Disclaimer: I own nothing. Damn...
A/N: If you are wondering where all the references to 'seven weeks' are coming from, it is the amount of time that passed between the airing of 'Committed' and 'Bite Me' if we assume that in television land the seasons all run together without a break. Many thanks to twiz tv, without which I would not have been able to include the outtakes of conversation from the actual episode.
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As Grissom lay staring at the ceiling, exhaustion heavy in his limbs, he tried to identify the exact moment that he had lost control of his life, the exact moment that his feelings for her had morphed from want into need. Shifting his head to the left to glance at the clock, he saw that over five hours had passed since he had first nestled into the sheets in search of sleep, only to lie awake and think of her. Seven weeks ago he could come home after a long shift, cleanse his body and his mind of whatever remnants of the day still clung to him under powerful jets of steaming hot water, climb into bed and drift away into a world of his own making. But that was then, and this was now. Maybe I just drank too much coffee, he thought, trying in vain to convince himself that it was anything but her absence that was keeping rest at bay. As he watched the second hand navigate its way past the 12 again, signalling that yet another minute had gone by spent lying tired and alone in his oversized bed, he felt a tear begin to pool in the corner of his eye. Closing his eyes quickly to blink it away, he saw her face as she crouched beside the victim's bed, looking up at him as he hurt her yet again.
"Hey. Husband slept in the other room. His reading glasses are on the nightstand. Clothing's in the dresser."
"That's odd. A man and a woman who don't share a bedroom arrange to have a night alone, send their daughter to a relative, go out to dinner, have drinks by the pool, but they sleep in separate bedrooms."
"Maybe one of them snored or had insomnia or liked to work at night."
"Or maybe they were suffocating each other and he couldn't breathe."
Only seconds before he had been admiring the lines of her body as she moved around the room searching for the smallest clue, the steadiness of her hand as she handled the most delicate of evidence, the tiny frown of concentration that came over her face when she focussed her attention completely on the task at hand. And then he had realised that he was thinking about her instead of the scene, instead of the crime, instead of the victim, and he had taken it out on her.
What bothered him the most in her eyes at that moment was the resignation, the look of defeat mixed with absolute and unquestioning acceptance. It was almost as though she had been waiting for it all along, waiting for him to pull away, waiting for him to punish her for getting too close.
Forcing himself to move, he pulled the quilt back and stood on shaky legs. Moving to the closet he dressed as quickly as his weary body would allow. Glancing for a moment at the right side of the bed, her side of the bed, sheets cold and undisturbed, he turned and headed for his car.
He was going to make this right. He had to. He had felt her velvet skin under his fingertips as they traced the constellations between her shoulder blades, he had tasted her lips full and lush from kissing him, he had heard her quiet laughter as her head rested beside his, he had smelt her hair as he held her close. He knew now without a doubt what life could be like with her by his side, and he was not at all sure he could function any other way.
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So here it is, she thought. It's over. Shifting quickly to try and bring her focus back to the scene, she began to search the bed-side drawers, silently willing herself to keep her eyes neutral, her voice steady.
"Sexual lubricant. It's half empty. Sticky. You know, you don't have to sleep in the same bed together to have sex or… have romance."
"I'm going to see the doctor."
"I'll grid the house."
As she watched him disappear through the doorway, she allowed her head to drop into her hands. Taking a couple of deep breaths, she swallowed the tears that had threatened to overwhelm her and got back to work.
Several hours later, after the evidence had been processed and the case closed, Sara found herself sitting alone in the break room with nothing to do but think about what she had lost. In her head she had thought that it would be one afternoon as he woke to find his arm around her waist, his legs bent to cradle hers perfectly. Every night they spent together, she had been careful to take a moment before letting sleep take her to memorise exactly what his hands felt like on her hip, what his heartbeat sounded like under ear, so that when he came to his senses and pushed her away upon waking, she would at least have that. But then things didn't always go to plan. When she had awoken that afternoon, she had looked up to find him smiling lazily down at her. He had kissed her forehead, her temple, her nose and her cheek before lovingly grazing his soft lips against her own. Looking into his ocean blue eyes, she had been comforted by the thought that she would at least have one more day, one more night with the man she loved. But that was then and this was now. Closing her eyes she could almost feel his fingers running through her hair, his breath caress her cheek, his beard tickle her neck, and she knew that this time there was no stopping her tears.
