and the picture of Emma, barely over a year old, that sits there. I can remember many a sleepless night with the same exact problem.

“No, should I?” Lindsey’s screaming sounds closer, and has turned more into a proclamation of discomfort.

“It’s a good investment. Run a hot shower, let the bathroom steam up, then let her sit in there. It should help her clear out a bit.” That and car rides were the only way to get Emma to sleep on the nights when she was sick. Even then, sick or healthy as a horse, she was happier being up late than rising early in the morning. Maggie’s suggested that she still keeps the same schedule, even with the early morning wake-up for school.

“Um, ok.” She pauses, and it sounds like she’s shifting the baby in her arms. “Hey, I’m really sorry about tonight.”

“No problem. Do what you have to do,” I bite my tongue and not add in that I always have. “I’ll call Brass and see if I can get a couple of those interns from swing shift to stay later. They won’t replace one of our best CSIs, but they’ll do. Maybe that kid from UNLV, he seems quite on the ball.”

“Warrick? Yeah, he’s great. Quick learner.” I hear the water start running, and figure she must be desperate to be trying my suggestion already.

I’ve found a comfortable spot, and with my eyes already closed I can feel myself slipping deeper into sleep. “Good luck with Lindsey, I’ll see you tomorrow.” We say our goodbyes and I hang up, my last thoughts before slipping into sleep of Emma as a baby, snuggling deep into my arms.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Grissom!” Catherine rushes to me in the parking lot even before I’m out of my car. She looks at my Benz with the same appreciative eye she always has before turning her attention back to me. While I was once as enamored with the machine as she is, it’s hardly practical anymore, and the luxury is hardly necessary; my next car will be far more practical. I wait for her to speak as we walk into the building and head towards the labs.

“Thank you so much for the other night. I know I should have called Brass, but...”

I cut her off. “No thanks necessary, Catherine. That’s what friends are for.” She starts to head toward the break room and I stop. “I’ll catch up with you in a minute, I just want to drop this in my office.” I hold up my briefcase, then turn to head down then hall.

“Oh, Hey!” I turn back around. “How did you know what to do?” She’s leaning against the doorframe, and I see a few heads from inside the break room turn to listen in on our conversation. These people are not the most discrete.

I feel like I’m caught in a trap for a second, then answer as simply as I can. “It’s just science, Catherine.”

She nods, looking slightly disappointed with my answer. Before she can say anymore I’m off to my office, happy to be out of the situation. I throw myself into my chair, not sure if I should feel ashamed or guilty.

It started out so simply: no talk about my personal life at work.

But it turned into a monster on my back. Some days I was grateful for the fact that I had a secret life to escape to, that there was someone who knew me as a person, as her Daddy, and not as Gruesome Grissom. Other days it was a curse, hiding my life behind double entendres and sometimes even flat out denying the existence of the most important person in my life.

In the end, the reasons she’s kept a secret, even though she’s the reason I even bother to get out of bed some days, are quite simple. It’d be far too difficult to try to explain myself now; why I’ve kept her secret all these years, and because I love having her all to myself.

It’s selfish and brutish and horrible, but each time I think about telling even Catherine about her, it seems it can only end badly. Then I’ll feel my gut twisting, and I’ll remember the reason I kept her a secret in the first place, and the blinding fear that gripped me the night I made that decision. Even now, when she’s practically a teenager, she’s still my baby, and I’d lay down my life for her. Then I start to think that keeping the secret isn’t all bad.

The phone rings, startling me out of my thoughts. “Grissom.”

“Oh, thank god! They’ve been shuffling me around to every office possible!” I hear her voice and I smile. “Apparently, ‘Dr. Gil Grissom’ sounds like ‘Ballistics lab,’ among other things.” The harrumph she makes isn’t lost on me.

“Sara, it’s nice to hear from you. How are you?” I lean back, happy to hear from her. We’ve been writing letters back and forth practically every week. She’s finally found herself a job as a CSI, and is rising quickly up the ranks. I’m quite proud that she cites my influence as a reason for her career change. While she’d no doubt make a brilliant physicist, I see the potential for her to be one of the best CSI’s in the nation.

“Pretty good. Look, I was wondering if there’s any way you might be able to come out here and give us a hand?” She sounded a little nervous.

“Rough case?”

“Very, and it’s filled with bugs. Lots of bugs.” She pauses, and I can almost feel the shiver run through her. “Killer’s signature is leaving nests of some kind of beetle on the corpses. By the time anyone finds them, corpse is basically a pile of bones, leaving us with very little to go on.”

“Beetles?” I can’t deny that my interest is piqued.

“Yup! John, Paul, George and Ringo!” I laugh at her bad joke. “Look, I’ve already talked to my supervisor, and he’s happy to get an expert opinion on this. I just wanted to get your ok before we go ahead and start kissing ass to get you over here.”

Again, I laugh. Bugs and Sara Sidle; not a bad combination.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I can’t believe we were so wrong!” Sara says as she stabs another piece of steak on her plate. “Maybe I’m not as good at this as I thought...” Her eyes are downcast and she regards the piece of rare meat before shoving it into her mouth.

I’m compelled to try to find something to say to her. The dark atmosphere of the steak house makes me braver than I would normally be. “Sara, you shouldn’t say that. It was one case. Besides, unless you’re one of a dozen forensic entomologists in the nation, you’d have no idea that the beetles had nothing to do with it.” She looks up at me, no happier, and internally beating herself up.

I reach over and cover her hand with my own. She looks up at me with her head still tipped down, creating a more seductive pose than I was ready for, but I continue. “If you want to blame anyone you should be blaming the coroner. They misread time of death based on conclusions your team was drawing.”

She laughs sardonically and leans back against the booth. “One simple test. You did one simple test and totally threw three weeks of our work out the window.” At first I thought she was going to blame me, yell at me, but then she leaned over the table, pushing aside the remnants of her dinner, and crooked a finger for me to lean forward. As I do, she smiles. “Can you teach me how to do that?”

~~~~~~~~~~

The walk from the restaurant down to my hotel is only a few blocks, and we walk with a comfortable repartee most of the way. I find my hand resting on her back even before I’m aware of it, and her gap toothed smile is revealed to me several times.

While the last three days have been about working with her, viewing in action the fulfillment of my professional hopes for her, tonight has been about a connection, creating what I had only hoped for: a personal relationship to accompany the professional one.

An intelligent and well read person, she complemented me just as I had remembered from our first meeting. At first I was pleasantly surprised working with her as a CSI, then I was comforted to know that she enjoyed my company as much as I enjoyed hers. Now, as we near my hotel, I’m struck with the tension that has built from our light, yet steady flirtation.

We stop in front of the hotel, and she turns to face me, her eyes smiling up. They’re shimmering and bright and full of life. I let myself drown in her, her youth, her vibrance, and I feel alive again. Before I know it my lips are loving over hers, chastely, yet on fire. I pull back and her eyes are still closed, her lips parted slightly. I let my hand run over her face, smoothing down her hair.

Suddenly my mind flashes to an image of me smoothing Emma's hair, her soft eyes and vibrant smile rush into my mind. Flashes of how I wish her to be when she's grown play on the movie screen in my mind, and my first thoughts of Sara come back to haunt me. My visions of her embodying everything I'd like Emma to be erase the amazing feelings I had only seconds before.

I feel dirty.

Like I just kissed my daughter.

Sara's eyes open and I can see something smoldering deep within them, but fear rapidly surfaces as she sees the look on my face. My hand resting on her shoulder, I rush to comfort her.

"I'm sorry. I... I shouldn't have done that." I look down, ashamed.

She tips my chin up with her hand so I'm looking in her eyes. "It's ok. no harm, no foul?" I just stare at her blankly. She shakes her head and forces a smile. "I mean, it was nice. Well, better than nice. But neither of us should have done it... for so many reasons."

She's thinking age.

She's thinking distance.

She's thinking things that could so easily be remedied.

And I'm thinking of how she reminds me of my daughter.

I think I'm going to throw up.

I move my hand down her arm and grab her hand. I want to say so many things right now, but very little comes to mind. I settle for the one thing that will give me an opportunity to redeem myself. "Breakfast, tomorrow?"

"I'd like that." she smiles back. Sara pulls away and stars walking back. "See ya then Gris."

As she disappears into the crowd I am disgusted with myself, yet torn and confused. I turn and retreat into the hotel, at least satisfied that I have the night to think.

~~~~~~~~~~

I think I just found my first grey hair.

Thanks Emma.

She likes a boy. His name is Eric. He's very cool. She's hoping he'll want to take her to the eighth grade dance. She's only fourteen, she can't be dating. Dating means holding hands, gazing into each other's eyes, kissing.

Oh, God. I don't want to think about her kissing anyone, ever. I think I just got another grey hair.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Daddy!" Emma rushes down the stairs and flies into my arms. I hug her tightly, amazed at how much she's grown. She looks more and more like the amazing young lady I know she'll be. Her hair's soft curls frame her face, which is barely highlighted with soft make-up. Her fuzzy slippers and oversized pink terrycloth robe make it a bit of a comical picture, but she's still stunning. A smile lights up her face ear to ear, and I revel in knowing that I'm part of the reason for that smile.

Before I can get a word out to her, Don enters from the back room, still in his suit from work, and his fake smile plastered all over his face. The superficiality of this man truly disgusts me sometimes. "Gil, so wonderful to see you. I trust your flight was ok?"

"Yes, yes it was," I reply without taking my eyes off of Emma. I'm again cut off from saying anything to Emma by her mother's voice floating down the stairs.

"Emma! Hurry up! You still need to get dressed and we have to leave soon!"

Emma gives me an apologetic smile, and with a quick kiss is running back up the stairs. I was able to finagle a week off of work to get here in time to see her off to her eighth grade dance and then stay until her commencement to high school next week. My baby's growing up and I could not be a prouder father.

Especially given the circumstances.

I'm amazed with how normal she is, given the extreme superficiality she's faced with every day. Between Maggie and Don there's certainly been the possibility for her to grow up as spoiled and ungrateful as some of her step-cousins. Maybe it's talking to her every day, maybe it's Ann's amazing influence, but something has kept her from becoming a glib person. She has depth and intelligence, and a shining future ahead of her.

Don tries to make conversation, but I'm not interested. I'd rather count the seconds until I can spend time with my precious daughter again.

~~~~~~~~~~

"I'll fax it over right now." I search through the book on my desk, the phone held to my ear by my shoulder.

"I can't believe you actually knew what I was talking about!" Sara exclaimed over the phone.

"Cibophobia is a very real phobia. Then again, there are thousands of ridiculous, but real, phobias. Like the fear of the northern lights, or the fear of peanut butter sticking to the roof of your mouth." I thumb through another few pages before I find what I'm looking for.

"Peanut butter? You're putting me on."

"No. I can't recall the name, but there is one. You know helmintophobia is the fear of being infested with worms." I book mark the page, lean back into my chair, and smile. My routine over the past few months has come to include frequent phone calls to and from Sara. Though they're often work related, they are stimulating and fun conversations. We've fallen back into our light flirtation and mutual respect, the kiss placed firmly in our past.

"Worms. Only you would know that one Grissom. Can you send the fax over? My boss is getting irate."

"On it's way." I smile as I hang up. Life, for now, is good.

 Ch 12: Cockroach Racing

“Grissom!”

I turn and see Nick, a young CSI Level I, running toward me. His accent is barely there, but I’ve heard it described as charming by the women around the office. I wait for him to catch up to me in the hall. Brass is keeping everyone on for a double shift, but I’m on my way out with a plane to catch.

“Hey, you asked me to run those prints off the knife? Get this, they’re the husband’s.” He looks at me, a mix of excitement and expectation painting his face. He holds out the printed report for me to look at. I don’t take it.

“The husband? That doesn’t make sense. Go run this by Catherine. There’s something we’re missing.” I turn to leave, the case still on my mind.

“Grissom, where ya going?”

He looks at me expectantly. I can’t tell him where I’m really going, so I say the first thing that comes to my mind: “Cockroach racing.” I turn and race out as fast as I can without looking conspicuous.

As I get into my car I let out a sigh. “Cockroach racing? Where the hell did I come up with that?” I start the car and head out to the airport, realizing that I just blew it. They’ll figure it out. Oh well. Then a thought occurs to me.

People actually do race cockroaches. Mostly entomologists. Technically, even though I’ve never considered doing such a thing, it is plausible.

Maybe I’m not caught after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

I look in the hotel’s full-length mirror, checking my reflection one more time. The phone should be ringing any minute. I straighten my tie once more and start pacing around the room trying to get rid of some nervous energy. Glancing over to the bed, my eyes roam over the brightly wrapped gift. I hope she’s surprised!

The phone rings and I answer, a smile crossing my features as I respond. I let the receiver fall back in the cradle, grab the gift, and head to the elevator.

I almost feel like James Bond, ready to make an entrance into the grand party and to confront the enemy: Operation Cockroach Racing is underway.

But I’m not concerned with the enemy; I’m concerned with the center of this evening’s attention.

I take a deep breath and walk through the doors to the hotel’s ballroom. The lighting’s soft and there’s a DJ at the end of the dance floor playing a pop song for the throng of teenagers dancing. The parents stand to one side, and I scan the crowd finding Maggie, dressed to the nines, talking to another mother.

I carefully make my way over, still not having seen Emma. “Hello Maggie,” I announce my presence as I near her.

She turns and smiles. “Gil, glad you could make it. Gil, this is Angela Thomas, Jessica’s mom.” We shake hands and exchange pleasant hellos, I recognize the name as one of Emma’s closest friends. “You’re going to make her day, Gil.” Maggie whispers. She looks happy, and that brings a smile to my face.

“Emma’s said you live in Las Vegas?” Angela asks. She plays with the cup in her hands.

“Yes, I’m a Forensic Entomologist with the Crime Scene Investigation Unit of the Las Vegas Police Department. Unfortunately when they moved out here I couldn’t follow.” I can’t help but feel inadequate as I say the words; moving sounds so simple now.

“Gil was supposed to be on a lecture tour this week. Emma was heart broken when she found out he wouldn’t be able to come and begged Don to change the date, but he refused. She even called the DJ and made sure he knew not to do the Father-Daughter dance because you weren’t going to be here.” I look at her, a question lingering in my eyes. She knows what I’m wondering. “Taken care of, Gil.” Maggie seemed almost proud of me, and it was somehow reassuring. “How did you get out of the lecture tour, anyway?”

As I begin to answer her, a laugh catches my attention. I turn my head to see Emma and Ann, along with a couple of Emma’s other friends, strolling l into the room. She’s wearing a flowing red ball gown, fit for a princess, and her eyes are sparkling. I turn back to Maggie. “I cancelled. If you’ll excuse me?”

I turn and follow the girls toward one of the tables. Ann turns to pull her dress out from under her high heel when she catches sight of me. I put my finger to my mouth, signaling for her to be quiet as a huge grin spreads upon my face. As I near I hear Ann talking to Emma, not so discreetly glancing over to me to let me know I’m supposed to hear this conversation.

“So, where’s your Dad?” She sits down, and Emma follows suit, her back to me.

“He’s on some kind of lecture tour he’s had booked for almost a year.” There’s sadness, but understanding heavy in her tone. “He said that he’ll try to get out of it early to come see me this weekend, but it’s not the same.” She leans her head on her hand.

“So you must be pretty mad at him then. That’s definitely not a cool thing to do.”

“Hey, I can’t be mad at him. Mom was the one who made us move, and he couldn’t come. He had to do what he had to do, and he does the best he can. Just because he’s not here physically doesn’t mean that he’s not there for me when I need him. He may be in Vegas, but he’s with me more, mentally and physically, than Don ever is.” She pauses, and my heart is beating fast. “I love him too much to ever be mad at him, especially for something as trivial as some party Don’s throwing for me to get me to like him more and to further his reputation.” I come up behind her as she sighs a deep sigh. “Doesn’t mean I don’t wish he were here.”

I see my opening and take it. “Your wish is my command, milady.” Upon hearing my voice her whole posture changes, and she turns slowly, tears in her eyes.

“Daddy! How...? Why...?” She gets up and I throw my arms around her, and I hear her sniff against my chest. I pull back and tears are dripping from her face.

“Emma! Why are you crying?” I reach into my pocket and pull out a handkerchief, dabbing it to her eyes and looking at her with concern.

“I didn’t think you were coming. I’m just so happy you’re here!” She leans into me again, and I smile into her hair.

“How could I miss this? No convention, no crime scene, nothing in this world is more important than you. Ever.” I push her back and pick up the box from the table. “Here. You can open it and read the card and everything later.”

“What is it?” She turns the box over in her hands.

“A cellular phone.” Her eyes light up with disbelief. “Well, you’ll be driving soon and, God forbid, you ever get stuck anywhere you’ll need to call someone.” She raises an eyebrow and looks at me with a different sort of disbelief now. A half smile appears on my face and I acquiesce. “Ok, I also took the liberty of signing you up for the long distance plan and programming all of my numbers: pager, cell, home, and work in there so you can get in touch with me any time. And all the bills come to me, so don’t worry about how much it costs.”

She starts shaking her head. “Daddy, this is too much!”

In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Monthly payments on her phone won’t be even half of the child support I was paying until Maggie married, but I don’t tell Emma that. Before I can answer her, the DJ starts talking over us.

“Hey, is everyone having a great time here at Emma’s Sweet 16?” I see Maggie slowly making her way from the booth and I know what’s coming. I had specifically made sure that Maggie talked to the DJ and re-instated this part of the party. “Great! Now, can I ask everyone to clear the dance floor? It’s time for that special Father-Daughter Dance! Emma, why don’t you and your Dad come out here! It’s my pleasure to present to you Emma Madalyn Grissom and her father Dr. Gil Grissom.”

 While the adult crowd was looking at Don with perplexed looks as to why he wasn’t getting up, the young girls around us giggled as I led Emma onto the dance floor. The slow music started and I took Emma’s hand, gracefully leading her around the floor. Emma leans into my chest as we dance. Though I feel a bit on display at first, Emma is foremost in my mind. A bright flash clues me into the pictures that people are taking, but I retreat back into the moment.

As the song ends, I lean down and kiss her on the forehead. “You don’t know what this means to me, Daddy.” Choked up, all I can do is hug her to me tightly. As I escort her off the dance floor to applause, she looks up at me. “So, how did you get off of work? What did you tell them?”

Emma’s very aware of the fact her existence isn’t public knowledge, and understands and appreciates the reasons, but really gets a kick out of the excuses I make for myself sometimes. I smile at her. “I told them I was going cockroach racing.”

“Eaw! Dad!”

She smiles up at me, and I laugh with her. I am, at this moment, the happiest man alive.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Griss, how’d you do at the roach races?” Catherine looks up at me from her cup of coffee as I walk into the break room.

I smile at her, and reply simply, if cryptically. “I won.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Griss,

I’m sorry that I haven’t gotten back to you for so long. I’ve had to take some time off to deal with personal issues, and felt it best to just, well, disappear until I could smooth things over.

I received all seven of your e-mails and the two letters you sent. I’m sorry that I worried you, but everything is ok now. It’s something I’ve moved past, and that’s where I’d like to leave it: in the past.

Anyway, I was going over a cold case and I could use your help with something. Give me a call when you get this.

Sara

I stared at the screen a few seconds before hitting the reply button.

Sara,

I’m glad that you’ve been able to work through what events took you away for the last two months. Please know that I am here to talk if you ever need an ear...

~~~~~~~~~~

I’m on my way into the lab when my phone rings, the caller ID displaying Emma’s number. I rush into my office and close the door, sinking into my couch as I answer.

“Hey sweetheart, you caught me on my way into work. Is something wrong?” I’d already called earlier this morning to wish her a happy seventeenth birthday, and she never called this close to working hours unless it was an emergency.

“Daddy, I... Uh....” She was breathless and speechless. Maggie must have given her my gift: a box with a set of keys in it. “You bought me a car!”

“Yes. Yes I did.” I smile and lean back, amused by her amazement. “It’s used, but I had it thoroughly checked out, and it runs like a dream. As long as you keep up the payments for the insurance and the gas with the money from your new job, it’s all yours.” Though I love to spoil her I had to ingrain some sort of responsibility in this for her.

“Daddy! I can’t believe you did this!”

“Did your mother take you to see it yet?”

“No, we’re going first thing tomorrow.” I can hear her playing with the keys.

“Ok, well, I need to get to work, but call me tomorrow when you get to see it, ok?” I smile and stand, heading to my desk to get ready for the upcoming shift. “Love you sweetheart.”

