A/N: This story has nothing to do with "Finding Me" (the other story that's almost 80 chapters long). This is just a story I got an idea for from a dream I had (although the story ends differently from how the dream ended).
Hugest, biggest thanks to Wishing on the Moon, for without her, I wouldn't have even considered uploading this story (it just never would have been good enough). She generously put a lot of time and effort into beta-ing this story for me, she's brought the characters more to life and somehow made them more true than I could have ever done, and she's made so much more sense out of my words than I could ever do myself. Thank you so much, I appreciate all the hard work you put into doing this for me, and I'll never forget it.
OBSERVING
Grissom
It was funny, the things you noticed if you watched people long enough. The little things they'd do out of habit, or things they'd do when they thought no one was watching. All you needed was the skill to see it; if you had that, it certainly didn't take much effort. From a position between the main entrance of the ballroom and the bar, Gil Grissom had been discreetly observing all night.
A striking blonde in a gold dress kept shifting away from the elderly gentleman in a powder blue tuxedo seated next to her. Something in her behavior suggested the old guy had wandering hands under that table. A man in his late twenties kept adjusting the back of his pants, apparently trying to alleviate the discomfort of too-tight underwear. A pretty redhead, in an equally pretty pink dress, had been 'accidentally' bumping into handsome strangers to get their attention. Once she had it, she'd introduce herself, feigning shyness and apologizing in mock sincerity.
Although he was on his own now, Gil had not come alone this evening. He and Catherine Willows had a standing agreement to serve as each other's 'unofficial date' to functions such as this, the LVPD's Employees New Year's Ball. If more promising companions happened to materialize, they could go their separate ways with no hard feelings. Gil and Catherine had barely been in the ballroom ten minutes when Catherine made her move. Any other man might have been offended, being ditched at the start of a very long night, but the truth was he didn't mind at all. He had ways of amusing himself.
Socializing wasn't something he enjoyed; if he were to socialize at all, it would only be with the select few who made up his circle of friends. He certainly wouldn't choose to engage in superficial conversation with people he didn't know. Observing was what he did at these functions to pass the time. If he got bored enough, he would make a game of something, like guessing how many drinks it would take before Greg Sanders got up on the dance floor and made a fool of himself.
Nine, Gil thought to himself, smirking. Last year, it took eight.
A woman was pinning up a loose stocking, trying to do this sneakily under the table. Gil had to wonder who else might have noticed if he had, in spite of her efforts. Warrick Brown was standing by the bar with Mia Dickerson who looked rather disturbed by something on her wine glass. Gil was surprised when Mia took a packaged straw out of her purse, unwrapped it and held it in the liquid, trying to not let it touch the sides. Even Warrick seemed rather taken aback by this.
And I thought I had problems. Gil laughed to himself as he let his eyes travel across the ballroom in a slow, deliberate search for something new and interesting to observe. Within minutes, he'd found something very interesting: Sara Sidle, entering on the arm of Nick Stokes.
Sara Sidle in a formal dress was something Gil found himself observing in great detail. She'd never attended the annual New Year's party, although she always turned up at the less formal Christmas party in more or less what she'd wear to work. Tonight, her hair was pinned up away from her face and a faux diamond choker drew attention to her slender neck. The dress she'd chosen was simple brown satin. It made Gil think of liquid chocolate, and it perfectly accentuated her height and slim build.
Without realizing it, Gil raised his glass to his mouth. He tilted his head back, gulping it rather more quickly than he had intended.
Sara chatted with Nick as she looked around, checking out the room and looking for other members of their team. Seeing Grissom, she raised her free arm to give him a nonchalant wave. She seemed almost disappointed to see him there and turned away from him to say something to Nick.
Confused by her reaction to his presence, Gil made his way to the bar to get another drink. With any luck, the change of venue would provide him with another subject to observe, one who could drive the lovely image of Sara from his mind, if only for a short time.
It hadn't occurred to him that the bar would be the first destination for Sara this evening. He'd just paid for his drink when she approached, her arms folded casually over her stomach as she walked.
"Don't have too many of those," Sara said with a smirk. She untangled her arms and leaned on the bar as she ordered two drinks. She turned her attention back to Gil. "If you got drunk it'd be the lead story in the monthly department newsletter."
Gil tried to ignore how incredibly bright her brown eyes seemed, highlighted by her black eyeliner and dark brown eye shadow. Whenever he started looking into those eyes of hers, he found it almost impossible to stop.
"Believe me, I have no intention of getting drunk," he assured her, managing an appropriate expression – nothing that could be interpreted as anything but the professional and congenial smile it was.
Sara gave a soft, honeyed laugh. "Just as well. I don't think any of us could quite picture you drunk," she admitted.
"Where's your date?" Gil asked, noticing Nick hadn't followed her to the bar.
"He's getting a table. I lost a bet we made in the taxi on the way here. I have to buy the first round of drinks."
"What was the bet?" Gil asked out of curiosity.
"We knew you had the night off so it was whether or not you'd actually be here." Sara turned to pay the bartender and take her drinks.
