Title: Staring at the Ceiling
Author: Maggienhawk
Disclaimer: I totally own the rights to CSI…and Warrick is in my bed waiting for me to finish this up. Oh wait, that's right, I dreaming. About CSI. Warrick really is in my bed. Totally. You don't believe me? Fine!
Summary: What does Sara really do when she can't sleep? GSR.
A/N: This has the most explicit scene I have ever written, and it's relatively tame compared to other stuff. Nonetheless, I am rating this R, and I really hope that some of you read it and review to let me know how you like this one. Please?
"When I can't sleep, I read." Well, the truth is, I stare at my ceiling. For hours. Just lie on my back and stare, hoping the answers to whatever questions I have will materialize in front of me.
Not one of my questions has ever been answered this way.
It still doesn't stop me from asking. Once a nightmare wakes me up, I'm awake for the rest of the night, or day, whatever. I just look at the blank, white ceiling and will the images in my head to disappear.
Half the time it doesn't work. But it doesn't stop me from staring.
Right now, I'm staring at the ceiling, but not because I can't sleep or because of a nightmare. I just woke up from possibly the most perfect sleep I've had in years, and I can't explain it. I look for the answer in the ceiling as usual.
It doesn't answer me.
But then I turn my head to my left and see the body lying next to me, and I can feel his arm wrapped around my waist. His breath moves across my neck, causing my hair to move slightly. It's the first time we've shared the same bed.
I've never slept well with someone else in bed with me. Whenever I had been in a serious relationship, I never got much sleep, because the feel of someone on me in my sleep made me nervous. It could be used as another sense in my nightmares, adding a new dimension to the fear I felt when I awoke, gasping for breath and pulling away from the person touching me.
I learned to deal with very little sleep, and it's actually not been such a bad thing, considering my occupation. I can survive on three or four hours of sleep a night if I have to.
But I always sleep better by myself, which is why I'm confused at the moment. I feel like I can fall back asleep too, which never happens. Once I'm up, I'm up.
Not this time.
I look back up at the ceiling to ask more questions, like 'Where is this heading?' or 'What does this mean to him?' but a movement causes me to hold my breath, momentarily forgetting the questions.
He snuggles closer to my side, squeezing my waist lightly. Nuzzling my neck, he mumbles softly, "Are you awake?"
I smile and place my hand on top of his where it rests on my stomach. "Yes."
"Go back to sleep."
I look back up at the ceiling one last time, feeling my eyelids already drooping. I roll onto my right side, and move myself closer to him. I feel him pull my body slightly, as if he doesn't want to let me go.
I close my eyes and think that the questions can wait until tomorrow.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
It's been about four weeks since we started sharing a bed. I have never slept so much in my life, but I'm not complaining.
Although, we're not doing much sleeping right now.
It all started with dinner. He had to have his shoes off at dinner, didn't he? And of course he had me take mine off, so playing footsies was probably inevitable. Even if playing footsies with him is a completely crazy concept on its own, but hell.
It led to this.
Right now, he's in the process of lifting my dress over my head. His shirt is unbuttoned and hanging open, revealing a surprisingly strong chest. Within seconds, my bra joins my dress on the floor next to his bed.
His kisses begin on my lips, but slowly make their way down my neck to chest, where he spends the most time. I arch my back, and close my eyes, but they soon open to reveal his ceiling.
Honestly, I can't even begin to explain why his ceiling interests me at this moment in time, when he's doing these wonderful things to my body.
His is different than mine, and I feel like it's different because he asks his personal questions to it. I can imagine him spending his afternoons lying in bed, trying to figure out what to do about 'this,' or what that damn piece of evidence means. Each ceiling is unique, just like the person lying beneath it.
My panties sliding down my legs bring me back to the moment, and I look down to him. Sometime during my inspection of his ceiling, he lost his shirt and pants, and is now currently only robed in his boxers.
Within minutes, I take care of them.
