Conclusion to 'Where There is Smoke'

Rating has increased to M this chapter for a sexual situation and language.

The poem in this story was also written by me.

Thanks to ayesha-s, evi de smedt, Ampad, sky m, contrary motion, gsr4ever, WalkerTRngr, sugarXcouture, Haldir's Heart and Soul, and wiske2 on ytdaw and all you sly ones who put this story on story alert, for your kind words of encouragement and reviews for Chapter Two. Hehe, and to whoever said there were women firefighters too, I hope you are pleased. Giwu for her excellent beta skills. And to Pam for always reading my stories and encouraging me to keep writing.

See Chapter one for spoilers and disclaimer

Chapter 3

The smoke drifted upward slowly as the last vestiges of the fire that had consumed the apartment building across the street from his unobstructed view from the third floor was put out by the firemen. Grissom had finished showering only minutes before in Sara's bathroom, with Sara's unscented soap and her slightly floral scented shampoo. He dried his body with Sara's solid white towel as he watched the men and women of the fire crew below pull the hoses back onto the trucks. He stood drying himself with one hand and holding back the curtain with the other. He knew he probably had been in the shower for about 30 minutes, but he really had no true concept of time because the alcohol he had previously consumed. He thought it was ample opportunity for his clothes to have completed the washing cycle and hoped Sara would have them in the dryer by now. It shouldn't take long for his clothes to dry; he reasoned to himself, nothing he had worn was 100 cotton, so drying time should be approximately 30 more minutes. So, what was he supposed to do in the meantime while he waited?

Grissom stood with a towel wrapped around his mid-section. He had a sudden inspiration: he would call the man who had put him in this situation to help him get out of it. He looked around Sara's tidy bathroom for the things he carried in his trousers: his wallet, keys, cell phone, an extra set of latex gloves, an odd amount of change and if he remembered correctly, a book of matches from the bar where Brass and he had consumed mass qualities of scotch. But none of those items were in this bathroom. He must have left them in his pants when he handed them to Sara. He thought back to their brief, electric touch. Gil felt energized by their contact. The feral sexual response to her touch was nothing new, but the feel of her against his skin while he stood naked with only a door between them, heightened his immediate erection. He wanted to pull Sara into the small bathroom, take her into his waiting arms and make mad passionate love to her. But, instead, he'd closed the door as if their touch was part of the flaming building across the street.

He had to call Brass. He wanted to make love to Sara. But he knew he couldn't. After all, he followed the rules his whole life and if he were to be with Sara, then it would be breaking more rules and regulations than he cared to admit, both in the LVMPD and Clark County employment handbooks and he was definitely sure it was go against the Federal Sexual Harassment statues. He knew the scotch had temporarily loosened whatever control he normally had over his actions. But before he could call Jim, he knew he would have to talk to Sara first, to ask her where she had put his cell phone, wallet, and other items. But he couldn't just let Sara see him with only a towel around his waist. It would be rather obvious to her, since she was a very observant CSI, that he was aroused at the mere thought of her.

But he knew he couldn't just sit in her bathroom for another 30 minutes or so until his clothes were laundered. He really needed Jim's advice now. He reached for the doorknob, turning as if to open the door, however he stopped the motion of his hand. Instead, he opted for a better solution. "Sara?" he semi yelled and waited for her response.

After several minutes, he had not received an answer or heard any indication of movement in the apartment. He began to shout her name rather loudly, with the sound of his voice vibrating in his already sore throat from purging the alcohol from his system earlier. There was a slight echo in the bathroom as he continued to call her name. Grissom had a sudden vision of a nude Sara lying asleep in her bed, the bed he surreptitiously eyed as through the open door to his left as he entered the bathroom. In his mind's eye, the fantasy played: Sara's pale skin dramatic in contrast to the darkness of the bedroom. Her small breasts uncovered by the sheet which covered her torso. His cock sprang to life under his towel and unconsciously, his right hand moved down, slipping under the towel. He probed his length with his fingers, running between his thumb and forefinger. Images of Sara opening her eyes as he entered the room, the inviting look on her face, as she waggled her finger at him, him sliding soundlessly into the bed beside her flashed through his mind. Taking her mouth, her mind, her body as his. His hand was moving almost furiously against his own skin, when he heard her moan his name, "Gil." Just the thought of it made him want her more, and the faster his cupped hand moved, his breathing and heart rate skyrocketed.