“Love you too, Daddy.”

~~~~~~~~~~

DaddyLonglegs: But pin her against a wall?

ShootingStar: lol... dad... Are you really that clueless? And really, Pink Floyd?

DaddyLonglegs: what does lol mean?

ShootingStar: Laugh out Loud.

DaddyLongLegs: Oh. I still don’t like this whole thing. I feel like I’m very detached from you.

ShootingStar: you’ll learn to love it. IM is the wave of the future.

ShootingStar: anyway...

ShootingStar: back to your dating faux pas...

DaddyLongLegs: I can’t believe I’m talking about this with you.

ShootingStar: Only fair that if you get to ask me about my social life I can ask you about yours, so suck it up ;)

DaddyLongLegs: fine, fine. I guess it is fair.

ShootingStar: darn tootin

DaddyLongLegs: so? What did I do wrong?

ShootingStar: Daddy- there’s only so much that you can do with being cerebral and dashing. (Which you are) Sometimes you just have to be romantic, which I know you can be. i.e.: push her against a wall and kiss her like you mean it.

DaddyLongLegs: Romantic. Right...

DaddyLongLegs: oh no, what did I do?

ShootingStar: you hit bold, Dad. Just hit the little B above the text box and it’ll go off.

DaddyLongLegs: thanks sweetheart.

ShootingStar: No problem

ShootingStar: do you need me to get you the ‘Computers for Dummies’ book?

DaddyLongLegs: Haha, no thanks. I have you.

DaddyLongLegs: How do you know about all this romantic stuff, anyway?

ShootingStar: I’m a girl, dad. It’s just ingrained in us. ;)

ShootingStar: Plus I read Cosmo.

DaddyLongLegs: Oh, that’s stopping right now! My baby does not read Cosmo....

ShootingStar: dad!

DaddyLongLegs: Ok, ok... can’t blame me for trying. It’s my job!

~~~~~~~~~~

Holly Gribbs died today.

And with that one event so many things in my life have been uprooted.

I was getting ready to ask Emma to come live with me, to go to UNLV and be a permanent part of my life for a while. This whole incident has just completely forced that to the back of my mind.

Holly reminded me of her; strong willed, but easily grossed out.

Emma doesn’t like chocolate covered grasshoppers, either.

There are more gray hairs appearing in the midst of brown on my scalp.

There are a few more pounds around my waist.

Emma’s a senior in high school and more incredible than I ever thought she could be.

And now, as the supervisor of the night shift, I can’t take as many days off for cockroach races.

I’ll miss the cockroach races.

I open up the mailbox on my computer and begin typing:

Sara,

I need your help...

AN- spoilers for several episodes from all seasons.

Chapter 13: “The years teach much...”

Nick and Sara’s report is sitting in front of me, yet I still can’t wrap my mind around it. It was so important to this young man to fit in that he humiliated himself and permitted the very action that caused his death. The entire circumstance is horribly sad and cruel.

I have this sudden urge to get to Emma any way I can and keep her hidden and locked away forever. She’s started looking at different colleges and universities, intent on studying dance. For a moment I ponder if it’s really necessary for her to study if this kind of abuse and recreation continues. But then I know that this line of thought is entirely selfish and Emma would never be drawn into something so drastic.

Then again, no one ever thinks their child can be involved in any of the heinous acts we investigate.

Honest, yet cynical, hard working yet lazy, Emma is a study in contradictions. She’s sweet, beautiful, funny, hard as nails and sarcastic. More me than her mother, she’s a geek, but a personable geek who didn’t need to be a ghost in high school. She loves art and music and will still sit in front of a TV or her computer for hours if I let her. She’s so well-rounded, so amazing, so perfect I’d never thought it possible. She’s my angel, my salvation.

Maybe I’m afraid she’ll fall from heaven when she goes away to college, or maybe I’m just afraid of losing her to life.

Ether way, I’m afraid. Of everything.

Besides, no one thought when this young man left for school that they should be afraid of fraternities. Or raw liver.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sometimes you just need someone behind you, pushing.

I push Emma.

Sara pushes me.

Sometimes I wonder what pushes Sara so hard. It’s like there’s a ghost looming over her shoulder, reminding her of all her failures, and making her risk her health to solve each and every case. I know there’s a ghost in her past, it’s what form it takes that I’m unsure of.

Fresh from the shower and sitting at my kitchen table, I’m going over my notes from this evening. I was wrong, and I freely admit it. She was dead five days, not three.

I was so sure of my science, of what I thought I found, that I didn’t give myself a chance to really think. The whole time she was behind me, pushing, and telling me that something was wrong, even if the science was right. Sometimes I’m so wrapped up in the evidence that I lose the human aspect of the cases. But sometimes that is all that Sara sees. Yet, she sat with me all night, and made it clear that even if she was wrong, she’d be happy knowing she was proved wrong by one damn good scientist. It was nice to spend some time with her that was less work-related than is normally the case.

The phone rings, and I reach and answer it.

“Dad, I swear to God my teacher is evil!” Emma’s frustration flies through the phone. In the last couple of years she’s stopped the daily for help with homework in favor of internet chatting or just calling to talk, but the last few months she’s been phoning me just about every other day.

“Physics again?” I want to laugh, but hold it in.

“You know, I honestly don’t care if the farmer ever gets across the river to his poor pig that’s being staked by the wolf!”

“What?” Ok, now she’s lost me. A flash of Porky all wrapped up in a blanket crosses my mind.

“We have to calculate something about the boat going against the current, but all the information is hidden in this incredibly verbose word problem about a farmer and his poor pig being staked by a wolf.” She’s flustered and frustrated, and it’s showing in her voice.

“Ok, velocity, vectors, degrees. You can do this Emma, think about the problem, and take out all the unnecessary information.”

“You make it sound so easy,” she sighs in resignation, “Ok, we don’t need to know that the pig is the farmer’s prized pig.”

“Well, technically, it is. And, technically, we don’t need to know that it’s a pig. Label it as a point, say ‘p,’ on the bank.” I start sketching my own river on the side of my legal pad.

“Technically,” she shoots back sarcastically, “it’s only easy if you’re a genius. Do we need to know the flow of the river?”

“Yes. And I’m not a genius.”

“Ok, ‘cause that’s not in the problem. And yes, you are.” I hear her start flipping through the pages in her book. “At least, you are to me.”

“Well, then, if you say so.” I smile as she curses under her breath and pretend I didn’t hear it. “You know, physics is a very important aspect of dance.”

“I know Dad, you gave me this lecture when I wanted to drop the class.” She pauses and makes a low noise in her throat. “I told you my teacher was evil. We have to do an unassigned problem to get the velocity of the river.” She grumbles under her breath, and this time I do laugh.

“At least you’re in a good mood about all of this sweetheart. You know, I did an experiment just like this to find a missing boat once.” I start sketching a pig on the bank, and as an afterthought, sketch a blanket around it.

“You found a missing boat by helping a farmer get across a river? You just sat watching a pig decompose all night, you can’t be in this good of a mood!” disbelief flies through the phone lines.

“Got my e-mail already?” The pig gets a rope around the blanket, and a bush for shade. “And it wasn’t quite helping a farmer across a river. More about calculating current velocity to figure out where the boat went.”

“You’re so cute with your science! And I check my e-mail every day! Ok, I think I might have this now....” I listen as she mumbles through her calculations, impressed by her ability to work through the problem. Though she would make a wonderful CSI, I’ve never suggested it to her. Her first passion is dance, and she’d never be happy surrounded by death. I would never want that for her.

She would be like Sara, feeling every case too deeply.

She would see the pig on the shore instead of point “p.”

Maybe I can get Sara to teach me how to see the pig sometimes.

~~~~~~~~~~

There was a moment when everything turned upside down.

Just one moment, and my whole perspective on life has changed.

The victims in this case resembled too closely the two women who I felt more for in this life than anyone else: Emma and Sara. I was infinitely grateful Emma wasn’t anywhere near Vegas during those few days.

Then Sara volunteered herself to be the bait, and I was furious. I was her friend, and her boss, I had every right to be angry at her for putting her life in danger.

But when I thought that she was staring eye to eye with our suspect and he was ready to defile her like he had done to the rest of those girls, panic surged through my body. I had to get to her, at any cost. And there was no mistaking the incredible emotions I felt as fatherly or supervisory.

 Wanted to grab her, pull her into my arms and kiss her so hard that we’d cease existing as two people and merge into one perfect being where I could be with her and protect her forever. She’s stopped being the shadow of what I hope Emma to be. Emma is too much of her own person now. Sara has now become the embodiment of my desire: emotionally, physically and mentally.

Chasing after our suspect by myself was, granted, not my brightest idea. But I knew who it was, and my personal sacrifice seemed like nothing compared to the idea that he would be free another day to prey on innocent women like Emma and Sara. The very idea that another young woman would suffer made me sick.

This week has been full of revelations: that my team truly respects and trusts me, that I am too old to go chasing suspects by myself unarmed and without backup, and that I’ve loved Sara Sidle since I met her.

Until now, I’ve been channeling all the feelings I have for her into the only outlet I’ve known for so long: fatherly love. But that’s all changed now. She’s a beautiful, vibrant woman who has captured my heart.

There are still obstacles, but suddenly they seem unimportant.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, “The years teach much which the days never knew.” I see now that it is true. With the years I’ve grown to become a person I never could have imagined I would be.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What about Black Flag?” Greg smirks at me.

I look at the cockroaches I’ve brought as a decoy. I may not be racing them, but that’s no reason to kill them. “Are you nuts?”

I turn the corner and almost spill them all over Catherine, who is dully disgusted. Throughout my conversation with her I keep telling myself to stick only to the facts that I have memorized. They’ll buy it, they have before.

I finally extract myself from the situation and head out, stopping at home to leave the roaches back in their habitat before heading to the airport.

~~~

Twilight is falling as I finally make my way into campus, straining to see the small signs. I finally park and make my way into the theater, picking up my ticket at the reserved desk before taking my seat.

The lights dim and I am infinitely more interested in these amazing displays of technical and emotional prowess than I ever was with the linear and simplistic displays her dance school put on. Though her number is last, I find myself enjoying every minute of the program, my mind not wandering, but blissfully relaxing and allowing itself to be influenced by the movement and power on stage.

Finally, after a two hour program, Emma’s piece is on. She warned me that it wasn’t exactly art, but more of the big-bang finale, and the guest choreographer wasn’t really in tune with what the program was going to be like, but that I should enjoy it anyway.

Drums and darkness, followed by the hallowed and forceful sounds of tap shoes fill in the darkness as the dancers are illuminated slowly. There’s Emma, two from the left, in jeans and a purple shirt. The three in front toss their drums to the back of the stage as the speakers come to life and the girls on the stage start moving with their own beat.

But I can’t hear the music, the tapping, or the clapping.

I shake my head and stare at their feet, Emma’s smiling face, and know that it’s happened again.

Suddenly it cuts back in, and a heavy beat pounds in my ears, a man rapping over it. The taps are loud and crisp in my ears, and I sigh with relief.

The dance ends quickly compared to the ten minute pieces that came before it, and I rush out into the lobby, waiting where Emma told me she’d meet me, bouquet of red roses waiting for her.

~~~

“Hey Griss, how’d it go?” I turn around and head into the break room to talk to Warrick. I’m curious as to how he did.

I stick to my prepared speech instead of telling about my wonderful weekend with my daughter. “The seminar was fine. Every one of my roaches got stage fright. They came in fourth, third, second and dead last. How about you? How'd you do?”

“Well, the job is fine. It's the other stuff -- the personalities.” He’s finally beginning to understand.

“‘I love mankind, it's people I can't stand.’”

Warrick looks up expectantly, “Is that Einstein?”

“Linus.” Ahh, the simplicity of Charlie Brown.

“Charlie Brown. Figures. Is that why you put me in charge?”

“You think I like dealing with people? Remember when you asked me what I was in high school?”

“Yeah, you said ‘A Ghost’.” He looks perplexed. I sit down to explain.

“When I leave CSI, there won't be any cake in the break room. I'll just be gone. So I wanted to see if you could step in.” One day I’ll just leave behind everything I’ve come to cherish here in favor of being with the one I cherish most: Emma. Maybe by that time I will have the only other person who means anything to me: Sara, and we will be able to disappear together. But one day I’ll just be gone, saving me the pain of realizing I’ll be losing something I never really thought I had, and wishing that I could have done it all over again. Warrick looks like he’s beginning to understand what it is to be me. “Tell me... all of it. From the top.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Emma made me take her ice skating once when she was seven, just before she left. After we had fallen a sufficient number of times we retired to the side of the rink to get some hot chocolate. I remember watching the men and women, skating hand in hand, laughing and enjoying the silly yet romantic moments together.

“There are three things in life that people like to stare at. A rippling stream, a fire in a fireplace and a zamboni going round and round.”

Sara doesn’t turn, just stares out at the ice. “Charlie Brown. ‘I love a zamboni.’”

And I love you.

“We all do.”

I want to ask her if she’ll go ice skating with me, but at the moment there are more pressing things. This is for another time.

As we go to get the zamboni, it strikes me that Charlie Brown quotes are quite useful.

~~~~~~~~~~

Added to the list of things Emma will never do: ride on a bus.

The whole “locking her in a closet until she’s forty” idea isn’t looking half bad the more I think about it.

~~~~~~~~~~

There was a sad beauty in her illness.

But it all falls back on her need to fit in, her need to be accepted and loved.

I was worried about Emma when she left, but she’s too strong willed and has no need to be accepted to ever try something as drastic as Ashleigh James.

Sara’s thin, but not too thin. It’s part of her natural beauty.

To be honest, it scared me that she was waiting under the bridge, though in a way I expected her to be there. I could almost feel her pulling me the closer I got, like the sun pulling in the planets. But I can’t let that be the lone force in guiding me now.

Though they all think I’m fairly clueless, I know what’s going on. She’s seeing Hank, and I won’t compromise that. If that’s what makes her happy, I want that for her. I won’t interfere, but I don’t know how I can stay away from her.

~~~~~~~~~~

I never slept with Lady Heather.

That doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.

Besides the obvious, exotic qualities to her, she was a shrewd person. Her empire’s built on other people’s need for fulfillment, but rather the theatrics of it than the actual act. She was beautiful, smart, and seemingly knew more about me in a few hours than the rest of my team has ever noticed.

I related to her on a psychological level that scared me.

It was like a roller coaster.

I could never turn down a roller coaster. So I kissed her. But there was nothing there, no emotion, no spark, nothing like I felt so long ago kissing Sara. I couldn’t use this woman, even if it was her profession.

Rather, we spent the rest of the night, which wasn’t long, talking. Her life story was actually quite fascinating. But her ability to see into me, to see who I am scared me and excited me more than I could ever describe.

She knew I was losing my hearing just because I was looking at her lips. She has a great insight into human nature because of her work. I was hoping that maybe I could see the way she thinks.

But the longer we talked, the sadder I was that one of my best investigators couldn’t unravel the mystery of my hearing loss that was right in front of her face. Perhaps it’s because she’s no longer looking at me; that she’s happy with Hank.

Then Lady Heather quoted Yeats, and images of Emma flashed though my head. I felt somehow very wrong, like Emma would be ashamed of me associating with Lady Heather, even though I saw her as a very strong willed, intelligent person. The need to run far away began to well in my stomach, and my out was easily created by Heather’s own words.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I just want to know why!” Anger and betrayal are heavy in her voice, I rush to try to calm her.

“Why what?” I put my crossword puzzle beside me on my couch and lean back for the upcoming conversation.

“Don’t play dumb, Dad! C’mon. Why won’t you let me come out there?” She sounds like she’s almost in tears.

“Emma, calm down. I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.” My body tenses, I hate being so far away from her when she’s upset. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

“That’s what I thought! So why did you tell Mom yesterday that I can’t come?”

“I didn’t talk to your mother yesterday.” I beginning to see what’s going on. “What was she supposed to talk to me about?”

“UNLV is hosting a summer dance intensive that I want to go to, and Mom said I could only go if I stay with you, not in the dorms, which I really don’t see the logic in since I live in dorms most of the year here, even though I’d really rather stay with you. Anyway, she just told me she talked to you yesterday and that you said I couldn’t!” Her voice is heavy with tears of betrayal, and I wish I could hold her.

“Sweetheart, I haven’t talked to your mother in months. And you’re always welcome here. I would love it if you would come stay with me for a while. I couldn’t think of anything I’d like more in fact.” The thought of Emma, here, for an extended period of time, sends chills up my spine; both good and bad.

It’s been years since I’ve spent more than a few days with her at a time, years since she’s been here in Vegas for more than a week. Suddenly I’m afraid that I’m no longer the father she knew, that who I am can never hold up to the image of me she has in her mind. For a second I contemplate taking everything back. But I know I can’t, I’d be punishing us both unnecessarily.

“Daddy, are you serious?” I can hear the hope and happiness in her voice, and I know I could never deny her that.

“Yes. When can you be here?”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” She has the same timber in her voice as when she asked me to sleep with her, and look how well that turned out. I’m in no mood for jokes, I need to pick Emma up and settle her in.

“No...”

“Why not? Let’s... Let’s have dinner. Let’s see what happens.” She looks up at me expectantly.

Oh my God, she’s serious. “Sara...” I already turned her down, and I can’t do it tonight... Since her relationship with Hank ended I’ve been conflicted. Suddenly, the age difference, my hearing loss, they seem like huge burdens that I can’t weigh her down with, but that does nothing to quell my desire for her. “I don’t know what to do about this.”

She nods as if she was expecting my cryptic answer. “I do.”

I have no answer for her. There is too much going on right now for me to even attempt to make things right between us for all that’s gone on the last few years. The new problem of the insistence of my hearing problem weighs on me, as does the fear that Emma will not be satisfied with me. If I can’t satisfy my own daughter’s needs, how in the world could I even begin to satisfy Sara.

“You know, by the time you figure it out, you really could be too late.”

Watching her turn and walk away I know that her words are prolific, on so many levels.

AN- first, I actually DID drop out of physics 4 years ago in high school, so I did the best I could. I am convinced my teacher was the embodiment of evil, though some other people didn’t see it that way. Second- the program I described is based on my university’s 2002 Dance Ensemble performance where I participated in a tap dance choreographed by Gil Stroming.

___

Chapter 14: Outside The Box

“Emma?” I whisper as I push open her door. The lights are off and there’s an unmoving lump under the blanket. A smile creeps onto my face as I walk over to the window and tip the blinds open. There’s a low moan behind me and I can hear the bed shift. When I turn she’s completely hidden by the blanket she’s pulled over her head.

“C’mon. Wake up.” I walk over to the bed and place a hand on the middle of the lump and give it a little shake. “I’m making breakfast, what do you want?”

“Mmmmmmmm,” is the only response I get, so I pull the comforter down away from her, and search through the tangled mass of hair for her face.

I drop a kiss on her forehead, “ You have to get up sweetheart. This time tomorrow you’ll be dancing already.”

“I’m up, I’m up...” She mumbles, then shifts around in bed, snuggling down into the blanket once more.

“Ok, good.” I head out to the kitchen, and on my way flick on the light in her room, laughing at her groan as I head toward the kitchen. “Emma?”

“Pancakes. And strawberries!” I hear as she pads down the hall to the bathroom and turns on the shower.

Mixing the batter, I’m tired, but happy. She’s only been here a few days, but has already become like the air I breathe. Catherine mentioned that I’ve seemed different lately, and I know that I can attribute that to Emma: she’s brought a sense of domestic purpose and normalcy to my life.

I’m lost in thought and pancakes when the lights flicker. I turn around, looking for the source of the light problem, and see Emma standing in the door by the light switch, her wet hair starting to curl over her shoulders and an angry look on her face. Her hands start flying in the air and I’m suddenly very aware of what just happened.

Damn it.

‘When are you going to get this checked out?’ Her movements are fluid, if somewhat lacking in their exactness.

“Emma, I really don’t want to discuss this now.” I say it out loud, acutely aware that I can’t even hear my own voice, and turn back to the pan to flip the pancake.

Emma comes up behind me and taps my shoulder. I turn and face her, watching her lips move in synchrony with her hands. ‘You always told me not to run away from my problems. Is that what you are doing? Hoping it will go away? Well, you may be right, Father, it will go away completely. Forever. Are you ready to never hear again? Because I don’t think I’m ready for you to never hear me again.’

I just stare at her, amazed at her ability to confront me, and even more flabbergasted that she’s read me so well.

But I should have known that. She’s always been closer to me than anyone else. The anger’s melted from her face and she’s close to tears. I hear her take a deep breath, and I know my hearing’s returned.

I reach down and turn off the range before I pull her into my arms. “I’m sorry, Emma. You’re right.”

“No, I’m sorry, Daddy. We don’t have to talk about this if you don’t want to.” She’s choked up and trying her best not to cry, hugging me for dear life.

“No, we’ll talk about it.” I kiss the top of her head, and wipe the silent tears from her eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

After Emma’s outburst and my hearing being absent several times today, I finally asked Al for a second opinion. They’re both right, I was just hoping it would go away, and just like Emma said, I’m now faced with that option. Permanently.

