TITLE: An Escape to the Desert
AUTHOR: Chauncey10 aka MSCSIFANGSR
PROMPT: Category: Earth. Prompt: Taurus.
PAIRING(S): GLH, G/C friendship, GSR
RATING: Mature, not smutty, just highly sexual at times.
WORD COUNT: close to 5400
SUMMARY: Grissom goes stargazing and attempts to sort his thoughts and feelings.
DISCLAIMER: I'm just playing with them.
WARNING: If a Grissom/Lady Heather sexual relationship bothers you, then skip this story.
SPOILERS: This three days post-episode "Lady Heather's Box" and is a little AU, but then we don't know for sure, do we? Slight spoiler for "Blood Lust". The only canon I followed is up until LHB.
THANKS: Without the following people, this fic could not have been written: To Giwu for the marvelous beta and suggestions, YOU ROCK! To JellyBeanChiChi and BeckyCSI for the last minute read throughs; To Ricker23 who went above and beyond the call of duty in the help she provided; To VelocityofSound for her encouraging words after reading the original rough draft and saying the premise of this story wasn't crap. And the chat room attendees of the GFPowerHour. Thanks everyone.
NOTE: I have been uncharacteristically nervous about this story; so any feedback is welcomed.
CSIGSRCSIGSRCSIGSRCSIGSRCSIGSR
Sunday, February 16, 2003, approximately 2:30 a.m.
Grissom stared into the night sky as he stood alone in the desert, surrounded by darkness. He could see the outline of the mountains before him and all around him he noticed the flat stretch of desert was illuminated by the moon.
A slight cool breeze ruffled through his hair and around his pants legs, sending a chill up his left calf. He shivered.
In the distance he could hear the sound of a coyote howling at the full moon. Grissom smiled at the analogy of the symbol of the American West. He had always wanted to be a cowboy, he'd grown up on fascinating tales of the West and cowboys had always been his heroes; although with age, his appreciation of the Native American had grown stronger.
He emitted a slight sound that could have been construed as laughter, if someone would have heard him, as he imagined himself riding a horse as he herded cattle. He heard the loud pitched yodel of the coyote again as his thoughts were torn away from his favorite daydream when he'd been a child.
Hmm, a coyote's Latin name is 'Canis Latrans', which literally meant 'barking dog'. The sound that the coyote makes when barking is two short barks followed by a long wavering yodel.
Grissom wished he could capture a photograph of the lone coyote, shaded against the mountains and the moonlight. He knew he didn't have his wide angle zoom lens for his favorite personal Nikon F-2 SLR camera in his camera kit and the sound was within a four to five mile radius of where he stood, but too far in the distance for him to actually see the animal unless of course, he went back to the car to get his binoculars, which also shared the brand name of Nikon. He had an affinity for that particular brand. It was the best money could buy. And he had always preferred the best in everything.
He decided against getting the binoculars, because he felt rooted to the spot as he looked heavenward. He stood still as a statue as the minutes flew by in the blink of an eye. He had journeyed away from the city to escape the bright lights and noise, and found darkness and quiet here in the desert. But his mind whirled, as the particals of sand that were being scattered by the cold wind of the night; his mind adrift, offering no solace in the silence of this night.
He located several major star constellations with his naked eye, naming them as he spotted them: Canis Major with Sirius shining brightly and Canis Minor, there slightly to the southeast of Orion.
He saw what appeared to be the Big Dipper, but since the 'International Astronomical Union' did not recognize that particular pattern of stars, he attempted to rename what he saw, but it was still the 'Big Dipper', because it was the popular belief, whether the name was officially identified or not.
He recalled, however, a Eugene Delaporte of the IAU had drawn up 88 different boundaries in the sky, which completely disregarded ancient astronomy.
He puzzled over why people tried to place barriers and restrictions on things they could not control.
Grissom again heard the call of the coyote which reminded him of the Navajo story of creation: the Holy Persons placed the stars in the sky and plants on earth in an ordered way, but the tricky coyote came along and scattered all that they had created, thus the coyotes created the topsy-turvy world of today.
