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Kristen Elizabeth
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Author's Notes: Thanks to Alison and Sue for being awesome betas. I'm so grateful for all the kind words on this story; I hope you keep enjoying it.
by Kristen Elizabeth
With a sigh, he drained the last of his bourbon. He had one more free drink ticket, courtesy of the American Society of Entomologists, but he doubted he'd be using it. He would be leaving soon. There were two beautiful females waiting at home for him, and he wanted to spend his time with them completely sober.
He hadn't even wanted to come to the lecture and reception, but seeing as how he was the guest lecturer, he couldn't exactly get out of it. The event had been scheduled before they'd even found out that Sara was pregnant. He'd been afraid of what she might say about him leaving her for a night only ten days after their daughter's birth, but he should have known Sara better. When it came down to it, she'd been the one to push him out the door.
"Go play with your bug buddies," she'd told him. "But one of these days you're staying with Mallory while I get a massage."
Maybe it was a fair trade on the surface, but halfway through his speech, he'd lost most of his focus as he started wondering what was going on at home without him. Was Sara giving Mallory a bath? Feeding her? Rocking her to sleep? What precious moments of his daughter's life was he missing while he gave a lecture on Silphid beetles?
It was time for him to make a discreet escape. He'd just started searching for a place to put down his empty glass when he heard an unmistakable voice cutting through the din of the crowd.
"Gil Grissom! You old son-of-a-bitch!"
If he'd been a religious man, he would have started praying for patience.
Grissom turned just in time to see Dr. Eugene Banks coming towards him. He'd known the man for almost fifteen years, and he couldn't remember having a single enjoyable conversation with him. It probably had something to do with the fact that he used phrases like "old son-of-a-bitch." But it also could have been that he sold his soul and his PhD to a chemical company that produced a large line of pesticides and bug repellents.
He wasn't the most popular guy at these gatherings. He was six feet two inches of pompous prick who flashed pictures of his trophy wife and his school-uniform clad children in a desperate attempt to make his life more meaningful than anyone else's. And over the past fifteen years, Grissom had become his favorite target in the game of "anything you can do, I can do better," for the simple reason that his plastic family always won out over Grissom's lack of any family.
"Eugene." He held out his hand with great reluctance. "Good to see you."
Although the man laughed, there was no joy in his eyes upon hearing his full name. Grissom was fully aware that he only liked to be called "Gene," but forgetting this fact was the only fun part of talking to the pseudo-scientist.
"Just Gene, Gil. Like always." They shook hands without any warmth or affection. "Nice speech. Kept me mostly awake."
"Thank you." One drink wasn't going to get him through this. "I was just heading to the bar. Last ticket."
"Sounds good." Eugene looked down into empty glass. "My well's run dry, too."
At the bar, Grissom ordered a double. While they waited for their order, the stilted conversation went on.
"How's business?" Grissom asked, mildly. "Finding new ways to kill anything that dares to crawl over a picnic blanket?"
"Oh, we keep busy." Eugene took his martini, and Grissom bit back a smirk. "And you? Enjoying the dead?"
"Actually, the living interest me more these days." He took his drink from the bartender with a nod of thanks. Knowing it would drive the other man crazy, he chose not to elaborate any further.
"And why's that?" Eugene eventually asked, as Grissom knew he would.
"I'm sorry, Eugene. I just assumed you'd heard." The smile that came to his face was genuine, unbidden by any need to come out on top. "I got married a little less than a year ago."
If he hadn't been thinking about Sara just then, he might have noticed the stony veneer that settled over the other man. "Congratulations. I knew there was some divorcee or old maid out there for you."
Grissom reached into his jacket and pulled out his wallet. For the first time in his life, he had kept the plastic insert designed to hold pictures of loved ones. It was now almost filled. He flipped it open to a picture of him and Sara on their wedding day. She'd been a vision in a simple white sheath dress, her hair gathered in a knot of curls at the nape of her neck. She was looking at him with the same adoration he hoped she saw whenever he looked at her.
"This is Sara."
If he'd married her for the same reasons Eugene had married his wife, it might have given him pleasure to see the man's eyes narrow a bit with unpleasant surprise. "Robbing the cradle, I see," he drawled. "You must be doing something right, old man."
Grissom flipped the booklet to the newest picture, the hospital portrait of his infant daughter. "I guess so."
A cord appeared along the other man's neck. "Well. Let me offer up double congratulations." Eugene raised his glass. "To your family."
"And to yours," Gil echoed the toast. "How is Marissa?"
"Clarissa," Eugene corrected him. There was an odd pause. "Fine. Great. Never better. She would have come along on this trip but she's got so many charity projects she's heading. She just couldn't get away."
"And the kids?" He wasn't even going to try to remember their names.
"Quinton is in second grade and Abigail is starting fourth. They're both at the top of their classes." He looked back down at the image of Mallory's perfect little face. "They grow up fast, old man. Don't miss out on any of it."
Tucking his wallet back into his coat, Grissom knew it was time to leave. He had finally won a round in the game he'd never asked to play, but it wasn't as satisfying as he'd always imagined it might be. Years of winning hadn't made Eugene a better man; he still viewed his family as awards to be displayed.
No matter how proud his was to have Sara and Mallory in his life, Grissom vowed right then to never use them to validate his own existence.
Abandoning his drink, he offered out his hand again. "Eugene, always a pleasure."