Gil realized she hadn't expected him to be there; that explained her reaction when she saw him. Chiding himself for 'misinterpreting the evidence,' he decided to let her in on Nick's secret. "I take it Nick failed to mention that I've attended the last four New Year's Balls?"
"Why, yes he did. Hmmm…" Sara responded, suddenly squinting and furrowing her brow as she processed this new information.
"Never make bets with a man who has the upper hand, Sara," Gil commented.
She held up Nick's glass and regarded its contents, a twinkle in her eye. "I might just have to throw this drink in his face. And technically, he's not my date," she suddenly added.
"Oh?"
"You know how pathetic it is when you see someone come to a party like this alone?" she asked. "It looks to everyone else like you can't get a date. So we figured we'd come together. Sort of an 'unofficial date,' if you know what I mean."
"I see," Gil answered. "I came with Catherine." For some reason, he felt it was important to impress upon her that he wasn't so pathetic as to have come alone.
"Where is she?" Sara asked as she glanced around trying to spot Catherine Willows.
"No clue. Haven't seen her in forty minutes."
"Bailed on you, huh?" Sara made a sympathetic face, but her eyes twinkled with an impishness that told him she understood theirs was an unofficial date as well.
"Happens every year," Gil shrugged. "I think Nick's waiting for his drink." He gestured towards Nick Stokes, sitting by himself at a table. Without another word, he turned and left her, returning to his 'observation post' by the wall. Thanks to Sara, he'd now lost count of how many drinks Greg Sanders had consumed so far.
Sara
She couldn't stop staring. No matter how hard she tried, it was impossible. Her eyes seemed to defy her; they wouldn't allow her to look away from the image of Gil Grissom, standing against the wall with a drink in his hand, silently observing the masses.
Observing everyone else, like I'm observing him, she thought as she lifted the glass of wine to her lips.
"I see Warrick over there," Nick raised his hand to gesture across the room, "with Mia. And Greg is at the bar, for the second time since we got here. I haven't seen Catherine yet."
"She's here, at least according to Grissom she's here. Or was here, at any rate," Sara said. She managed to pull her eyes away from her boss to glance around, trying to spot Catherine.
Catherine Willows was a hard person hard to miss, even in a room full of people. Her distinguishing features included long red hair, sharp blue eyes, and a wardrobe that sometimes left very little to the imagination. Anyone who knew Catherine understood that if you wanted to find her in a crowded room, all you had to do was look for the place where all the men were gathered. Where you found them, you would find Catherine.
"There she is," Sara pointed towards the far end of the room. Catherine was talking with several men Sara didn't recognize; she supposed they must have been from different departments or other shifts.
Wow, Cath certainly has the twins workin' for her tonight, Sara thought, noticing Catherine's dress – or lack thereof.
"I'm gonna say hi." Nick finished his drink and stood. "I'll catch you later."
Sara didn't mind when Nick left her at the table on her own. The plan had been to come together and, if necessary, leave together. They were free to do as they wished in between.
Sara briefly considered going to join Grissom, hanging out on the periphery and watching everyone else, just for an excuse to be near him. She might have considered ignoring him deliberately to get his attention; she'd learned some time ago that men hated when women did this. But Grissom wasn't the average man. Grissom was a man who enjoyed solitude, who liked to be alone most of the time. Ignoring him would be more like doing him a favor than anything else.
She hadn't been surprised by his quick exit when they'd been talking at the bar. It was just the kind of thing he'd do, at least with her. She'd always been bothered by his tendency to avoid her unless it was work related. Catherine and Grissom were good friends; they shared movies and drinks together. Even Warrick and Nick had socialized with Grissom outside of work. But when an invitation to do something outside of work included Sara, Grissom seemed to suddenly become unavailable.
Sara had to remind herself of the humiliation she felt when she'd asked him to dinner. Instead of declining with a courteous excuse, his response had simply been "No." Pressing the matter further with him had only earned her more rejection.
Why do you keep doing this to yourself? she wondered miserably.
After taking another look at him standing there alone, dressed impeccably in a tuxedo, his bowtie undone, she was able to answer: because he was Grissom. He was the only man who'd held her attention longer than a few months. Grissom was the only man who could challenge her head as well as her heart, but he seemed to have no intention of doing the latter.
Even understanding this, Sara found herself getting up from her chair and heading to the bar. She ordered another wine for herself and a scotch on the rocks for Grissom, having observed what was in his glass when they'd spoken earlier. Knowing she was probably about to be brushed off yet again, she decided to throw caution to the winds and approach him anyway. After a drink or two, Grissom might be congenial enough to engage in conversation.
Grissom
One of the challenges of observing people was keeping a straight face. While Gil had enough compassion to feel truly sorry for the woman who'd split her dress at the back, her attempt to leave the room without drawing attention to that fact had him biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing aloud. He'd have been relieved by the sight of Sara advancing on him if it weren't for the familiar nervousness that arose whenever she was near. It was apparent she had no intention of letting him be alone since she had two drinks in her hands.
Just what I need, he thought. More alcohol. This is going to go straight to my head, for sure.
"Noticed you'd drained your glass," Sara commented as she handed him the scotch.