The howl faded immediately; Grissom listened for an answering call from another coyote, but he didn't hear a thing. His hearing was slowly disappearing, it was possible the animal hadn't received an answer, but still Grissom doubted his hearing skills. I'm not thinking about my deteriorating auditory skills, not tonight.
He squinted as he faced the northern sky. He wondered if the Alpha Tau star would be visible from his vantage point, he finally decided he did, in fact, need his binoculars from the Mercedes. He wished he'd thought to bring his telescope, as it would be an excellent time to try to find the double stars of the Lynx system but that had not occurred to him before he had hastily left his quietly oppressive townhouse on his only night off this week.
He needed to relax; stargazing tended to relax him. Therefore he hoped his journey to the middle of nowhere on this cold night would help him achieve that goal.
As he walked back to his Mercedes, something sparkled on the ground as his flashlight covered the area. This part of the desert north of the city limits was remote, although Grissom knew many people liked to view this area for the mountainous backdrop, he didn't think many of those people littered, because of their environmentalist attitudes.
But then he didn't put much stock in the differences between people's actions versus their beliefs. He'd seen too much in his job and jaded was probably a good word to describe him, but he didn't necessarily believe that he was, but Damn, I came out here to relax, not think.
He bent down to retrieve the shiny circular object: it was an unmarked compact disk. Gil concluded immediately that someone more than likely has lost this disk as compared to simply discarding it. He inspected the disk with his handy maglite and noticed there were not too many scratches on the bottom surface so he decided to take it with him and check it out on the CD player in the car.
He automatically hit the unlock buttons on the vehicle, even though he knew there wasn't another person within miles of his location. The interior lights came on and the horn beeped. Gil put the key into the ignition and slipped the disk in the stereo. Immediately, he noticed there was no sound. As he adjusted the volume control, he heard the opening strains of "Moonlight Sonata" by Beethoven.
The soft piano music filled the interior of the car and Grissom pictured the last time he'd heard this particular piece of music:
Heather was in his arms.
They were dancing at one of the elite clubs in the newest casino in Las Vegas which catered to discreet couples who wished for privacy. Each of the club rooms were exclusive; each had a full bar, bartender, and waitress; and each room had a dance floor with an excellent sound system that played only pre-selected music the clients had chosen in advance when they made the reservation. And reservations were HARD to come by.
But, unsurprisingly, Heather had known the right people, so it wasn't difficult for her to set up their date almost without advance notice.
They had arrived, sat down at their table, ordered drinks and when the music began, Grissom reached across the small, intimate table to take Heather's hand. He stood and led her to the dance floor.
Heather was in his arms, swaying to the gentle music. His lips found his favorite spot, just below her right ear, and he nuzzled there until the piano music stopped.
That was a good memory. He had more of the two of them together sharing those kinds of intimate moments, but not many more. He knew he didn't love her per se, but Heather did get his juices flowing, as it were.
Gil Grissom knew himself and knew without a doubt that Heather Kessler only served as proxy for the woman he did care about; the problem was he could not face the fact he loved someone so far out of his grasp, but yet so close he could touch and brush against her at will.
He knew the situation wasn't optimal, so he took from Heather what he could. She didn't appear to mind.
They had dated intermittently for fifteen months, since he first met her. Only two months before, they were on a date and he'd dressed in black leather to compliment her, but he was called away, unexpectedly, to a grisly crime scene where a foreign born cab driver had lost a disastrous battle with a mob.
Heather was not disappointed when he left her abruptly, she merely made a quick cell phone call and soon another man took his place at the restaurant. She had never charged him for their time together, whether in coitus or in their implied, but never specified, relationship, but sometimes he felt saddened by their experiences, nonetheless.
And yet, somehow, he had still managed to screw their relationship into knots. He knew he had done the right thing three days ago. He had done what the evidence told him, it was the credo by which he lived, but what he didn't understand was why after she was effectively cleared from any wrong doing, that she still wouldn't take his calls or his company.
