A More Beautiful Question

A fanfiction by Lyrael

Every answer asks a more beautiful question. – e.e. cummings

It was Monday night, and it had started raining right before she got out of her car. Rain was rare but the drops were cool against her scalp and forehead, so she shut the door and stood there for a few moments (completely oblivious). It trickled down her cheeks, slipped in between her lips and she could taste the metallic cleansing of the air on her tongue – an explosive reaction, burning.

The rain was beginning to smother her hair and the frizz would start as soon as she entered the building. So, she walked with a brisk pace and a strangely empty mind through the doors, ignoring the stare from the receptionist. She'd stayed out too long, that she knew – her clothes were spotted with moisture and a few strands of hair had plastered themselves around her face.

The funny thing was, she felt absolutely beautiful. Unhinged and untamed, even, but just slightly. Part of her wanted to march up to him, give him a stare and silence, maybe a kiss. But the other part felt compelled to ignore that small, tingling impulse. She weaved her way through people to get to the break room, where she shed her coat and instinctively picked up the coffee machine, draining it into a cup and barely adding any milk or sugar, for that impulse was manifesting itself in other ways.

Was she happy lately? Yes. Content. Cheerful, perhaps. He still lingered in her mind but not so prominently now. Her heart said other things too, but it wasn't of disparaged hope and the typical cynicism. They were good again – they were friends, and friends but maybe more.

Is it bad that I want his friendship and still more? she wondered, sipping her coffee with her back to the door, and she didn't register his movement behind her until his hand snaked forward and grabbed the coffee pot from the machine. She turned, surprised and still damp (but pleasantly so now, oh no, no) and he gave her a little smile.

You're working with me tonight, he said slowly, his eyes glinting in the overhead light but she wondered if that was because they were easily hidden behind his glasses. There was something about the way he looked at her nowadays that made a tiny shiver wrap around her spine, barely registered, until it tickled her neck.

Okay, she replied, trying to be nonchalant and squishing the curiosity out of her voice was so, so difficult. What've we got?

Double homicide in Lake Las Vegas, he said with a grin that she knew he was trying to get rid of, lots of bugs.

Outside? He probably knew what she was thinking – rain.

Inside. They've been there for about a week. The bugs came up through a gap between the concrete and the house.

She became aware of their proximity when he said "a week", because she could see through the lenses of his glasses now and there was shadow over his face. His eyes were bright and he was excited – for the bugs? – and it made her excited, too.

Now if you'll excuse me, he said softly, quietly: I can sense Ecklie dropping a nice big pile of paperwork on my desk. See you later.

He touched her shoulder as he said goodbye and even though he had been so abrasive before, so damaging, his touch left her with a light feeling, lighter than air.

They worked the case calmly, efficiently, and Grissom was very involved. David could only do so much for the estimation time of death – the coroner expressed this somewhat nervously after he pronounced and asked when the three disfigured bodies could go back to the morgue. Wedding rings and owner's deeds identified the first two but the third, shot execution style in the kitchen, was an enigma.

Grissom just gave a vague answer and the appropriate thanks, and the younger man smiled and left.

She watched him scoop bugs into little plastic jars for his timeline, crouching on knees that she knew no longer worked so well. Yet he was unfazed through the collection process, the nerdy little boy in him peeking through the eyes of a man.

She took photographs and documented everything so diligently that three hours had passed since they'd arrived, and it was the middle of graveyard shift and the rain still fell outside. Only now it was a rainy Tuesday morning and the prospect of Monday no longer felt so weary.

After he finished, organizing himself and depositing things in the back of the Denali, he came to her in the bedroom, where she was putting away an ALS and collecting the sheets.

Find anything? he murmured over the pattering rain, and she took off her glasses and looked at him more thoroughly. It was hard to talk while he was standing there, the glow from the streetlight outside the window casting a whitewash over him. He looked curious and infinitely sad, but his eyes were still sparkling with something she didn't know.

The usual, she answered, sealing up the bag of sheets before collecting her kit. As soon as we ID the third vic, we might be able to figure out why no one's changed the sheets in a good four weeks. She wrinkled her nose – hygiene was so necessary yet unimportant to some people. It always miffed her when she came upon cases that were so incredibly dirty – even the simple things had a tendency to cause mental squirms and discomfort.

Good, he said, his voice very low. He stared at her almost hungrily but she wasn't entirely disquieted by it – in fact, it reminded her of the dry Vegas nights and the uncertainty of life.

