JULY AND DECEMBER
DECEMBER 2004 –the morning after.
Sara stared at the clock on her bed side table. She had been staring at it, almost unblinkingly, since half an hour earlier. It was five O'clock now, and so far she'd already missed two of her early-morning activities: Jogging, and the first part of her kick-boxing class.
She checked off these and the rest without any regrets. She'd only signed on all those exercise programs to keep busy. At the end of the day, she was usually so exhausted that she fell asleep the minute she put her head on the pillow. It was a punishing routine that didn't leave her much time to brood.
Brooding was exactly what she was doing today; the alternative was to get up and do something, but she couldn't bring herself to move -not even with her right arm and leg growing numb from immobility. She was afraid that the slightest movement would wake up Grissom, and she just wasn't ready to face him yet.
She was aware of him, all the same; of his body, warm and solid next to her, and his breathing, even and almost imperceptible. The last time she'd looked at him, he was lying on his back, utterly relaxed and looking as if he was only meditating. She was tempted to ask him if he was asleep… but she didn't. She'd turned away instead.
And from that moment on, she lay in silence, watching the clock.
---
It was almost six when she decided not to go to work. It wasn't only out of deference to Grissom that she decided this; she knew she couldn't face anybody, least of all her colleagues. She couldn't go out and pretend nothing had changed.
Ironically, it was her decision not to go to work that prompted her to move. She couldn't just take a day off; she needed to make some arrangements.
As quietly as she could, she rolled out of bed. She winced a little when she stood up. She looked around for something to put on and found the blouse she'd worn the day before. On wobbly legs she walked around the room, picking the rest of her clothes, except those that were on Grissom's side. She put the clothes in a hamper that stood in a corner, and, after a moment's hesitation, went to the living room.
She picked up her phone and speed-dialed a number. She had to redial twice before she got a response. Diane wasn't an early-riser.
"Diane?" she said as soon as she heard a 'hello', "It's Sara -"
"Sara," Diane said the name as if it were a foreign word. She was not fully awake yet. "Sara." she repeated, and then there was a sharp intake of breath from, "Oh! Oh, hey," she said, more animatedly this time. "I was gonna call you last night! There was this rumor about a handsome guy dropping by to see you! Was it true?"
Sara didn't know what to say, but Diane didn't pause long enough to let her talk, anyway.
"The receptionist said a bearded guy brought a big box with gifts," Diane continued, "I didn't take her seriously. I mean, 'a bearded guy bearing gifts?' I was like, yeah, Santa Claus came to the FBI -ha, ha, nice joke. But then she said something about him being a doctor, and I started to wonder -"
Sara cringed. She couldn't believe FBI agents would gossip like this. And Diane's reaction was just unbelievable. The usually no-nonsense woman was acting like a bubbly teenager talking about boys.
"Diane," Sara said, interrupted at last, "Listen to me." She paused to make sure that she had Diane's complete attention. "I need you to do me a favor. I can't come to class today -"
"So you did have a visitor!" Diane raved, "And he's still there! Oh, wow. Who is this guy?"
Sara soon cut into her colleague's girlish comments, "Diane," she said, "I need you to take over my classes for me."
Diane hesitated.
"Well… It's Friday -"
"Please." Sara said, though there was no pleading in her voice. She'd taken over Diane's classes several times in the past; Diane owed her. Sara only hoped Diane would not need a reminder.
"Oh, all right," Diane said reluctantly. "I'll take over." Her voice softened as she added, "You know, I'm glad this guy came to see you. It'll shut up some of the boys here. They act like they can screw every new recruit, and when someone refuses -"
"Diane." Sara interrupted. She already knew that the 'boys' didn't take it kindly when someone said 'no'. One of the men Sara rejected had started a rumor about her being a lesbian. Sara didn't care about being labeled one thing or another; she just didn't appreciate the attention it brought her.
"So, tell me." Diane said coyly, "Is he still there?"
"I'm not answering that," Sara replied firmly.
"You just did," Diane said, and she laughed out loud.
Sara hang up in exasperation but as she put the phone back on the table, she reluctantly realized she was going to miss Diane.
About Quantico, she was more ambivalent.
She'd certainly enjoyed teaching, even if the experience hadn't been entirely satisfactory. She'd tried hard to believe that with a little more time, her work would have made a difference. Now she realized that any victory she might have achieved in Quantico would have been a hollow one. Quantico was -and always would be- second best.
Las Vegas was far from perfect, but that's where she wanted to be.
She was going back.
She leant on the wall, needing the support as the realization hit her. Yes, she was going back. She'd made her decision and she didn't regret it, but she was nervous.
Grissom's reassurances notwithstanding, she knew better than to expect the rest of her colleagues to greet her with open arms. She knew she'd had to earn their trust all over again -be the new CSI in town, which meant getting the worst assignments until she proved herself worthy of their respect.
