Middle of the Ocean by WashDCChick
Summary: A Grissom/Sara story, Sara's POV. Mix equal parts backstory, angst and romance. Add a teaspoon of humor. Stir well.
Please read and review.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. The responsibility would just be too much. Also, the entire idea for this story came from the song Central Reservation (The Then Again Version) by Beth Orton. I also pilfered a couple of lines from the song at one point. I'm not making any money off of this, so please don't sue me for royalties.
Notes: Smooches to (in alphabetical order): Forensifile, NutMeg and Eolivet for going yay! even before they read a word. Thanks again to NutMeg for beta-ing and going yay! after she read it. Big thanks to Karen for beta-ing, and for giving me the CD in the first place.
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Sara kicked her shoes off and let her bag drop to the floor as she fell back against the inside of her apartment door. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself, a smile spreading from cheek to cheek. So much had happened; she needed time to process it all. It was almost unbelievable to her, even though she knew it was real. Her heart raced. Sara took a few deep breaths to steady herself. "God," she thought, "I'm practically giddy."
If it had happened the way it had been in her dreams, it wouldn't have been half as amazing as the reality of it. Lord knows she had dreamed it at night. In her dreams everything unspoken had been spoken; everything undone had been done. In her dreams she had been with him. In reality, it had been far different.
Gil Grissom. The connection with him had been immediate. She had met him while at Harvard; he had been a guest lecturer on campus while she was still an undergrad. Even among the best and the brightest there in Cambridge Sara had stood out, staying long after everyone else had left the lecture hall, the other students exhausted by Sara's persistent questioning. In Grissom she had sensed a kindred spirit: a hunger for knowledge that frequently overpowered anything and everything else in their lives. At her suggestion they had gone out after the lecture to an all night diner to continue their conversation, delving deep into the subject of forensics over bad coffee and greasy food. It was a good thing the diner never closed since they had talked until the next morning when Grissom had to catch a plane back to Las Vegas, to his job at the police department crime lab. He returned several times to lecture at Harvard and each time they repeated their all night discussions at the same greasy spoon.
Sensing there was more to be learned outside of academia, Sara left school in the middle of her graduate studies, getting a job with the San Francisco coroner's office, just outside her hometown of Tamales Bay, eventually transferring to the crime lab. One of the foremost experts in forensic entomology, Grissom had been called to San Francisco to lend his knowledge towards solving the serial murders of young women that had been terrorizing the city, and Sara was delighted to see him again.
They had grown closer working together in San Francisco. It was obvious to her, and, she thought, perhaps to him, too. Things had come so easily to her with Grissom. Surprising, considering it happened to her so rarely with other people; so often put off by her natural intelligence and unyielding need to learn. There was an easy rhythm with him, though. She had found herself anticipating, almost reading his thoughts, and he seemed to do the same with hers. She smiled more around him, and he around her; surprising, considering she saw him equaling her reserve around other people. His blue eyes had seemed to shine brighter for her; his smile seemed warmer for her.
Sara knew their connection was transparent to those around them, and she knew it annoyed them. It annoyed her being that transparent. She and Grissom talked about work and science, of course; the work could be all-consuming if she let it and she had, letting it grow into a passion, not admitting to herself the other reason it was a passion for her. But after less than a year Grissom had gone, the cases solved. He had told Sara to keep in touch, but it was almost too painful losing that connection and she had spoken to him only rarely. Sara had taken Grissom's leaving personally, in spite of herself. He had left her, not just San Francisco.
Three years had passed and her work consumed her even more. People were too unreliable, relationships too fleeting; work was always there, and she had depended on it to be. Out of the blue, he had called her, asked her to come to Las Vegas to help with the internal investigation of the death of one of his CSIs. Sara welcomed the opportunity to be someplace different. She knew her co-workers in San Francisco resented her for doing what was like breathing to her: trying to be the best, and succeeding. Secretly, she was glad to work with Grissom again, wondering if there was, in fact, something more to their connection.
But what more could there have been? Sara had told herself she was being ridiculous, practically mooning over her supervisor for crying out loud. What was she, thirteen years old with a crush on her teacher? She had put it out of her head; she knew better than that. But he had been there with her almost every day in Vegas. He had brought her with him on the interesting cases more often than not. He had sought her out frequently while she was working to get an update or to talk about the case or even to join him for a meal.
