Author's Notes: There is a dialogue section that I've written but it's mostly without narration. I'm not sure if it works as I'd like it to. I'm not quite sure if the sentiments get through well enough.
Too Much Sometimes
By Anansay
September 27, 2003
The look of utter shock, morphing into dismay and finally settling into morose resignation tore at her heart. She longed to go to him, touch his face, wipe away the pain. But her feet wouldn't move. She was rooted to the spot by the one emotion that remained throughout: hurt. He was hurt, and it was because of her. She had caused it, which in any other situation would warrant the necessity of the easing of it but in this situation she feared it would only do more harm than good.
So she kept her distance. She stayed where she was, staring at the man as he sat in his chair, leaning back, eyes staring aimlessly at nothing. Did he even know she was still there? Did he care?
With a resigned sigh and a heavy heart, she turned from his office, her feet finally taking her away, to leave him alone in his pain.
Fighting her own tears, she made her way to the cloak room. She needed to leave. She needed to get away before she caused any more pain. Donning her coat, she left the room and headed for her car. As she was just stepping in, she saw Grissom standing by his car, staring at her. His hand rested on the hood, shoulders slumped pulling his body forward. His eyes bore into hers, their blueness capturing hers even from that distance. He was staring at her with question in his eyes. Why? they asked.
Her lips moved. She wanted to say something. He seemed to want her to say something. But there were no words that could adequately convey her remorse. She turned her back on him and got into her car, resolutely avoiding his eyes. There was nothing more she could do. She'd done enough. She left.
Grissom watched her leave, his heart heavy in his chest. His hand shook as he brought it down. The door fought him a minute before he latched onto it and it opened. The gaping loneliness of the car only reminded him of his own pain and he sighed as he got in and shut the door behind him. The vacuum that was his life was never more potent than it was then, alone, in his car, in the silence.
In no time it was deadened, pushed aside and suppressed once again until there was nothing left but a composed shell of a man, eyes glazed over. He appeared, for all intents and purposes, as a man in quiet repose, going home after work. No one saw his hand shake as it fought to find the keyhole. No one saw the chest jerk and heave in a silent sob beneath his loose jacket. No one heard the tremulous sigh that escaped his lips as he pulled out and turned onto the speedway. No one knew anything but what their eyes told them. And Gil Grissom fought hard to keep his visible persona as a quiet, socially inapt scientist. It worked. He was left alone.
Other hands shook as they tried to fit the key into a lock. The keys dropped from Sara's fingers and she let out a silent curse before bending to pick them up, wiping at her face with her other hand. Taking a deep breath, she steadied her hand and finally fitted the key into the lock, and opened the door to her apartment. The silent darkness welcomed her, enveloping her with its solitude. Keys were dropped on a nearby table and her case was left by the door. Shoes kicked off, jacket dropped to the floor, she flung herself down on her couch, head back against the cushions. She closed her eyes and took a breath that shook her body. Her hands clenched at her sides, grabbing the material from the couch in its grasp.
It was too much, she could still see his face in her mind, still hear the awful silence that had followed her words. Throughout the drive home, that image haunted her sight and it was a wonder she made it home in one piece. She couldn't remember stopping or making turns. The sanctuary of her home pulled her along recklessly and she had given in, pressing her foot to the floor of the car and pushing the car forward, weaving in and out of traffic, narrowly missing being hit a few times. But it was all in a fog in her brain.
It was too much. She rose and went to the kitchen and pulled out a beer from the fridge, capped it and took a long swig, her throat bobbing with each gulp. When the bottle was finally slammed onto the counter, over half the liquid was gone and her head started swimming. She braced herself against the counter and when things had settled, drank a bit more before heading back to the couch, a second bottle in her other hand.
The first bottle disappeared quickly, but she nursed the second one, savouring its mordant after taste. The television offered no reprieve from the agony swirling in her heart, disjointed voices only adding to the overall feeling of utter dejection that flowed over and inside her body. The pictures blurred as the second bottle clunked hollowly on her end table.