But that was easy -piece of cake, really -compared to the task awaiting her now.
She glanced into the darkened hallway. .
She and Grissom still had a lot to talk about. If this was going to work, then they needed to establish some boundaries. She took a step in her bedroom's direction, only to stop again.
She wasn't ready to face him yet.
The truth was, after last night, talking wasn't exactly foremost in her mind.
Her lips parted in a faint smile.
"Grissom," she whispered.
She closed her eyes as she remembered the events of the night before. Her lips parted again, but she didn't speak. She was reliving their lovemaking, and for a brief moment she imagined herself back in Grissom's arms. She remembered feeling cherished and loved -the sole object of Grissom's passion.
She sighed.
Did Grissom had any regrets about last night? The sudden thought took her by surprise. It was an unwelcome thought but she couldn't just dismiss it. She herself had one regret: She'd rushed Grissom last night.
On hindsight, she wished she'd acted differently; wished she knew him better. The thing is, he'd been hesitant with her the night before; he'd acted like a man who's having second thoughts and is going to bolt any time soon -or so she thought- and so she hurried things along.
She was impatient -or eager, or afraid, depending on how one wished to look at it. She just wanted to do it, now -before he changed his mind; before they ran out of time.
It was only later that she wondered if she'd misunderstood. Maybe Grissom simply liked it slow. Maybe he wasn't having second thoughts but was simply trying to take his time with her.
The thought filled her with remorse. She should have let Grissom be himself; she should have let him be sweet or gentle or whatever.
Instead, she'd acted as if this was just another hour-long encounter, the kind she'd experienced with Hank, the cheating rat. She never let Grissom show her how he truly felt.
And now it was probably too late.
---
Grissom woke up the minute Sara moved. She was considerate, and the bed dipped only slightly as she moved; but he'd slept alone for too long not to notice. He was instantly awake.
He didn't open his eyes, though; he didn't move. Instead, he waited, hoping that Sara was simply moving closer to him. He longed to feel her arms around him. He longed to gather her into his arms, but only if that's what she wanted. He needed her to make the first move. If she snuggled up to him, then everything would be all right. If she didn't -
She didn't.
He was disappointed when Sara left the bed. He debated between staying motionless or letting her know he was awake, and in the end he didn't move. Instead, he listened as she moved around the room, her bare feet not as noiseless as she might hope. He kept listening as she left the room but scrupulously stopped once she started talking to someone, presumably on the phone.
Not wanting to eavesdrop, Grissom turned his attention to the room, even though this made him just as uncomfortable. Sara was a private person and so was he. He couldn't imagine letting anybody alone in his bedroom. Doing this to Sara felt like an unforgivable intrusion.
He looked around, trying to see Sara's room through the eyes of a lover, not through the eyes of a scrutinizing CSI. It was impossible, of course. He couldn't help studying the room and analyzing its contents, and soon he found himself comparing Sara's bedroom -and her apartment itself -to Sara, the woman.
When you entered Sara's apartment, you got the impression that it was cold and impersonal place; but if you saw this room, you were immediately aware of softness and vulnerability. Sara was just like that; she rarely let people get close but those who had the privilege, knew how caring and warm she was under her reserved exterior.
Looking at her bedroom, Grissom had the feeling that she didn't let many people come in here -if any. This was her safe place; her refuge. It was here that Sara had added some personal touches: A couple of potted plants, an old teddy bear sitting on a shelf, a colorful shawl thrown over a lampshade, a couple of posters on the walls.
On a bedside table, a pretty desk lamp shared space with a couple of books (novels, not texts), a framed picture of a couple of kids (Sara and her brother?), and a box of condoms that had been unsealed but otherwise untouched until last night.
Grissom stared at the ceiling as he thought of last night's events.
Funny, he didn't recall walking to this room. After their first kiss, all he was aware of was her. She asked him not to speak and he obeyed; she took his hand and motioned him to follow, and he did.
He would have followed her anywhere.
He'd fantasized about that moment -he didn't have to deny it anymore. He'd dreamed of the moment he'd undress her, uncover her body -slowly, oh, so slowly. He'd dreamed of making love to her in such a way that it would make her forget every other man in her life.
He'd dreamed, yet he was realistic enough to know that first times were awkward. Last night when he came here, he vowed to make it good to her. He could only hope that the love he felt for her would make up for the clumsiness.
He wasn't sure of the outcome.
There was something desperate about their lovemaking, last night. Sara was impatient. He'd tried to slow down and be gentle for her sake but she wouldn't have any of this. In the end he followed her lead. It felt strangely impersonal; not the way he'd envisioned. Or maybe he had fantasized for too long and reality seemed less sweet.
