Complete Strangers
Title: Complete Strangers
Fandom: Law & Order/CSI
Summary: Two strangers walk into a New York City bar...
Disclaimer: As always, I don't own them. But if CBS and NBC and all others involved want to give me a present, I wouldn't turn them down.
I posted part 2 of this over at thursday100plus for the crossover challenge, but here is the whole thing.
Part 1: Men Get Lost Sometimes
It was too cold in New York City, Gil Grissom thought as he walked down the street, and he felt validated in his choice, many years ago, not to take the job there that he’d been offered. Instead he chose Las Vegas, which was just as insane, but significantly warmer. He was in town attending a conference, but right now all of the lectures were over for the day and he was just looking for someplace to unwind for a few. After all, he was on “vacation,” (if this could really be called a vacation) and bars in New York stayed open almost as late as the ones in Vegas. Perfect. Not that he was prone to drinking - but that particular night, it seemed like the thing to do.
The bar was an old fashioned one, a working-man’s bar. Perfect. You barely saw places like this west of Chicago - real, old wood and red vinyl and men downing beers without moaning at the bartender that they had lost a week’s pay at the blackjack tables. No - here they lost it at the OTB, this was New York, after all.
Gil pulled up a chair next to a man who was a few years older than him, a man obviously already well into his second or third glass of bourbon - or maybe it was scotch - wearing a dress shirt and a pair of pants that matched the suit jacket draped across the back of his stool. A professional man, he thought, although his working hours were probably long since over. Gil ordered a beer from the bartender and sat for a moment, absorbing the atmosphere. After a few moments, his neighbor looked up at him.
“Haven’t seen you around here before,” the man said.
“No, I’m from out of town.”
“How did you find your way here? This isn’t exactly the place the tourists seek out.”
“No, but it’s what I was looking for.”
The man nodded, shrugging a little, as if to say “to each his own,” and went back to his drink.
This was exactly the atmosphere he was looking for. This was the kind of bar where men sat for hours and moaned about the women who had done them wrong - this was the place to go when the love you never thought you’d find had just left you flat.
“Where are you from?” The man asked.
“Las Vegas.” Gil anticipated the comment before he got it.
“Vegas?” He snorted, “Who goes on vacation from Vegas?”
“Those of us that live there.”
Another shrug.
“I’m Jack.” He said, extending a hand.
“Gil.”
“And what do you do, Gil?”
“I’m a scientist. You?” He said, not wanting to get into it. That was his standard answer at social functions. Usually people were too bored by the idea to ask any more questions.
“Lawyer.” He said, snorting again, “I’ve been a prosecutor for more than thirty years,” Jack said, not sounding proud of it.
“Hmm.”
“Another for me,” Jack signaled the bartender, who pulled a bottle of scotch from the bar and filled another glass, sliding it in front of him.
“Scotch, hmm?”
“Always.” Jack replied, “I used to keep a bottle in my desk drawer.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Not anymore,” Jack said, “Now I keep it on the damn credenza for the world to see.”
Gil did not know what that comment was leading to, and he let it drop.
“So,” Jack continued, “You married, Gil?”
Why that question seemingly out of nowhere?
“No, you?”
“Long time ago. Left me because I spent every night at the office. I bet you have too.”
“What, been married?”
“No - spent too many nights at your office.”
Well - that much was certainly true. Especially considering he worked the night shift.
“You look to me like a guy who has devoted everything to his work,” Jack said, looking Gil over, “You remind me of me.”
Great. He had been looking for atmosphere, but to end up sitting next to a pompous, wordy drunk was a bit too much to take. Still - there was something about this Jack, something under the surface, something that piqued his curiosity. He decided to follow the trail, if only for a while.
“I have probably spent a few too many days at the office,” Gil allowed. Jack looked up at the mirror over the bar, and now he seemed to be talking to himself - or maybe about himself.
“I have devoted my entire damn life to my job and what did I get out of it? I get a big fat promotion and yet I am sitting here, in a bar, on a weeknight. Alone. That’s what I get out of it.”
“Well, there is something to be said for solitude.”
Jack snorted.
“Solitude.” He said, “I’m damn sick of it. You think it’s better?”
“I used to,” Gil admitted, “But no, now I don’t.”
Jack gave him a look.
“What changed your mind?” He asked, then stopped, “No, I know that look. I’ve been there. So what’s her name?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Jack took a sip of his scotch, “What’s her name?”
“Sara.”
“Hmm. So what happened?
“What happened?”
“How come you’re in a New York City bar at a certain late hour of the evening instead of with her?”