Hanging her head and moving as quickly as she felt she could without attracting too much attention, she made her way to the locker-room. Quickly scanning the space, she assured herself that there was no one around to see her cry before melting against the metal and sliding to the floor. After ten minutes, she felt her sobs begin to subside, and swiped at her face to hide the salty tracks burning her cheeks. With the intention of finding a mirror to assess the damage, she stood and spun around only to notice that in the cruellest of cosmic jokes the locker she had been resting against was his. Bringing her hand up to rest on the dial, she leaned her forehead against the grate, relishing the feel of the metal digging into her skin.
Lost in her own world, she did not hear the door open, the footsteps approach.
"Sara? Are you okay?"
Taken aback by the unexpected intrusion, she spun to find Greg's worried eyes searching her face.
"Have you been crying?"
Averting her gaze, she stepped towards her locker, opening it with the unthinking ease of one with too much practice, and discreetly checked her appearance in the mirror attached to the door.
"I'm fine, Greg. Just tired."
Gathering her things she turned and sighed. It was clear that he did not believe her, and in all honesty she could not blame him. She wouldn't have bought it either if their roles were reversed.
Stepping past him, careful not to hold his gaze for too long, she said lightly "Night, Greg" before passing back through the door and into the hallway.
She managed to get all the way to the parking lot before she heard him calling her back.
"Hey! Hey, wait a minute!"
Calculating that she was less than 30 yards from her car, she didn't slow her pace at all, instead choosing to call casually over her shoulder, "Seriously, Greg, I'm fine. You don't have to worry about me. A few hours of shut-eye and I'll be good as new."
Running to catch her, he grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop and look at him. Fighting to catch his breath, he at first failed to notice the fiery glare directed at his hand where it held her just above the elbow.
Quietly, dangerously, she said, "Get your hands off me. Now."
Fearing for his safety, he immediately released her, only to have her start off again towards her car.
"Sara, wait! I just want to talk to you for a minute."
Turning only once she reached the door, her keys poised and ready in her hand, she replied, "Fine. You have one minute."
"Well, okay, then. No pressure."
"Greg!"
"Okay. It's just I haven't seen you much lately, and I was just wondering if you might be interested in catching up later. I could come by with some beer and a movie before shift, maybe… You know… if you want…"
Her first instinct was to turn him down, but then she thought of the alternative. Not sure that she could face Grissom at assignments the next day if she spent the next fourteen hours reliving every beautiful, painful moment they shared, she reluctantly agreed.
"Come by around four."
"Sure thing!" called Greg, his excitement clear.
As she pulled from the lot and into the busy Vegas traffic, all thoughts of Greg slipped from her mind as she found herself basking in the memory of the first time she laid eyes on Grissom, standing only a few feet in front of her behind a makeshift podium in San Francisco, devastatingly handsome and compellingly passionate as he addressed the ramshackle group.
As she parked by her building and began to climb the stairs, she couldn't help but wonder how her apartment, which just seven weeks before had seemed more like a home than any other place she had ever known, could now feel so cold, so cruel, so unwelcoming. As she dropped her keys by the door and made her way to the bathroom, she surveyed the tiny space, seeing traces of him everywhere. Her couch cushions seemed to hold the shape of him from where he sat, his arm draped over her shoulder, as they did the crossword puzzle together. Her sheets mocked her as they draped across the left side of the bed, his side of the bed, the smell of him still locked in their weave. Her shower seemed hollow and lonely without him, the pulsing of the jets as the scolding water slammed into her back mimicking the rhythm of his thrusts as he took her against the tiles.
Loosely towel-drying her hair, she searched her closet to find clothes that he had not seen, had not touched, since the day he stopped being her boss and started being her lover. After donning an old and threadbare singlet and a pair of grey cotton gym shorts, she shifted her attention to the bed. Stripping the mattress of his sheets, she dressed it again in minutes, reminding herself as she did to use plenty of bleach when she next did her laundry.
Feeling a strange catharsis come over her, she decided to abandon any faint hope she may have held for sleep and continue, her goal to turn her house back into a home by cleansing the space of his presence.
Five hours later she had run out of ideas. Every square inch of her apartment had been scrubbed or mopped or vacuumed, what furniture she could shift on her own had been moved, she had even run out to buy a new tube of toothpaste and changed the shower-head in her bathroom. Yet still she didn't feel as though she had finished.
Logically she knew that she was being completely irrational, that none of it had been necessary, that she was lashing out, punishing herself because she could not punish him. But emotionally she needed to be rid of him. Completely. She had spent so long pining after him, desperate for him to notice her, to acknowledge her, to love her as she loved him, that to feel him haunt the place that was supposed to be her haven was nothing short of torturous.
