Just the way you are.
Sara stifled another yawn and put the car in park, killing the lights and the engine in one swift move. She was struggling to keep her eyes open, eyelids drooping heavy with fatigue as she wondered how she'd made it back to base safely. She looked over her shoulder toward the dimly-lit car lot and found it deserted with only a few cars dotted about the place.
I'll take five minutes, she told herself. No one's going to miss me for five short minutes.
Decision made, she reached under the seat and pulled the lever while sliding the seat back on the run as far as it would go. She turned the knob until the back rest lay almost completely horizontal and switched the radio on low. She stretched her long, tired limbs, working the kinks out of her shoulders and spread fully onto the seat with a soft contented moan. It wasn't the most comfortable position but it would do.
Beggars can't be choosers, she thought with a wan smile. Five minutes shut-eye and you'll be as good as new.
"You seen Sara?"
Glasses perched on the tip of her nose Catherine looked up from the photo evidence laid out in front of her on the light table and smiled instinctively at seeing Grissom at the door. She shook her head in reply. "No. Last I saw of her was at the beginning of shift."
Grissom pulled a bewildered face. "She should be back by now."
"You sent her solo; she didn't look happy."
"I'll try her cell."
"Good idea, Sherlock."
Grissom sneered good-humouredly at Catherine and left, pulling his cell out of his pants pocket. He quick-dialled Sara's number, muttering under his breath when his call was sent straight to voicemail. "Hi, Sara, it's me. Huh, Grissom. Call me when you get this…you should be back already."
He was putting his cell away, headed back to his office when he literally bumped into Hodges.
"Sorry, boss," Hodges mumbled a little flustered. "Got those results you wanted." He lifted a manila envelope, a smug smile on his face. "I think you'll be pleased."
Grissom nodded distractedly, replaying the message he'd left Sara in his head. You should be back already. That sounded like a reprimand. Burk! "Huh…put them on my desk, David. I'll look at them later."
Hodges did a double take. "You don't want to read them now?"
"No. Have you seen Sara?"
"Nope. Not since…hours ago," Hodges replied glumly.
"Her car's in the lot," Greg chipped in as he walked past, "she can't be far."
Grissom nodded and made to leave.
Greg hurried after him. "Griss, can I have a quick word with you?"
Grissom hesitated and then sighed. "Sure. Come to my office." He pulled the file out of a confused Hodges' hand and led the way to his office. "What can I do for you Greg?"
Looking a little nervous, the young CSI followed Grissom in and took a seat before quickly springing back up to his feet again. Meanwhile, Grissom moved behind his desk, dropped Hodges' results on a tall pile of files and sat down before looking up expectantly toward Greg.
Greg's smile was as stiff as his hair. "Huh…I know it's a little short notice – very short notice in fact but…I need some time off."
"You can't have next shift off Greg, unless you swap with Warrick."
"No. Not tomorrow - this weekend. I need this whole weekend off because there's this…"
Movement outside his office caught Grissom's eye and he distractedly slid his gaze past the young CSI's face toward the corridor, hoping to catch a glimpse of Sara as she walked past. Where was she? None of his usually reliable sensors – his infallible sixth sense – informed him of Sara's presence in the building and she should have been back by now. When he returned his gaze on Greg, the latter was silent, keen eyes watching Grissom intently as he waited for a reply.
Grissom took a deep breath. "You can have Saturday night off but I have plans for Sunday."
Completely deflated, Greg collapsed onto one of the chairs across from Grissom. "That's it?"
"That's it."
"Could we maybe…you think you could possibly swap me?"
"What, are we back in grade school?"
"So, it's a no?"
"It's a no."
"No?" Greg's tone was part- incredulous, part-pleading.
Grissom shook his head, his gaze impregnable, and his decision inflexible.
"There's no room for negotiation?"
Grissom cocked a brow. "What do you have that I could possibly want or need?"
Greg lifted a hesitant shoulder. "Lots of stuff…gossip?" he hazarded. "Tickets to Marilyn Manson?"
Grissom's lips twitched into an almost imperceptible amused smile. "Listen, Greg, normally if I could, I'd try to help you out, you know that but I booked that particular night ages ago so," Grissom lifted a not-so-sorry shoulder and added, "sorry but no." He picked up his glasses from his desk slipped them on and flicked through the files.
Conversation over.
Greg got to his feet. "It was worth a shot." He headed out of the door and paused at the threshold. "You're taking her somewhere nice?"
Grissom froze in his movement and put down Hodges' file. His brow creased into a frown he peered up at Greg over the top of his glasses. "And may I ask who 'her' might be?" he asked, his tone professional and a little cold.
"This lady friend of yours," Greg replied unperturbed. He shrugged. "You don't book a night off – especially a Sunday night – if a girl's not involved."
Grissom pursed his lips and gladly conceded the point with a nod of his head. "Not that it's any of your business but Charlotte's racing that night and I can't miss it."