The man's grip was harder than usual. "Indeed. Indeed." When he didn't let go, Grissom frowned and looked down at their hands. "Listen," Eugene started. "I'm in town for a few more days. How about we have dinner? You, me and your Sara. My treat."
He would have agreed to anything to get his hand back. "Sure. Sounds good." Grissom tried not to sigh with relief when Eugene let go. Inwardly cursing, he pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it over.
"Dr. Gilbert Grissom, Supervisor, Las Vegas Police Department Crime Lab," Eugene read out loud. "No home number?"
"We keep the phone unplugged these days," he quickly explained. "Newborn."
Eugene's smile was tight. "Of course. Well. See you soon, old man."
On his way home, Grissom stopped by the supermarket and picked up Cherry Garcia and a dozen red roses. He just hoped Sara had gotten some sleep, and would be in a forgiving mood when he told her about their future dinner plans.
Grissom looked back at the bed. Sara rolled onto her other side, but her eyes stayed closed. Her hand unconsciously searched for his body, but only found warm sheets. Evidently that was enough. She tucked her palm under his pillow, and her breathing evened out again.
When he was satisfied that she would remain asleep, he pulled on his robe and headed for the nursery.
Mallory greeted her father with a dirty diaper and a severe attitude about it. As he changed her, the little girl's wails died down. She looked up at him with wide eyes, as if to thank him for making her dry again.
"You're welcome," he told her, lifting her from the changing table. "Let's give your mother another half hour before she has to get up and feed you, all right? Can you make it that long?"
Her response was to spit up the milky remains of her five a.m. feeding all over them both.
After tossing his robe and her onesie into the laundry room, and making a mental note to actually use the spit cloths Sara had been given at the baby shower in the future, Grissom took Mallory downstairs to the kitchen. They were a matching set. Her in a diaper and him in a pair of plaid pajama bottoms.
She'd fallen asleep again, but he didn't see any reason to settle her into her carrier. As long as she was happy in the crook of his arm, he was content to hold her and start a pot of coffee at the same time.
He'd just settled down with his first cup and yesterday's newspaper that he still hadn't read when there was a knock on the front door. Wincing in preparation for the worst, Grissom glanced down at his daughter. But like her mother earlier, she remained blissfully asleep.
The early morning guest wasn't going away, though. With a scowl as deep as the Grand Canyon etched into his forehead, Grissom went to answer the door.
"I know. It's early." Standing on the stoop with her sunglasses pushed up into her hair, Catherine held up a bag. "But I brought coffee and muffins. Hand over the kid and you can have them."
Grissom sighed. "Come in, Catherine."
She smelled of solvents and gunpowder; obviously she'd just come from the lab. Although she was probably exhausted, she set down the bag and held her hands out expectantly.
"Careful," Grissom warned her as he passed her the little girl. "She spit up a minute ago."
"She can't put any bodily fluid on this shirt that I haven't washed out a hundred times already." Catherine's smile was wide. "Hello, angel," she crooned to Mallory. "I think you get prettier every time I see you." She cradled the baby as only a mother could. "Sara's sleeping?"
"Yeah. The angel kept us up most of the night," he said with great affection.
"Oh, I can remember." Catherine pressed a kiss onto the little girl's downy head. "I love that sweet baby smell. Don't you?"
He found himself nodding. Clearing his throat a second later, Grissom walked to the couch and sat on the arm. "You're here at six-thirty in the morning with breakfast," he recapped. "What do you need, Cath?"
She shook her head. "Not a whole lot. Just your John Hancock on something."
"On what, exactly?"
"Nothing much," Catherine scoffed. "One minor case file. The DA's pushed up the trial date, and you're off for…what? Another two weeks, right?" She lifted her free shoulder. "Sign off on it, and I can take over for you."
Suddenly aware of his bare chest, Grissom folded his arms over his paunch. "What case is it?"
"You don't need to be worrying about it right now, Gil. You've got more important things to concentrate on. The Family Leave Act says you get this time off, so take it already. Just write your name and let me handle everything else."
He was quiet for a moment. "What case, Catherine?"
"God, you're annoying when I'm trying to be helpful." Gently rubbing Mallory's back, she gave in. "The Grigorovich murder."
His reply was quick and concise. "No."
"Gil…"
"No," Grissom repeated. "I built that case from the ground up, Catherine."
"I get that. And you're leaving big shoes to fill. But they have to be filled, or else the bastard's going to get away from us. Again." She walked towards him. "Put your pride on the back burner for a second. If someone doesn't get on the stand and nail Vladimir Malinovski with the evidence, he will walk out of the courtroom, free to kill the next person who refuses to pay for protection, or racks up gambling debts. I know that's not what you want."
Grissom ran his hand down his beard several times. She was right, and while that was a little barb in his side, he couldn't find a logical means to argue with her any further. It was one thing to be thinking about his family while giving a speech, but he couldn't, in good conscience, put himself on the witness stand knowing that his full attention wouldn't be on the trial.
"Fine," he said. "Just…don't let him get away. Hang him out to dry. Preferably by his sack."
Catherine flashed him a Cheshire grin. "Please, Gil. Not in front of the baby."
Sara came downstairs fifteen minutes later, her hair rumpled, her breasts aching as evidenced by the way she winced with their every movement. She gave Catherine a brief, exhausted smile before she took Mallory into the other room.
When they were gone, Grissom set down his half-eaten muffin and scribbled his name onto the official document that would hand the case over to Catherine.
