A/N: I don't think we have much more to go story-wise. Thanks as always for reading, and read responsively - oops, I mean responsibly. This one is closer to M than T. Oh, and please leave a review afterwards!
Grissom pulled up in his allocated parking spot, killed the engine and looked around the busy lot. At this time of the night most residents were in and parking space was scarce. "You can't keep parking outside Pedro's," he said, turning toward Sara with a soft smile, "Not now you're moving in. Full-time, I mean."
Stifling a yawn, Sara released her seatbelt and reached for her purse in the foot well. "I don't mind."
"Still," he insisted. "It's a five-minute walk away. It's not practical."
"It's fine. We can't run the risk of someone seeing my car here, you told me that."
He shrugged. "That was before. Now's different." He smiled and watched her musingly for a moment, and thinking that she was looking tired reached his hand across to stroke her face. Gently brushing his fingers to her cheekbone he almost leaned across to kiss her, but then thought better of it. They weren't two teenagers on their first, or even second, date. They had time, and comfort. He could make his move later. Lowering his hand, he unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his car door. "I'll think of something," he added, referring to their parking arrangement, and got out.
Sara grabbed her purse and followed his cue. After locking the car, he gave her a happy smile and making the most of the cover of darkness slipped his hand in hers as together they made their way across the lot to the condo. At the front door, Sara closed her eyes suddenly, as if feeling dizzy or faint, and leaned forward into his shoulder, resting there for a moment before looking up and reopening her eyes. Her smile as she watched him was wan, and did nothing to assuage his worry. She was good at pretending that physically she was over the worst of her ordeal but he knew she had some way to go still.
"You okay?" he asked with concern, lifting their still joined hands and giving hers a warm squeeze.
Sara smiled wider, then nodded her head and reached forward to kiss him lightly on the lips. "Thank you," she said, "For letting me come to PD with you."
He shrugged a mild shoulder, knowing deep down – but not minding – that she'd had the better of him. Reverse psychology was what she'd used on him, and maybe he should have seen it coming and stood his ground. Still, no harm had been done. If anything, they now knew of a second boyfriend on the scene. One that by all accounts was memorable and easy on the eye, he recalled touchily. Hank yelped, refocusing him, then barked and began scratching at the door.
"Come on," he said, nodding toward the door as he reached inside his pocket for his house keys, "We should go in, before he does too much damage."
He was lifting his key to the lock when Sara covered his hand, stopping him.
"Let me," she said, the corner of her mouth twitching teasingly, and dropping his hand fished inside her purse for her own key. His frown morphed into a wide, gleeful smile, the symbolism of her gesture not lost on him. She pulled the key out and with a quick glance in his direction slotted it into the lock. It turned, and Hank's scratching intensified. "It works," Sara marvelled, her voice dripping with mock-disbelief.
Grissom shook his head at her teasing, then without further ado pushed the door open. Hank slipped out, yelping and whining as tail beating wildly he briefly stopped at their feet to bestow them a friendly welcome before thinking better of it and making straight for the lot.
Grissom chuckled. "I should take him for a walk," he said, somewhat resignedly, his gaze following Hank's progress. "I don't think a sniff round the lot will do this time."
Sara stepped inside and dropping her purse to the ground slipped off her shoes. "You want me to come?"
Grissom shook his head. "You look beat." He grabbed Hank's lead from the hook near the door. "I won't be long."
Sara gave him a wan nod, and with one last lingering look he closed the door and went in search of Hank, finding him sniffing at a car tyre. "Come on," he told him, clipping the lead to his collar and giving it a firm tug, pulling Hank away from the car, "let's go. And let's be quick about it."
As it turned out, Hank had other ideas and they didn't get back to the condo for nearly forty-five minutes. Within that time, content to walk at Hank's leisurely and inquisitive pace, Grissom let his mind wander, thoughts of Sara finally moving in with him intermingling with thoughts of Heather Clarke and the secret life they were hopefully getting closer to unravelling.
