I Couldn't. . .
Spoilers: Butterflied
Disclaimers: Story's mine characters aren't.
At the feeling of eyes on him, Grissom looked up from the file he was reviewing. Seeing her in the door way he sighed. "You heard?" he asked simply, not sure how she could've or how he knew that she had, just that she did.
"Yeah," Sara sighed as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the door jam. "Did you mean what you said?"
"I mean everything I say," he replied crossly as he took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes. The movement giving way to the fact that the tone was more out of tiredness than defensiveness.
"I see," she sighed sadly, not sure that she wanted to attempt to read between the lines this time. It had never seemed to work for her before. Pushing away from the door jam, she had to let him know why she had come. She wouldn't do it in her way, but his. "You know I couldn't either," she told him vaguely.
"Couldn't what, Sara? I'm too tired for games."
"Then why do you keep playing them?" she retorted coldly.
"Sara. . ."
"If I was involved with someone, I couldn't just throw them over for someone else. Younger or otherwise," she said informed him before turning and walking away.
Grissom only stared after her as he leaned his head back, conflicted. Sighing, he put aside the report he had been trying to finish, and pushed away from his desk. This, he knew, there would be time enough to complete later. Tiredly, he reached across his desk and turned out the desk lamp. He then rose and moved slowly towards the door, feeling every bit his age and then some, as he hoped that he'd be able to sleep without dreaming of a time when time had run out, even when he knew, that like everything else concerning her, he couldn't. . .