"Thanks," Gil said. He felt slightly uneasy about the fact Sara had just bought him a drink. Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? "You didn't have to."
"Don't worry about it."
"Isn't it customary for the man to buy the drinks?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, well, if it bothers you, you can pretend I'm getting you liquored up before asking for a raise," Sara responded. She pursed her lips to suppress a smile then sipped her wine delicately.
Gil gave his empty glass from to a passing waiter. He couldn't think of anything to say so he sipped his drink. It was the perfect excuse not to speak.
"Bowtie too tight?" Sara gestured to the bowtie hanging around his collar.A wave of embarrassment swept over him; he wondered just how much of his facial hair would hide his blush. To save himself from feeling anymore awkward than he already did, he decided to go with the truth.
"I can't tie the damn thing," he muttered.
Sara chortled. Swirling the wine in her glass, the dark red liquid lapped at the sides like a sea of blood.
Gil stared down into the amber liquid in his own glass. There were a dozen things he could say right now, but none of them had a place in this moment in time because none of them had relevance to his bowtie.
A million quotes are floating around in your brain, and you can't find two words to say to the woman who just bought you a drink, he chided himself.
"I've never been to one of these balls before," Sara admitted, to break the silence.
"You haven't?" Gil asked. He pretended innocence but suspected she knew better than to believe it.
Sara gave a shrug. "I always end up working on New Year's."
"Same party every year, same venue. Faces change, that's about it," he replied.
"Nothing interesting ever happens?" Sara asked.
"Not really. Greg gets drunk, Catherine's dress gets a lot of attention, Warrick and Nick usually manage to get a few phone numbers by the end of the evening," Gil responded dryly.
"And what do you get?"
"I get to go home."
Sara
Sara was frustrated beyond the telling of it. Trying to get any decent social conversation from Grissom was like trying to draw blood from a stone. He seemed to be straining to find anything to say, and she found this quite disconcerting. This was a man of words, someone who always had a pearl of wisdom, some deep, meaningful and poetic phrase to pull out of thin air that would apply to the situation.
Lately, whenever they were alone together, he seemed incapable of forming a sentence unless it was case related or the subject was something he was a fanatic about. She wasn't sure if her presence aggravated him or made him nervous. Perhaps it was both; she couldn't tell anymore.
She wanted to have a conversation, to ask him why he came to these functions if all he was going to do was stand around, observing people and waiting to go home. She wondered if that was the whole point of it: to pretend to participate for the sake of appearances but using the event as an excuse for scientific study. Maybe he considered it an opportunity to stand by and make a clinical analysis of the erratic behavior of those under the influence of alcohol.
Absently, she tapped her foot in time to the music the band was playing. It was a song she knew she'd heard before, but she couldn't quite place it. She watched the couples on the dance floor and found herself trying to imagine how it might be if Grissom stepped out there with her in his arms.
Dream on, Sara, dream on, she thought, a slightly sad smile on her face.
"Something wrong?" he asked, assuming a more upright posture. He had the distinct feeling her expression had something to do with him.
"Sort of," Sara answered. "I can't place the title or the lyrics to this song. Do you recognize it?"
He listened for a moment. "That would be 'Mack the Knife' from 'The Threepenny Opera,' the best known version made famous by Bobby Darin." Grissom sipped his drink as he once again searched the crowd. "There's Jim, dancing over there," he said, pointing out Jim Brass with a woman he didn't know.
If that could be called dancing, Sara thought, suppressing the urge to laugh.
"Even Doc Robbins makes a better show on the dance floor." Grissom said after a moment, as if he'd read her mind.
"Doc Robbins dances?" Sara asked. "I didn't know—"
"That he could dance with prosthetic legs?" Grissom threw her an expression that told Sara she'd been judgmental regarding disability again. The doctor's movements weren't particularly fluid, and he walked with an aid but it didn't necessarily mean he was limited. To avoid any further embarrassment, she decided she would retreat before she made the situation a lot worse.
"Excuse me, I think I'm going to go, uh…find Nick," she said politely and without giving him any time to respond, she left him standing there alone.
Grissom
"Still people watching?"
Gil smiled and nodded as he turned to his left to see Catherine Willows. She looked fabulous in a long navy blue dress decorated with tiny sequins. They caught the light, making it seem as if pale blue fireworks were exploding across the delicate fabric.
"Lose your gentleman companion already?" he asked, referring to the man she'd hooked up with when they arrived.
"He's taking a leak." Catherine gave a wry smile as she held a drink out to him. "I saw Sara standing beside you earlier and I thought for a minute you'd scored yourself a date, too."
"For your information, Sara is Nick's date for this evening," Gil answered. He took the drink from her. Catherine's buying him a drink didn't bother him half as much as Sara's buying him a drink had.
"Unofficially, according to Nick. He has his eye on some pretty brunette from the prosecutor's office." Catherine pointed her thumb over her shoulder in the general direction of where Nick was standing, talking to a woman Gil remembered seeing occasionally in court.
"So where is she now?" Catherine broke his train of thought.
