Title: Third Chances
Author: Asa Meda
Author email: asameada@comcast.net
Pairing: Gil/Nick
Rating: PG
Archive: Yes to WWOMB (of course); Fingerprints... otherwise ask
URL: http://home.comcast.net/~asameada/CSIpage.htm
Disclaimer: I'm too old to disclaim anything.
Warning: Spoiler for "Butterflied". Slash of course but no sex stuff... only hints
Note: This whole story did itself thirty minutes after the episode ended. This is my own twist on the whole thing... perhaps could be considered AU as it changes one or two minor things...

Third Chances
by Asa Meda

"...The only time we ever touch other people is when we're wearing our latex gloves. We wake up one day and realize that for fifty years we haven't really lived at all. Then all of a sudden we get a second chance... somebody young and beautiful shows up. Someone we can care about...

But we have a big decision to make... right? Because we have to risk everything we've worked for in order to have [it]. I couldn't do it..."
--- Gil Grissom ("Butterflied")

He sat on a stool by the lighted table in the Evidence room. He put on a pair of latex gloves then examined the package more closely. It was a typical Priority Mail envelope with typical labels and stamps. By his side Catherine Willows and Jim Brass stood expectantly, each donning their own gloves.

"It arrived at my home yesterday but I didn't see it until I got home this morning," Grissom told them as he turned the package over, again reading the name and the return address. The address meant nothing. But the name obligated him to call Jim, to have witnesses as he opened his personal mail. "It was mailed Tuesday."

"The day he oft himself," Brass supplied unnecessarily earning him a warning glance from Catherine.

Grissom stared at the sealed, unbroken envelope one more time, appreciating the virginity of the object, trying not to feel anything more than professionally interested and failing as anxiety continued to rise within his soul. //Why would he send something to me?//

Then, suddenly, without ceremony, he pulled the tab and opened the envelope. He picked up tweezers and carefully pulled out the sole content, a plain white business envelope, sealed. "Here," he offered as he held up the larger package. Catherine held out an evidence bag then sealed the top. "I'll have prints run when we're finished," she reassured.

Gil nodded absently, wishing he could be alone to do this, knowing it was impossible. He took a clean letter opener and slashed open the envelope, his perverse mind not at a loss to compare the action to the actions of the sender almost a week ago. Inside was a single piece of paper, folded. With a sigh Grissom unfolded the paper and read what was written.

Dr. Grissom:

By the time you read this I will be an addition to your slab at the morgue. I will be the end of one of your investigations. I will be merely a footnote at the end of a long and fruitful career full of achievements that was hardly worth the dedication I gave it.

You were correct. At the age of fifty-two I came to understand how much of my life I had wasted, how much I have overlooked in persuit of a dream that discovered meant nothing against the loss of someone by my side, sharing in my success as I could have shared with him.

Have I shocked you, Dr. Grissom? Debbie Martin was young and lovely. She seem to like collecting her butterflies and I allowed myself to be a part of her collection, once or twice. But she wasn't the object of my passion. Michael Clarke was. We met. We dated. I fell in love. He seem to return my affections, care about me as I cared about him. I believed his affair with Debbie just like my own relations with her, brief entertainment meaning nothing.

Then he told me we were done. He told me I was the affair, that he swung both ways but loved women more. I was, he said, a safe trip, a kinky experiment with an old man. He wanted to part on good terms. I led him to believe it was so.

But can you understand the rage, Dr. Grissom? The hurt and anger? I had broken every personal rule I had in revealing myself to this young man. And for this his kept me in his shadow, offered without giving. I had taken the risk you told me you could not take. And I could not go back to that cold life after having touched the warmth of a life beyond hospital walls and surgical theatres. I could not go forward because I could not take the risk again. I felt there was only one option.

Debbie Martin meant nothing. She was a tool, his punishment for having treated me the way he did. I made sure she felt no pain because she was the innocent victim in this. When Michael came I made sure he understood what he had done, the pain he had caused me. But I also realized I still love him and so I made sure his death was as fast as Debbie's. But even so I could not contain my rage. I still needed revenge. So I violated his body, cut him into the pieces he had cut me into and spread him among the garbage as he had spread himself among those who could not have given him what I could have.