Stepping into the kitchen she began opening the cupboards one by one, remembering as she did the meals they had shared together. After their first night together he had made her pancakes with raspberries and honey, and then after breakfast he had kissed her so tenderly with the taste of it still heavy on his lips. After their last night together he had made her a mushroom omelette, wrapping his arms around her waist and gently kissing her shoulder as she took her first bite. Pulling the dishes from the cupboards and stacking them to one side, she filled the sink with warm soapy water and, unable to remember which had touched his warm, supple lips, resolved to scrub each and every one as though it were tainted with poison.
Shutting off the tap, the first of the dinner plates had just disappeared below the bubbles when she heard a strong but uncertain knock on her door. Suddenly remembering her invitation to Greg in the parking lot earlier, she closed her eyes and sighed.
After a moment the knocking sounded again, forcing her out of her trance. "Coming!" she called. Carefully arranging what she hoped was a convincing smile on her face as she rested her hand on the knob, she pulled the door open and said brightly, "You're early."
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The drive towards her apartment building had been plagued with doubts. What if she wouldn't talk to him? What if she wouldn't even open the door? What if he had finally managed to extinguish any feelings she still had for him?
Pulling into an empty space and turning off the ignition he found himself frozen in place. As long as he stayed in the car, he still had hope. If he climbed the stairs and knocked on the door, only to have turn away from him for good, he would have nothing. As he felt the fear start to rise in his throat, he closed his eyes and forced himself to remember the way she looked at him when she woke in his arms less than a day ago. He had made her happy, if only for a little while. Gathering his courage, he stepped from the car and began the journey to her front door, silently reciting his apology with every step he took.
Once standing outside her door, he did not allow himself a moment of hesitation before raising his hand and knocking with as much certainty as he could muster. After what seemed like an eternity of silence in which he ran through every terrible possibility, he knocked again, his breathing only calming when he heard her call out, "Coming" through the door.
Hanging his head slightly with relief, he looked up only when to door was pulled open and he was greeted by a vibrant and smiling Sara exclaiming, "You're early."
Confused at first, it only took a moment for him to understand the situation, and he hoped desperately that his eyes did not betray him.
"You were expecting someone else."
The smile dropping quickly from her face, she inched the door close slightly, a move designed to protect herself from all he could do to her. Lowering her eyes to the floor, she asked quietly, "What are you doing here, Grissom?"
There were no tears in her voice, just that same sense of defeat that had shone through her eyes earlier and the sound of it broke his heart.
"Sara, can… can I come in?"
For a long time she did not answer, did not respond in any way. Eventually, she nodded slightly to herself, as if to signal the end of some internal debate, and stepped aside to let him in.
As soon as he passed the threshold he could see that everything had changed, emotionally and physically. She stood several feet away from him, stubbornly refusing to look in his direction, arms crossed tightly over her chest as though to shield herself from harm. Behind her, almost every piece of furniture had been moved, and he struggled to grasp what implications this might hold.
"You redecorated."
"Yeah."
"Why?"
Clearly uncomfortable with the question, Sara began to move towards the kitchen, stopping only when she had reached the other side of the breakfast bar, the solid bench acting as a barrier between them.
"I felt like a change."
"Um, okay… Well, it looks go–"
Cutting him off, she raised her head to look at him for the first time, her gaze akin to that of a wild animal that had been backed into a corner.
"I know you're not here to talk wall coverings and decorative pillows, Grissom, so why don't you just say what you have to say and leave."
As he felt the hot knife sink into his chest, he took a half step towards her, shocked when she mimicked his action in an attempt to maintain the distance between them.
"Sara, I'm here to apologise, to tell you how very sorry I am for what I said today. I never meant–"
As he spoke she could feel the tears building behind her eyes, but she just couldn't bring herself to let him see just how much he had hurt her. Relying on the old adage that the best defence is a good offence, she cut him off again. She knew exactly what he was here to say, so she would say it for him as quickly and concisely as possible.
"It was fun while it lasted."
Her façade began to weaken when she saw the gut-wrenching pain that flashed across his face. Had she been wrong? Was he not here to tie up loose ends? Was he here to try and make things better?
Hanging his head slightly, he brought a hand up to his face, resting his forefinger on one temple and his thumb on another, effectively shielding his eyes from her gaze.
"Yeah, it guess it was. I… I should go."
Spinning abruptly, he walked quickly to the door, turning the handle and opening it a few inches before dropping his hand from across his eyes and glancing back over his shoulder in her direction.
"I'm so sorry, Sara."
Opening the door further, he took a single step out into the hall before he felt her hand grab at his shirt, pulling him back inside.
"What are you doing?" he asked quietly, eyes still fixed on the open door, confusion fighting with despair.
