CHAPTER 7

Thunder rumbles in the distance, a quiet intensity

I am willful, your insistence is tugging at the best of me

You're the moon, I'm the water

You're Mars, calling up Neptune's daughter

The Weepies

Sara didn't call Grissom. Instead, she drove to his home, needing desperately to see his face and feel his presence. She sat in her car, drumming the steering wheel nervously. Despite how close they were getting, she still felt a great deal of trepidation where Grissom was concerned. Without the pretense of work, she was apprehensive, unsure of how rigid Grissom's personal boundaries were.

Pushing it all aside, throwing caution to the wind, she stepped out into the noon heat. The parking lot was newly paved, giving off a toxic and weighty odor. It was gummy on her shoes, unpleasant, but she moved past it and up to his door, knocking three times.

She bit her lip and looked up as the door flew open. He was grinning at her, surprised.

"Hey there," he said, staring at her with wide eyes. She pulled her sunglasses off and smiled back.

"Hey, sorry I didn't call. I just…" — she shrugged a single shoulder —"I wanted to see you."

"I don't mind." He stepped aside pulling his hand up in an inviting gesture. She believed him, which relaxed her considerably.

Sara walked past him and the smell of the asphalt was immediately replaced by the something homey and soothing, chamomile tea maybe. His eyes weren't leaving hers. She couldn't discern the look on his face, but he wasn't off-putting. Perhaps a tad awkward, but inviting in his own way.

She looked around his townhouse, taking in the decor like she hadn't been able to years ago. There was something austere about it, but it made sense for him. Books overflowed the shelves, a chess game sat atop a table, frozen in time like the dead insects on his walls. Classical music, Schubert perhaps, bounced off the open living room. It was overwhelming being surrounded so fully by him. Guiltily, she felt like she was in some sort of domiciliary zoo, observing a strange creature in his natural habitat.

"So…" he said, no direction in his voice. She could tell he was battling instinctual discomfort at her impromptu invasion of his personal space. She could also tell he was working to move past it, which was satisfying. He was flicking his fingers nervously. His light blue jeans and worn Cubs t-shirt gave him a youthful quality that reminded her of when they'd first met. "Can I get you anything?"

"A stiff drink," she replied, only half serious with an ironic grin.

"I have red wine."

"Perfect."

Before walking past her, he bent down and kissed her gently, his thumb grazing her jaw and holding her in place. There was something habitual about it, pleasingly familiar.

"Make yourself at home," he said nonchalantly. She wondered if it was a difficult thing for him to say, let alone mean.

She drifted over to the couch, sitting down, forearms resting on her knees as she watched him unscrew a cork from a bottle of wine. Grissom's coffee table was cluttered with books, journals, and magazines. Some were dog-eared, some were flipped over, spines face-up. She picked up a glossy new copy of The Forensic Examiner and scanned an article about handwriting analysis, barely taking in the words. Grissom sat down on the couch, putting a half-filled glass of merlot in front of her.

"So… how'd it go?" he asked, taking a long swig of his wine.

"I think it went okay," she said, giving a non-committed shrug. Grissom was looking at her, lips pursed in thought, eyes slightly smaller.

Sara turned to face him, pulling her leg up onto the cool leather of the couch. He seemed surprised by her sudden shift in movement, his eyebrows flicking upward in curiosity. He grinned at her and mimicked her movement, pulling his own leg up so that they faced each other, his arm dropping on the back of the sofa.

The music changed to something slightly more familiar, a piano rendition of something more recent that she couldn't place. They looked softly at each other and her tension melted away, the warmth of the wine flowing through her. Perhaps a dozen divulging and heavy thoughts passed through her head. When she wasn't at work, the early afternoon always made her slightly more unrestrained, perhaps because her body attributed it to the strange time before she drifted away into sleep, her more abstract and wayward thoughts singing in her head like a fever dream. It didn't help that she was fatigued, the last few days having worn her down like a river flowing over a rock. She pressed her lips together to keep from talking. But, she wanted to talk, more than ever. She wanted to say all of the things, one by one, that she could never say to another person in her life. She looked down at her wine glass and smiled to herself.

"He was my first love. I thought, anyway. The first person that ever made me feel… a part of something. It wasn't real, though."

"Why wasn't it real?"

She shook her head slowly, thoughtfully. "I never really knew him. And he never really knew me."

"Well," he said, shrugging, "that doesn't mean the feelings weren't real."

"How real could they be? We were together for the better part of a year and I can't remember one revealing thing I told him about myself. It never occurred to me to open up about myself and my past. With anyone." She swallowed the last of her wine and finally looked up at him. "Except with you."

