That Morning

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Two men. Two rooms. Two paths. One Choice.

…

Somewhat anti-GSR

…

"I can't decide." I watched her wipe her tear stained cheeks, watched her make a desperate attempt at reconstructing the wall around her heart that she had just let crumble a tiny bit with her tears that had wet my shoulder minutes ago.

Reading Sara was like reading Robert Frost.

I had only asked her which one she wanted. I didn't realize that she had taken me so seriously. I meant, which injured man lying uncomfortably in the ICU did she want to keep company. The decision was simple. Grissom or Greg.

Two roads diverged.

"You want the stab wound and the concussion," I gestured toward the door a few feet down the hall, holding Grissom. "Or the bullet to the abdomen and the bullet to the shoulder." I gestured toward the door a ways down the other side of the yellow hallway, where Greg was lying in recovery from surgery.

Couldn't travel both.

Grissom and Sara, they had a history, but I'm not entirely sure as to what it is, exactly. I mean, she was soft on him for years; that I could never figure out. I mean, not that I don't love Grissom, I do. The man is a legend, a genius. I was angry at him, though, for a very long time. Probably still am. I love Sara. She's the closest thing to family I have in Nevada, and I'm pretty sure I'm the closest thing she has to family, period.

I'm not stupid, or ignorant. I've seen what he did to her. To her spirit. She came to Vegas with the brightest, most genuine smile. That smile faded, I watched it fade. He kept pushing her away, kept turning down her advances. They could have been happy, sure. Now they're both miserable.

I don't think he was ever right for her though, I don't think he was ever the one. I mean, something just didn't click with them. Perfect for each other, well, yeah, of course. They appeared to be the perfect match. I even though so, the way he was raving about her before she came to Vegas. No doubt they loved each other.

One traveler.

I would have comforted my one true love after she had nearly been killed, more than just offering to take her off the case. I mean, if I was in love with Sara, I wouldn't have left her in that nurse's station in the first place. But then again, if I was in love with Sara, I probably would have been investigating ways to unbutton her pants rather than the potential evidence in the nurse's station.

Even when I urged her to tell him about her family, I hadn't realized that she's also seek out comfort from him. I had just thought that it was a good idea for him to know where she was coming from on that case… what was her name, Kaye Sheldon. That case was a horrible disaster for her, and all I wanted, the whole time she was curled up on my couch while on suspension, was for him to understand what his emotional detachment had done to her, that his arm's length philosophy was killing her spirit, one day at a time. And still, she loved him.

Looked down one.

But he, like a meandering path in the forest, had always escaped her, bent away from her, out of reach. He was always like that, just beyond her grasp, and as far as I could recall, hadn't offered her a hug when she first arrived in Vegas. Pretty girl makes a move across state lines for me, she sure as hell's getting at least a hug. That was when I realized the Grissom didn't reciprocate Sara's feelings. The man didn't hug her. He never hugged her. I watched her glance again towards Greg's door, and I smiled. Perhaps she had already made up her mind. Sara and Greg. Yeah. That sounded right.

Took the other.

"Don't worry about Gris, Sara. Take Greg." My voice didn't even sound like my own, her indecision was killing me. But he didn't love her, and Gris'd be trying to throw a wide loop with a short rope if he ever led Sara to believe otherwise. Greg, however, Greg loved her the moment he saw her. Greg, for all his childish ways, all his less than stoic mannerisms, was just what Sara needed. She needed to laugh, she needed to smile. She wouldn't get that with Grissom. Greg is better for her sanity. He makes her laugh, he solely has the ability to make her stop sulking. Brooding intensity, for all its glamour, can be irritating.

The better claim.

Greg had made her rediscover the art and the fun that's involved in our job, made her see again just why being a crim is so much fun. Because really, at the end of the day, give me a good and dead body with lots of wild clues and I'll be entertained for hours. The same goes for her, I know.

He'd been at the LVPD crime lab longer than most of us, one of the best in his field. He had grown in the DNA field to a level that none of us really understood, I think the last time he tried to explain why he was getting offers to speak at seminars he was training for the field, and had just tossed the invitation letters in the waste bin, muttering something about past lives and moving on. Maybe that's what Sara's going through. She still hadn't made it to Greg's door, touching the wall beside the doorjamb lightly, as if doing penance. Greg had wanted out, had wanted to be in the field, had left an incredibly lucrative position to become an investigator. Hospital stays like this, injuries on the job, it's all part of being out in the field. But you wouldn't have to tell Greg that, just being in the lab had earned him a trip to the burn unit a few years back. He wanted this, though.

Wanting wear.

I'd witnessed, as had most of the lab, her glancing from Greg to Grissom, especially in the last few months. She has regarded them each in their own right, delighting in Greg's enthusiasm, revering in Grissom's adages. She loves them both, that I could see plain as the sun amid the clouds. The question remains, however, which man is the best man for Sara? And I know, when I asked her which one she wanted, I meant which set of injuries, which personality, but now, now I'm wondering which man would make her happy, and not just happy, deliriously satisfied with the way her life has turned out. Because that's what she deserves.