When he and Hank let themselves in, quiet music played over the stereo and the sidelight was on in the lounge but Sara was nowhere to be seen or heard. Hank made a beeline for his water bowl while taking his shoes and jacket off Grissom cast a look around. Sara had emptied a few boxes that now lay flattened near the door and filled the shelves with their content. Books, CDs and picture frames as well as a few ornaments and memories collected over the years now shared his space.
He poured himself a glass of water, drank half and took the rest to the bedroom. The door was ajar and the bedside lamp was on. Sara sat at the edge of the bed, silent and motionless, with her back to him and her head bent forward. Next to her lay the shoebox of memories he'd rescued from the back of her bedroom closet in her apartment. The lid sat discarded nearby, a few scattered papers and photographs inside it, and he knew that what she was staring at so intently had taken her back to a distant past.
Should he turn back and give her some time alone, or go and sit beside her and offer whatever support he could?
Already curled up at the foot of the bed, Hank looked up toward him rooted to the spot at the threshold and ears twitching flicked his gaze to Sara before bringing it back to him pointedly, concernedly. It was true that dogs picked up on their masters' moods, and Grissom shared in Hank's worry. His heart ached for her, for what he knew she was feeling, and yet again he was glad the box, evidence of her past, however painful it may be, had been spared from fire damage and destruction.
Inside the box were some of her most treasured possessions – legal documents and letters, as well as diplomas and certificates she had worked damn hard for, and the few photographs of her childhood she had managed to hold on to. A couple were of the happier foster homes she had been sent to, of foster brothers and sisters she had lost touch with a long time ago, but most were of times before all that when her childhood, despite being far from happy, had still been fairly…normal and steady.
Hank gave a little whine, refocusing Grissom. The dog's expression as he looked over at Sara clearly told Grissom to stop dithering; that he, himself, wasn't doing the trick and that she needed him by her side. At the same moment, Sara turned toward him. Even in the dim bedroom light, her eyes shone with unshed tears, and she gave him a tremulous smile he returned shyly as finally, quickly, he walked round the bed, covering the distance to her.
After putting his glass down on the bedside table, he sat down next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. A long breath escaping, Sara leaned her head against him and closed her eyes, and tightening the hold he had on her he looked down at the trembling letter and envelope in her hand. He hadn't seen it before and couldn't make out the text which barely filled the first page and was signed, "Mom."
"This is the only letter my mother ever sent me," Sara said after a while, speaking in a hoarse and choked-up voice. Grissom dipped his head to look at her but her eyes were on the letter in her hand and she kept them there. A tear fell, and Sara wiped at her eyes. "In it she says she's sorry for breaking up my home." She looked up abruptly. "She never said sorry for what she did to my father – but she was sorry for what it did to me. That counts for something, right?"
Grissom took in a deep breath and nodded his head slowly. "She loved you," he said softly. "However misguided it may appear now, maybe she felt like she didn't have a choice. Like what she did was for the best."
Holding his gaze, Sara nodded her head, then wiped at her eyes again and folded the letter back inside the envelope and put it back in the box.
"Maybe," Grissom said hesitantly, "You should…try to look her up, seek her out. It's been a long time."
Sara paused as she thought his words over, but didn't reply. She just kept her back to him as she resumed looking through the box on her other side, the ghost of a smile suddenly lighting her features as she pulled something else out. Grissom slowly dragged his eyes from her face to her discovery, he too smiling at the lanky teen moodily staring back at them. He'd never seen the photograph before.
Sara wore cut-off jeans shorts and a plain red T-Shirt that accentuated her long, skinny limbs. Her hair hung loose, short and messy. She was sitting on a faded flowery couch, bare legs tucked up under her and an open book on a fringe cushion in her lap. It was a candid shot, as if someone had called her name and taken the picture as soon as she'd looked up. She wasn't smiling. There was a gravity, a sadness in her eyes that was beyond her years and that tugged at his heart.