“It’s a long story, and a rather personal one.” Gil said, taking a sip of his own beer. Jack nodded.
“Fair enough,” He said, “Let me show you something.” He fumbled with his jacket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped through the credit cards, finally landing on a picture. He slid the picture from it’s plastic case and laid it on the bar in front of Gil.
Gil looked at the picture. It was of a smiling, dark haired woman - at first glance, she reminded Gil of Sara, but looking further, he realized they didn’t look much alike at all. Brown hair, brown eyes, that was about it.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Jack asked, taking another sip of his scotch.
“Yes, she is,” Gil said politely. Not as beautiful as Sara, he thought.
“I should be spending my nights with her,” Jack continued, pointing at the photo, “Instead of in here with these bums. I should have her in my arms, in my bed - she should be the one fighting tooth and nail with me over every decision I make. But she’d be proud of me, I know it.”
Gil wasn’t exactly sure what he was talking about, but he nodded and handed the photo back.
“I’m sure she would,” He said. It was never easy to have a conversation with someone who was three sheets to the wind, which Jack certainly was at this moment.
Jack sighed.
“Tell me something, Gil, is your Sara still alive?”
“Yes, she is,” Gil said, taken aback by the question.
“She just left you, is that it?”
“Well… it’s complicated.”
“Let me tell you something, Gil,” Jack continued, slurring the “s” ever so slightly, “Mine isn’t.”
“Isn’t what?”
“Alive,” Jack said, shaking his head, “Been gone for almost twelve years now. And I’m still showing her picture to complete strangers in bars. Miss her every damn day. And nothing will change that.”
“I’m sorry,” Gil said, and Jack turned to him, with an intensity in his face.
“Your Sara… she’s still alive.”
“Yes,” Gil began, but Jack cut him off.
“Well, then, goddamn it, what the hell are you doing here? Where there’s life, there’s hope. I didn’t have a choice. You do. Don’t let her go. I wouldn’t have.”
Gil stared at Jack, stunned by the raw tone in the man’s voice.
“You have a point,” He admitted. Jack settled back on his stool and downed the rest of his scotch. He stood up - rather unsteadily - and slapped Gil hard on the back.
“Barkeep,” He said, “Put this man’s beer on my tab. And if you would, please, call a car for me?”
The bartender nodded, and Jack slid some bills across the bar at him.
“Keep the change,” He said, “Gil, you heard what I said. It’s good advice.”
He headed towards the door, wavering slightly as he did so. Gil watched him leave before finishing the rest of his own beer.
“Who was that?” He asked the bartender when he came to take his glass away.
“Oh, he’s in here every couple of weeks,” the bartender shrugged, “Has been for as long as I’ve been working here. He usually drinks his scotch and shoots the bull with a couple of the other regulars, real down-to-earth guy. Generous - he’s always picking up tabs.”
Gil nodded. He was just about to stand up when he felt his cell phone vibrating against his belt. He answered it without checking the display.
“Grissom.” He said, making his way to the door.
“Hey.”
“Sara?” He was in the front hallway by now, and he stopped and leaned against the wall when he heard her voice.
“Yeah. Where are you?”
“I’m in New York,” He said, “That conference I told you about.”
“Oh, I forgot. I just… I don’t know, I just wanted to call you.”
“I’m glad you did,” He said, “I’m always glad to hear your voice.”
“Still?”
“Always.”
“So, how’s New York? Is it better this time than when you were working with the FBI?”
“It’s interesting,” He said, “I’ll say that. I met someone noteworthy tonight, actually.”
“Really, who?”
“I don’t know. Some drunk in a bar,” He said, “But he was a smart drunk.”
“A smart drunk?”
“He told me… not to let you go.”
“You were talking about me with some drunk in a bar?”
“He told me ‘where there’s life, there’s hope.’”
“And how much did you have to drink at this bar?” Sara asked.
“One beer. He did most of the talking, really. Apparently he lost someone a long time ago.”
“Oh. But you didn’t lose anyone.”
“I lost you.”
“I’m… not lost. You know where I am.”
“You’re not with me.” Gil said, quietly.
“Gil,” Sara said, hesitantly, but he cut her off.
“I’m taking his advice, Sara - I’m not going to let you go. Whenever you’re ready to come back to me - or ready for me to come and get you - I’ll be waiting. And if you never do, I’ll just end up in a bar, showing your picture to complete strangers twelve years from now.”
“Are you sure you only had one beer?”
“Positive.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Sara said, “I really don’t.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” He said, “It’s okay.”