His mouth dropped open slightly, but she knew he didn't have words. He rarely did. She felt her cheeks flush and the glass felt suddenly fragile in her hand, like if she held it any longer she'd shatter it. She set it down on the coffee table, ignoring the flutter in her stomach as she reached for Grissom's glass. He was holding it lightly in his hand and let go willingly. She set it down, a true-to-life thunk against the wood echoing between them. He licked his lips, his eyes locked intently on her, the muscles in his temples pulsing as he clenched his jaw.

Sara leaned over and hovered close to Grissom's face, her mouth inches from his. He was still, eyes serious and shifting back and forth from her eyes to her lips. He bit his bottom lip and she couldn't handle it anymore. She thrust forward, kissing him deeply and pressing her body closer to his. He sank lower and lower on the couch, hands on her hips, sliding up her shirt just enough to make contact with her bare skin. She shivered and moaned, a wild fire was sweeping through her body. She could smell the lavender shampoo in her own hair as it fell over them both, curtaining their faces.

He groaned beneath her as she straddled his lap, pouring herself into him, connecting her body with his as much as possible. He began lifting her shirt and she raised her arms to let him pull it off. He leaned back, taking her in, an array of emotions on his face. She let him look, feeling fearless as he took in the site of her, aroused and tousled. He shook his head and bit his lip again, a shaky exhale escaping him.

"This is real," he said emphatically, pulling her back down and locking his lips with hers. The taste of wine in his mouth, mixed with something distinctly him, was compelling and she wasn't sure if she could ever quite get enough of it.

She pulled back to gather some air and held his head in her hands. "As real as it gets," she agreed in a whisper, eyes closed. Her hand slid under his t-shirt and rested over his heart. His skin was heated and his head flopped back dramatically against the armrest. He had a small smile on his face, but his eyes were shut.

She'd never experienced him this way, completely vulnerable and connected to his own emotions. It heightened her sensibilities to know that she could cause him to yield in such a way.

She stood and held her hand out for him to grab. He did but immediately took the lead, pulling her into his bedroom wordlessly.

xxx

Grissom's bedroom was dark, but a sliver of light escaped through a crack in the blackout curtains, slicing across the bed. She could still hear the sleepy piano music from the living room, though it had faded significantly in her ears while they had made love. The sound of his right hand banging against the headboard and sliding down in a thrilling screech as he tumbled over the edge was the only clear sound she could recall, though she could remember every tiny sensation she had felt as they moved together.

She wondered how someone could be so thoughtful, yet hasty. So arranged in each movement, yet entirely lost in the moment.

Quickly, she grabbed his t-shirt from the floor and pulled it over her head, breathing in the unique scent that was huddled into the fabric. She smiled, pressing her lips together, feeling giddy and flushed, thankful for the small amount of light in the room.

He returned from the restroom, padding over to the bed in nothing but boxer shorts, appearing not the least bit flustered.

"Are you tired?" he asked, as he slipped in-between the sheets, his body touching hers as he sat against the headboard.

She looked up at him, head lolling against the pillow. She had barely enough energy to answer. "So tired. You're not?"

"I'm hungry."

She smiled. "You should be."

He gave a deep, short chuckle and slid down, turning his body to face hers, propping his head in his left hand. He picked up her hand, connecting the pads of their fingers, then linking them together intimately. He scooted closer, kissing her on the forehead sweetly. His beard was scratchy against her skin, but she ignored it, content with the sheer purity of the moment.

"I was thinking," he said, his voice somewhat raspy. He paused and she could feel him grow a bit hotter, trepidation taking over.

"As usual," she teased and felt him smile against her forehead. He didn't speak, though, so she encouraged him, "About what?"

He swallowed and she remained patient as he gathered his thoughts. "About something Luke Walsh said to you during your interview with him."

Sara winced at the name. It didn't fit in their moment, though she was more than little curious about his line of thought. He continued playing with her hand shyly, hesitantly.

"He said that… that you're the type of woman that changes a man."

Sara recalled the comment and gave a mirthless laugh, Luke's slipshod attempt at flattery making her a little angry all over again. "I don't know how true that is."

There was a moment of silence and he pulled her closer, his hand warm on the small of her back. They were getting sweaty, cuddled so close, but she couldn't care.

He took in an unsteady breath. "You're changing—" He stopped short and cleared his throat. His chest rose and fell. "You've changed me, Sara."

Sara let the words wash over her and they elicited an incredible feeling of unravelling. Tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks after a single blink. She rolled her face into the pillow, quickly wiping them away. A lump formed in her throat as she toyed with the band of his boxer shorts, an idle thing to focus on while she considered her response.