He remembered that morning:
Heather answered his question, "Mm-hmm, a few weeks ago. Oh, it's a fascinating instrument; would you like to see it?"
Gil hesitated, "Yes, I would ... "She lifted her tea cup and blew on it. The implications of her words began to sink into his brain. "... But I'm afraid I'll need a warrant." His voice breaking somewhat.
She stopped mid-sip and lifted her head, looking at him, wondering what was going on.
"Excuse me." Grissom stood up and took out his cell phone. He quickly punched in the numbers and spoke into the mouth piece: "It's Grissom. I need you to write paper on Lady Heather's medical paraphernalia -- specifically, an insulin kit and syringes." He paused, listened for a moment and then continued, "I'm already there. I'll wait."
He put his phone away, back into his pocket. He was unwilling to meet her gaze, he felt her eyes upon him, so he took a deep breath and met her stare unwaveringly.
Heather looked Grissom in the eye and said, "I think I just heard you say 'stop'."
He missed Heather. Then again, maybe it was just the warmth of her body close to his, either dancing or as their bodies were pressed together in a lascivious manner after sex. Not that he held her on a daily basis, or even shared a bout of enthusiastic, callisthenic sex on weekly basis but he did have that option if he had so chosen. But that didn't matter anymore, because he knew he would never hold her in his arms in any manner again.
And it had all been his fault, if only she would allow him back into her life, but he knew better. She wouldn't allow it and if he were honest with himself, neither would he.
He turned the key into the off position, effectively killing the music, but the pinging alert sounded to remind him his door was open and his key was still in the ignition. He pulled the keys out and let out a deep breath. The past few days had been very hectic at work and in his personal life.
He remembered Catherine's façade as she plotted through their case of the deaths of Trey Buchman and Croix Richards trying to work even though she had rescued her daughter from an almost submerged car and soon her ex-husband's dead body was found in a storm drain near the wrecked car.
Catherine had demonstrated inappropriate behavior in the questioning of the woman who was a possible suspect in Eddie's death, but prodded through her own case without purpose. Grissom knew, in retrospect, he should have ordered Catherine to go home, but also understood that she would have never followed his orders.
He felt he should try to feel some sort of sympathy for her loss, but Eddie had been a bastard. A lying, cheating bastard at that. He had seen too many things with his own eyes to merely rely on Catherine's many wild tales of her ex-husband. Grissom wasn't sorry that Eddie Willows was dead, and it didn't particularly bother him that his team wasn't able to solve the mystery of who killed Eddie Willows.
Catherine definitely held a grudge against the lead CSI on the case, but after reviewing the paperwork, Grissom couldn't fault her in her findings. He never could. The evidence was solid. And she did her best on the case. She always felt she needed to please him. Oh, she can please me anytime. He shook his head to clear that thought.
Stop it, he told himself. First thoughts of Heather, then of…, hell, I can't even think her name without becoming a sap. Stop thinking. Go back to star gazing. It will calm you.
He remembered why he'd come to the Mercedes in the first place: binoculars. He bent under the dashboard and flipped the release. He got out, slammed the door and made his way to the trunk, rummaged through the plastic container he kept there for them. He picked up a blanket; too, thinking it would be a good idea not to get sand all over his clothing.
Grissom walked back to where he'd stood earlier in the evening, spread out the blanket, sat, then lay down looking up into the night sky through the expensive Nikon lens. He looked toward the northern horizon and saw the Alpha Taurus Star, Aldebaran, which was the largest star in the Taurus constellation, which was the thirteenth brightest star in the sky on this February night.
As he stared through the binoculars, his mind once again was filled with a vision of Heather as he held her face gently within his hands.
Damn it, he thought as a cloud obscured the star for a moment.
Another flash of Heather, this time of her husky voice on the telephone as he sat in his truck in the rain outside her establishment only days ago.
"Mr. Grissom, it is important for me to inform you that you are not welcome at the Dominion nor in my home and nor are your phone calls. Please discontinue all efforts to contact me. You were the one who said stop."
