A/N: This is probably one of the most pointless stories really I've ever written but it came to me and kept coming to me and although it might seem a bit out of character, I felt I had to write it in the end. I'd like to point out I'm still without beta, I've tried my best to catch the bad grammar and spelling mistakes in this, but I can only do so much.
I'm dedicating this to Sharon, because of the encouragement she's given me and the time she's taken to thoughtfully review my other stories.
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Three hundred and sixteen times.
He'd counted it.
Three hundred and sixteen times he'd parked across the street outside her building. Three hundred and sixteen times in six years.
Every time he penned a notch on the back page of his little notebook from the glove compartment, and saw that number grow by one he'd feel his foolishness and shame grow too.
When he'd first begun putting a notch down for every time he'd tried to go to her, he'd silently promised himself that number would never go higher than ten.
When I see myself marking down the tenth notch, I'll go back and I'll make it to the door, I'll knock…
Three hundred and sixteen goddamn times.
It stunned him that a grown man of almost forty-nine could park outside the home of the love of his life, and never have the nerve to go to her and tell her how he felt.
It stunned him that out of three hundred and sixteen times only twenty times had he actually got out of the car and made it to the front of the building, and only eleven of those twenty times he'd actually made it all the way inside and to her apartment door where he'd freeze and turn.
It more than stunned him really, it shook him to the very core.
Three hundred and sixteen times was crossing the line, it was beyond obsession, how many more times could he sit there in his car waiting for the nerve to go to her and tell her he loved her? How many more times could he sit there before someone would finally notice and call the police thinking he may be a stalker, or waiting for a delivery of drugs?
He took out his notebook and marked down the three-hundreth and sixteenth notch, and gave an angry sigh.
This is perversion, he told himself. Every time he'd parked there, he'd told himself this, and still when he was at home, feeling the strains of heartache and the pangs of loneliness, he was unable to stop himself from getting in the car and driving there.
If Sara knew I was here…she'd be…disgusted…she'd feel violated…I wouldn't have cause to blame her for feeling so either.
He tossed the book back into the glove compartment, capped the pen and tossed it in there with it, and slammed the compartment door shut with a soft thud. He undone his seatbelt, waited for any passing traffic to be out of harms way of his car door, and the climbed out.
As he crossed the street, he recited in his head the eloquent speech he'd intended to give. He'd had it memorized since the moment she'd come to Vegas. Of course, in his mind he'd rewritten the speech a few times to suit the circumstances around them. In the first few mental drafts of the speech he'd give to her, the words 'I'm in love with you' had been ever so blatant, but over the years, they'd dwindled into 'I have feelings for you' and then to 'You know how I feel'.
It seemed the longer this foolishness had gone on the harder it seemed to be able to be able to admit how he felt. Part of that scared him, there might be a day when he no longer could bring himself to even drive there, to even sit outside with the inability to knock on her door. It almost felt as if time were running out, and before it did he wanted the satisfaction that he'd at least tried before letting that happen – before she slipped out of his reach completely.
He was aware of the blazing sun on the back of his neck as he approached her building, and he paused momentarily, he glanced at her name taped on beside the buzzer button. S.Sidle. He considered pressing it, but like always. The door was just left open – probably to ventilate the vestibule inside.
He slipped inside into the vestibule, and glanced around. He stood there alone for a moment, comfortable in the quiet dull shade of the windowless room, the scent of pine detergent hanging in the air, the distant sounds of someone on the ground floor playing an Elvis Presley song. The bright sun pouring in through the open doorway at his back cast a long shadow of himself on the floor.
Stop stalling. Just get up there, stand outside her door for four minutes like you always do and then turn and walk away already.
Each step he took it seemed to take longer and longer to get up there. This was always the hardest part of the journey to her door; the literal climb before he metaphorically let himself down.
He got to the top of the stairs and slowly stalked down the hall towards her door, the number wasn't on the door, but he knew it as well as he knew the back of his hand. He couldn't have mistaken that door with any other.
It suddenly dawned on him that in eleven attempts he'd spent forty-four minutes standing outside her door in total. It seemed like such a waste of life.
