Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.
Rating: It's well…T? Nothing graphic whatsoever.
Spoiler: The upcoming Loco Motives.
Summary: Angsty GSR ficlet.
A/N: Thanks to SBT. Poor SBT has listened to me vent for God knows how long. And this week was especially bad.
Smashing Nirvana
Live to the point of tears.
--Albert Camus
She listened to rap music. God awful, thuggish rap music. "Artists" with names like LL Cool J and Run DMC filled her CD collection, not to mention a band called The Smashing Pumpkins. Smashing pumpkins. How very mature. What was next? The Exploding Gourds? And Nirvana? Grissom doubted that the dirty-looking men on the CD jacket who sang songs titled "Lithium" and "Smells Like Teen Spirit" were as enlightened as The Buddha.
She railed against anything remotely conservative and did not speak to him for the whole of Election Day after finding out he voted for the Republican candidate for governor.
She liked the lights on during sex and was disturbingly comfortable with her nudity. The first time they did it at his house, she got up not five minutes after they were done to search his refrigerator for a bottle of water. Without clothes. It unnerved him. Here he was, making sure he had a robe on when he walked the ten feet from his bed to his bathroom, while she strode the length of the townhouse wearing nothing but skin.
And it was obvious she had more experience than he did. Oh, he still had the upper hand when it came to forensics, but in the bedroom, she left him in the dust. He hadn't touched a live naked woman in twelve years before Sara, and it showed. She was nothing but attentive in bed and the sex was of a caliber that he never thought existed, but he was the student and she was the teacher -- a role reversal that put Grissom in an uncomfortable position.
That she was sweet to him when he took control, that she gave her power up so easily to him, utterly confused him. She gave up the control to him so effortlessly. Why? Why, when he hoarded his victories over her for their entire acquaintance, had used his status to keep her in his life, where he wanted her? She didn't push back, didn't deprive him. It was illogical.
She worshiped Sudoku puzzles, a fad he could just not fathom. Obsessing over number boxes while a beautiful, pristine crossword puzzle lay untouched was something Grissom could not do. That parlor trick didn't hold a candle to the wealth of knowledge one needed to finish the Sunday crossword puzzle nestled in the thick of The New York Times.
They had ammo enough to last a lifetime of squabbles.
But --
He didn't have to explain to her what it was like to be ten years old and watch your classmates craft Father's Day gifts while you pretended to read a book. Or to be ostracized in high school because you didn't understand the teenage rituals that most everyone took part of -- to miss homecoming, to miss the prom. There were no "big games" for either of them, no senior pranks or tryouts for the school play. She already knew what it was like to be sixteen and starting college, feeling so alone -- in limbo between a world of children and a world of adults.
He didn't have to tell her what it was like to escort a parent into the morgue to ID the body of their missing child. She knew the raw pain, the anguish and helplessness of it.
She didn't blink whenever he got paged on their mutual night off, didn't complain when he took his work home with him.
And when that work became too much, when the need to run overwhelmed his need to stay…she understood.
The sight of Ernie Dell, gun to his head, blowing his brains out, pummeled Grissom's sense. He came home from a night out with Brass, his breath reeking of scotch. Sara said nothing, only helped him get out of his clothes. By the time he pulled off his socks, he realized the noise in the background was the shower. She led him to the bathroom, holding back the curtain so he could step into the tub.
She needed no words.
When he was done scrubbing off the horror of the case -- four dead bodies, chilling mini-models, ruined lives aplenty -- he peeled back the curtain, squinting in the fluorescent light at the oversized towel in her hands. He took it, and then the robe she offered. Stumbling as he stepped out of the tub, Grissom found purchase against the wall while Sara's hands steadied his right shoulder. His fingers were flush against the light switch. He flicked it, flooding the room in darkness.
She said nothing.
He felt his way to the toilet and sat down on the seat cover. "I need to leave."
Her breathing was soft, but he could hear it distinctly. "Okay."
Grissom reached out, blinding grabbing for Sara. His left index finger slipped through a belt loop in her jeans and he pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist with an iron grip and burying his face in her back. "I should marry you someday."
Her hands covered his and she stroked his fingers, letting him have his time because she knew it was what he needed.
"I'll be waiting."
THE END