Author: Stellar Evolution
Rating: PG
Spoilers: You're safe if you've seen S02x15, Burden Of Proof
Disclaimer: I don't claim to own or participate in any ownership of the characters in CSI or the concept of it. So yes. )
Sentence Logic
Eyes descended upon a black open notebook bathed in light upon a silver table. Well, not a silver table per say. It was more of a steel-topped kitchen island with sanded swirls rubbed into it's surface in order to give it a chaotic sheen. There was also a middle light on the ceiling which shone over the island to give it a dim, industrial glow, which was typical of the middle class American kitchen nowadays. However, the notebook was not a part of the typical middle class American kitchen and thusly sat open like an intruder in enemy lines. Indeed, the man standing before it was treating it as such, staring downwards with intense, blue eyes as if it were withholding information from a crucial interrogation. The man didn't speak and neither did the notebook but he hadn't quite expected it to, though the irrational part of him wished it would. Thick but agile fingers fiddled absently with one of the bent pages, flipping it back and forth, agitating them so that the light flutter of paper resonated in his ears. This had been the same notebook that he had used to buy her that plant. Why did he buy her that plant again? Gilbert Grissom couldn't put his finger on it but the drunken feeling of regret and yearning that had pulsed through him that night with Catherine was a good enough indicator. Brows twitched in rememberance and his stance shifted restlessly, lips pursing as he remembered looking up to see Catherine push the blinds apart, lounging on his brown leather couch with a drink. As if the traffic out there had really interested her. The entimologist snorted internally, though he knew that Catherine had just been trying to make herself scarce for the interestingly awkward moment.
Thoughts soon turned back to the notebook and his posture shifted yet again as he questioned himself internally. Should he have written something else? Brows lowered yet again as Grissom became momentarily irritated with his own ineptitude at saying anything appropriately profound. The fact that Sara had pretty much confirmed this in asking for the release made his stomach knot faintly, changing the course of his thinking. What if he had done the wrong thing? Was the plant too forward? Would she get the wrong idea? Or worse, would she get the right one? The idea of knowledgable rejection sent a slight twitch through his shoulders, fingertips doing a leg-jiggle of sorts with the page pinched between them. The number he had called was scrawled right there in front of him almost like a testament to how he had hurt one of the people that he cared about most. Tongue ran over his lips faintly as he recalled the frustrated emotions from earlier in the week, the realization of his own emotional walls was not something that Gilbert Grissom really wanted to face. He liked staying detatched, much like the bugs he studied. The CSI had foolishly thought that he could get around his affection for Sara with this, though he knew now that it had a larger impact on Sara than he had anticipated.
His heart fluttered briefly at the realization that he had pieced together the words 'affection' and 'Sara' in the same internal sentence. Did he really feel that way? Grissom felt himself shift restlessly yet again and he peered down at the notebook accusingly. It really wasn't the notebook's fault but he wished it would be. He felt a rise of emotions swell into his chest, as if making it expand like a helium balloon and gave up. The dexterous hand quickly shut the notebook and Gilbert turned around. He didn't have to deal with this. He had a case he should be researching. Besides, the plant had been several days ago and the emotionally distraught entimologist wasn't even sure if Sara had liked it, though things had seemed a little less tense around the lab. Grissom had taken the habit of retreating to different, less habitated areas when given the chance. At least Doc Robbins was getting to see much more of him.
Grissom rolled his eyes at himself for this thought before shooting another glance at the notebook, then letting said eyes wander to the phone. Maybe he should call her and apologize. The thought that Sara might have found the plant offensive made Grissom squirm internally and his brows lowered yet again over his eyes, causing the blue there to intensify with indecision. The faint blur of classical music lilted in the background of the dark townhouse as he shifted yet again. He was getting good at it. First to the left, then to the right with shoulders hunched in a tensely defensive position. Grissom didn't really know what he felt he had to be defensive about and turned yet again, placing his hands onto the countertop. The warmth generating beneath them soon caused the steely surface beneath to fog over with persperation and he lifted one hand after a moment, grabbing at the phone in determination. He would call. Just to see if she liked the plant.
Fingers punched thickly over the little plastic buttons, eyes gazing down at what could be considered his fate before he placed the earpiece to his head and shifted yet again, this time to the left and lowered his head slightly. The palm on the countertop stayed where it was, but his eyes darted about the room awkwardly. Before second thoughts could be generated, the ring tones were ceased by a faint click and a groggy, "Hello..?"
Grissom balked. Had he woken her up? What do you do when you wake someone up? He put his best knowledge to work, pausing customarily before replying, "Hello.. did I wake you?" The offhandedness of his tone surprised him.
The other end of the line stayed quiet for a few more moments before the response came, mildly bewildered, "Yes. Is there something going on?"
Grissom nearly chuckled. He knew her first response would be to assume that there was a new case. He responded with a mild smile in his tone, head dipping, "No. There isn't." That had gotten him far.
Sara's tone was laced with confusion now and Grissom was internally relieved to detect the faint presence of awkwardness there. At least he wasn't alone, "Alright.. then.. what is it?"
Grissom sucked in a breath. Here it goes, "I was just wondering." He paused, choking off a weak-sounding 'um'. The last thing he wanted Sara to see him as was weak, "..if you liked your plant."
Sara paused yet again before responding, "Yeah. I did."
Another long pause ensued. Grissom shifted to the right in slight frustration at all of these pauses, "I never got to apologize.."
Before he could continue, Sara cut him off, "You know what, Grissom, don't worry about it. I really.. let's just not talk about it."
He could sense the regret in her tone and he shook his head at no one in particular, "No. I made a mistake and I want you to know that I am sorry." His own determination surprised him.
Sara paused yet again and Grissom was starting to hate the way that happened before she responded, tone slightly softer than before, "Thank you."
He couldn't stop the slight smile of boyish relief spreading over his face. However, he reminded himself not to give too much away and continued, "Well. I'll let you get back to sleep."
Sara responded as slowly as before, "Yeah. G'night Grissom."
Grissom took some time with his response, then finally spoke, some audible softness entering into his tone, "Goodnight, Sara." and it was over.
Grissom sat back thoughtfully and lifted his palm from the countertop, watching the moisture left behind evaporate slowly. Goodnight Sara.
Sara had merely sat up in bed for the awkward phone call and was now settled back against the headboard of her bed, looking at the bumps that were her feet near the end of the mattress. One hand still held onto the phone, thumb resting over the 'Off' button thoughtlessly as she contemplated the meaning of this call. A smile slowly crept over her face. The tender akwardness in which he had uttered his last words to her was slowly beginning to sink in, causing her heart to give an extra little beat. Grissom had sounded affectionate. Her smile spread with hope at the thought that she had used 'affectionate' and 'Grissom' in the same sentence and the prospect of possibly being able to use them again in the future. Images of sandy skin and curly hair flooded into her brain and she felt herself blush, glancing at the foliage which sat innocently next to her on the bedside table, the card open in it's little pick reading 'From Grissom'. The purely Grissom-like sentiment included in this message caused her to look back at her feet, smile still lingering and she felt the presence of her earlier indignation deteriorate just a bit more. Perhaps she would give him one more chance.
Goodnight, Grissom.