"I don't know," Gil answered. "She bought me a drink, we talked, and then she…left me. Went to find Nick or something." Gil stared down into his glass. He couldn't believe how badly he'd handled the conversation with Sara. Her reaction to his comment about Doc Robbins suggested he'd made her too uncomfortable to be around him. Looking up, he glanced around the room to try and locate Sara, but there was no sign of her. She might be standing behind someone, in the rest room, or maybe she'd left.
"You should go find her. At least you'd have someone to talk to," she suggested. "Besides, it's New Year's Eve and you're going to need someone to kiss at midnight," she teased, her blue eyes twinkling with mischief.
"I pray thee cease thy counsel, which falls into mine ears as profitless as water in a sieve," Gil quoted Shakespeare.
"Riiight. That's what? Geek talk for 'I don't want to hear you. Mind your own business' or something?" she asked.
Gil merely gave a cordial yet cryptic smile.
"Well, I just stopped by to give you that," she gestured to his drink. "I have to go retrieve my date." She gave him a sly wink and disappeared off into the crowd.
Gil watched her go. He felt his chest rise and fall in a silent sigh, and he turned his attention back to observing.
Sara
Sara had been sitting at a table on the south side of the room, far from Grissom, out of his line of sight. She had the chair turned so that her back was to him, she couldn't see him, and she couldn't stare. As long as she didn't have to look at him, to acknowledge that he was still there, most of the embarrassment she felt would fade.
An hour and a half had passed by, with colleagues occasionally stopping by to chat with her. She had to admit it was enjoyable since the only other time she would ever find time to talk with them would be about a case at work.
She was surprised she hadn't seen Greg Sanders sooner, but he eventually dropped into the chair opposite her, a drunken goofy grin playing on his lips. He placed a drink on the table before her in his characteristic style.
"For you," he said. "You've been sitting nursing that same glass for the past hour," he pointed out.
Sara was torn between feeling flattered he'd been watching her for an hour, and feeling somewhat concerned by what it might mean that he had. But then again, hadn't she done the same thing with Grissom earlier?
"Thanks," Sara smiled. She could see he was more than a little drunk and decided to try a subtle comment, for his own sake. "You look three sheets to the wind."
"I absolutely am," Greg answered, almost proudly. "Isn't that what New Year's parties are for? Getting drunk? After all, tomorrow is another year. Starting over, fresh again."
Except it's not starting fresh for me, thought Sara. It's repeating the same cycle I've been dealing with for the last five years.
"Sara…you should be up there dancing, having the time of your life. It's an hour until midnight…this is your last chance to have fun this year."
"Sorry. I'm just not in the dancing mood," she explained.
"I know, I know," Greg held up his hands as if surrendering. "The band sucks," he added, as if this might be Sara's reason for not wishing to dance.
"Yes, they do," Sara agreed.
"I asked for a request. Turns out they don't know any Marilyn Manson. How they can call themselves a band…" Greg flicked his bangs away from his face. "But anyway, are you going to dance with me or do I have to beg?"
"Even begging isn't going to put me in the mood, Greg," Sara smiled, "but I appreciate the invitation, nonetheless."
"All right." Greg stood up, started to leave then spun around, assuming a sort of lounge singer pose, pointing at her. "I forgot. Who are you kissing at midnight?"
Sara had forgotten about the old tradition. She'd spent the last four New Year's Eves working her ass off on murder cases; there'd been no one to kiss except the most disgusting cadavers.
"I'll probably be home long before the clock strikes twelve, Greg."
"Well, if you're not, uh, I'm always here for you," Greg offered with a dashing wink and a goofy smile before he staggered off back to the dance floor.
Sara gave a soft laugh and picked up her wine glass. She downed half the contents and opened her purse to check for her cigarettes and lighter. She got up slowly, making sure her skirt wasn't caught on the chair leg, and headed for the open doors on the other side of the room.
Grissom
Gil had shifted his focus to the people coming and going from a balcony overlooking the Strip. A couple that had been on quite friendly terms when they went outside returned to the party with a decidedly different attitude toward each other. As he followed their progress across the room, he noticed Sara pass by on her way outside.
Maybe I should go talk to her while I still have some control; before the drink consumes me completely and I make an even bigger ass of myself than I did earlier, he thought.
Crossing once more to the bar, he decided this would be his final drink for tonight. When he'd been served, more quickly than he'd have liked for once, he paused a moment then followed Sara's path out onto the balcony.
There were only a few other people outside. The balcony was large and spanned an entire wall, affording an impressive view of the brilliant lights of Las Vegas. The railings of the balcony were tangled with tiny white fairy lights.
Sara stood alone at one end, staring out at the view with one hand resting on the balustrade. A few wisps of her hair had come loose and were stirring in the breeze. Gil noted she had a cigarette in her free hand as he made his way over.
"Smoking is bad for your health."
Startled by Grissom's sudden appearance, Sara took a deep breath and regained her composure. "I nearly choked on a piece of Nicorette gum yesterday so I figured smoking is probably the safer option for now." She flicked her cigarette ash off and turned slightly so the breeze would carry the smoke away from him.
"I hear nicotine patches work quite well these days," was the only thing Gil could think of to say to this.