“You’re really going to start showing my picture to complete strangers in bars?” Sara asked. She sounded like she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.
“Men do strange things when they’re afflicted with loneliness,” He said, “It’s a terrible disease.”
He could hear Sara’s sigh over three thousand miles of phone lines.
Gil glanced outside as a cab pulled up in front of the bar, and he watched as Jack - who had been sitting on a bench next to the door - stood and started towards the cab. After he shut the door, as the cab drove away, Gil could see the deep lines etched into the man’s face by too many years of solitude. It was a future he didn’t want for himself - he wanted to fight to keep those lines from his own face.
“I’m not giving up, Sara,” He said softly,
“I hope not,” Sara said, after a pause, “Because I’ve never given up on you. And I never will.”
Part 2: All You Can't Leave Behind
It was a cold winter’s night in New York City, the kind of night that always seemed to bring out the ghosts of the past for Jack McCoy. He had planned a dinner with Theresa, a law professor at NYU he’d been seeing off and on for a few months, but that afternoon he had called and cancelled - for some reason, he knew he wanted a different kind of company tonight.
He made his way to his favorite old bar - not exactly the kind of bar the District Attorney of New York County would be expected to frequent, but he saw no reason to change his habits simply because of a promotion. This was a real bar, with wood paneling, red vinyl and pool tables, a place where he could get a little peace.
It was a place where the present had no place. This was a place to spend an evening with the past.
He was finally relaxing, after his third or fourth glass of scotch, when a man he didn’t know sat on the stool next to him. He was enough of a regular here to know most of the other regulars by sight, and this man was not one of them. He looked vaguely out of place, and not just in the bar. Jack glanced at him as he ordered a beer - this man, with his beard and his quiet presence, was not the usual clientele for Mac’s Pub.
“Haven’t seen you around here before,” Jack said, by way of starting a conversation.
“No, I’m from out of town.”
Well, that wasn’t exactly news.
“How did you find your way here? This isn’t exactly the place the tourists seek out.”
“No,” the man said, “But it’s what I was looking for.”
Jack shrugged slightly - he could understand. He went back to his drink.
In the few moments of this conversation, however, he could see something familiar in this stranger’s face - something he’d seen too often on his own face.
“Where are you from?” Jack asked.
“Las Vegas,” he replied, and Jack glanced at him in surprise.
“Vegas?” He snorted, “Who goes on vacation from Vegas?”
“Those of us that live there,” The man replied, and Jack had to concede that he had a point. Time for introductions.
“I’m Jack,” He said, extending a hand.
“Gil,” his neighbor returned the handshake.
“And what do you do, Gil?” Jack asked.
“I’m a scientist. You?”
“Lawyer,” Jack said, “I’ve been a prosecutor for more than thirty years.” He felt, all of a sudden, that it had been a long thirty years.
“Hmm.” Gil nodded.
“Another for me,” Jack signaled the bartender, who poured him another glass. He wondered if there was enough scotch in the world.
“Scotch, hmm?”
“Always,” Jack replied, thinking back, “I used to keep a bottle in my desk drawer.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Not anymore,” Jack laughed, “Now I keep it on the damn credenza for the world to see.”
He took another sip of his drink, still laughing slightly. He looked over at Gil, who was gazing thoughtfully into the mirror above the bar.
“So,” Jack said, “You married, Gil?”
He asked it to make conversation, mainly - women were a favorite topic among the men in Jimmy’s pub.
“No, you?”
“Long time ago. One of them left me because I spent every night at the office. I bet you have too.”
“What, been married?”
“No - spent too many nights at your office.”
Jack had been a workaholic long enough to recognize it in someone else.
“You look to me like a man who has devoted everything to his work,” He continued, “You remind me of me.”
He had devoted everything to his work, and what did he have to show for it? He was finally the DA, but so what? He was still spending his evening in a bar, talking to some stranger. He had a whole city at his feet, and yet all he wanted to do was exactly what he was doing - and there was something sad and lonesome about that.
He should have kept that date with Theresa.
“I have probably spent a few too many days at the office,” Gil said. Jack looked up at the mirror over the bar.
“I have devoted my entire damn life to my job and what did I get out of it?” He said, more to his reflection in the mirror than to his neighbor. He had lost so much in the process. His wives. His daughter. Too many friends to count. A lifetime worth of days spent chasing the thrill of winning. In the end, what did it all add up to?
“I get a big fat promotion and yet I am sitting here, in a bar, on a weeknight. Alone. That’s what I get out of it.”
“Well, there is something to be said for solitude,” Gil said. Jack gave a snort in response.