"How old were you there?" he asked with surprise, with interest, as he leaned in to take a closer look.
Sara turned the picture over, checking for a date which was written in her own handwriting. "Fifteen," she said, looking up, and he glimpsed that same sadness and gravity in her gaze now.
"Was that a pimple on your chin?"
A slow smile crept across her lips, dissipating some of that sadness, and she slowly shook her head in disbelief, his mild taunt having the intended effect of lightening the mood. Enough reminiscing, he thought, it wasn't doing her any good. Grissom prised the picture out of her hand and reached across her to place it back in the box. Then he brought his gaze back up and lifted his hand to her face, stroking her cheek before gently brushing her hair behind her ear.
"You have a home now, Sara. With me," he said in a whisper, holding her gaze, and smiled at her ever so gently, ever so lovingly before leaning forward and teasing his lips to hers. "I love you."
He pulled back and stared at her earnestly, wanting her, needing her, to believe his words – words he didn't profess nearly often enough but meant with every beat of his heart. Tears formed in Sara's eyes, hovering in the corners, poised and ready to fall, but she held on to them and smiled before closing the distance to him and pressing her lips to his.
"And I love you," she whispered almost inaudibly, her voice full of emotion.
Grissom licked his bottom lip nervously, then slowly inched forward and kissed her. The kiss, soft and slow at first, soon took a life of its own as hands came up to frame the other one's face and tongues met, hungrily deepening it. Hank shifted on the bed, standing up and yawning loudly before lying back down, and laughing they pulled back from each other.
They watched each other for a beat longer, their eyes as soft and complicit as their smiles, before in unspoken accord Grissom got off the bed while Sara turned back to her box and carefully put everything back inside it. Loath for the evening to end like this, Grissom moved to the bedroom door and did his usual trick of whistling for Hank to come so he could shut the door on him.
The dog glanced up toward him, twitched an ear, then looking over at Sara owered his head back onto the bed and closed his eyes. His message was clear; I like it here with the two of you, thank you very much. Sara pinched her lips, badly stifling her amusement, while face pursed in annoyance Grissom strode back to his dog. Grabbing him by the collar, he shifted him off the bed until Hank got the message and after a vigorous shake grudgingly took himself out of the room, the door swiftly shutting behind him.
Sara moved her shoebox out of the way onto the chest of drawers, then slowly covered the distance to Grissom watching hesitantly from the door, while undoing, one by one, the buttons on her blouse and returning his stare unwaveringly. The sadness and melancholy in her striking brown eyes was gone, replaced by mischief and longing. All her life she'd longed for a home, longed to belong and be part of a loving family, and he would provide both for her.
She dropped her hands to her side and stopped a foot away from him, and he slipped his hands under her open blouse, sliding it off her shoulders and onto the floor without ceremony. Her hands moved to her back, deftly unhooking her bra before pulling the straps off her shoulders and discarding the bra on top of the blouse. Her gaze never left his. Her chest was heaving as her breaths came in slow, short rasps. Her tongue came out, licking at the corner of her mouth.
The breath caught in his chest. God, she was so beautiful, so alluring and desirable. She'd turned and kept turning his world around. He looked up to her face again, her wanton expression, his body responding with a surge of desire so intense it was almost painful. Gazes locked, he took her by the wrists and swapped places with her in a melodic dance so he could pin her against the door. He would make to love her, but more than that he would show her how loved and treasured she was.
Holding her arms up above her head, Grissom took her mouth in a searing kiss she returned with equal fervour, before beginning a slow but hungry wander down to her neck, her throat and collar bone, the creamy flesh of her breasts. He sucked and licked and nipped all the while trying to curb his own passion, his own instinctive need for release, Sara's low moans and groans as she writhed and trembled under his touch fuel to his fire.