Sara smirked. "Yeah, but they don't exactly match the dress – even the clear ones stand out, Grissom."
He held the wine glass out to her. Sara took it from him, and gave a smile. "Thanks." She looked at him as if she were waiting for him to speak.
"Yes?" he asked, not sure what she might want him to say.
"Sorry, it's just I expected you to come up with some wine-related quote. You always have a quote for everything."
Gil paused, but it didn't require much effort for the words to come pouring forth. "The wine urges me on, the bewitching wine, which sets even a wise man to singing and to laughing gently and rouses him up to dance and brings forth words which were better unspoken."
Sara was amused; her eyes caught the glittering twinkle of the fairy lights. "How do you do that?"
"It's a gift," he shrugged, then sipped his drink. Placing the glass on the balustrade, he let his elbows rest comfortably beside it as he gazed down into the streets below. The balcony was just below the top floor of the hotel. For some reason he found himself trying to reckon the injuries a suicide jumper would sustain in a leap from this height.
Cheery subject for New Year's Eve, he thought to himself. He tried to force those thoughts out and replace them with more pleasant ones. He glanced at Sara out of the corner of his eye and found himself remembering the time she brushed away a smudge of chalk on his face. He remembered her soft touch and lamented the absence of any such substance here.
Wishful thinking gets you nowhere, he told himself sternly. Perhaps I'm better off restricting my thoughts to suicide jumpers.
Sara notedhis pensive expression. "Something wrong?"
"I'm sorry…about earlier, I mean. I think I made you uncomfortable. I didn't mean to."
"Oh, no. I just realized I'd put my foot in my mouth, that's all. It wasn't you at all," Sara replied, taking a long slow drag at her cigarette. The smoke billowed from her parted burgundy lips moments later, dissipating into the air like a single blood drop in water.
Gil looked around and saw some of the others who'd been standing out on the balcony were returning to the party. Now he found himself alarmed by the realization that he and Sara were alone. Not exactly alone, though. Alone together, he thought. Hmm…alone together. That's an oxymoron if ever I've heard one.
He very much wished he could be anyone but himself tonight. Or that he could be as funny and light hearted as Greg, as flirtatious and brash as Catherine, as cool and composed as Warrick, as genuine and amiable as Nick. If just for one night he could possess at least some of those qualities, he would not be standing here alone with Sara, obsessing over what to say and how to act.
The moment might have been pleasant, comfortable even, if it were not for Grissom's palpable discomfort. He stood leaning on the railing, his eyes intently searching the Strip as if he'd never seen it before. He focused on the view as if he were observing every single flashing light, every single colorful sign.
Sara
Sara had so many questions she wanted to ask him now that they were alone in a social setting, one where no work related situation would ever intervene. She dropped her cigarette to the floor of the balcony and ground it with her foot until it was put out.
"Do you ever get lonely?" she asked.
Grissom blinked, and turned to her with a look of mild panic. Clearly, this was a question he hadn't expected from her. Equally clearly, he was struggling to find the answer. Finally he managed to respond with a question. "Why do you ask?"
I should have expected that, she thought. Answer the question with a question and avoid the need to answer properly at all. Well, Grissom, I'm not letting you off the hook quite that easily.
"It's New Year's Eve. Every person I've ever known who's been single for more than a few years tends to reflect on loneliness at the holidays," Sara explained.
Grissom straightened up, and raised his drink to his lips.
"Be honest." Sara continued. "Do you get lonely?"
"People drain me, even the closest of friends. I find loneliness to be the best state in the union to live in."
Sara sipped her drink, pondering his response. She was sure this was another one of those quotes he liked to recite often, rather than his own admission.
"Since you asked…?" he began, not needing to finish the question in order for Sara to understand what he was trying to ask.
"Everyone is human. Everyone needs someone…" she looked at him forlornly.
Grissom looked blankly at her as if he only barely understood her words.
"Everyone needs love, Grissom, even if it's a sadly unrequited love."
"Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love."
"That definitely wasn't a Shakespearean quote," Sara remarked with a little laugh.
"Nope. Charlie Brown," Grissom answered with an innocent yet smug expression on his face.
Sara watched the red liquid kiss the smooth surface of the glass as she swirled it in an unconscious gesture.
He doesn't take hints too well, she thought dully. I guess I should be happy that he's actually making some effort to talk. He's even started with the quotes again. Maybe he's finally over some of that awkwardness.
"How many times have you been in love?" Sara asked.
Grissom seemed pained by the question and she wondered if she might have struck a raw nerve in him. "Love is Catherine's department. Science is mine."
"But isn't love just another kind of science?" she asked. A quote Sara had read recently suddenly came to mind, and it couldn't have presented itself at a better time. "The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed."
"Carl Jung," Grissom nodded, apparently impressed by her response. "But can you say for sure you've been truly transformed by such a reaction, from meeting one certain person?" he queried.
"My whole life has been transformed by one person," Sara said pointedly, keeping her eyes on his all the while.
Grissom looked at her, his mouth moving as if he was trying to speak, but no words actually passed his lips.
She wished she didn't have to play the hint game with Grissom anymore. Five years of the hint game hadn't helped progress their relationship any further, if you could call their unspoken attraction to each other a relationship at all.
