Fandom:
CSI
Pairing: G/S
Rating: PG
Summary: Too many pieces...
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 the others are mine, 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 "No Humans Involved"
Note: The slight similarities to recent dialogue are making me a little
uneasy, except that I wrote 'em all before the episodes aired. So I
refuse to fuss.
*********
Grissom went to work, partly because he
couldn’t think of what else to do, but mostly because
he’d given two weeks’ notice and had no intention
of backing out of that. He arrived a little early and headed for his
office, half-expecting to find the lock changed and Security waiting
for him, but all was as he’d left it. Upon reflection, he
wasn’t sure if Ecklie was just biding his time, or if the man
had decided that trying to explain what had happened--particularly
given the insinuations he’d made--was not worth the pleasure
of firing Grissom.
Besides, who would he
torment if I wasn’t here?
He still didn’t know about Sara, and when for once he read
the memos piled on his desk, no information was forthcoming. It was her
scheduled night off; she might not be in because of it, or she might be
gone for good. Grissom realized bitterly that the only way
he’d know was by seeing if she showed up for the next shift.
Fortunately for his concentration, the night was busy; he paired Sofia
and Greg to handle a robbery and a rape, and kept for himself the three
trick rolls and two muggings. Scut work, but at least it kept him
moving and occupied.
But there was still no news when he got back to the lab, nor any kind
of message.
Grissom sent his CSIs home at the end of shift and stayed behind,
ostensibly to work, but hoping against hope that Sara would get in
touch with him, that his words had changed her mind.
But she didn’t.
He finally quit waiting after three hours. There was no sense in
staying any longer; she obviously wasn’t coming. And it
behooved him to go home and at least try to get some sleep; what was
left of his team didn’t deserve the foul temper that would no
doubt overtake him by that evening.
Right now, though, he mostly felt numb. There was a roiling, black-acid
knot of pain in his gut, and it would break out soon enough, but for
the moment he was divorced from it. He went straight home, eschewing
breakfast or any errands, even though he dreaded returning to his empty
townhouse; he dreaded the moment most of all when he would have to stop
moving, and let the pain catch up with him.
But you brought it on
yourself. He parked his car,
climbed his front steps, and put his key into the lock, wondering with
a vague sense of distaste whether he should just drink himself
unconscious. There was nothing like a hangover to distract one
from...from other things.
But that seemed like cheating, somehow. He’d done what
he’d done; it was meet to accept the full measure of pain
that it brought.
He locked the door behind him and put his case down on the floor, and
only then saw her, curled up awkwardly on the loveseat. Shock held him
motionless.
Sara’s hands were twisted tightly together.
“I...need to talk to you.”
Grissom swallowed. “How did you get in?” he asked,
surprised at how calm his voice sounded.
She stood up. “I was waiting out front and your neighbor let
me in. You really shouldn’t leave your spare key with someone
so trusting, Grissom.”
“She’s usually home,” he replied, still
trying to take in the fact that Sara was there,
in his living room. “On the rare occasion that I lock myself
out, she has the best odds of being available.”
Sara smiled, the brief flash she used when she was nervous.
“Ever the scientist.” When he didn’t say
anything, she shifted her weight uncomfortably. “Are you
busy? I should have called first, but I was afraid I’d...lose
my nerve.”
Grissom regarded her for another moment, then raised a brow, trying to
hide the tremble in his hands. “I’m not busy,
Sara.”
He didn’t know what to say, what to do. Instinct clamored for
him to grab those slender shoulders and fasten his mouth on hers until
she had no protests left, but reason scoffed. She’d
just punch you and stalk off. She’s probably only here to
ream you out anyway; might as well let her have her say.
And his conscience chimed in. You
owe her that.
He forced himself to move towards the kitchen. “Do you want
something to drink?”
“I--sure. Water’s fine.”
Grissom got down two glasses and filled them with ice cubes, trying to
stretch out the moment. He really didn’t know why Sara was
there, and he had the feeling she was in search of some kind of
closure. Which meant--
--Which meant that she’d soon be gone. And that this could
the last time he’d see her. So he took his time, running
water over the ice, listening to it crackle and snap, before walking
back out to the living room with the glasses.
Sara hadn’t sat back down; she had her back to him and her
arms folded, and was staring out his front window. Grissom wondered
wistfully if she was counting the seconds until she could escape.