Telling Catherine was not comfortable, but it’s what I had to do.

The surgery’s set for Saturday morning. Emma will drop me off in the morning after work, and won’t have to worry about missing her intensive. Though I feel a bit uneasy about letting her see me in such a vulnerable position, I think my pride has to take a back seat for now.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Dad...” She stands and stares at me like I used to stare at her when she was being disobedient.

“Emma, you don’t need to come back and pick me up.” The candy striper hands me the gown and leaves, stating that an orderly will be by to bring me to surgery in a few minutes.

“How are you going to get home? I’m not letting you take a cab, ok? Besides, who else,” she pauses and switches to sign language, ‘even knows you are here to take you home? Please? It will make me feel better.’ She switches back to speaking, “And you might even like it.” She looks up at me with smiling yet hopeful eyes.

“Ok, ok. You can pick me up. I’ll have the nurse call. I promise.” I reach over and pull her into a hug.

“Break a leg, Daddy. I’ll be back when you’re ready.” She kisses me on the cheek and turns, leaving me alone to change into the humiliating gown.

~~~

“Excuse me, nurse?”

I look up from the paperwork I’m filling out into the striking blue eyes of a beautiful young woman.“Yes?”

“Can you please make sure that I’m called when my father’s out of surgery? Dr. Gil Grissom?” I smile at her and search for the information chart on my desk. I look up while I flip though the chart for the contact information to find her nervously fidgeting with the keys in her hands.

“And your name?” She seems sweet enough, but I still need to verify that she’s who she says she is: hospital policy.

“Emma Grissom.” It matches the name he’s put down as next of kin for this particular visit, even though another name adorns his permanent chart.

“Ok, just check this number here for me, and I’ll make sure you’re called as soon as he’s settled in recovery.” I replace the chart and start filling out a slip to tape to the front for the recovery nurse to call.

“Thank you,” she says as she smiles and turns away.

I watch her walk down the hall as I stand to stretch. Her confident walk in these dreary and burdened halls is refreshing. Just as she’s about to head out of the swinging doors at the end of the hall, my eye is caught by a confident blonde coming towards me.

They pass each other with little more than the cursory eye contact that belongs to strangers on the street.

The blonde stops in front of my desk.

“Can I help you?” I ask, sounding more interested than I am.

“Uh, yes. I’m here to see Gil Grissom.” She smiles politely and waits expectantly.

“He’s about to be brought down to surgery, are you family?” I’m sincerely doubting it considering she just passed his daughter without a look of recognition.

“I’m his sister, Catherine.” She must see that I don’t believe her. “Look, I’ll make it quick, I just need to make sure he has a ride home...”

“You’re not his sister.” I look at her knowingly.

“Ok, so I’m not. Five minutes?” She’s trying to bargain with me. And normally she’s not allowed in.

“What’s your last name?” I pull out his chart again and flip to the pages of contact information.

“Willows.” She looks at me sideways and suspiciously.

“You are listed under the emergency contact information. So I’ll allow you to see him, just for five minutes, he’s going into surgery. Room 211, right down the hall.” I use my best authoritative voice.

“Thanks.” She smiles and heads down the hall. She turns back for a second and leans on the desk. “Can you make sure I’m called to give him a ride home when he gets out of surgery? He’ll try to take a cab home if you let him.”

“No need to worry. That pretty brunette girl’s taking him home, we have it all straightened out.”

“Oh, ok, then.” She mumbles something under her breath about him not screwing up as badly as she thought, then turns back to me. “Just tell Sara to call me, then, if she needs anything.” This time, when Catherine Willows turns to head to Gil Grissom’s room, she doesn’t turn back to me.

I don’t know who Sara is, but this man is very lucky. He has at least two, probably three beautiful women who care very much for him. I wonder if he knows it.

___

AN- An “Intensive” (at least as I’ve used it here) is any kind of workshop having to do with one thing. At least that’s basically it. More specifically, a dance intensive can last anywhere from a week to a summer and consists of dance classes and dance related classes (such as dance history, pilates, health classes, etc.) all day. It’s basically like going to school just for all the aspects of one subject (here: dance) all summer long. Hope that clarifies some questions.

***Also, for future reference!!! I DO NOT KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THE UNLV DANCE PROGRAM BESIDES THE FACT THAT THEY HAVE ONE!*** All facts used in my story from now on will be based on experiences from my own school. If anyone has any questions about the dance facts or would like to know more about the program at my school, feel free to e-mail me.

PS- Amazing special thanks to Marlou for the speed beta!

___

Chapter 15: Shhh

I let the cold water run over my wrist, waiting for it to show any signs of warmth for my shower while my vivid dream still assaults me: visions of us together, wrapped around each other in ecstasy. I indulge in the fantasy for a second, letting the water run as I slowly begin to undress myself with hands that I imagine aren’t my own.

The phone’s shrill ring breaks me from the moment, and even though the apartment’s empty I cover my body with a towel as I run for the phone.

“Hello?” I hold the phone against my shoulder as I tuck the towel around myself.

“Hey, Sara. I actually wasn’t expecting to catch you.” Catherine sounds genuinely surprised over the phone.

“Well, it’s not much different from most evenings. Why? What’s up?” This sounds like it’s going to be a long conversation, so I head to the bathroom to shut off the water and begin redressing.

“So I guess Grissom’s doing okay then?” I stop short as I slide my shirt over my head, confused by the statement. I tug the tee into place then head to the sofa.

“I guess so. Why wouldn’t he be?”

Catherine huffs, her frustrated voice filling the phone, “So then the operation went well? Don’t leave me hangin’ here, Sara!”

“What? Why was Grissom having.... his hearing?” I know she’s surprised by my disjointed outburst, but I can’t stop it. I stand and start pacing. “He didn’t tell me about this! Why... Catherine?”

“Uh, Sara, maybe I shouldn’t...” I can almost see her physically shying away from the phone.

“Oh, no, Catherine. I want to hear it all...”

~~~~~~~~~~

My head is swimming, and for a second I don’t know where I am. I rub the sleep from my eyes and see that I’m in my bed, tucked in quite snugly. I don’t remember anything after walking to the operating room and hearing the anesthesiologist’s speech as he started the IV.

A glance at the side table reveals that it’s early evening, and makes me so dizzy I have to close my eyes. When I open them again I see a folded piece of paper boasting “Dad” and slowly grab it.

I attempt to sit up to read it, but dizziness befalls me again. I unfold the paper and read it from where I am.

Daddy,

Glad to see you’re awake. The Doctor said you’d be very dizzy for a day or two, and that you probably wouldn’t remember coming home from the hospital. He also said that it was a complete success, no complications. As long as we keep you in silence for the next two days there’s no reason why your hearing won’t be as good, if not better, than before.

That means no talking, for either of us. I did a little work around the house... so there’s no doorbell, no phone, no nothing for the next two days. Your cell (on vibrate) is next to your bed... just text message my cell (which is also on vibrate) when you wake up.

Love,

Emma

A smile crosses my face. She’s taking care of me now. I never asked her to do any of this, didn’t even tell her what needed to be done, yet here she is, taking over, and making me extremely proud.

The lights flash and I look up at the door, a smile on her face. ‘How are you feeling?’ she signs deftly.

‘Dizzy.’ I close my eyes and slide so I’m sitting up.

‘Expected.’ She signs back. She looks a little apprehensive, but finally comes over to the side of my bed and throws her arms around me, squeezing me in an impossibly tight hug. After a beautifully long moment holding her in my arms, I push her back and see tears in her eyes.

‘Why are you upset? What’s wrong’ I sign.

An embarrassed smile crosses her features and she pulls back to free her hands. ‘I’m just glad you are ok.’

I pull her in for another hug, touched at her concern. This time she extricates herself from my grasp quickly and reverts into nurse mode. ‘Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you need anything?’

‘No, I am just going to go back to sleep.’ Emma nods and winks before quietly sneaking out of the room. I sneak back down under the blankets, my mind already fogging over, and dream of my daughter.

~~~~~~~~~~

When I wake again I find that Emma’s been busy again. On my bedside table is another note, a book, some mail, and a bottle of water. The clock registers ten in the morning, and I’m struck by the fact that I’ve slept almost fifteen hours.

Prepared for the dizziness this time, I close my eyes and slide up. Clicking on the light I unfold her note:

Dad,

Borrowed your car keys- didn’t want to disturb you- and took your car to the Intensive. I figured that since you can’t drive anyway you wouldn’t miss it.

Left you the mail and a book I found in the living room with a bookmark in it, in case you wanted to do some lite reading. (Ok, so maybe forensics isn’t lite reading... couldn’t find much else!) Also, there’s a note with some phone messages.

Text message me if you need me, I’ll be back by 3 today.

Love,

Emma

I scan the messages; see one from Catherine and one from Sara. Catherine’s is motherly, concerned and asking me to let her know how I’m doing. Sara’s is short: asking if I’m ok and to call her. Emma’s put a note at the bottom that she sounded upset. I groan and slip the paper back on the bedside table.

I’ll deal with them later.

~~~~~~~~~~

My eyes survey the scene, and I know that, no matter what, I’ve lost. There’s only one chance left: roll a six. I start calculating the possibilities of rolling a six when a waving hand invades my vision and my eyes snap up to meet her face.

Emma’s plastered a fake mask of frustration on, and motions for me to roll the dice. She’s been sticking to my doctor’s orders to the letter; keeping all possible noises away from my recovering ears. She’s been so successful at this sometimes I wonder if my hearing is any better at all, or if I’ve completely lost it for good.

Emma huffs and rolls her eyes for good measure, she’s very good at non-verbal communication, before I relent and tip my head. With a vigorous shake of my hand I toss the dice across the table.

I wince.

Five.

Emma smiles.

I move the top hat five spaces, and ceremoniously hand over the rest of my paper money and the three properties that I’m holding in mortgage. In slightly less than an hour my baby girl has put me in the Monopoly poorhouse.

I smile and bow my head before lifting my hands. ‘You’ve defeated me!’

‘I told you I was gonna win.’ She signs back with a smirk as she piles her money. ‘Want to try me again?’

‘I think I will just bow down to your superior Monopoly skills.’ I start to put the game away. ‘Movie?’

‘With the sound off!’ She reminds me as she puts her winnings back in the box and heads over to the closet to put it away. When she turns back I wave to get her attention.

‘Why? I’m all right now. And you shouldn’t punish yourself just on my account. This has to be torture for you.’ I know she’s trying to take care of me, but she’s never lived in an environment like this, so devoid of artificial sound that I know has come to comfort her as it had me.

‘Because it is good for you.’ She signed with a smirk, ‘Now don’t ask questions, or I’m sending you to bed without dessert.’ She erupted in giggles which made their way to my ears- sounding muffled, but there none the less. I smiled.

‘You sound like my mother.’

‘Where do you think I got the bright ideas for all of the quiet, yet accessible, things in here? Grandma taught me well!’

She flops down next to me and snuggles into my side. I have to wrap my arm around her to sign, ‘Well, she just might have to get a good talking to, in that case.’

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, it’s me again. Just, um... So... Catherine slipped and told me you were in the hospital. So, just call me to let me know you’re ok, ok?” I wanted to say more, but reluctantly hung up the phone. Tossing the phone on the table, I fell back into the couch, utterly confused.

While Grissom could be a prick, he usually didn’t do it on purpose. Not returning my phone calls had to be on purpose. If he had surgery, which I don’t think Catherine would lie to me about, then he’d want to be home.

My hands start to rub at my temples, trying to ease the tension. But what if...

...what if something’s wrong?

What if he can’t return my phone calls? What if something happened? I jump up and search for the phone, my eyes bunging out at the thought of him in trouble.

But I stop myself, and start biting my thumbnail. His rebuff had been harsh, but the wound was still open, and I still don’t know how I want to handle it.

I lean back into the couch and try to convince myself that he’s not in trouble, that he’s not calling me back because he’s not there, or because he’s being an ass. Anything but that he’s hurt.

~~~~~~~~~~

I step out of the shower and I can hear the faintest strains of music. From the other side of the door it’s unidentifiable, but a smile crosses my face as I realize I can hear it. Over the last day as Emma’s allowed sound back into my world, it amazes me how truly precious it is. The first thing I heard again was Emma’s laugh.

Now I know that I will never have to wonder if I will hear her laugh or not again, because I know I will. Dressed and feeling refreshed, I exit the bathroom and take in the more prominent strains of Brahms coming from the living room. I lean against the doorway and watch Emma, with her back to me, using the table as an improvised ballet bar as she moves through a series of bends and stretches.

I get to watch her for only a minute before she turns and stops short, an embarrassed smile crossing her face as she see me.

“Don’t stop on my account.” I motion for her to continue.

A blush creeps up her face as she returns to her pliés. “Well,” she stutters out as she leans back, “do you have to watch me?”

“That’s my job.” I smile at her embarrassment. Seems funny that just a few years ago she would dance anywhere, for anyone, and now she’s embarrassed just warming up in our living room. I move through towards to kitchen. “Want some breakfast?”

“Nope. Ate already. I need to get going, actually.” She picks up her bag from the couch and slips on her sneakers. Her rolled pink tights, running down her legs much farther than her shorts, are quite a sight. She’s told me it’s a matter of simplicity and comfort, not a fashion statement, and I’m still not used to it. She walks over and plants a peck on my stubbly cheek. “I’ll be back around 3, like usual. Keys?” She held her hand out expectantly.

Instead of handing her my set, I reach in a drawer and pull out a silver ladybug key chain with two keys on it and lay it in her hand. She turns over the ladybug in her hands, admiring its weight and the red jewels that made up the spots, just as I did when I saw it. I reach over and press on one of the ladybug’s legs and the back opens to reveal a small watch face. She smiles up at me questioningly.

“I actually got them for you before you came- just kept forgetting to give it to you. Your own house and car key. Plus, you’ll always have a clock on you- so you’ll never be late.” I smile back.

“Thanks Dad!” She hugs me briefly before backing away and heading out the door. “And shave that beard!” She yells before she walks out. I laugh and run a hand over the scruff. I’m actually kind of partial to it, and too lazy to shave.

I head over to the refrigerator to start my breakfast when the doorbell rings. I head over to the door with a smile on my face. I unlock the lock and speak before the door’s even open. “You know, there is a reason why I gave you a key!”

When I look up, I’m taken aback. It’s not Emma, but rather a stunned Sara Sidle standing on my doorstep. We both stand there, dumbstruck, and trying to make some kind of sound come out of our immobile mouths for what seems like ages.

Suddenly she begins backing up and rambling. “I should go, I guess. I just came by to see how you were...”

“Wait!” I throw open the door and reach out a hand, grabbing her wrist.

~~~~~~~~~~

As he grabs my wrist in a panic, trying to keep me there for some reason, all I want to do is leave.

He is being a prick. He’s not sick.

“Come in,” he says breathless and desperate, moving me inside his home.

I just saw a brunette leave in his car, he gave someone his key, and now as he ushers me inside the door my investigator’s eye picks up the presence of a woman: pale pink flip flops by the door, a hairbrush on the counter with long brown hairs in its tines and black elastics wrapped around its handle, and a pink satin robe thrown over a kitchen chair. Either he doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care.

So this is why he turned down my dinner offer. He’s seeing someone else. Bastard could have said so instead of leading me on with that crap about not knowing what to do about us and then pairing me with him on the bank robbery.

“Look,” I croak out, staying close to the door, “I was just making sure you were ok. You weren’t returning my messages and Catherine had let it slip you were in the hospital, so I was just a little worried.” He’s still holding on to my wrist, and I softly extricate myself from him. I feel like running away and crying.

“Sara, I probably should have told you,” he looks at his empty hand like it’s burning him, “but there never seemed to be a right time...”

I can’t take it anymore, and I will not let him see me cry. “Griss, it’s none of my business. I’m just...glad you’re ok.” I reach for the door and open it; “I’ll see you at work when you come back.” I walk out of his home, leaving him standing there, slack jawed.

When I’m finally in the safety of my car I let the tears fall. Bastard.

Chapter 16: Legs

“Dad, I’m home!” Emma calls as she enters. I hear the door close and the lock snick before she dumps her dance bag on the entryway floor with a sigh. The acuity with which my hearing has returned has been amazing, and I’m truly thankful.

“In my office!” I call. I hear her kick off her shoes and the patter of her bare feet walking towards me.

“You know this was supposed to be a dining room, right?” She observes as she wraps her arms around my neck from behind in a lose hug, choosing to hang there and survey my desk.

“What was I going to do with a dining room?” I had closed off the oversized entry from the kitchen with a wall of bookcases, serving as more storage for my library and as a place for my live insects away from the main living area. Emma had demonstrated when she was very young that while I had no problem functioning in front of my bugs, she couldn’t do anything without keeping an eye on them. Even now she’s quite wary of where they are at all times. “This is much more useful.”

“True.”

“Go shower.” I command, turning in my chair to plant a kiss on her cheek and smile at her.

“Do I smell that bad? I didn’t sweat that much in modern today!” She looks insulted as she steps back trying to smell herself, and I can’t help but find it adorable.

“No. We’re going out tonight.” She stops and looks up at me, dumbfounded. “You know; you and me, outside of this house for once...” Her face relaxed somewhat. “Dinner and the theatre,” I finally add by way of explanation. A smile breaks across her face. “Wear something nice.”

“What are we seeing?” She asks eagerly.

“Les Ballet Trocadero de Monte Carlo. I seem to remember you telling me about them a while ago. Show starts at eight, dinner reservations are for six, and I’m counting on rush hour traffic. It’s three thirty now, and I need a shower after you. Go!”

Emma looks flustered for a second, then smiles and bounds out of the room.

I haven’t spent an evening out like the one I have planned with Emma for years. The last time we went to the theatre was to see The Nutcracker when she was six. Tonight there’s no work, no infirmities, no impending doom hanging over my head to keep me from truly connecting with my daughter.

As I hear Emma rush into the bathroom and start the shower, the image of a confused and hurt Sara crosses my mind. I’m still not quite sure what happened, or why she rushed out of here so fast. I’ve thought about calling Catherine, and even considered asking Emma for insight, but in the end kept the encounter to myself. I’ll be returning to work on Monday, maybe I can smooth things over then.

~~~~~~~~~~

Emma’s immersed in the program while we’re waiting for the show to begin, and I can’t keep my eyes off of her. While the father in me says that the strapless blue dress she’s wearing reveals just a bit too much, I can still see that she’s positively gorgeous in it. Her hair curls just over her shoulder, her dainty heels bring her closer to eye level, and she’s been smiling like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

Dinner proved to me that she’s not only kept book smart, but intelligent. Without the stress of the surgery and silence hanging over us, Emma and I talked at length about her intensive, my job, and anything that came up. I’m now positively in awe of her.

The lights begin to dim and she folds the program in her lap, leaning forward expectantly towards the stage.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Sara, he’s on medical leave!” Catherine yelled as she followed Sara through CSI to the layout room. Sara hoisted her bag up on the counter, pulled out a package of jerky, and then started pulling out tiny jars, each with their separate inhabitants.

“Catherine, first of all, he didn’t look that sick when I went to see him the other day, and second of all, it doesn’t matter. My body was riddled with thousands of these, I did the best that I could trying to decipher the species, and I just sent back a whole box of specimen jars for Nick to bag every bug he can find! If it were my choice he could never come back for all I care!” Sara was practically yelling at Catherine now as she went through each of the two dozen jars she had laid out, putting a piece of jerky in each. “But we need Grissom on this case. At least as a consult... at least to just look at these guys...”

Sara stopped and stared at the jerky in her hands. “Catherine! He’s got me touching meat. MEAT!”

“Sara, calm down,” Sara only shot Catherine a look that could kill. “Have Doc look at the body first? At least?” Sara grumbled. “Sara? Did you talk to him about what’s going on?”

“It’s a little more complicated than just talking, Catherine.” Sara rubbed her forehead and tossed the jerky back in her bag.

“C’mon. Let’s take a break. Tell me all about it.” Catherine walked over and laid a hand on Sara’s arm.

Sara looked up and sighed. “Fine. I’ll wait till Nicky gets back to call. Let me finish with these guys and I’ll meet you in the break room.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Emma’s hand is wedged in the crook of my arm as we make our way out of the theatre, a huge smile plastered on her face. The Troc, as Emma began to refer to it, had been a startling, but good, experience. While I had my own thoughts, Emma’s insights through her training brought a different perspective, and I listened with rapt attention.

“Do you know how difficult it is to do point? And men hardly ever do it! They were just amazing! I’ve always wanted to see them perform...” She squeezes my arm. “Thank you so much Daddy!”

We finally reach the car and we get in, Emma still discussing the technical aspects of the show with awe. As we pull out onto the street I feel a vibration on my hip. My hand goes to my belt and I pull the pager out, tossing it over to Emma who’s been watching me.

“What does that say?”

“911 bugs HQ Nick,” She reads off in confusion.

“Work. Must be important otherwise they’d never page me.” I look over to see her face slightly crestfallen. “I’ll drop you off at home, then stop at work for a minute. It shouldn’t be long.”

“It’s important?” Emma asks, playing with my pager.

“If it’s not, they’re in trouble.” I joke.

“Well, aren’t we closer to CSI than home? I can wait in the car... Or your office, or something, right? If it’s important, it’s important.” She looks at me with a half smile and shrugs.

“Are you sure?” She nods and I smile. While it seems that I can’t get through one nice evening out without getting paged by work, I think I’ve found the first woman who truly understands. I take the first right turn I see and mumble under my breath, “Nick, this better be good.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Nick, this better be good!” I said as I strolled in the layout room. “What did you do, collect every bug you saw?”

“Yeah, basically.” Nick smiled, shrugged, and waved at the collection of jars that covered the table. “Yeah, Griss. It’s good. Besides your normal creepy crawlers, which Sara braved meat to keep alive for you might I add, we’ve got spiders.”

“Spiders?” I ask as I move to take a closer look at the jars on the table.

“Yup. Spiders all over the body. I haven’t been able to identify them yet, and we know that you’re supposed to be on medical leave...”

I look up at him from my position at eye level with the jars. I know there’s an edge to my voice, but at the moment I don’t really care. “I am on medical leave, Nick.”

“Well, you look all dressed up like you were out on a date or something...” I look at him again and he stops his rambling with a well-placed cough. “Anyway, we were hoping you could shed some light on this for us.”

“Start putting all of this stuff in boxes and bring it over to my office. I’ll need a copy of whatever notes you have available, too. I have to go home, I’ll be back in an hour.” Nick nods and starts collecting the jars as I head out to my office.