"Grissom."

"Grissom."

"Grissom?" Gil suddenly stopped his unfulfilled fantasy, when he realized the sound of her voice wasn't in his thoughts, but was indeed coming from the other side of the door, that supported his weight. He felt his erection soften and a deep blush covered his body.

"Grissom?" Sara was beginning to shout. "Grissom, are you okay?"

No answer as he stood attempting to catch his breath.

"Grissom, are you okay?" She repeated a little louder this time. "I'm coming in."

The sound of Sara jiggling the knob, threw him into a panic. "No, Sara. NO!"

Grissom immediately pulled the towel tighter over his torso.

"Do you want your clothes?" Sara's voice seemed so close, like she was speaking directly into his ear.

"Are they ready?" Oh, to have his clothes back so he could beat a path to get out of her apartment as quickly as he could.

"Yeah," the sigh in her voice sent a shiver through his body. He heard her footsteps moving away from the door.

"Sara?" He called.

The footsteps stopped, "Yeah?" The sound of her voice was farther away this time.

"Could you bring me my phone when you bring my clothes? I need to check in with the lab," he lied.

He was looking at his toenails. It appeared they needed trimming. He wondered if she had any toenail clippers as he heard her reply.

"Sure. Anything else?" she asked.

"Toenail clippers?" Grissom questioned.

"In the cabinet over the sink. Anything else?" she said. In his mind's eye, he could see her again, lying across the bed.

"Yeah, where did you go when I called for you before?" His question almost sounded bashful to her ears.

"Oh, I went out to get some food. I just got back. Are you hungry?" She asked, hopeful he would stay to join her in a meal, alone together.

"No." He moved to sink, as her footsteps carried her down the hall and away from him. He opened the cabinet above the sink; it was neatly organized with q-tips on the top shelf, a bottle of liquid make-up, along with other various items for her face on the next shelf down. The third shelf held band aids, peroxide, Neosporin, and curiously a small tub of silvadene, which was used in burns. Why would Sara have something for burns? he wondered. On the bottom shelf next to a hard oval shaped shell, he found what he was looking for, a maroon case of fingernail and toenail implements.

He sat down on the toilet and began to trim his overgrown toenails. He attempted to keep the clippings from scattering on her floor and flushed them when he finished.

At that time, Sara knocked on the door. His response was a startled: "Yes?"

"I have your clothes and your phone. I put your other stuff in a bag." Her voice sounded strained to him. He moved to open the door, when she continued. "Griss, you have been in there a very long time, and ugh...I really need to go."

"Go where?" He was puzzled.

"To the bathroom, you've been in there for about two hours. Listen, if you don't want me to see you, I'll go put your stuff in my bedroom, I'll go to the living room. Then, you can go to my room and dress and use your phone as you need and I can use the bathroom, as I need." She sounded so logical; he could do nothing but agree.

He heard her movements and when he was sure she was in the living room, he opened the door and almost sprinted into her bedroom, closing the door behind him with a bang.

Sara's bedroom intrigued him. He took a long look at her furnishings, her decorations, her dark blue comforter, an image again flashed through his brain of her lying naked before him. She had a few items of interest on her bedside table. A few odd pieces of jewelry, a picture of a dog in a frame, a tattered copy of "Moby Dick" and a small book of poetry was lying open next to her bed, he picked it up and began to read:

'Sometimes I feel like you don't like to talk to me;

Sometimes I feel like you don't even like me;

Sometimes I wonder why I bother trying to talk to you;

Sometimes I wonder why you seemingly ignore me;

Sometimes I think there is more between us;

Sometimes I think there is nothing.

I'm not sure what it is that we are doing;

I'm not sure at all.

I know you want things to go slow, but how much slower can they go.

I don't know how much longer I can go on like this; at this snail's pace.

I want so much more, but think that is impossible for someone like me.

I need clear signs of interest from you. I need to know if this is real.

