To: Saras@yahoo.com
From: GLG@earthlink.net
Date: July 25, 2002
RE: Hello

Hello there. Just writing to make sure you made it home safely.

I, on the other hand, had perhaps the worst flight in the history of aviation. First my flight was delayed on the tarmac for nearly an hour. I saw what I presumed to be your flight take off and disappear twenty minutes before mine even left. Despite climate control, this plane was on asphalt in 100-degree heat and humidity, so you do the math. Then, I was sandwiched in between a two-hundred year old woman who smelled of moth balls and a fussy three year-old. Make that a three year old who was not potty-trained. Why he wasn’t with his mother across the aisle, I don’t know.

When the flight finally took off, it was calm for a while. The plane hit a swell and I nearly choked on a peanut, and while I didn’t require the Heimlich, I was coughing and sputtering for a good four minutes, with half of coach staring at me.

Then, the kid next to me dropped a bomb in his diaper. To top it all off, they lost my luggage.

So, how was your flight? : )

Grissom

.

To: GLG@earthlink.net
From: Saras@yahoo.com
Date: July 27, 2002
RE: Hello

Hi there!

Yes, I got in safely. My flight was much less… interesting than yours. I managed to sleep most of the way. Sorry to hear your trip was so eventful. I must admit that I laughed while reading about it though, just trying to imagine the look on your face.

Well, at least you got a good send off *before* you got on the plane. : )

How is everyone in Vegas? Send everyone my regards, please.

It was great spending time with you again. Oh, and by the way, you need to work on your chess game. : )

Write me,
SS

.

To: Saras@yahoo.com
From: GLG@earthlink.net
Date: August 5, 2002
RE: Hello

Well, I’m glad to hear that my travel travails were amusing to you. That’s it, laugh at my misfortunes, woman.

Catherine says that you are to call her. She says that you have the number. Nicky shares a very enthusiastic hi, and Greg wants me to tell you that he can’t live without you.

We just had a very interesting case that you’d have loved. It’s the reason why it’s taken me so long to write. I of course can’t send any case reports but the attached news clip should be enough to pique your interest.

I will be having surgery next week. I have a genetic condition which causes progressive hearing loss, which is why I may not have heard you well at times. The corrective surgery is a simple procedure, and I’ll be in and out of the hospital. So, if it takes me a few days to respond, this is why.

How are things in Indy?

Grissom

.

To: GLG@earthlink.net
From: Saras@yahoo.com
Date: August 6, 2002
RE: Hello

Hello Bugman. I’m sorry to hear you’re having surgery. Is there anything I can do to help? Not that I can do much from here, but you’re in my thoughts.

That *was* an interesting case! I’m dying to read the case file, no pun intended. Maybe sometime you can send it to me, you know, in the interest of interjurisdictional cooperation. : )

Seriously, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you out. Virtual hugs,

SS

.

“Hey Grissom.” Catherine whispers it from the doorway of the hospital room, curious to see if she gets a response.

When he turns and smiles, she smiles back. “It worked.”

“Yeah.” He returns her smile, relief evident.

“You’re back.”

“Guess so. Hello Lindsey.”

“Hi. We brought you some flowers.” She hands the vase to Grissom. "I picked them from our yard.

“Well, thank you."

“So I take it the surgery was a total success.”

“So far. Things OK at the lab?”

“What, did you think I’d run it into the ground already?”

“Of course not. Those are very nice flowers, Lindsay.”

“Thanks.”

“I have some cards for you,” Catherine says, putting them on the tray table next to his laptop.

“Thanks.”

“Open them.”

“Now? Okay.”

He picks up the first one, opening it. The Get-Well card is amusing, and signed from everybody at the lab but Ecklie and Carvallo. He smiles, and puts it aside to read later.

The next card is from Lindsey, and handmade. It has a picture of Grissom in a bed next to a doctor, who was listening to his heart with a stethoscope. It is quite amusing.

“This is great, Lindsey. Thank you.”

The writing on the next envelope catches his eye. It is familiar. The envelope has no postage or return address, just “Grissom.” He knows the handwriting.

“Who’s this from?” He asks anyway.

“Open it and see,” Catherine says, smiling. He feels her watching. He knows he should refuse and open it later, but that would be more telling than any reaction he could give, and besides, curiosity gets the best of him.