~~~~~~~~~~

Greg flies into the break room like a bat out of hell, a grin on his face and a question in his eyes. Catherine and I are still sitting here, our lunch long gone. She’s been avoiding saying anything concrete about my problems, but continues to assure me all I need to do is talk to him.

Greg looks at us with wild eyes. “Who’s in Grissom’s office?”

“I’d assume Grissom. We paged him; bugs.” I add in, hoping that it’s indifference and not anger clouding my voice.

“Uh, unless he got a sex change in the last few days, I definitely don’t think those were his stiletto heels, tiny feet, or shapely legs that I saw dangling over the side of his chair when I walked past his office.” Greg’s practically salivating while he’s describing his discovery.

My stomach drops at Greg’s assessment. Damn him! He brought her here? Now he has to shove this in my face. Catherine must sense my discomfort, because she runs interference for me.

“Greg, are you sure?” She stands up and puts her hand on his shoulder in a motherly way.

“Very. I did a double take. The chair was facing backwards.. But those legs...” He reverts into his own dreamland for a second and Catherine watches as I roll my eyes.

I can hear Grissom’s tone down the hall before I hear the actual words, and my body is called to attention. Then I hear it; the tiny clack of delicate heels on the floor. The three of us turn to look out the glass at the hallway, but all I can see from this angle is Grissom, his head turned to a woman on his arm. Once he passes me I can see that she’s a brunette, her hair done with care, her blue dress is flattering and strapless, showing off her figure with a quiet sensuality, and black stately stilettos clicked on the floor.

Greg was right, her legs were gorgeous. Muscular calves were displayed as her dress ended in a slight train just below her knees. Suddenly I felt just like I did in high school: Tall, lanky, and a complete fool.

Greg, for his part, was hanging on the doorway, his eyes locked on the mystery woman on Grissom’s arm, salivating. I couldn’t take it anymore, I had to leave.

“I have to go find Nick,” I mumble as I push past Catherine and Greg, stomping down the hall.

~~~~~~~~~~

I try to be quiet as I stumble through the door, aware that on her first day off from the intensive Emma’s most likely asleep at this early hour.

The poor guy had stumbled upon a nest of spiders and died of anaphylactic shock. While it looked like a suspicious circs, the tox screen confirmed that he was allergic to spider venom. One bite wouldn’t have done anything, but the twenty or so we found on his leg definitely did him in.

The television’s on, casing a blue glow in the dark room. Emma’s curled up sleeping on the couch, a blanket balled in her fists, an infomercial casting an eerie glow on her features. I sit on the edge of the couch by her feet and shake her, eliciting a moan as she rolls over and blinks her eyes at me.

“What time is it?” she croaks out.

“Six-thirty. Why aren’t you in bed? You’re not waiting up for me, I hope.” I smile and tuck the blanket more securely around her.

“Nope, was watchin’ some tv. Every time I fell asleep I’d see that thing... in that jar...” She shivers with recognition, but I’m not sure what she’s talking about, her description just short of being specific. “So I thought I’d distract myself.” She smiles up sleepily.

“C’mon!” I say as I pull at her hands. “Bed time for both of us!”

“Amen to that!” She mumbles as she pulls the blanket around her, following me down the hall. When we get to her door she reaches up and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Thanks Dad, for everything.”

She’s looking up at me with such love and admiration that I’m sure there’s some hidden meaning I’m missing. But for now I’ll just accept the warm feeling it’s giving me. I reach over and hug her tightly. “I love you more than anything Emma, even my job, you know that.”

She hugged me tightly, and with another peck, she disappeared into her room.

While I was processing my bugs tonight I realized that at some point, probably very soon, a man will be in her life and I’ll hold a slightly less important spot. She’ll look to someone else for comfort and wisdom, strength and help. Sighing, I decided to make the best of the time I have left with her to myself.

Chapter 17: Sore Spots

“Emma?”

“Uhhnnnnn...” came Emma’s groan from the couch. I could only see one sock clad foot protruding from the blanket and an arm slung over her eyes as I entered the living room, and something told me that this situation was just not right. The lack of light from the falling dusk added to the mystery of the scene, and I approached her carefully.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” As I got closer I could see that she had one leg propped up on the coffee table, still under the blanket, a bulge where her knee should be.

She pushed herself up onto her elbows causing her face to contort in discomfort. “Sore,” she answered in a scratchy voice. Emma cleared her throat and wiped the sleep from her eyes as I lifted her foot into my lap to sit on the arm of the couch. She let out a contented groan as I started to massage it.

“Why so sore? You weren’t this bad last week? Were you?” Though I’ve had glimpses through Emma, the world of a dancer is still a mystery to me; aches, pains, ambition, and hard work... this new suffering aspect has me quite worried.

“Yeah. You were just drugged up and missed my drama queen act,” she throws at me with a lopsided grin. “We got a new modern teacher in today. He has more of an African style with some sadistic tendencies.” At my confused look, she laughs. “It’s cool, Dad. He gives a great class, I’m just not used to moving like that!”

“Are you going to be ok? I could stay home from work...” I trail off as she gives me an incredulous look. To be honest, I’m almost dreading going back to work, especially after my encounter with Sara. I would rather stay here, losing at Monopoly to Emma, than be stuck in a hell where I can’t express myself, can’t fix what’s gone so horribly wrong.

With the weight of my hearing off of my back, I’ve been able to open my eyes and see that I’ve only created more problems while I was shutting out the real world.

“Nope. You gotta work.” She smiles and sits up, revealing an ice pack on her knee. “I know you miss it. I’ll be fine.”

Normally she’d be right, but tonight it feels like I’m heading for the executioner.

I lean over and kiss her forehead. “Ok, sweetheart. Call me if you need anything?”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Got a minute?” Brass pokes his head into my office, a half smile on his face.

“Sure, Jim. What’s up?” I put the file down, happy to be distracted from the paperwork. Shift won’t start for another two hours, but even with the heavy pall of consequence hanging over my head, I have certain administrative responsibilities that were ignored for a week.

“Just came to see how you’re doing, you know: shoot the shit.” Jim’s smile seemed a bit more sinister as he sat down in front of me.

“How thoughtful,” I say as I lean back, a speculative edge to my voice. Jim just raises his eyebrows. I look back at him and shake my head a little; you’re not fooling me.

“How’s Emma doing?” He asks plainly.

At first I’m caught off guard, but relax into the ease of the situation. With Emma and Ellie practically the same age, Jim and I have shared the concerns of being absent fathers over bottles of beer many a night. “She’s doing great. Better than I ever expected.” A small smile hints at my eyes, proof of my pride in her.

“Saw you two in the parking lot the other night. She’s gorgeous, Gil.” I detect a hint of sadness in his voice, possibly for the loss of a relationship with his own daughter. He shifts in his chair, clearing away the unwanted memory, and continues, “Things around here have been a bit shaken up since you left.”

“How so?” I’m gone for a week and the world ends around here. Not the kind of information I want to hear, especially when I thought they’d be more than competent to deal with my absence.

“Sara’s in one of her moods, Cath picked it up the other day, neither of them are spilling about it. That put the boys on edge, and then there’s Greg.”

“What about Greg?” Though the lab tech has an affinity for getting under-foot, I truly do respect his tenacity and knowledge. I joke because I care, but it occurs to me that I may want to make sure he understands that.

“Well, he can’t seem to stop talking about this certain leggy brunette who has invaded his imagination...” Jim scrunches his eyebrows.

“And that’s different... how?”

“‘Legs,’ as he calls her, was actually your escort last Friday night.”

For a second I stop breathing, and Jim starts laughing hilariously- though I don’t’ see any humor in the situation.

Greg is thinking about Emma. But there isn’t enough time to figure out how I feel about this before Brass cuts in again.

“Problem is, no one saw her face.” I raise an eyebrow in confusion. Brass leans forward and whispers to me, “They all think she’s your girlfriend, Gil.”

“What?” I practically shout.

“Yeah, Gil.” Brass gets up to leave, but he turns back to me. “You know, I know discretion was... important before. But there are some things that shouldn’t be kept total secrets.” He turns back to me completely and looks at the floor while he’s talking. “She’s a big girl now, Gil. You can’t protect her forever. Enjoy it while you can.” He looks up at me, “Talk to them and straighten things out. About everything.”

And with that, he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Sara, Nick, missing person.” I hand them the slip and turn to Catherine. “Cath, you have court tomorrow, brush up on your notes. Warrick, keep on the db from the other night.” At their stares I continue. “I’m on a backlog of paperwork unless something else comes in.” With a smile I add, “I’ll be in my office, stop by.”

I shrug my shoulders and turn to leave when I hear Warrick.

“Boss, you... better?”

Turning back, I see his concerned face, his forehead wrinkled and his eyes holding a look of apprehension.

“Better than I’ve been in a while.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Griss?” Sara asks hesitantly, leaning on the doorframe, an apprehensive look on her face.

“Come in,” I say, motioning to the chair across from my desk. She slowly crosses the room and sits, looking anywhere but at me. Once sitting, she doesn’t say anything, so I try to get her to look at me. “How was the missing person?”

She looks up, then slouches over and looks back at her hands before talking. “Girl ran away from home, came back while we were processing her room because she forgot her toothbrush.”

“Oh.” The tension in the air is thick, and I’m trying to think of a way to cut it, when she speaks.

“Look,” she starts, alternating her piercing gaze between her hands and me, “I’m glad you’re.... better.” She’s choosing her words carefully, I can tell. “I probably shouldn’t have come visit you... but I was worried.”

“Sara,” I try to interject, but she puts a hand up, indicating that she’s not done speaking, and I grant her the courtesy of continuing.

“No matter–“ This time we’re both stopped by the shrill sound of her pager. “It’s Greg, I’m helping Warrick with the db, if that’s ok?”

She almost looks timid, and that scares me. “Yeah.”

She nods and leaves, and I’m left to wonder what just happened.

~~~~~~~~~~

If anything, shift had been more confusing than I thought. The only saving grace was that Catherine was either too busy with her dead body, or too angry with me, to even try to talk to me. I push open the door, wondering what condition I’ll find Emma in, and am met with loud, driving punk rock.

Reminds me of Greg.

Greg was thinking about Emma.

I shake my head, hoping to de-rail that train of thought, when Emma comes bounding in the room; all that’s left of yesterday’s drama a slight limp. From the doorway I watch her dance around the kitchen, singing at the top of her lungs.

“You! Don’t wanna be just like you! What I’m sayin’ is: this is the anthem throw all your hands up! You! Don’t wanna be you!” Her untamed hair whips about her head as she washes the dishes from her breakfast. I close the door, and the noise must have scared her, because she jumps and turns to me. Her fright dissolves to a smile as I enter the room. She reaches over and stops the CD in the small boom box she’s set up, and shrugs in apology. “Sorry. Good Charlotte.”

“Oh.” I have no idea what she’s talking about...but I assume she’s talking about the music she’s turned off.

“You ok? You look tired.” She says as she comes over and gives me a tight hug.

“I’m fine, just a long night.” I head into my office to drop off my briefcase, teeming with backlogged paperwork. She follows me and hangs in the door as I unpack the files to read later.

“You’re late. Things at work ok?”

“Just busy,” I assure her. Jim and I had breakfast while I finished up some of the reports. He was quite curious about her, but I don’t tell her that. She’s shown me in the past that she can still be fiercely private, and I respect that. “I should probably go in for a double shift this evening, would you mind if I drove you in and picked you up tonight?” I turn and lean back on my desk, as she shrugs in the doorway.

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d mind if I hung out with some of the girls tonight after class? We were all going to catch a movie, complain about our teachers, you know, the usual.” She smiles at me and adds a wink in for good measure.

“Sure. That’s no problem.” I smile back. “Are you going to need a ride?” I don’t know if I should be impressed or worried that she feels the need to ask my permission to spend the night out.

“I think one of the girls can give me one, if you can drop me off?” She shines her baby blue eyes up at me like a lost puppy and I laugh just a little.

~~~~~~~~~~

If I didn’t know better, I’d think that paperwork has a special reproductive power; multiplying itself while I’m not looking. But I know better. It just seems like there’s more because I’ve been drowning in it for a few hours now.

Nick stopped in to say hi a little while ago, as did Greg. My night crew is slowly dribbling in before shift as swing shift files out, and so far there isn’t the same amount of tension as last night. It’s seemed to dissipate, to vanish, just a bit.

All too quickly it’s time to start shift, and I set my paperwork aside and head out to the break room. Upon entering I can see that the picture my team makes seems normal on the surface, but the subtle differences I pick up on tell me that the tension I thought was slowly leaving may not have left at all.

Nick and Warrick are lounged out on the couches, but their posture tells me they’re nervous. Sara, waiting attentively at the table, has an air of defeat around her that, quite frankly, scares me. Catherine, for her part, is poised like a tightly coiled cobra ready to strike. Her eyes are practically boring holes into my skin, and I can do nothing but try to shake it off.

As I’m about to hand out tonight’s meager offerings: a trick roll and liquor store robbery, Jim throws the door open and motions for me to come over to him. With a raise of the eyebrows to my team, I move over to him.

He leans in close to whisper in my ear, “Emma come home tonight?”

“What?” I whisper out harshly.

“Just got the call, db behind the performing arts building of UNLV; dancer, brown hair, blue eyes.” While my breathing stops at this, my mind screams that it can’t be her. There is no earthly way it can be her.

“Jim, that could be any one of a dozen people there!” I don’t know if I’m trying to convince him or myself. My voice’s tone has commanded attention, but I don’t much care right now.

“How many of them carry around ladybug key chains with only two keys on it?” He adds quietly.

I curse loudly as I run from the room, my cell phone already on my ear as I’m desperate to call her, to get in touch with her. She’s not picking up her cell phone, and my world stops spinning. My breathing is coming quick and I want to throw up. There is a very real possibility that my baby girl is dead.

Chapter 18: Please

I’m practically hyperventilating in my office when Catherine and Brass rush in. The rest of my team follows, but they hang back in the hall, unsure of what to do. I still don’t care. I pound in the numbers, calling her cell phone number over and over, not leaving a message, frantically hanging up and trying again in vain.

I call home, then her cell, and repeat it over and over until Catherine’s hand forcefully covers mine as I try to dial again. With a growl I rip my hand away from her, and for a second I see fear flash in her eyes. I still don’t care.

“What are you doing, Gil?” She practically yells in my face. I give her no answer, but begin searching my desk for my keys. “What’s going on?” She looks at Brass for help, but she overheard our conversation, and the energy that she was radiating before returns full force.

I find my keys and I stand to leave, but she steps in front of me, dancing around to stay in my way.

“Catherine, move!” I bellow.

“No!” She yells back. “If you know the victim you can’t work the crime scene, especially not like this!” She tries to soften her tone, but is still fuming. “What are the chances it’s her? Not very good. Just calm down.” She puts a hand on my shoulder but I shake it off.

“I can’t not know, Catherine!” I say as I nod to Brass. He nods back and starts heading for the door, ready to drive out to the crime scene.

“You have to calm down, Gil!” She says, frustrated, turning to me as I head for the door.

With a sigh of understanding I turn back, but the words still come out venomously, “Could you calm down if it were Lindsey?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Grissom rushes past me in the hall, and Catherine and I share an incredulous stare.

“Come on!” she says, grabbing my arm and starting down the hallway. She stops and starts walking backwards for a second to address the guys, who still stand stunned across from Griss’ office. “Guys, you stay here, hold down the fort. I’ll call ASAP.” At Warrick’s nod she starts pulling me full force to the parking lot.

“Cath, where are we going?” I ask, knowing the answer already as we climb in the Tahoe.

“Following him. This is just not right.” She shakes her head and retreats into herself as we head out.

After a few minutes I can’t resist, I have to know, “Cath?”

“I don’t know what he meant by it. I still don’t even know who he thinks is dead.” She starts chewing on her bottom lip.

“You don’t think...” I ask, my tone loaded so she knows what I’m asking.

“If that’s what he meant, then he’s damn good at hiding it.” She says with a shake of the head. We finally catch sight of Brass’s car and begin to follow it.

~~~~~~~~~~

I get out of the car and just stand there, afraid to move any closer. The yellow crime scene tape, the flashing lights, the coroner’s van; they’re all familiar and usually comforting at a crime scene. Yet, tonight they hold no solace. Fear takes over every cell in my body and I can feel that I’m shaking.

Brass comes up behind me and puts a hand on my shoulder in a gesture of comfort. “You ready?”

I wipe a hand across my face and I can feel the tears building behind my eyes already. This was it; the reason I hid the most precious thing in my life. But it may not have helped at all. Maybe she should have stayed home; never come here. She wouldn’t be dead now. She wouldn’t be lying in that ditch. I shake my head.

There’s still a chance it might not be her.

Oh, please, God. If I’ve ever needed you more in my life, I’d be lying. Let it not be her.

Somewhere in the back of my mind it registers that Catherine and Sara are here, but I continue the slow walk to the tape. I duck under and trail slightly behind Brass, folding in on myself emotionally and searching for the clinical detachment that I’ve always relied on in the past.

I gasp when I see the black leotard and rolled pink tights, but force myself to realize that’s what every girl in the program would wear. Jim leads me around to the other side of the body so I can see the face, and I try to ignore the blood that seems to cover every exposed inch around her.

Please.

Just this one thing.

I’ll never ask for anything ever again in my life.

I stop and stare at the body when her face becomes visible. A single tear rolls down my cheek and I rush to swipe it away.

“Shit!” Brass mumbles under his breath, but I reach out a hand to stop him.

I close my eyes and turn to leave, my breathing shaky. I look up at him and make sure I catch his eyes as I say it.

“It’s not her.”

Thank you.

Thank you thank you thank you.

I leave the scene as fast as my pounding heart will allow and move into the parking lot, slumping against Brass’ car. I can hear the click of Catherine’s heels on the pavement as she and Sara start to move towards me. I swipe again at the tears falling onto my cheeks and try to compose myself to face them when my cell phone rings.

I check the caller ID and see “Emma” flashing up at me. I flip it open and my heart starts beating again when I hear her voice.

“Dad? What’s up? Why didn’t you leave me a voice mail?” Emma’s voice sounds almost as panicked as I feel.

“Emma, where are you? Why weren’t you answering your phone?” Catherine and Sara stop a few feet away, trying to allow me a bit of privacy.

“I’m heading back to the Performing Arts building. We were up in Jackie’s room and I lost reception, my phone wasn’t ringing. Why? Dad? What’s going on?”

“Where are you now?” I start scanning the area, looking for her around the throng of people that have come to look at the novelty of a crime scene. I need to see her, feel her, know that she’s alive.

“Heading into the parking lot. What’s going on? Dad?” Emma and I lock eyes from across the parking lot, and my phone falls, forgotten, as I to rush over to hold her. She starts sprinting when she sees me running to her, her bag and phone dropped on the ground.

We crash into each other and I hold her to me, never wanting to let go.

“Dad?” She eeks out, nervous at my outburst.