But he wouldn't have spent it any other way.
He stood for his obligatory four minutes as usual, and noted that as forty-eight minutes in total standing at her door doing nothing. He'd grown so used to doing this absurd act that he no longer felt the nerves that used to come with the task. No butterflies, no nervous sweat, no trembling fingers as he reached out to knock but never intended to.
Threehundred and sixteen times had he waited outside her building with the burning desire to go to her and tell her he loved her.
Twenty-one times now had he stepped into her building with the need to see her face.
Now twelve times he'd stood at her door and yearned to knock never finding it in himself.
Never once had that door opened…until now.
He blinked as the door opened, a tired Sara stood there with her hair tied up in a messy ponytail, her face fresh of makeup, she seemed as taken aback as he was. They stared at each other a moment, and she moved back from the open door.
"Grissom…" she said.
Grissom could see the question what are you doing here was almost about to pass her lips. He floundered helplessly in his mind, fish out of water.
This wasn't meant to happen! She wasn't supposed to open the door!
Whatever eloquent poetic speeches he'd planned to give three-hundred and sixteen times flew out of his mind like a bird through an open window. He tried to reach for it, but was too late to grab it by the tail. For a brief moment, he was sure in his mind he could hear it laughing at him in a series of tweets and chirps.
"Sara…" was all he could say, hoping it would buy him some time.
Sara scratched the back of her neck where the end of her ponytail was tickling it, her mouth opened and he could see her about to ask why he was at her door.
"I was working from home," he began, his mind beginning to quickly work together an adequate story to tell her, "and I was looking at the request forms you and the rest of the team sent me to go to the Forensic Biology seminar in Austin next month…"
Sara folded her arms over her stomach, she didn't interrupt, although he wished she had so he could have another minute to add to the lie.
"And, uh…well, I know there are only two spots and I already promised Nick he could attend since he missed the last seminar while on leave," Grissom continued, "I was wondering, uhm…" he screwed up his face, racking his brain, "I know you want to go, but…would you mind if I sent Greg in your place? I haven't sent him to any seminars since he became a CSI and I think the experience would do him good…"
"Why are you asking if I mind? You're the boss, it's your say, not mine…"
"Well…I didn't want you to think I was favoring Greg over you, and I wanted to ask if you would be alright with it, I wouldn't like to think…I'd uhm…"
"Hurt my feelings?" Sara asked, her eyes darkened briefly before softening.
He gave a slight smile and wondered if his cover story worked.
"Send Greg, he can probably use a break from the field," Sara shrugged.
"You're okay with that, then?" he asked. The words crisis averted sprung to mind.
Without an answer, Sara grabbed her apartment keys from a table near the door, stepped out into the hallway, pulled the door shut and locked it securely. Something about her manner told him she wasn't bothered about the seminar at all.
"Going out?" Grissom asked, stepping aside to give her more room.
"I need to go grab some milk – I hate dry cereal, and I just can't function at work without breakfast."
Grissom always found it amusing anyone on Graveyard shift quickly decided breakfast time was around six pm. "What cereal do you eat?"
Sara stared at him, and Grissom had the distinct feeling he might have asked her a question that bordered on more than personal.
"Just your generic no-frills branflakes," Sara shrugged.
"Good choice, high in fibre, good source for iron and magnesium…" he responded.
"You a cereal expert now, too?" Sara smirked, and took off down the hall, he felt no choice but to follow.
He smiled wryly, and did not answer, instead he simply went after her, and only stopped when they exited the building together. Sara stood there on the street, reached into the right pocket of her jeans and pulled out a handful of change, she used a finger from her left hand to push the change around as she counted it.
Grissom watched her without meaning to, aware of the hues of gold and red the sun seemed to bring out in her dark brown hair, the freckles on her bare shoulders standing out against the ridiculous orange of her tanktop.
The sound of the chink of change as Sara closed her hand brought him out of his staring, and he took a slight step backwards, "Well…I, uh, really should go," he decided.