He remembered the solitary sound of the dial tone after she'd hung up. He remembered the windshield wipers marking time against the glass and the steady beat of the rain as he drove away from her.
He'd found himself lost, adrift, in those last few moments they had shared together before he'd uttered the unspoken word where the submissive held the power in the struggle between wills.
Her sleek nude body, sweating, sliding gracefully down his own as they moved together as one. He was buried deep inside her, as she moved stealthily above him. Seeking her own pleasure, she reached for the headboard for support and rode him, hard. The long brown hair masked her face as the tightening of her vaginal muscles could be felt along the surface of his dick, willing him to surrender to the pleasure of their coupling.
Stop it! He willed his unconscious.
Grissom heard the yodel of the coyote again over the sound of the breeze in the night air as his daydreaming quelled from where he wished it hadn't been. He refocused the lenses and looked to the mountains which appeared to be about four miles from his vantage point. He performed a grid check over the rocks and finally saw a faint outline of a four-legged animal sniffing the ground. The gray coyote looked to be about 20 to 25 pounds in weight and approximately 30 inches in height. From this distance, Grissom could not tell if the animal was male or female, but he did think the animal was rather beautiful in the wild.
He smiled, as he raised the glasses to the sky again. He let the memories unfold instead of suppressing them.
He'd asked Heather to wear her hair up in a ponytail and to dress casually for their first date. They were merely going to be spending some quality time together, to get to know one another, to talk. When he saw her, he saw his fantasy; he saw the young woman who had been banished from his thoughts on all ways but work related. The entire time they were together that evening, Grissom sported an erection. Heather noticed, but was smart enough not to call attention to the fact. That night was the second time he and Heather had sex. Grissom had inadvertently called Heather another name as his seed spilled inside her.
As they lay entwined after the fact, Heather appeared unfazed when he attempted to apologize for his slip.
"It doesn't matter the name you uttered; it was merely your unconscious voicing it's desire in this suspended reality in which we have just shared," she had said as she lazily stretched her beautifully proportioned arms out for support as she rolled from the bed to slip on her silky Japanese geisha - inspired robe. She had left the room leaving him in a flutter of thoughts of an 'anthocharis' butterfly, commonly known as the Pacific Orangetip.
Stop it, Goddamnit. NOW!
He adjusted his sights a bit and found the area of the star-littered night that fascinated him for some reason tonight and took in the Hayades cluster, which comprised the entire face of the bull, which lead to the constellation's name of Taurus.
He let his mind wander to the ancient Greeks: they had believed Taurus the bull was Zeus in disguise. The story was that Zeus had fallen in love with Europa who was the daughter of the King of Phoenicia. One day while she had been playing at the water's edge, Europa had been surprised by the appearance of a wondrous white bull in her father's herd. She made her way to the bull to see the bull up close. He was a perfect specimen. As she approached, the bull knelt down and allowed her to climb on his back. The bull spirited her away to the sea in Crete and Zeus made her his mistress.
In Grissom's mind, the image of Europa as a young woman was interchangeable with the woman he who held the keys to his heart. The image of the fresh-faced brunette flashed, against his will, of her naked and breathless beneath him as he claimed her as his mistress.
Grissom laid the binoculars on the blanket beside him and sighed. It was useless. He couldn't relax.
"Hmm, more of Greek mythology: Prometheus was a titan know for his wily intelligence, who stole fire from Zeus and gave it to the morals to use. Not unlike the coyote legends: who are often portrayed as tricksters, cunning, opportunistic or even as cultural heroes. The usually wild dog like animal was known for his ability to survive in times of peril. Coyotes are an unprotected species here in Nevada. Wild coyotes eat rabbits, rodents, lizards, and almost any type of insect or vegetable he may be predisposed to devour. Their scat was often easy to recognize because it looked like hairy gray dog droppings, and the indigestible parts of bones, seeds, fur or even feathers the animal may have consumed."
His thoughts tapered off and eased for a few moments as he shut his eyes, resting them. Almost at the point of sleep, the unintended recollection of Eddie's casket being lowered into the ground as Catherine and Lindsey stood together stoically, dressed in black, from earlier that morning, flashed through his brain.