The card is bent a little, as if it were sent through the mail in a larger envelope. The outside has a close-up picture of several ladybugs, and the inside is blank but for several lines of writing. The signature at the end is indeed the one he hopes to see, saying merely “Sara.”

His brows wrinkle in confusion. “Is she in town?”

“No. She wasn’t sure when your surgery would be and she knew you wouldn’t be in the hospital long, so she mailed it to me to give to you.”

“Oh.” He fights to keep his face neutral. He is touched, not so much by the gesture, but by the logistical thought behind it.

The minute they are gone, he opens her card.

I hope this finds you well. I saw this and thought of you. I always liked ladybugs. They are adorable, beautiful things, aren’t they? I hope they appeal to you as well. Anyway, I’m babbling, but know you are in my thoughts.
Sara

.

To: Saras@yahoo.com
From: GLG@earthlink.net
Date: August 13, 2002
RE: Hello

Hi, Sara. I got a kick out of your ladybug card. Coccinella septempunctata is actually one of my favorite species, very useful and beautiful indeed. I was touched that you thought to send it and more so that you were logistical enough to get it to me during the very short time I was actually at the hospital.

My surgery was a complete success. I have 96% of "normal" hearing.

How are you doing there? Are you taking any vacation this summer?

Write soon.

Gil

.

To: GLG@earthlink.net
From: Saras@yahoo.com
Date: August 15, 2002
RE: Hello

I am so glad to hear that:

a. you liked my card,
b. that your surgery was successful!

Yes, actually, I am taking a vacation this summer. Next week, as a matter of fact. My brother and I are going camping in Yellowstone.

I miss you, Grissom. Dare I mention the giant elephant in the room and tell you that I’m still reeling from seeing you in Florida. I don’t know what to do with this, what with you there and me here. I’ll admit that it’s driving me crazy.

Given that we have barely seen each other in the last few years, I miss you. I really do.

Life is strange.

SS

.

To: Saras@yahoo.com
From: GLG@earthlink.net
Date: August 16, 2002
RE: Hello

Hello Sara. You sounded somewhat despondent in your last email. I hope that’s not the case.

I’m glad you said what you did. I was starting to wonder if it was all a figment of my imagination. Holding you, spending time with you, working with you again, they were all so wonderful. My feelings have not changed since then. Not a bit. Would it be incredibly sappy if I said that the best part was falling asleep with you?

You always were the braver of the two of us. So I’m going to ask you, what do you want, in terms of this?

Yellowstone is wonderful. I was there once when I was a kid. I couldn’t have been more than five or six. Maybe seven. I still have the “field journal” that I created. God, I was a little geek.

Anyway, I am at the lab now. As a general rule I don’t like to send email from here, but I wanted to catch you before you left on vacation.

Fare well, my industrious ladybug.

.

To: GLG@earthlink.net
From: Saras@yahoo.com
Date: August 17, 2002
RE: Happy Birthday!

Happy birthday to you!

>>You sounded somewhat despondent in your last email. I hope that’s not the case.<<

I’m not despondent per se, just frustrated. I’ve wanted to be with you for so long, you know?

No, that week was definitely not a figment of your imagination, though I’ve often wondered if it is one of mine. And if it’s sappy that you’ve enjoyed falling asleep next to me, then I’m equally guilty of sap, because that was amazing.

I laughed out loud at the image of a little six year-old Grissom seriously documenting the fauna and flora of Yellowstone. I bet you were cute as all get out.

Grissom, I’m going to answer your question about what I want, but I need to figure it out first. I will be leaving for Yellowstone in three days. I’ll be gone for six. So, give me nine or ten days to think, and I promise I’ll answer you.

I promise. : )

I need to go to an autopsy now, but first I have to ask you - just how did I become “industrious Ladybug?” LOL! Have a wonderful birthday!

SS To: Saras@yahoo.com
From: GLG@earthlink.net
Date: August 19, 2002
RE: Re: Happy birthday

Hello Sara. I was as shocked by your birthday wishes as I was by your Get Well card. I should have known that someone as perceptive as you would somehow know. I admit that I am nowhere near you in that regard, so like a schmuck I’ll have to come right out and ask you: when is your birthday?

