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"Since when did you become interested in beauty?"
It was a rhetorical question. I'd asked it because Grissom referring to anything as beautiful seemed incredibly ironic to me. I regretted my tone even as I said it; I sounded slightly bitter even to myself. I remember looking straight ahead at the ice, quickly trying to come up with a case appropriate change of subject when Grissom shocked the hell out of me.
"Since I met you."
I consider myself pretty quick on the uptake. Questioning suspects is one of my fortes because I tend to have a comeback for everything. I didn't, however, have a response for that. I looked at him; he looked at me. His expression didn't change as he started laying out the game plan for processing the scene. I remember nodding at his words, but I can't recall them. My mind was still on his previous statement and the way he looked at me as he said it. The look was sincere, it was loaded, and if I didn't know Grissom, maybe a little smug. Grissom isn't smug. I just couldn't help get the impression that he knew what a step he had just taken. I only wish I did.
When I first met him-- during the seminar in San Francisco--I was impressed by his intense enthusiasm. Four years of college and nearly 50 symposiums and I had never been so drawn in by a lecture. He posed questions to the group and I answered most of them. Call me selfish, but I've always liked being on stage. I'm a left brain person born to right brain parents. They never have or will understand my passion for science. I save it for those who do.
Apparently Grissom was impressed. I had gathered my belongings and was just about to walk out the door when he motioned me over to his desk. "Hey." He said. Nothing else. Just "Hey."
"Hello," I mono-worded. I smiled the kind of smile you give a complete stranger. A stranger who exuded intelligence from every pore, but a stranger nonetheless.
"Gil Grissom," he offered, reaching his hand past a stack of textbooks.
"Sara Sidle." I returned his handshake, taking the opportunity to look at him more closely. He was attractive in that academic kind of way: late thirties or early forties, hair already a bit gray, glasses, vivid blue eyes. I remember noticing the lack of a wedding ring and immediately castigating myself for the irrationality of that.
"I just wanted to thank you for participating the way you did. You really outpaced everyone. Mark of a good scientist."
I smiled my thanks. "Your lecture was impressive. Entomology fascinates me. I've done some reading in journals...picked up a few things."
He nodded toward my nametag. "SFPD unit? I've done a lot of consults out of there. Great lab."
"I'm just in my first year. I don't get to take full advantage of it yet, but it is nice, yes." I was experiencing the strange feeling of having a connection with someone while making awkward small talk.
"Where did you go to school?" He seemed genuinely interested.
"B.S in Physics, Harvard. Did some grad work in theoretical."
Generally that response usually got me a raised eyebrow or even a "Wow." Not from Grissom. He merely nodded. "I'm going to be conducting a study out of San Francisco for the next several weeks. Mainly bug stuff...classification, age determination in species native to the area. I'll need an assistant. If I cleared it through the proper channels would you be interested?"
I didn't hesitate. We worked together for six weeks and it was undoubtedly one of the most learning intensive periods of my life. We spent twelve hours a day with each other; Shared lab space, meals, and field work lent us an easy partnership. I also found myself becoming attracted to him, but quickly tamped that feeling down. We'd worked together over a month when I realized I knew nothing about him. He probably knew too much about me.
The day he left to return to Vegas I walked him to his car. I thanked him for the experience; he thanked me for my help. He shook my hand, but this time it was just a fraction longer and his smile had a genuine warmth. As he was pulling out he lowered his window. "Hey Sara?"
I lowered my sunglasses and gave him a questioning look.
"I'll keep in touch."
And then he was gone.
So, here I sit--nearly five years later-- watching as Grissom leaves the bench to step across the ice. In a way I feel like nothing has changed from that span of time we spent together back in San Francisco. I'm still his student, his subordinate. I've gotten past the point that I deny my attraction to him, at least to myself. I had resigned myself to it being unrequited. It's hard to harbor feelings for someone who doesn't seem to notice your existence. I acted on impulse once; just reached out and touched his face. I told him it was chalk. Just a few months later I filed for a leave of absence. One step forward, two steps back. He sent me the plant and I took pause. It wasn't the plant itself but the statement it was making. One more step forward.
With one statement he has managed to make me reevaluate everything to which I had become accustomed. I don't know how he meant what he said. I only know that he has given me the most moving compliment I have ever received and it is most powerful because he was the one who gave it to me. I feel like he has just shown me a part of himself. I compose myself and follow him onto the ice. Still two steps behind him, but for once I feel like I can catch up.
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