Not Today
Rating: PG
Pairing: None
Summary: A series of six short stories about the character's lives outside of work.
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
Distribution: Morphine Tears. Anywhere else, just let me know where it's going.
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CHAPTER TWO - GRISSOM
Gil Grissom locked the door to his office and followed the maze of corridors to the employee parking lot. It had been a hectic night, and most would be glad to head to the comfort of home. Some would go home to their families, but not Grissom. He had no smiling face to greet him at the door.
He stopped at his car, shoving the key into the lock and twisting. Soft footsteps clicked on the pavement behind him, and he was grateful for the surgery he had gone in for the year before. Turning, he saw Sara Sidle crossing the lot to her own vehicle.
“Hey Gris. What are you doing with your day off?” He had forgotten that he wasn’t scheduled to come in tonight. With a sigh, he shrugged his shoulders. This conversation seemed vaguely familiar, but it didn’t matter. Nothing ever came of it anyway.
“I don’t know. I’ll probably sleep for a while, then go to the bookstore. They have a new entomology text out that I wanted to look in to.”
She just nodded and smiled, the way that she often did when it came to him. He would never understand females. Especially not Sara. “I’ll see you later, I guess.” And with that she was in the car and he was standing by his, wishing that she would come back to him. But that seemed to be how it always was. It was safer for his heart that way, though it stung a little despite it all.
Getting in his own car, he passed the time until he arrived at his home numbly listening to some nameless radio station. It was playing classic rock from the 1980s, and he remembered when those songs were brand new.
That’s why it would never work. I’m too old for her.
And it wasn’t even that thought that brought him down all the time, just the realization that it wouldn’t matter anyway. Things with Sara had always been complicated and always would be complicated. There was no need to get more in depth than that. It was best to just spare them both the trouble of realizing too late that it had all been a mistake.
Even so, as he walked into the dim little townhouse that he called home, he saw Sara walking in from the kitchen with a bowl of batter tucked against her, stirring it with one hand as she held onto it with the other. The phone was nestled in the crook of her neck as she talked to Nick or Catherine, maybe even Greg. She smiled at him and nodded toward the living room where their daughter sat with her tiny features scrunched up in concentration over something in the textbook in front of her. Their son was napping in his playpen surrounded by stuffed animals, a little receiving blanket wrapped around his tiny body.
He blinked and the vision was gone, replaced by dust covering an unused sofa and heavy curtains blocking the intruding sunlight from view. If anyone were to visit, not that they did, they would wonder if he really lived there at all. Grissom went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. There was a carton of milk sitting on the top shelf beside some eggs, but an odd smell was coming from it and he passed it by for the third time that week. Reaching into the back, he pulled out a bottle of beer and sighed, shutting the door behind him. It was no use looking for food in the cupboards. He hadn’t gone shopping since the last time his mother visited, and when he really thought about it, he couldn’t remember how long that had been.
He twisted the cap off the bottle, then walked back out into the living room. On a little table, the only thing in the room that looked remotely used, sat a lone telephone/answering machine combo. He looked at the little display, but it had nothing new to tell. There had been no calls that night. He checked the outlet, but the machine was plugged in. He didn’t figure there was really anything wrong with it anyway.
His footsteps echoed through the near vacant room, and it seemed disturbing somehow. Someone lived here -he lived here- and yet it seemed like it belonged to a dead person. The entire place appeared to be in mourning of someone, and maybe it really was for him. After all, to this house, he must have seemed like a stranger.
Grissom threw his head back, taking a long swig of the alcohol he held in his hand. Maybe he could drown himself in it.
If only it were that easy.
He crossed the living room, a thin trail of footprints leading through the dust. He followed them into the bedroom and sat on the edge of the king-sized monstrosity that choked the life out of the little room. It felt a little like living in a closet, but it didn’t matter. He was the only one there anyway.
He lay back across the bed, careful not to spill his beverage on the comforter that draped across the worn mattress. It was the last beer left in the house, and he didn’t intend on leaving to buy more.
The phone rang, and he sat up immediately. He walked cautiously into the living room, staring at the blaring red light of the machine like it was a foreign object. It continued to ring, but he couldn’t bring himself to answer it. Hover around, yes, but never pick up.
The answering machine clicked on, and he stood there just staring, expecting some kind of solicitor, but completely unready for the voice that drifted in. Even so, he didn’t move to answer it.
“Hey Gris, it’s Sara. I know it must be weird, me calling you at home and all but... I umm... well, I just wanted to see if you had changed your plans and maybe wanted to get breakfast or something. I guess I must have missed you... so... I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
He sighed and took another fast gulp of beer.
He would deal with Sara, but not today.
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Through your eyes everything’s clear
And I’m home inside your arms
But I’m alone for now
I mean the best with what I say
It doesn’t always sound that way
-Staind-’Safe Place’-