Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: I don't CSI or any of the characters contained within.
A/N: The idea for this story was born when I was supposed to be writing my Halloween fic, but took on a new purpose when Burn Out aired. My unending thanks to Elle for the long chats that shaped this story, and for being the beta of champions under such a tight timeline. All mistakes are mine as the final edits were done during Elmo's World.
Hush
In a world of destruction, one must hold fast to whatever fragments of love are left, for sometimes a mosaic can be more beautiful than an unbroken pattern.
--Dawn Powell, The Locusts Have No King.
Sara loved coming home.
She loved the sound of her key in the lock, the click of metal against metal that let her leave the rest of the world outside. She loved that she and Grissom had picked this house to be their home because of the enchanting backyard that had captivated them both. She even loved the way the front door stuck a little so you really had to put your shoulder into it to get it open.
Tonight was a different sort of coming home, though, filled with a dark sense of purpose; the house was silent as she opened the door, and the joy she usually felt was distinctly absent. Grissom had left the police station without bothering to let her know; only paging her after Brass had dropped him off at home. She'd stared at the display on her phone in such disbelief that Greg had offered to cover for her without even asking why. Grabbing her keys, she'd simply left the lab; her only thought had been get home to Grissom.
He'd been tired and distracted the few times she had seen him at the lab. It was an exhaustion that was in his walk, his breath, and the careful way he never got too close to her, almost as if the mere touch of her might crack his thin veneer of control. She'd wanted to take him home, away from the lab, and soothe away the lines on his face with gentle kisses. He'd had a one track mind, though, so she had spoken to him in the only language he could hear—the case. But now that the case was closed and out of his hands, he was in hers.
As she was setting her keys and phone on the table in the entry way, she felt the slightest whisper of a breeze on her cheek. She turned toward the sensation and saw that the French doors off of the kitchen were wide open. She crossed to the back of the house quickly, already able to see him sitting out by the edge of the patio. She paused for a moment in the doorway watching him in the dim light of the moon, as he stared up at the night sky. Stargazing was something they were fond of doing together, but tonight she knew he wasn't seeing any stars.
Her shoes made a faint scuffing sound on the slate tiles as she approached him. She heard him shift and watched as a space appeared beside him on the chaise lounge. She sat down facing him, the warmth of her thigh pressing up against his.
"Headache?" She asked in a low voice.
"Not any more." He'd swallowed far more pills than the doctor had recommended with no relief, yet at the mere sound of her voice the pressure he'd felt all day finally began to fade.
"I would have brought you home." She said softly, knowing this had nothing to do with her; she'd been picking at the lock of his heart for years, and it was only recently she'd been offered the key.
"I know." Old habits were hard to break and he'd been feeling selfish in his pain, unwilling to share it with her, even though he knew she was the only one with any hope of making it all go away.
He looked up at her, expecting disappointment in her eyes, but found such an intense look of love that it took his breath away. He knew Sara loved him, it was the first thing she told him every day, but knowing something and feeling it were two totally different things.
Sitting there, looking into his eyes, she saw a vulnerability that made her heart ache. She knew there were no words to comfort him though, so she just sat next to him listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, and soaking up his pain and confusion as if she had none of her own. She didn't push him or pull him or ask him any questions. She just held the hand he'd slipped into hers.
She watched as he sank back into the chair, the weight he'd been carrying around gradually lifting from his shoulders. Her hand crept up, caressing his cheek, the hint of stubble rough against her skin. He turned his head, kissing her palm, and found a smile on his lips. Just the touch of her hand was like a benediction, blessing, and a promise of things to come.
He slid his arms around her, pulling her down and burying his head in the curve of her neck. He inhaled the sweet scent of her and felt tears prick at the back of his eyes, there was something about being with Sara that brought everything into focus. His hands roamed her back, pulling her closer as he found peace in the weight of her against him.
He held her in his arms, with her head against his heart, as the sound of her breathing soothed his tired soul. "Come to bed with me?" He asked only after the minutes had blended into hours.
She nodded, rising to her feet as she tangled her fingers with his and pulled him up.
She led him through the dark house, stopping when she reached their bedroom door and releasing his hand after pressing a kiss to the back of it. She left him in the doorway, walking to her bedside table. She struck a match and quickly lit three candles.
