DISCLAIMER – you know they're not mine. You know if they were Sara would NEVER wear those huge bug glasses (you know the ones) and San Francisco would remain just another city and not the bane of our lives.
Lyrics are from 'Fallen' and belong to Sarah McLachlan.
Truth be told I've tried my best
But somewhere along the way
I got caught up in all there was
to offer
And the cost was so much more than I could bear
Around nine o' clock Nick began to get restless. "I'm thinking, since it's your birthday, you ought to at least win some money, buy us all a drink," he said. Catherine's face lit up.
"You any good at poker?" She asked Nick, who shook his head happily.
"Not at all. But I know some guys who are," he said, inclining his head towards Grissom and Warrick.
"Grissom? You play poker?" Greg asked, curious.
"Not these days," he replied, setting down his empty glass.
"Yeah well neither do I, but we can all make an exception for a birthday girl," Warrick said, his voice rich like chocolate, glancing at Catherine, who rewarded him with a mildly seductive smile as she picked up her clutch.
"Come on, before any of you decide it's time to go to work."
They walked deeper into the plush hotel, which wasn't a Braun, Sara noticed fleetingly as Greg drew up beside her, tucking his arm into hers.
"Do you play?" He asked, excitable again.
"A little." She replied, shrugging one shoulder. She didn't mind poker, but she didn't get any great pleasure from it, cerebral though it was.
The casino was busier than the bar and restaurant, and they only managed to find a table with a couple of empty seats. Warrick, Nick and Catherine sat down, Warrick unfolding some bills and laying them down in front of Catherine, motioning to the dealer in a practiced manner. As they settled, a fourth seat opened up on the other side of the table, and Grissom pointed Greg in its direction.
"If you can beat Warrick, I'll think about a pay rise."
"Really?"
"No. But you might learn something." Greg snorted quietly at Grissom and took up his place, pulling a few bills from his pants pocket and nodding at Catherine across the table.
A moment passed as Sara took in the fact that they were standing together, a few feet apart, and she had watched him give up the opportunity to get away from her.
"Don't you want to play?" She asked. Grissom shook his head slowly.
"I prefer to play with strangers. Poker is a thinking game. Not a.. Greg..game." Sara smirked, nodding, understanding exactly what he meant. "And," he added, quietly, " I don't think my mind would be at the table tonight."
He looked her right in the eye, asking her silently if she understood. She thought she did. But unlike how she had dreamed this moment, the sky did not fall in, the building did not shake, the world did not change. He did not run, or begin to convulse, or suddenly morph into her high school science teacher who had told her to stop reading so far ahead of the class. He just looked at her, until Catherine won the first hand, and her victory cheer brought them back to earth.
An hour later, the poker players were verging on raucous, and Catherine had a pile of chips in front of her not unlike the one that started Sam Braun's career, Sara bet. She watched her friends, envied how completely relaxed they were, wished she was able to be that much of a joiner. She had been sociable tonight, she knew that, but she also knew that Catherine's birthday would have passed just as happily without her.
As ten thirty approached, Sara felt sorry that she wasn't going to work. Sorry that once again she'd be going home alone. She looked at the three CSI's highrolling one another into next month's pay packet and felt sorry that they had to think about going soon. Then a thought occurred to her, and she turned to Grissom, keeping her voice low, a small thrill spreading as he leant in to listen.
"Do we have a lot on tonight?"
He shrugged. "I don't know, until I get there. Only our case pending. And anything else that comes in."
"Wednesday's a quiet night, though, usually."
"For Vegas," he smiled. She smiled back and inclined her head to the poker table.
"Lets… lets leave them here." She said. His face opened, eyes moving from side to side, thinking about what she had said.
"I mean, can we? I had the night off, but I'm really quite happy to work."
"You're always happy to work. Doesn't mean you don't need time off."
"Yeah, but look at them. Catherine'll have a better night if they stay with her. Can we just… try and cover it between us, or have them come in when they're done here? They're all sober."
Grissom tilted his head, reading her. "Okay. Barring anything major, sure. They can stay."
"Thank you." She smiled at him, almost conspiratorially, and realised that her motives were not as pure as she had let on. Yes, she hated not to work, and yes, she wanted to give the others a night off. But what is this really about, Sidle? She asked herself. Grissom was looking at her. That would be it. Just the thought of having to break this moment, and not see him for another twelve hours. Right, she thought. Maybe that's it.
"That's a really nice thing to do, Sara," he said, sincerely. Yes. That was it. She rolled her eyes, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance when inside she was quickly thawing. How was it she couldn't stay even a little bit mad at him?
"What, making more work for you?"
"You know what I mean."
"Well, you know. I have my moments." Grissom cleared his throat, and let out a low chuckle.
"Don't I know it," he said. She shot him a sideways look, and a half hearted glare. He shot one back, and they were both smiling, and she inexplicably couldn't feel her feet.
The feeling returned as Grissom pulled up in her parking lot. The others had taken very little convincing, and she had not even needed to ask for a ride. He seemed to know instinctively that she had not driven. Neither did he need to be asked if they could swing by her apartment so she could change. He was turning onto her street before she could process where they were. Grissom assured her he had a change of clothes at the lab, so she could take her time. The car idled as he put it into park.
"Do you want to come in?"
"I don't mind waiting," he said. The night seemed quiet now they were free of the bustling casino.
"Up to you. But it'll take me five minutes to change. That leaves about twenty minutes for coffee. If you want."
Grissom thought for a moment before sliding the keys out of the ignition. "Well, alright then. Seeing as you've volunteered us to do all the work tonight."