He continued more confidently, his voice beautifully low in her ear, "I just want you to know that" —he swallowed, pulled her tighter — "you are a part of something… a part of me. Since the moment I met you."

Sara's breath snagged on the lump in her throat; fat tears rolled down and she let them dry on her cheeks. His fingers danced lovingly in her hair. The room felt incredibly still and she couldn't bring herself to speak in it.

She nodded into his bare chest and felt his thumb wipe a tear away. This side of Grissom was wonderfully new to her: open and sensitive, unapologetically nurturing. She understood it was more an exception than the rule with him, but she basked in it nonetheless. Perhaps, she wondered, this was how he was after such raw intimacy, talkative and vulnerable. She'd probably file it away and refer to it whenever he was restrained and withholding.

They lay in silence for minutes until Grissom pulled back. She could see him grinning in the low light of the room. "I have something I want to show you," he said, eyes sparkling.

"Alright," she drawled out sleepily, letting her head hit the pillow again as he climbed out of bed.

He disappeared from the room and returned a few minutes later. When he got closer, she noticed a photograph in his hand. He switched on the bedside lamp, the soft glow illuminating the room, giving depth to the brilliant smile he was wearing for her. He sat down beside her on the mattress, the photo obscured.

"Are you gonna let me see?"

He looked at her for a moment, eyes narrowing, teasing her. Finally, he held the photo out to her and she felt an instant surge of nostalgia. There they both were, younger versions of themselves, smiling at a camera and pressed closely together. The Golden Gate Bridge stood proudly in the background, an expanse of blue water blanketed underneath it. She could still hear the waves crashing against the crags in the beach and the gulls singing overhead. She looked so carefree and happy. Grissom looked slightly more aloof, but she could see the delight in his eyes. He had been happy that day too.

"We look so young," she said, more to herself than him.

"We do."

"Feels like a lifetime ago." She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "You never did send me a copy of this."

He looked at her incredulously, forehead wrinkling dramatically. He snatched the photo from her hand and a small smile appeared when he looked at it a little closer.

"Maybe I wanted to keep it for myself." She didn't know what he meant, so she kept quiet, watching him look at the picture. "That was a good day," he said fondly.

She nodded and her head flopped to his shoulder. The corners of the photo were turned up and tattered. A light crease adorned the center, as if it had been handled frequently. She imagined Grissom pulling the photo out and staring at it, emptying a glass of scotch while he worked up the courage to call her, never quite reaching a point where he could actually pick up the phone. The image made her sad and she pushed it away.

She'd never seen the picture, but the memory surrounding it was heart wrenching to her. Their relationship before she had moved to Las Vegas was surreal, like a dream that she couldn't quite explain after waking. The years that followed her arrival in Vegas had practically wiped it all away, rendered it null and void. He'd been so different in San Francisco. She was just beginning to see that man again and only in short spurts, but it pleased her nonetheless. After all, that had been who she'd fallen in love with.

He kissed the top of her head and hopped up in a rush, pulling a plain white t-shirt out of his dresser. He pulled it on, eyeing her. "Since you stole my favorite shirt."

She grinned. "I may keep it. Sorry."

He grunted and propped the photo against a murky green ecosphere sitting atop the dresser. She smiled, chewing coyly on her thumbnail, wondering what he was going to do next.

He held his hand out to her. "C'mon. I'll make us a sandwich. Then, I might let you sleep."

She let him pull her out of bed and glanced at the photo, then back to Grissom. Her heart quivered looking at him. She thought of the younger version of herself in the photo and tried to remember what she thought of Gil Grissom then. Her memories were so clouded by everything that had happened since, she found it difficult.

"What do you remember about that day?" she asked as they walked into his kitchen. The music had stopped, leaving a quiet vacuum.

He fumbled in the refrigerator for a moment then turned to look at her. Then, as if there were no other possibility, he answered, "Everything."

She sighed at him, eyes heavy. She wasn't sure she could remember everything. One thing she could remember, though, was falling. And hitting love harder than she could have ever imagined.

San Francisco, California — October 1998

The auditorium was emptying slowly, too slowly for Sara as she patiently sat in the back. Gil Grissom was shaking hands with a stodgy looking older man, a professional smile plastered on his face. But he had seen her and she saw his eyes flick past the man, landing on her every few seconds. Ever since meeting Grissom earlier that year at the Forensic Academy Conference, she couldn't get him out of her head. When he'd told her he was speaking at the Forensics Forum in San Francisco, she'd bitten down her excitement, but promised him she'd be there. The prospect of seeing him again, not just reading and re-reading his emails or replaying their phone conversations, had caused a dangerous stir inside of her. One that she couldn't stop grappling with.