“Here.”
She turned, eyes wide and guarded, and took the glass carefully.
“Thanks.”
They stood there for a moment, bereft of words, until Grissom finally
waved back at the couch. “Uh...do you want to...”
“You don’t have to quit,” she said
softly. “If I’m gone, Grissom, the
problem’s solved.”
Grissom stared down at his glass without really seeing it, and then set
it on the bookshelf nearby. “I don’t want you to
go.”
“Yeah, I got that. It doesn’t make any
sense.” Sara looked at her own glass, rotating it absently.
“We can barely stand to be around each other."
"That's not true." The words were out of his mouth before he could
censor them. At her disbelieving look, he amended them. "On my part,
anyway."
She sighed. "What do you want?"
For the life of him, he couldn’t force his voice to work. The
look in Sara’s eyes was familiar; impatience and
disappointment. She turned away, wandering towards his coffee table to
put down her glass. “This was a mistake, wasn’t it?
I should go.”
“No.” The word was out of his mouth before he felt
it form, fueled by despair, and he took two steps forward to catch her
elbow. She straightened with a jerk, pulling her arm from his grip and
glaring at him, and once again the anger took him, though he couldn't
tell if it was directed at himself, at her, or both.
"You want to know what I want? Fine," he snapped bitterly. "I want what
you offered me, Sara, I want a chance. I know
it's too late, way too late, but there it is." He spun around, appalled
at his loss of control, and pinched the bridge of his nose. A last
sentence slipped out, all-or-nothing. "I want you."
Grissom half-expected to hear his front door open and slam shut, but
there was no sound for a long while. Finally, he made himself turn.
Sara was standing where he'd left her, one palm pressed against her
mouth, and her lashes were wet. Fresh guilt tore at him. "I'm sorry,"
he said desperately. "Sara--"
She shook her head, and lowered her hand. Her smile was rueful, ironic.
"Nothing's ever easy, is it, Griss?"
He licked his lips, out of words again.
"What brought on this change of heart?" she asked, and he could tell
she was still angry, even though her voice was soft. "Did my falling
down a hill give you some kind of wake-up call?"
He stared at her, taken aback. "No, I--that's when I thought I might
have a chance again, until you wouldn't let me see you."
"Oh." The air huffed out of her, half a laugh, half a painful sound.
"I know it's too late," he repeated, not wanting her to think he was
pushing for something she couldn't give. She stood haloed by the early
sunlight, looking to him like something more than human; he wanted so
badly just to touch her, to feel her life against his skin one more
time, but instead he curled his hands into fists and turned away again.
"Y'know, up until Ecklie split the team, you could have said that to me
and I would have told you that you still had a chance."
He flinched. Sara let out a long breath.
"I was wrong, Grissom," she went on quietly, all the anger gone. "I did
exactly the same thing to you that you did to me."
He raised his brows at nothing, and turned back around. "With Sofia,
you mean?"
"Yeah." Sara had folded her arms again, and looked...sheepish.
Grissom cocked his head, finding a tiny bit of humor in the midst of
everything. “Serves me right, I guess.”
Silence filled the space between them, and he felt the amusement fade.
“It still doesn’t work, does it?” Grissom
asked at last, quietly. “I’ve hurt you too many
times.”
Sara shrugged, her face closed. “It’s not all
one-sided.”
He uncurled his hands and rubbed his palms on his pants. “But
it can’t be fixed.” The rage was gone, replaced by
a heavy sadness.
“You finally get that, do you?” Her sarcasm was too
gentle to sting.
Grissom looked away. “I still think you should keep your
job,” he said carefully, doing his best to steady his voice.
“If you play your cards right, Ecklie will have to make you
supervisor. If you want the position.”
“Mmm.” In his peripheral vision, he saw Sara unfold
her arms. “From what I can see, it just means more hassle.
And paperwork.”
“There is that,” he agreed. “You do get a
bigger office, though.”
She laughed, a faint sound of agreement, and put her hand on his arm.
“Grissom, what do you do when you can’t fix
something?”
A memory: glittering
fragments of crystal. The sickening sense of horror. His
mother’s sad look, and her quick gestures telling him that
accidents happen.
And the weeks he spent, pulling weeds in the neighbor’s
vegetable patch, until he could present his mother with five whole
dollars in quarters, to replace the vase. The surprise on her face, and
the love.