And then he had started pulling away from her; but there was something else. He was distracted, though for Grissom, working distracted was still better than almost anyone else on their best day. His smiles had become fewer and farther between, his eyes had seemed to have lost some of their humor. Something had clearly been troubling him; Sara wished he would confide in her, trust her. They had been through too much together for Sara to give up on him easily now, though there had been a point not that long before when she had been ready to. She had even gone so far as to request a leave of absence. If he couldn't even admit there was something between them she wasn't sure she could be around him anymore. Though it hadn't been a bluff, she had needed to do something drastic to get his attention and it had worked. More than just looks or movements, he had actually started using his words to seemingly tell her, if nothing else, that she was special to him. Gradually, she had regained her trust in Grissom, why wouldn't he do the same for her?
It was blisteringly hot that day, even for Las Vegas. The heat bore down like some invisible weight, not relenting even when the sun went down and Sara started her shift. Everyone's temper was shorter because of the temperature; Sara thought Grissom looked positively pained. She tried to get him alone several times that shift to talk to him. Was he avoiding her? Ignoring her? It certainly felt that way. While they were collecting evidence together she had tried to find out what was bothering him, but he simply changed the subject, acted like he hadn't even heard her. Sara grew angrier and more frustrated as night turned to early morning.
Dawn broke and brought with it more of the heat from the day before. Her shift over, Sara was determined to find Grissom; to get him to talk to her. Out of the corner of one eye she saw him; his back to her, walking out to the parking lot, presumably leaving for the day.
"Grissom!" she called out to get his attention. Grissom kept walking. "Grissom, stop!" she called, louder. But he was already out the door and halfway to his car. "Damn it!" Sara swore under her breath. She wasn't going to wait anymore. Sara strode quickly to her own car; she knew where he lived, they had all been there when Grissom had been taken off the Strip Strangler case.
Half out of anger, half to catch up with him, Sara speeded a minute or so behind Grissom. When they arrived at his apartment, Grissom finally noticed Sara's car pulling in behind his own. He stopped and waited for her to get out of her car.
"Sara? What are you doing here?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Trying to talk to you!" she said, the exasperation more than evident in her voice. "I called you twice in the hallway on your way out."
"I didn't hear you," he stated.
"You've been doing that a lot lately."
"What?"
"Not hearing me," she replied.
The slightest wince crossed his face; if she didn't know him so well, it wouldn't have even registered. He turned away from her, opening the door to his apartment, Sara nipping at his heels, letting the door close behind them. Suddenly the pieces of the puzzle started coming together in Sara's head; she knew Grissom's mother had been deaf…
"You haven't been hearing me, have you?" It was a mixture of shock, demand and concern.
Grissom was looking decidedly uncomfortable at this point. "You make your presence perfectly well known."
"You didn't answer my question," she said, pointedly.
"I can hear you just fine."
"Sure, now. I'm facing you. What if I turn away? What's going on? Grissom, are you going deaf?"
She saw his jaw twitch.
"Yes," he said, flatly. There couldn't have been more space between them if there had been a brick wall actually there in his living room.
Although she had anticipated the answer to her own question, Sara still felt as though the wind had been
knocked out of her. Her mouth was open; she closed it. She blinked several times, unsure of what to say next.
"Is that all you wanted to know?" Grissom asked, "I've got a headache from this heat and I'd like to lie down." His voice was icy.
"Is that all? No, that's not all, Grissom!" Sara was incredulous, "You just told me you're going deaf!"
"Yes, I did."
"Well, is it permanent? What are you going to do about it? When were you planning on telling me?"
"I wasn't. I really don't see how it affects you."
Sara went from feeling like the wind had been knocked out of her to feeling like she had been hit by a Mack truck. He had been avoiding her.
"You don't see – Grissom, of course it affects me! It affects everyone around you, especially me!"
"No, it doesn't actually."
Sara tried to search his eyes for what he was really feeling, but he was steadfastly refusing to look her in the eye. Furthermore, he seemed to be avoiding using her name. She pressed on, "Well, what are you going to do about it?"
"Either I'll go deaf or I won't."
"Grissom, for god's sake, would you stop being so stubborn for once and talk to me! You need your friends right now; I thought I was your friend."
Grissom had gone to sit on his couch, kneading his temples. Sara was standing a few feet in front of him, her anger had turned to frustration, and was quickly turning to desperation. She searched his face; it hid everything. If what she was saying was reaching him, he wasn't letting it show. She was beginning to think this whole thing had been one gigantic mistake.
