Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: So hopefully I have a little more drive to work on this story again. Reviews always help! Thanks and enjoy! (I really like this chapter...)
When she returned to the lab, the only thing Sara wanted to do was find Grissom and explain—beg him not to overreact to all that had happened. The problem was that they had mountains of evidence to be checked in and delivered to respective labs to be processed. There was a good deal of processing to be done just by Warrick and herself… and so it was several hours before she found even a spare moment to think about stealing away and locating her lover.
Well, she hoped he was still her lover. It was very possible that Nick had put an end to all of that.
"God damn it," she muttered under her breath, pacing through the lab in agitation. He wasn't in his office, or in Catherine's… he hadn't been in DNA, or trace, or ballistics… he wasn't in the garage, or any of the layout rooms, or the morgue. She sighed in frustration, moving to the locker room to grab her 'just-in-case' pack of cigarettes and take a quick break, or else she'd have a freak out on someone else.
Greg was there, looking at his feet. Looking forlorn. Although Sara very much wanted to sweep by him without words, grab her cigarettes, and go… Greg had never let her down like that. He had always been there, if she needed him, and he deserved as much in return. Stifling another sigh, she moved in, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder.
"Greg?" He jumped at the contact, looking up at her in alarm. She almost smiled. "…Are you okay?"
He nodded, almost frantically. "Yeah, no, I'm… yeah, I'm fine."
She smirked at his discomfort, taking the seat next to him. She did not sit right up against him, just at their normal proximity, but he tensed and leaned just slightly away, as if she were sitting too close. She raised an eyebrow.
"…What's going on, Greg? You don't want me close to you?"
He shakes his head. "No, it's not… Sara, I.. I just… Nevermind."
She rolls her eyes. "We both know you're lying to me. Come on, walk outside with me, so I can take a smoke break, and we'll talk."
His forehead creased. "No, Sara… that's another thing—You're smoking again? You hadn't had a cigarette in months… You're not acting like yourself."
She looks down, a little shamefaced. "Well, I… technically haven't had one yet."
"…Why would you start again?"
"It feels good?" But he didn't seem to find this an acceptable answer—his face told her as much. She let the sigh she'd previously contained escape her. "Because I'm stressed as all hell over Nick's break room episode."
"Why, Sara? I mean… he's just… concerned about you. It's not like… any one of us… would judge you for it."
She looks away. She can't explain to Greg that it's more about the far-reaching consequences… the seeds of doubt planted in a mind already too eager to find an escape… rather than being judged. "It's just… it's not like he made it sound. And he wouldn't… drop it."
There's a long silence, which Greg breaks, his voice a little shaky, though he tries to hide it. His words aren't exactly what she expects, to say the least…
"Even if… even if it's just some kinky shit, or… whatever… even if you said it was okay… even if you liked it… sex shouldn't hurt, Sara. You… you really can pick 'em, can't you? …How many times are you going to turn me away without thought for men who don't treat you the way you deserve to be treated…? How many times have you done it already?
"I could have told you from day one that Hank was the type of guy who'd want more than he had any right to… and the defensive, scared way you responded to Nick's heartfelt concern—seriously, the guy doesn't have a mean bone in his body—well, it tells me that this new guy isn't any better…."
She tries to interrupt, to explain—because she can explain it to Greg, as long as she keeps out the name… but he holds up his hand, desperate to get his words out while he can.
"It's just… like, okay, the bruises… if you do do bondage in sex, you should… be tied up with something that would never leave a mark—satin or silk—while your body is ravished gently and slowly, so that by the time you're untied, you feel like you've seen the face of God…" And, unexpectedly, his hand rises to her cheek, the backs of his fingers running down it slowly.
"…Rough sex should be… rough in the approach, not in the results. …Throwing you down on the bed, tearing your panties off, love bites that never leave a mark… not rocking you against concrete because it's more important for him to get his rocks off than it is to preserve the beauty of your skin…"
Sara stared at him in awe, utterly speechless. Greg had flirted with her on numerous occasions, and asked her out more times than she could count… but she had never thought that her repeated rejections had hurt him, or that he could ever speak of her so… reverently.
She swallowed hard, trying to force herself to respond. Trying to make herself reassure him, explain, apologize for not realizing what should have been obvious before now… that his feelings were not, in actuality, idle and playful and only half-serious…
Instead, she sat there with her mouth slightly open, eyes wide and soft and unexpectedly brimming with tears for the man she cared for, so much, and yet could not help but hurt, over and over, because he wasn't him.
Greg looked at her, with eyes deeper and less playful than usual, got a strange sort of half-smile from her shocked expression, and drew a shaky breath. "Sara, you should… you shouldn't be giving so much of yourself… to men who don't deserve you. …You should… you should be with me."
And before her face can transform into a mask of pity and pain and regret, before he has to view the rejection in her still-loving eyes, he leans forward and captures her lips—softly, sweetly, and quickly, so that by the time she's realized he's kissing her, he isn't anymore.
Greg swallowed hard, unable to meet her gaze and after a moment of her silence, got up without a word and walked out of the locker room, returning to work. Sara sat in disbelief, the tears in her eyes falling softly now. Why now? …Why was everything falling apart, and every relationship she held dear suddenly in crisis?
Nick, big brother and sweet teddy bear of a man that he was, had been threatened with a sexual harassment suit if he expressed concern again.
Greg, funny and playful and truly the best friend she had ever had, was running away hurt and scared, tail between his legs, because she could not help but reject him.
Grissom, stoic and reserved and hesitant, yet finally loosening up… finally letting her in and might even be giving them a chance, was now… apparently avoiding her.
She grabbed the pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her locker and stormed from the room, furiously swiping away tears. It was just too much. It just wasn't fair…
As the door swung closed, a slow sigh echoed in the locker room.
Gilbert Grissom huddled back behind a row of lockers because he had been avoiding her, and could not handle the consequences of his lapse in judgment. It had been amazing to finally, finally make love to Sara, but Nick and Greg weren't wrong; how could he have been so… careless, so thoughtless, so all-consumed by his aching need for her that nothing else, apparently, registered?
…How could he have done that to her?