"Charlotte, huh? Never heard of her. Who's she?"
Grissom was struggling to hide his amusement. "Don't you have a case to work on?"
"What? Oh, sure." Greg smiled uneasily. "Yeah." Grissom's stare was hard and it startled Greg out of his thoughts. "Oh." The younger CSI shoved his hands in his pockets, swaying on his feet. "Okay, I'll have to think of something else for Sunday night then."
"You do that but you do it somewhere else. I have work to do."
Greg turned on his heels.
"Oh, and Greg?" Grissom called as the CSI got to the door.
"Yeah?" The hope that suddenly lit up Greg's eyes made Grissom laugh inwardly.
"Close the door on your way out, will you?"
Greg heaved a great sigh, nodding his head forlornly and pulled the door firmly shut after him. Grissom took off his glasses and chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. He suddenly stood up, scraping his chair back noisily and began pacing his office.
Where is she? He wondered. Her car's in the lot but she's nowhere to be found in the lab. She could be with Robbins. He shook his head in disbelief. Of course, she's not with Robbins; she's working an arson case with no fatalities. He sighed and paced the other way. That's not like her. Maybe Greg was wrong and she's not back yet. He picked up Miss Piggy and directed his next words to the pickled pig. There's only one way to find out.
He yanked his office door open and strode through the maze of corridors, ignoring people's glances, to the main entrance. He stood on the steps outside the main door and scanned his gaze over the dimly-lit parking lot.
No signs of Sara's car.
He let out a small snort, suddenly glad that he'd refused Greg his request. "That'll teach him to get my hopes up," Grissom muttered to himself. Or maybe she's parked round the back.
He was about to head back inside when he spotted a lone Denali at the far end of the lot. Frowning he skipped down the steps and trotted toward the car, wondering why Sara would have parked so far away when there was ample space nearer the entrance. He reached for his trusted pocket flashlight and shone it through the driver's window.
His heart missed a beat, his face softening as immense longing filled him whole.
He quickly checked over his shoulder, making sure that no one was around and allowed himself the small pleasure of watching her while she slept, the loving smile never leaving his face.
Oh, if he was caught like this – peeping. Unconsciously, his smile grew bigger.
But Sara was a vision to behold and he was mesmerised. She looked uncomfortable, long limbs curled over themselves but peaceful, a small smile gracing her parted lips. Her hair fanned her face beautifully. Her CSI vest was askew, showing a little pale flesh that he longed to touch, to kiss, to… he shook the fanciful idea off feeling a pang of sadness twisting his chest.
If only.
He glanced over his shoulder again. Should he let her sleep? She obviously needed it. It wasn't like Sara to skive off work. Quite the contrary. He tried to think back to the beginning of shift. She had looked more tired than usual, stifling yawns as he had handed out assignments. He had noticed her lacklustre gaze as if she had pulled a double although that wasn't the case. He should know. He flashed his light away from Sara and noticed that she'd left the radio on and a Starbuck's Styrofoam cup in the car drinks' holder. Now that he thought about it, hadn't she been nursing a cup of coffee then too?
Had she been burning the midday oil? Could her heart already be taken?
He brought a hesitant hand up and rasped his knuckles on the window. Nothing. He tried again but she was gone, sleeping with the angels or the fairies, whichever it was. He tried gently tapping the end of his light to the glass. She stirred a little, causing Grissom's inside to flutter and his heart to misfire. She resettled herself, turning away with a sigh but didn't rouse. His hand moved to the car handle and then back up to his side, his fingers flexing uncertainly. He reached into his pocket for his cell and pressed redial. Immediately Sara's phone lit up and he saw it dance along the middle console as it vibrated.
Maybe he should just let her sleep. Make up some excuse to cover for her. He was good at that; making excuses.
He flipped his phone shut and turned his back on the car, headed back indoors. People would be looking for him now; wondering where he had disappeared to. It wouldn't be right to wake her up anyway. She'd feel self-conscious, put on the spot - uncomfortable. And they'd passed that stage.
No, he told himself decisively, it wouldn't be right to wake her. It wouldn't be right but it would feel right. So right.
Oh, to wake up next to her, watch her as she slept, to feel her warm body next to his and rouse her from sleep.
He stopped walking and headed back to the car. He couldn't leave her like that. For one thing, it was a chilly night and she'd catch her death. People didn't call him stealth-like for nothing; she would never know. He would just make sure she was comfortable - comfortable and warm. He slipped his jacket off and pulled the car handle, easing the door open as quietly as he could.
A/N: Fluff isn't my forte, as you well know, and the will they/won't they has been done before to death but I'm in the mood. I miss writing happy Grissom, and Sara too and I need forgiving. If you like what you read and want more, let me know. I have a rough outline for an idea. It's completely daft and HAPPY GSR all the way. I know, I know…