A/N: The song I mention in the chapter is I Go To The Barn Because I Like The by Band of Horses from the album Everything All the Time, 2006.
Thank you, as always, for reading.
Hank let out a series of short, happy barks and Grissom pulled back from her, gently breaking off the kiss. He'd completely taken her by surprise, blindsiding her into breathlessness. She'd hoped when they had spoken on the phone earlier that day that he'd suggest they met at the park, but he hadn't. She'd wondered why, had worried his attitude would change now that they were back in Vegas, back to their routine, that he would somewhat close off from her and revert back to his usual masked and more reserved self.
But the man that had opened the door – her man – barefoot and bright-eyed, with his curls still wet and his shirt opened at the neck showing greying hairs she just wanted to thread her fingers through, was nothing like the man she'd known for seven years. This man, today, rendered her speechless and love-struck. She'd always known that what she felt for him was the real thing. But having it returned, having it staring so plainly back at her face, filled her with so much love, so much emotion that she felt overwhelmed to the point of tears.
Quickly she looked away, back down to Hank, unsurprisingly sniffing her bag, and bending down took a moment to return his love and compose herself. When she looked back up at Grissom, her emotion was once again concealed behind a bright smile. Grissom stepped back and she followed him into the condo, Hank close on their heels. The door closed behind them, shutting away the outside world.
"I hope you don't mind," she said, and gingerly raised her bag in his eye line. "I brought a change of clothes." Her shoulder lifted. "It's just that if I turn up for shift dressed like this, I'll never hear the end of it. And I'd rather, you know, that they didn't suspect, or ask questions. You don't mind, do you?"
His face softened with pleasure. "I don't mind at all." He opened his hands out and turned to the rest of the room. "Mi casa es su casa."
Sara's face lit up with a smile, and she looked around, opting to leave the bag near the door out of the way. There was more in the bag that just a change of clothes, just in case, but she kept that to herself. Hank was yelping as he followed the bag's movement with keen eyes. When Sara set the bag down, he gave it a good sniff then glanced up at her before moving his snout into the folds. She laughed.
"Hank, no," Grissom said firmly, stepping forward. He grabbed Hank by the collar and gently pulled him off the bag. The dog turned an aggrieved expression toward his master. "I'm sorry," he told Sara, "I thought he was getting better."
"It's okay," Sara said brightly, and then addressing Hank, "You know there's something for you in there, don't you?"
She bent down to open the bag and took out the bottle of Balcones Texas whisky she'd bought Grissom and the chew bone for Hank. Hank sat down and barked once, his eyes keenly flicking between Sara and his bone. Sara glanced at Grissom who nodded his head and then took the bone out of its protective packaging and gave it to Hank. Tail beating wildly in thanks, the dog quickly took it and made a run for it.
"I love your dog, Grissom," she said, laughing, and shook her head wistfully. "He's just so…uncomplicated. What you see is what you get." She picked up the bottle off the floor and pushed back up to her feet. Grissom was watching her, a strange look on his face. Her smile faded. "And this is for you."
His eyes lowered to the bottle, and taking it from her he read the label. His face registered a look of deep surprise. "Single malt," he said and looked up, "Thank you. That's…very generous."
Sara smiled. "I wasn't sure which brand you liked but…the clerk said this one was good."
"It is. Thank you." He paused, then took a step toward her and brushed his lips to her cheek before stepping back and looking down at the bottle again. He looked suitably moved, and Sara felt pleased. "Why don't you…huh… put some music on while I…" he motioned toward the kitchen area, "get things started?"
Sara smiled, nodded and glanced beyond his shoulder at the pots and pans and dishes she could see waiting on the stove and counter. "Anything I can help you with?"
"No, you're good." He paused. "I mean, huh, I got everything under control."
Sara nodded again and watched as he moved to the kitchen. Then she cast a look around, touched by the care he'd visibly taken to organise their evening. Everything looked spotless. He'd moved the table to a more central position and had set it for two. A single candle waited to be lit in the centre, a white rose alongside it. Again she felt her heart swell with emotion at the fact that he'd gone to all this trouble for her. Following his lead, Sara slipped off her sandals and padded bare feet to the wall-mounted B&O sound system.
"Do you always walk barefoot around the house?" she called over to him as she flicked through his CD collection on the shelf.
"No, not always," he replied, laughing, and she looked over at him, "It's just that man's best friend here took a shine to my house shoes." He glanced at her feet over the top of his glasses, his eyes lingering over the flower tattoo on her left ankle before they came back up to her face. "Maybe, you should…hide your shoes in the closet, just behind the door over there. You know, just in case."
Sara smiled. "It's okay. I brought another pair," her shoulder lifted, "you know, for work afterwards."
He gave a thoughtful nod. "Music?" he prompted with a lift of his brow and a nod at the stereo.
"Sure," she said, quickly turning back to the shelf.