It isn't until he's slowly moving inside of me that I realize how fucking perfect this is. Not once in my life has the first time with a man been so fulfilling, or so comfortable. It's probably because it's him, the one person I've waited my whole life to be with.
I can feel his kisses as he buries his head into my neck, and I look back up to his ceiling. I want to ask it how this can be so perfect, but with just a glance I realize I can't. It's his ceiling and I'll just have to wait until I'm alone in my own bed, under my own ceiling.
At that moment, I can feel a familiar sensation rolling through my body in waves, and I feel him tense above me. He collapses on top of me, and I hold him close.
If he can make me feel the way I do right now all the time, I will never be alone in my bed, or his either, ever again.
The questions are just going to have to wait.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
'What the hell happened?'
No answer, of course.
I'm on top of the comforter, fully clothed in my pajamas. My face is still sticky from the tears shed earlier, and my throat sore from the yelling. I'm so exhausted from crying and screaming.
But for some reason, my body won't shut down. Damn adrenaline.
It all started with the case. Bastard killed his wife, after years of abuse, but for some reason we couldn't prove it.
He knew I was going to invest myself in this one, but he was working it with me, to keep me in check.
It was the first domestic abuse case since that fateful day with Catherine and Ecklie. The first since we'd been together.
He trusted me to keep my emotions under the surface, but as each day passed, I couldn't. I spent hours of overtime at the house where we found her, scouring every nook and cranny, looking for any tangible evidence. I'd sleep on the break room couch, just to save time once I woke up, so I could get back on the case.
And then he closed it.
We went at it in his office. I had never been so mad at him for closing a case before. Never. I called him a slew of unimaginable names and yelled at the top of my lungs. He yelled right back, citing the reasons why he did what he did, and I argued each point.
And then he said it.
"I should have known better to trust you with another domestic abuse case. You can't handle them, Sara. Ecklie was right. You get insubordinate and if you don't figure out how to deal soon, I will not allow you to work another one as long as you work under me. Got it?"
I just stared at him in shock. I could not believe he said all of that. I was still reeling from him saying that Ecklie was right when he walked past me and opened his door mentioning for me to leave.
All I could do was glare at him. If looks could kill, he would have been six feet under with his buggy friends at that moment. I stomped past him, straight to the locker room, ignoring the stares of my coworkers. I grabbed my stuff and left.
I came home to my apartment, and changed into the clothes I'm wearing now. I didn't even get to pull my hair back so I could start cleaning when there was a knock on the door.
Looking through the peephole, I considered not answering, but habit had me open the door anyway.
We just looked at each other, and after a few moments, I turned and walked back into the living room. Never said a word. He followed, and I could sense he was calculating how angry I was, and what his next move should be.
When he finally did speak, it was strong and with conviction. It was a tone he had never used outside of work before. "Sara, you have got to let these cases go. I can't handle you when you get like this."
"Oh, you can't handle it? I'm sorry for inconveniencing you, but at work, my loyalties are to the victim, not you."
"I'm your boss. You do have loyalties to me."
"You never tire of telling me that do you?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Nothing, Grissom. If you can't figure it out, I'm not going to tell you. I'm going to bed."
I walked down the hall and flopped on the bed.
That was three hours ago.
Now that I think about it, I should have kept myself in check, and not relied on him to do that for me. I did know better, but it's just so hard. I get too close; maybe I shouldn't work those cases until I know I can handle them.
A new question enters my mind and I ask the ceiling, but this time out loud. "What will this do to us?"
Tears begin to well up in my eyes again, and I wonder how that is even possible. I roll over on my side, and close my eyes, willing myself to sleep.
It's no use.
I've gotten so used to having him wrapped around me, that sleeping doesn't happen unless he's there. The tears that have accumulated fall, and I quietly sob into my pillow.
Once I'm finally cried out, I still can't sleep. My throat is dry and I need some water. So I get up and make my way to the kitchen, but stop dead in my tracks when I enter my living room.
