Disclaimer:All characters belong to CSI and are not mine - I'm just borrowing them. I promise they will be cared for and fed and watered and returned in pristine condition (although only when Jorja Fox signs back up... but I am hearing good things… so I guess I better get moving so that they are back in time for season 9!!) Until then they are mine to play with as I like…
The idea for this came from the final scene of season 6 opener 'Bodies in Motion' and also contains a small mentions of events from 'And Then There Were None' and 'Scuba Doobie Doo'.
I also do not own 'The Peppermill' or its 'Fireside Lounge'!!
Author Notes: Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this!! Especially those who are taking the time to review and to put me on their story and favourite alert lists. I am so honoured. THANK YOU!!
Stars In Motion.
By Rianne.
Chapter Six.
He was there.
Everything stopped at that knowledge. If it hadn't been for the pound of her heart or the rush of her own blood in her ears to remind her she was alive and still standing upright she'd have felt like the floor fell out beneath her.
Her stomach and its butterflies dropped several dizzying storeys inside. Who needs roller coasters when you can just date?!
What was going on with her today? She was thirty-three not fifteen for goodness sake!!
But he was there, just like Nick had promised he'd be.
Damn, that was another bet she'd be loosing to Nick Stokes… although it was the kind of bet she didn't mind loosing…
He was there.
She had seen him first, her eyes latching on instinctively to his silvery hair, his familiarity drawing her to him across the room. He had been standing, just about to slide into the booth, when she had turned the corner.
Her footfalls had slowed to a stop. She'd followed the motion of his decent to the chair with her eyes. She'd hovered, observing him from afar for a moment. Uncertain.
Her heartbeat had picked up, her mind had fogged a little, the room becoming a blur except for her one point of crystal clear focus, as her brain seemed about to zone completely out; her palms gripping the pale blue denim of her jeans at her hips, distractedly, flexing nervously.
None of them had noticed her yet. She could still make a run for it. Still turn and flee back to the safety of her quiet and her books and her snack food.
But the expressions on their faces showed that they were laughing, the pleasant noise and its accompanying words lost in the flow of the music and conversation that ebbed around the bar. Lost behind the internal echo of her heart pounding in her ears.
They looked happy, like they were having fun.
He was there.
Looking more relaxed than she had seen him in a long time, blue shirt rolled to his elbows, eyes crinkled in a pouting grin as the others teased him about something.
A waitress stepped up to the table with drinks, and then slipped away again, smiling curiously at Sara as she passed.
"Are you looking for someone?"
It took her a moment before she realised that the blonde waitress had spoken.
"Oh," she stuttered dazedly, "no, I see my friends," she smiled in thanks and made a move to step forward in the direction of their table, embarrassed at being caught lingering.
What was wrong with her?
A few weeks ago she would have thought nothing of this evening. Her hopes had been so dashed with Grissom, she probably would have been the first person there, on her third, maybe fourth beer by now, not hovering behind a plant on the other side of the bar. She would have marched right on over there, one of the guys and plonked herself down, but she didn't want to be constantly thought of as one of the boys.
All this treating her like one of the guys was great when it came to work, that was until they forgot that she was a female, and became a harsh slap in the face when Catherine said things like "Since when do you care about your appearance?"
That one had stung even after she had tried to ease it a little by adding something about her only not caring what she looked like at a crime scene. Which did nothing but add sparks to the already widespread fire. Okay, that day Catherine had been bitchy as hell, and she had already had to buy her food in an effort to stop her talking for one damn minute, but Catherine had definitely been holding nothing back that day.
Catherine had been acerbically, viciously, speaking her mind and no one was getting off lightly… she was so self involved in her own little rant that she didn't even think about what she was speaking out loud, maybe she had realised that Sara had tuned her out around hour two of their four hour wait and therefore she didn't need to stop to consider that she might actually be offended by her words and her flying insults, but that was making excuses, Catherine rarely held anything back.
That was obviously the way Catherine saw her… and if that was the way that she saw her… the only other real female in her regular acquaintance…
She'd gone home that morning and found herself studying her reflection in the mirror, Catherine's comment still stingingly fresh. There had been nothing wrong with her outfit, or her hair, or what little makeup she had been wearing that shift. Which had only helped to make her angrier, she was working for God's sake, not going on a night out, or fashion shoot. Why would she stop processing a crime scene where some poor soul had been murdered to consider her appearance! What kind of person did a thing like that?! And then she had been angry with herself for allowing Catherine to make her angry, to make her doubt herself. She'd never had a real apology either…
Another round of laughter waved over the table and she finally saw her moment to move closer. As she approached them she only had to wait seconds for a break in the conversation, and she barely recognised her own voice as she forced out, "Room for one more?"
In her own ears she sounded nervously husky, she hated it when she sounded like that, but she did sound calmer than she had expected, and totally the opposite of the way she felt inside.
If it hadn't been for the way Grissom momentarily froze at her voice she would have laughed at the speed in which everyone flicked towards her. But she was so focused on him, so very aware of his every movement, and desperate to know if it was a good and terrifying freeze like the one she had just experienced upon seeing him there or if it was a freeze of anxiety.
