Title: Mettle
By: Manigault
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. If they were there would be no Hank and no LH. They belong to CBS, Atlantic-Alliance, and Anthony Zuicker. The dialogue is not mine. Belongs to the writers G.
Spoilers: OHW
Category: This is G/S angst.
Side note: Very short. Possibly a drabble? Not sure, but it made me feel better and R & R would be much appreciated.
He saw her enter the locker room and waited, impatient for her to emerge. Thirty minutes elapsed and his concern for her emotional state increased. Of course he knew the outcome of the case she had reopened and could only wonder at the way she was handling the results. He was proud of her for discovering the truth and facing it with the strong convictions that made her so special to him.
He frowned at himself, quickly denied that she held a significant part of his life in her hands, and then reminded himself that she had betrayed him. He frowned again, questioning his own right to believe that she had done anything to him, much less betrayed him.
These thoughts echoed in his steps as he walked along the hallway and then stepped inside the locker room to find her sitting on the bench, lost in contemplation, but otherwise in apparent control. Refusing to admit his reason for visiting the locker room, he turned to the shelves of books and stared at the titles without seeing the words.
Sara never looked up when he entered the room. Instead, she began to speak with words that snuck quickly through his damaged stapes and reached into his heart.
"I never think that." He replied.
"Ever?" The question was so direct, her voice so challenging. Their eyes locked and he looked quickly down. She could read so much in his eyes and he could never lie to her when she was staring at him with such perception.
He had to escape from this room. Air was beginning to seep from his lungs and the urge to walk to her, stoop in front of her or straddle the bench beside her and take her hands in his own made it impossible for him to remain.
Distance. He needed distance and a distraction. An outside distraction away from this place. Away from Sara.
"The best intentions are fraught with disappointment." He managed to speak, relieved that his voice was strong and confident.
"Emerson?"
"Grissom."
A long look and he stepped away, leaving the door ajar.
TBC?
By: Manigault
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine. If they were there would be no Hank and no LH. They belong to CBS, Atlantic-Alliance, and Anthony Zuicker. The dialogue is not mine. Belongs to the writers G.
Spoilers: OHW
Category: This is G/S angst.
Side note: Very short. Possibly a drabble? Not sure, but it made me feel better and R & R would be much appreciated.
He saw her enter the locker room and waited, impatient for her to emerge. Thirty minutes elapsed and his concern for her emotional state increased. Of course he knew the outcome of the case she had reopened and could only wonder at the way she was handling the results. He was proud of her for discovering the truth and facing it with the strong convictions that made her so special to him.
He frowned at himself, quickly denied that she held a significant part of his life in her hands, and then reminded himself that she had betrayed him. He frowned again, questioning his own right to believe that she had done anything to him, much less betrayed him.
These thoughts echoed in his steps as he walked along the hallway and then stepped inside the locker room to find her sitting on the bench, lost in contemplation, but otherwise in apparent control. Refusing to admit his reason for visiting the locker room, he turned to the shelves of books and stared at the titles without seeing the words.
Sara never looked up when he entered the room. Instead, she began to speak with words that snuck quickly through his damaged stapes and reached into his heart.
"I never think that." He replied.
"Ever?" The question was so direct, her voice so challenging. Their eyes locked and he looked quickly down. She could read so much in his eyes and he could never lie to her when she was staring at him with such perception.
He had to escape from this room. Air was beginning to seep from his lungs and the urge to walk to her, stoop in front of her or straddle the bench beside her and take her hands in his own made it impossible for him to remain.
Distance. He needed distance and a distraction. An outside distraction away from this place. Away from Sara.
"The best intentions are fraught with disappointment." He managed to speak, relieved that his voice was strong and confident.
"Emerson?"
"Grissom."
A long look and he stepped away, leaving the door ajar.
TBC?