Author's Notes: To follow.
Beauty and the Beholder
by Kristen Elizabeth
For every beauty there is an eye somewhere to see it. For every love there is a heart somewhere to receive it. – Ivan Panin
He told himself he was waiting for the perfect moment to step out of the shadows. But if he was really telling the truth, he was just enjoying looking at Sara as she entered the ballroom.
And if he was going to be painfully honest, he needed a moment to collect himself. Her dress...was she trying to give him a heart attack? The stubbornly analytical parts of his brain were busy trying to figure out how the hell the straps were staying put on her shoulders. The rest of his brain was just hoping they'd slip.
He took a breath and stepped forward. "Hi," he said quietly, as not to startle her too badly.
"Hi." Her voice was as soft as his.
His throat closed up. The speech he had been rehearsing all day flew out of his mind. She was close enough now that he could smell her perfume. Sara never wore it at work, and suddenly he was very grateful for that fact. He would never get any work done if she did.
"Gris," she finally said. "What...?"
"Did you know that your alma mater keeps a record of past prom themes?" he blurted out, needing to say something before he just grabbed her and kissed her. "It only took a few phone calls to figure out what it was for your class."
She looked confused. "How?" And she wasn't able to form full sentences for some reason. He wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not.
"The Bellagio had a last-minute cancellation. They did most of the work setting everything up. Although Catherine says Lindsey had a lot of fun making the banner."
"So, she did know something." Sara shook her head. "That bitch." She paused just long enough to worry him even more. Did she hate this? Was it too sappy and sentimental? Or worse? "I owe her one," she finally said.
Relief rushed through him. It was powerful enough to propel him to reach out and brush a silky curl back from her face. "I never went to my prom either. The girl I liked had a very muscular boyfriend. So I stayed home and dissected a cat I found in the road." He braced himself for a reaction, like her nose curling up in disgust or eyes rolling like she was just now realizing what a social idiot he was. But there was none of that. She was just watching him like she always did. Like she wanted to know everything about him. The good, the bad, and the embarrassing. "I love that hearing that about me doesn't shock or repulse you."
"How did you know that I didn't…" She stopped because she didn't really need to think very hard about who could have relayed the information about her senior prom.
"Catherine," they both said together.
She was smiling, and that made his shoulders relax. "I don't know what to say."
He hoped his hands were steady as he lifted the lid from the box. He'd spent a full hour at the florist's picking it out. He owed Catherine one as well for telling him the color of the dress Sara would be wearing that night. But he would have words with her later for not preparing him about the dress's design.
Grissom took her hand and slipped the orchid corsage onto her slender wrist. "Say you'll go to the prom with me, Sara."
He couldn't hold back a grin when she replied, "I'd love to."
Sara's eyes stayed him on as he walked over to the CD player the Bellagio had thoughtfully provided. The CD had come from Catherine's collection. Maybe he'd mention the fact that she owned it to Greg, as punishment for not giving him a heads up to the fact that the front of Sara's dress was cut down her navel.
Having already preset the machine to the right track, Grissom turned it on. Music filled the silent ballroom.
It only took Sara a few bars before she recognized the song. "Is this…?"
"It was in the top ten on the Billboard Chart in 1989. There's no way they didn't play this at your prom." Grissom walked back to her. "I have wanted to dance with you for years, Sara."
Her head shook a bit. "No, you haven't."
"Yes, I have." Perhaps they really had time-warped back to high school. "I have, Sara."
"Then…why haven't you until now?" She shook her head. "Up until tonight, you've done everything in your power to convince me that you were completely uninterested in me. I can't go in anymore circles, Gris. I just…I can't!"
Grissom slipped his hand under her arm to grasp her waist. "Dance with me. And I promise…no more circles." He frowned as he realized something. "Except…you know…around the dance floor."
She rolled her eyes a little at this, but it was justified. When she put her hand on his shoulder and entwined the fingers of her other hand with his, he really did feel seventeen again.
Oceans apart, day after day
And I slowly go insane
"Gris?"
He would have given anything to run his lips over the soft, fragrant flesh where her shoulder met her neck. It was right there in front of him, and he'd never known a more powerful temptation. "Yes?"
"Is all of this happening because of the magazine article?" Drawing back a bit, he saw genuine worry in the bottomless chocolate depths of her eyes. Before he could answer, she rushed on. "You hated it, didn't you?"
"Certain aspects, yes," Grissom admitted, unable to lie to her.
"Like my outfit."
"Yes, I hated your outfit." Her expression clouded over, and he clarified. "Because of the adolescent reaction my body had to it."
Sara blinked several times. "You had better not be joking about that."
"No joke." He looked down at the inside curves of her breasts, even more noticeable now that her chest was pressed against his. "I hate this dress, too, by the way."
Her cheeks grew pink. "I never should have bought it. It belongs on a real model. Not me."
Grissom stared at her. "My god, you really have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?"
Oh, can't you see it baby?
You've got me going crazy
"That photo shoot…" he went on. "I wanted to clear the room and christen Bobby's workstation with you in a very unholy way."
She tried to pull away, but Grissom held her tighter even as she shook her head. "It was the makeup and the leather," she said, desperately. "It's designed to trick your eyes."
