"Damn it," Sara swore as she reached up to rub the shoulder that had crashed against the doorway in her near fall. She glared down at the floor, surprised to find it was more than fatigue that had tripped her up. A small rectangular package lay just inside the entryway, apparently where she'd kicked it. She bent down to scoop it up and flipping it over, she froze.
The heavy brown paper crinkled beneath her fingers as she traced over the familiar handwriting, imagining his hands lingering over the package as he'd addressed it. Closing her eyes, her mind made the short trip from seeing him smooth the edges of the paper to feeling his fingertips dance along the slope of her neck. She sighed at the familiar tingle of heat that bloomed over her skin. God, I miss him.
The ripping of paper filled the silent townhouse even before she made it to the couch, anxious fingers peeling the packing tape away in a single long whoosh. Holding her breath in the second before she tore the package open completely, she imagined what might lie inside. Something obscure that would require a leap of faith on her part, no doubt. She sighed. Faith had never been a strong suit for her, except for some reason, when it came to him. She had always known he would find his way to her. Still, she thought as she released her breath, if this just has a cocoon in it, so help me Gil Grissom, you'll be sorry.
Balls of wadded up newspapers lay beneath the flaps of the box and Sara caught a glimpse of some of the bylines of Le Monde. The words and letters crumpled into a seemingly indecipherable code protecting what lay beneath. Tossing the packing to the floor of her living room, she stared inside, but there was no mystery to be solved there. She knew exactly what it was. She'd given it to Grissom on his last birthday, but still her brow crinkled at the question that remained. Why had he sent it to her? Pulling the contents gently from its paper nest, Sara ran her fingers lightly over the ornate G on the cover before holding it to her nose. The rich smell of the hand tooled leather and a scent that could only be described as "Grissom" blended together to pull a sob from just beneath the thin layer of composure she'd been maintaining. Flipping open the cover, she began to read.
Our relationship has been a long series of partings, sometimes to arm's length and sometimes across thousands of miles. But each time I watch you go, it gets harder and harder to remember why this is necessary. Epicurus said, "Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; but remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for." Inherently I know that's true, Sara. I have more than I ever dared hope, more than I will ever deserve.
Sara could almost feel the rumble of his voice in her ear, and she lost herself momentarily as she strained to hear it. So much so, that she started at the chirping of her phone, taking a second to wipe the tear from her cheek before gathering herself. "Sidle."
"I'm done longing for what I have not."
"Gil?" She pulled the phone away from her ear and gaped at it.
"Yes, Dear," he said. "You know, it wasn't until the last few pages of the journal that I realized Epicurus doesn't know shit about being in love."
The laugh took her by surprise, washing through her and lifting her up. "Very profound," she said her wide smile almost audible in her voice.
"Yes, well, that's why I tend to borrow words from others I suppose." He sighed, the levity of the moment before suddenly gone. "Somewhere along the way I knew that if we were still apart when I reached the end, then I would have asked as much as I could of my heart."
Sara's tears began to fall in earnest as she said softly, "Sometimes your own words are pretty amazing, you know."
Flipping through the journal, she saw sheet after sheet filled with Grissom's distinctive handwriting. There were long entries that seemed to go on for pages and more than a few that consisted simply of, "I miss you," but each page was completely full. She could hear her heart rate thundering in her ears as she turned to the last page.
I've let a lot of things come between us in the past. Funny that the oceans have turned out to be the easiest for me to cross. I'm home, Honey. Let me in.
In five long strides she was at the door, her trembling hand finding the knob. In her heart she had always known that one day, somehow, he would be standing there. She threw the door open and drank in the sight of him, her eyes caressing his familiar features as her heart raced. Shaking her head faintly back and forth as her mind struggled to understand what her eyes were showing her. "How?"
The happily puzzled look on her face made his stomach do a little flip. That had been the look that had done him in all those years ago. And as he stood staring at her, he knew. Through the years he'd always been standing just outside her door. Work, doubt, fears and insecurities had always managed to worm their way between them. Never again, he promised himself. His voice was hoarse and cracked as he spoke, "Do you really want the particulars right now?" Stepping forward through the door he enfolded her in his arms and buried his face in her hair, filling his lungs with everything his soul had been thirsting so long for.
The feel of his arms surrounding her, of his hand as it found its way into her hair made her shiver in familiar anticipation. Her body burned where his skin touched hers, even as her mind raced with the improbability of him really standing here with her. But in the moment, the reality of his touch and the promise in his eyes was everything she needed. Sara threw her own arms around his neck and drew him closer, closer, until there wasn't room between them for any more thought.