He’d bought her a new one, years later, when he understood
how much the original had cost. But it was the cheap glass one she
treasured.
He looked down at Sara’s hand, a stunned hope sparking inside
him, and put his own over it. “Start over...”
Her nod made him look up. “There’s too much hurt
between us, Griss. I think maybe we should just forget about it. All of
it. Go on like it never happened.”
It was an absurd proposal. He knew that. The pain would always be
there. But he also understood what she meant--that the only way to make
it work was to forgive each other everything, and put it all to rest.
No reminders, no restitution, no penance.
Just them.
“Right now?” Her eyes were so deep, so open; he
barely heard the words pass his lips. She nodded again.
He let out a long breath that seemed to carry all the weight of his
anger and sadness with it, and fulfilled the first in a long list of
wistful fantasies by lifting his hands to cup her face. Her skin
beneath his fingers was only skin, he knew that, but to him it was Sara,
the incredulous reality of her after all the loss of hope.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, as the
distance between them lessened. “Forgive me?”
Her hands were moving around his waist, and a smile was tugging at the
corners of her lips. “Only if you forgive me.”
“Done,” he muttered, and their mouths met.
To Grissom, it was something he could hardly fathom--the sliding
softness of Sara’s lips and the tangle of her hair around his
fingers, and at the same time the stunning knowledge that the whole
thing wasn’t one of his daydreams, it was real, a moment so
full that his heart ached with it--the ache of new growth.
And when that kiss was over, there was another, and another; long sweet
touches that soothed the old stings and at the same time pleased the
primal part of him, because each one marked her as his even as her
scent spread to his skin. Grissom found himself mumbling her name
against her lips, making them curve, and when finally air became a
necessity, he realized with astounded delight that he could always kiss
her again--that there was theoretically no limit to kissing Sara.
A few breaths, a long and mutual dazed look, and then more kisses,
deeper, hotter--he had to rein himself in a little, as instinct shouted
in triumph from the base of his brain and he felt Sara quiver in his
arms. Another fantasy was satisfied at the feel of her fingers on his
nape, curling into his hair.
Then they parted again, and she sighed, and leaned her head on his
shoulder as though it were too heavy to hold up. Grissom closed his
eyes and held her closer. The blade of her shoulder felt delicate under
his palm, and still far too prominent, and as she pressed her face into
his neck, what he had known in the back of his mind came to the front
of it--that however momentous a thing this was for him, it was probably
even more so for her. He swallowed, wanting to apologize again, but
they’d taken the step forward and he would not break their
agreement to leave the hurt behind.
So he just held her. Gradually the tension seeped out of her, and when
her arms loosened a little he pulled back enough so that she raised her
head. Her eyes were wide and dark and still so vulnerable, and he
wanted to promise that he would never hurt her, never let anything hurt
her again.
But those were promises that mortals cannot keep. Instead, he just took
her hand and led her over to his couch. He sat, and tugged until she
sank down next to him and he could hold her again.
“Sara,” he whispered, and she wrapped her arms
around him and rested her head on his chest, and he was at peace.
Her first thought on waking was It
doesn’t hurt. Sara had
grown used to the aches of torn muscle and half-healed bone, of the
strains of compensating for her injuries as they healed. It meant
waking stiff and sore, though less and less as time went by.
But now she woke warm, and painless. She opened her eyes to unfamiliar
dimness, and something big near her face that was reflecting her breath
back at her, and an incredulous small smile touched her lips as she
remembered. Grissom.
She’d long since given up believing in miracles, but she
seemed to have gotten one, fragile as it was. Sara remembered waiting
for Grissom, and arguing, and apologizing, and reaching what seemed to
be the end of them...only to find it was actually a beginning. And she
remembered the gorgeous delight of kissing him, and the sheer relief
of resting in his arms.
She did not, however, remember falling asleep in his bed, and certainly
not with him in it as well. They were both fully dressed, lying on top
of the comforter, though her shoes seemed to have vanished; the warm
weight on her hip was apparently his hand, and the wall in front of her
his chest, and she guessed that the firmness under her ear was his arm.
Her own hand was curled against his sternum, and she could feel the
slow rise and fall of his breathing against the backs of her fingers.