“Solitude,” He said, “I’m damn sick of it. You think it’s better?”
“I used to,” Gil said, in a tone that suggested an admission of some sort, “But no, now I don’t.”
He heard something in that admission. Jack hadn’t spent years searching for a suspect’s weakness for nothing.
“What changed your mind?” He asked, then reconsidered, “No, I know that look. I’ve been there. So what’s her name?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Jack took a sip of his scotch, “What’s her name?”
“Sara.”
“Hmm. So what happened?”
“What happened?”
“How come you’re in a New York City bar at a certain late hour of the evening instead of with her?”
“It’s a long story, and a rather personal one.” Gil said, and Jack nodded.
“Fair enough,” He said, “Let me show you something.” He fumbled with his jacket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped through the credit cards and pictures
- one of his mother, one of his daughter, and finally - the one he meant to show Gil. He slid the photo from the plastic sleeve and laid it on the bar.
It took several scotches for Jack to start pulling out the photos in his wallet - usually he felt himself getting sentimental around the third or fourth. And tonight belonged to the past, not the present.
Gil looked at the photo, nodding slightly.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Jack asked, taking another sip of his scotch.
“Yes, she is.” Gil said, but Jack could tell he was only being polite.
“I should be spending my nights with her,” Jack said, pointing at the photo, “Instead of in here with these bums,” Or with Theresa, for that matter, or any of the other women he’d been with over the past twelve years, he thought, before continuing, “I should have her in my arms, in my bed - she should be the one fighting tooth and nail with me over every decision I make. But she’d be proud of me, I know it.”
Jack was aware that this probably wasn’t making much sense to Gil, but he didn’t really care.
“I’m sure she would,” Gil said, handing the photo back. Jack looked at it for a moment before placing it back in his wallet. He sighed.
They all left me, he thought, even her. The only difference is, it wasn’t her fault.
“Tell me something, Gil, is your Sara still alive?” He asked. Gil looked startled.
“Yes, she is,” He replied.
“She just left you, is that it?”
“Well… it’s complicated.”
“Let me tell you something,” Jack continued, “Mine isn’t.”
“Isn’t what?”
“Alive,” Jack shook his head, “Been gone for almost twelve years now. And I’m still showing her picture to complete strangers in bars. Miss her every damn
day. And nothing will change that.”
“I’m sorry,” Gil said, and Jack looked at him. No one had said that in a long time. He suddenly felt the need to give this man some good advice. Hopefully he would take it.
“Your Sara… she’s still alive.”
“Yes,” Gil said.
“Well, then, goddamn it, what the hell are you doing here? Where there’s life, there’s hope. I didn’t have a choice. You do. Don’t let her go. I wouldn’t
have.”
Gil just looked at him, then nodded.
“You have a point.” He said. Jack smiled slightly before settling back on his stool and downing the rest of his scotch.
Maybe he had listened, Jack thought, or maybe he just thinks he’s talking to some sloppy old drunk. Either way, it was probably time to call it a night. He stood up and gave Gil a pat on the back.
“Barkeep,” He said, “Put this man’s beer on my tab. And if you would, please, call a car for me?”
He slid some cash across the bar.
“Keep the change,” He said, looking back at Gil, “Gil, you heard what I said. It’s good advice.”
He started towards the door.
Whoa, that floor is a little uneven, they should fix that, he thought.
He sat on the bench outside the bar to wait for his car, as he usually did, to take advantage of the air. It tended to sober him up a bit.
He hoped Gil would hear what he had been trying to say, even though he knew his words were obscured somewhat by the alcohol.
He had lost so much over the years, but most of the time he tried not to think about it. Pick yourself up, face forward, not back. Nothing else you can do.
He had been forced to give her up. He had come to believe he never would have done so willingly. But she wasn’t the only one he had lost.
And yet, somewhere, they all stayed with him.
Somewhere along the line he’d become an old romantic - and he hoped Gil would hold on to what he hadn’t been able to.
Tomorrow he’d be back to the present. He would call Theresa, reschedule their date. He could bully any restaurant into the city into taking a last minute reservation, he was the DA, after all. Tomorrow his old photographs would stay in his wallet, and the ghosts of the past would retreat.
The car pulled up, and he climbed in. He glanced through the window as the cab started to pull away and caught sight of Gil, standing in the front vestibule of the bar, talking on his cell phone. Their eyes met, but only briefly, before he was out of sight.
Don’t give up, Gil, he thought as the car headed towards his apartment, or one day you, too, will be trying to catalogue all the things you’ve lost over the years.
All the things you can never reclaim, and all the things you can never forget.