He did recall a brief moment when he felt close to her, and not just physically. It was towards the end; she'd looked at him and whispered his name. And there was such tenderness, such sweetness in that single-syllable word, that he had no doubts whatsoever that she loved him.
Grissom smiled faintly when he remembered this. If only he were as eloquent with words as she was…
---
When Sara returned, she found Grissom sitting up in bed.
She stopped on the doorway.
"Hey," she said, with a smile that was a little forced, or so it seemed to Grissom.
"Hey." he said. He glanced up and down at her.
Sara was suddenly reminded that she was wearing only a blouse. It was too short. She felt vulnerable, exposed.
Her smile didn't waver, thought.
"You ok?" she asked.
"Yes," he said, smiling faintly. He was hoping she would hop into bed again, but she didn't. She leant against the doorframe, and Grissom had an eerie feeling of déjà vu. They'd faced each other like this before, at his office. She would lean on the doorway while he sat and looked up at her. All that was missing was the desk between them.
And, like so many times before, he didn't know what to say. They'd slept together, but it didn't seem like anything had changed. He was happy, but he didn't know if she was happy too. Frankly, he didn't have a clue as to how she was feeling. And he didn't want to open his mouth and say something that would ruin things. He was waiting for her to say something -
And it was then that he realized that he'd always expected her to bear the burden of their relationship.
It didn't seem fair.
"Sara -" he started, but she was looking at the chest of drawers closest to him. There was a half-open drawer that got stuck a while ago and she'd never got around to fix.
She needed an excuse to turn away from his scrutiny, and this was it. She crossed the room and started to struggle with the drawer.
"It's an old chest," she explained.
"You need help?" he asked, half-rising from the bed.
"No," she said quickly. "No, it's ok. I just got to -" she let the word trail off. She leant forward, and now her hair was like a curtain that kept her face hidden from him.
"Sara -"
"Hang on," she interrupted.
She'd come back to the room to talk to Grissom but now she didn't want to. She was afraid of what Gil might want to say.
She was aware that Grissom was looking at her, waiting. She'd come back to the room determined to talk and to make plans, but now she couldn't even look at him.
She was afraid.
She knew that they'd been able to get together only because they were miles away from Las Vegas. Their encounter had the quality of a fantasy come true -wonderful but still a fantasy.
Who was to say that once they returned to Las Vegas they would not go back to their old roles? This was the reason behind her plea, the night before. When she said, 'don't say anything,' she was actually asking him not to make promises he would not be able to keep.
And now, she had the feeling that they would not even have to return to Las Vegas to know what lay in their future. Anything Grissom said today would determine their future. He might rise from the bed, look apologetically at her, and say something like, 'I have go back', and she wasn't ready to hear that.
"Sara."
Sara stopped struggling. She leant on the chest of drawers and took a deep breath.
"Sara," Grissom said again. "I, hum," he hesitated, "I have to go back -"
Sara closed her eyes and braced herself for the next words.
"-in three days." he finished.
Sara slowly turned to look at him.
He was looking expectantly at her.
"Maybe we could spend some time together," he added tentatively, "You know, after your classes."
She took a step in his direction.
"Three days?" she asked, not sure whether she'd heard correctly.
Grissom nodded.
"Three and a half, actually," he said, and he noticed how his words had an immediate effect on her. Her expression softened. Her whole body seemed to relax.
And then she smiled.
And suddenly, the doubts that had been plaguing him vanished. Because for the first time in a long time, she was giving him an authentic Sara smile -radiant and hopeful. The smile he'd almost forgot.
But as sudden as it appeared, it faded.
She frowned, "Didn't you say you had a seminar or a conference, or something you needed to go to?"
Grissom was about to confess that he'd lied, when he noticed the corners of her mouth lifting in a mischievous smile.
He rolled his eyes.
"Sure, rub it in," he said. He shrugged, "It was a lousy lie, I know."
"I'm glad you're a lousy liar," she said quietly.
Grissom stared at her as she came and sat on the edge of the bed.
"Three days?" she asked again.
"And a half," he added.
"Good." she said. "I, hum, could show you around. We could, you know, go somewhere -"
Grissom didn't reply. He reached out and after a moment's hesitation, touched her hair.
She shook her head self-consciously.
"It's a mess -" she admitted sheepishly. She'd hadn't brushed her hair since the day before.
Grissom smiled tenderly. Gently, he ran his fingers through her hair, brushing it away from her face. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her and get her into bed again, but he didn't do any of those things. He still didn't dare to take the first step.
Meanwhile, Sara was looking intensely at him, just like she did all those months ago, just before she kissed him. Only this time she didn't kiss him. Instead, she gently lay her hand on his bare skin. She caressed his neck, and his shoulder, and soon her eyes were following the progress of her fingers on him.