"Look at me... Grissom, look at me!"
Spinning slowly, he took a deep breath and met her gaze, shocked at the emotion swimming behind her eyes. When he noticed the first tear spill down her cheek, he couldn't bear it anymore and looked away, but she quickly raised a hand to his chin, forcing his eyes back to hers. As soon as she seemed convinced that he was not going to look away again, she dropped her hand and spoke.
"That was what you came to say, wasn't it?"
"No."
Shaking his head gently, he brought a hand up to her face, drawing it back again when he saw her flinch away from his touch.
"Then what?"
"Please don't do this to me, Sara. You were right. It was fun while it lasted, but it's over now. Please just let me leave."
"Not until you tell me what you came here to say."
Slowly he closed the gap between them, kissing her softly before pulling away to rest his cheek against hers. As he felt a tear to mirror her own slide down his cheek, he whispered quietly into her ear, "Goodbye, Sara" before stepping away quickly and spinning towards the door.
Opening her eyes, she just caught a glimpse of his back as he disappeared through her door, the sight of him leaving knocking her to the floor, legs folded beneath her, arms wrapped across her middle, forehead resting on the ground, the pain spreading through her chest too great for mere tears to express.
Outside in the hall, Grissom waited at the top of the stairs for the door to shut behind him, unable to leave until he knew she was safe from the criminals they hunted side by side every day, men who would probably hurt her far less than he just had. When exactly six minutes had passed, he started back towards her door. When he reached the threshold, his breath caught in his throat. Rushing inside, he pushed the door shut behind him before kneeling before her, raising her head from the ground and wiping away her tears. Drawing her to his chest, he began chanting, "I'm sorry," over and over again as he placed loving kisses in her hair.
When she had calmed enough to talk, she let her arms drop to her side and drew back from his embrace.
"You came back?"
"I came back."
Searching his face for clues, she saw the faint spark of hope flash behind his eyes, and decided to press forward. After all, she thought, what do I have left to lose?
"I want to know what you came here to say, Grissom. Please tell me what you came here to say."
Raising his hand back to her face, relieved that she allowed him to wipe away her tears without flinching, he sighed.
"I came here to beg you to forgive me, Sara. Earlier, at work, I was angry with myself, and I lashed out at the one person I swore never to hurt again. It's just that I can't seem to get you out of my head. There I was supposed to be investigating the murder of another human being, and all I could think about was how beautiful you were. And then when I got home, I couldn't sleep without you beside me. It's only been seven weeks, Sara, and already I can't sleep without you. You have such incredible power over me, it scares me to death sometimes. You have only been to my house a handful of times and already you seem to be everywhere. There is tofu in my fridge, Sara. Tofu! I can't get away from you."
The delicate smile that had spread across her face quickly melted away as the last words left his mouth. Standing abruptly, she batted his hand away from her face and again retreated to stand behind the breakfast bar.
"So, what am I supposed to do with that, Grissom?"
Standing slowly, he silently berated himself for his stupidity. You never know when to stop, do you?
"Are you going to answer me?"
"I don't understand the question, Sara?"
"The question, Grissom, is what exactly am I supposed to take from your little speech there? You call me beautiful, and then you tell me that I hinder your ability to do your job. You tell me that you can't sleep without me, and then you bemoan the fact that you can't get away from me. So what is it you want from me? We'll just never work together again, and you'll page me with the name of a different hotel whenever you want to get your rocks off? Is that it? Is that what you want, Grissom?"
Shocked by her accusation, he replied forcefully, his voice louder than it was before. "No!"
Raising her voice to match his, she spat a wounded, "Then what?!"
All restraint gone, he shouted his simply reply at the top of his voice. "I want you!"
Silence descended on the room, as Sara again brought her arms up to wrap around her waist. Dropping her eyes to the floor, she said softly, her tone the antithesis of all that had gone before, "But only at a safe distance, right?"
Stepping towards the sink, she plunged her hands below the surface of the soapy water searching for the plate hiding at the bottom. As she slowly drew the sponge across the porcelain finish, she felt him come to rest behind her, his hands landing on her hips, his breath hot against her neck.
"There is no such thing as a safe distance with you, Sara. You are everywhere and everything. I want you, Sara. I want all of you, all of the time. I know that I have given you no reason to believe me, but I'm not going anywhere. You are my life."
As he began to lavish her neck with soft, open-mouth kisses, she closed her eyes and steeled herself to ask the question that had been burning at the front of her mind since the very first time he kissed her.
"I have been chasing you for over five years, now, Grissom. Why now? What changed?"