For someone as private as herself, she thought with amusement, and
based on past experience, she should have been knotted with the tension
of actually sharing a bed with someone else. She never slept well with
another person--it made her nervous.
But she wasn’t. She was more relaxed than she’d
been since before her accident. And that, Sara realized, was a small
miracle in itself.
She raised her head, and found Grissom looking down at her, face
pensive. A hundred thoughts ran through her mind, ranging from asking
how they’d ended up in his bed to the shyness that was
lurking just under her surface, but she chose to begin as she meant to
go on, and reached up to brush her fingers over his cheek.
“Did you sleep at all?” she asked softly.
He smiled a little, tension easing, and caught her hand with his so he
could press it to his lips for a brief kiss. “Some,
yes.” His eyes flicked up past her and back again.
“It’s only three-thirty.”
“Mmm.” Sara rolled off his arm and raised her own
arms over her head for a careful stretch, taking great and secret
pleasure in the sound of his indrawn breath. “So are you
going to feed me, or what?”
Grissom laughed, and Sara realized that it had been a very long time
since she’d heard that sound. She absorbed the sight of him,
unguarded and smiling, his eyes crinkled with humor, and gave into
impulse. Rolling back, she laid her palms on either side of his jaw and
kissed his smile away.
The sound that rumbled through his chest was one of bliss, and his arms
folded carefully over her lower back as he returned the kiss without
stint or hesitation.
“You don’t know how often I’ve wanted to
do that,” she muttered when they pulled apart.
He stroked a strand of hair from her face. “No, I
don’t. Tell me.”
Sara pursed her lips, amused. “I think the first time was
when you told that awful joke at dinner after your first lecture at the
SFPD. You were way too smug.”
Grissom blinked, looking startled. “That long ago?”
She shrugged. “It was just an impulse thing.” She
took a deep breath, smelling sleep and cotton and Grissom, and was very
tempted to--tempt him. But
that’s moving too fast, I think.
“Food, Grissom,” she reiterated, sitting up.
“Or at least coffee.”
Grissom followed suit, rolling his head around and producing a medley
of pops and snaps. “I think I can supply both,” he
said.
Sara pushed carefully to her feet, now feeling a familiar twinge in her
side, but it was less than the day before. She tugged her shirt down
and ran her fingers through her hair, wincing as she hit a tangle.
"There's a brush in the bathroom," Grissom said, and she glanced back
to see him smoothing the bed with absent precision.
Sara grimaced. "That bad?"
He looked up, and smiled again. "On the contrary. But you look like a
woman in search of grooming implements."
She knew she was blushing, and it was ridiculous--she'd had more
eloquent compliments from David.
But it was the glow in Grissom's eyes that made the difference. "Back
in a few," she managed, and retreated to the bathroom.
The master bath was large--and, Sara noted with approval, sparkling
clean. A comb, a beard trimmer, and a boar-bristle brush lay scattered
on the counter, the only indication of untidiness; a few bottles were
lined up on the long counter, and Sara couldn't help taking a closer
look. Shaving gel, hair gel, and cologne, and only the hair gel was
without a faint film of dust.
Restraining her curiosity, Sara looked at herself in the mirror, and
couldn't suppress a blink of surprise. Yes, her hair was rioting out of
control; yes, her shirt was wrinkled and her lipstick long gone. But
the woman staring back at her was someone she hadn't seen in well over
a year.
The Sara in the mirror was happy.
It shocked her a little, and made her think as she worked Grissom's
comb through her hair. This is
great...okay, total understatement there...but nothing's really
settled. She wasn't at all sure
if this new, delicate relationship should even change her plans to
leave the lab. Grissom, and the discomfort generated by working with
him, had been the biggest factor in her decision to leave, but there
were other reasons to consider. Ecklie being one of them.
The idea of leaving Grissom, though, now that she finally had a chance,
made her feel almost panicky with distress. "Calm down," she muttered
to herself, pulling a few strands of her hair from the comb's teeth and
dropping them in the trash. You
don't have to make any decisions right this minute. And besides, he's
resigned too.
Sara washed her face and hands, filled the small plastic cup that stood
next to the sink and drank, and squared her shoulders. Relax.
This is a good thing. She
looked at herself in the mirror one more time, and remembered the feel
of Grissom's hands on her face, and his mouth against hers, and the
fact that he wanted her. And watched with fascination as a slow smile
grew.
