A/N: Some inspiration taken from the spoiler photographs of Sara from The Two Mrs Grissoms episode. I so can't wait to see it.
Doesn't Sara look absolutely stunning in that dress?
"Gil, can you help me with the clasp?" Sara asked distractedly as she stepped into the bathroom.
Looking up from the sink Grissom blindly felt the side for his face towel and turning toward Sara, wiped the leftover shaving cream off his face. He froze in his movement, his eyes widening with wonder, his breath catching in his throat.
Lifting her hair out of the way Sara was holding a silver chain to her neck. Her head was tilted downward away from him, exposing the long pale curve of her nape. The sweet scent of her perfume drifted up to him, permeating his nostrils. The smile adorning his lips was one of pure pleasure and contentment and taking in a deep breath he closed his eyes before abruptly snapping them open again, his look of blissful wellbeing and wonderment turning to fear and panic. His gaze flicked down to his clothes and he heaved a miserable sigh, wincing as though in physical pain as he took in his faded blue jeans and Hope sweatshirt.
Her head still bowed Sara peered up at him from the top of her eyes. "Clasp?" she repeated, a knowing smile twitching on her lips.
Snapping out of his trance, Grissom gave himself a shake of the head. He tossed the towel in the sink and raised his hands to the back of her head. Shaky fingers brushed against hers as he took the necklace from her and numbly fastened the clasp.
Holding the silver teardrop pendant to her skin, Sara looked up and beamed pleasurably at him. "Thank you."
Unable to find his voice he could only stare back at her dumbly. She just looked so radiant, so naturally beautiful that his heart filled with pride; she was his, heart and soul. Her hair cascaded down to her shoulders in its customary style, soft natural curls framing her oval-shaped face so as to give her a young, slightly carefree look but the dress she'd put on took his breath away.
The dress, a sleeveless light green straight cut summer dress that stopped just above the knees and complimented perfectly her tanned long limbs, fitted her impeccably. The slight tapering at the bust and granddad-style neckline enhanced her cleavage to maximum effect, the pendant he had gifted her for her birthday sitting with pride in its centre. Her feet were bare; her legs sans stockings. His eyes shot back up to her face, which bore only the faintest trace of make-up, a little eye shadow, mascara and lip gloss, and his lips curled into a shy, loving smile. Awestruck, he swallowed the constriction in his throat.
Her grin widened at his reaction and she slowly scanned her eyes down the length of his body, from his freshly-shaven face down to his bare toes poking out from under the hem of his jeans. "Hum," she appraised, "So, I guess you weren't planning on taking me out, huh?"
Grissom's gaze shot down to his front again and he lifted a small shoulder in a helpless and very contrite apology. He opened his mouth and then shut it again. "I—No. Sorry."
Sara blew out an overly dramatic breath. "You're just taking me home for the first time," she lamented, "to meet your mother. No big deal."
His hands flew to hers. "Oh, Sara, honey, no. I'm sorry. I-I just…didn't think. I didn't realise. I've not done this before-"
"I get it," she continued despondently, "It doesn't matter if you look bad; you don't need to impress anyone but me, on the other hand-"
His face fell and he brought her hands to his face. "Oh, Sara, please-"
A grin slowly broke across her face. "Relax," she said, unable to keep up the pretence, "I was only yanking your chain."
He pursed his face in mock-irritation but all he managed was a sad pout. He brought his hand to her face and cupped her cheek. "You look gorgeous," he stated quietly, looking into her bright eyes, clearly in awe of her. He shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry."
"You think so?" Sara asked with genuine surprise at his word. She smoothed down the seat of her dress. "It's not too much? I've brought some flats to go with it."
He gave her a slow shake of the head in reply. "No. It's…perfect." He took her hand and made her give him a twirl. "I've not seen it before. Is it new?"
She shrugged. "I was keeping it for a special occasion and I think today qualifies as that."
"How do you mean?" he asked with genuine puzzlement.
Her face darkened and she watched him for a moment. It was clear she was trying to ascertain whether his bafflement was genuine or not. "Gilbert," she said, hesitating, "I know you're not the most clued-up man when it comes to women, but for a woman meeting her boyfriend's ex is a big deal. Especially in your case and especially since she's your mother's friend and she's been in your lives forever. Besides Gil – and it's okay with me but – I get that she favours her over me."
He swallowed and averted his eyes, nodding his understanding. "I'm sorry. But you know," he waved his hand about the place, "this is hard for me too."
"I know," she said softly. She brought her hand to his chin and tilted it up until their eyes met. She smiled at him tenderly and he smiled back, grateful for her support, thinking it strange how she was able to handle all this a lot better than he was.