Fandom: Law & Order/CSI
Summary: Two strangers walk into a New York City bar...
Disclaimer: As always, I don't own them. But if CBS and NBC and all others involved want to give me a present, I wouldn't turn them down.
I posted part 2 of this over at thursday100plus for the crossover challenge, but here is the whole thing.
Part 1: Men Get Lost Sometimes
It was too cold in New York City, Gil Grissom thought as he walked down the street, and he felt validated in his choice, many years ago, not to take the job there that he’d been offered. Instead he chose Las Vegas, which was just as insane, but significantly warmer. He was in town attending a conference, but right now all of the lectures were over for the day and he was just looking for someplace to unwind for a few. After all, he was on “vacation,” (if this could really be called a vacation) and bars in New York stayed open almost as late as the ones in Vegas. Perfect. Not that he was prone to drinking - but that particular night, it seemed like the thing to do.
The bar was an old fashioned one, a working-man’s bar. Perfect. You barely saw places like this west of Chicago - real, old wood and red vinyl and men downing beers without moaning at the bartender that they had lost a week’s pay at the blackjack tables. No - here they lost it at the OTB, this was New York, after all.
Gil pulled up a chair next to a man who was a few years older than him, a man obviously already well into his second or third glass of bourbon - or maybe it was scotch - wearing a dress shirt and a pair of pants that matched the suit jacket draped across the back of his stool. A professional man, he thought, although his working hours were probably long since over. Gil ordered a beer from the bartender and sat for a moment, absorbing the atmosphere. After a few moments, his neighbor looked up at him.
“Haven’t seen you around here before,” the man said.
“No, I’m from out of town.”
“How did you find your way here? This isn’t exactly the place the tourists seek out.”
“No, but it’s what I was looking for.”
The man nodded, shrugging a little, as if to say “to each his own,” and went back to his drink.
This was exactly the atmosphere he was looking for. This was the kind of bar where men sat for hours and moaned about the women who had done them wrong - this was the place to go when the love you never thought you’d find had just left you flat.
“Where are you from?” The man asked.
“Las Vegas.” Gil anticipated the comment before he got it.
“Vegas?” He snorted, “Who goes on vacation from Vegas?”
“Those of us that live there.”
Another shrug.
“I’m Jack.” He said, extending a hand.
“Gil.”
“And what do you do, Gil?”
“I’m a scientist. You?” He said, not wanting to get into it. That was his standard answer at social functions. Usually people were too bored by the idea to ask any more questions.
“Lawyer.” He said, snorting again, “I’ve been a prosecutor for more than thirty years,” Jack said, not sounding proud of it.
“Hmm.”
“Another for me,” Jack signaled the bartender, who pulled a bottle of scotch from the bar and filled another glass, sliding it in front of him.
“Scotch, hmm?”
“Always.” Jack replied, “I used to keep a bottle in my desk drawer.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Not anymore,” Jack said, “Now I keep it on the damn credenza for the world to see.”
Gil did not know what that comment was leading to, and he let it drop.
“So,” Jack continued, “You married, Gil?”
Why that question seemingly out of nowhere?
“No, you?”
“Long time ago. Left me because I spent every night at the office. I bet you have too.”
“What, been married?”
“No - spent too many nights at your office.”
Well - that much was certainly true. Especially considering he worked the night shift.
“You look to me like a guy who has devoted everything to his work,” Jack said, looking Gil over, “You remind me of me.”
Great. He had been looking for atmosphere, but to end up sitting next to a pompous, wordy drunk was a bit too much to take. Still - there was something about this Jack, something under the surface, something that piqued his curiosity. He decided to follow the trail, if only for a while.
“I have probably spent a few too many days at the office,” Gil allowed. Jack looked up at the mirror over the bar, and now he seemed to be talking to himself - or maybe about himself.
“I have devoted my entire damn life to my job and what did I get out of it? I get a big fat promotion and yet I am sitting here, in a bar, on a weeknight. Alone. That’s what I get out of it.”
“Well, there is something to be said for solitude.”
Jack snorted.
“Solitude.” He said, “I’m damn sick of it. You think it’s better?”
“I used to,” Gil admitted, “But no, now I don’t.”
Jack gave him a look.
“What changed your mind?” He asked, then stopped, “No, I know that look. I’ve been there. So what’s her name?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Jack took a sip of his scotch, “What’s her name?”
“Sara.”
“Hmm. So what happened?
“What happened?”
“How come you’re in a New York City bar at a certain late hour of the evening instead of with her?”
