Fandom:
CSI
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: GSR
Summary: What is most precious? A sequel to
Disclaimer: Most of the characters and situations in this story belong
to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do
not have permission to borrow them; all others are my property, and if
you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement
is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors
are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.
Spoilers: Through the end of Season 4, but does not take Season 5 into
account.
Note: Thank you all so much for your wonderful feedback! It's very
reassuring.
Two angsty chapters...
*********
Chapter 4
They were sharing a takeout lunch in his office, inadvertent intimacy;
Nick had been scheduled to join them, but had been diverted to another
crime scene on his way back. His double-double animal style and large
fries sat waiting for him in the bag on Grissom's desk, but the two
CSIs saw no reason to let their own food get cold.
"Salt shaker please?" Sara asked absently, never lifting her eyes from
the file she was studying, and Grissom retrieved the cylinder from his
desk drawer and handed it to her. He watched her salt her fries,
shuddering a little; he only kept the stuff in his office for use in
experiments. "Is that really healthy?" And
when did I start sounding like my mother?
Sara looked up with a grin. "It's the only thing I put salt on, Griss.
That and my dad's potato soup."
Grissom chuckled. "Fair enough."
They munched in silence for a while; Sara had just finished her veggie
wrap and was idly watching Grissom lick ketchup from his fingers when
her beeper went off. She glanced down at it, sighed, and flipped her
folder shut. "The doctor calls."
Grissom polished off a last fry. "Let me know what he says."
Sara nodded and put the file on his desk, rising to stretch. Grissom
took in the line of her body in silent admiration, and noted with a
now-familiar pulse of pleasure the dangling pearl puzzle she wore
tonight. He had forgotten how much fun
it could be to give other people gifts.
"Oh, I was meaning to tell you," Sara said, dropping the stretch. "I
want to put in for Christmas vacation now, while it's still available."
Grissom looked at her blankly. "You never go home for Christmas."
She laughed a little. "I'm going this year. Actually, my parents get
Christmas day, but I'm planning on spending most of it in Oakland at my
aunt's old place." She put one hand on her hip, still smiling. "C'mon,
Grissom, you're always telling me I should take more time off."
He nodded, making the movement slow to give him time to think, to
master his dismay. Grissom hadn't realized how much he'd been looking
forward to spending Christmas with Sara, just the two of them, and
while they hadn't actually discussed the holiday, he'd assumed--
Never assume,
he reminded himself ruefully. He opened the datebook in which he kept
scheduling requests, flipping the pages and trying to ignore the
tightness in his throat. It was going to be his first Christmas without
even a TTY conversation with his mother--his first ever--and he had
been holding hard to his plan not only because of the delight of
spending time with Sara, but because it wouldn't be so hard.
"So," Sara said brightly, putting her hands in her labcoat pockets.
"You'd better call in the favors Catherine owes you, Griss."
He frowned, puzzled. "I beg your pardon?"
"If she squawks about having to work Christmas, you can just remind her
that she'll get to play supervisor for a week," Sara added, looking
thoughtfully around his crowded office. "I know how you get, working up
to a holiday. You're going to need at least three days to recover." She
grinned at him. "Trust me, even in winter my aunt's place is worth it."
Realizing that his mouth was hanging open, Grissom shut it. "Right," he
said weakly, but Sara didn't seem to notice. Winking, she blew out of
his office, leaving him speechless as she had so often before. Though
this time, it felt better.
She wants me to go with
her. Warm amazement flooded
through him at the thought. True, they had been officially seeing each
other for six months now; true, Sara had waited for him through years
of misunderstanding and heartache; true, his confidence level had grown
enough for him to make certain plans for the holiday. But something in
him still refused to believe that it was all quite real, that it would
last.
He laughed a little at himself. She
didn't even ask. She...she just assumed I would be going with her. As
though it were the most natural thing in the world.
For some reason, Grissom didn't feel like calling her to task for
making an assumption. Not this time.
Nick wondered briefly if he'd somehow managed to piss Grissom off
without noticing, then discarded the idea. The older man had been
preoccupied when he'd called with this assignment, but not cold. And
somebody has to take the boring ones. Guess it's me this time.
He dutifully tried to pay attention as Mr. Winters nattered on and on
about the value of the stolen rabbit--its pedigree, its championships,
its offspring--but the man was just annoying. Nick half-suspected that
the prize bunny had simply escaped its own hutch, perhaps fed up with
the life of a show rabbit.