“I thought you were dead...” I whisper. “I thought you were dead.”

~~~~~~~~~~

I stop looking at the ground when I hear Grissom take off across the parking lot, dropping his phone on the pavement. Running at him is a brown haired girl with jean shorts over her pink tights and a navy sweatshirt that spouts “LVMPD” in yellow across the front.

“Oh shit.” Catherine says as he finally pulls her toward him tightly.

“You’d do the same if it were Lindsey,” I say, echoing his earlier sentiment.

“Why would he hide it?” Catherine wonders out loud.

“He must have had a damn good reason...” I mutter, confused as all hell, and feeling incredibly betrayed, and deeply upset, though I can’t find any justifications for these emotions. But most of all I feel disgusted with myself for assuming that he was involved with someone, and for never allowing him to explain himself. We really need to talk.

Brass makes his way over, relief evident in his features.

Catherine, seemingly slightly annoyed, motions for Brass to come closer. “You knew?”

“Yeah.” He’s suddenly very interested in his shoes.

“Well?” She’s fishing for information now, sounding like she’s scolding Lindsey for keeping secrets.

“You know, there is a fresh crime scene over there. Somebody’s daughter is dead...” He’s trying to change the subject, and though I can’t blame him, I do want to know the truth. Brass looks up and shakes his head at us. “He had a good reason, and some of it’s probably my fault, too. But now’s not the time or place.”

And Brass is right. I grab Catherine’s arm and head for the Tahoe. She pulls away from me when we stop by the back to pull out our kits.

“What are you doing? You of all people should want to know!” she practically shouts at me.

I sigh and shake my head as I open the tailgate. “Catherine, I do want to know. But not now.” I can see Grissom and the girl, still embracing in the parking lot, and I feel like a voyeur. Knowing that he thought his daughter was dead, I view his outburst differently; I see the last month differently. I’m betrayed, but for a higher purpose. His dedication to her came long before he knew me.

That knowledge humbles me a little.

I pull out our kits and hand one to Catherine.

“C’mon. We have a job to do. The rest can wait.” She’s left staring at my back as I head down to the crime scene, determined to process this scene and help this poor girl. Somewhere, she has a father, too.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Emma?” I say as I shake her a bit. She’s slept on the couch in my office all night while I sat here doing paperwork. I couldn’t bring myself to be more than a few feet away from her. Now, shift’s just about over, and I’ve paged everyone to meet me in my office.

“I’m up.” She slurs back to me, and I smile down at her.

“They’re on their way. You sure you want to be here?” I don’t even want to be here, why would she?

“It’s cool dad.” Her smile is like my personal heaven, and it calms me. Just then, the first of my team knocks on my door.

Within a few minutes my whole team, including Brass and Greg, have assembled in my office. Everyone’s eyes are darting nervously to Emma, who’s sitting on the corner of my desk, even though they try to keep it from being obvious.

“Everyone,” I start with a nervous clearing of my throat, “This is Emma, my daughter.”

Though I’m beyond nervous, she seems comfortable somehow, and shares a blinding smile with them. Brass is the first to make a move.

With a smile he leans over and offers her a hand. “Captain Jim Brass.” They shake hands and soon everyone’s introducing themselves. Warrick and Nick were next, both with large smiles and an air of understanding about them. Sara was the next to introduce herself, offering both Emma and me a smile. Catherine offered a “Nice to meet you,” but was uncharacteristically stoic. Greg was the last to stand up and, smiling like an idiot, welcomed Emma to the lab, and kissed the back of her hand.

I just shook my head. I don’t think he caught my death-glare, but Nick and Warrick did, and tried to suppress their laughter.

“I’ve heard so much about all of you, it’s nice to finally be able to put a face with a name.” Emma said, still smiling at everyone.

“So,” I draw the attention back to myself, “You’re all probably wondering about a lot right now. I guess it’s best to start at the beginning.”

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the Earth.” Emma rattles off, then she stops, turning bright red. “Sorry. Joke from school: theology class.” She adds with a shrug as she laughs nervously. “We can probably skip through all of that.”

“Anyway,” I say, putting a reassuring hand on her back, “I never wanted to deceive any of you, it just kind of worked out that I did.”

“And that’s partially my fault,” Jim interjects, raising a hand. Jim starts to tell the story of Jessica Miller, and everyone listens with rapt attention, even Emma.

As Jim’s talking, I feel the torture of keeping Emma a secret being lifted. Maybe all secrets aren’t meant to be kept. It’s almost as if I’ve been granted a second chance at life; my hearing is returning, Emma’s alive and well and with me. I won't let my new found outlook go to waste.

Chapter 19: Pop Tarts

Emma rushes past me and flies into her room, shutting the door behind her. She’s running late for the intensive and will barely make it there on time even if she leaves now. I slowly make my way back into my office when she comes tearing out of her room and through to the living room, rummaging through her bag and sighing contentedly when she sees that she has everything. She mumbles to herself as she rushes back into her room, emerging with a pair of mesh shorts over her rolled black tights and a long sleeved shirt covering her green leotard. She rounds the corner and plants a kiss on my cheek as she pulls her hair back in a messy ponytail.

“Bye Dad, I’ll be back right after class!” She says as she flies out of the door. I hear the engine of the car roar to life and smile, settling down at my desk.

The death of her classmate, as horrific as it was, seems to be accidental. She fell into the ditch, hitting her head in several places and dying of an intra cranial hemorrhage in her brain. It turns out what I thought was blood had been the wash off of some red dye used in a recent pep rally.

The ladybug key chain was pure coincidence, but as it turns out a few of the other girls had ribbed she and Emma for their similar looks and she had taken the rest of her keys off of her ring so that they’d even had the same keys. I mentally note to talk to Emma when she comes home. She had seemed upset when she found out who it was, but in her crunch to get to class she had focused on her task.

I pull a few files out of my briefcase and start to read and sign them methodically, the simplicity of the task lulling me into a false sense of security after the last few emotional hours. When the words begin to blur together I put the files back in their place and head to the kitchen, searching for something that can be construed as a meal.

Seeing very quickly that I’ll need to go shopping, I start a list as I fail to find each item I’d like to eat. I settle for a package of pop tarts I find in the back of the cabinets, not bothering to heat them up, and add it to the list, knowing Emma likes them.

Finishing up the pop tart, I change into a pair of pajama pants and an old t-shirt, then make the daily rounds: each insect gets water and food and an approving smile. Satisfied that everyone’s been fed I fall into bed, sleep claiming me easily.

~~~~~~~~~~

I’m startled awake, but not sure by what. I stay very still, listening to silence, and wonder if I was just dreaming. A rustling and disgruntled muttering of obscenities breaks through the silence as I turn my head, finding that it’s almost five in the evening. I rub the sleep from my eyes and stretch as I get up, slowly making my way out to the kitchen.

Emma stands in the middle of the kitchen, tears welling in her eyes, her lip quivering just a bit, and when she sees me her whole body seems to fall in defeat. I slowly move toward her, a question in my eyes. She just purses her lips and looks at the floor, staring at a steaming pile of macaroni in a puddle of water and the pot (whose clatter to the floor had interrupted my sleep) was lying askew a few feet away.

“I...” She looks at the floor, a tear escaping one eye, then back at me. “I didn’t want to wake you up...” Her voice cracks, “I just wanted to surprise you is all.”

She looks so sad and alone that I know something else is behind her mood. I smile at her and, avoiding the mess on the floor, move over to put an arm around her shoulders. She lays her head on my chest and stares out into nothingness, deep inside her own thoughts.

“C’mon. We’ll clean this up.” I squeeze her to me quickly, and then pull back, searching for her assent. She nods, forcing the beginnings of a smile and moving to pick up the pot.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I’ll cook tomorrow. I’ll even go to the store!” Emma announces happily, stuffing the last of her pizza crust into her mouth.

“What are you going to cook?” I take another bite and lean back, setting my feet on the coffee table to mirror her position next to me.

She smiles, reaches into the box and pulls out another slice teaming with toppings, and turns back to me. “Leftover pizza.”

“Cute,” I warn. While we were waiting for the pizza to arrive we talked. Emma’s safety this morning and a deep sleep had lulled me into a sense of security, as had finding her here when I woke up. Emma’s day, however, had been tempered with stress due to the untimely demise of her classmate. She didn’t care to talk much about it, but she seemed happier after she cried a little and talked about it.

She still seems preoccupied, though.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Griss? Got a minute?” Catherine peaks her head into my office. I nod and put down the assignment slips I had been preparing for tonight.

“What’s up Cath?” I ask as I lean back into my chair. She’s.... unreadable, and that unnerves me. Unlike Sara, I’ve always been able to read Catherine; I can implicitly know when she’s upset with me, when she’s done something wrong and needs me to back her up, when she’s hot on a case... But then again Catherine’s never fallen in the realm of romantic interest for me, either.

Catherine sits across from me, staring at me plainly and resting her head on her hand. “How’s Emma doing?”

“Not too bad. We’re both still...” I choose my words carefully, knowing full well she’s not truly concerned about her well-being, “shaken up.”

She stares at me, a slight nod and a bit of a closed mouth smile the only indication that she has any sympathy to my position at all. A tense silence hangs for a few seconds, until she leans forward and speaks quietly.

“I understand, Gil. If it were me in that position, I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same thing. I just... thought we were closer than that.” She looks dejected, and though her reaction wasn’t quite the extreme one I had feared, I still felt as if I had betrayed our friendship.

“It was long before you, Catherine, that I had to make that decision. Once it was made, it took on a life of its own. It doesn’t mean I don’t love Emma, or that I don’t value our friendship. I had gone through a lot to stay with her, Catherine. The prospect of losing her...” I push down a lump that has suddenly formed in my throat, “I just couldn’t risk it for anything.”