Feeling sufficiently awkward, she gathered her things and ambled to the front of the room where he stood. The last of the guests exited and they were finally alone.

"Well, hello Miss Sidle," he said affably as she approached him. She felt a heat wash through her as she took him in. He looked positively brilliant in his black suit and cornflower blue tie. The dark rim of his eyeglasses complimented his light blue eyes. When she got closer, she could tell he was blushing a bit as he gathered his papers on the podium. It filled her with a small amount of confidence, though her stomach was still in knots at the sight of him.

"Dr. Grissom," she said brightly, pressing her lips together tightly to hide her growing smile.

He gave her a stern look, a silent admonishment for calling him Dr. Grissom. "I'll have you know, I cleared my schedule so that you could inundate me with questions."

Sara laughed, gripping the strap of her messenger bag tightly. "Well, I have only one today."

He raised his eyebrows in question, a small grin on his face as he placed the last of his things in his bag.

"Would you like to get some lunch?" she asked, the breeziness in her voice entirely affected.

"I would."

"Great!" she answered quickly, too quickly for her liking. She couldn't stop smiling, couldn't stop her heart from beating loudly in her ear.

"If you don't mind, I'm going to stop by my hotel room and change out of this stuffy suit," he said, throwing his bag over his shoulder and loosening his tie.

She almost told him how good he looked in it, but stopped herself. "Of course."

An hour and a half later, they were still seated in a bustling sandwich shop on California Street. Their food was gone and they both sat comfortably sipping water and talking. Grissom had changed into a casual button-up and khakis, still wonderfully handsome. Bits of silver speckled his curly brown hair and his skin was sun-kissed, eyeglasses discarded so she could see the full spectrum of blue in his irises. He looked much more relaxed than she'd seen him before. She knew he was quite a bit older than her, but the lines in his face seemed to be easing out, giving him a younger appearance.

"I'm glad you could make it. I know it was sort of last minute," Grissom said suddenly after a moment of silence.

Sara swallowed a mouthful of water. "Wouldn't have missed it."

They shared a look, Grissom obviously pleased with her answer. The restaurant suddenly felt far too crowded.

Grissom cleared his throat. "A friend of mine — Dr. James Holstein out of L.A. — he was supposed to speak at the forum but he couldn't make it. He asked me to fill in."

"And you couldn't pass up the opportunity to discuss bite-mark analysis to a captive audience," Sara ribbed, giving him a crooked grin.

Grissom conceded with tip of his head, tossing his hand in the air. "I couldn't pass up the opportunity to come back to San Francisco."

Sara felt a blush creep up her neck. These small comments of his had a way of elevating her. They were infrequent enough that she found herself shocked by them, but he had a way of throwing them at her at least once or twice every conversation they shared. He insinuated and even flirted, but was never overt, keeping her guessing at his actual intentions constantly. She found herself wondering if she was even supposed to feel the way she did about him, knowing so little and having such limited physical interaction.

"It's nice this time of year," she said vaguely. "When do you have to get back to Vegas?"

"Not until tomorrow afternoon."

"Do you have plans?" Sara asked, chewing the inside of her cheek.

He shrugged and locked eyes with her. "You're lookin' at 'em." She was stricken by his candor, but hid her surprise. "If you have time, that is," he added after a moment.

"Sure," she said, keeping her voice light and casual, "I found this great little beach I've been wanting to share with someone… if you want?"

"I'd love to," he answered, his voice suddenly intense and quieter.

They left the restaurant and walked down the street navigating the Saturday crowd on the sidewalk. They stopped at an ice-cream stand and Grissom bought them two cones. Sara couldn't stop asking herself if they were on a date, couldn't get the idea out of her head. It made her feel a little uneasy that she may not even have a definitive answer by the end of the day.

They passed a street vendor selling all types of tourist paraphernalia and Grissom stopped suddenly, a giddy flare in his eyes. He picked up a Kodak disposable camera and paid the vendor. Sara chuckled at him, eyebrow raised.

"I'm feeling a little touristy today," he explained, slipping the camera into his pocket and winking at her. "Now let's see this beach."

The large wooden steps that led down to the beach were sun-beaten and smooth under their feet. They descended slowly, walking closely together, taking in the sunny late afternoon. The final step that dropped off into the sand was steep and Grissom intentionally took it first, holding his hand out for her. She slipped her hand into his and jumped off the step, letting her it sit in his grasp for a moment longer than necessary. He didn't seem to mind, but dropped his hand after a few seconds and put it on the small of her back, leading her ahead of him. Sara shuddered.

