Work Text:
Tom sold the Ishmael , his boat, one Monday in March.
The man who came to see it seemed to be a loner and of few words. There had been a brief exchange of emails prior to meeting him in person, in which the man had told Tom that he needed it for his work as a scientific researcher. He hadn't asked many questions, but it was clear that this was his first boat. While not a sailor of Tom's experience, however, the man had asked pertinent and precise questions, as if he had studied the subject very thoroughly and knew what he was looking for.
His gaze had remained a little wistful throughout the meeting, but his eyes had a semblance of joyfulness when he finally decreed that he would buy it. After a visit to the inside of the boat and the myriad questions that came from that, the man finally had the signed agreement in his hand. Something made him pause at the hull and he ran his fingers over it, his gaze settling. He walked a few steps away and stood looking at the boat from that distance as well. His gaze at that moment seemed to be enraptured by a thought, or a dream. Tom had the impression that he was observing what was going to happen on that boat, that he could already see what might - or should? - happen.
After the purchase, Tom kept in touch with Gil Grissom - this was the name of the Ishmael 's new owner. Tom had confessed to him that he was very attached to that boat and asked to let him know, if it wasn't too much trouble, the news. Most of the time, Mr. Grissom would write to him asking for information about the Ishmael or some trick on how he could solve a problem. Sometimes, however, they were more personal messages, such as when he sent him photographs of the places his travels as a researcher took him, or as when he sent him the photo taken on board with his ex-ex-wife, Sara, after they married again for the second time.