Take your time to answer my question. As much as you need. I’ll bite the bullet here and give you the answer to the same question.

What do I want? I want you. Very simply. No, I do not expect you to move back to Vegas. I know you became unhappy here. Making you unhappy is the last thing I want to do, even if it means we can never be.

I’ll assume that this is the last I will hear from you before you leave. Have a wonderful time.

Grissom,

P.S. I like ladybugs, I like you. Ladybugs are hard workers, so are you. Ladybugs are beautiful and adorable, so are you. You are not unlike a ladybug. Ergo, the best nickname that I can come up with, given my social ineptitude, is Ladybug. I’m a freaking entomologist. It’s a compliment. ; )

.

To: GLG@earthlink.net
From: Saras@yahoo.com
Date: August 20, 2002
RE: Buggage

Hey! Just wanted to write before I leave.

1. Wow. I admit I gave this horribly girlish shriek when I read your answer to your own question. I can’t even begin to tell you how I’m feeling right now. Very happy, still very unsure. I want to kiss you, like right now.

2. I never said I had any problems with being your Ladybug. I just wondered where it came from, is all.

3. You are not socially inept. You just... need practice. :) Love,
SS

.

Grissom grabs the mail from his slot and walks back to his office, On the top there is an entomology journal and he contemplates it as he walks with coffee in one hand and mail in the other.

A small rectangle flutters from the pile and lands on the floor. He picks it up, and smiles. On the front is a picture of Old Faithful.

Greg catches him smiling as he walks around the corner. “Grissom. I have your results downstairs. I thought you were down there, or I would have brought them up.”

“No problem, Greg, I’ll be down in a minute.”

Grissom sets down his coffee and his mail and picks up the postcard. There is no name on the back; none is needed.

It is gorgeous here. I wish you could see it. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. I know you will like my verdict, but I’m still not sure what to do with it. We can figure out a solution together, I hope. LB.

He smiles at the her use of the new nickname. He reads and rereads the postcard. He notes that it is written in block style printing. She did this on purpose, he realizes, in case anyone at the lab would get ahold of it and recognize her handwriting.

He sets the postcard against his computer monitor and smiles at nothing for a minute. She will be back in two days.

The following night he is shocked when the receptionist stops him on his way in. “Doctor Grissom, you got a priority letter.”

He takes the letter. The return address is Wyoming.

“Thank you,” he smiles, and disappears into his office.

The letter was sent the previous day. There are four pages of cream-colored stationery, each full of Sara’s handwriting. He smiles and swallows.

Grissom,

I’m writing this to you now for several reasons because I know that when I get home I will be exhausted, too exhausted to sit down at the computer and compose my answer to your question. Instead I am writing now, sitting at the edge of a cold creek while my brother is swimming like a little kid. It’s warm here in the sun, though, with the rock catching the heat. Yes, I am vigilant for snakes, and the fact that this has made its way to you ensures that I have not been lethally bitten in the ass.

I’m guessing that you already got my postcard, and if so I told you that you’d like the answer to your question, but that I don’t know what to do about it. This is still true.

I want to be with you but I can’t move back to Vegas. I just can’t, for reasons I can’t wholly articulate right now. You have hurt me before and healed me before and things are just hanging in the middle now, but I know I have a choice, and a risk to take. I could either let you in again and take the chance that you’ll break my heart, or refuse to do so. Maybe it’s who I am, maybe I’m a romantic or an optimist or idealist or just plain stubborn, but I love you too much to give up on us. Therefore, the choice I would make would be to take a chance on you. To be with you.

Just as you said, that much is simple. For me as well. But then the question of proximity arises. I honestly have no clue whether or not we could sustain a long-distance relationship, or even if I’d want to. I have so little experience with serious relationships that I am very clueless here. But, I mention it because that is one option as I see it. It’s not an option I like very much.

Maybe we can take a vacation together, someplace relaxed where we can simply be together and see where this takes us? The only problem is that I’m already on a vacation and likely couldn’t have more than a few days off for several months. Of course that doesn’t preclude your visiting me, but I really wouldn’t want to be at work if you were in town.