Sara gave him another of her withering, sarcastic smiles, took a deep breath and led him into the building. At the double doors he stepped to the side of her and opened them, placing his hand in the small of her back to guide her in. It was protective, it was gentle. It made her want to dash him back into the wall and be up against him, right there, in the dark hallway of her apartment block.
She did not think about the reality of Gil Grissom coming into her home. It just felt right. She unlocked the door and pushed it open, pausing to drop her keys on the counter just inside. He was coming through the door behind her, the very well cut charcoal jacket he was wearing a beautiful ashen grain against her aubergine walls. It all looked so damn right, Grissom there, following her in, slipping easily into position leaning on her counter as she turned the coffee machine on. He wasn't uncomfortable, she could tell, but he was processing, like she was, the moments they were wading through and the resistance they were –or not- feeling.
She set out mugs and milk and sugar on the worktop, and then slid her leather jacket down her arms, turning to catch his gaze. His eyes were dark, watching her. She looked back for a moment, wondering if there was something to be said.
"Here," she gestured to the mugs. "I just have to change." He nodded, coming around the counter to attend to the coffee.
"Shame, he said, quietly, stopping her in her tracks as she went to walk away, "you look amazing." There was a weight around them, pulling them in, closing gaps and eroding reasons and washing away the missteps this awkward dance had demanded of them in the past. Sara felt the smile spreading over her face, and let it slip to the side, mischief radiating from her.
"Yeah," she said, backing up, "the guy who was here earlier said something like that, too." She cocked her head to one side, playfully, and turned. She disappeared from his view, but still heard his laughter. She let him sweat a moment, until she heard the clink of a teaspoon in a mug.
"In case you're wondering," she called out, opening her closet, "that was Greg."
Sara put on jeans and a sweater, her usual work attire, although she possibly paid a moment's more attention than usual to just which sweater and jeans she chose. She took off her jewellery and pulled a more casual jacket from her closet. Feeling much more like herself, she emerged, pulling a brush through her hair. Grissom leaned casually on the counter, sipping coffee.
"Am I going to have to remind you and Greg about the lab's policy on romantic relationships?"
Sara shook her head. "Greg, maybe. I've seen the way he looks at Hodges. Me, no. I read the lab policy every night before bed."
Grissom laughed out loud, and Sara wondered if she was funnier around him, or if he just made her feel that way. Maybe it was because he made her really think about the things she wanted to say.
"Then you know I could get fired for just being here."
She placed her hands on her hips. "No shit."
"Sara.." He was serious. She went towards him instinctively.
"I know, I know," she said, her voice softening, the joke over, "But you are here. And I'm glad that you're here." He nodded, opened his mouth to speak, but she went on before he could. "And no-one knows about it, and no-one has to. You've already got away with it, so just consider this one a freebie."
"Kind of like a get out of jail free card?" He teased.
"Are you storing up everything I say to throw back at me?" They were both smiling. There was a current in the air, and the sound of Grissom setting his mug down on the counter seemed to echo, deafeningly. She was afraid of what came next, and impatient to know, nonetheless.
"Not everything," he said, taking her hand again, "just the best bits." She moved closer to him, this time, their hands joined loosely, tentatively. He moved, too, and before she knew what was happening he was holding her, gently, hugging her. It was the sweetest moment of her life. She felt her heart gather pace, and allowed herself to take in his scent, some great smelling cologne that she would now recognise at three hundred yards.
Through her hair, Grissom spoke.
"I don't know what to say…how to..." Surprised to find herself feeling more than a little overwhelmed, Sara slid her arms around him a little more, resting her head on his shoulder.
"You don't have to say anything."
Grissom breathed out against her. "I owe you something." Sara blinked. Could this be happening?
"You don't," she said, softly.
"I've played this so very badly," he said, shaking his head slightly. Almost imperceptibly. Sara had never loved him so much.
"I think.. it's fair to say I've made my share of bad moves, too. For example, right now, I have no idea what's going on." She hardly dared say it, but the grip around her only tightened as he thought it over. Together they swayed just a fraction, a sort of soothing motion.
"I don't know either. I couldn't stay away tonight. I needed to see you." His words were like brandy, slipping down her throat, warming her from the inside.
"I'm glad you came," she whispered into his jacket, trying not to think about what she would do if this all came and went before her very eyes. She ached to pull him into a kiss. It would be such a small step from where they were. One small step. But one giant step for Grissom.
She pictured herself at the end of the forthcoming shift, sitting in her car, watching him walking quickly to his, calling someone on his phone to accompany him on an urgent 419. She imagined her cell lying silent on the seat beside her, and realised that any sudden movements could mean the difference between being the last one he called and the one he never called at all.
She gathered all of her strength, resolve and the backbone that had propelled her from damaged child to healthy adult and did the last thing she wanted to do.
"Come on," she said, placing her hands on his chest and putting some space between them, "let's go to work." He was genuinely surprised, and opened his mouth to say something. She got there first, stepping back another foot.
"Look, we can stand here and try to figure this out, which could result in either one of us bolting, or spontaneously combusting, or at the very least regretting something tomorrow. Or we could just..leave it at this… and go to work, and just… see what happens."
"You mean the next time we end up at the same social function?" He joked. She laughed.
"Yeah. Bound to happen," she smirked, and he nodded, the tension easing.
"Okay," he nodded. She squeezed his hand once, conspiratorially, and then broke the closeness between them, ducking into her bedroom to turn off lights and grab her ID.
At the door, he stopped her.
"I do have regrets, you know. When it comes to you." She nodded, her eyes prickling a little. "But whatever might have happened or not happened tonight, I don't expect this to become one of them."
His hand found her back again as they passed back into the night. I could get used to that, she thought.