Sara flicked through his collection – classical, opera, some seventies rock, folk, a wide and disparate selection it would seem – and unsure about what to put on turned the stereo on and just pressed play. Whatever he'd been listening to previously was fine by her. The first few gentle classical guitar riffs that played over the expensive sound system told her she'd made the right choice.
"I'd like to think I'm a mess you'd wear with pride…" made her raise her brow, and laughing to herself she picked up the empty CD case. Interesting choice of music, she mused. She'd never heard of the song or of the band, but it was growing on her already. What else would she learn about him tonight, she wondered?
"You like it?" he asked from the kitchen.
Sara looked up with a start and put down the CD. "I've never heard of them."
His shoulder lifted. "Neither had I until this afternoon." He smiled. "I'm still undecided."
"Well, I like it."
His smile widening he turned back to his cooking, and Sara joined him at the stove. Grissom was dressing two plates with shrimps still in their shells interspaced with lemon slices and fanned around a small dish of cocktail sauce. Hank sat on his hind legs a little to the side, his nose twitching, his nostrils flaring as he watched. He'd either stashed the bone for later, or had eaten it already. And judging by the hopeful way he followed Grissom's every move Sara favoured the former.
She stopped behind Grissom and gently, briefly, leaned her head on the back of his shoulder and closed her eyes. It felt so good to be able to do that, to be able to initiate a simple act of intimacy. Grissom stopped working and turning his face toward her smiled. He was so relaxed, so unguarded. He seemed so content and satisfied that Sara couldn't help feeling the same. Her hand lifted to his face and slowly she trailed her finger down to length of his cheek to his mouth, and his eyes closing he pressed his lips to it.
The breath caught in her throat at the unexpectedness of the gesture, at its gentleness and openness, and once again she felt the stirrings of her love for him deep in her stomach. He grabbed a dishcloth and wiped his hands on it, then fully turning his body round lifted them to her face for a slow and languorous kiss. His lips were fresh, tasting of lemon, and she found herself letting out a small gasp when hungrily he delved deeper into her mouth.
Wrapping her arms around him, she pressed herself against him and returned his kiss with fervour. Something hissed on the stove. Grissom startled, then grudgingly pulled away from her. His lips were red, a little swollen, his eyes longing behind his glasses, the dreamy smile on his face a mirror of hers. The hissing occurred again, and he whipped round, swiftly taking a pan of boiling water off the heat before mopping up the water that had boiled over with the dishcloth. Sara's heart was still beating double time.
"Maybe you should…go sit on the couch or something. Your presence here is kind of…distracting and I don't want to mess this up." He punctuated his words with a long sideways, teacher-like look.
Her shoulder lifted playfully. She tried to stifle the wide smile that wanted to escape but failed to. "Can I stay here and watch if I promise to be a good girl and not…distract you?"
He pulled a face, but didn't say she couldn't, so she found a clear spot on the worktop a little further away and sat herself down onto it, watching as he returned to preparing his appetisers.
"You don't mind getting messy, do you?" he asked suddenly. "I could always take the shells off now if you prefer—"
"No," she interrupted. "I don't mind getting messy at all."
His face softened. "We're having fish. I hope that's okay."
His lack of self-confidence all of a sudden was endearing but unnecessary. Whatever he'd cook she'd eat. No one had ever cooked for her before, not like that, not from scratch, as she knew he had. Her throat grew tight. "It's—It's more than okay."
He must have sensed her emotion, because he turned toward her suddenly, his smile fading, and regarded her softly. No hiding anything from him, she told herself as she held his gaze. Either he takes it all, or he runs a mile, but no more pretending.
"No one's…ever gone to all this trouble for me before," she explained quietly, and wiped at the mist in her eyes, then gave him a smile.
"I like to cook," he said simply, returning the smile as he turned back to his cooking, and she felt relieved he wasn't making a big deal out of the situation. "It helps quieten my mind. I just don't get the time, and cooking for one's not much fun."
He glanced over at her, and she could tell by the twitching of his lips that he had more to say, but wasn't sure whether to share or not. He moved to the fridge and took out three as-yet-uncooked sea bass fillets which he began to coat in flour. She just watched him, happy to wait, and he didn't disappoint her.
"My mother taught me," he said at last, "said I couldn't leave home until she thought I was self-sufficient. I got one for Hank," he added in the same breath, going off on a tangent, and it took her a second to realise he was talking about the fish. "He won't leave us alone otherwise. Three bellies Hank here likes my cooking – as well as my slippers and everything else." Hank stood up at the mention of his name, and tail wagging covered the distance over to Grissom. "I hope you do too—like my cooking, I mean," he added hesitantly, giving her a long sideways glance.
Her gaze was solemn. "She did a good job," she mused a little wistfully. "Where does she live?"
"Who? My mother?" To her nod, he replied, "Here, in Vegas. She moved into a condo in Seven Hills a few years back."
"Nice."
Grissom's smile lingered as he nodded his head. He turned back to his stove, putting the pan of water back on the boil, a bowl of rice at the ready. "She—she wanted to be closer to me, I guess. But she's so busy, I hardly ever see her."