Had he even known she was coming?
No one knew that they were dating. She hadn't mentioned it to anyone and she somehow doubted he had been running about the Lab telling anyone either. She liked it that way; it was their own personal, pleasurable, naughty little secret. But it did change things. Things she hadn't been fully aware of until right now.
Oh, what if it would be even harder now for them to be in the same room together and not let the others see the interaction between them, to not be able to hold back, or hide the very personal, definitely unmistakable expressions she had seen flicker over his face several times since he had kissed her. Especially now that they were in a social situation, without the rules and boundaries of the Lab and work and aided by what looked like whisky in his glass.
It was one thing to begin to relax when it was just the two of them, and that had been hard enough for them. It was one thing to feel the awkwardness and the nervousness ease slowly into something more comfortable, but to try and do that surrounded by others…
Thank goodness she was driving. Not that she was tempted to drink to ease her problems anymore. That wasn't her problem that had been discussed before, but abstaining tonight would help her to avoid what she guessed would be looks of concern from Grissom, even if a few slugs of her favourite beer would have calmed her nerves no end by now. Yet she had in the past tried to keep up with the guys, Nick and Warrick, two men pretty close to twice her size, and she'd done pretty well. No one drank like a Sidle it seemed. In the worst way she was her father's daughter in that sense.
But that was all past.
Tonight was about pleasant feelings.
Tonight was about the reaffirmation of the team, about happier times to come, about celebration.
"Sara?!"
Grissom's voice.
He was speaking her name and before she could respond the other's voices were crashing over his and over one another's in a crazy ramble of words which made the laughter finally break out of her, escaping vibrantly from her lips as it bubbled up from her chest. She gave into it gratefully, finally feeling some of the tension break and relieve a little.
She rocked back on her heels, feeling overwhelmed, lifting her hands in the air, her shoulders quivering with the rippling amusement.
"Look at You!!" Nick cried grinning, standing and leaning over the small table to drag her into a hug.
Warrick laughed, "Nice," he commented with a cool nod, waiting until Nick released her before embracing her himself, kissing her cheek.
Greg beside him slipped two fingers into his mouth and let out a piercing whistle, before Nick cuffed him across the head again.
Blushing Sara took a step back from them, untangling herself and raising her palms unconsciously again and glancing towards Jim as she laughingly asked how much 'those three' had been drinking.
"Wait… wait, wait, wait." Greg chanted. Suddenly standing, raising his hands in argument. "Sara's a girl…" He shrank back off Sara's look, "Sorry… 'Woman'… There's 'A Woman' at our bachelor party?"
"Well technically, traditionally," Jim commented trying to keep his tone mild, but it still managed to slip an octave or two in defiance of his wishes, "there are usually women at a bachelor party." He tilted his head knowingly.
Warrick laughed.
Nick was nodding, "They usually wear a little less than our Sara here," he looked her up and down in a way that made her open her mouth in surprised indignation. "Although today…"
He never got the chance to finish his comment as Sara jokingly lunged for him, pulling back at the last second, a huge grin on her face.
"Nicky…" she shook her head at him pretending to be oh so displeased.
She couldn't look at Grissom.
What was she doing?! She was standing there letting the others fluster her and make her blush, tease her, whistle at her for God's sakes and she couldn't even bring herself to look in his direction.
Because you only really care what he thinks, that little know-it-all voice in her head spoke up.
She had felt his eyes on her since he had spoken her name, his unwavering gaze had been heating her cheeks even more brightly than the boys cocky flirting, but since uttering her name in surprise he had said nothing.
They hadn't told him she was coming.
Well, she hadn't even been sure she was going to go.
"Sara, why don't you slide in here," Al suggested, as he stood, and Jim too finished his drink with a final slug and rose.
Here being next to Grissom, her know-it-all mind squealed.
"Some of us have places to be in a few hours," Jim growled, already dreading waking up for his shift. "Gotta get some sleep before the Vegas crowd wakes up again and comes tumbling out of the casinos and making my night."
"Best of luck to you Warrick," Al said vigorously shaking his hand again.
Sara stepped back to let them past, wishing them both a goodnight, her voice intermingling with the others goodbye greetings. Then she slowly slid in next to Grissom.
Lowering herself to the soft pink plush very carefully.
Her whole body felt like it was on high alert. She could practically see every rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took just out of the corner of her eye. She could feel the warmth of his arm as it almost brushed hers, shoulder to shoulder. She crossed her legs reflexively, for something to do, unconsciously angling them in his direction. Body language, damn it! But it was too late to move back now.
Oh God! He was moving closer.
She kept her eyes forward. Feeling her cheeks flush again. The guys in front of her were totally engrossed and obliviously involved in some conversation, she could barely concentrate on their words, something about strippers… oh dear…
But Grissom was even closer now; she could feel his warm breath moving her hair. He wasn't touching her but she could almost feel him everywhere.
He was leaning in, tilting his head…
Her breath caught.