The woman, Candeece had made bail and shown up for Eddie's funeral. At least she'd had good sense to remain on the periphery of the whole affair. Her pink hair stood out in the gray morning.
Catherine had turned to him with traces of dried tears down her cheeks. Lindsey had ran into her grandmother Lily Flynn's embrace; burying her face in the older woman's skirt as Catherine spoke to Grissom.
"Do you see that slut over there?" She motioned with the back of her hand. Grissom had nodded, "She endangered my child, yet she's walking the streets. She may have murdered Eddie, yet she's still walking the streets. Life is not fair."
"Yeah, I know." He watched the brunette as she walked with Nick Stokes toward his vehicle. They had come together to the funeral. They were friends, they did things outside of work. She and Nick could be friends; Grissom and the woman could not.
Grissom had kissed her before she had moved to Las Vegas, but nothing more had ever happened between them since, other than a few sexually charged moments when he knew she wanted more than his position at their place of employment allowed.
He easily recalled the second time he had met the young CSI, fully fifteen years his junior.
He had been called to the San Francisco Crime Lab on a entomological consult.
All he remembered about his time there was the case had closed with his insect analysis of some pesky beetles and the young CSI, who had been in charge of the murder-suicide, who had invited him to dinner, the two of them alone in her loft apartment; it was wonderful, those few unlimited sexually charged hours spent on her couch, before he had to return to Vegas.
We had danced the fine line between what was sex and what was merely foreplay, but neither of us had removed any our clothing but both of us had achieved a climatic experience from the encounter. Bare skin had never met the other's bare skin, but I'll never forget anything that happened that night. To my dying day, I'll remember how she felt pressed against her couch and my body, perfection; we fit together perfectly. The kisses were electric; caresses through clothes were fervent; her scent: pure Earth.
BUT all of that had been well before we worked together in Las Vegas. Now, it wasn't possible.
No, life wasn't fair.
He knew what he had to do; he knew what he should do; what he could do, but he felt as if he were inertia itself waiting for a force to act against him. He really didn't know what to do about any of it.
All of this brooding is getting me nowhere. He thought to himself, as he again attempted to clear his mind completely of all thoughts. It worked for a couple of minutes, anyway.
Grissom was merely star gazing again without the use of the binoculars as he lay on the blanket on the cold ground. Delaporte came into his mind again.
Why place restrictions on things you cannot control?
Gil knew he could no more control the world around him, but he did crave control in his own life. He could control his experiments with insects, they were predictable. Then he wondered why he couldn't control more things in his life. But he didn't have dominance over his own feelings and desires and contemplated the reason why he tried so very hard to fight something that was so out of his control.
He lay there for a long time, thinking of nothing, thinking of everything before the right thing suddenly occurred to him, the force had finally ignited a spark within him. The force? The gray coyote.
The coyote had barked again at what Grissom had assumed was the full moon, however when he located the gray desert wolf, with his long range lens, Gil noticed for the first time the coyote was not alone. There was a rout of coyotes: the gray he'd spotted earlier was the biggest of the five animals, so Grissom assumed he was the alpha male. The slightly smaller, reddish female apparently digging a den. He realized the two animals were mates. There were three smaller versions of the gray and the red, curled together in sleep, but they appeared not to have yet reached full maturity.
He watched with his binoculars as the gray mounted to the red. He knew he should turn away and he lowered the lenses.
Female coyotes came in heat late January to late March, it is the right time of year for what they were doing.
Other thoughts filled his imagination: coyotes mate for life; they are primarily nocturnal; and although, as he remembered from the first time he'd heard the animal tonight, the lone coyote howling at the full moon may have been a symbol of the American West, the reality was coyotes weren't solitary animals.
He compared himself to the animals in question: he was nocturnal, as was the woman he refused to acknowledge, she was the only one who shared in his all of his interests; there was really no reason for either of them to lead such solitary lives, such as they did; and maybe, just maybe, the two of them could mate for life.