I need to know if I'm just wasting my time. I need someone in my life.

I know I'm not the easiest person to understand, but I do know I don't want to be alone anymore.

I don't know how much longer I can go on like this; at this snail's pace.

I want so much more, but think that is impossible for someone like me.

Maybe one day you will know,

And everything will fall into place.

Maybe one day you will realize why everything never worked out.

I don't know that I love you or even if I ever did; and I guess I want something I cannot have.

I don't know how much longer I can go on like this; at this snail's pace.

I want so much more, but think that is impossible for someone like me.'

The book did not cite the writer of the poem, but it saddened him to think Sara read such unhappy prose.

He still needed to call Jim to get him out of this mess. He emptied the contents of the small bag Sara had left for him, he rifled through them, finding nothing missing. He punched in Jim's cell phone number.

"Hello," Brass' voice sounded hoarse, perhaps from smoking and drinking too much and from lack of sleep.

"Jim, it's Gil," he tried to say it smoothly, as if nothing were wrong.

"Yeah?" He was definitely irritated.

"You gotta get me out of this mess, it's your fault." Grissom was furious with Jim. "I'm naked in Sara's bedroom, and she is in the bathroom," he said.

"Congratulations." Gil's upbrows looked heavenward at Brass' flippant remark.

"What do I do?" he was getting desperate.

"Fuck her." Surprise and shame were featured on Grissom's face.

"NO! What do I do to get out of this?" Jim was not taking him seriously.

"Why would you want to?" Jim asked mildly.

"Jim!" Gil shouted into the phone.

"Tell her you have a crime scene to go to, full of those creepy crawlies you love so much," he said.

"What if she wants to go?" Grissom brain automatically looked for holes in the lie.

"Tell her it's up in Lincoln County and you're riding with Greg," said Jim.

"That won't work. Greg wouldn't know to lie about it, when Sara would ask him about it," said Gil.

"Gil, that woman loves you, do something, don't fuck it up. And you will. Gil, I'm hanging up now." Brass' tone sounded defeated.

Grissom ended the call. He knew he should have never called Jim, but who else could he have called?

No one.

He dressed in relative haste after making another quick phone call and made his way into her living room.

"I need to go. I called a cab and I'll wait downstairs." Grissom wouldn't look her in the eye, only stared at down at his feet. "I'm sorry for disturbing you," he said.

"No problem." She knew she couldn't let him escape without some explanation. Sara drew an encouraging breath and continued, "What about the reason why you were here to begin with?" she asked.

Grissom looked in her brown eyes and saw the hurt and rejection. He really didn't know how to answer her, he only knew he had to put as much distance between the two of them as soon as possible, because he felt himself harden as he stared into her eyes. Sara looked down at something on the floor, refusing to met his eyes, because she knew whatever he was about to say would hurt her, more than his refusal of her dinner invitation several years earlier.

"Brass was wrong to suggest that while I was inebriated. I couldn't control myself, maybe I can't control myself around you, but I have to try," he said.

"Will you be able to control yourself around me, even if we both know about this thing between us? Is it about the promotion? What can I do to make you understand how much I..." she said sadly trailed off. Looking up at him, seeing his expression was killing her, so she concentrated her focus on the door to her apartment.

"Sara, don't. We can't be involved. Just no," he wanted to beg her to try to understand his reasons.

"Just go," she implored.

He left without a sound.

She cried when the door shut. Nothing could ease the sobs. She went to her refrigerator and quickly opened a bottle of beer and drank it down in one long swig. She soon finished off all of the six-pack.

A lone tear fell down his face as he made his way out of her apartment and her personal life forever.

Later when the cab let Grissom out in front of his townhouse, Brass was sitting on Gil's doorstep, smoking an expensive cigar. The smoke captured Grissom's rapt attention, again. He stared at the smoke as it drifted slowly upward. He shook his head as if to clear the image. Beside Jim, there were two containers of coffee and a box.

"I see you have coffee and some donuts," he said to Brass.

"You ruined my surprise."

THE END

A/N: Remember this is before 'Bloodlines', so it had to be full of angst. We all know how it turns out, this story was just another little bump in the road of their complex relationship.