Brandie beta'd this for me. Because she's awesome. And stuff like that. Yeah, just go with awesome.
He remembered her at the window.
An anonymous hotel room, overlooking the bay and she was sitting contentedly at the window, smoking. She watched him, taking slow drags from his cigarette, as he went as regards the task of packing for his flight home.
It had been a pleasant surprise, to find that she was attending the same conference as him. It had been a pleasant surprise to find that her hair had grown, and that she had left it curly, and that her hours in the sun had caused a light tan to tease her freckles into showing themselves.
She looked different. She looked good. She looked older.
Sara looked older and it was a relief to him. His heart had swelled at the sight of her, innocence still shaded around her eyes though she carried herself with more poise, more confidence. As a person, she had grown. Since he had last seen her, a year's time, she had turned into a criminalist and not a trainee, a colleague and not a student.
And suddenly Grissom didn't feel so inappropriate about finding her just a slight more attractive than any other woman he had met before.
Crisp button down shirts, slacks, boxers folded into perfect squares all went neatly into the suitcase, the latter causing him to nearly blush as he tucked them away quickly, aware of her eyes following his actions. But he was watching her too, surreptitiously. The way her eyes would stray and glance out at the water, the way she frowned after she released a puff of smoke, the way her hand trailed over a bare calf that was tucked up under her.
Sara in shorts and a tank top, twenty-five, caring just slightly less about the world thought of her, was in his hotel room, smoking, and the only thing he could think of was what he could do to keep her there. She hadn't said anything in nearly half an hour, having gone through two cigarettes and a cup of coffee, Sara just watched him, with a withering gaze.
Placing his last tie on top of the mass of clothing, he made to retreat to the bathroom, to gather his toiletries, but figures those could wait until the morning. The clothes he was wearing would suffice on the plane, and an extra white tee-shirt and pair of shorts was tucked in his shoulder bag, so he would have something comfortable to sleep in.
Sara flicked ashes off of the tenth-story, and gently snubbed out the last of her smoke on the sill. Tossing it, she bent to watch it fall all the way down. "Time's your flight, again?" she asked, standing, wiping her palms on her thighs.
"Eight thirty-five," his voice quiet; this high up from the city they could see the activity but none of the noise reached them.
She nodded patiently, as though she was waiting for herself to say something, but she simply stood, biting her lip, thumbs hooked into her rear pockets and she looked everywhere around the room, but not at him. "You want a lift? I'm not expected in until ten tomorrow."
It was a perfunctory offer, with a trace of sadness and regret tailing along behind it. He knew if she saw him off at the airport, there was no chance of putting her out of his mind. Grissom politely declined, "No, thank you, they've already arranged a bus service for me."
"Ah," was her response, brows lifting as though the notion surprised her.
It was awkward, but somehow right, standing there in San Francisco, just looking at her like it mattered that they were standing there in San Francisco justlooking at each other. Over her right shoulder, he could see the sun, its orange glow piercing into the room, illuminating her stray hairs, making her face look peach, like it was alive, like it was on fire.
He'd never really looked at a woman in the sun before; he was glad that his first experience was with her, glad that she had offered to see him back to his room, glad that her scent would remain for a few seconds after she left.
Sara turned and tucked her pack of Winston's into her purse, picking it up and slinging it over a shoulder. "I guess I should... get going." He simply nodded, ceded to her decision and tried very hard to hide the nerves that had suddenly overtaken his entire body.
She nodded; she walked to the door and followed, politely, wanting to see her out.
Wanting to see her...
At the threshold with the handle cool under her palm, she turned and with a smile that he knew to be forced, she said, "Hey, it was really good seeing you." And like that she leaned up quickly and brushed her lips over his stubbly cheek. Blushing, she pulled back and turned towards the door, hand pressing the handle down.
But then his hand was warm at the back of her neck, tickling and her head turned, eyes seeking his.
With a barely audible, ragged, "Sara," he kissed her, causing her hand to fall from the door.
When it 'clicked' closed, his tongue pressed against her lips and he was kissing her, holding her gently in the dying sun, overlooking the Pacific. When she sighed, he relinquished her, allowed herself a moment to compose herself and smile shyly at him.
With a purse of her lips and a dense swallow of the lump in her throat, she trailed a hand over his cheek. "Take care of yourself in Vegas, okay?" He would, he knew that she knew he would, but it was the polite thing to say, something one should say before leaving someone for an extended period of time.
Grissom nodded and leaned to open the door for her, "I will and..." It struck him then, that before they had run into each other at the conference, he wasn't' sure that he'd ever see her again. But he had, and he thought it something of a gift that she had accepted his offer for dinners and coffees and walks for the four days they had been in the city. And it struck him that he might not ever see her again; it was a slight chance, but as soon as she slipped out the door it would be the second time she left him and left him with the barest sense of longing.
She was in the hall, but paused to hear him out. "I'll call you," he finished, sounding relieved and proud of himself all at once.
He would call her, he would, and maybe something... maybe something would...
Tightening the grip she had on the strap of her purse, she nodded and smiled sadly. "You have my number."
And then she was gone, walking towards the elevator while he watched her go, hating himself for doing what he had done, but reveling in the fleeting feeling of her lips on his.
They would both remember that first kiss very differently. Sara would remember it being such a sweet, sad thing, that once she got to the elevator, she began to cry, touching her lips with a pointer finger, wanting to capture the feeling to repeat it over and over again. Sara would remember it as the time that she first questioned what falling in love felt like, deciding that it would take more from him (not much) for her to actually fall for him.
Grissom would remember it as the first time in his life he truly went out on a limb, felt his heart kick alive, felt himself truly wanting. It would be the first time that he had something stuck in his head that wasn't related to his occupation. It was the first time he ever thought that patchouli was an alluring scent on anyone.
There had been a lot of other firsts since then, some memorable and some not; first lunch dates, first time seeing one another in pajamas, first time holding hands. When they started building up seconds, second lunches, second time holding hands, second time catching each other staring, they knew that something was happening. Something…
Their second kiss, the kiss that they would both remember as being much clearer, nearly eight years later, was a much happier occasion; they were both on the same page that day, a day on which they consequently also happened to make love for the first time.
It was deep and languid and he'd captured her, again. Again, it was on the threshold of a room, but this time, it was in her apartment, between the hallway and the bedroom. It lasted a good deal longer than their first encounter had, and when he pulled back to look at her, they'd both broken out in a nervous sweat.
After the course of three hours, both sated and sore, he'd watched her fall to sleep, placing the first of what would come to be numerous forehead kisses, at the edge of her hairline.
When she awoke four hours later to find him staring at her, she turned in his arms and placed the first kiss to the center of his chest.
"Go back to sleep," he urged, eyes bright and awake, watching her, seeing her.
Sara yawned and shook her head, "Four hours is all I need."
"No it's not," he urged gently, and with a press of his arm, got her to turn, and began massaging her shoulders. "And I can't very well watch you sleeping if you're not asleep."
Sara chuckled and snuggled into the pillow, but not into him; he was a hot sleeper, she'd come to find. Almost as though she was tucked in bed with a hot water bottle. "That's intensely creepy."
With fingers brushing back her hair, he said, "I know."
As she fell asleep, she thought about how this was the first time she had fallen in love with anyone; it would be months before she found out that he had thought the exact same thing at that moment.