"Grissom, look at me." As expressionless as his face was at that moment, Sara was sure hers was the opposite; everything showed: hope, fear, anger, disappointment, and most of all, hurt. She wanted him to know what she was feeling; she wanted him to see what she was feeling.
Grissom looked at her but said nothing. His silence was beginning to be too much for her. She crossed her arms in a gesture of self-protection and stood up straight.
"Fine," she said. It felt just like when she had requested a leave of absence, only it felt permanent this time, "Fine. Great. That's it then." She had been a fool to think things could have ever worked out between her and Grissom.
"I'm leaving," she said. In her mind it was, "I'm leaving you." He was so good at reading her thoughts, but Sara doubted if he could read them now.
"I was wrong," she said, turning towards the door, "You don't need friends. You don't need me. You don't need anyone." She began to walk out. Five feet felt like five miles.
Just as she reached the door Sara heard him stand up, "Sara"
Something different in his voice made her turn around. "Sara", he paused. She looked at him expectantly, but waited for him to continue. "I need *you*." He took two steps forward, closing the distance between them, "I need you, Sara. I always have."
Sara searched his face; it hid nothing.
"I'm not very good at this, you know that. I always seem to end up hurting the people I love the most. I always seem to end up hurting – you. I, I'm sorry, Sara. I'm sorry." Grissom was staring into her eyes, looking for a reply; it felt like he was looking into her soul.
She was speechless. He had exposed himself to her completely, and she was speechless.
"I need you, Sara. Don't leave." Grissom was right in front of her now, pleading with her quietly.
"I won't," she finally said, "Ever."
He leaned in hesitantly and kissed her. Sara was sure he could hear her heart it was beating so hard. She closed her eyes as he ran his hand through her hair, lacing it through his fingers as he rested both hands at the back of her head. When he broke the kiss she kissed him back. One kiss led to two, two led to three and soon there was no end and no beginning to it. There was nothing but Sara and Grissom.
Sara reached out to him and found his waist. She was against the wall now, Grissom's hands in her hair, his mouth on hers, her hands on his waist, pulling him to her.
Touch. Smell. Taste. Sara was all sensation as they made their way to Grissom's bedroom. The feel of the heat rising off of his body, the smell of his chest, the taste of his bare skin under her mouth. She wanted to inhale him, drink his very essence. Grissom buried his head in the curve between Sara's neck and shoulder. He passed his hand underneath the shoulder of her top, exposing a bra strap. It was black, like much of her wardrobe. Grissom moved back to below her neck, tracing her collar bone with his tongue. Sara could only hold onto him, his hands holding her bare arms, taking control, insisting she only feel her own pleasure for the moment, not think about his; though he took plenty of it in her body.
He let go of her arms to lift her shirt up over her head, and she heard him inhale slightly when he saw her body for the first time. She couldn't help laughing when the tip of his tongue involuntarily flickered against his upper lip in thought. Sara took off his shirt and drank him in with her eyes: his long eyelashes, the angle of his cheekbones, his chest hair, graying like the curls on his head, now unruly from her hands. She was drunk from the sight of him: his strong shoulders and arms, and just barely over the top of his pants the way his hip joined his stomach, cutting a diagonal line in his flesh. She lost sight of it for the moment, and made a mental note to make sure she found out later that morning where it led.
He cocked his head to one side, watching her watching him. Sara's desire for Grissom was only magnified seeing his desire for her. His hands were on her bare back now, detoured on their path by the back of her bra. With one arm he pulled her against him, her length almost matching his own; the other arm made surprisingly short work of her bra clasp. He held her just slightly away from him as he sat onto the bed, pulling her down slightly to move his mouth onto her breast. Sara gasped at the sensation and pulled his head closer to her in wordless encouragement.
Sara felt his hands move lower, unbuttoning her jeans, which sat low on her hips. Grissom's fingers slid just inside where the waistband had been, tracing the curve of her hips around to the base of her spine, and then stopped suddenly when he found her underwear. Sara's eyes opened, sensing his surprise.
"You're wearing a thong?!" he breathed.
If Sara's face had not already been flushed with excitement, it certainly would have turned red at that moment. "Um…yeah," she shrugged one shoulder, and looked away for a moment, "No panty lines," she muttered by way of an explanation. Grissom's reply came in the form of a raised eyebrow and half teasing smile. Her heart raced and her body throbbed in anticipation as she felt Grissom's warm breath and moist lips move just above the top of her underwear; she wasn't sure how much more she could stand. His hands paused to caress the fullness of the bare skin below the back of her thong before sliding her pants down off their owner and pulling her back onto the bed with him, underneath him.