The butterfly bracelet? It was a token to Ms. Martin but would you believe it was Michael who picked it out? Something about it being a way to acknowledge our own union in buying something together... for her. My handsome young man turned out to be a bastard.

So this is my confession. Like my life, it means nothing. I will not be prosecuted. I will not be sentenced. I will not care. Tonight I will bleed myself out as I bled those two young people and be done with it.

Dr. Grissom, I heard you speak from the heart about dedication and lost opportunity. You spoke of second chances and choices. With these dying words I urge you to reconsider. I waited too long, waited until the longing became a sad, tragic obsession. If she is special enough you should tell her. You should let her into your life even if she is there for only a moment.

That was my mistake. I had forgotten the little pleasures. I had forgotten that building a personal life was at best a roller coaster.

Do you like roller coasters, Dr. Grissom? Have you ever ridden one? I would highly recommend trying it just once before the bitterness of a wasted life consumes you as it consumed me.

Thank you, Dr. Grissom, for your insightful words. I hope I have returned the favor.

Regards,
Dr. Vincent Lurie

Silence surrounded him. Grissom's heart pounded as he looked up. Catherine and Jim were gazing at each other, surprise and sadness on their faces. It was all very sad. Gil glanced over the words one more time then carefully folded the paper and put it back in the envelope then held it out. He could not be the one to process the evidence. Jim held open a smaller bag then sealed it. His expression was compassionate, even understanding.

//Understanding what?// he wondered.

"I'm going to take this to Warrick," Brass said directly as he held up both bags. "I know he'll process it and close the case properly... keep it low profile." His eyes moved over Grissom to Catherine then back to Gil. "Thanks, Gris. I'll make sure it's all done right."

With that he was gone. Grissom found himself simply sitting, his eyes locked on the lighted table, wondering what came next. He heard the quiet scrape of a stool and sighed as Catherine took a seat next to him, equally quiet. For several minutes he took solace in her presence, in her friendship that was always there for him. His soul cried but he could not. His heart could not seem to find a rhythm as his mind fought between consideration and total withdrawal.

"Sara came to me Monday night... after you and Brass talked to Dr. Lurie," Catherine began softly. She shifted in her seat. "She was standing outside the interrogation room."

Grissom deflated. He stripped off his gloves and wiped his hands over his face. Another problem... long standing. "I can see how must look to you... to her," he said, determined to cut to the chase and settle the the issue, as far as Catherine was concerned. He knew about the rumors, the suggestions about himself and young Sara Sidle. He had his suspicions about how and where it all could have started but didn't have the time or urge to research it. It didn't matter.

"She thought you were trying to tell her something. She felt you were protecting by not having her see the body on the first day and obsessed about the case because you felt something for her."

"I was trying to protect her," Grissom defended as he tried to make his side on this clear. "I didn't want to shock her and make her lose focus. I didn't want anyone making her feel uncomfortable." He sighed. "I obsessed because it all seemed so senseless, because at first I didn't know if we had a serial killer on our hands and I didn't want it happen again because of something we missed."

"Oh... and because it all struck a personal cord for you," Catherine stated, her tone light. "Michael Clarke was about the same height, was almost the same age... dark hair.... dark eyes... similar good looks... reminded you of someone?"

There was a time when Grissom was convinced Catherine was psychic; actually he suspected all mothers were. Now he had proof. "Yes." There was no point playing a game of denial. Catherine was being a friend and he had so few. He had seen a picture of Dr. Michael Clarke when the surgical intern was a suspect. Grissom's mind flashed to the moment he found the victim's face among the trash, neatly cut from the skull. Distorted by the beginnings of decomposition, Gil's perception had, for a scant moment, superimposed another's face... one his heart desired but kept at a distance. It was only the knowledge that Nicholas Stokes was out of town, out of harm's way, that kept him from making everyone stop their work to search for him.

"I remember you looking for Sara when you walked out of Debbie Martin's home but once you saw her you were back to normal... well, your normal." Catherine squeezed his arm. "But once you made the same mistake with Nick you couldn't let it go, could you?"