He closed his eyes as her tongue left a path of wet desire in its wake, "Sara." Her name was barely more than a groan of need as he turned his head and pressed his mouth to hers, greedy for the taste of her. He felt himself harden at the first touch of her tongue along his lips. Their mouths danced together, each seeking out more of the other as they made their way to the nearby couch.
Sara slid her hands down from his neck to his chest, one gentle push enough to land him heavily on the sofa behind him. Capturing his eyes as he watched her, she shed her clothes in an oddly synchronous whirlwind, caught up in the ever growing hunger of his gaze. Her hands trailed lightly over the swell of her breasts and down the slope of her hips, stopping only to press her fingers to the throb between her legs. The raspy heave of her breath stopped abruptly though, when she heard his voice.
"Please." His body thrummed with tension and desire so fierce he half wondered if spontaneous human combustion might be more than a myth after all. He felt more alive in this moment than he ever had. And as he watched her long fingers dance over the skin he longed to worship, he suddenly knew. Despite all their mistakes and regrets, they had both sacrificed enough. It was their time now, everything else could wait.
The growl of his voice told her how close he was to that brink, to that moment when he was hers alone. The man who could lose himself in her, in her wet mouth and the heat between her thighs, until he was made of want and sweat and love. She stepped forward, dropping to the couch, straddling his thighs as her fingers made quick work of his shirt buttons.
Arching his hips the moment her weight settled across his lap, he pushed the hard ridge of his still confined cock against her, groaning at the torture. His hands found her hips, holding her down as he ground against her again and again, knowing he should stop even as he realized that he couldn't. He could feel a droplet of sweat as it trickled past his temple; feel the burn of his parched throat as his mouth gaped open with each press of her body on his. And then her nimble fingers were on his zipper, freeing him and capturing him in the instant before they became one, before nothing else mattered.
She couldn't wait. Not a single second could be spared to push his shirt from his shoulders or pull his pants down his legs. There was only the aching need to feel him inside her, to have him fill her in the way that only he could, body and soul, past and future. Sliding slowly down onto him, everything else stopped for one split second, before exploding into a frenzy of rolling hips and roaming hands.
When Sara reached up to brace herself on the back of the couch, it brought her breast within easy reach of his mouth. He tilted his head and latched onto one dusky pink nipple, drawing it gently through his teeth as he flicked it with his tongue. Sara's throaty moan shot straight to his groin and he met her thrusts with a force he could no longer contain. His hands gripped her hard, slamming her down onto him as he arched up into her, needing to be deeper inside her, never wanting to be anywhere else.
Her thighs burned as their pace quickened, her breath coming in short gasps as she pushed herself almost all the way off of him before feeling him pull her all the way back. She could feel the urgency in his thrusts, hear the frantic pulse in his deep moans and she knew he was close. Closer than her. "Wait for me."
His eyes fluttered open at the desperation in her voice, and it was enough. Enough to make him wrestle the tiniest bit of control back, enough to help him take a half step back from the edge. "I will." He watched her head fall back as she continued to ride him, the long line of her neck too much to resist. Reaching up, he let his fingertip glide from beneath her chin, through the valley between her breasts. Lower and lower on the sheen of sweat that lightly covered her lithe body, until it found what she needed.
Shudders wracked her body as every muscle began to tighten beneath her skin. Her lungs burned with the breath she was holding and her fingernails dug into the couch. And then everything stopped, and she teetered on the edge with every nerve ending buzzing and screaming for release. "Come with me," she said in an urgent whisper.
The pleading request was all it took. Her words snapping the thread of restraint he'd held tightly to, he erupted into her again and again. His body working independently of his brain, he simply became sweet release. The first things he noticed as he came back to himself were the tiny kisses Sara was peppering in his damp hair, and the breathless words she was whispering between each one.
"You're home," she said over and over. The same two words, yet sometimes they were a reassurance for him, and sometimes they were a statement of the miraculous for her. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, hands weaving in and out of his hair as she held him close.
"For good," he said as he turned to look up at her, smiling at the multitude of unspoken questions that appeared in her eyes. He kissed her gently to keep them that way.
Sara swallowed her questions, happy to let them go so she could bask a little longer in this moment, in the feel of his arms around her, in the knowledge that he would always, always come home to her. Laying her cheek on top of his head, she squeezed him just a little closer. "Are you sure this is what you want?"
"God, yes." Turning his head, he placed a kiss in the hollow of her collarbone. "Even before I let myself think about it, even after I thought I'd lost it. This is all I've ever wanted."
She pulled back slightly and placed her hands on either side of his face, "Me too. We deserve this."
"I'm not sure I'll ever deserve this," he said kissing her softly, "But I'm never letting go again."