"No. It only enhanced what was already there." He untangled their fingers and tipped her chin up to meet his gaze. "You're always beautiful, Sara. It doesn't matter what you're wearing or how much sleep you've had or whether or not you put lipstick on that day. Every time I see you, I want to see more of you." Grissom gently touched his lips to hers. "That's what happens when you love someone."
Wherever you go, whatever you do
I will be right here waiting for you
Sara's hand traveled up from his shoulder and pulled his head down for another, deeper kiss. "You gave me a prom," she said when their mouths parted. "What could I possibly give you that could compare?"
He thought for a second. "A private viewing of the leather skirt?" She threw her head back and laughed. "Harry would enjoy it, too."
"I'm sure he would." Sara kissed him again, wrapping her arms around his neck at the same time he enfolded her in his. "Thank you," she whispered between kisses. "I can never see enough of you, either."
The spot he'd wanted to kiss earlier was even softer than he'd imagined. And she whimpered when he breathed on it. He was suddenly glad he'd been presumptuous and rented a room upstairs.
I wonder how we can survive this romance
But in the end if I'm with you, I'll take the chance
Waiting thirty years for your senior prom had some distinct advantages.
"Black, two sugars."
Grissom presented the mug of coffee to her with such pride that Sara couldn't bear to tell him that the lab sludge called for three sugars. He would either figure it out eventually, or she'd come up with a way to sneak an extra packet without him ever noticing. She wouldn't be responsible for chasing his smile away.
"I take two creams and a sugar," Nick said as he entered and caught sight of Grissom handing Sara her coffee. "Are you our barista tonight, Gris?"
She took a sip, using the mug to hide her smirk at the pointed look Grissom gave their co-worker. "You're early." It was only a complaint to Sara's knowing ears. They'd both been hoping for another ten minutes alone before the shift started.
"No traffic," Nick explained, storing his lunch in the fridge. As he straightened up, he looked at Sara with a puzzled frown. "Were you wearing that shirt last night?"
Refusing to look at Grissom in case she lost her composure, Sara coolly replied, "It's a white shirt, Nick. I own more than one."
She made a mental note for the future: sharing a shower was fun, but going home for a change of clothes was a better use of time.
Warrick arrived next and immediately headed for the coffee pot. After a couple of sips, he was ready to talk. "No traffic."
"So we've been told," Sara said.
"Didn't you have that shirt on yesterday?" he asked, giving her a quick once-over. Sara glared at him. "Just asking."
Greg breezed in just then. "Evenin' all," he greeted them. "I've come to save you from the leftover swing shift brew." As he passed Sara, he paused. "Hey, isn't that same shirt you…"
"What the hell?" Sara wasn't sure whether to laugh or panic. "Did you three join the Fashion Police?"
"Fashion?" Catherine walked into the room, one hand hidden behind her. "You already heard, then?"
"Heard what?" Grissom asked for the group. He moved behind Sara's chair, and even though he couldn't offer her his hand, having him close was enough to calm her down.
"Ta-da!" She brought a magazine out from behind her back and laid it down on the table. "An advanced copy. Arrived this afternoon." She looked at Sara. "You're on page 32."
Sara took a big sip of coffee, ignoring the bitterness. "You've already looked?" Catherine nodded. "On a scale of one to ten, how bad is it?"
"Judge for yourself." Catherine began flipping pages. When she reached the one she wanted, she stepped back. "Gentlemen…" She put one hand on Nick's arm and the other on Warrick's. "From a lump of clay…look what Prada hath wrought."
Greg snatched up the magazine. "Damn!!" He looked at Sara with wide eyes. "So it's you bringing sexy back!"
Nick grabbed it from him. "I just want to go on record as thanking the Lord for making leather," he said a moment later. "I completely renounce lace."
"The camera loved you, Sara," Warrick told her after examining the photo.
With a sigh, Catherine took the magazine and handed it to the woman in question. She lowered her voice so only Sara could hear her say, "You should be really proud of yourself." She winked. "I am."
It was hard for Sara to believe that the woman on the glossy page was actually her. She could remember the feel of the leather skirt on her thighs, and the way she felt powerful in the boots, like she could knock men over with a single sway of her hips. The picture was everything Catherine had said it would be. Sexy, yes. But smart, too.
She glanced up and locked eyes with Grissom.
"May I?" he asked. He took it and adjusted his glasses to read the blurb that ran down the side of the page. "Sara Sidle, a level three crime scene investigator for the Las Vegas Police Department, holds a master's degree in theoretical physics from Berkeley. Even after eight years in the field, her dedication to justice shows no sign of dissipating. In her own words, 'My job is to speak for the victim'."
"I borrowed that," Sara confessed. She hesitated. "What do you think, Gris?"
"I think…" He removed his glasses. "I still hate the outfit."
Sara didn't blame Catherine for smacking Grissom's arm, or Warrick for rolling his eyes, or Nick and Greg for coming to her defense as loudly as possible.
But she couldn't stop smiling.
Fin
A/N: Hopefully I didn't put anyone into a diabetic coma with this one. If you're reading this, thank you so much for sticking with me through the long months it took to complete this story. Big, big thank you's also go out to PhDelicious, who cracks her ruler and keeps me in line. Take care until next time!