Finally, is this is something that eventually develops into something serious, I’m not opposed to the idea of moving. I think I owe you and myself a better reason why I can’t simply move to Vegas, but I’m not sure how to articulate it. I hate Vegas. I hate the fact that it is a giant artificial construct, a mirage in the middle of the desert, sucking energy and money and catering to people’s vices. I know that’s a somewhat unfair portrayal, but that’s what’s in my gut.

I don’t know if you understand this but I’m afraid if I moved back that I would regress back to the person I was, and I don’t want to do that. I’ve come too far, grown too much. There are good memories, but just as many, if not more, bad ones.

So, I hope you understand why I can’t move back to Vegas. I know it’s selfish and I couldn’t ask you to move, here or anywhere else. And there’s another question: if we lived in the same city, wouldn’t we eventually wind up working together in some capacity anyway? That of course is less of a problem. I don’t care so much about it but I expect you might.

So, this leaves me no closer to a neat solution to this. I revise my earlier statement: come visit me anyway. I don’t care if I can’t get time off of work. Just come see me. I miss you. I want to be with you so much. You can stay as long as you want.

Something I want to tell you, because I don’t think I’ve ever had the courage to tell you straight up. The first time I met you, I thought you were odd and interesting and intelligent. The first time we had an actual conversation, and if you recall it was a five-hour conversation, I felt you consume me. I lost myself a little but I was so in awe of you, a kindred spirit. You were like no one I ever met before. It didn’t take more than a dream to have my feelings take on an erotic nature. I don’t know where along the line I came to love you, but it was clear as day to me by the end of my first week in Vegas. I felt so hard, so helplessly, in love with you. I’d fought for control my entire life and you took it away. That’s a horrible scary feeling (one I suspect you have also experienced) and it’s a big part of what memories are painful to me, regarding Vegas. The feeling worsened as I grew to love you more.

After I left I still loved you. Still thought of you every day. It still hurt. But I did what I set out to accomplish, which was to establish myself as an adult, in relation to no one but myself. I don’t regret it, painful though it was.

Seeing you at the conference was a different kind of terrifying. It felt more as if we were meeting on neutral ground, as something closer to equals. Seeing you brought home how much I missed the things I DO miss about Vegas, and that was very hard. When you finally reached out to me, I was wary, but determined to give you a chance to rebuild our friendship.

When you told me you loved me...

I’ve been staring at this paper for five minutes, and I still have no clue how to end that sentence. I guess ambivalence would be too weak a word for how I felt. So many feelings came rushing back, and fear with them. You offered me everything I ever wanted and I was certain you’d take it back again. But I loved you then. And, oh, make no mistake, I wanted you then. Remember when I took your hand and put it on my heart? I thought I would just go -poof- and dissolve into dust right then and there. I think perhaps the single hardest thing I ever did was to not just jump you that night.

That week was amazing, and would have been even if that night never happened. It was such a… healing thing for me to rebuild my friendship with you. So good for me, and I think for you. But I left with a storm in my mind, and so many feelings I’m sure I don’t need to articulate at this point. I wanted you, I loved you, I kicked myself for not just kissing you, holding you and never letting go. Things have calmed, I have thought about us constantly for days, and I know this: I want you. I love you. And I don’t know how we’re going to make the logistical bits work, but I will try if you try; I will risk if you risk.

I don’t know what else to say. My brother is going to wonder why there are tears in my eyes.

I’ll mail this to you tomorrow.

I love you so much, Gil.

Sara

He stares at the lines of her writing until they stop blurring from tears. He blinks a few times and tucks the letter into the lining of his jacket.

“Gil, are you allright?” He looks up to see Catherine.

“I’m fine. What’s up?”

“Didja hear about what happened in Quantico?”

“No. What happened?”

“Your friend Gerard was the object of an internal investigation. He was canned.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead. I’m not surprised, given the sleazy shit he pulled at the Haviland trial.”

“Yeah. He changed drastically.”

“There was a whole lot of shit hitting the fan. The whole CSI department there is restructuring. ”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I gotta go log this into evidence. I’ll catch you later.”

“Okay.”

He stares into space and thinks about serendipity.

He has believed in God off and on for years. Mostly on, but during some rough and bitter times, he has not.

Now he feels as if a beam of light from above is shining expressly down on him. A second chance. A divine intervention. Serendipity. Redemption. Whatever it is, he doesn't care. He goes to his computer, types in the address of the FBI web site.