Her touch was hesitant; shy, almost.
These were the caresses she'd always wanted to bestow on him; she'd missed the chance the night before, but now she wanted to take her time to show him how she felt.
When she touched his bicep, she faltered a little. She looked up.
"You've been working out," she whispered, a touch of admiration in her tone.
"Some weight lifting," he said self-deprecatingly.
She kept her gaze on him. She was surprised by how strong he was -stronger than she'd ever suspected. Yet this wasn't his most important quality.
"You're a sweet man," she said softly.
Grissom gazed down. He didn't handle praise well, he never had. He didn't encourage it, and he mistrusted anyone who used it on him. But this was Sara, after all. He trusted her.
He looked up.
She was smiling faintly at him.
"I…" she started, "I think I've been unfair to you."
He frowned.
"Unfair?" he asked, "When?"
"All this time," she replied, "From the beginning, I think. I didn't -" she hesitated, "I didn't know then, and if someone had told me, I would have deny it. The thing is… I've expected things from you –things that I thought I needed."
"What things?" he asked softly.
She shrugged slightly.
"I wanted you to be like others," she said. "I forgot the one reason that made me fall in love with you –the fact that you're not like anyone else."
Grissom didn't really know what Sara was talking about.
"You're not like anyone else, either," he said mechanically.
"But I tried," she said, smiling faintly. "I tried and I failed."
She looked down. It wasn't often that she talked about her failed relationship with Hank.
Grissom leant forward to catch her attention.
"Sara…" he said, "The things you expected from me -"
She looked up.
"A relationship -" she said. "Friday night dates… A house with a white fence…" her cheeks colored a little as she spoke. It wasn't easy for her to admit that she'd wanted these. For years, she'd tried to explain to Grissom that all she wanted from him was his company; it wasn't true. Maybe Grissom had known all along, and that's why he never said yes.
"Sara," he said, "I wanted you to have those things," he said quietly, "But I just -" he gulped, "I just never thought I could give them to you. I didn't…" He hesitated, "I've never…"
He shook his head, as if exasperated by his inability to explain. Then he looked at her. "I was afraid," he said at last. "I was afraid that if tried, I'd end up screwing things up between us. I've been alone for so long… I never made any space in my life for anybody," he admitted, "It's difficult for me to trust -"
"I know," she nodded, "I'm like that, too."
He gently took her face between his hands. He didn't immediately speak.
"I don't want to be afraid anymore," he said, although he looked like he still was.
"Me, neither," she said softly, and by the way she said it, it was clear that she was tired of being afraid. Tired of being alone, too.
He pulled her into his arms, then. Her body was warm and strong and curvy and oh, so desirable. Once again, he wondered how he'd managed to keep his hands off her all this time. He knew the answer of course: he'd been afraid that by laying a hand on her, she would somehow disappear from his life.
The irony was that by not laying a hand on her, she had disappeared anyway.
"I don't want to lose you again," he whispered, tightening his hold on her.
"You won't lose me," She said, "Listen," she added, pulling back to look at him. "Let's be friends, no matter what." She paused, letting those words sink in. When he nodded his consent, she continued in a softer tone, "We have something special, you and me. It's not what other people have, but it's good anyway."
"Yes," he said.
"We have a deep respect for who we are and what we do," she said, "I mean, I love you, but I love my job too. And I know you feel the same."
He smiled faintly. Only Sara would put their love for each other and their love for their jobs in the same line. But that's the way it was, and it was good to be realistic.
"We won't let one love interfere with the other," he said.
He looked closely at her. With her face devoid of make-up, she looked younger and vulnerable.
"You're beautiful," he whispered.
She smiled uncomfortably and glanced away. She was blushing.
She didn't take compliments well, either
"And you have good legs, too," Grissom added, enjoying the effect his words had on her.
She rolled her eyes, making light of her embarrassment.
"Flattery will get you anywhere," she said.
"I'm counting on that," he said. After a moment's hesitation, he lay her down on her back. He looked down, reveling on the sight of Sara, smiling openly at him, her body yielding to his.
He was about to kiss her, when something made him pause.
"Don't you have to go to work?" he frowned.
She couldn't believe he would think of her job at that moment, when she realized he was only teasing her.
"A friend of mine's taking over my classes," she said, "I told her I need three days to recover from the strenuous exercise I've been doing" she added, and she pointedly wrapped her long legs around him.
"What if your boss insists on having you drop by for a check up?"
She shrugged.
"I'll just tell them Dr. Grissom is taking care of me."
He smiled.
"I'll try," he said. Then his smile faded and he added, "I will, Sara."
She held him tightly. She knew they were both scared about the future. They knew only too well, that love wasn't always enough…
"We'll work it out," she said in his ear.
TBC
Next: A brief look into the future.