As times goes by, we learn so much
But still feel so alone –
Waiting for the answers,
For someone to drive us home.
- Cinephile, 'What Becomes of Us'
"How can you reduce everything that I've said to some kind of single quirk? Do you think the problem here is just about me? If you don't sign my leave, I'm going to have to quit."
"Sara-"
At the sound of Grissom's voice, Sara turned around quicker than she probably should have and braced herself inside the door jam, crossing her arms over her chest in an effort to disguise both the expectation and all too familiar fear rising within.
How many times did she have to hear how valuable she was to the lab or how well-respected she was among her peers? While it was the truth she sought, neither constituted what she wanted. She didn't trade her position in San Francisco for working alongside her once mentor and long-time friend for respect or anyone's validation. Sara was confident in her abilities and knew she was an excellent criminalist.
How she appeared in his eyes, and his alone, that's what motivated her day in and day out.
Perhaps that was part of the problem.
The longer the silence between them stretched, the greater it became to keep her internal struggle at bay. Was yet another disappointment in the offering? Distributing her weight to the balls of her feet, she was about to turn and vacate his office until one statement stilled her.
"I don't want you to leave."
Standing from his chair, Grissom crossed the empty space between them and with his hand motioned for Sara to take the couch just off to the side of his desk, closing the door as well as the blinds. To no surprise, Sara watched his every move. What did come as a surprise, however, was how nervous she appeared to be, how she rubbed her hands together in an almost frantic manner, as her eyes glistened with wonder – reminiscent of a child's.
I've really made a mess of this, haven't I?, Gil wondered as he sat down beside Sara.
Their eyes locked immediately.
"You don't believe me, do you?"
All Sara could so was nod, unsure of how to respond.
His gesture didn't accomplish much in terms of changing the landscape, softening the edges. Questions far outweighed the answers. Constituting the path before her was shaky ground, but there was a thread of hope to be found in the knowledge that he did care.
Grissom wasn't without emotion or cold.
She enjoyed being the one individual apart from Warrick aware of his capacity to feel and feel deeply. In spite of everything, it was a line she latched onto and refused to relinquish. Still, she wondered about his past, about the women who dared to hurt him, why he felt so inferior when he was anything but.
Why did he feel that apart from his intelligence there was nothing else for him to offer?
Encourage him, she told herself.
"You don't pair us together for field work anymore, and, when we should happen to work together, you keep yourself at a distance from me. Why, Gil? Why do you do that?"
"I had no choice, Sara."
"Choice. What choice?"
"I could either keep my distance or act on..." Grissom trailed off, inhaling deeply as the dull headache intensified a bit. Only minutes earlier, demanding his attention was a personal request form regarding an extended leave of absence. Now, he was staring into the eyes of an entirely different animal. The woman across from him was kind and despite all that had transpired between them still aspiring only to give rather than take.
Hit the reset button - that was the solution. Operating outside of his comfort zone, he realized, was the key. But was it too late to open that door?
Was crossing the threshold a possibility?
"You once said that you wish you were more like me. You accused me of not feeling anything which isn't true. I do feel. I do care, Sara. I care about the people we encounter, the victims and their families. I care about what happens with my team, and you – especially you."
Moisture collecting in her eyes, Gil extended his left palm to her face, blinking when she leaned into his touch.
"You must know, Sara. I've always cared about you. Making you doubt that, hurting you, was never my intention. It's just…I didn't know what to do. I still don't know what to do."
Craning her head, she pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of his palm, her eyes moving to their still clasped hands and then back to his face.
"You can trust me, Griss."
Griss.
She hadn't called him that in a long time.
"You did once."
"I still trust you." He countered.
"But not with your heart?"
"I thought it would be easier to keep my distance and stay away so that no one would get hurt, but what can hurt more than living with regret? I want to create moments, Sara, and let them define me. I don't want to be one of those people whose life is defined by lost chances or potential untapped into, people too afraid to risk."
"You don't have to be." She whispered, her tears now falling freely.
The barrier separating them fell. Three millimeters became two, two became one, and their lips touched. His kiss was so soft, patient.
Pulling back slightly, he framed her face in both of his hands.
In her brown eyes, he saw joy – hope.
"I want to create moments with you." He continued, his hands still on her face as hers moved to his torso, the fingers of her left hand toying with a shirt button. "So, is a different work environment still in order?"
"Maybe not a different work environment, but I would like to continue this elsewhere." She replied, smiling.
"May I propose dinner?"
"You may, but there's just one problem."
Grissom shook his head, disagreeing. "Problems require logistics and involve a sequence of steps until a feasible solution is met. You, Miss Sidle, have no problems that need fixing."
"Well, knowing my fondness for takeout, would my not being able to cook surprise you?"
"Surprise me? No." He replied, candidly. "It's not a problem either. The way I see it, cooking meals for you – for us – is one way I can make up for all I've put you through."
He chuckled at her confused expression.
"You cook?"
He nodded. "That would be our little secret, and it appears that we both have tomorrow off. How's seven o'clock for you?"
"That sounds perfect."
THE END