The room tipped precariously as she jumped to her feet on her way to the kitchen and she reached for the wall to steady herself. A third beer in hand, she fell back into to dip in the couch. Her eyes roamed around the living room, picking out the tiny details that made up the room as per Sara's taste at the time. Various photographs adorned the walls and surfaces, photographs of her parents and some of her friends from college. A bookshelf of books acquired from school. Non-descript furniture in dark colours. Put-it-together-yourself furniture from catalogues. Dark walls. Darkness. There were no messages on her answering machine. The only mail were bills and credit card offers. She couldn't remember ever entertaining in her place of residence. And suddenly, she felt as though she were sitting in someone else's living room. The inimical atmosphere of her home hit her with a breath-stealing pounding in her head.
She was alone. Totally alone. Her word had dominated her life to the point of suffocating everything else away. She stared at the fourth beer in her hand like it was something that had simply appeared there. She placed it on the end table, regarding it dubiously.
The jarring ringing of her personal phone made her jump, her heart pound in her chest. She lunged for it, "What?"
"Sara?" came Nick's voice.
"Nick?" She heard the slur in her own voice and winced.
"Sara, are you okay?"
She shut her eyes tight. "I'm fine. Why?"
"Well, you left HQ like a bat out of hell. I called you but you didn't turn around. Something happen?"
Only the worst possible thing.
"Uh, no. Nothing. I, uh, just wanted to get home, that's all.""You sure?"
"Yes, Nicky. I'm fine. I'll see you at work tonight. Bye." She hung up before he could say anything else, before she could break down on the phone with him. No more words, no more talking. Not anymore.
She closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the couch. Once again, Grissom's face appeared in her mind, his eyes piercing hers, his pain boring into her. She let it come, let the image become stable and clear. His eyes, so blue, so richly blue sometimes she wondered just how a man could have such blue eyes.
His lips, that small pink mouth, she had so many times imagined what it might feel like against her own, what he might taste like. Would it be a soft, gentle brushing of lips, or a demanding, passionate crushing of mouths?
His shoulders, those hard round shelves where she could rest her head after a weary shift of dead people and piles of evidence. Could they support her?
And his arms. Around her, holding her to him, the hands caressing her skin, causing shivers to run rampant along her body and the shivers drawing her to him ever closer.
She could smell him, his own personal scent that always made her become so aware of him, even if he was just walking by a room.
His eyes came into focus again and their intensity made her body come alive with emotion. She wanted to touch him. To feel his skin against hers, to feel his heat singeing her skin. She wanted to feel his passion, his body heaving against hers.
He was sitting in his office chair, desk cluttered with piles of papers. Pen in hand, his other was rifling through the papers, the pen scratching on this one, than that one, before the paper was summarily discarded in what looked like a completed pile of papers perched precariously on the corner of his desk. His glasses sat on the tip of his nose as he stared down through them, his eyebrows making what seemed to be a permanent home in his hair. The attention he was giving these papers made a small smile grace Sara's face. It never ceased to amaze her how much intensity there was in this man.
"Grissom?"
Only his eyes moved as they gazed at her over the rim of his glasses. Cool eyes that struggled to hide the passion steeping just beneath. "Yes?"
She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, crossed and uncrossed her arms, clasping her hands and then folding her arms again.
"Sara? What is it?"
She bit the inside of her cheek, an slim attempt at keeping the flow of words down to a minimum. "I can't wait anymore."
The pen slowly left his hand and he sat back in his chair, never taking his eyes off her. He stared at her a moment and then took the glasses off and placed them with minute precision on his desk. "What do you mean?"
"I can't wait anymore. I want to transfer. I want to leave."
Nothing changed, nothing overtly. Anyone else seeing it would have seen only a stone face devoid of emotion. But Sara saw it. Sara saw the way his jaw dropped, even though his lips remained sealed. Sara saw the colour drain from his face. Sara saw the blue of his eyes turn a cold pale shade of ice. Sara saw the pain in him but it had to be done.
"Wh-what do you mean?" he said, his voice so quiet she barely heard him.
She reached behind her and closed the door, and took a few steps into his office. "I want to leave. I can't work with you anymore. I just I can't."
"Sara"
"No. No more games, Grissom. I made a mistake. I misjudged a situation. I can't work here anymore. I can't work with
you anymore. It, uh, it hurts too much."And yet she could see, as plain as day, the hurt in his own eyes. But it was a hurt that a little voice inside her told her he deserved, even though her heart screamed at her that she was a fool.
He dropped his hands to his lap and continued staring at her. And then something seemed to shift in him and he rose, taking his eyes off her and pulled a sheet of paper from a drawer. He scribbled something on it, stared at it a moment and then handed it to her, the paper shaking in his hand.