He reached for her hand on his chin and brought it to his lips. "I love you."
"And I love you," she replied with a twinkle in her eyes.
He laughed and they leaned toward each other for a kiss. When they broke apart, Grissom looked down at himself appraisingly. "If it's any consolation the sweatshirt's new," he said weakly.
"Hum. Well, I'm not getting changed," she said categorically.
"And I wouldn't want you to," he said animatedly. "You're going to blow them away but…I haven't brought anything else," he said with a small shrug. His eyes narrowed in thought and he raised his index finger, indicating that he had an idea, that she should stay put and that he'd be back promptly. He rushed out of the bathroom to his bedroom, and opened his closet door, quickly flicking through the hangers of long-forgotten clothes for what he needed.
"What's this?" Sara asked, coming up behind him. She reached past him for a pair of navy corduroy pants he had stopped at.
"Something my mother got me a few years back," he said, studying the pants. "I've never worn them."
Sara pulled the pants off the hanger and ran her hand over the smoothness of the corduroy. "They're nice," she said.
"I don't think they're going to fit," he said, patting his stomach a little wistfully.
"Your mother has good taste," she remarked. "The colour complements your eyes perfectly. Come on, try them on. What do you risk?"
"That they'll make me feel old and out of shape?" He snatched the pants off her, and sighed. "Go on then, all right. What choice do I have?"
"What choice indeed?" Sara said with an arch of her brow.
He tossed the pants on the bed and began unbuttoning his jeans, watching as Sara continued flicking through the clothes hanging in his closet while he got undressed. She stopped when she got to the last item on the rail and catching sight of what it was he swallowed. His heart began to pound loudly in his chest, and he froze.
She had her back to him and he couldn't see her face but she spent a moment studying the tree-piece dark suit with wide lapels and bell-bottom cuffs à la John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Grissom would have looked good in it too in 1979, except that he never got to wear it. Sara ran her hand over the clear protective cover and he saw her shoulders heave with a sigh. She turned suddenly, a smile on her face but he could still see the conflicting emotions, the questions in her eyes her discovery had brought. She didn't voice them and he didn't let on he'd noticed. He simply turned away and grabbed the navy corduroy off the bed, pulling them on.
"So?" she asked. "They fit?"
Grissom did the fastening and the zipper. "A little on the tight side but they'll do. I can always cheat and undo the button." She nodded and he couldn't help the clenching in his heart at her subdued expression.
"Let's see what we can do about your top," she said, moving to his chest of drawers and pulling the first one open. It was full of papers and old, broken bits and pieces and she shut it quickly before moving to the second drawer.
Before he could stop her Sara had found the little bundle wrapped in crêpe paper that he kept hidden, neatly tucked away among whatever clothing he kept there and never wore. She carefully unwrapped the paper and he blanched.
"What are these?" she asked her voice catching as she pulled a pair of yellow, knitted infant booties with a threaded yellow ribbon tied in a knot around the ankle.
He had to stop himself from rushing to her and snatching the delicate booties out of her hands. A look of fear flashed across his eyes followed shortly by deep sadness. The words were at the tip of his tongue, poised and yet he couldn't get them out. For a moment it felt as though his eyes were shining with tears but he looked away briefly and when he turned back to her they were clear.
"They were mine," he said at last, his voice so quiet and choked-up he wondered whether he'd uttered the words out loud.
A wistful smile lit up Sara's face and she looked up from the booties. "Yeah?"
He smiled. "Yeah," he said softly. "My grandmother on my father's side knitted them for me when I was born. There was a matching hat but it got lost."
Sara's gaze dropped back to the booties and she traced her fingertip along the length of the ribbon.
Unable to stand it any longer, he covered the distance to her and gently took the booties from her. His heart thumped madly in his ears, his mouth suddenly dry as he stared at them longingly before gently replacing them in their protective cover and in their safe place at the back of the drawer. He shut it promptly and opened the next one. "I think I may have a shirt in here somewhere," he said, breaking the lengthy silence. "It's an old one but it's the best I have without going to the shops."
He looked up abruptly and met her eyes. She was watching him intently, as though she could see right through him. She raised her hand to his face with such love and tenderness that he almost told her everything there and then. He just wanted her to know without having to say the words, without reopening the wounds. He just wanted her to see it in his eyes, in his heart, and for her to take the pain away.
Her eyes were telling him, "It's all right. I'm with you. Whatever we have to face we'll face together." But she didn't say the words. She just smiled at him and then she said, her voice gentle and coaxing, "Come on, you need to finish getting ready. It's almost time and I would like to stop by a florist on the way, and get some flowers for your dad's grave."