A new story exploring the lives of Sara and Grissom from Paris to the boat ride into the sunset! Enjoy!
Lying Alone
Chapter 1
Gil Grissom sat at his desk at four in the afternoon wearing an overcoat, a scarf, and gloves. A stack of papers and three books filled his hands as he tried to decide which ones he wanted to place in his satchel. Outside, a winter dusk, where a gray sky softened and faded lines and corners of nearby buildings. People in coats, mostly in dark colors, occasionally a bright colored one, crowded sidewalks showing a dusting of snow. It had been no more than a sprinkle, like sugar falling from a cookie that filled cracks and crevices and stuck to windows for a few seconds before disappearing. The local weather forecast predicted more to come. Possibly a white Christmas.
Decision made, the papers went into his bag and he stood. This was the time of day loved by everyone in Paris. Gold light spilled from windows onto streets; people laughed at nothing, made plans for today, tomorrow, next week. Crowds moved along the avenues looking for places to eat or to drink or to simply walk along aged sidewalks. Night never followed day here—in between was evening, from fading light to as long as one wanted it to last—sometimes until dawn, he thought.
Swinging the bag over his shoulder, he glanced at the wall clock. From faint sounds from other offices, few people remained in the building. He'd turned down several invitations to meet for drinks, one for dinner. The small apartment he rented was an easy walk—even on a cold day—and in need of cleaning, straightening up, hanging clothes. And food—he needed food—fresh, not the stale bread he'd left on the table this morning.
He almost took the long way to extend his walk into one of the neighborhoods of narrow, twisting streets but he would also have to backtrack to his favorite boulangerie. He strolled with the crowds, eavesdropping on bits of conversation, until he turned the corner where the aroma of freshly baked bread met his nose. His daily bread was in the center of the block.
As his nose inhaled the aroma, his eyes closed for a few seconds. When he left, he would miss the smells of Paris as much as he would miss any part of the city. When he opened his eyes, he blinked several times, unable to comprehend what—who he saw standing in the doorway of the bakery.
She's early—two days early, he thought, as he stumbled then hastened his steps. A grin spread across his face. Her dark coat and the blue wool hat almost served as a disguise but the bright multi-colored scarf and the shopping bag had been hanging on the back of the door when he'd left the apartment this morning.
"Sara!" He thought he'd said her name softly but her head turned and her smile mirrored his.
Her arms spread; the loaf of bread held over her head as she took several long strides to get to him. When they hugged, he no longer smelled bread but the fragrance of her soap, shampoo, and lotion—the slight citrus scent she'd used for a decade. When she pulled back, her eyes shone with what he knew was happiness and love.
The string shopping bag held asparagus, cheese, eggs, grapes, apples, a bottle of water and a bottle of wine. Questions and answers spilled over and tangled in their conversation as they made their way to the apartment; a gray stone building with four floors and a multitude of stairways and steps.
She was early; a change in airline schedules got her on an earlier flight. Laughing, she said she'd left three messages on the phone he'd left on the kitchen counter.
He chuckled, saying, "I haven't had it on in two or three days."
The apartment was small, owned by a faculty member on sabbatical, with a kitchen at its front door, bead-board and old-fashioned wall paper covered the walls of the dining area and the living room where floor-to-ceiling windows opened to a diminutive balcony and furniture consisted of well-worn chairs, a small sofa, and lamps that were fifty years old. The bedroom was the jewel—skylights over a wide bed, one wall with build-in cabinets, compartments, and shelves for clothing and books, and an updated bathroom with a small clothes washer.
Somehow, they managed to make it to the bedroom; on the way, Grissom noticed the clean kitchen sink, the empty trash can, and his neatly stacked papers and books.
He got his shirt off, his pants thrown at a chair before he turned to find Sara looking sultry and sexy wearing a gold necklace he'd given her and the cutest black panties he'd seen in twelve weeks. They met somewhere on the bed; clumsy and shameless, laughing, dizzy with desire. Hands and mouths working, in too much of a hurry to be graceful or clever and too excited to care.
It was like their first time together—and their last time. He wanted her too much to be seductive—her fault, he thought—her knees spread or one foot pointing to the ceiling, with so many angles and clefts, curves and shadows, freckles scattered over her nose and her shoulders. Dark honey-colored eyes that flashed with flames, pale, blushing skin and, inside, the rosy pink he remembered. She crawled around the bed; he moved with her to find a position that made them breathe hard and fast. And then they did it again.