The writing was too small and the shaking too much for her to read it upside down. She took it from his hand and read it.
Letter of Recommendation for Sara Sidle."I had a feeling it would come to this," he said, his voice still so quiet.
She let her hand fall to the side, the rippling of the paper the only sound in his office. "You knew?"
"I knew I couldn't keep you here forever."
She stared at him, his words like daggers to her heart. "You didn't even try," she whispered.
He stared at her, his eyes hard as he tried to understand her words. "Good luck." His last words.
"Thanks." Hers. She stared at him a moment longer, waiting for maybe that elusive miracle to strike. But nothing happened. He just turned around and stared at a jar, giving her his back.
She left.
With a groan she leaned over and grabbed the phone again and dialed a number that her fingers had long since memorized. It rang, once. Twice. Three times. On the fourth ring she was just about the hang up, an empty hole growing in her heart when the ringing stopped and a clicking sound could be heard of the phone being picked up.
"Hello?"
His voice. That voice, that sweet velvety voice that washed over her like smooth nectar.
"Hello?" came the voice again, this time more impatient.
"Grissom," Sara said into the phone by way of greeting.
"Sara?"
She could hear the disbelief in his voice that she should have the gall to phone him. She swallowed hard and gripped the phone tightly against her chest, one hand covering the mouth piece as she tried to calm her beating heart. "Uh, yeah," she said, finally.
"Why are you calling me?" And there it was, what she knew would be there: the coldness. The wall of ice around his heart.
Sara looked around herself, like the answer would be among her belongings that were her furnishings. "Uh I, uh"
"Sara, I don't have time for this. I have to go."
"No!" She sat up. "I mean, uh please don't."
"Sara"
"Grissom. I'm sorry. I really am. I never wanted to hurt you." She heard a sigh on the other end. "I just I just, I don't know. You"
"I what?"
Sara fought to find the right words. You hurt me too. I'm scared. I want you. Please "I I don't know."
Another sigh. "You said your piece. You want to leave, that's fine. I hope you like the letter I wrote for you."
"When did you write it?"
"What?"
"When did you write that letter?"
"I - I wrote it a while back."
"Why?"
"What do you mean?"
"Can't you just answer a question?"
"Why did I write it? Because because I knew you'd need it."
"You knew I'd leave."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
She sighed. "Why did you know I'd leave?"
Silence. "Because Because I can't keep you around."
"What the devil is that supposed to mean?"
"I can't do it Sara. I can't do what you want me to do."
"Why not?"
Silence.
"Grissom? Why not? Why is it so hard? You've asked other people out before. Why is it so hard with me? If you don't like me, why did you flirt with me? Why give me all those signals?"
"I do like you." His soft had grown so soft even though hers had remained hard.
It was getting difficult to maintain her anger in the face of his tender tone. "Well?"
More silence. "I just"
"Just what?"
"I'm scared." He whispered the tremulous word as though it were a secret that should never have been told.
"What?"
"I'm scared, Sara. Okay? You heard me the first time."
"What are you afraid of?"
"Lot of things."
"Like what?"
"Hurting you. You hurting me."
"How could I hurt you?"
"Lots of ways."
"Name one."
"You'll leave. Just like you are now."
Sara felt the anger rise again. "I'm leaving right now because you didn't do anything! If you'd done something, you think I'd be leaving right now?"
"I don't know."
"Grissom!" she sighed. His lack of enthusiasm was beginning to drain her. "Damn you. Damn you for making me love you and then pushing me away."
"I didn't ma-- what did you say?"
"You heard me."
Silence. "I-I don't know what to say."
"Figures."
"God, Sara! What do you want from me?"
"Nothing. Not anymore. You've proven to me that you don't have what I want."
The roles were reversed; now it was his heavy, angry sigh the resounded across the phone lines. "Damn you!"
"Me?! Why me?"
"You know, you're not so innocent either!"
"What does that mean?"
"You know what I mean. Waltzing into work with those clothes, tight-fitting flashy tops, leaning into me, invading my personal space."
She huffed. "Oh please, Grissom. Like you never did anything yourself. 'Since I met you', what did that mean anyway?! Calling me 'honey'! Sending me a plant the last time I wanted to leave. Please! You're not so innocent either!"