The bedroom was empty when she reentered it, but she could smell
coffee, and followed the scent back out to the main room. Pausing on
the threshold of the hallway, she took a moment to observe Grissom
before he realized she was there.
He'd changed his shirt for a fresh one with short sleeves, but his hair
was still enticingly rumpled. He reached up into a cupboard to fetch
down mugs, and Sara admired the lines of him, unguarded in this
domestic moment on his home ground.
Grissom set the mugs on the counter and then leaned his hands on it,
bowing his head, and fear erupted in the pit of her stomach. He
looked--unhappy. Oh shit. Did
I make a mistake? Does he regret this?
But as she forced herself to step forward, his head came up, and as he
saw her his face brightened. "Coffee will be ready in a minute," he
said. "What are you hungry for?"
You,
she wanted to say, and didn’t. "Um, I don't know. Scrambled
eggs?"
He nodded, and opened the refrigerator. "Sounds good. Or I can make
something more like dinner, if you want."
"Grissom."
At the tone of her voice he halted, straightening, though his hand kept
the fridge door open. Sara mustered her courage, and went on, finding
it a little easier to speak to his listening back than to his face. "If
you, um...regret this--"
His knuckles whitened on the handle of the door. "Do you?" he asked
flatly, staring at the freezer in front of him.
"Are you kidding?" Sara's eyes widened. "No.
I just wanted to...you looked kind of upset."
The fridge door snapped shut, and the next thing she knew, Sara's back
was against the edge of the counter and Grissom was in front of her, so
close that his hands were braced on either side of her and his breath
was mingling with hers. "Don't ever suggest it, Sara," Grissom said,
and his voice was low and just slightly desperate. "Please don't ever
even think it."
She supposed she should feel trapped, but she didn't. It felt good,
to have him right there, right in her personal space. Sara reached up
to touch his face--turnabout was fair play, after all. "Why were you
upset then?"
Grissom pressed gently forward into her touch. "I was afraid," he said,
even more quietly. "I am afraid. What if you
regret this? What if I can't make you happy?"
She stroked the soft hair of his beard, indulging herself, and smiled
at him wistfully. "What if you get fed up with me? What if you really
do prefer blondes? We can be afraid together, Grissom."
His laugh was both humor and relief, and he leaned in further to nuzzle
the spot below her ear. "The only way I'd prefer blondes is if you dyed
your hair," he said, then pulled back, brows going up in alarm. "Please
don't."
Sara laughed in turn and laced her fingers behind his neck. "Trust me,"
she murmured, "it's not really high on my list of priorities."
Grissom sighed, and the rush of air made her skin tingle. "Good," he
whispered, and brought their lips together.
It was just as sweet as earlier, Sara noted dimly under the rush of
pleasure, but there was also more potential this time, though they were
both keeping their touches light. Grissom's mouth was hot and firm, and
when he laid a string of kisses along her jawline Sara shivered, caught
in the softness of his lips and the prickle of his beard. Her hands
tightened on his shoulders, and he came back to her mouth with a tiny,
happy sound that made her heart rise.
Eventually they slowed and stopped, sharing slightly dazed smiles.
“Food,” Grissom repeated, drawing away and reaching
for the fridge again.
Somehow the eggs got made. Sara buttered toast and watched Grissom
collect plates and silverware, and they sat at the breakfast bar to
eat. Sara felt practicality reasserting itself as they shared the jelly
jar, but it was Grissom who spoke first.
"So..." And he wasn't looking at her, instead concentrating on his
knife and toast. "Where do we go from here?"
Sara stared into her coffee cup, glad he'd brought it up. "Good
question."
His jaw shifted, and then he looked up at her, expression carefully
blank. "Are you still going to leave Las Vegas?"
"No." The word was without thought, and true, she realized as she spoke
it. "I'm...not sure about the lab, though."
Grissom nodded, closing his eyes for a moment, and she could see both
disappointment and deep relief in his face.
"You should stay," she added, picking up her fork. "For one thing, you
can't leave poor Greg all by himself."
He snickered at the thought, then sobered. "Why...I mean...what are
your reasons for leaving?"
Sara thought a minute, trying to assimilate the past several hours.
"Mostly just because I was fed up," she admitted after a moment, "and
because between the two of us we were pulling the night shift apart."