Sara deserves a man who can love her more than any one on the planet has ever loved her before. She deserves a man who can teach her that life is not about crime scenes and motives, but about Christmas mornings and lazy summer afternoons, and late night glasses of wine that lead to displays of passion and love and adoration and joy. Could either man supply her with such necessities? Of course, each in his own manner, his own method.

About the same.

Grissom and Greg are about as different as apples and oranges. Their similarities merit a long list, but most of the time they are polar opposites. Completely different people. Completely different things to offer. I know that both men care for her deeply; and perhaps she'll square with that.

Another day.

She glanced back at me, and I offered her a steady, compassionate smile. She bit her lip, and slipped into Greg's room, shutting the door quietly behind her with a soft click. He needs her, he loves her, it's better for her to be with him. I love her too much to let her sit by Grissom when her place is beside Greg.

I pulled my attention away from Greg's door, and turned on my heels down the few feet in the other direction toward Gris's door, coming to pause just outside it on the yellowing tile floor. This man before me, as I opened the door, is like a father to me. And I think, on some level, I am like the son he would never have. I took the seat beside his bed, surveying the vitals on the monitor, and noting that his heart rate was at sixty. Normal. He would be fine. He had to be fine.

More than a few minutes passed, and Grissom startled me more than anything as he awoke slowly. I watched him glance around the room, and rub his fingers together, as if expecting to find something. Someone. He was looking for Sara. He's trying to feel her fingers in his own.

"Hey. How are you feeling?" I tried to smile; tried not to be hurt that Gris seemed on the brink of disappointment to see me sitting there, instead of Sara, or Warrick, or Catherine. He loves Sara, he favors Warrick, and he trusts Catherine. Where do I fit in that? I suppose I'm right back to dependable. I'm always dependable. I guess somethings never change. I didn't even wait for an answer; I stood, convinced that I had made the wrong decision in letting Sara choose. Maybe I should've just sent her in here, taken care of Greg myself. His hand caught mine though, and the expression on his face read one thought.

Come back.

I want to believe him. I want to be important to him too, I want him to love me as he loved the others. A father should love his children equally. I let that slip out of my mind before remembering that Grissom had no children. He cleared his throat roughly, and I shoved my fists in my pockets, waiting for him to speak as a child waits for wisdom from a father. Echoes of Michael Corleone indeed.

"Is Greg alright?" His voice comes out all raspy, probably because he had been intubated in the ER. I felt myself nod, and I watched as the older man relaxed visibly.

"Through and through to the abdomen, luckily missing vital organs, and a shot to his shoulder. The doctors said he should be alright. Gave the bullet to Warrick, he'll have Bobby run it through IBIS, Catherine says the gun should be hot enough to track it, after the entire magazine it unloaded trying to get Greg." I watched him nod slowly.

"Good. Where's Sara?"

"With Greg, just down the hall."

"Good."

I watched Grissom nod slowly once more, and I can't help but think maybe he's accepting the idea that she could be lost, the idea that given the choice between sitting vigil over him, and sitting vigil over Greg, she had chosen Greg. Would always choose Greg.

Ages and ages hence.

It would always be the same story. Anytime Greg needed her, she would be there. I guess it had always been like that. Maybe he had always needed her. Maybe she was just beginning to realize that she needed him. I watched Grissom nod back off to sleep, drugged up on morphine and a cocktail of other narcotics, waiting several minutes before slipping out the door and making my way back down the hall, to check on Sara. And Greg. Well, mostly Sara. I couldn't help but smile, two rooms, two men, two options. One decision.

Two roads.

I silently turned the doorknob, trying to be as soundless as I could, not wanting to interrupt, and I peered around the door setting my eyes on Greg's hospital bed. No one would have believed me if I told them what I saw. Well, maybe Brass, he was a hopeless romantic at heart. They were an odd pair. Greg was an odd choice. But in the early sunshine of that dreary morning, her choice, along with the intentions of her heart, remained clear.

The one less traveled.

They were quietly whispering to each other, Greg propped up with a few pillows while Sara perched comfortably by his side on the bed. His fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt lethargically, brushing against the skin of her hip occasionally. She was gripping his arm, and touching his cheek in a display of unconditional love that I had never quite seen her show before. I bit my lip, realizing I had intruded on a very private moment, and stepped back out into the hall, starting to close the door in my wake, when I heard their muffled voices.

"-just want you to know that I love you, Greg. I always loved you."

"And that has made all the difference."

……

A/N: never written a, erm, poem-fic before. I guess its like a songfic, only with a poem instead. Well, anyways, the poem is Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken." For Robyn.