All reason had long since passed as they moved together. Sara couldn't tell whose moans were whose, which sigh came from which of them, nor did she care. Everything was a blur of sight and sound and sensation. She couldn't take anymore and didn't want it to end, until she felt her body contract and finally release, Grissom moments behind.
When they woke sometime later he asked, "How are you?" Grissom was lying on his side, his free hand running absently through Sara's hair.
Sara reached up to his hair to return the favor, smiling sleepily, "Good, I think."
"He's beautiful when he wakes up," she thought.
"You think?" he seemed genuinely concerned.
She moved her hand down to caress his cheek, "Good. Definitely," she reassured him. "How are you?"
"Perfect."
Sara knitted her brow, "Well, except for your hearing."
Grissom sighed, "We'll deal with it, I suppose. There are options."
"We?" she asked. She wasn't even sure he realized he had said it.
"We." He repeated, hopefully. "I don't just need you, Sara," he said, recalling their earlier conversation, "I love you. Do you know that?"
He had no idea how long she had wanted to hear him say that; how often she had heard it in her dreams. Sara smiled, the bright, shining smile she gave only to Grissom, showing the slight gap between her two front teeth. "I love you too, Gris. I love you so much."
He put one arm around her waist, resting his head on her stomach; turning to kiss it, his hair tickled her. Sara laughed and squirmed slightly under him.
"What did I do?" he asked.
"You're tickling me!"
"Really? Interesting. Does this tickle?" he asked her, as if he were asking the results of a very important experiment.
"Yes!"
His graze turned into a full-on tickle. Sara giggled, her fit of laughter making her hyper-sensitive. Grissom was barely touching her and she couldn't stop laughing.
Grissom leaned forward and kissed her, full on the mouth, pulling her legs up around him…
Later, Sara said reluctantly, "I have to go."
"Why?"
She smiled, "Because I don't have a change of clothes and I can't go into work naked."
He laughed out loud, "I won't mind."
"He's beautiful when he laughs," she thought.
Sara arched an eyebrow and grinned in return, "Neither will Greg."
"Good point."
Stretching, Sara slid out of Grissom's arms. As she moved to find her clothing strewn about the bedroom, she noticed him still in bed, watching her.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Looking at you," he said, "You're beautiful."
Flustered by his intense gaze, she blushed slightly and went back to getting dressed.
Grissom walked her to her car and leaned in for one more kiss. "I'll see you tonight," he said.
"Okay," Sara turned to face her car, "I love you, Gil."
Grissom smiled at the sound of his given name. "I love you too," he said, "But since when have you called me Gil?"
A guilty smile crossing her lips, Sara turned back to face him, "Since never. I just wanted to make sure you heard me."
Sara pushed away from the door, and walked further into her apartment towards the bathroom to take a shower; peeling off her clothing like she was shedding the skin of some past life. She hated to wash the traces of him off of her; she could still smell him on her fingers and taste him on her breath. But everything seemed brighter now, clearer somehow. She felt freer now; even the oppressive heat of the past days had lifted.
Without even thinking, really, Sara knew that everything would be fine, whatever "everything" was; she could handle it, *they* could handle it. It was like living in the middle of the ocean, with no future, no past. This time was fine, just as it was.
Sara stepped into the shower and let the water run over her, cleansing her.
Central Reservation (The Then Again Version)
by Beth OrtonRunning down a central reservation in last nights red dress,
And I can still smell you on my fingers and taste you on my breath;
Stepping through brilliant shades,
All the color you bring,
This time, this time, this time,
Is fine just as it is.
Today is whatever I want it to mean,
Today is whatever I want it to mean.
Is this where memories are made,
Well, dreams do come true.
Everything I ever took for granted,
I want to see it through.
I step through every shade,
Any color you bring,
Cause this time, this time, this time,
Is fine just as it is.
Today is whatever I want it to mean,
Today is whatever I want it to mean.
It's like living in the middle of the ocean,
With no future, no past,
And everything that's good right now,
Well, I don't wish for it to last.
I'll step through brilliant shades,
Every color you bring,
Cause this time, this time, this time,
Is fine just as it is.
And today is whatever I want it to mean,
Today is whatever I want it to mean,
Today, today, is whatever I want it to mean,
Today is whatever I want it to mean.