She stood there in the soft light for a moment, watching as the candles flickered to life, and then turned to face him. She found his eyes with her own, and held his gaze as she unbuttoned the top button of her pants, then moving the zipper down with a seductive slowness that drew a hiss of breath from between his lips. The pants slid down her long legs, and she stepped out of them along with a lacy scrap of underwear.
Her fingers curled around the edge of her shirt, and she pulled it over her head, tossing it on top of her pants. Reaching around, she unclasped her bra with one hand and let it fall away from her body.
He nearly fell to his knees as his eyes moved down the curve of her neck, across the roundness of her breasts, and over the gentle flare of her hips; he wanted to memorize this vision of Sara, her skin golden in the candlelight. He was awed by her vulnerability, her fearlessness, and the endless ways she opened herself to him, but most of all how she healed all of his broken parts with her unconditional love.
She held her hand out to him, and he stepped into her embrace. His hands moved over her smooth, warm skin as if he was touching it for the first time. She held his head gently between her hands, reveling in the profound love in his eyes.
He brought her hands down to the buttons on his shirt, her long fingers working quickly; tracing the path of the fabric with her hands as she pushed it off of his shoulders. His pants fell by the work of his own hands. Stepping closer she pressed her bare skin against his. He felt her sharp intake of breath as her fingers tightened at the back of his neck and her hips thrust forward to meet his.
His mouth came down on hers just in time, she felt the heat building between them and the intensity was almost too much to bear. He kissed her deeply, with a passion he thought had been lost to him long ago.
There was a time when the lab was his life; when blood spatter and bugs and convicting men like Carl Fisher was all that mattered to him. But now there was this precious thing he shared with Sara and his desire to love and protect her was far greater than any dedication he'd ever had to his job.
She was guiding him toward the bed, but he stilled her movements, holding her hands with his. He traced a path of kisses over the curve of her neck before kneeling in front of her. With a sigh he pressed his cheek against the softness of her belly, chafing it slightly with the roughness of his whiskers, while her long fingers tangled in his hair.
He ran his hands over her stomach, brushing a soft kiss at the apex of her thighs. He felt the tremble in her legs as he nudged them apart, and breathed in the sweet, heady scent of her. He drew a thumb over her clit with the lightest of touches, and she sucked in a breath as his finger slid deep into the velvet heat of her.
Sara let out a low moan, her hips matching his pace as he added a second finger and her head fell forward, her dark hair nearly obscuring her face. He could see her eyes, though, and they told him all he needed to know.
"Gil…" Her voice was husky as she pulled him to his feet and kissed him, her mouth hot and demanding. She pushed him toward the bed and they fell as one; he rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him.
Sliding back, Sara placed a hand on either side of him, lifting herself up until she felt the head of his cock press against her. Her eyes caught his as she slid slowly down on him.
His hands skimmed over her smooth skin, settling around her waist as she began moving against him. He looked up at her, savoring the way her bare skin glowed in the flickering candle light. She was his sanctuary, his solace, the keeper of his deepest secrets. Whenever he was lost, she was the one who brought him home.
He felt her arch against him, a shudder traveling through her as she cried out. He held her in the circle of his arms, wanting his body to tell her all the things he could never put into words. She collapsed against him for a few moments, her only movement, the steady rise and fall of her chest against his. But then she was grinding her hips into his again, and he rose up to meet her. Without a thought, he flipped her onto her back and her legs came up around him, pulling him closer to her.
Her name was promise on his lips and her body wrapped around his as he finally let go. He knew he loved Sara, but never thought he'd find such an unimaginable peace in her arms as he had tonight. This love that they shared defied everything he'd ever thought about himself; he'd pushed her away at every opportunity, never realizing she'd been a part of him all along. He slid off of her, rolling on to his back, but keeping her in his embrace. He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed each one in turn before pressing a kiss into her palm.
"How do you do it?" He asked, stroking the hair at her temple, he'd seen her pain firsthand, watched cases eat away at her heart, yet she a bore a strength that fed his soul.
"You." She answered, as her fingers traced the shape of his face, "Knowing I have you is all I really need." She put her head down on his shoulder, her palm over the steady beat of his heart, and she felt a peaceful quiet fall over him, a kind of hush she felt right to her soul.