Catherine nods and stands, a smile of understanding pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Nothing’s gonna happen to her, Gil.” She walks out, and I begin to rub the scruff of my beard, now restless.

~~~~~~~~~~

I circle the body as Sara continues to take pictures, making my own notes quietly. This secluded alleyway is obviously not the primary crime scene, but any further ideas I might have about examining the body are held at bay until David can get here to pronounce the body, though by her slight blue tinge and odor it’s apparent she’s been dead at least several days over.

Sara stands back and looks at the body, then turns to me, waiting for my attention. I feel her stare acutely, but try to react as little as possible. Instead, I slowly turn my head, raising an eyebrow, though I’m not sure what my question is. She steps closer, even though the only other living person here, a fairly green officer, is at the entrance to the alleyway by his patrol car, far out of ear’s reach.

“Waitin’ for David.” She nods her head up and down, knowing that she just stated the obvious.

“Yeah,” I mumble.

“Do you think, that, um, maybe, we could get some breakfast? After shift?” As her eyes bore into mine intently, the words tumble out of her mouth in a hush. “Not to see... anything,” she back pedals when I don’t say anything right away, “just to talk.” She smiles a nervous smile at me. “People do that, you know.”

“I’ve been known to talk in my day,” I say as I smile back at her.

Our eyes are locked in a blatant stare, and after a few seconds she begins to blush under my gaze and drops her head, turning her attention to her camera. “Well?”

“I need to get the car back for Emma to take to the intensive...” I think out loud.

“Oh.” She turns away, thinking that I’ve turned her down.

“Why don’t you come over?” I ask to her back, and she stops moving. “I’ll, uh, make... something.” I cringe as I remember that in the last few days neither Emma or myself has been able to get to the store. I suddenly get a flash of me serving Sara a Pop Tart with a flourish.

She turns back to me and smiles. In the distance I can hear the familiar sounds of David removing the gurney from the van. We both turn towards the ruckus.

Sara winks at me, then adopts her best pissed attitude. “About damn time David!”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Hello?” Emma sounds breathless.

“Emma? Is something wrong?” I stop stuffing my briefcase for a moment and lean back in my chair.

“No, I just ran from the shower. What’s up Dad?” Her breath returns to her and I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Did you get to the store last night?”

“No. Our cupboards are still bare,” she says apologetically.

“Oh.” I rub my forehead. “What do we have in the way of breakfast foods?” The vision of pop tarts returns to me again.

“Well, we’re out of eggs, pop tarts, bacon, and granola.” I can hear her rustling around. “We have...” she pauses, moves, and starts listing again, “frozen sausage..” Sara won’t eat that.... “a half full box of puffed wheat, and a grapefruit. Nope, never mind. I’m eating the grapefruit.”

“Ok,” I sigh. “I’ll be home in about fifteen minutes, will you be ready to go by then?”

“Yup.”

“Ok, see you then sweetheart.”

I rummage through the papers on my desk and finally find a blank one. The grocery list soon starts to get out of control, and I toss it in the trash, deciding I’ll just decide what I want when I get there. I shut down my computer when I see a shadow in my door.

“Hey,” the shadow says. I look up to see Sara standing there.

“Hi,” I say as I close my briefcase.

“I’ll be by your place around 8:45, and I’ll pick up stuff for breakfast on my way, ok? It’s the least I can do,” she shrugs. All I can do is nod as she leaves, and I sigh in relief. No pop tarts. Not that we had any, anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sara’s standing at my door, a confused look on her face as I come up behind her. “Sorry,” I say as I reach around her to unlock it, a sheepish grin on my face, “There was an accident by UNLV, had the roads pretty backed up.” I usher her in and take the paper bag from her, the smell of fresh bagels wafting through its pores.

“So then Emma’s not joining us?” She says, her expression unreadable, but she’s holding her breath just a little, my answer apparently important.

“No, she won’t be home until after three.” She lets out a small sigh of relief and I just stare at her. I try not to be accusing, but I don’t know if I’m all that successful. She drops her head and smiles nervously.

“It’s not that I don’t like her, because I do. It’s just...” She stutters a little and looks at my face, shrugging, “I think we needed to talk. In private.”

“Oh.” I feel a little guilty now, and wordlessly move to the breakfast bar to open the bag. I pull out a smaller bag with cream cheese and strawberry jelly, and left in the bag are a dozen or so various kinds of bagels. I raise an eyebrow at Sara who’s been watching my reaction.

“I didn’t know what kind you’d like, so I just... got them all.”

A tiny laugh blurts out of me as I move around the kitchen getting plates and knives, setting them on the table. I motion with my hands for her to move to the table, which she does with a quiet grace surrounding her. I pour two cups of coffee before joining her. We choose, slice, and dress our bagels of choice in relative silence. Sara smothers a plain bagel in strawberry jelly while I apply a thin layer of cream cheese to my onion bagel, forgoing my usual toasting to savor the freshness.

It’s so quiet that I almost jump when Sara speaks.

“I have to apologize.” I stare at her while she plays with her bagel.

“For?”

“I...” She stops and looks into my eyes, emotions swirling too fast to be identified, and then back at her plate. “Knowing now, about Emma, makes me feel very... selfish.” She tucks a hair behind her ear. “I assumed a lot of things, and didn’t really know what was going on... made a lot of judgments that I had to rethink.”

She pauses and looks straight into my eyes, and I see thinly veiled hurt.

“When I came to visit you, and I saw the pink flip-flops and the robe and all, well, I just assumed that it meant you were,” she clears her throat, “seeing someone. I didn’t give you a chance to explain, and I didn’t know about your... your...” She nods her head toward me in a gesture I can only assume refers to my hearing. I nod.

“So I’m sorry. But I’m also hurt.” She drops her head again, and her voice creaks slightly. My bagel lies forgotten on my plate as I stare, my whole body listening. “I’m hurt because you didn’t trust me enough to tell me about her. I understand why you did it, and what you did, but it makes me feel like I never truly knew you.”

I boldly reach across the table and take her hand, causing her eyes to snap up to my face. “You have to understand, it wasn’t about... denying that she existed because I wanted to keep her a secret, because I was ashamed or unwilling to share her with all of you, but because I feared for her life.” I catch her eyes and try to will her to understand how this feels. “Do you know how many times I wanted to tell everyone? To tell you? To put a picture of her on my desk and brag about her?”

I clutch her hand, and lean towards her. “How when I first met you I first thought that there could be nothing better in this world for Emma than to grow up and be just like you? And then I got to know you, and the more I... the more it made me feel like a dirty old man...” I drop my head, ashamed.

“I couldn’t say yes to you Sara, no matter how much I wanted to, because you didn’t know about the one person most precious to my heart. How could I say yes with that secret still hanging between us? With the possibility of hearing loss for the rest of my life hanging between us? I couldn’t.” And I can’t look at her now.

I hang my head in shame, truly realizing how these secrets have stopped me from ever being close with anyone here; the half-truths and outright lies destroying any chance of happiness I might have had. Her hand in my hair stops all cognitive thought, and I am frozen in place as her nimble fingers glide over my scalp.

“Don’t.” She whispers, leaning towards me so I can feel her breath on my face, “Don’t do this to yourself. I didn’t...” I didn’t want to make you upset, I just had to be honest with you.” My pulse speeds up as she leans her forehead against my temple and lets her hand rest at the base of my skull; her short nails toying with the tiny hairs there. “You did what you had to do to protect her; what you thought was right. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and there’s nothing that’s happened that can’t be fixed.”

“It’s not too late?” I ask quietly, hoping she gets my double entendre.

She nuzzles her forehead into me slightly and I can feel her smile. “No. It’s not too late.”

Even with this possibility of a chance to explore our relationship fresh in my head, when I pull her into a full embrace, we both feel that it is nothing more than a hug, a reassurance of the validity of what we’ve said, and promise to follow through.

“Thank you, Sara.” I say as I pull back, my eyes locking with hers. After a moment we turn back to our breakfast and resume eating.

“So?” Sara asks expectantly as she begins to spread jelly on the second half of her bagel. I just raise my eyebrows at her. She smiles. “You wanted to brag, didn’t you?”

I swallow my bite and smile back broadly, “I have more bragging saved up than I know what to do with.”

Chapter 20: Secrets

 Dad, I’ll cook tonight. Dinner at 6:30. Love, Emma.

I smile at the note and pull a pen out of my pocket.

Sounds good. I’ll be ready. Love, Dad

I drop my briefcase in my office and check my e-mail, then head to my room, dropping into sleep quickly.

I’m disturbed from my sleep by the shrill ringing of my cell phone, and I blindly grasp for it. “Grissom,” I bark.

“Hi there Sunshine,” Sara says a little too cheerfully for my liking.

“It’s...” I rub my eyes and look at the clock, “2:30 in the afternoon, prime sleeping time. This better be good.” While I know I’m being gruff, the last few days have almost inexplicably forged a patch in our relationship that’s practically erased the last year.

“Oh, it is. Nick and Greg called, they’re heading home now, but before they left they were working on those samples you wanted them to run. All they would say is that they have something and they want to meet up and go over it.” She had a smile in her voice, and to my sleepy ears it was just too much to handle.

“So?”

“So, we’ve all maxed out on OT this month already. Ecklie practically ran Greg and Nicky out of the lab. We need a place to get together and talk about this. I volunteered your place.”

“What?” I spring up off the bed and start looking for my glasses.

“It’s the most logical choice, believe me. Look, we’ll all be over about seven-ish. We can bring pizza or...”

“Sarah, Emma’s cooking tonight. We were...”

“Even better! Don’t argue, you won’t win. Think about it and you’ll realize I’m right.”

I open my mouth to try to come up with a rebuttal, but there is just nothing. I blame it on my sleep clouded brain. I try to think for a few seconds, but nothing comes out. “Fine. Seven. And you guys owe me. Big.”

As she hangs up with the usual pleasantries I head out to the kitchen and search for a pen.

Sorry Emma, last minute change of plans. Nick, Greg, and Sara will be joining us tonight at 7. Hot case. Can you still cook? Money’s in my wallet in my office if you need to go shopping. Thank you. They owe us big time. Really Big. We will go out tomorrow, just you and me. Love, Dad.

I stumble back to bed and fall into a fitful sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

When my alarm goes off at six I’m greeted by a wonderful aroma wafting through to my bedroom. I can hear Emma singing quietly to her radio as I get up and start my evening ritual.

When I come out of the shower, my hair still wet and a few buttons on my shirt still undone, Emma meets me with a cup of coffee and a kiss.

“Evening Daddy.” She smiles at me and heads back into the kitchen. I follow.

“What are you making?” I ask as I look over her shoulder.

“Doesn’t really have a name... pasta, veggies, and chicken, a little garlic and a little wine... mix it all together. Doesn’t sound like much but it really is pretty good.” I turn away from the cooking chicken to survey the colors on the counter: roasted red peppers, steamed broccoli, artichoke hearts, black olives, all chopped into bite-sized pieces and ready to go. I also notice that she has enough to feed an army.

I sigh deeply, and carefully place a hand on her shoulder, slow enough to not startle her while she’s cooking. “I’m really sorry about tonight...”

“Hey, it’s cool. I just wanted to talk but we can do that tomorrow.” She smiles up at me, and while it looks normal on the surface, she’s hiding something. It’s the same something she’s been keeping from me for days, and it’s driving me nuts to think that she may have been ready to talk about whatever’s bothering her.

“They won’t be here for a while, sweetheart, if you want to talk.” I pull on her shoulder slightly to get her to look at me. “You don’t need to cook for me to talk with me,” I add.

She looks back and forth between the dinner and me, and then turns to the chicken. She starts taking it out of the pan and placing it on the plate next to her. “Well, if we have some time... this will only take a few minutes to put together...”

I switch off the burner and lead her over to the table, where she sits in front of her own cup of coffee and stares into it like it holds the secrets of the universe. A few minutes pass by, each of us sipping from our mugs. I stare into my coffee, wondering if maybe the answers are in there.

“You know you can talk to me about anything,” I say quietly, almost dreading what could be keeping her so quiet. Scenarios run through my head as she just nods and sighs. What can’t she tell me?

“I just...” She stops and drags her eyes up to mine, and I see tears starting. “Please just listen?” I nod and reach a hand out, taking hers in mine. “Ok, so, um, I don’t have a plane ticket back.” She looks at me and is ready to cry.

“Sweetheart, that’s not a problem.” I let out a huge mental sigh of relief. No plane ticket is nothing compared to what I was thinking.

“No, Dad...” Emma’s cut off by the doorbell, and we both turn and just stare at it. I give her an apologetic smile and get up to get the door.

“Sara, you guys are...” I pull the door open, ready to tell my team to get lost, and my jaw drops at who I see standing there. “Maggie, Don... what are you doing here?” Pleasantries are too subtle for me at seeing them. They've come an awfully long distance to just visit.

“Gil,” Don reaches out his hand, a stern yet fake smile plastered on his face. “Is Emma here?”

“She is.” I purposely stay by the door, shaking his hand blindly, blocking their entrance. I feel her move up behind me; she’s probably heard what’s going on.

“Emma!” Maggie smiles and reaches out her arms. Instead of reaching for a hug, Emma mutters a hello and hides half behind my body. This cannot be a good situation.

“I doubt you’re here for a quick visit, so why don’t you just tell me what you are here for?” I follow my urge to be protective of Emma and wrap an arm around her shoulders, still blocking the entrance to the house.

“Well, we’re here to see if Emma wants to come home.” Don looks at Emma, fire in his eyes. I just cock an eyebrow at him.

“Emma, we’re willing to talk,” Maggie says, a true sadness in her eyes that blind sides me for a moment.

“Talk?” I stare at Don, and he looks back at me, a confused sternness on his face.

“Oh, so she didn’t tell you?” He stares Emma down, and I feel her breathing quicken next to me. “Why don’t you tell him, Emma?”

I turn to look at her, and her red rimmed eyes are dripping tears, but she’s glaring at Don and her mother, her breathing promising a fierce comeback. She takes a deep breath and steps forward. “You make it sound like I’m doing this horrible, ridiculous thing! Like I’m throwing my life away or I’m prostituting myself! I don’t understand what you want from me, but I’m sure as hell not making decisions about my life just because it’s what you want me to do!”

Emma’s breathing heavily through her teeth and Maggie steps forward, tears in her eyes now as well, “Please, honey, we can talk about this.”

“There was no talking when you threw me out of the house!” she yells as she shies away from Maggie’s touch. My mouth drops open and I stare at Maggie and Don.

There is a tense, silent moment.

“You threw her out of the house?” I growl at them. I know I’m not being pleasant and I really don’t care. Don squares off with me, trying to intimidate me.

“She refused to be sensible.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Greg, I’m serious. If you guys are fooling around with this, Griss is gonna be pissed. I think we totally butted in on a night for him and Emma.” I turn around in my seat, meeting Greg’s eyes in the back seat while Nick drives.

“Sara, would I lie?” Greg tries to smile innocently, but I just stare. “No, I’m being honest now- we really do have something.”

“We just don’t know what,” Nick adds. “If he was so busy why did he say yes?”

I stare at Nick and turn back in my seat. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all- I didn’t really give him a choice. Nick and I exchange a look, and he just nods.

We make the right onto Grissom’s cull-de-sac and as we near his house I can see that something is not right at all.

“Woah, what is going on here?” Nick drawls as we pull up a few spaces away from his front door.

“I don’t know- but it can’t be good.” I add, moving around so I can see better.

“Do you think we should do something?” Greg mumbles from the back seat, enthralled.

We can’t hear anything from inside the car, but Grissom is having a very heated conversation with a man slightly younger than him dressed in a business suit. Emma’s standing by his side, her face red with tears, having her own yelling match with a woman across from her. The thought crosses my mind that it might be her mother, but from what Grissom told me the other night it doesn’t make much sense for her to be here.

The three of us watch as they flail their arms and their faces turn red with fury, the argument quickly escalating. Yet, I’m not sure that any intervention is welcome.

Then they all stop. I hear Greg and Nick mumble curses unintelligibly under their breaths as we watch the four of them just stare at each other. A second goes by, and my eyes are drawn to Grissom whose face is turning red, his hands are clenching at his sides, and his posture changes slightly. He looks like he could kill the man in front of him, and in his rage I doubt that he’d stop to think twice.

“Ok, now we step in.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“She is a waste of my time and money! The little unappreciative punk that she is, she can’t tell a good thing when it’s right in front of her face!” Don’s yelling in my face and our screaming match has escalated, only fueled by the sound of the fight Emma and her mother are in. He continues before I can open my mouth. “She’s a waste of human flesh is all that she is, learning how to be a whore!”

Everything stops.

Did he actually just say that? About my baby girl?

He’s breathing heavy and daring me to say something with his eyes.

My pulse rises; I can feel my muscles tightening. My fists clench at my sides and I contemplate hitting him.

I want to hit him.

Hard.

I open my mouth, not sure what I’m going to say but preparing some four letter words in my mind, when she pushes up from next to me.

“You Bastard!” Emma screams at him. “You have no right to say those things! I’ve never given you a reason to think that, ever! I play the dutiful daughter at your parties, clean up after your lazy ass at home, and work my butt of in school with A’s to show for it and you call me a waste of skin? And a whore?” Her voice cracks as she moves forward, “A whore? Why? Because I dance?” Her voice rises so she’s straining her vocal cords and the words come out raw and unbidden.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Sara, Greg and Nick approaching, slowing to a trot when I stick my hand out behind me, signaling that they’re not needed quite yet.

“You think I’m a whore because I don’t want to be like you? Because I want to do what I love? Because you used to encourage me? I’m a whore because I dance? Or because I won’t date the idiots you try to set me up with- the slime ball sons of your colleagues who wouldn’t know what a gentleman was if it hit them in the face? Is that what you’re doing? Then kick me out, because I never want to see your face again! She backs up, looking towards her mother, “I never want to see either of your faces ever again!” Emma runs into the house and I hear her room door slam.

“Get. Off. My. Property. Now.” I growl at them.

“Gil...” Maggie tries to plead with me, but I’ll have none of it.

“No,” I say with a calm rage burning deep in me, “Just leave. I’m done with you both. Don’t come back. I’ll send for her things.”

“They’re already on their way.” Don spits back at me. He’s still in my face, and I’d like nothing more than to hit him right now. Hard. In that perfect face of his. A fist forms at my side.

Thankfully, Nicky picks this moment to step in. “Hey Griss, is there a problem here?” The three walk up like an imposing task force, and surround them at the bottom of the steps.

“No. They were just leaving.” I stare hard at them as they leave, Nick and Sara parting to let them through. Maggie’s crying hysterically, but I don’t really care right now. There had been times in my life when I still felt something for her, when I wondered what it would have been like to be with her for the rest of our lives. I don’t feel that now.

Now, she evokes nothing in me.

I watch as they drive their rental Lexus down the street, and still stand guard even after they’re long gone.

Sara floats slowly up to my side, the guys quietly behind her. “What happened?” she asks, laying a hand on my shoulder. My breathing’s still heavy, my pulse through the roof.

“I don’t know.”

Chapter 21: Letting it all out

“Emma?” I knock on her door lightly, desperation in my voice. I can hear her sobs coming from within. I turn around, about to leave her alone, when Sara waves her hand signaling that I should go in.

Nick and Greg are sitting on the couch, looking uncomfortable, Sara’s pacing a hole in the carpet. I don’t really know why I asked them to stay. I think it’s because I’m still upset, afraid I’ll do something stupid. Maybe it’s because I’m afraid to be alone with her now.

I turn and knock again before slowly turning the knob and entering. She’s curled up in a cocoon of blankets in her bed, and I can hear her sniffs as she tries to hide her tears in vain. I close the door behind me, and slowly step into the darkness of the room, approaching her.

“Emma? Sweetheart?” I sit on the edge of the bed and place a hand gently on the ball of blankets, seeing only a shock of hair as any indication that she’s truly there.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, sniffing once more.

“What?” I move onto the bed more, and search out her face.

“I’m sorry, ok?” She sits up and almost yells it at me. Her whole face is red, her eyes are puffy, her nose is running, and she’s wiping her face brutally with a ball of tissues. “I’m sorry for not telling you! I’m sorry for being here! I’m sorry for trying to do what I want! I’m sorry for existing, ok? I’m just sorry!” She drops her face to her hands as another wave of tears wracks her.

“No, Emma. No, no, no,” I mumble as I pull her convulsive body into my arms. “There’s nothing at all for you to be sorry about.” I pull her closer to me and do anything I can to comfort her; rub her back, smooth down her hair, brush the tears away, all the while saying this over and over.

I still don’t know what’s going on- what exactly happened that led to that confrontation, but I do know that it was nothing Emma could have done. The things that flew out of Don’s mouth proved to me that he was being unreasonable and downright mean. Even knowing that I’m biased, I still can’t find Emma at fault.

“Sweetheart, it’s not your fault...” She turns and clings to me tighter than I ever remember her holding me before.

“It...it has to be.” She coughs out, defeated.

“No, it’s not.” I say definitively. After a moment I push her away so I can look in her eyes. They’re almost swollen shut. “It’s not your fault, ok?” I press a kiss to her forehead, and stand up. “I’ll be right back.” She nods, and I watch as she swipes at the tears, trying to calm herself down.

I hear whispering abruptly stop as I walk out of her room. Nick, Sara and Greg just look at me expectantly. I stop by the side of the couch and just stand there for a minute.

“We might be a while. You, um, you don’t have to stay. We’ll make this first priority at work tonight, ok?” I don’t wait for a reply, but move off to the kitchen, getting a glass of water. I head straight to the bathroom next, getting a washcloth and run it under cold water until it’s soaked through and quite cold. A quick glance reveals that I’m quite the mess myself. I take a second to try to straighten myself out and then head straight for Emma.

I silently hand her the glass as I sit down, and she takes a few big gulps, and then starts coughing wildly. I put it on her bedside table while I rub her back, coaxing the coughing to end. She tries to smile up at me when they slow, the tears now streaming down her face silently.

I take her face in my hands and start wiping away the tears with the wash cloth. She shivers, and pulls her blanket around her tighter, but lets me continue to wipe her face. “It’s not your fault,” I whisper to her as I concentrate on her eyes, coaxing the blood vessels to close again and return to her porcelain skin. “I don’t care what he said to you, or what your mother said to you. It’s not your fault. They had no right to do that.” I stop for a moment and hold her face in my hands, waiting for her eyes to meet mine. They’re blood shot and ragged instead of being beautifully clear.

I want to shake her and ask her why she didn’t call me, why she didn’t tell me what was going on. But I know that isn’t what she needs right now, she needs me to be strong and loving and to protect her. Damn it, that’s what I’m going to do. I kiss her forehead again and start moving the cloth over her face, her skin slowly becoming less mottled.

“She said I was a mistake.” Emma whispers, causing my ministrations to stop, she’s not looking at me when she continues. “She said that I was a mistake and everything I’ve ever done was wrong. That I ruined both your lives.” The tears silently start again, as do the hiccoughs.

“No.” I say adamantly, putting a hand under her chin and making sure she’s looking into my eyes when I say this. “You weren’t planned, but you were never a mistake. Never.” I use the cloth to wipe away the tears. “You are a blessing. You have been since the day you were born. There is nothing, nothing in this world more important to me than you and your happiness.”

I search her eyes, hoping she understands what I’m trying to say. She leans in and clings to me again, and I hold her to me with all my might.

“You’ve been the best part of my life, Emma. You’ve kept me going when I didn’t think I could go anymore, when I didn’t think there was anything left in me.”

"I didn't do anything, though," She says into my shirt as she clings to me. "I didn't change anything. I don't know why all of a sudden..." Her voice cracks and she stops for a moment to clear her throat. "It was when I asked her about you saying no. She denied it, and I told her that I had talked to you... that she could call you herself if she didn't believe me. Before I knew it we were fighting. She was saying that I was throwing away my life, that I should be more like Don. It was all about dancing. For all the years she's taken me to dance classes and told me how much she's enjoyed watching me, all of a sudden I'll throw away my life if I did what I want."

"Apparently Don got tired of telling people I was a dance major. I mean, even I get weird looks when I say it, but he had just had it. He joined in, telling me that I had to grow up. It was just... I swear they just berated me for hours. Then he said I had to make a choice: if I wanted to stay in his house I had to live by his rules. If I wasn't going to be sensible and change majors, I ought to just get out of his house. So I did."

"You just left?" I ask, still holding her tight.

"Basically. Picked up my keys and stormed out of the house, I stayed with Ann. While they were at work I went back and got my things- packed my whole room up. I took the important things with me and stored them at Ann's house, my car's there, too. Sent a check in to UNLV first thing and booked my flight out here."

~~~~~~~~~~

The quiet snick of a door closing makes me turn. From the kitchen I can see him just staring at her door, shifting his weight and his muscles clenching with pent up emotions. I don't think he knows that I'm still here, and I start to open my mouth to alert him quietly, but he turns, and I'm startled by the pure rage I see in his eyes. Of all the emotions I've seen played out in those blue depths I've never seen this.

He doesn't see me, he's focused on the living room. His hand moves up from his side, and his fingers are so tense that as they move his whole arm shakes. In all the heated arguments I've had with him, I've never been even remotely worried about his temper Now, I can feel the rage emanating off of him, and it scares me. He pulls his hand up to his shoulder, rubbing away the extra tension and quickly paces into the living room. His pacing grows faster, and I just stare from the kitchen.

"Damn it!" he curses vehemently under his breath as he kicks the side of the couch. His pacing still grows in its frustration and I'm starting to get worried. I drop my head, wondering what I can do when a loud crash brings my head back up in time for me to see Grissom pulling his fist from the hole he just punched in the wall. He stops and just looks from his hand to the wall a few times, then slowly sinks down and leans against the side of his couch, cradling his head in his hands.

I take a few tentative steps forward, and he must hear my shoes on the floor, because he looks up before I can say anything. I move silently and sit in front of him on the floor. This close I can see that there's no longer any rage in his eyes, but it's been replaced by sadness. His eyes are flooded with unshed tears.

"Damn it," he says again, this time softer so I can't tell if he's upset about what's happened, or about me seeing him like this.

"The uh, the guys went home. I stayed and put away the food and..." I don't know what else to say as I stare at his defeated face. I reach out a hand and lay it on one of his. After a moment he twines his fingers with mine, tipping his head down so he's staring at the floor.

We stay like this, unmoving for so long it feels like time has stopped. When he speaks, his gravelly voice startles me.

"I have never wanted to hit someone so hard in my entire life." He says. After a moment he continues, "I can't ever remember being so furious. I just kept thinking that I wanted to see him laid out on the pavement, bleeding... I've..." He stops for a second and clears the lump from his throat. "I've never felt like that before. I don't know what I would have done..."

I move my free hand to his hair and just run my hand through it, trying to calm him. I can feel that he's shaking imperceptibly now and I see quiet tears fall from his eyes to the floor. I just continue to sit with him, my mind dumbfounded by this side of him that I've never seen.

My mind flies through thoughts and suddenly I'm torn between holding him in my arms, trying to erase his pain and running away as fast as I can. I think about politely excusing myself, but then I feel how tightly he's clinging to my hand and I know that he needs someone right now. I scoot closer and pull him to me. He stiffens for a second, but then clings to me with a desperation that frightens me. All I can do is hold him tighter, letting my hands roam his back, coaxing out the tension and silent sobs.

We only heard the end of the argument, but the scathing words that were thrown were reprehensible and ridiculous. I understand his anger, though not the cause. My thoughts wander to Emma, and her state.

"She's sleeping," He says as he pulls away, making me wonder if I said anything out loud. He starts to swipe at his face, but I stop his hands, using my own to gently wipe away the tracks of tears. He grabs my hand and places a soft, sweet kiss on the back of it, then holds it in both of his. "Thank you." He says simply. I can only smile and lay my other hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Where's Grissom?" Catherine asks as I walk into the room, assignment slips in my hand. Nick shoots me a knowing glace, while Warrick just looks confused. Catherine's face shows pure belligerence, disbelieving that I would know before her.

"He won't be in tonight," I say simply. "Warrick, Catherine, there's a DB at the New York, New York for you two. Nick, stay with what you have, and I'm gonna take Greg on a B and E. Any questions?" I say as I hand them their slip and keep one for myself, giving them a half smile.

"Yeah, why isn't Grissom here?" Catherine asks with more venom in her voice than I've heard in a while. "He never takes off unless he's sick or it's an emergency, and even then he would call me!" She announces like a spoiled child.

"That's Grissom's business and his alone, Cath. You have a problem you talk to him about it. He just asked me to hand these out, ok?" I say looking her in the eye before I turn and leave, heading to find Greg and let him know he's going out in the field tonight.

Something's crawled up Catherine's ass lately, and it's really starting to get to me. I'll get to the bottom of it, though. My gut's telling me that she's almost jealous of Emma. I hope that isn't it, because if it were, that would be awfully small of her.

Chapter 22: Perfect

AN- I wrote the previous two chapters before relating them back to these songs, which are "Perfect" by Simple Plan, "All you Wanted" by Michelle Branch, and "A Place for my Head" by Linkin Park.

As I turn over a sound registers in my sleep fogged brain. I yawn and stretch, my legs extending over the end of the couch and out from the blanket thrown over me. I don't remember falling asleep, but then again the whole evening feels like a bad dream. I reach a hand out to the coffee table for my watch and come up with a note from Sara. It just says she went to work and to not bother coming in, she'll stop by in the morning.

My watch says it's three in the morning, as does the darkness that surrounds me. But something's out of place. As I rub my eyes, the sound that's registered in my brain takes form, drifting out from Emma's bedroom as words.

 Hey dad look at me
Think back and talk to me
Did I grow up according to plan?
And do you think I'm wasting my time doing things I wanna do?
But it hurts when you disapprove all along

And now I try hard to make it
I just want to make you proud
I'm never gonna be good enough for you
I can't pretend that
I'm alright
And you can't change me

'Cuz we lost it all
Nothing lasts forever
I'm sorry
I can't be perfect
Now it's just too late and
We can't go back
I'm sorry
I can't be perfect

The words register in me with perfect clarity; even though it's obvious she put the music on quietly to keep it from me. The verses are so sadly pertinent that I can almost feel my heart breaking for her. I can imagine her curled up in bed, crying.

I try not to think
About the pain I feel inside
Did you know you used to be my hero?
All the days you spend with me
Now seem so far away
And it feels like you don't care anymore

And now I try hard to make it
I just want to make you proud
I'm never gonna be good enough for you
I can't stand another fight
And nothing's alright

'Cuz we lost it all
Nothing lasts forever
I'm sorry
I can't be perfect
Now it's just too late and
We can't go back
I'm sorry
I can't be perfect

I wonder if I should go in there, if I should barge in and make her talk, or rush in and hold her. I start to move, then fall back on the couch. She needs some time alone. If she needed me she would ask.

Wouldn't she?

Nothing's gonna change the things that you said
Nothing's gonna make this right again
Please don't turn your back
I can't believe it's hard
Just to talk to you
But you don't understand

I feel the anger at Maggie and Don rising again. All her life I was worried about Emma growing up without a father. Now it seems she may live the rest of her life without a mother.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh, hi Sara," Doc Robbins says as he hovers in the doorway to Grissom's office. Even though I'm supposed to be here I still feel like I've been caught doing something wrong.

"Hey Al. Grissom's not here," I manage to stutter out as I stand up from behind his desk, file in hand.

"I know. I was just dropping off some paperwork for him." He holds up a folder then makes his way to the desk, depositing it in the "in" box.

"I'm sure he'll be excited about that." I smile at him, and he offers me a warm smile back. He's always been almost fatherly to me; welcoming, comforting, yet all business somehow. "He should be back tomorrow, but if it's really important I can drop it off for him later."

