Innocence and Beauty: Dream a Little Dream
By: TriplePirouette
Category: angst
Disclaimer: They're not mine- I'm a poor and having fun... take pity...
Distribution: please ask first :)
Summary: Companion to Innocence and Beauty- takes place immediately after Chapter 44: Greg deals with fall out from "The Kiss"
Author's Notes: Warning: This contains a fairly graphic description of torture within the context of a dream sequence. I think it's kinda fun, but if you're squeamish, you may want to skip to the next section the second time Grissom shows up. For the rest of you, I hope that piqued your interest!
Author's Note #2: Before you ask, no- there's no missing text. The dream sequence was purposefully written as disjointed with run-on and half sentences as well as the paragraphs that simply end. Just go with the flow… Thanks to Kelly for the beta and to everyone for still reading! Chapter 45 will be up in about a week.
*~*~*
It was torture to watch her tonight. What the hell had happened? I had everything under control: a little light flirting, some fun, a healthy dose of stupidity and even a dash of knight-in-shining-armor to round out the day around her. Then she kissed me.
I guess she likes me.
Hey… she kissed me. Sweet.
But it doesn't change the fact of who she is… or how old she is… or… damn- for all the stupid arguments I have against it, I like her. Hell, could even probably love her if I let myself. I sound so sappy, but watching her tonight, eating pizza, chugging a beer like a pro, laughing… I wanted to kiss her again.
I still want to kiss her again.
I promised Grissom I'd give her some time. It's not fair to her- it wouldn't be fair to her. I wanted to get Nick's advice as we drove away last night, but I couldn't muster the words. It sounds so stupid, so pithy and girly, but I didn't want to share that I'd kissed her. I wanted it all to myself.
It's impossible to sleep like this. Every time I close my eyes I see her, feel her lips on mine. I'll never get any rest…
*~*~*
I'm kissing her. Softly, gently, then harsh and hard. We tumble into nakedness, skin on skin and satiny sheets below us, harsh desert winds whip her hair into my face but there's nothing I'd like more. She smiles and the sky clears. Blue skies in her eyes, as clear as forever as warm rain covers us. She slides away from me, pulling a creamy swath of satin over her body and it surrounds her like a second skin- hair and curves and fabric swirl around her and
We're in a living room, couches and carpets and pictures of us. The swirling moves off of her and to me. Suddenly I'm in khakis and polo: blue to match her eyes. She's in a soft white dress, her hair falling to her waist now that her back is turned. She peaks over her shoulder, her smile blinding and eyes burning, I move to her again and I'm frozen as she turns, two hands on her swollen, pregnant stomach. My hand reaches out, unattached to the rest of me
Her stomach flattens away as my hand gets closer. I can never reach her. She turns around, raven hair fluttering and blurring my vision until I see two bundles, one in each arm. I can step closer now. I can smile. I can feel joy like a heat spreading through me. I pull back the blankets on the bundles to see two faces
It's Grissom's, Grissom's face. Everything melts away as the two small faces meld and grow; smoke surrounding them like some twisted tribute to the Wizard of Oz. "You slept with my daughter, Greg." His voice boomed around me in the never-ending darkness. "You kissed her and you slept with her." Can't breathe, can't move… "You lied to me, Greg. You gave me your word, Greg."
I'm falling, miles and miles of nothing, no wind, no resistance, nothing as I'm falling and falling, faster and faster until
I stop
I'm lying down. Looking up at bright lights and there's Sara. I want to ask for help. Tell her to talk to Grissom, but nothing comes out of my mouth as she circles me. Her legs are miles long in tight, tiny shorts, tank top leaves nothing to the imagination as she circles me, a lioness circling it's prey. "No hello for your Mother, Greg?" She stoops down, face painted garish like a stripper, twisting, circling, colors meld until she's more clown than person. "You know, us Grissom women like our men older, but I can make an exception for you…"
She points at me and with the crooking of a long, gnarled, twisted finger I'm standing. Standing alone again. She's gone. Breathe.
"First my daughter and now my wife?" He's behind me and I can't move, I can't turn, even my eyes are glued straightforward and panic sets in as he moves in front of me. Some twisted version of a horror movie killer stands before me, Grissom's features wildly askew with madness. Rubber gloves, face shield, apron that says 'kiss the cook' and all black underneath as he gets closer. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you?"
I try to shake my head as he circles around behind me. He hooks his arm around my neck, I can't move, I can't breathe, and even though we don't move, as he speaks everything he says seems to happen. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you Greg?
"I'm going cut off the circulation to your limbs: an arm, a leg, maybe all of them. Tie them of with the ribbons I used to put in her hair before you lied to me… when she was a baby… my baby…. I'll tighten them slowly so that you can feel the pressure as your pulse forces against the closed off veins. The pain will subside after the tissue dies. After you slowly lose feeling and watch them die. You'll be a stump of a body with dead limbs, dead, purple black limbs hanging off of you. Then, with any luck, gangrene will set in before I take a scalpel and cut deep into the dead flesh, puss and congealed blood oozing out and making room…. Maybe I'll do that when you can still feel it…
"Because then I'll bring in my bugs. My menagerie. The beetles and maggots and flies digging into your flesh and spawning and moving into the living tissue. If you haven't died of fear watching your own body rot away, you'll die of infection, or maybe even plague as they slowly burrow into whatever living flesh is left.
"After my bugs are done with you, after they've stripped the flesh from your body, I'll boil your bones and bleach them, and wire them together and hang your sorry skeleton up in CSI for everyone to see."
I'm both the hanging skeleton and myself as his arm tightens around my throat, then he drops me. I'm falling and falling and he's laughing and
*~*~*
Shit! I jump up, sweaty, hot, heart pounding. It was a dream: I'm here, in my apartment, in my bed. I'm alive. I'm fine.
I think.
I think I'm ok.
I think I really need to talk to Emma and maybe Grissom.
Breathe. Breathe.
I'll call her tomorrow. I'll talk to her first… figure out what the hell is going on. Then I can talk to Grissom. Or not. Yeah. That's a plan: breakfast, or coffee, or something. I can figure this out.
Either way I'm definitely not getting back to sleep tonight.