“It’s a long story, and a rather personal one.” Gil said, taking a sip of his own beer. Jack nodded.
“Fair enough,” He said, “Let me show you something.” He fumbled with his jacket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped through the credit cards, finally landing on a picture. He slid the picture from it’s plastic case and laid it on the bar in front of Gil.
Gil looked at the picture. It was of a smiling, dark haired woman - at first glance, she reminded Gil of Sara, but looking further, he realized they didn’t look much alike at all. Brown hair, brown eyes, that was about it.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Jack asked, taking another sip of his scotch.
“Yes, she is,” Gil said politely. Not as beautiful as Sara, he thought.
“I should be spending my nights with her,” Jack continued, pointing at the photo, “Instead of in here with these bums. I should have her in my arms, in my bed - she should be the one fighting tooth and nail with me over every decision I make. But she’d be proud of me, I know it.”
Gil wasn’t exactly sure what he was talking about, but he nodded and handed the photo back.
“I’m sure she would,” He said. It was never easy to have a conversation with someone who was three sheets to the wind, which Jack certainly was at this moment.
Jack sighed.
“Tell me something, Gil, is your Sara still alive?”
“Yes, she is,” Gil said, taken aback by the question.
“She just left you, is that it?”
“Well… it’s complicated.”
“Let me tell you something, Gil,” Jack continued, slurring the “s” ever so slightly, “Mine isn’t.”
“Isn’t what?”
“Alive,” Jack said, shaking his head, “Been gone for almost twelve years now. And I’m still showing her picture to complete strangers in bars. Miss her every damn day. And nothing will change that.”
“I’m sorry,” Gil said, and Jack turned to him, with an intensity in his face.
“Your Sara… she’s still alive.”
“Yes,” Gil began, but Jack cut him off.
“Well, then, goddamn it, what the hell are you doing here? Where there’s life, there’s hope. I didn’t have a choice. You do. Don’t let her go. I wouldn’t have.”
Gil stared at Jack, stunned by the raw tone in the man’s voice.
“You have a point,” He admitted. Jack settled back on his stool and downed the rest of his scotch. He stood up - rather unsteadily - and slapped Gil hard on the back.
“Barkeep,” He said, “Put this man’s beer on my tab. And if you would, please, call a car for me?”
The bartender nodded, and Jack slid some bills across the bar at him.
“Keep the change,” He said, “Gil, you heard what I said. It’s good advice.”
He headed towards the door, wavering slightly as he did so. Gil watched him leave before finishing the rest of his own beer.
“Who was that?” He asked the bartender when he came to take his glass away.
“Oh, he’s in here every couple of weeks,” the bartender shrugged, “Has been for as long as I’ve been working here. He usually drinks his scotch and shoots the bull with a couple of the other regulars, real down-to-earth guy. Generous - he’s always picking up tabs.”
Gil nodded. He was just about to stand up when he felt his cell phone vibrating against his belt. He answered it without checking the display.
“Grissom.” He said, making his way to the door.
“Hey.”
“Sara?” He was in the front hallway by now, and he stopped and leaned against the wall when he heard her voice.
“Yeah. Where are you?”
“I’m in New York,” He said, “That conference I told you about.”
“Oh, I forgot. I just… I don’t know, I just wanted to call you.”
“I’m glad you did,” He said, “I’m always glad to hear your voice.”
“Still?”
“Always.”
“So, how’s New York? Is it better this time than when you were working with the FBI?”
“It’s interesting,” He said, “I’ll say that. I met someone noteworthy tonight, actually.”
“Really, who?”
“I don’t know. Some drunk in a bar,” He said, “But he was a smart drunk.”
“A smart drunk?”
“He told me… not to let you go.”
“You were talking about me with some drunk in a bar?”
“He told me ‘where there’s life, there’s hope.’”
“And how much did you have to drink at this bar?” Sara asked.
“One beer. He did most of the talking, really. Apparently he lost someone a long time ago.”
“Oh. But you didn’t lose anyone.”
“I lost you.”
“I’m… not lost. You know where I am.”
“You’re not with me.” Gil said, quietly.
“Gil,” Sara said, hesitantly, but he cut her off.
“I’m taking his advice, Sara - I’m not going to let you go. Whenever you’re ready to come back to me - or ready for me to come and get you - I’ll be waiting. And if you never do, I’ll just end up in a bar, showing your picture to complete strangers twelve years from now.”
“Are you sure you only had one beer?”
“Positive.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Sara said, “I really don’t.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” He said, “It’s okay.”
“You’re really going to start showing my picture to complete strangers in bars?” Sara asked. She sounded like she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry.
