SORRY - I just had to fix the pagination, it was driving me crazy, so apologies for re-posting. Thanks for your reviews - keep them coming!
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This takes place around and after 8x04. I was touched by the scene, and in fact all the scenes since 8x01, and wanted to explore what might have been going on in those weeks and what might come next.
n.b – I draw your attention to the fact that this is written in the present tense, I posted a previous story which was written in this way and someone hated me for not flagging it up – so here you go. If you don't like the tense, read another story.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters, or the show. CBS owns me, in fact, if anything. I bow to them.
The tears are collecting already as she looks at him. She can't see, she doesn't care. What has he just said to her? How can this be? Nine years and counting. Nine. A quarter of her lifetime, in this haze of stomach churning moments that cannot be happening to anyone else alive. Not like this.She wants to say, what? She wants to rewind time thirty seconds to when it had not been said, and prepare, get ready to receive it. She has never, ever, imagined this moment, even when she were a little girl, and her inexperience shows.She can't move.
Something crawls on her outstretched palm as she counts every breath, just to be sure they are still coming in and out. One.. two... three.. should she say something? She can't. It just has to be a joke. Or a mistake. He has to be about to blush, to retract it, to say something negative to counter it and return them to their familiar path of two steps forward three steps back. Lately, the steps have only been going in one direction, and she has been waiting for the ball to drop.
"What do you think?" He looks eager but sheepish. He looks... surely not... vulnerable. Like he doesn't know what she will say.How is that possible?Are you serious? She says in her head, but nothing comes out. Her tears threaten to give an answer for her, and so she speaks.
"Yes," she says, and his face lights up. The sight of it makes her emotional, even more so. She had no idea he would do this, say this, ask this, and no idea that if he did she would say that. She'd never even considered if it would ever happen, just assumed quite contentedly that it wouldn't, and that that was okay. Now, though, as he smiles in relief and a kind of joy she thinks she's never seen on his face before, and mumbles a "yeah?" as if to reassure himself that he's not dreaming either, there's nothing she wants more.
Of course she wants to marry him. She was born to be his wife.
Catherine is the first to notice. She knows that something is going on, and announces to him that he can't fool her again. His even temper and smile give him away, apparently, and she doesn't like being in the dark. He thinks about telling her, but wants Sara to have a ring first. His question was not exactly off the cuff, he had made the decision some days before - in fact, in many ways he thought he had been working up to it since the day they met - but he had found himself unable to wait any longer. Catherine lets it lie, thinking to herself that she will take Sara by surprise, knowing that she is the worse liar of the two. She has no idea, and it never enters her head to suspect the m word. It is, after all, Sara and Grissom.
By the time he reaches their home that morning, he has been engaged for all of ten hours. He sits in the car on the drive and remembers when this was his house, an ivory tower in which she had never been. He remembers the first time she came here, with the others. He remembers the way she looked that day, behind his kitchen counter, fixing coffee for the team. He wonders how it is that that was not enough to make him overcome his fears.
He thinks of the moment he knew she would live here, with him. Another awakening, after a long, slow day of love making. He was grateful every day that their nights were days, and what this meant. Watching her face in the morning sun as they moved together. Light when they lay down, light when they woke. This particular day they woke together, showered together, ate together and left for work together. When they reached the side street close to the lab where he would drop her off, he felt a sadness come over him. He hated the clandestine feeling he got doing this, hated that something so beautiful to him could ever be seen as wrong or inappropriate. He stopped her as she went to get out. Gave her a key and asked her if she'd like to live with him. She wrinkled her beautiful nose at him, surprised. He offered to move the bugs out of the house and into the garage. She smiled, and said maybe just the hissing ones. His face colours at the memory. She said yes then, too.
Grissom gets out of the car and lets himself in, anything but tired. Sara is working swing, so he won't see her until the evening. He showers, changes, and sets off out again. First stop, coffee, a good roast, no less will do for this errand. Second stop, a store he has never before set foot in. He makes three purchases.
When Sara's shift finishes, Greg catches her. He's returning from court, and looks cute in his monkey suit. He's tired, and wants to talk over something caffeine based. She makes an excuse, pleading for a raincheck, saying she needs to get home. Greg is suspicious, knowing she is never usually one to turn down coffee. He asks where the fire is, and Sara blushes. She replies that she just wants to be in her own home, and he translates correctly that she wants to see her boyfriend.
"No," she answers, in truth. He's not her boyfriend anymore.
His car is there when she pulls up. She remembers when this was his house, a place that made her prickle with uncertainty and anticipation. She remembers the first time she came here with the knowledge that things had changed. The way his voice had sounded on the phone, the memory of his hands clasping Nick's as they prayed he would get out of the ground alive. The emotion it had wrenched out of them both, wreaking havoc inside their heads, needing release. It was he who had called, and she had almost wept with relief. She drove over here at his suggestion and they talked from darkness into light, in more ways than one. As the night gave way to the morning, their hearts and minds began to unclench, slowly letting themselves creep closer on his leather couch. Each time one of them rose to make more coffee or use the bathroom, they sat down an inch closer, until at sometime around seven in the morning, his hand reached for hers.
Sara smiles as she realises that he has left just enough space for her car on the drive. Now it is their house, and he has given it so willingly, as though he was always in need of another six bookshelves and a blowdryer.
It is dark when she opens the door. The house smells clean, and is quiet. She closes the door and puts her keys neatly on the sideboard. She goes to the kitchen counter and flicks on the light above the island. On the counter is a red rose, on it's stem, a ring. She stops, her breath caught in her throat. It's beautiful. A folded note sits next to it. She opens it."Thoreau, over coffee?" She reads out loud, smiling to herself, and looks around for him. No sign.
She moves further into the living room and sees the book on the coffee table. Thoreau himself. Seeing that there is a marker in the book, she sits and opens it. In it is another note, and another ring. This one completely different from the first. Gold where the other is silver, with what looks like sapphire in the setting. She is confused. Unfolding the note, she reads, " A little night air?" This rings no bells with her at first, until she feels the breeze on her bare shoulder. The window is open, the curtain billowing gently. She gets up, holding the two rings tightly in her fist. She draws back the fabric and this time gasps.
A butterfly sits on the frame. It is from his collection, carefully transposed onto the wooden strut, complete with the pin which would normally hold it in place. She thinks she may even recognise it. It's real, preserved, striking. Around its middle, its dry body, sits a third ring. This one is an antique, a darker gold, with a small, subtle diamond at its centre.Her eyes fill, and she knows that there will never be anything more perfect than this. From this man, to this woman, this gesture is the greatest that can be made. It says everything to her, everything that they are and that he wants to give her. She is crying softly as he approaches, slipping his hand into hers. She turns into him and holds him in the dim room, so sure that he will never grow old or undesirable to her.
"I wasn't sure which one you'd like."
She laughs gently, her frame shaking against his. As if they are not all perfect, all more than she has ever imagined, more than she can comprehend. There is nothing she can say. It is all too much for one day.