He picked up the glasses to check if they were finished. He stared into the binoculars as the gray alpha male stared right back at him: smiling? My God, I'm losing my mind.
Grissom knew on one level that it was his imagination, but on a deeper emotional level, the depths of which he had never bothered to explored within himself, it seemed the coyote was smiling at him, attempting to communicate to Grissom the intrinsic truth of his revelation that it would be perfectly okay to be with the one he loved, no one would find out; they were secretive, it could work between them, if only he tried. And the coyote told him it was okay.
He'd had an epiphany while locked in a gaze with a animal. I'm definitely losing my mind, but what if...a vision of the future with a wife and three adorable children, a house. Of him teaching; of coming home at night to share a bed with a beautiful brown eyed girl; of spending the rest of their lives, happy together. I can do this.
His head nodded, affirming the male coyotes' almost psychic connection to him and almost immediately, the weight of the world he'd carried around for such a long time was suddenly lifted.
He felt young and energetic, ready to take on the world or one woman in particular, so he gathered up the binoculars, taking one last look at the animal that had disappeared behind the female, blending into the landscape.
Grissom shook the blanket out after he picked it off of the ground, letting the particles of sand stream in the night air as illuminated by full moon.
His thoughts were wonderfully clear as he opened the trunk and replaced the items he'd taken out earlier.
When he started his fine German engineered car, the music from the CD filled his ears. The selection changed to another one he recognized: 'Pavane for a Dead Princess' by Maurice Ravel. He followed the piano music as if it were a well-loved-book, that he had read time after time. The heroine of the piece was only one woman and was named somewhat appropriately.
The Mercedes finally reached the main highway and as Grissom turned to the left back toward Vegas. The whole audio disk was comprised of classical piano music which comforted him as he drove back into the city. He knew where he was headed.
To her, of course. Somehow he would make things right.
Daylight began to appear behind him and he noticed the streams of bright orange light through the purple clouds. The sun appeared as a huge ball on the horizon as he watched the dawn of a new day in his rear-view window. He was excited, nearly bursting at his seams. He hoped he would say and do the right thing, for once, in regard to the woman he now knew he loved beyond a shadow of a doubt.
He made good time to her place. He parked the car, took a deep breath and jogged up the two flights of stairs to her apartment.
He studied the dark brown door: the dust that had collected in the joints; the fibers of a cheap paint brush with bristles that were clinched and embedded in the dried paint; what lay beyond the door fascinated him, but terrified him. He looked for a doorbell, but could find no traces of one. Uncertain, he finally simply knocked.
As the long seconds turned into minutes, Grissom almost lost his resolve twice and turned and walked away before she had time to answer. But he persevered and waited impatiently fidgeting with the lapel on his coat, because he knew it was right, this time it was the right time.
When she opened the door through the restraint of a chain, his mouth was open, he looked rather obtuse. She smiled as he closed his lips. She closed the door and then opened the door again, the only barrier between them was her door.
They stood there in the doorway for a long time, staring at the other.
His mind screamed her name over and over. He could only smile at her.
She eyed him speculatively, standing in her doorway. He could tell she was struggling for an answer as to why he had appeared on her doorstep. Her body language was tight, constrained. Her hair was up in a loose ponytail and she was wearing only a over-sized red San Francisco 49er's football jersey, bearing the white number '80'. Gil noticed her bare feet and legs, as he lazily allowed his gaze to wander up the length to her thighs; caressing them in his mind.
God, she is so beautiful. Those legs go on for days. I can't even speak; my tongue is tied. God in the heavens above, please allow the words that come out of my mouth to not make me sound like an idiot to her. Amen. Most holy apostle, St. Jude, please intercede for me in that my wish may be granted. Amen
His voice was close to a whisper when he quoted Victor Hugo: "What I feel for you seems less of earth and more of a cloudless heaven."
She wordlessly allowed him inside.
"Sara," he finally allowed her name to escape his lips as he pulled her body close to his once again, as her head cradled against his shoulder, his nose buried in the silkiness of her hair.
It was the beginning.
THE END