“Men do strange things when they’re afflicted with loneliness,” He said, “It’s a terrible disease.”
He could hear Sara’s sigh over three thousand miles of phone lines.
Gil glanced outside as a cab pulled up in front of the bar, and he watched as Jack - who had been sitting on a bench next to the door - stood and started towards the cab. After he shut the door, as the cab drove away, Gil could see the deep lines etched into the man’s face by too many years of solitude. It was a future he didn’t want for himself - he wanted to fight to keep those lines from his own face.
“I’m not giving up, Sara,” He said softly,
“I hope not,” Sara said, after a pause, “Because I’ve never given up on you. And I never will.”
Part 2: All You Can't Leave Behind
It was a cold winter’s night in New York City, the kind of night that always seemed to bring out the ghosts of the past for Jack McCoy. He had planned a dinner with Theresa, a law professor at NYU he’d been seeing off and on for a few months, but that afternoon he had called and cancelled - for some reason, he knew he wanted a different kind of company tonight.
He made his way to his favorite old bar - not exactly the kind of bar the District Attorney of New York County would be expected to frequent, but he saw no reason to change his habits simply because of a promotion. This was a real bar, with wood paneling, red vinyl and pool tables, a place where he could get a little peace.
It was a place where the present had no place. This was a place to spend an evening with the past.
He was finally relaxing, after his third or fourth glass of scotch, when a man he didn’t know sat on the stool next to him. He was enough of a regular here to know most of the other regulars by sight, and this man was not one of them. He looked vaguely out of place, and not just in the bar. Jack glanced at him as he ordered a beer - this man, with his beard and his quiet presence, was not the usual clientele for Mac’s Pub.
“Haven’t seen you around here before,” Jack said, by way of starting a conversation.
“No, I’m from out of town.”
Well, that wasn’t exactly news.
“How did you find your way here? This isn’t exactly the place the tourists seek out.”
“No,” the man said, “But it’s what I was looking for.”
Jack shrugged slightly - he could understand. He went back to his drink.
In the few moments of this conversation, however, he could see something familiar in this stranger’s face - something he’d seen too often on his own face.
“Where are you from?” Jack asked.
“Las Vegas,” he replied, and Jack glanced at him in surprise.
“Vegas?” He snorted, “Who goes on vacation from Vegas?”
“Those of us that live there,” The man replied, and Jack had to concede that he had a point. Time for introductions.
“I’m Jack,” He said, extending a hand.
“Gil,” his neighbor returned the handshake.
“And what do you do, Gil?” Jack asked.
“I’m a scientist. You?”
“Lawyer,” Jack said, “I’ve been a prosecutor for more than thirty years.” He felt, all of a sudden, that it had been a long thirty years.
“Hmm.” Gil nodded.
“Another for me,” Jack signaled the bartender, who poured him another glass. He wondered if there was enough scotch in the world.
“Scotch, hmm?”
“Always,” Jack replied, thinking back, “I used to keep a bottle in my desk drawer.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Not anymore,” Jack laughed, “Now I keep it on the damn credenza for the world to see.”
He took another sip of his drink, still laughing slightly. He looked over at Gil, who was gazing thoughtfully into the mirror above the bar.
“So,” Jack said, “You married, Gil?”
He asked it to make conversation, mainly - women were a favorite topic among the men in Jimmy’s pub.
“No, you?”
“Long time ago. One of them left me because I spent every night at the office. I bet you have too.”
“What, been married?”
“No - spent too many nights at your office.”
Jack had been a workaholic long enough to recognize it in someone else.
“You look to me like a man who has devoted everything to his work,” He continued, “You remind me of me.”
He had devoted everything to his work, and what did he have to show for it? He was finally the DA, but so what? He was still spending his evening in a bar, talking to some stranger. He had a whole city at his feet, and yet all he wanted to do was exactly what he was doing - and there was something sad and lonesome about that.
He should have kept that date with Theresa.
“I have probably spent a few too many days at the office,” Gil said. Jack looked up at the mirror over the bar.
“I have devoted my entire damn life to my job and what did I get out of it?” He said, more to his reflection in the mirror than to his neighbor. He had lost so much in the process. His wives. His daughter. Too many friends to count. A lifetime worth of days spent chasing the thrill of winning. In the end, what did it all add up to?
“I get a big fat promotion and yet I am sitting here, in a bar, on a weeknight. Alone. That’s what I get out of it.”
“Well, there is something to be said for solitude,” Gil said. Jack gave a snort in response.