"No." In some ways it felt good to talk, to admit something kept so deep inside it was in danger of becoming something dark. But he also did not want to have this discussion with his perceptive friend. Not now. Probably not ever. Grissom picked up the discarded gloves, ready to toss them in the biobag and leave. "Catherine, it's not something I can even begin to consider. My life has evolved to be the way it is. I've accepted that. Nick has his whole life, a whole career." He met her gaze, disturbed by the all-knowing expression on her face. "How well do you know him? I've heard women associated with him all the time but never even the hint of being with a man other than the ritual of wholesome male bonding through video games, sports and beer."

"Actually I've heard that he flirts with every woman he meets but I know he's only dated here and there." She smiled. "Everyone thinks he's sweet and kind but there usually isn't a second date though they all seem to keep up the friendship."

Grissom stared at her, wondering how she knew all this then decided it didn't matter. "Catherine... it's too late. I'm too old for him. He's--"

"That fresh start you might want to consider, Gil," she interrupted. "That third chance so few of us are granted."

Grissom opened his mouth, to protest or dismiss he didn't know and would never know. Sound from the hallway drew both their attention. A second later Nick Stokes hovered in the doorway. His posture was upbeat, his expression excited. "Hey Gris! I need you to see something!" He hesitated as his eyes took in the two senior CSIs. "Hey Catherine. I'm sorry. Did I interrupt?"

"Hey Nick," Catherine greeted as she stood up, her own eyes holding a devilish glint. "Nope. I was just leaving." She stripped off her own gloves and put them in the biobag. "I'll remember what you said," she commented to Grissom meaningfully. "And I won't let myself lose the opportunity."

It took every ounce of control, every fiber of his being to keep his expression neutral as he nodded, as if they were finished some quiet conversation with little meaning. He simply nodded. She briefly touched his shoulder and left.

"Did I come at a bad time?"

Nick's uncertain tone brought Grissom out of his stupor. He schooled his mind and body and stood, tossing his used gloves in the biobag. Time to move on. "No, Nicky." Gil paused. He had really tried to stop using that casual name. Stokes was his co-worker, his subordinate, his-- Grissom studied the younger man. Nick had gotten back from the forensic conference yesterday. He was relaxed, energized and had little sleep before coming in tonight for this shift. He wore his usual clothes for this time of year, a sweater over a pair of casual pants. His hair was clean and groomed but strayed in places. His face showed a faint shadow. Gil tried to hold back his reaction as, for a moment, Michael Clarke stood in the same place... as the distorted face of the victim swam through his mind.

"Gris?"

Grissom shook himself and silently cursed. He took a deep breath and forced himself to focus. He was supervisor of the Night Shift. Nicholas Stokes, CSI Level III, was standing in front of him with information which may or may not be useful to him. "What did you find?" he asked, getting right to the point.

Stokes studied him, blinking, obviously puzzled by Grissom's shift in mood and posture. Some of his enthusiasm seem to drain out of him. "I was doing a few tests on that carpet sample I brought back from that DB's house. There's something I found I wanted to show you."

Carpet sample. He had sent Nick out on the case of an elderly woman found dead in her home. Apparently routine but some things were out of place. Now Stokes was asking for his assistance so it had to be interesting. He nodded professionally as he reached towards the box of latex gloves that rested on top of the table, prepared to take a pair with him to the Trace Lab...

Then he paused. His hand hovered over the box, his fingers seemingly frozen in place.

//The only time we ever touch other people is when we're wearing our latex gloves...//

"Gil? You okay?"

Concern. Nick's presence was at his side, his hands suspended in mid-action, helpless. Grissom's mind churned once then twice then decided. He allowed a hint of his true feelings to emerge as he faced the younger man. "I'm fine, Nicky. You might have heard we had an unusual case while you were on... vacation." He smiled at his own tease as Nick's eyes watched him uncertainly. Gil hesitated one last moment then patted Nick on the shoulder, letting himself admire the warmth... the strength under his fingertips. "Show me what you found."

Nick's eyes re-ignited. His generous lips gathered into a brilliant smile. He turned, leading the way out, beginning his explanation of what he had found... what he had done... a hint of what he wanted Grissom to look at...

Gil Grissom followed slightly behind, his eyes already seeing what he wanted to look at... silently thankful that Fate had granted him this third chance...

The end