She pointed warningly at Grissom as he opened his mouth, and gave him a
dangerous smile. "Don't say it. Over and done with, remember?"
He subsided, pursing his lips in mingled dismay and amusement, and she
went on. "My life...I needed to reevaluate it, and I couldn't do that
in that situation. Plus--" She rolled her eyes. "There's Ecklie."
"Conrad." Grissom's voice was dry. "He is something of a problem, isn't
he?" He coughed. "Sara, I have to apologize--" and this time his hand
went up to halt her. "I owe everyone on the team an apology for letting
him do an end run around me. I didn't take him seriously enough."
Sara swallowed a bite of egg and shrugged. "He's an ass-kisser, you're
not. The shift change isn't entirely a bad thing, either, it got
Catherine what she wanted." She grinned a little. "Mostly."
Grissom chuckled. "I have the distinct feeling that Conrad bit off more
than he can chew with her." He took a sip of coffee. "What exactly did
he say to you?"
She wrinkled her nose. "He assumed that I was quitting so that you and
I could be together, and then told me you
were quitting, except he'd thought it was so you could be with Sofia."
She winced.
"And since you knew very well that I wasn't quitting to be with you--"
Grissom said guiltily, and Sara smiled ruefully.
"Bet he'd be delighted to know how much he screwed us up."
Instead of agreeing with her, Grissom looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure.
It's me he dislikes, Sara. He's probably terrified of losing you--with
visions of lower solve rates dancing before his eyes."
"The good of the lab," Sara quoted with some disgust. "He should be
scared of losing you, too."
"Oh, he is." Grissom leaned back in his seat, cradling his mug in one
hand. "Otherwise he would have fired me by now for yesterday."
Yesterday?
Sara regarded him with a touch of suspicion. "Oh? What happened
yesterday?"
Grissom blinked, and she saw a tinge of pink darken his cheeks.
"Nothing, really."
"Uh-huh." He wasn't meeting her eyes. "Give."
His mouth twisted, and he shrugged. "I ran into him in the supermarket,
and he said some things I didn't like."
"And?" Sara prompted, curious and amused.
Grissom sighed. "I kind of pushed him into the cereal shelf." His
glance was apologetic. "He was really pissing me off."
She couldn't help it--she started laughing. "No way!"
"I'm afraid so." The pink had darkened, but he was grinning too. "Not
the wisest thing to do to one's supervisor, in retrospect, but at the
time..."
Sara leaned over and gave his hand a quick squeeze. "Good for you. I'll
bet he deserved it."
Grissom shrugged, turning his hand to link his fingers with hers. "I'll
apologize next time I see him, if I decide to stay."
Sara let him go and sat back. "You should stay," she repeated
seriously. "You were right when you said it was your life, Grissom.
It's what you do."
He sighed again. "I don't really want to leave," he admitted. "But I'd
hate to see you give it up, Sara. You're an outstanding CSI."
"Hmm." Sara set down her napkin and stood up. "Excuse me," she said,
and waved vaguely back at the hallway. Grissom nodded, and she headed
for the bathroom--both to use the facilities, and for a chance to
think.
She hadn't been exaggerating when she'd told Grissom that her life
needed reevaluating. But the change in their relationship, assuming it
held--and I am damn well going
to make sure that it does--would
definitely alter the dynamics at work. The tension between them--her
most pressing reason to leave the lab--was relieved.
I need to think about
my life, yes. But wouldn't it make more sense to do it while gainfully
employed?
The truth was, it had torn her heart to think about leaving her friends
behind, even though it would have been the best thing at the time. If
she could stay with them--Nick, and Greg, and Warrick and David and
Catherine...she was even inclined at the moment to look kindly on
Sofia.
And Atwater was already hoping that she would change her mind and stay.
It dawned on Sara that she had...leverage.
We can even dodge the
fraternization issue, she
realized. Ecklie had said as much, and while she hated admitting that
he was right, it was true that a not inconsiderable amount of power was
sitting in her hands and Grissom's.
She washed those hands, noting that this time the woman in the mirror
looked like someone with a secret.
A delightful, dangerous one.
When she returned to the main room, Grissom looked up, his smile going
curious at the look on her face. "I have an idea," she said, and
grinned.
His brows went up.
Chapter 8
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