Al gives me an odd look, and I realize what I've said. After the stress of the last few years, no one's reacted well to our newfound comfort level. As odd as it seems, we've fallen into it almost too easily; no fights, no expectations, and no grudges. Apparently no one else around here is as happy with it as we are.

"No, it's not that important." He pauses, looks as if he's going to leave, then turns back. "Is everything ok?"

His words are so cryptic that I have to take a moment to think if I've just misunderstood him. When I realize that I haven't missed anything, I ask, "What do you mean?"

"Well, Grissom's not here, Catherine's in a huff... it just seems like something important is going on."

Something must show through the mask of indifference I try to put on, because he smiles a little. "You've got a break coming up, don't you?" I nod. "Let's have coffee."

~~~~~~~~~~

I’m sick of the tension

sick of the hunger
Sick of you acting like I owe you this
Find another place

to feed your greed -
While I find a place to rest
I want to be in another place
I hate when you say you don’t understand
I want to be in the energy, not with the enemy
A place for my head
Maybe someday I’ll be just like you and
Step on people like you do and

Run away the people I thought I knew
I remember back then who you were
You used to be calm used to be strong
Used to be generous but you should’ve known

That you’d wear out your welcome

now you see how quiet it is all alone

I've spent the last forty-five minutes listening to the play list Emma's compiled. Sad and angry lyrics float out to me while I doze on the couch, alternately exhausted and worked up by the day's events. This song is angry, driving rock, and it raises my blood pressure. I've been riding this emotional and musical roller coaster with her, my own emotions purging through the unfamiliar but expressive song lyrics. I'm about to go see if she's okay when the music suddenly gets louder.

You try to take the best of me

go away

I sit up just in time to see the bathroom door slam shut. As I get closer I can hear her violent retching.

"Emma?" I slowly push open the door, and see her body thrown over the toilet, her breath coming fast and ragged. She looks up at me, the picture of pitiful, and I sink to my knees to bring her to me. I hold her to my body, rocking gently. "It'll be ok, Emma. You and I, we'll make it ok."

The music changes and floats out again, surrounding us.

If you want to
I can save you
I can take you away from here
So lonely inside
So busy out there
And all you wanted
was somebody who cares

~~~~~~~~~~

"What you have to understand is that Catherine thinks she's perfect," Al blurts out as soon as the waitress leaves us with our coffee. I'm kind of taken aback by this, but I lean towards him, raising an eyebrow in a sign that I'm interested.

"She was one of the first to be taken on to a 'remodeled' night shift. She thinks she has seniority, when she really doesn't. She has longevity." He takes a sip of his coffee and continues, "She helped train several of the techs, Nick and Warrick. It makes her feel like she has a privileged position around here. She likes to pretend that she's the only one who remotely knows Gil, when the truth is Brass and I were hanging out with him at bars years before they even worked together."

"Not that I'm not interested... because I really am... but why are you telling me this?" I ask as I play with my coffee mug. The diner is relatively deserted save for a couple of college kids, making our candid conversation feel very safe.

"Because I think you need to know. Catherine came in tonight complaining about her authority being undermined and such, and David said he overheard Nick talking about an 'incident' tonight. I may not be a CSI, but I can put two and two together." He smiles a little and sips his coffee. "You have to understand that Catherine likes to mother, likes to be in control and have the spotlight. Even if it's a negative light. Now that there's something about Gil she didn't know, and you're spending more time with him, well, she's losing ground around here." He pauses for a minute and thinks. "She's possessive, and territorial. And everything has to go her way."

"I've noticed that before," I say with a sad smile. Doc just lets out a gruff laugh.

"We all have. And I don't truly think it's something she's cognitive of. She feels like she has some claim on Grissom..."

"Have they..." I ask, leaning forward.

"No." He replies with a chuckle, "Not that you could tell. I think that she kinda latched onto him after her whole fiasco with Eddie. Talk about a soap opera in the lab... but that's for another time. She sees Grissom as a pseudo-husband, a work-mate if you will. His lack of social life has just added to that delusion for her. She probably would try something if she ever thought he was interested, but she's like a sister to him. An annoying, overbearing big sister at that. Who wants his job."

After a second we both fall into laughter easily.

"Listen, I'm not trying to make Cath look like some monster, but I have a little more insight than you've had the chance to accumulate. She's good at assuming whatever facade she needs to get the job done, but when she lets her inner self come out to play, it's often a bratty inner self that we're not used to seeing. Don't let her get to you, or Griss, that's the last thing he needs right now."

Chapter 23: Making It All Go Away

"No match," Sara says, frustration pouring off of her. The two slivers of wood come out from under the microscope and her hands hit the table with a bang, causing me to turn and look at her. Her hands rub her forehead, no doubt heading off a headache. We've been working on this double homicide for days now, with no suspects and no end in sight.

"Back to square one," I add, also feeling the frustration rise within me. Neither of us wants to see this one go up on the board, but we both know that is exactly where it's headed. It irks her just as much as it does me when a case goes unsolved. Not to be egotistical- but the thought of a criminal being smarter than us is not only aggravating, it's also frightening.

I glance at my watch and see that shift's over, and has been for quite a while. "C'mon," I say as I start to replace the evidence we've been working with, "Let's go get breakfast." She just looks at me for a second before she accepts, then turns to start putting away the evidence she was working with.

She stops and turns to me, "Don't you have to be home?"

"For what?" I ask, still working at the table next to her.

"Well," she starts cautiously as she re-packs the pieces of wood in front of her, "Don't you need to get the car back for Emma?" She pauses, and then backpedals with that tiny shake of her head she gets when she's nervous. "Not that I don't want to go out with you, because I do. Not that this is... we're just having breakfast. But I wouldn't want..."

"Stop!" I say as I put my hand on her arm. Though watching her ramble is amusing, she's on the verge of making a fool of herself. I smile as she looks up sheepishly. "Emma's intensive ended last week, and she didn't say anything about needing the car. As for the breakfast," I hold out my hand and take the evidence bags from her, "it can be anything you want."

I watch as a genuine smile graces her face. As I smile back, an evil twinkle forms in her eyes. "Anything I want?" she asks in a seductive tone. I can just nod. "Good, because I want pancakes!" She gives me a wink, then saunters out of the layout room, a spring in her step. "C'mon Grissom!" Echoes from down the hall, and I just shake my head and start to follow her.

~~~~~~~~~~

After Sara's demand for pancakes, I had no choice but to bring her to IHOP. When she saw the big sign as I pulled in, she fell into fits of laughter. A comfortable quiet surrounded us as we got to our table, read our menus, and gave our orders. The ease with which we've fallen into friendship again has been astounding, almost too good to be true, really.

Sara leans back into the booth and props her feet up on the bench next to me, letting out a sigh as she sips on her coffee. My left hand unconsciously covers her boots, and she flashes me a small smile.

"I am so past aggravated now." Her smile and manner betray her words.

"Care to share why?" My hand starts massaging her ankle through her jeans while my other one plays with my coffee mug.

Her dreamy look is so far removed from any expression I've seen on her face lately that it's a novel surprise. "No, not really."

Now I'm confused. I thought she would have mentioned it because she wanted to talk about it. I wrack my brain for a proper response when her sparkling eyes meet mine. The tense nervousness that's been following us like a rain cloud has all but dissipated, leaving us amazingly open to each other.

She turns her leg so that the toe of her boot rubs up and down my side. "Make it all go away," she says, barely above a whisper with a seductive smile on her face. The waitress comes back with our food, so I send her a quick wink as I let my hand slide up to rest on her calf.

~~~~~~~~~~

My hand rests on her lower back as we leave the IHOP and she leans into me slightly as we head for my car. She yawns as I lead her over to the passenger side.

"Tired?" I ask as I open the door for her.

She nods and hides another yawn as she gets in. I stifle my own yawn as I get in and start the car, heading out to drop her back at CSI to get her car.

"Can you just drop me at my apartment?" She asks, placing a warm hand on my arm.

It takes a minute before I reply; the request, like many things about Sara Sidle, baffles me. "Sure, I guess..." I start looking for a side street to turn around on.

"That way," she says as she moves her hand up my arm to play with the sleeve of my shirt, "You have an excuse to pick me up tonight."

A smile breaks out on my face and I turn quickly to see her matching smile. "I love the way you think." She just raises her eyebrows at me quickly, the seductive glimmer not yet gone from her face. I cover her hand with mine for a second, then get back to driving.

The car ride is quiet, but charged. Our progressively rising comfort level has allowed the level of flirtation to rise, which has caused an increase in the overall sexual energy of our relationship. I keep trying to shove it into scientific terms, cause and effect; because I'm afraid once I let myself go I won't be able to stop, especially now.

I feel every hair, every pore, every skin cell on my arm react as she idly lets her short nails play on my forearm, her hand moving with me as I'm driving. My whole being, mind and body, is electrified and alert whenever she's near, tormented when she's away, and utterly drawn to her. Like the copy machine in ballistics that messes with cell phone reception, she confounds, contorts, and disrupts every mechanism within me and causes all kinds of chaos.

I pull up in front of her apartment complex and put the car in park as I turn towards her. We stare for a moment, then she lowers her head and moves her hand from my arm to get her purse. The energy in the car has drawn us closer to each other, and when she tips her head back up with a smile, we're barely separated.

"See you later then?" She almost whispers through her smile.

"10?" I can feel us moving unperceptively closer to each other.

"Perfect."

Sara turns to get out of the car, her hand on the handle and I feel something in me fall flat. Before I know it, though, she's catapulting herself towards me, her lips landing on mine with a crash. She pulls away before I have a chance to react, and starts out the door.

I reach out and grab her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. She turns back, sitting heavily on her seat as the door snicks shut. Her teeth worry her lip, and there's fear in her eyes. My hand moves to caress her face, my thumb softly prying her lip from her teeth then running over its rosy smoothness. I move in and softly kiss her forehead then her nose. Next comes a kiss for both cheeks. Then, I slowly move to conquer her soft lips. The kiss lingers for a moment, then I pull back and look into her eyes, my hand still cupping her cheek.

"Thanks." Sara mumbles, her eyes half open.

"For what?" My thumb strokes her cheek, I want to kiss her again, I want to taste her. I want to hold her and never let go.

"For making it all go away." She leans back into me for a soft peck, then saunters out of the car, a soft smile spreading on her face.

~~~~~~~~~~

I feel the same smile on my face and in my heart as I walk into the town house. I give Emma, who's sitting at the kitchen table, a quick smile as I pass her and head into my office. She bounds in behind me, as usual, for a hug and kiss, which is gladly given.

"Busy?" I shake my head no in response to her question. "Tired? Headache?" Again, I shake my head. "Good." She takes my hand and pulls me into the kitchen, where the table is filled with pamphlets and papers that she's obviously been pouring over. The mess looks worse than my desk on a paperwork night. She drags me over to the breakfast bar where pages are in a neat order and puts a pen in my hand.

"Sign here, here and here. Initial here and sign here. These need your information filled in, signatures here and here, and this," she says, rustling for a page on the table, "needs your John Hancock, too." She looks up at me, pleased with herself.

"What are all of these?" I ask, taking the paper from her hand and reading it over, letting my gaze fall to the rest of the pages she's laid out for me.

"Been working all day," She says with a deep breath. "They're a mixture of transfer papers from both universities, scholarship papers, a couple are bank papers... I'm getting my bank accounts transferred here... uh.. I think that's all for now. I'm still working on some other stuff. I had my mail re-routed to here today." She stops and thinks, picking up a piece of paper and starts to read it, reminding herself of her other tasks. "Ann called, my car's on its way down. We'll need to pick it up in two days. She sent my boxes fed-ex, so those should be here in a day or so. We got a delivery today of some of the stuff Mom and Don sent... really random stuff, too. I'm going to the DMV tomorrow, and an interview with UNLV's Dean of Students the day after that." She stops and smiles up at me. " I think that's about it."

I regard her for a moment, taking in the proud smile along with the dark circles under her eyes. She's hiding how much the last week's effected her, and has refused to let me help her with the mountain of paperwork it's going to take to transfer her to UNLV and move her here.

I take the papers from her hands and put it on the counter with the pen so I can reach down and take both of her hands in mine, bringing them up to hold close to my heart. I shift them both to one hand so my other can tip her now timid face up to mine.

"Why won't you let me help you with this?" It comes out as a whisper. I've been avoiding pushing the issues of late, hoping that she would be able to come to me if she needed me. I'm worried, though, that in trying to be perfect and independent she won't come to me, even if she does need me.

That may be my greatest fear.

"You... you've done enough, Dad." She chokes out as tears form in her eyes. She turns her face away and pulls back a hand to swipe at the tears.

"Come here," I say as I pull her to me in a hug. "I've done nothing. Let me help you."

The next words out of her mouth surprise me as much as they break my heart.

"You loved me, Dad. And you wanted me." She wraps her arms around me. "That's more than enough for me."

I know I need to do something, say something, so I just hold her tighter for a minute while I wrack my brain.

I kiss the top of her head. "I will always love you, no matter what. And you are always wanted." I push her back a little and wipe away her tears, something I've done far too many times lately. "Go get dressed, clean up."

"What?" She asks, moving to shuffle papers on the table. I pull her away from them.

"Let's go out. You've been in this house since you got back from the intensive last week. We'll do something fun." Her eyes seem to shine a bit. "Just you and me, ok?"

"Ok," She says smiling as she retreats to her room. As soon as she's out of sight I move to the table, gathering all of the papers up as orderly and as quickly as I can, and stuff them into the file folder she has lying there. I take the few left on the breakfast bar, too, and head straight into my office, filing the folder away in the middle of a study on dung beetles.

I head to my own room and change into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and freshen up a bit. The papers, from now on, will be my responsibility. I want her to rely on me as her dad, a caretaker, and not like someone who owns a lost puppy. She's my daughter, and I'm going to start taking some responsibility.

"Dad?" She calls from the kitchen. I grab my sneakers and head out to her.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"What happened to all the paperwork?" She looks a little lost, even though the little bit of make-up she's put on made her face seem less drained.

"I made it all go away." I say with a shrug.

She looks at me through slitted eyes, "Dad..."

"I'll take care of it, don't think about any of it for another second, ok?" I sit down at the table and put my shoes on.

"But..."

"No buts. Stop thinking, ok?" I feel as if I'm scolding her, but it really is for her own good.

"My mind's empty." She says as a smile grows on her face. "Thank you, Daddy."

"For what?" I ask as I stand, taking her hand in mine.

"For everything."

Chapter 24: Victoria's Secret

While I had always wished that Emma had grown up all of those years with me, rationally I knew that there were some things that a girl was better off going through with her mother at her side. Like her first boyfriend, her first pair of high heels, and prom dress shopping for instance. Growing up, there are just certain things that mothers do for daughters that could never be replaced by a father. Like buying her first training bra, or talks about boys, or going through puberty.

While I could have handled these things, I probably wouldn't have handled them well. Though who knows what I would have actually done.

Point being, while I knew Emma was growing up, I wasn't very involved. I didn't grill boys before first dates or send her back to her room to change the first time she wore a skirt that was too short or too much make-up. It was something that I didn't participate in, so while I was cognitive of it, I didn't experience it. Now I almost wish I had. Maybe that would have assuaged my shock as I stand here in front of the washing machine, staring at the items I'm pulling out.

I thought I'd be helpful and do the load of laundry Emma had sitting in the basket on her bed. Bad idea. Very bad idea. She said she wouldn't let me near her laundry because she was afraid I'd shrink her dance wear. I figured that as long as I read the tags on everything I'd be fine and doing her a favor. Turns out she was doing my heart a favor by not letting me near her clothes. I've seen the leotards and tights, the shorts that were just a little too short by my taste and the tank tops that bared more cleavage than I was happy with.

But I wasn't familiar with the thongs, or the red satin bra with the little pink tags.

I hold them up in front of me by two fingers, slightly repulsed and slightly fascinated, as I look for the washing directions on them. At this point I'm fairly sure I wasn't expecting her to have the same little Strawberry Shortcake underwear she had when she was five, but I'm still not sure what I was expecting. An old conversation pops into my head:

"What is Victoria's Secret, I wonder?"

"Beauty, Grissom. Remember?"

I hang them on the drying rack next to the washer, still feeling unsettled but not sure exactly why or what to do about it. Beauty. Right. I head back up to my office where I've been finishing up some paperwork for Emma while she's out at her interview with UNLV's Dean, the idea of beauty still on my mind.

It occurs to me that if this were Sara's underwear I'd have no problem with it. But Sara's not my daughter. I realize that I do have a problem with Emma wearing those kinds of things. She would wear those kinds of things for men, like I would want Sara to wear them for me.

Oh, this is a very bad train of thought.

I turn and head straight into the kitchen, filling a glass with cool water and gulping it down. I pick up the phone and stare at the numbers, two sets of digits swirling in my brain before I easily choose Sara's over Catherine's. I nervously play with my beard while I wait for her to pick up.

"Hello?" her voice floats through the phone to me.

"What kind of underwear do you have on?" I blurt out.

"Wouldn't you like to know!" She flirts back at me playfully, but I can only give her a groan at how my intentions, as per usual, have come out wrong. "Ok," she relents, "what's going on Gris? It's obvious you're not really interested in my underwear."

"Oh but I am," I reply, "Just not right now. You once told me that Victoria's Secret was beauty..."

"Yeah, so?"

"Emma has some..." I can barely get it out, and Sara saves me from having to say anything with an understanding 'ahhhh.' "Yeah," I reply.

"Well, besides that Victoria's Secret makes good quality, if not overpriced underwear, pretty underwear makes girls feel... well... sexy." She pauses, and I feel my brow wrinkle. "You probably weren't looking for that as an answer, were you?" She asks sheepishly.

"No, not really."

~~~~~~~~~~

She's doing it again. Catherine has that face on, the one that says, "Stay away from me, I'm in a bad mood and everything I do is right and you're obviously wrong." I've been avoiding her ever since Gris gave out assignments at the beginning of shift fairly successfully. At this point we're either going to have an all out screaming match, or I'm just going to punch her. Neither would be productive.

I'm wedged in the back of the drying room's small closet, searching for a piece of evidence from a cold case to compare with my current one when Catherine and Warrick walk in, both in a huff. I still my movements, curiosity overcoming me. I can't see them from where I am, so I stay quiet and listen to the heated comments as the drying room door clicks shut.

"Cath, you gotta snap out of it!"

"Snap out of what?" She's playing dumb, I can hear it in her voice.

"You know what? Jealousy doesn't suit you." Warrick lays it out plain and simple. Maybe this will keep me from having to lay her out. "We can all see it, and it's stupid, Cath. You're jealous because all of a sudden Grissom has a life, has a daughter, has things to do off hours and won't pick up our slack anymore. All of a sudden you're not the only one with a kid to brag about around here, and you lose it."

"You know what, Warrick? Maybe you should mind your own business!" Her voice is desperate, like she knows she's been caught.

"It's been a shock to all of us; first finding out so much about his past, then having him actually working normal hours instead of picking up all the slack for us, and him and Sara finally getting along again..." He's practically pleading with her now. "So what if it means we have to be a little more responsible about what we're doing? Maybe pick up a few more holidays here and there? He's been letting us slide for a while- he's done a lot more for each of us than a normal supervisor would for his CSI's. Hell, Ecklie would have had us all fired by now. Come to think of it, maybe Gris' people skills aren't as bad as everyone thinks. He's saved our asses enough times. So what if he can only dedicate one hundred percent to CSI now instead of one hundred and ten percent? He's happier than we've all seen him in years, and it's not like things around here will fall apart! Maybe it's not such a bad thing, Cath!"

"What makes you think you know what's good or bad for him? For any of us?"

"What makes you think you do?"

That shut her up.

"You know what, Cath? We all see the shit you pull... and we used to let you get away with it because you're a good CSI. If I were you I wouldn't expect much of that anymore. If you're not gonna be forgiving, hell, we're not either." Warrick opens the door and stalks out, Catherine follows a few seconds later with a heavy sigh.

Warrick's right... incredibly insightful, even. There will be a lot of changes around here, now. That doesn't make it bad.