Pulling his lips from her skin, he rested his chin on her shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close to his chest.
"I realised how easily I could lose you. When I saw you trapped in that nurse's station, Adam Trent's fingers digging into your skin, that shard cutting into your neck, nothing else in the world seemed to matter. All the reasons I had listed as to why I could never just let go and let myself have you seemed to drop away. All I could think about was that you could die right there, before my eyes, and I had never once told you that I loved you."
He felt her stiffen in his arms. Afraid that he had said too much, that he had scared her away again, he loosened his hold on her waist, allowing her the room to spin in his arms.
Looking him in the eye, she whispered reverently, "You love me?"
"More than I ever thought possible."
As the first tears of joy began spilling down her cheeks, the tears of pain were forgotten.
"I love you, too."
Unable to restrain himself any longer, he leaned forward and kissed her passionately, drowning in the taste of her mouth. Without warning, he lifted her from the ground, her legs wrapping reflexively around his waist. Stepping forward he went to place her on the bench, only to have her drop unceremoniously into the sink, still full of warm, soapy water.
"Ugh!" she declared on a smile. "You know, if you wanted to take a bath with me all you had to do was ask."
Laughing, he claimed her mouth in another searing kiss, pulling back only when his lungs could wait no longer.
As he helped her down, she reached behind her and grabbed a handful of suds, depositing them deftly on the top of his head as she leaned in to lay a gentle kiss in the dimple on his chin before moving up to smile against his lips.
Before either of them could speak, another knock sounded at the door. As he remembered her greeting when he first arrived, he took a step back and tried to cover any trace of hurt that may have lingered in his eyes.
"I forgot you were expecting someone."
Stepping forward until she was once again standing close enough to feel the heat rolling off his body in waves, she whispered quietly, "It's just Greg. Don't move."
Walking to the door, she opened the door slightly, blocking his entry with her frame.
"Hey, Greg."
"Hey. You ready for a fun-filled night of hilarity? I have here in my hot little hand a genuine copy of the cinema classic, 'Weekend at Bernie's'."
"Oh, well, that sounds great, really, but there has been a little complication."
"What sort of complication?"
Grissom could not help but grin to himself when he heard the suspicion in the young man's tone.
"Well, my apartment is flooded. See," she continued as she spun quickly to show him the back of her shorts, the material soaked through and clinging enticingly to the flesh below, "I only noticed when I slipped on the wet tiles."
"Well, I can help. Do you know where the leak is coming from?"
As Greg took an eager step forward, peering through the door to try and assess any damage, Sara responded by closing the door ever-so-slightly, forcing him to once again look her in the face.
"I appreciate the offer, but I just called the super and he said not to let anyone else in the apartment. Liability insurance, I think. So, is there any chance I can grab a raincheck?"
"Ah, sure… No problem."
Turning to leave, Greg quickly spun back just as Sara was about to shut the door completely.
"Hey! You want me to tell the evil boss man that you won't be coming in tonight?"
Swallowing heavily to hide her smile, she said seriously, "No, that's okay, Greg. I will call him myself if I need to."
"Are you sure? I mean, I know you are going to hate me for saying this, but I know that he is the reason you were crying in the locker room before. If you don't want to talk to him, I totally understand."
As soon as the words reached Grissom's ears, the gentle grin that had been plastered across his face disappeared from sight, replaced with a haunted, self-deprecating frown. Slowly, he began making his way towards her, always careful to stay out of Greg's line of sight.
Sara stiffened as she felt the air in the room behind her change, the traces of laughter crushed by the blatant reminder of all they had suffered earlier. Desperate to return to Grissom's arms before all the good was undone, she said, her tone forceful but not unfriendly, "Goodnight, Greg." before shutting the door and drawing the locks.
Turning with a smile on her face, hoping to recapture some of the atmosphere they had lost during Greg's unwelcome interruption, she was shocked to find him standing only inches away.
"Hey, Gre–"
"Shhh," he said, placing a finger across her lips. "You were crying in the locker room?"
Sighing, she replied quietly, "Yes."
Bringing his hand across to cup her cheek, he gently lifted her eyes to meet his. "Why?"
"I thought that I had lost you."
As he saw the truth in her eyes, he let out a tormented breath and shook his head. Gently he used his fingers to coax her eyes closed before placing a gentle kiss on each silky lid. Closing his own, he rested his forehead against hers and whispered sadly, "I am a stupid, stupid man, Sara."
Slowly she tilted her head to gently graze her lips against his before replying on a smile, "But you are my stupid, stupid man, and that makes all the difference."
FIN.