The wind pushed the gray-blue water against the rocks wickedly. It was not a beach for swimming, but the sound of the water lapping and splashing against sharp rocks was soothing. There wasn't a soul in sight as they strolled north toward Golden Gate Bridge. It sat in the distance, a sentry towering over them watchfully.

Grissom took out his camera and Sara heard tiny little clicks as he wound the film. He framed a shot of the bridge and snapped a photo. She smiled at him softly, feeling utterly lovestruck.

They continued lazily up the shoreline, silently taking in the sights and sounds of Marshall's Beach. Sara tried not to think of Grissom leaving the next day, tried not to think about the world spinning on without knowing when she'd see him again. Instead, she focused on the view ahead of her, the here and now. A purple shore crab skittered across the glistening sand in front of them and Grissom stopped short, watching it keenly, his eyebrows stitched together in fascination. He bent down and snapped a photo of the tiny crab.

"You act like you've never seen a shore crab before," Sara said.

"In all things of nature there is something of the marvelous," he answered and looked up at her, "Aristotle."

"I suppose so. Even a little shore crab."

The crab ducked behind an algae-laden rock and Grissom stood back up, continuing their walk.

"This is a great view," he said, stopping again. He looked at her, contemplating for a small moment. He beckoned her with his hand and a dip of his head. "Come here for a second."

She walked over to him a curious grin on her face. He took her by the shoulder and situated her so that the bridge and the water were behind her. He joined her side, draping his arm over her shoulders. The contact was stirring and she couldn't stop the wide smile that spread across her face. He held out the camera, lens facing them both.

"Okay, smile." He snapped the photo and she barely registered the winding clicks as he bowed his head, a bashful look on his face.

Her throat felt constricted and dry. She licked her lips and regarded him, a strange electricity suddenly flowing between them. Without thinking she pushed herself forward and kissed him. He didn't respond at first and stood rigid beside her but after a moment, he sunk into it. It was a hurried kiss, mouths closed, but she could taste the sea salt on his lips. She deepened the kiss, raising her hand to rest on his chest. The fabric of his shirt was soft on her palm.

She could have kept going, could have pushed Grissom onto the wet sand underneath them, but she felt a hesitancy from him. His hand rested on her shoulder and she pulled back. His eyes were still closed, mouth slightly parted. He dropped his hand slowly. She didn't know whether or not to feel foolish and time seemed to stop, the sound of her heart in her ears competing with the thundering waves. Damp wind enveloped them and a chill zipped through her, goosebumps rising on her arms.

He opened his eyes and stared at the sand. His silence and ambiguous reaction made her feel awkward, but she couldn't bring herself to regret it. The kiss had confirmed so much for her, that she could only feel thankful for her sudden courage.

"Sorry," she finally said meekly, crossing her arms over her midsection.

He looked up at her alarmed. "No, it's — don't be sorry. I just, um —"

"I can be a bit impulsive. It's a flaw."

Grissom gave a short chuckle. He shook his head, a small smile on his lips. "I'm not sure I'd call it a flaw."

"Well…"

"I'm just… I'm… not." His face twitched, his eyes narrowed seriously. She understood, and nodded softly. A group of sandpipers plodded along in her peripheral vision and she turned to watch them race the tide, sprightly dipping their beaks into the sand.

She felt Grissom watching her and hoped he would turn his gaze soon, unable to take the intensity of it. He was the most enigmatic person she'd ever met. As infuriating as it was, it was equally alluring. Her penchant for mysterious men was not lost on her, but she'd never felt this way about someone before. She wasn't sure it was possible to be in love with someone she knew so little about, but if she wasn't in love, she wasn't sure where she was. Because she certainly wasn't in the same place emotionally since meeting him. For months now, she'd been closing herself off to everyone else without any real reason.

She heard Grissom's camera click and she looked over at him. He was taking a photo of the sandpipers, an innocent gleam in his eyes. She shook her head at herself, willing to let the moment pass them by for now.

"Thank you for sharing this with me," he said suddenly, voice husky as he looked out at the slate-colored water. His head turned and his eyes met hers. His expression was heartfelt, but there was a quiet sadness behind it that she couldn't discern.

She smiled sweetly at him and he turned back to the water pensively, his hands sliding into his pockets. Even as he withdrew, retreated deep into his own head, she felt so strongly for him that her chest hurt. She felt a tug on her heart, like the moon pulls the tide, and sighed into it with bittersweet resignation.

End

Well, folks, that's it! Thanks a bunch for sticking by and reading. Thanks for all of the kind words. I really didn't want this story to end, which is probably why this chapter took so long. I may have over-edited a bit :) I hope you enjoyed the ride!