“Solitude,” He said, “I’m damn sick of it. You think it’s better?”
“I used to,” Gil said, in a tone that suggested an admission of some sort, “But no, now I don’t.”
He heard something in that admission. Jack hadn’t spent years searching for a suspect’s weakness for nothing.
“What changed your mind?” He asked, then reconsidered, “No, I know that look. I’ve been there. So what’s her name?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Jack took a sip of his scotch, “What’s her name?”
“Sara.”
“Hmm. So what happened?”
“What happened?”
“How come you’re in a New York City bar at a certain late hour of the evening instead of with her?”
“It’s a long story, and a rather personal one.” Gil said, and Jack nodded.
“Fair enough,” He said, “Let me show you something.” He fumbled with his jacket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped through the credit cards and pictures
- one of his mother, one of his daughter, and finally - the one he meant to show Gil. He slid the photo from the plastic sleeve and laid it on the bar.
It took several scotches for Jack to start pulling out the photos in his wallet - usually he felt himself getting sentimental around the third or fourth. And tonight belonged to the past, not the present.
Gil looked at the photo, nodding slightly.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Jack asked, taking another sip of his scotch.
“Yes, she is.” Gil said, but Jack could tell he was only being polite.
“I should be spending my nights with her,” Jack said, pointing at the photo, “Instead of in here with these bums,” Or with Theresa, for that matter, or any of the other women he’d been with over the past twelve years, he thought, before continuing, “I should have her in my arms, in my bed - she should be the one fighting tooth and nail with me over every decision I make. But she’d be proud of me, I know it.”
Jack was aware that this probably wasn’t making much sense to Gil, but he didn’t really care.
“I’m sure she would,” Gil said, handing the photo back. Jack looked at it for a moment before placing it back in his wallet. He sighed.
They all left me, he thought, even her. The only difference is, it wasn’t her fault.
“Tell me something, Gil, is your Sara still alive?” He asked. Gil looked startled.
“Yes, she is,” He replied.
“She just left you, is that it?”
“Well… it’s complicated.”
“Let me tell you something,” Jack continued, “Mine isn’t.”
“Isn’t what?”
“Alive,” Jack shook his head, “Been gone for almost twelve years now. And I’m still showing her picture to complete strangers in bars. Miss her every damn
day. And nothing will change that.”
“I’m sorry,” Gil said, and Jack looked at him. No one had said that in a long time. He suddenly felt the need to give this man some good advice. Hopefully he would take it.
“Your Sara… she’s still alive.”
“Yes,” Gil said.
“Well, then, goddamn it, what the hell are you doing here? Where there’s life, there’s hope. I didn’t have a choice. You do. Don’t let her go. I wouldn’t
have.”
Gil just looked at him, then nodded.
“You have a point.” He said. Jack smiled slightly before settling back on his stool and downing the rest of his scotch.
Maybe he had listened, Jack thought, or maybe he just thinks he’s talking to some sloppy old drunk. Either way, it was probably time to call it a night. He stood up and gave Gil a pat on the back.
“Barkeep,” He said, “Put this man’s beer on my tab. And if you would, please, call a car for me?”
He slid some cash across the bar.
“Keep the change,” He said, looking back at Gil, “Gil, you heard what I said. It’s good advice.”
He started towards the door.
Whoa, that floor is a little uneven, they should fix that, he thought.
He sat on the bench outside the bar to wait for his car, as he usually did, to take advantage of the air. It tended to sober him up a bit.
He hoped Gil would hear what he had been trying to say, even though he knew his words were obscured somewhat by the alcohol.
He had lost so much over the years, but most of the time he tried not to think about it. Pick yourself up, face forward, not back. Nothing else you can do.
He had been forced to give her up. He had come to believe he never would have done so willingly. But she wasn’t the only one he had lost.
And yet, somewhere, they all stayed with him.
Somewhere along the line he’d become an old romantic - and he hoped Gil would hold on to what he hadn’t been able to.
Tomorrow he’d be back to the present. He would call Theresa, reschedule their date. He could bully any restaurant into the city into taking a last minute reservation, he was the DA, after all. Tomorrow his old photographs would stay in his wallet, and the ghosts of the past would retreat.
The car pulled up, and he climbed in. He glanced through the window as the cab started to pull away and caught sight of Gil, standing in the front vestibule of the bar, talking on his cell phone. Their eyes met, but only briefly, before he was out of sight.
Don’t give up, Gil, he thought as the car headed towards his apartment, or one day you, too, will be trying to catalogue all the things you’ve lost over the years.
All the things you can never reclaim, and all the things you can never forget.