He disappeared into his office when they arrived back at the lab and she went to go help Greg and Nick with a stick up that had gone entirely too wrong. There were five bodies and crying women and a dead burglar, still holding the gun in his rigor-clenched hand. He was sprawled across the counter and the cashier who had been working had died on the way to the hospital.

She paused as she walked by his office after she got back, and Grissom was inspecting a bug under a magnifying glass. He looked up instead of not noticing her presence, and greeted her with a wave. She wanted to go in but he looked entirely too busy; that was, until he beckoned her in. The clock read 6: 55 am on his office wall and shift was over.

Did you want to go out for something to eat after shift? he asked, and it caught her so off guard that she actually felt her jaw drop. She hadn't meant for it to happen, so she struggled to answer a very simple question for about ten seconds.

Sure, she said finally, feeling a giant weight fall from her shoulders. You want to discuss the case?

Maybe, he said evasively, putting the bug back in its container and folding his hands on his desk, looking at her a little expectantly. The case is a good topic, but typically off-the-job conversation can consist of other things.

Like? she prodded, knowing that she shouldn't (but she really wanted to see what he could come up with – there was already a little shadow of redness creeping past the edges of his beard). He simply stood, grabbing his jacket from the hook and walked towards her.

You, came his answer, and he placed an open palm between her shoulder blades and oh lord how it singed her skin through her shirt.

They talked over breakfast at a little place down the street from the lab, and the conversation steered from the case to a different topic very quickly.

I have no excuses, he was saying, emptying a packet of sugar into his decaf coffee and making no move after that, not even to stir. I've done a world of hurt to you and I know a million apologies could never make it truly go away.

That's true in some ways, she replied, her voice a little tight but her eyes shining with unshed tears. She'd somehow been expecting this for a while now – it had just taken him a little while to gather up the courage to admit it to her. It would be very hard to forget everything, even though I want to.

I'm sorry, he whispered across the table to her, laying a hand on her trembling fingers, and she could tell that he was feeling more hopeless by the minute. She couldn't say no to this though, no matter how hard her mind fought with her heart, her heart was winning. Something felt so right about his admissions and his expression couldn't be more clear and honest.

I think we have a lot of talking to do before it can be put behind us, she said to him, watching his eyes widen as she used "us" and somewhere in her chest a small, thrilled feeling expanded like a tiny explosion. There was a little bit of hope for both of them here. But, I'm willing to try if you're… if you're sincere. But I guess your sincerity is unquestionable. Her smile was a little hard to hide, so she let the corners of her lips twitch upwards.

When Grissom put his mind to something, he usually stayed with it.

Thank you, he breathed, and she thought that maybe he couldn't inhale if the same feeling that was constricting her lungs and making her dizzy was affecting him too. Without another word he gently closed his hand around hers, bringing the heel of her palm to his lips and her heart leapt into her throat. The unexpected gesture was over as quickly as it began, but they sat there for another ten minutes, holding hands over the table and not really talking much.

There wasn't really anything to be said of their past for right now, as there was kind of a peace between them now, a connected sort of love. She could feel it in the warmth of his big hands, the gentle gaze they shared.

So this is how it's resolved, she thought to herself, and when the check came he paid for their long (and very overdue) breakfast and they left the restaurant together. They didn't hold hands, but he kept his fingertips on the small of her back and it felt completely right.

They'd come in his Denali and as they walked out into the rainy Tuesday morning, she realized that Mondays could never, ever hold a candle to today.

He told her loved her as they walked to the car and she took his hand in hers, and he squeezed gently to affirm his words. There was something very different about him – there was something different about all of them nowadays – Catherine and Warrick, Greg and especially Nick. They were all different and absolutely imperfect, but they worked.

I love you too, she said as the rain splashed on the windshield after they'd gotten into the car. He kissed her for the first time outside of her apartment, and many times in the days following, and one evening when they left together for work (extra changes of clothes in his car – handy, oh yes) she knew that they'd indelibly left a piece of each other in themselves.

A few months later as they showered together and he swiped a washcloth over her collarbone, he kissed away the soapy bubbles and mumbled a question into her neck.

She didn't catch it right away and blinked at him, the spray of the water reminding her very much of all those days ago (a rainy Monday) when the raindrops had soaked her in the parking lot. He pulled back and repeated the question, and she smiled so wonderfully at him.

Yes.

Author's Notes: Heh, I haven't written any fanfiction in a while. My muse decided to focus on fanart, I suppose. But I managed to write something, celebration! Anyway, hope you enjoyed it.

PS - it's supposed to be grammatically unsound - I rather like using atypical syntax and whatnot. e.e. cummings is a fun influence.