Still, taking the direct approach hadn't been any more successful. The few times Sara had been bold enough to speak out instead of drop hints, it left him speechless and bumbling for something to say like a flustered and shy fifteen year old on a first date. There had been a time when she'd found this endearing, but the passage of years left her frustrated by it.
Yes, this is definitely frustrating. Sara looked away from him and thought, but it's not like I'm not used to it by now.
Grissom
Gil was bewildered by the conversation. He understood exactly what she meant when she'd said one person had transformed her whole life. He knew who that person was, too.
But knowing didn't make it any easier. If anything, it only made everything so much harder. He could have gone a lifetime without knowing what he knew now.
This was so much easier five years ago, he thought. Five years ago, I thought all we shared was a mutual attraction. Attraction isn't a problem. Attraction is healthy…it's purely physical.
Gil had some experience with attraction. He'd been attracted to Catherine ever since he'd met her, but that was all it was. She was beautiful, and the way she moved was enough to get his blood pumping hard through his veins on occasion, but he didn't love Catherine. She was a good friend and while he could admit to having been attracted to her physically, but he wasn't attracted to her emotionally.
In the beginning, he'd assumed things with Sara would play out much the same way they had with Catherine. There would be the lingering physical attraction, but real feelings would never surface. It hadn't taken him long to realize that he'd been wrong, and that Sara had been harboring feelings for him for years before they'd started working together. It had taken him longer to realize he'd been suppressing those same feelings for some time as well.
Denial isn't just a river in Egypt, he thought to himself. He mentally shook himself out of his reverie, realizing he'd been deep in thought for several moments. He tried to find something to say, some way to bring the conversation to a close without hurting Sara or making himself seem cruel.
Sara kept looking at him expectantly, and when she understood he was having trouble finding a response to her words, she turned away from him. "I'm, uh…going to go see if I can find Greg."
Greg? What would she want with Greg? he wondered as he watched her leave. The brown satin of her dress moved as if being guided by invisible fingers. Sara disappeared through the doors, returning to the hotel ballroom where life and laughter filled the space.
Gil chewed his bottom lip, keeping his lips tightly pursed. If only he'd had the courage to tell her what had been running through his mind all night: thoughts of being with her, of seeing where things went, of the exhilaration that came from not being certain what the future might hold.
He didn't have the courage for it. I would rather be a coward than brave because people hurt you when you are brave, he quoted to himself.
Sara
"Hey, you guys," Sara said, feigning cheerfulness as she approached the table she and Nick had shared earlier, surprised to find the whole team – sans Grissom – sitting with their drinks.
Warrick Brown raised his green eyes to her. "Where you been?" he asked. "We've been looking for you."
"I was, uh, out on the balcony, talking to Grissom." Sara took a seat at the table; there were two vacant seats, one beside Greg, and the other nearer to Nick. Sara chose to sit by Nick. He was, after all, her unofficial date for this evening, and she didn't want to be sending Greg any wrong signals by sitting next to him.
Nick pushed a glass of wine across the table to her, and smiled softly. "I knew you'd show up eventually," he explained.
"Thanks. You're not trying to get me liquored up, are you?" Sara teased.
"So, was talking to Grissom still like trying to pull teeth?" Catherine queried. "I could hardly get two words out of him earlier."
"He talked…a little," Sara confessed and sipped her new drink. She relished the pleasant buzzing in her head. "He's really not a party guy, is he?"
"He comes to observe." Catherine remarked as she picked up her margarita.
Greg gazed over at Sara; he gave her his broadest smile, but said nothing.
Sara was beginning to wish she'd stayed on the balcony with Grissom. At least that would have given her an excuse not to kiss Greg at midnight. It wasn't that she found anything wrong with Greg; he was sweet, funny, and reasonably good-looking. She just couldn't imagine taking their friendship any further, even if it was only with an innocent kiss at New Year's.
"May I join you?" came a familiar voice from a few feet away.
They all turned their attention to Grissom. His drink in one hand, he gave a whimsical smile. It somehow made him seem to Sara even more debonair than he'd been all night.
"Of course." Catherine answered on behalf of the group. "We saved you a seat."
Grissom sat down in between Greg and Sara; it was the only seat left.
Sara felt a flush of pink rush to her cheeks, and she stared down at the tablecloth. She didn't normally succumb this much to embarrassment, but she hadn't expected Grissom to come near her again anytime soon. After the admission she'd just made on the balcony, she hadn't had time to prepare herself to see him again.
Grissom
"It's been a hell of a year," Catherine said with a tired sigh, raising her drink to take another sip.
Gil nodded. "Yes. Yes it has."
"As the years roll on, things certainly don't get any easier, do they?" Sara remarked softly. She continued to stare down at the tablecloth as if trying to avoid looking at anyone at all.
Gil felt tempted to reach out and touch her hand, to ask if she was okay. Her cheeks were flushed scarlet and her body language, the way she shifted in her seat, seemed to indicate she felt quite ill at ease. He didn't reach out to her though. Instead of saying anything, he simply wondered why Sara had chosen to sit by Nick when she'd mentioned only moments ago that she'd intended to go find Greg.