But a movement caught his eye, and Nick turned from the empty hutch to
see a little girl--maybe nine years old--standing at the house's back
door. She was plump and pale and clad in bright pink pajamas, but it
was her woebegone expression that melted Nick's heart. Angostura's
Bittersweet Baby might represent prestige to Winters, but Winters'
daughter had obviously lost her beloved pet.
Nick gave her a small smile, and she drifted closer as Winters' ringing
cellphone interrupted his tirade. "Hey there," Nick said quietly as
Winters stepped away to answer his cell. "What's your name?"
"Alice," she replied, her voice soft and shy. "Are you a detective?"
"I'm a crime scene analyst," Nick said. "Alice, do you know what
happened to your rabbit? Did somebody leave the cage open by accident?"
She shook her head firmly. "Nope. Somebody took
Babe."
Nick sighed, looking without much hope at the hutch. "Looks like it."
It had started out such a simple thing. A bit of a disagreement. They
were both tired, but he wanted to go out for breakfast; he didn't feel
like cooking. Sara wanted to stay in, or call for takeout. He didn't
want takeout.
Now all of a sudden they were yelling, and part of him was appalled at
what they were doing, but he couldn't seem to stop the words that were
pouring out of him. "What is your problem, Sara? It's just dinner.
You're sure not going to cook it!"
Which was unfair, and he knew it; the reason he did the cooking was
because Sara would ruin all but the simplest of dishes. Her eyes
flashed with hurt and anger as she shouted back.
"It's always about what you want, isn't it? I worked two doubles in a
row, I'm too tired to get cleaned up again and go out! You know it
would take hours!"
She could be so stubborn.
The mild comment that they didn't have to go anywhere fancy was lost
under a rush of anger. "You'd rather eat greasy Chinese food?"
Sara flipped up her hands dismissively. "You know what? I'm not hungry
anymore. Do what you want, Grissom, I've lost my appetite."
"You need to eat!" She was too thin already, too tired, and he wouldn't
be manipulated. "I won't be your excuse for skipping another meal."
"Oh, so I'm anorexic now?" Her cheeks were flushed, and he could feel
his own face heat.
"Will you just cooperate for once?!"
She paled, then flushed again. "I'm not doing this," she said, her
mouth tight, and snatched up her shoulder bag and keys. "I am so not
doing this!"
Grissom's mouth opened, but words failed him as Sara swept out of the
townhouse, barely pausing to shove her feet into the sandals she'd
kicked off in the entranceway. The slam of the door echoed in the main
room, which suddenly seemed terribly empty. Grissom blinked, trying to
figure out what had just happened.
We've never...I
haven't.... He couldn't seem to
formulate a complete thought. She was gone.
Gone.
The emptiness of the room was replicated in his gut. She's
gone. She left. I've driven her away.
Grissom moved slowly to the couch and sat down, noting blankly that his
hands were shaking, though he didn't know if it was leftover rage or
something else. I can't
believe I did that. I knew...but I was starting to think maybe....
His chest ached with the hollowness that was growing, pressing up
against his heart. Idiot. You
knew this would happen. You knew it wouldn't last.
He leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees, bending over the
pain, trying to control it. Sooner
or later, she'd get fed up with you, and she'd leave. You knew it would
happen.
A small noise escaped him, and he cut it off as soon as he realized it
was coming from him, but he recognized it--the inner wail of shock and
pain that comes with sudden loss. He struggled for rational thought,
but it remained out of reach. Sara was gone, and while his tomorrows
were still there, he wished they weren't, because they would only be
empty.
Half-blind with pain, he found himself on his feet as instinct kicked
in, and he retreated.
Sara bit her lip as she mounted the stairs, not at all sure of her
reception. She lost her temper fairly frequently, but for Grissom it
was a lot rarer, and they'd never fought before--not like this. They'd
had disagreements, sure, but nothing that went further than a few
minutes' annoyance. She figured Grissom had probably calmed down by
now--she'd been gone for at least three hours--but the lump in her
throat was in anticipation of icy silence. When Grissom was truly
angry, he didn't go halfway.
She frowned when she put her key in the lock and found that it wasn't
engaged. I guess he just
stomped off without locking it. I sure didn't bother.
When she swung the door open, the room beyond was empty of his
presence. "Grissom?" she called hesitantly, but there was no answer.
Maybe he's not here.
Sara locked the door behind her, frowning more deeply. His car was
still in its space in the parking lot; maybe he'd gone out for a walk
to blow off steam, though that wasn't his usual method. She dropped her
purse near the door, looking around. Nothing met her gaze but sunlight.
