Disclaimer: None of the characters belong to me, unfortunately. I can only dream.
Once again, I come home to an empty house. No lights on, not a sound filtering through the rooms. It doesn't seem like much of a home; it doesn't feel like it. I should be used to it by now. It has been a long time since I have come home to a house where there was someone waiting for me.
Today it hits me harder than most. A nurse murdered in her home, poised in her bathroom. A tired sigh fills my ears, and it takes me a moment as I wrestle with my key in the door, to realise it is my own.
I seem to be running on autopilot, more like a robot, than human. Trying to stick to my routine is harder than normal. I lock my door behind me, flick on the dim lights that desperately need to be changed, and shuffle towards the kitchen, turning on the kettle.
There is nothing but the necessities in this house, the bare minimum. Nothing which really makes this shelter a home,
What has happened to me today?
I leaned back against the counter, closing my eyes as I let the soft sound of the bubbling water in the kettle sooth my pain.
Did he know I was there? Did he realise I was standing behind the two-way mirror, hanging on his every word, feeling my throat tighten, my heart beat speed up. I could tell you meant everything that you said, there was a sparkle in your eyes, one I know is only there when you believe in what you are saying.
For so long, I have hid my feelings, buried them, oppressed them, deep down inside. It was all in vain.
I can't keep my feelings to myself. I can't be like you, Grissom.
The click from the kettle draws me from my thoughts, I unconsciously turn to reach for a cup, and set about the monotonous task of making a cup of tea, but it is routine. After a few moments I make my way to the two-seater sofa, kicking off my shoes and sitting down, pulling my legs tight beneath me. I hold the cup in both my hands, cradling it as if it were a fragile treasure. In a way it is. I can feel the heat beneath my skin, at the tips of my fingers. It reminds me that I am still alive.
I can still hear your words echoing in my mind, as if you had been shouting them at me.
We wake up one morning and realize that for 50 years we haven't really lived at all... But then one day, someone young and beautiful offers to share their life with you, someone you can care about. We have to give up everything we worked for to have them, I couldn't do it... but you did.
Is this what I get, the knowledge that yes, you do have feelings for me, despite how you push me away, how you tell me I must keep my feelings to myself, you actually do have something for me. Why now, Gil? Why reveal this to me now?
Or have you only realised this for yourself, right now? Has it only just dawned on you, that the looks we share, the lingering touches, the flirtatious smiles, that they are more than just something between friends or even work colleagues? I have known for a long time, since I was your student, hanging on your every word, praising the ground you walk on, eager to hear more from you, to please you, to show you my talent. It hasn't changed. Not now. Not ever.
You know how you feel, you admitted it; to a total stranger albeit, but you did. That should make me feel happy, but it doesn't. You admit how you feel, but also, in a way, you admit how you can't give up everything you have worked for, to have me.
That hurts, but that's life.
When I wake up screaming, drenched in my own cold sweat, I instantly reach to the other side of my empty bed, expecting to find warmth there, some comfort, but I never do. You aren't that man, the man who could help me through that. At least, you never show that side to me. Sometimes it makes me wonder if you have any feelings at all. Can anything hurt you, excite you, scare you, and please you? Anything but your work, that is.
I love you Gil. I think I've loved you since the moment I saw you or at least known that I would love you. Pathetic, I know, but very true.
It's going to go back to normal now. Me trying to hide my feelings, trying to hide that I know how you feel. Those moments I lived for, where it only seemed to be you and I in a room, will just be awkward little moments I'm dying to escape from.
As if on que, to allow me to escape from my haunting thoughts, a knock on the door breaks through the silence in the room. I put down my untouched cup of tea, and pull myself to my feet. I didn't think anybody knew where I lived. Nobody asked and nobody called. Maybe it was just somebody trying to sell me something. It was late, but hey, stranger things had happened in Vegas.
I opened the door slowly, silently wishing I had invested in a peephole, to have some idea on my late night visitor.
A small gasp left my lips, and my breathing seemed to become laboured. "Grissom… What are you doing here?" I asked on an automatic impulse.
He stood before me, looking slightly embarrassed, but adorable as hell. Clearing his throat, he smiled softly, those cute puppy dog eyes locked with mine. "Sara, hey.. Em.. Brass said you were there, earlier, in the interview room.. And I had to come see you.."
Oh no.
I could feel myself blushing ever so slightly. Forcing a smile on my lips I nodded, stepping aside and opening the door into my residence, allowing him to step inside. "Come on in.."
Dun dun dunnn..
To be continued.
A/N: My very first CSI fic, quite a bleak beginning, but my promises it will get more light hearted.
Please review, let me know what you like don't like, where you'd like the fic to go.
-Rach
-xx