"I'll see you at work later," Sara nodded, her eyes flicked towards where he had his car parked momentarily. "You could have called instead of coming all the way out here, you know."
If only I could have. Don't get me started on how many times I've picked up the phone and dialed the first four digits of your phone number, he thought at her. Softly, he replied, "I know."
They stood gazing at each other, Grissom's mind reeling with the things he should have been saying, the things he'd wanted to say since the first time he'd driven here to see her.
He couldn't quite bring himself to turn and leave her, but thankfully, Sara made it easy on him.
"See you later, Grissom," Sara waved and took off down the street, walking with her arms folded casually, her ponytail swaying with each step.
Grissom watched her disappear around a corner, and with a dejected groan he made his way back to his Denali and climbed in. He took his notebook from the glove compartment noting now having been to her door twenty-one times he'd made it to the building, twelve times he'd made it to the door.
He made a new category.
One time having talked to her at the door and losing his nerve completely.
Sara dropped her apartment keys on the kitchen counter, and placed the carton of milk along side them. She wandered over to the window and drew the curtains back a little and stared through the blinds to see the street outside where Grissom's car had been parked only ten minutes ago.
Now some other car had taken the same parking spot, and the only proof Grissom's car had ever been there at all was the fresh image of it in her mind when she'd glanced out of the window half an hour ago.
How long had he been waiting out there before he even made it to the door? She wondered as she fixed the curtains back the way she liked them and went to pour herself some cereal.
She smiled a little and wondered how many times he'd been there that she hadn't known about.
Sara hadn't been counting of course, but there were at least what seemed like twenty times in the last three years she'd gone to the window and noticed his car outside there, him sitting inside.
Grissom would there in his Denali for an hour at a time sometimes, and she would grab her binoculars from her desk drawer and watch him until the darkness begun to fall and he'd drive off, obviously to get ready for work.
In a normal world she supposed this might have been a little disturbing, the fact there had been so many times the man had been outside her apartment, to anyone else it might have seemed like stalking.
But between her and Grissom it merely felt…reassuring. For Grissom, she understood, was merely trying to find the nerve.
She wasn't sure what he was trying to find the nerve for, however. Whether it was to say something he'd been yearning to say, or do something he'd been yearning to do…or perhaps just to make it past being just work colleagues.
When Sara had opened the door when Grissom had been outside had been no accident, however innocently enough she'd played it. When she'd watched his car and seen him leave it and lock the doors, she'd known he was making his way up – just as he had two other times that she'd known of.
Two other times that he'd stood there for several minutes without knocking. She remembered those times vividly, standing behind the door gazing through the peephole, afraid to even breathe in case it might bring him to realize she was there too.
It had hit her then that perhaps he needed help – a nudge in the right direction. She'd considered that perhaps if she opened the door, he'd take care of…whatever he was trying to take care of by being there.
Her heart had thumped heavily in her chest at that momentary thought that her opening that door might have changed something – maybe everything – and when it hadn't she'd felt it sink miserably in her chest as he'd started making obvious excuses about seminars and Greg.
Still, the fact that he'd been there trying, still meant something, and she only had the vaguest notions of what that might be – for with Grissom it was always hard to tell.
As she put away the milk she hadn't intended to buy in the first place she told herself that whatever Grissom had been trying to find the nerve to do, nothing she could do was going to push him into doing it.
I probably should have learned that a long time ago. Asking him out didn't work, and giving him ample opportunity to tell me how he feels didn't work either.
She supposed she should have learned long ago that Grissom moved at his own pace, he wasn't going to be nudged. If he had something to say – or do – he'd do it when he was ready, when it felt right.
She could always hope that some day Grissom might knock, and when she opened the door to him, he wouldn't have any more excuses – that it would feel right, and he'd have no trouble in expressing himself to her anymore.
In the meantime, she was content enough that his car outside was some kind of acknowledgement enough that he wanted more. It was good enough for now.
The End Like I said, pointless, but sometimes you just have to write what's in your head. Thanks to anyone who's taken the time to read this from beginning to end. As I always say, if you liked it, review it. Don't be shy ;) Thanks again to Sharon :) - Ash