Did he go to bed?
Slowly, reluctantly, she stepped out of her sandals. Guilt, mixed with
residual anger, made an uneasy mix in her stomach. Neither of them had
been particularly mature during their fight, and she wasn't looking
forward to making her apologies.
Silent on bare feet, she padded down the hallway. The bedroom door was
open halfway, and Grissom lay on top of the bed covers, still dressed.
Sara sighed at the sight of his back, relieved that he was there.
"Gil?"
The soft word seemed to have no effect. She walked around to the far
side of the bed, not sure whether he was asleep or sulking, and then
sucked in a breath.
Grissom lay curled in a tight huddle, his arms wrapped around a small
bundle that she recognized as the t-shirt she'd left lying across the
bed. His eyes were shut, his mouth soft with sleep, but she could see
lines of strain as well. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she gripped
his shoulder gently, alarmed. "Gil? Gil, wake up." Crap.
Did something happen? Is it someone from work?
He stirred, eyes opening, and Sara bent a little closer. "Gil, what's
wrong? What happened?"
Grissom's gaze cleared, and for one long moment he only stared at her.
Sara stared back, figuring he needed a minute to wake up, but when his
lips moved silently, she reached out to cup his face in her palm. "Are
you okay?" she asked worriedly.
His own hand came up and pressed hers against his cheek. "Sara," he
said hoarsely.
"Yeah." Sara frowned again. Grissom could be slow to wake up, but this
was getting weird.
He sat up slowly, as though every muscle hurt, and then reached out and
pulled her into his arms, sitting back against the headboard. Sara
relaxed into his grip, but she was still puzzled, and her alarm
returned when she realized that he was shaking. "Gil, what's the
matter? Are--"
"Shhh." One of Grissom's hands came up to lie feather-light on her
lips, then slid round to draw her head onto his shoulder. His arms
tightened around her, and she wrapped her own around his waist and let
him hold her, trying to keep her impatience in check. Why he needed her
there so badly would--hopefully--be revealed soon.
Sara estimated that almost ten minutes passed before Grissom spoke
again. "I thought you left," he said quietly.
It took her a few seconds to figure out what, exactly, he meant, and
then she stiffened, horrified. "Gil, I would never--" She lifted her
head, but he ducked his own, closing his eyes and dropping his arms to
his sides. Sara took his head in her hands, turning it up. "Gil, look
at me. Look at me."
His eyes opened reluctantly, and the pain there made her ache. "I
didn't leave. I won't leave," she told him softly, leaving aside logic
for the moment. "You can't get rid of me that easily." She stroked her
thumbs over his cheekbones. "Do you believe me?" He had to believe her,
he had to. If she had known--
His eyes searched hers for a long, hurting moment, and then he sighed,
lifting his arms again and lacing his fingers behind her neck. "Yes."
He drew her head forward until their foreheads touched.
"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry," she whispered, the lump back in her throat
at the realization of what he'd been thinking. She hadn't meant to
trigger his insecurity. "I just didn't want to argue."
"I'm sorry too," he said, equally quietly. "I should have trusted you."
They sat there for a long moment, breathing each other's breath,
accepting the hurt they had dealt one another. Finally Sara chuckled,
her voice a little shaky. "We need to learn how to fight right," she
told him softly.
His mouth twitched in a slight smile. "Learning experience," he
offered, and she snorted, and gave him another hug.
"Do you--" Sara started, but Grissom's grunt cut her off.
"I don't want to talk right now," he said, and she could hear the
stress in his voice. "Can we just stay here? For a while at least?"
"Absolutely. Let me go for a sec."
His hands slid off of her, and she stood to pull off her shorts.
Grissom only watched her, never taking his eyes from her, but the
hunger in them was emotional rather than sexual, and Sara realized
again, with an inward shudder, that the past few hours must have seemed
to him a famine after a feast.
Hiding her dismay, she put her hands on her hips and cocked a brow.
"That won't be very comfortable."
Grissom blinked, then swung his legs off the side of the bed and peeled
off his pants. Sara helped him pull his shirt off, and then he simply
enveloped her in his arms and pulled her down next to him. Sara wrapped
herself around him, trying wordlessly to reassure, and rested her head
on his shoulder. She rose and fell with his deep sigh, and placed a
gentle kiss on his collarbone, and felt him rub his cheek against her
hair. And then they simply held each other until sleep took them.
Chapter 4
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