My neck starts to protest the position I've been holding, so I carefully stretch it and resume my search for the evidence bag.

~~~~~~~~~~

It's almost the end of shift, and with a devilish smile I'm making my way to Grissom's office, folder in my hand. He's sitting, reading out of a large textbook and making notes on a legal pad next to him. I stand in the doorway for a moment, just watching him work. I'm mesmerized by the way his forearm flexes in a seductive dance as he writes, by the way his crystal eyes fly over the page and how his face contorts when he has to stop and re-read something. Finally, I raise my hand and rap lightly on the doorway.

He looks up and smiles, and I slowly enter, closing the door behind me. He raises an eyebrow at me, but I just shrug, smile still on my face, as I sit across from him to toss the file on his desk. He barely looks at it before putting it in his pile. I tip my head in a question. It's amazing how much we can communicate without words once we started listening to each other.

"I'm sure it's all there," he says with a smile. I just wink at him as I stand, moving to the far corner of his office and hooking my index finger to him, asking him to follow me. He stands and follows me to the corner of his office that provides the most cover behind his shelves of experiments. "Yes?" he asks as I pull him close to me, leaning his head close to mine. His blue eyes are shining sapphires, and I can't help but wind an arm up around his neck, leaving mere inches between our bodies.

"I believe there's some unfinished business from this morning's phone call." I say in a conspiratorial whisper.

Gris rubs his nose against mine, "Really?"

I nod, and pull back a bit, moving my hand up to my shoulder and ever so slowly pull the neckline over reveal a black lace bra strap. His fingers move up my side to lift the tiny strap in his grasp. He runs his thumb over the lace, then gently puts it back in place before pressing a tiny kiss to the skin on my collarbone next to it, finally covering it back up with my shirt.

"Victoria's Secret?" He asks, his hands roaming over my back.

I nod. "But I don't need Victoria's Secret to make me feel beautiful or sexy. All I need is for you to look at me the way you are now," I whisper out to him.

"You are such a tease," He whispers as he lets his lips float over mine, touching my lips with only the lightest of contact.

"Dinner tonight?" I ask before I press into his lips for a sweet second.

"Anywhere you want to go." He announces, pressing back. "I'll pick you up at seven?"

I moan in the affirmative, my mouth occupied by kissing up the soft flesh of his neck. He takes my chin in his hand and slowly melds his mouth with mine in a deep kiss. Then he takes a step back, putting almost a foot of space between us, his hands landing on my shoulders. I lick my lips, already missing the contact. "Ok, out." He says with a deep breath. "You're not allowed to do this to me at work."

I just smile a half smile at him, giving him a devilish wink. I know I shouldn't play games. The last thing we need is a problem in the office, but I couldn't resist. Since our conversation this morning I've found my mind has decided to supply me with images of the two of us entwined in incredibly erotic positions at the rate of about one every five minutes. This personalized fantasy playing in my mind has made working very difficult today. I wonder if he knows what he does to me.

"Yes, sir, boss, sir," I say playfully with a mock salute. He just laughs and turns back to his desk. I reach out and grab his hand quickly pulling him back to me. "Seven?" He nods. "I'll come up with someplace nice," I add, and he smiles, ready to pull away again. "One more thing," I say, then lean up to his ear to whisper, "If you're good, maybe I'll let you see the matching underwear." I capture his earlobe between my teeth for a second, then pull away and saunter to the door. I turn to find that he's still standing there, stunned, and watching me with a hungry look in his eyes. God that's sexy.

I just smile, wink, and leave, finally taking a breath as I get a few steps away from his door, the huge smile spreading on my face unstoppable.

Chapter 25: Getting Ready

I wonder if she knows what she does to me. Trying to get any work done after Sara's little visit was totally impossible, so I just packed up and headed back here. Walking in, the first view I'm assaulted with is boxes.

"Dad?" Emma calls from her room.

"Yes, sweetheart?" I call back as I make my way through the maze of boxes, eyeing a treadmill in the corner next to her room. Leaning in the doorway, she comes into view as she stumbles back out of her closet, moving her feet to the tiny areas on the floor that aren't covered by boxes, clothes, and various other things. She flails her arms about a bit to get her balance, then smiles sheepishly at me. "What's all this?" I ask.

"Boxes from Ann and..." She pauses, a look of deep pain crossing her face before she shakes it away and moves on, "Well, they all got here today. About twenty minutes ago, actually. I've been trying to put everything away." She shrugs, looking at the floor, then at me. "So, you ready to go?"

"Where?" I ask, leaning in for a kiss then maneuvering to get to my office.

"To pick up my car!" She yells down the hall after me. "Please tell me you can still do it?" She appears in the door way, a puppy dog look on her face.

"Of course, let's go," I say, picking up my keys again and following her through the boxes out to the front door.

She looks up at me, grabbing her own purse and keys from the breakfast bar on the way out. "I promise to clean it all up," she says looking slightly embarrassed. I just give her a pat on the shoulder as we get into the car.

She turns the radio on low as we get on the road, and I glance at her nervously. She's looking over some paperwork, and I wrinkle my brow. "What's that?"

"Oh, I'm gonna head right to the DMV to get my new license and plates and such. No reason to wait. Since I'm out of state I needed some paperwork... birth certificate... that kind of thing." I nod and she accepts it, going back to arranging her papers, then puts them carefully back in her small purse, pulling out a pair of sunglasses and perching them on her head.

Stopped at a red light, I drum my fingers on the steering wheel. Just say it. Say something.

"I did your laundry today," I finally spit out. Emma's head tips down and I can see red creeping up her cheeks.

"I saw." She starts playing with her watch, not looking at me.

Maneuvering through the rush hour traffic I try to come up with something to say. "I didn't shrink anything, did I?" Wow, that was dumb.

"No, no..." I see her look at me from the corner of her eye. "It's not like..." Emma begins uncomfortably, "They're just good quality, and they fit nice. It's not like anyone sees them besides me. And you," She coughs nervously. It's kind of cute. She starts playing with her hair, probably at as big a loss for words as I am.

"I just wasn't expecting that, is all..." I finally mumble out. She smiles sheepishly at me.

"I told you not to do my laundry, you should learn to listen to me," She adds with a wink. I can only laugh as we continue driving down the road.

~~~~~~~~~~

Black lace.

The dream I wake up from is so real that, for a moment, I think I'm holding black lace in my hand instead of my cotton sheet. Disappointed, and decidedly alone in my bed, my hand slams down on the alarm before roughly rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Still in the fog of sleep, I stumble into the shower. My dream invades my mind, Sara in only her black lace, lying across my desk, and I set the shower a lot cooler than I normally would.

T minus two hours.

~~~~~~~~~~

He'll be here in an hour and I still don't know what I'm wearing. It's just dinner, I keep telling myself. But then again, It's dinner. This a major step for us. Or maybe it's just minor.

Oh hell, I'm not really sure. I just know I want to look good for him. My little tease in his office this afternoon spawned a dream so erotic that when I woke up I could still feel him... or thought I could feel him.

And so I'm standing here, in nothing but black lace, staring at myself like an idiot.

I have to get dressed.

~~~~~~~~~~

I swear Emma's getting a kick out of this; she's sitting there on the couch, smirk on her face and soda in hand, as I run around like a teenaged boy on my first date. Twice now I've headed out of my room to get something, and twice I've forgotten what it was as soon as I see her there smiling at me and have gone back into my room.

"Stop it!" I say to her huge smile, totally frazzled and needing to leave in the next ten minutes. She just laughs. "You're not helping..." I throw down my hands in surrender as she gets up and moves towards me.

"I know." She picks up the very thing I've been looking for off of the breakfast bar and hands it to me, following me back into the bathroom. I pull up the collar and let the dark blue tie slip through while staring at her leaning on the door frame from the mirror. "You're so cute."

"I'm cute?" I finish the knot and turn back to her. She steps forward to flip my collar down and then straighten my tie.

"Yeah. You're so nervous. It's adorable." She pats my chest over my heart a couple of times, then smiles again. I smile back and turn to the mirror checking my tie and hair again, and contemplate cologne.

In the mirror her face turns serious. "She's really special, isn't she, Dad?" Our eyes lock in the mirror before she drops hers, another smile spreading across her face. "Forget it, of course she's special. You love her, she has to be."

~~~~~~~~~~

Where's my other shoe? Oh, come on, it has to be here. I have twenty minutes, I'm all ready, I cannot go crawling around on my hands and knees looking for it now.

I look around my bed, look into the closet, and groan. Dropping to my hands and knees and lifting the dust ruffle on the bed I pray I don't rip these pantyhose because I'm pretty sure I don't own another pair.

~~~~~~~~~~

Emma hands me my keys and wallet that I'd left on the counter as I shoulder my briefcase and a bag with clothes for work in it.

"Now, make sure you leave with enough time to work, but don't talk about work." I stare, she smiles, "It's a first date, Dad. Save the body farm for the second date?" I laugh, she straightens my tie and jacket again. "I'll expect you home in the morning, but if you need me, call me. Don't let her make you do anything you don't want to do," she adds with a wink, echoing my own speeches to her before her first few dates. "Do you have cab fare on you if you want to leave?"

We both laugh, and I kiss her cheek.

"You be good, no wild parties!" I say pulling the door open.

"Darn, I'll just have to roll that keg back out again..."

I smirk at her, and she just winks and starts pushing me out the door. "Have fun!" She says as she pushes the door closed.

And I'm officially out on my first date with Sara.

~~~~~~~~~~

Found the shoe, but in the process tore the pantyhose beyond repair. Without them I feel so... naked... exposed... and I'm not sure if it's a good thing. I'm pacing the apartment now, waiting for him to arrive at any second. By the door my purse and bag sit, ready to bring me through the date and into an evening of crime.

I'm so nervous, yet amazingly calm. It's like I'm standing at some great precipice, some amazing new start, or end, or...

The doorbell rings with perfect clarity, and I jump up to answer it. I'm officially on my first date with Grissom.

Chapter 26: An Evening of Beauty

She is stunning, absolutely gorgeous. My eyes roam over her body, and it's hard to bring them back to her face. It's so rare that I see her in anything other than jeans that I want to burn this image into my mind. Her long legs are bare, dainty black heels at one end, black skirt at the other. The skirt ends a few inches short of her knees, revealing more than I ever hoped for tonight, and the fabric is light, still bouncing even though she's still. Her top is a fiery red, matching her lips, and consists of a band of red fabric across her chest, covered with layers of see-through mesh that falls to form an erotic yet feminine picture. There is just a hint of make up, besides her full red lips, is framed by her hair, bouncing in its natural curl around her shoulders.

A blush starts to accompany the smile she met me with, yet her eyes don't drop shyly as I expect them to. She's examining me with the same voracity, if not more, that I have with her. She looks... hungry.

~~~~~~~~~~

The first things I notice about him are his eyes; they're sparkling tonight, brought out by the blue hues in his suit. The monochrome color scheme of navy and cerulean do something to make him stand out.

His eyes are roaming over my body now, almost like his caress that I've dreamt of so often. His breath catches, and I think I've done my work. The outfit has a feminine flair that soothes how revealing it actually is. I debated actually wearing it, but the look on his face now tells me I've made the right choice though I still feel slightly naked standing here.

There's something in his eyes that I haven't seen very often. I've seen it flash in them before, but the emotion passed so quickly that I could never identify it. Lately, however, it's been there more often and tonight I's the first thing I see in his eyes and in his body. He's relaxed, yet I'm sure his body is as alert as mine is; charged by our closeness. And then he does something I never see; he smiles.

He moves to the threshold of the door, wrapping an arm around my waist and whispering in my ear, "You look... absolutely breathtaking," before dropping a tiny kiss on my jaw line.

I feel the blush rising. I've been told I look nice, pretty, cute, and even once a guy who wanted to get into my pants in college told me I was beautiful. I was unprepared for this, though, and I finally mumble out a thank you. Looking into his eyes I can see that it's the truth, no simple line or pleasantry. Grissom has always chosen his words carefully; if he thought I looked pretty he would have said pretty. But he said breathtaking, and he means every letter of it.

His hand comes up to trace the features of my face, almost as if he's pushing the blush away. I take a deep breath and move to his ear.

"And you," I say, planting a similar kiss on his bearded jaw, "are positively debonair."

My words don't elicit a blush, but rather another smile. I think I could get used to seeing him smile more. He leans in, pressing a sweet kiss to my lips, and I can't resist him. As he pulls away I reclaim his lips, wrapping my arms around him softly. There's leisure to our kisses; they're soft, sweet, short, and simply beautiful. I've never had a man treat me so reverently before; the way that he touches me, hold me, looks at me now... it's all more than I ever expected.

Finally, he pulls away, and I feel incomplete though he's only moved less than a foot.

"Well?" He asks.

"What?" I ask, lost in his eyes, and moving to wrap myself in his arms again.

He chuckles. "Well, as much as I enjoy necking like two teenagers at your front door, I believe I did come here to take you out on a date."

For the second time that night I blush. His presence does something unexpected to me; I fall into this tunnel vision where he's all that I can see, all I care about.

"Oh," I say stepping back, reaching into my apartment for my bags. Before I have a chance to shoulder the duffel with my work clothes in it, he takes it from my hand, placing it over his own shoulder wordlessly, leaving me with only my small purse and keys. We smile at each other as I lock the door, and he guides me to his car with a hand on the small of my back, and even opens the door for me.

~~~~~~~~~~

It's a fight to keep my eyes on the road. Already one of my hands has drifted from the wheel to hold hers as I'm driving. I glance over at every chance I get, soaking in the beauty she exudes. It's a relief now that I've allowed myself to enjoy her presence, to try this. It so much easier than I ever thought it would be; separating work and our personal time.

We're almost at the restaurant, and already I want to turn around and head right back home to ravish her. This may be our first date, but we've been dancing around each other for so long that this seems odd to be the beginning; it should be the middle of our relationship. Either way, though, I'm glad to have her here, next to me. It's still humbling to know that she wants to be here, with me... but she's reassuring me every moment we're together through the look in her eyes, her touches, the way she kisses me... I feel like I've really been granted a new lease on life in so many ways, and I will not waste it.

I have to pull my hand from hers to parallel park the car, and I get out quickly and round the car to open the door for her. Her smile as I do this is priceless and is worth more than anything in this world. I've gotten the distinct impression that she's not used to being treated like a lady, which is very sad. I secretly make that my mission tonight.

I place my hand on the small of her back, leading her into the small restaurant. It's family owned, one that I've heard of but never been to, and just off the beaten path enough that it is thankfully devoid of garish tourists. Sara quietly addresses the maitre de about reservations she's apparently made, and he says our table will be ready in a few moments. Stepping back in the alcove by the maitre de's podium, I take her into my arms as we wait.

As she relaxes into my embrace, I'm struck by how natural this is to us, how easily we've fallen together now, and how empty it seems without the other. I squeeze her a bit, and she squeezes back, words unnecessary.

~~~~~~~~~

The waiter finally leaves with our orders, and we're left blissfully alone. I reach a hand across the table and he folds his fingers into mine. Maybe it's how new all of this is, maybe it's just been that long since either of us was really involved this deeply with someone, but it seems that, at least tonight, it's almost physically painful to be separated. It makes me wonder what's going to happen when we get to work tonight and we have to return to acting like we're only the best of friends, and not as deeply involved as we are.

"I don't know how I'm going to do this," He utters quietly, and my heart skips a beat.

"What?" I ask, only reassured by the unfaltering look of love in his eyes.

"How I'm going to work tonight...every night... with you only a few feet away and not be able to touch you like I want to, to look at you like I want to, to say the things I want to, and to have to be your boss." He says quietly.

"Me either," I say, covering our hands with my other one. "How can I possibly walk around the lab pretending that I don't want to be in your arms, pretending I don't want you to touch me, pretending that we're not so much more than they think?" He nods, and I can almost see his brain working. It's funny; while some people I would imagine gears cranking for, others I would see computer chips buzzing in their heads, but not Grissom. I see Grissom as a true Renaissance man, and as such, I imagine some complex construct of parchment, windmills, and wood of Michelangelo's design turning smoothly in his mind; moving and routing information simply, and slowly but deftly constructing it until it lights up in his eyes and flows from his mouth as poetry.

"It won't be easy," he says, moving his second hand to capture both of my hands in his larger, warmer ones, "and we should probably try to keep this as quiet as we can for as long as possible. But it'll be worth it, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make this work."

It's simple poetry, as I expected, and so heavy with emotion and promise that I very nearly tear up. It's only fair that I reply with as much honesty.

"I know that this puts you in a much more precarious position than it does me, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes, also. You're not in this alone, so please," I'm almost quietly begging as I grasp his hands, "please don't start acting like you are."

"I can only try, Sara." He says with a sigh. He knows what I'm afraid of, and I'm starting to think he's afraid of it, too.

"Things are so much easier when we're working together," I add, letting a hand rub up and down his forearm.

"They are, aren't they?" He says with a smile.

I return his smile as the waiter returns with our meals. We dutifully untangle to let the waiter place the plates down.

~~~~~~~~~~

She is going to get it. I can't believe she's doing this! For the last fifteen minute she's been playing footsies with me under the table while carrying on a perfectly normal conversation. The box scores stopped working about ten minutes ago, so I've resorted to thinking about decomps, and I'm still not sure I'll be able to stand up any time soon. She knows what she's doing, too. She's smiling at me like the cat that swallowed the canary. And while at first it was fun, now it's just torture. This is just not fair.

The waiter comes to take our plates away, and before I can even open my mouth, Sara's already asked him for the check, blissfully removing her foot. As he moves away she reaches down to adjust the heel strap as she slips her shoe back on.

"No dessert?" I ask, still imagining decomps.

"Well, um, I was thinking that maybe we could go back to my place for dessert?" She asks cautiously, but with desire burning in her eyes this time. I raise my eyebrows at her, moving on to dismembered corpses. "If you want, that is..." She stumbles over her words as the waiter returns with the check. I simply hand him my credit card before he even puts the check on the table, and he's off again.

Dessert... at Sara's... It crosses my mind that she might actually be talking about food. A real dessert... but looking into her eyes I know I'm wrong: I'm dessert. I'm unaccustomed to this kind of scrutiny, to this feeling. But somehow, it's all right, because it's Sara and I feel the exact same way about her.

"There would be nothing I'd like more," I say. Sara smiles a huge smile, and I sign the receipt without thought. We both practically jump out of our seats, and I move to escort her out of the restaurant. Safely in the car, I reach across the seat and pull her to me, our lips crashing in a heated kiss full of passion and urgency. After a moment we pull away, breathless, and I start the car, speeding out into traffic.

After a moment I can feel her moving around beside me, and I hear the click of her seat belt being unfastened. I'd look, but the traffic is usually heavy for this time of night, and I'm not thinking clearly as it is. I settle for speaking her name, but not a second after I do I feel her hands on my shoulders, then her lips on my neck. It's all I can do to keep my eyes open and on the traffic. I reach my arm out to grab hold of her instinctively. Because of the way she's moved, my hand goes out under her, and when I finally find her my hand's landed on the outside of her right thigh. I can't even picture how she's contorted herself to do this, and her lips continue to assault my neck as her hands touch anything they can reach. I let my hand rub up and down her thigh a couple of times, amazed by how soft her skin is, but this isn't good. We can't do this.

She suddenly moves her assault up to my ear lobe, moaning before she whispers to me. "I want you so bad..." she hisses out. I groan out loud, knowing that there's nothing more that I want than her at this very moment, but we're still at least five minutes away from her apartment, and I'll never be able to get there like this. I can barely keep my eyes open and on the road, never mind even remembering how to get there.

"Stop," I mumble, gently pushing on her thigh, "you're going to get us both killed!"

"At least we'll die happy, then," she says in an uncharacteristic display of logic-blind lust, sucking my earlobe into her mouth.

"No," I say again, pushing her back. This time she complies with a groan of disapproval. She turns back around in her seat, and I let my hand settle on her left knee, just below where her skirt stops. " We'll die frustrated and unsatisfied. We've waited a long time, Sara, five minutes will not kill us."

~~~~~~~~~~

Whoever said revenge is a bitch was right.... Oh my God I think I may die. His hand stayed on my thigh as I buckled back up to prevent me from moving over to him again. I don't know what's come over me, but it's a side of me I've never felt, and it's exhilarating.

This is pure torture. At first his hand just moved when the car moved, then he started making tiny circles with his fingers, and now it's slowly creeping under my skirt. It's all I can do to not buck my hips, this truly is pure torture. Dear God, can't we drive any faster?

~~~~~~~~~~

Turn about is fair play, my dear, I think as I quickly park in front of her complex. She's squirming in her seat, now; though I don't think she realizes it, and I haven't even done anything more than put my hand on her thigh. I don't even think she's noticed we've stopped moving. I rip the key from the ignition and jump out of the car. I see her eyes fly open as I round the car, opening the door for her. She tugs her seatbelt and takes my proffered hand to help her out of the car. As soon as her two feet are on pavement I pull her to me forcefully and press her between me and the car, taking control of her mouth. I feel more than hear the mutual groan we emit.

Our tongues twist together in an erotic dance as my hands find their way under her top to the soft flesh of her lower back. They rub circles, pulling her closer to me. I've never felt so alive, so uninhibited before; I want to have her, right here, right now- rules and work and public indecency be damned. I love this woman and I want everyone to know it. I pull away for a second, and lean my forehead against hers, nuzzling her face with mine, my lips dropping tiny kisses anywhere they find.

"I love you, Sara." I breathe out simply.

I feel her stop breathing.

Please see chapter 27 in the PG-13 or NC-17 Versions by clicking here