TITLE: An Open Door
AUTHOR: coolbyrne
RATING: The very generic PG
SPOILERS: Crash and Burn
CLASSIFICATION: GSR
DISCLAIMER: "Dear Santa, I've been so good this year…" Oh, stop laughing. I don't own 'em, and it looks like my chances are pretty darn slim.
ARCHIVE: If you like it, by all means.
FEEDBACK: Compliments/constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated. Flames will be mocked in other forums. Send any combination of the above to: fugitive@ihateclowns.com
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I've been so good at avoiding the angst, now suddenly, I've written two in a row. Is it because it's from Sara's POV, or just a projection of my own frustration regarding season three? Discuss. (Or not.) My thanks as always to the ever helpful and inquisitive beta reader extraordinaire, papiliondae.
SUMMARY: A conversation through a door. Will Sara let Grissom "in"?
*
So alone tonight Miss you more than I will let you know Miss the outline of your back Miss you breathing down my neck Called you up, answering machine When the human touch Is what I need What I need Is you I need you
-James "Out to Get You"
*
"Sara?" No response. "Sara? I know you're in there, I can see your shadow under the door."
'Damn!' She jumped back from the door, but it was too late; she was caught. She bit her lip and scrambled for an excuse. Her rather spartan and silent apartment offered little inspiration. Every pretext seemed weak or downright unbelievable, 'My place is a mess'… 'I've got something on the stove'.
"I… I just got out of the shower." This was entirely untrue, of course; she stood unseen, dry and fully clothed. But she just didn't have the energy to deal with him. Having just endured one man's rejection today, she wasn't sure she could take it from another. Particularly Grissom.
"Why are you here?" She winced at the sound of her own words.
"I ran into Catherine at the lab… she told me about… I know about Hank."
Sara covered her face with her hands before bringing them down to her side, where she clenched them into fists. "God! She couldn't be trusted with my grocery list, could she?"
"It's not like that, Sara. She came to me because she knew you were upset."
"I had too much to drink, that's all."
He ignored her interruption. "She thought I… I thought… Sara, can you just open the door, please? I can't talk like this."
"Grissom, I'm fine, really."
"Well, you know me. I need to see it to believe it."
A small smile appeared on her face, despite her mood. "Always the scientist."
He mirrored her unseen smile. "Can I come in?"
Biting her bottom lip again, she shook her head, then realizing he couldn't see her, gave words to her gesture. "Really, I'm okay." She scratched a blemish on her wooden door. "I just… I just need some time to re-evaluate this whole "deserving a life" thing. It's a bit harder than you painted it to be."
"Sometimes the hardest roads lead to the greatest rewards."
When he spoke again, his voice was lower, yet closer. She realized he must have leaned his head against the door.
"Sara," he whispered, the word spoken so softly it barely made its way through the two inches of oak to her. "It won't always be this way, you know."
She gave a snort of laughter. "And you were last in a relationship, when?"
"We're not talking about me, we're talking about you."
"You're talking about me."
He continued on, despite her resistance. "You're young, you're beautiful, you're the smartest person I know. The world is just waiting for you to pay attention to it."
She squeezed her eyes shut. Why did he have to do that? Why couldn't he just leave her alone to wallow in a moment of self-pity and regret so she'd be able to move on with her life, her fourteen hour workdays? Why did he have to make her feel special and wanted, when the simple fact of the matter was… well, it wasn't that simple, was it? She forged a relationship with a man she didn't love in order to fill the void created by the man she did. The man who told her she deserved to have a life. The man who still didn't realize that what she wanted was a life with him. And now here she was, back to the start once again, alone.
His warm voice burned through the door. "Are you still there?"
She pressed her cheek against the separation between them where his voice seemed to emanate from. "I don't want the world, Grissom." I just want you. Defeated, she brought a fist up and pressed it hard against her mouth, desperate to suppress the surge of sadness. Despite her best efforts, a sob crept up her throat, the sound escaping her lips.
The doorknob rattled urgently as he tried to get in. She didn't move, knowing his efforts were in vain.
A soft banging sound reverberated through the door. Was he hitting it?
"Why won't you let me in?" Another bang. Then another. Then silence. She thought he had finally given up, when she heard him speak again.
"Sara… sweetheart… let me in."
She jerked her head back from the door, as if it had burned her.
Between her failed struggle to keep her emotions at bay and the startling words he had just whispered through the door, she was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. 'Don't do this to me, Grissom,' she silently pleaded. 'Please don't do this to me.'
"If you don't want the world, we'll… we'll start with something smaller."
She found enough breath to choke out a laugh. A real, genuine laugh.
"But you have to let me in first," he said.
She knew of a religious custom that calls for a person to tear an article of clothing when a loved one passes away. The tear from the left side symbolizes the heart's pain. She couldn't help but view this door between them in the same way, so different and yet it perfectly described her dilemma.
To open it would be to open her heart.
To let him in would tear down the only barrier between them.
To show him her tears would be…
With a trembling hand, she reached up and unbolted the lock.
-end.