There was not a sound from his end for such a long time that Sara wondered if he'd hung up. She turned down the sound on the television and listened carefully. Nothing. His silence was confusing. What was he thinking? What was he feeling? There wasn't an iota of a hint anywhere for her follow. She'd turned the tables on him and now he was silent, having retreated to the safety of his silent shell. "Grissom?"
"What."
"Oh. I thought you hung up."
"No."
"Oh."
"Why would I hang up?"
Sara blinked. "Because if we were face to face you would have turned around and walked away. Not much a stretch from that to hanging up."
"Sara"
"Why do you do that?!"
"Do what?"
"Say my name like you're so tired of me?"
"I'm not tired of you."
"Then what? What is it Grissom?"
"I am tired. I'm tired to trying to figure you out. You flirt with me and then you're seeing Hank."
"Hank. Yeah, you would bring him up. Hank and I were friends. That was all. Yeah, I liked him. Know why? Because he paid attention to me, he smiled at me, he wanted to be around me. Why wouldn't I like him? In his eyes, I was a woman. Something you obviously don't see in me."
"I know you're a woman."
"Then not the kind of woman for you then, is that it?"
"I don't know."
"Tell me Grissom, what do you know?"
"I know that I don't want you to leave."
"Why? So you can hurt me some more?"
"No."
"Why then?"
"Because I"
"You what?"
"Is it true what you said?"
"WHAT?! When?"
"Before."
"Before what?"
"Before. You said that I I made you love me."
Something shifted in the universe. A jarring sensation surrounded Sara and stole her breath. She swallowed around the lump in her throat. "Yes. I said that."
"Is it true?"
"That I love you?" Saying those words sounded so alien to her, and yet there were overtones of joy at finally being able to say them to him.
"Yes."
Sara bit her lip and prayed her heart could handle another blow. "Yes." She forced the air into her lungs, forced herself to continue breathing. There was not turning back now. Only forward.
"Please don't leave, Sara."
"I have to."
"Please don't."
"I can't stay."
"Sara, I need time."
"Time for what?"
Now she could hear his breathing. It sounded rough and trembling. "I"
"What?"
"I do feel things for you."
Another staggering shift in the continuum of life. "Things"
"Things."
"What kind of things."
He sighed. "Things that aren't really appropriate between supervisor and employee."
A curious flush swept over Sara. "Oh! Those kinds of 'things'."
"Yes."
"And that's wrong?"
"Well yes, it is."
"I see. Why?"
"You ask too many questions."
"I want to know why?"
"Because it is."
"Now you sound like a parent. Give me reasons."
"I can't."
"Try."
"I'm too old."
"Not good enough."
"Not good enough? Sure it is. By the time I'm sixty-five and ready for retirement, you'll be--"
"Forty five and wanting to retire. Next."
"I'm your boss."
"You show me where it's written that fraternization is strictly forbidden."
"It makes it uncomfortable in the workplace. For the sake of those we have to work with"
"...who've already figured it out and are fine with it."
"How do you know that?"
"You don't?"
"They know?"
"They've figured things out. Nick's figured out it. Catherine knows. Warrick sees it. Hell, even Greg knows! He's stopped bugging me."
"Oh."
"So, next."
He sighed again. Poor man, must be getting so out of breath, Sara thought.
"Diner?" Grissom said.
"Did you just say 'diner'?"
"Yes, I did."
"What about diner?"
"Do you still want to try it?"
The joy that bubbled up in Sara's chest was quickly squashed when she remembered her quitting. "What about this morning?"
"What about it?"
"I I don't know. It seems so long ago."
"Yes, it does. Like a dream."
"A dream. Yeah."
"So. Am I too late?"
"You like to keep that air of mystery around you, don't you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Waiting until the last minute?"
"Sometimes it takes me a while."
"Uh, a long while."
"But I do come around. In time."
"A damn long time."
"Tonight?"
"Tonight?!"
"Why not? You have something else planned?"
"Uh, no. It's just, so sudden."
"Why wait?"
"I don't know. Tonight then."
"Around sixish?"
"Sure. Sounds good." Sara fought to keep the grin from stretching her lips and distorting her speech. And somehow, Grissom's voice had changed too.
"Great. I'll, uh, pick you up."
Sara hung up the phone, the buzz from the beer all but gone from her system and replaced with a different kind of prickly feeling, one of hope.
~*~
Copyright © 2003 Anansay