"She's busy?"
He laughed. "Well, I guess it works both ways." His eyes widened suddenly. "Damn it, Sara, I almost forgot, can I get you something to drink? I got wine, beer, single malt…"
"A glass of wine would be nice. Just one, mind you..."
"I know," he said, fetching a bottle a white wine from the fridge. "You got work afterwards."
"Well, yes, I do," she said, beaming.
They took their wine and appetisers to the table, and sat down across from each other. Grissom gave a start then leapt to his feet again and she watched as he searched through a drawer before coming back with a box of matches and lighting the candle. He gave her a sheepish glance, and she smiled at him. She knew what he was thinking, that he was bungling things, but she didn't think their date could go any better.
He sat back down, and without ceremony began to eat. Sara had a moment's hesitation before she followed his cue. She picked up a shrimp with her fingers and began pulling at it to extract the meat. It was messy work but a lot of fun. Hank returned from wherever he'd disappeared to with the bone Sara had brought him, and lay down at their feet. "Did you boil the shrimp yourself?" she asked as she started on her third one.
"Yeah, sorry. They're a little tough."
"No, no." She brought the back of her hand to her mouth and wiped a little sauce. "I was going to say they're real tasty."
His face brightened at the compliment. "It's the spices I put in the water." He tapped his nose. "Family secret. I love seafood. We ate it a lot at home when I was a kid." He raised his dirty hands off his plate and sat back in his chair, his expression taking on a distant, slightly wistful air. "There's this restaurant out on Lake Mead that does a mean calamari. I'd love to take you there but…" his words trailed off and he shrugged.
"It's okay," she smiled, "I don't mind." And truly she didn't. She was having a lot more fun there than if they'd been on a date at a restaurant. No prying eyes and they could be themselves.
Once they finished their starters, Grissom stood up, gathered their plates and took them to the sink. He washed his hands, then set about cooking their second course. Sara carried her glass of wine over and watched him work. He made it look so easy. Whether she watched him work there or at the lab or at crime scene she always found herself mesmerised by his calm, steady and careful approach, his efficiency.
He stirred the rice, tasted it and took it off the boil. Then he heated a skillet while another smaller pan of water reached boiling point at the back of the stove. He tipped a colander of freshly washed spinach leaves into it, turned the heat off and put a lid on the pan. The floured sea bass he put in the skillet to sear with sliced mushrooms. The kitchen was awash with sounds and smells that, combining with the little wine she'd drunk, made Sara heady.
Hank came up, dropped the red ball he was carrying in his mouth on the floor between them and lay down, ready to play. Sara watched the ball roll to her feet and smiled. Hank's tail was thumping against the vinyl floor as he waited for her to pick it up and toss it back. He'd accepted her into his life so easily, showed her so much welcomed affection without even being aware of it. Once again Sara choked up; she wanted to be part of this little family so much.
"Not indoors," Grissom said in a firm voice, and both Hank and Sara turned toward him with matching surprised expression. Their look said the same thing, "Spoilsport."
"I was talking to Hank," Grissom said, his expression sheepish.
Everything came together beautifully. Grissom plated up, filled Hank's bowl, and they sat down to eat again. At some point the music had stopped, but neither noticed, content as they were with each other's chatter. They laughed often, the rich timber of his voice resonating deep in her soul. Sara looked at her surroundings and still found it hard to believe, to accept that this was real, that it was her there, and not an imaginary self, having an intimate dinner with Grissom―Gil, she reminded herself.
She looked up, and again found him watching. He did that a lot, and she wondered at what he saw, at what he thought. His gaze was solemn, penetrating, slightly unnerving, and she wished she could read him better. He cracked a smile and lowered his eyes, and once again she relaxed.
"Did you want to…have dessert on the couch?" he suggested when they finished.
Smooth, she thought with a chuckle, and his lips twisted in a pout.
"You know what I mean."
Sara nodded her head, and silently began to gather plates and cutlery while he moved to the kitchen and took something out of the fridge. Sara looked for Hank but he'd disappeared, then joined Grissom's side and dumped her load on the counter next to the sink. He was cutting slices of cheesecake which he placed onto dessert plates. Afterwards he grated a little chocolate over the top, and Sara instinctively knew that this was no bought cheesecake.
They were letting their dinner settle, comfortable on the couch, their bare feet propped up on the coffee table, in each other's arms, when the phone rang. Grissom's hand stopped stroking her bare shoulder as he tensed under her but made no moves to take the call. Sara shifted a little on the couch, removed her hand from his leg. Her eyes moved to the wall clock. 7.35 pm, two and a half hours until the start of shift.
"You on call?" she asked on the third ring, and turned her face toward him.
"No." With a sigh, he tightened his hold on her. "Catherine is."
Sara settled herself again, leaned her head against his shoulder. The machine clicked on, the message short and to the point. After the beep there was a little static and then Catherine's remote voice filled the silence in the room.
Sara's heart sank; their romantic evening was over.