He's curled up on my excuse for a couch, and I know that he can't be comfortable on it. His face is twisted into a grimace, and I can faintly see red streaks down his cheeks where is own tears fell.
I stare at him for a few moments, my heart breaking for putting him through everything that I did today. Slowly, I walk over and sit on the edge of the couch, and place my hand on his cheek, rubbing it softly, lovingly.
He wakes slowly, not really remembering where he is. His eyes open to stare into mine, and I can tell the moment that he remembers everything. He opens his mouth to speak, but I place my fingers on his lips. I shake my head.
Everything can wait until later.
The only thing said between us comes from my mouth. "Come to bed."
He nods, and follows me to my bedroom, curling up behind me, his arm around my waist as usual. He whispers in my ear that he loves me, and I return the sentiment.
I take one last look at the ceiling, and smile.
For once, my question was answered quickly.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
This is way too weird. This is not my ceiling, and it's not his either.
It's ours.
The first night in our new house together. I absolutely hate sleeping in new places. I get all edgy and tense, and it takes weeks to get used to it.
So what am I doing? Staring at the ceiling, trying to acquaint myself with it. It's not white, but a light blue to match the walls. There is some intricate design around the light, and I'm sure that studying it will be able to pass the hours that I can't sleep.
He's passed out next to me, and I want to hit him just to wake him up. It irritates me the way he can sleep anywhere, and I can't even sleep in my own bed. Grrr.
I honestly have nothing pressing to think about tonight, and that's adding to my irritation. I'm bored senseless, and I can't even think about anything, because there is nothing.
I'm not nervous about living with him, because we've been living together the past few months in his townhouse while we were house hunting. There are no cases pending at work, because we've spent the past week off, moving into the new house. We're not angry with each other.
I'm so amazed at how perfect everything is. Oh crap, I just probably jinxed it. Well, knock on wood. I reach up and tap the headboard.
He wakes up.
Success! Who knew that would work?
He asks me why I'm still awake, and I explain that nothing's wrong, it's just weird. He gives me the look he only saves for me when he thinks I'm nuts, and pulls me into his arms. He begins to nuzzle my neck, and his hands caress my back sensually.
One thing leads to another, and soon I'm collapsed on top of him, trying to catch my breath. I can feel my eyelids drooping, and as if could sense it too, he helps me roll to his side. I place one last kiss on his lips, and curl up.
There really are no questions for the new ceiling tonight, and I sleep perfectly knowing that.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
I'm just about to drift off when I hear the door to our bedroom open up. My eyes shoot open, and I can see the design around the light in the moonlight coming from the window.
'What does she want this time?'
As annoyed as it sounds, I'm really not annoyed because she always has trouble sleeping. She's just like I used to be.
I sit up, and quietly ask the little brown haired, blue eyed angel at the end of my bed what's wrong.
"I had a scary dream, Mommy. There was a monster chasing me."
"Do you want to sleep with me, honey?"
She nods her head quickly, and makes her way to my side of the bed. I reach down and help her up. She throws her arms around me and I hug her with all my might, willing the images to leave her mind.
She curls up in front of me, her back against my stomach, and both of my arms hold her close. I place a loving kiss on her cheek, and brush the hair out of her face as her droopy eyes close and her breathing evens out.
I lay back down, preparing myself to fall back asleep, when I feel movement behind me. He speaks softly as he places his own arm around the both of us. "Nightmare?"
"Yeah."
He sighs lightly, and puts his head back on the pillow, his arm never leaving us as his own breath evens out.
I take one last look up at the ceiling and wonder how I got to this place. Just a few years ago I couldn't even sleep with another person, and now I'm in bed with the man that I love more than life itself, and our daughter. We're all curled up, providing comfort for each other.
It's then that I realize I don't need to stare at the ceiling anymore. I've got all the answers I need right here in the bed with me.