CSI - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Words ❯ Chapter 1

Grissom sat in his Tahoe attempting to work up enough courage to knock on her door, body tense with guilt. `Apologies are just words,' she had said as she left the station, and she was right. Words didn't have the power to make things better, only actions and time could do that.

 

But what could he do? He didn't know. So he waited. And thought. And debated. And anguished.

 

Minutes, then hours, ticked by and still no answers. There was nothing he could do. He couldn't turn back time. Although he wished he had some arcane device to do that, maybe explain himself better and the legal need for a warrant.

 

He sighed. Wishing for fairy tales wasn't helping him, it was only forcing him down the path of self recrimination. He turned the engine on and glanced at the clock. It read 4:30am. It was time to leave. He started to pull away, when he saw something out of the corner of his eye.

 

She stood in the doorway, silhouetted by the light.

 

He turned the car off, without tearing his eyes from her. He was afraid she might leave before he had the chance to talk to her. He unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of his SUV. He walked up the path to her house, trying to think of something, anything, to say.

 

“Good evening, Lady Heather.”

 

She inclined her head, eyes watching him impassively.

 

“I don't know where to begin,” he said as a preamble. “But, let me try to explain. I didn't mean to hurt you.”

 

“I know.”

 

“But I did.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I'm sorry.”

 

She didn't respond, but her eyes narrowed.

 

He sighed. “I needed to get the warrant. I was . . . am bound by the law and I can't ignore that. Too many cases thrown out on technicalities . . .”

 

“Stop,” she said sharply, holding up one hand.

 

He blinked at her interruption.

 

“If you think that, then you are lying to yourself, as well as me.”

 

Grissom blinked again. “I don't know what you mean.”

 

“I think you do. I think you were afraid and when the opportunity arose to hide behind your job you seized it with both hands. I know who you are, Mr. Grissom. I know you better than the few friends you have. I got too close to knowing the real you, not just the image you strive so hard to maintain. And that frightens you.”

 

He stared down at the ground for a long while, before raising his eyes to hers. “Yes.”

 

Her lips quirked upwards, in the briefest hint of a smile. “Would you like to come in?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And talk?”

 

“Yes.”

 

She smiled, and opened the door beckoning him inside.