His lips were a hairsbreadth from her earlobe, his hot breath moistening the skin.
It felt like forever before he finally spoke.
"Sara…" Just her name and she was already biting her lip, this was bordering on pathetic, she really had to stop reading romance novels they were warping her mind. "Ignore them," she heard his words curve into the smile across his lips. His voice was barely a whisper, soft and shy. Her eyelids drifted closed. "You look amazing…"
"What are you drinking Sar?"
She practically leapt from the seat.
Greg.
She could have thumped him. Beaten him to a pulp, ground his remains, she was a damn good CSI no one would ever find him.
Her heart was thundering. This was how she was going to die. Her heart was going to give out from too much whispering from Gil Grissom and interruptions from idiots like Greg Sanders.
0000000000
"Sara!?"
Oh God! Sara! Sara's voice! He'd said Sara's name out loud too!
She was here! What was she doing here?
What was she doing here looking like that?! She looked… she looked…
He breathed out heavily, taking a deep return breath before he felt that new air choke.
Oh God! What if she had heard? What if she had heard the guys teasing him?
Oh God! What if she had seen? What if she had seen Rebecca leaning over and fawning all over him like some cheerleader?
He could feel his heart pick up.
'What's your pulse at now?'
Sara's soft fingers and palm caressing his cheek, catching him completely off guard with her affection, her comfort, melting his anger with an easy gesture.
Oh, there she was again, always finding some way to knock him sideways out of his usual comfortable routine.
She was so good for him!
He couldn't take his eyes off her.
The guys were talking now, Nick practically lifting her off her feet as he hugged her.
Yet he wasn't jealous.
He studied her.
She didn't look jealous. She didn't look angry. She didn't look like she had seen Rebecca, or heard any of the comments.
It seemed he was in the clear. He was one very lucky…
She looked nervous, and a little embarrassed, and even somewhat shy.
She was wearing pink. Soft pink. Soft pink silk. A vest top like usual, but completely different to usual.
And jeans, pale blue jeans that stretched out those legs of hers.
High heels, she'd be as tall as him. Nose to nose. Lips to lips.
And curls, her dark hair curved to her face in beautiful natural curls, the ones he loved so much but had seen so little of lately.
He wanted to touch her. His fingers twitched with it. He wanted to touch her so badly.
He wanted to be the one dragging her into a hug like Nick, or embracing her and kissing her cheek like Warrick, but he couldn't. He couldn't even whistle at her like Greg. God that boy really needed to learn how to treat a real woman! Although for some unexplainable reason he seemed to be doing just fine with that waitress, so what did he know!
He just sat there, boxed in by Nick on one side and Al and Jim on the other and just watched her.
She was laughing, lunging at Nick for the down right lascivious way he was looking her up and down and he found himself wishing that she really would swing for the young CSI. Before he did and exposed them both.
She looked happy.
She looked beautiful.
She was dating him!
Jim's movement beside him broke his fixation.
He was standing, finishing his last drink. Al too was moving sideways, sliding out of the booth, shaking hands with Warrick, nudging Sara towards him.
Wait! Nudging Sara towards him.
She didn't look at him. For a moment he panicked. He kept his eyes forward; staring at the empty glass Jim had left on the table.
He heard the guys pick up their conversation again.
Oh God, something about strippers.
She was here. Her soft, sweet perfume wafted over as she very cautiously settled beside him.
Oh God! This was going to be too hard! Too awkward to act natural next to one another and not look like they had a huge secret to share.
She was trying to relax, but he could see her heart beating, making her breasts rise against the silk. Oh God! Don't gaze there!
He looked away from her again, but found his attention drawn helplessly back to her when she moved her legs, crossing them, her left over her right.
Her bare arm almost brushed his. Shoulder to shoulder.
She was nervous, uncomfortable. He had to say something soon or he would explode!
What was it that made him so speechless around her?
Compliment her you idiot! That nagging voice from earlier intoned.
The guys, they were teasing her, just tell her she looks nice.
But wait, not too loudly, no need for the others to hear that.
He flicked a glance at the other three guys, and tried desperately to ignore the name Catherine being thrown about in the conversation involving this evening's guest list and strippers all over again. That and the way they were talking to Sara... Come next shift he really had to talk to those three about sexual harassment, although technically they weren't at work…
Sara!
He leant into her, meaning just to move a little closer so he didn't have to speak so loudly, but he couldn't seem to stop. He was drawn in, the alcohol heightening his courage, just the small boost he needed.
His lips were dangerously close to her earlobe, breathing her in, brushing against the small dangling earring hanging there.
She was holding her breath.
"Sara,"
Ha! Was that his voice?!
"Ignore them."
See, he could say nice things; he could give compliments, charm women.
"You look amazing…"
Not stop talking even when he knew he should.
"What are you drinking Sar?"
Greg Sanders. Violence. Greg Sanders.
And suddenly she was gone. Leaping away from him as if his touch burnt.
Greg Sanders.
Greg Sanders on decomp duty for the rest of his career.
Greg Sanders buried where no one else would ever find him…