He managed to hold on, falling back now and then, but not her. From time to time, she came for both of them until, very late, she insisted—whispering, coaxing—and then he saw stars.
Six days. They had six days together. Dark, cold winter days with heavy clouds that threatened rain or snow. After staying in the apartment—mostly in bed—for twenty-four hours, they had to dress and find food.
They walked like lovers, shoulders touching, talking softly. Sara put her hand in the pocket of his coat, pressed against his thigh. He thought it was the most intimate contact he'd had experienced in public.
Along a narrow street, walking with arms wrapped around each other, they stopped to look in the window of a patisserie at the trays of colorful tarts, layer cakes and buttery cookies. Grissom went in, bought two red jam tarts, and they ate them as they walked back to the apartment.
He was amazed how hours could pass and they did not have to talk. She made tea; he pulled her onto his lap. Within minutes, they were kissing; the tea went cold as they moved to the bed. He went to shower afterwards; Sara was asleep but then she was climbing into the shower with him and the kissing began again followed by long, lazy lovemaking.
"It's snowing," Sara whispered, pointing to the skylight. "Let's go for a walk."
They walked through a blizzard. Sara's shoulder was firmly against his; occasionally her head dropped to touch his as she held his arm with both of hers. He was happy and didn't really care if they froze to death, became a set of ice statues, both smiling.
Finally, he said, "I'll return in twelve weeks—it won't be long."
During quiet hours, they had talked about his work, her work, their mothers, the dog, the future. The future—it lay before them as an unwritten book; an abrupt, unexpected end to a wanted pregnancy had been the quiet motive for Sara's return to Las Vegas. He would finish his contract in Paris and join her in three months.
His arm tightened around Sara, saying, "I'll be home soon."
Sara nodded as if she understood his thoughts.
Snow swirled around them, made little drifts in doorways of closed shops. Once he pulled her into a darkened entrance and kissed her so hard and long, he remembered being a teenager.
Afterwards, walking into the wind, holding each other close, Sara told him a story of Christmas as a young girl. Her parents had forgotten the holiday—or, more likely, spent money on alcohol and drugs, forgetting the expectations of a small child. On Christmas morning, there were no gifts for anyone, just empty bottles scattered across the floor.
"Around noon, the woman who lived next door brought over some food. She took one look at the place and invited me to her house." Sara wiped a hand across her face before she continued. "She put me in front of the television with a plate of cookies and a few minutes later came in with this little stack of gifts. She said Santa had left them at the wrong address—I knew there was no Santa but I played along and opened the presents."
Grissom held her tightly, asking, "What were the gifts?"
"A book—a biography of Amelia Earhart, a little bottle of cologne—I think it was a small sample size, a pair of socks, and a box of chocolate covered cherries. I could not figure out where she got the gifts—later, I realized she'd probably wrapped up some things she had at her house."
"Do you remember her name?" He knew she remembered.
"Della—we moved a few months later and I never saw her again."
"Sara…" He couldn't think of what to say. In the years they had known each other, she had not told him many stories of her life as a child.
Sensing his uncertainty, she leaned against him and placed cold lips against his cheek. She said, "I love you, Gilbert."
Their last night together, he could not sleep. He lay in the darkness and listened to Sara's soft breathing. They'd had a quiet Christmas celebration; at mid-day, they had walked along the muddy river, marveled at the snow-shrouded churches, and made quiet comments about the well-dressed Parisians. Now, he thought about each part of his life, how some of it had flowed together and some of it, as this sojourn to Paris seemed to be, was an oddity, a twist of fate.
When he shifted his position, Sara woke, made a little noise, then flowed across the bed and pressed tight against him.
"I don't want to leave you," she said into his ear.
He smoothed her hair, kissed her forehead. "I'll be home soon," he said.
He insisted on going to the airport with her and before she entered security, he took her into his arms and held her. "Only twelve weeks," spoken as if it were hours. "I love you. Be safe."
Standing in line, she waved, watched him until a turn put her behind a wall and he could no longer see her; her face was radiant, strong, smiling, wanting him to know he did not have to worry about her. His hand remained in the air for a long moment after she was gone.
A/N: Let us know what you think! We appreciate hearing from fans and readers who still love Sara and Grissom and GSR!