That was an excuse, Gil. Face it. She just wanted to escape the situation completely.
"Where's your date, Cath?" Nick asked.
"He's having a drink with some buddies from his department," Catherine replied, "We're meeting up just before midnight."
Warrick gave a mischievous smirk. "Oh yeah, that old tradition. Bad luck to not kiss anyone at midnight."
"That's such a stupid superstition," Sara muttered.
Everyone turned their attention to her.
As Sara continued, she finally raised her head, the blush from her cheeks blanching away. "I mean…how can someone pin a year's worth of bad luck on the lack of a single kiss?" she asked.
"It's not a big deal, Sara," Catherine commented. "It's just something you do. Like kissing someone under the mistletoe, or knocking on wood when you say something that you don't want to come true."
Nick put his drink down on the table. "Good or bad luck isn't the point. It's just the excuse that gives you the freedom to kiss someone you like without the obligation of it going further than a minute past midnight."
Gil raised an eyebrow at this; it was certainly an interesting thought. "So you're saying the rules are that you can openly give yourself for one whole minute – midnight to one minute past midnight – in an intimate kiss, and at the end of that kiss, it simply doesn't count?"
"It's already in the past, last year," Nick stated with great certainty.
Gil shook his head. "Ah, but that would only be true if the kiss began at a minute before midnight. If the kiss begins at midnight, it becomes the first event of the New Year and can't legitimately be considered. . ."
"Put a lid on it, Grissom," Catherine warned. "You're killing the magic."
"Fine." Gil quieted down.
"Who are you kissing at midnight, Grissom?" Greg asked.
Catherine gave a soft laugh. "Grissom doesn't kiss at midnight. Grissom watches everyone else and comments on how sloppy or inept they are at it."
Greg chortled. "Kissing isn't a spectator sport."
"It is for Grissom," Catherine teased.
Gil tried to give her a stern look but the amusement in his eyes betrayed his true response to the exchange. He glanced towards Greg. "And who might you be kissing, pray tell?"
"Sara. Since she has no one to kiss, and I have no one to kiss, makes sense don't you think?"
"Sara would probably rather kiss Ecklie than you, Greg," Catherine joked.
Greg looked mildly insulted while Sara commented, "I think I feel sick."
Gil cracked a smile. "Don't blame you," he replied.
Over the next twenty minutes, the group began to break up. Greg went to get himself another drink at the bar; Nick and Warrick went to find the women they were going out with after the party, and Sara excused herself to go to the balcony for another cigarette.
This left Catherine and Gil sitting alone, opposite each other with an assortment of empty glasses scattered on the table between them.
"So…" Catherine broke the awkward silence that had begun the moment Sara left the table.
"So?" Gil asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Are you planning to mark the passing of yet another year by standing alone against the wall and watching everyone else kissing?" Catherine glanced at the silver dress watch on her left wrist. "Because you still have five minutes."
"Five minutes?"
"Until midnight," she stood up. "Listen…I don't want to get all Grissom-like on you—" she began.
"Grissom-like?" he interrupted. This corruption of his name seemed to suggest that being 'Grissom-like' might be a bad thing.
"I'll just leave you with a quote for a change. 'The policy of being too cautious is the greatest risk of all.' Think about that for the next four minutes or so then get out there." Catherine deliberately looked toward the balcony doors before turning back to her friend. "Happy New Year, Grissom," she said with a smile, gently patting his shoulder as she left.
Gil watched until she disappeared into the crowd in search of her date. He wasn't quite sure what she meant by that. Generally speaking, he believed caution to be a positive attribute. Heaving a deep sigh, he glanced towards the balcony doors, knowing Sara was standing outside, smoking a cigarette.
Sara
Sara stared out, not really seeing the view before her. She was overwhelmed by the too familiar ache in her heart. She'd been feeling it more or less since coming to Las Vegas five years ago. Over the years, it had grown from a dull throb to a very nearly physical pain.
If Sara had decided to work tonight instead of coming to this party, she might not have felt so utterly alone; she certainly wouldn't have been put into the position of having to reflect on her life and how she felt about Gil Grissom. That was the big mistake she'd made; she should never have signed up for the night off.
"Impressive view."
Sara glanced over her shoulder, surprised to see the man in question standing there, his hands in the pockets of his pants. He was leaning against the doorjamb, one foot crossed over the other ankle.
"Yeah, it is," Sara answered. "I never get tired of it." She dropped her cigarette and stamped it out.
"It's almost midnight, you know."
Sara turned and rested her back against the balustrade. She felt the breeze caress her neck and shoulders. "Yeah…it is."
"Shouldn't you be looking for your kissing buddy right about now? I think he's looking for you," Grissom said with a slight smirk.
"I think I'm better off out here," Sara replied. She studied him for a moment, drinking in the image of him. The lighting on the balcony was dim, mostly coming from the fairy lights. Even so, his eyes seemed impossibly blue and she was sure she'd never seen them brighter.
He straightened, and wandered over to her. "I'll be glad when this night is over."
