Title: One Door Opens

Author: Jeanine (jeanine@iol.ie)

Rating: PG

Pairing: Sara/Warrick, Sara/Grissom

Spoilers: Burden of Proof, Play With Fire

Feedback: Makes my day

Disclaimer: If it was in the show, it's not mine.

Archive: At my site Checkmate , Fanfiction.net; anywhere else, please ask.

Summary: One door opens, another one closes.

Notes: For the LiveJournal Writer's Choice "One Door Opens, Another One Closes" challenge.

***

Once, Sara had had enough of Vegas, enough of doors being slammed in her face. She requested her leave of absence, turned in her form, had a few tentative ideas of what doors were open to her.

Then Grissom gave her a plant and she stayed.

Once, she'd leaned against his open door, her heart in her bandaged hand, and she'd asked him out for dinner.

He'd said no, told her with a wave of his hand that he didn't know what to do about "this."

She'd told him that by the time he figured it out, it might be too late.

She'd meant those words, but she'd left the door open behind her all the same. She'd hoped that he'd follow her, but as ever, he'd gone his own way.

She'd expected that, and in spite of her words, in spite of how much she'd meant them, she kept that door open all this time, kept hope alive, just as she'd kept the plant alive, tended its green leafy foliage, watching it thrive in complete defiance of her lack of a green thumb.

She kept the plant alive, and she kept the door open and she waited for Grissom to figure it out.

And then, somewhere along the line, she doesn't know where, she stopped waiting.

She would have said all long that Grissom was a hard man to get over, that it would be hard for someone to take his place in her heart. She didn't bargain on someone doing it without her even noticing.

Of course, she's pretty sure that he didn't realise he was doing it either, which is probably why he was so successful at it. Also why it came as such a surprise, to both of them. She's not quite sure how it happened, all she knows is that one minute, she and Warrick were talking animatedly as they walked down the street to the deli, intending to catch lunch. Warrick had caught quite a bit more than he'd planned though, namely her, grabbing her around the waist to stop her from falling as a phalanx of fast-running ten-year-olds had ploughed into her. Her hands had grabbed his shoulders, his arms had grabbed her around the waist, and she hadn't realised his lips were on hers until they'd been and gone, and he was staring at her with a look of shock on his face.

She was sure that she looked pretty shocked herself, but she could also feel every hair on her body standing on end, could feel the blood rushing through her veins, and when he apologised, she told him without thinking that she wasn't sorry at all.

He'd stood on the street, staring at her, rubbed a hand over his face. Then he'd looked down at her, told her that he wasn't sorry either, but that they needed to talk about this, get their cards on the table. She'd agreed, and they'd settled on his place after the shift, hadn't talked further about it as they'd bought their food, nor as they worked together in the lab later that day.

Which is how she came to find herself sitting in her car outside his house, staring up the walk to the front door. She knew what she had to do, knew that he was waiting for her on the other side. And because she'd spent that day looking at him, watching him watching her, she knew what was going to happen once she walked through that door.

They would talk, just like he'd said. But when they'd finished talking, there would be kissing, and it wouldn't stop there. They would end up in his bedroom, in his bed, and the thought made her stomach swirl in none too unpleasant a fashion.

She wanted this. She wanted him.

But she knew that when she walked through that door and into Warrick's arms, the door would close behind her, and it would close on Grissom.

There would be no more hope of anything happening between the two of them, the gust of air from the closing of the door snuffing out the flame that she'd long held for him, and she didn't know if she was ready for that. She'd been in love with Grissom, had carried that hope, tended the plant for so long; was she ready to give it up?

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, picturing that plant, green and leafy on her windowsill.

Then the picture shifted, green leaves softening to a pair of green eyes, and she knew she'd made her decision.

Those green eyes were the first thing she saw when he opened up the door, but she didn't miss the bright smile, and the hint of relief behind it.

"Sorry I'm late," she told him, suddenly afraid that he was going to turn her away, but he simply stepped aside to let her in.

"You're here now," was all he said, and when she lingered at the threshold, he held out his hand to her, a wordless invitation that she took, stepping into the house, into his arms.

She was wrong earlier, about what would happen.

There was no talking.

And when the door closed behind her, she didn't look back.