"You can go home at any time," Sara reminded him.
"I know." Grissom, standing about arm's length away from the balustrade, reached his hands out and leaned against it. He lowered his head, apparently regarding a scuff on the toe of his dress shoes.
"Why do you even come to these events if you know you're going to spend the whole time being miserable?"
Grissom gave a short laugh. "I have absolutely no idea. Catherine always insists, I guess." He turned head slowly to look at her. "What about you?"
"Everyone talks about how great these parties are every year. I've always worked New Year's Eve; I figured for once I'd come and see what all the fuss was about."
"And?" he asked.
"I'm not impressed. I'm uncomfortable, these heels are killing me, and I keep tripping on this dress," she confessed. "I just want to go home, wash all this makeup off, and curl up in bed with a book."
"Then why don't you?" Grissom queried gently.
Sara didn't have an answer for this. Curiosity had brought her here, but it wasn't what was keeping her here. She wondered if she'd still be here if Grissom hadn't shown up, or if she'd have given up and gone home by now.
It's not like I expect anything to happen. This is Grissom, after all. He's always going to be Grissom; he's not going to make a move or do anything spontaneous or romantic. He's already made it quite clear that's the last thing on his mind, she thought dully.
"I don't know," she finally replied. "Maybe it's the thought of seeing the New Year in on my own. If I was working tonight, at least I'd be wishing a Happy New Year to some cop or detective on a case with me."
"So…we're back to loneliness again," Grissom straightened and turned to face her more directly.
"I guess," she sighed.
"Sara…you're…" he paused, trying to find the right words. "You're a wonderful person… and…you're not always going to feel that way. You're not always going to be alone."
Sara reflected on this with a sad smile. "Yeah, but nights like this sure get you thinking that you will."
"I know."
"You do?" Sara asked.
"You said it yourself. Everyone needs someone."
Sara stared at him, surprised by his admission. She was touched and more than a little surprised: he'd been more open than she'd have imagined he could be under these circumstances. She longed to touch him, to reach out and caress his cheek, to feel the rough bristles of his beard against her fingers. She wanted to lean forward and whisper to him softly that she needed him, that she wanted to be the one he needed in return.
The music stopped and they both turned, hearing a short fanfare followed by a chorus of voices raised in unison as the countdown began.
"10…9…8…"
Grissom checked his watch. It was fast by a minute.
Sara realized she would be seeing the last seconds of the year tick away standing beside the only man she'd ever truly loved. They might not be holding hands, or speaking to each other of romance, but he was there, and that meant something.
Grissom
"7…6…5…"
Gil was staring at the ground again, his head hanging low, hands in his pockets. His mind was racing. Time was passing, too quickly, and here he was, with Sara as the year was about to end. He didn't have the first clue what he was going to do next.
Why did I even come here in the first place…why am I out here now? Why did I listen to Catherine…?
He cursed Catherine then immediately cursed himself, having remembered at that very second another favorite quote. Opportunity is missed by most people because it is dressed in overalls and looks like work. The words not only rang true to him, but also brought forth images of Sara in overalls at work, and he was nearly overwhelmed with emotions. The conflict between what he wanted and what he feared might go wrong was keeping him glued to the spot.
But Catherine's words hadn't brought him out here, not completely. He supposed if it came down to it, he had to admit it was his own desire to be near Sara that had drawn him out onto the balcony.
"4…"
Gil, his head still hanging low, finally raised his eyes to Sara, looking at her from beneath his brows.
"3…"
Sara let her eyes meet his, and she kept them there, locking his gaze. He felt as if he might never be able to take his eyes off her again, even if he wanted to.
A stray lock of her brown hair that had worked free from her style caught the soft breeze. Fluttering across her face, he found himself bothered by the way it obstructed his view of her, even slightly.
"2…"
Gil took his hands out of his pockets and reached for her, acting on instinct as well as longing. As he brushed the hair from her face, his fingers absently stroked the soft skin of her cheek in the process. Pleasant icy tingles ran throughout his body. His stomach quivered, like butterflies in a net. He found it difficult to breathe.
Sara's breath caught and her eyes closed at his touch, her lashes seeming to caress her cheeks.
Just once, don't be too cautious, he thought. If you don't take this chance now, Gil Grissom, you're going to regret it forever.
"1…"
Instead of removing his hand and stepping away, he slipped his hand behind her neck to draw her closer. He leaned in, first letting his forehead rest against hers, and then tilted his chin forward to touch his lips to hers. Her hands found his arms, gripping tightly as if she felt too unsteady to stand on her own. Time seemed to stop. Maybe it had. Maybe the next time he looked, his watch wouldn't be a minute fast any more. Maybe he'd just keep kissing Sara and not worry about it.
The voices from the ballroom rang out again, a merry cheer filled the air, just barely registering with the couple on the balcony.
"Happy New Year!"
End
Well, there we have it, a story that I've written that perhaps doesn't has as much angst as anyone expected (and I'd call that at least a quasi happy ending, wouldn't you?)
Thanks again to Wishing on the Moon for the wonderful Beta, this is as much her work as it is mines.
Sunrays and Saturdays (Ash)