"Let me touch you," he heard her say in a breathless gasp, and pulling back he looked up at her with surprise. "I want to be able to touch you."
She was breathing hard as she looked down to him, dark eyes full of love and yearning, but frustration too, and he understood her underlying message; that she wanted to give as much as she took, pleasure him as much as he did her, both equal in this. He let go of her wrists and she lowered her hands to his face, coaxing him up, seeking his mouth.
One hand moved to cup her face and deepen the kiss while his other hand skimmed over her breast, teasing his fingers over the nipple, causing her to moan into his mouth. Sara threw her head back and he lowered his mouth to her neck, her chest and breast, her hands clinging to the back of his head, in turn stroking and tugging through his hair as she pulled him closer to her, needing and wanting. It wasn't long until she pulled him back up, her mouth once again rooting for his until their lips met in a passionate, lust-filled groan.
She couldn't get enough of him, and him her.
As they kissed, Sara unbuttoned his shirt, then pulled his tee-shirt out of the waistband of his pants and slipped her hands underneath it, stroking up his sides to his chest, his back and shoulders. Quickly, hurriedly, he got rid of the shirt and undid his pants fastening, then broke the kiss long enough to pull the tee-shirt over his head. She wanted to touch him? Then let there be no barriers.
The rest of their clothing soon discarded, they moved to the bed. He eased her down onto her back and stood over her, feasting his eyes with her beauty. His right hand moved of its own accord to touch the curve of her breast, hard and pert, his fingertips brushing down the small swell of her stomach to the soft triangle of black hairs.
Her chest heaved faster at his touch, her breathing quickening with every teasing stroke of his fingers on her skin, hitching until it came out as quick, craving, aching pants. He smiled as again he let his eyes run free, brushing, stroking, kissing every inch of her before closing them at the overwhelming surge of desire that threatened to overcome him.
Sara reached up for him, her hands on his ass, her mouth on his, his chin and neck and shoulder, and he fell forward, pushing himself up against the bed so as not to crush her. She slid her legs between his, her sex coming tantalisingly close to his erection, and trailed kisses to his chest, his nipples and stomach while her hands stroked his buttocks, the back of his legs and in between.
When he could stand it no more, he slowly prised her legs apart and stepped inside, and raising her pelvis she wrapped them around his midriff while he eased himself inside her. Their lovemaking was slow, intense and loving. They kept their eyes open all the while, locked, as they moved as one in the dim light, perfectly in sync with each other.
As afterwards, spent and breathless, they lay in each other's arms Grissom let the feeling of peace and warmth and closeness envelop him. He felt close to her, closer than he'd ever felt with another human being. He wanted to be her home, but realised that more importantly she was his.
When some time later he felt himself finally drifting off to sleep, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and reached over to turn off the light. He shifted onto his side, pressing himself deeper into bed and Sara closer to him. He was almost gone when he felt her tense before she pulled out of his grasp and sat up in bed.
"What's wrong?" Grissom asked, reaching for the bedside light switch as he pushed up onto his elbow.
Sara's eyes were narrowed and downcast as she stared into nothingness.
"Sara?" he tried again softly, and touched a gentle hand to her shoulder.
Eyes still narrowed, she looked up sharply. "I've just remembered," she said, finally meeting his concerned gaze. "He wore a navy LVFD T-shirt."
It was Grissom's turn to frown. "Who did?" he asked, puzzled.
"Heather's boyfriend," Sara replied, her voice sounding distant as if trying to recall.
Grissom frowned, then twisted his mouth in a pout, slightly peeved that she should be thinking of him at such an intimate time before fully processing what she'd just said and sitting up straighter. Did she think Heather's boyfriend worked for the fire department?
"Anyone can get their hands on tee-shirts like these," he said, and Sara refocused on him with an uncertain nod.
He lay back down, gently coaxing her down with him and wrapping an arm around her shoulders before he reached back and once again turned the light off. With a sigh, Sara settled herself against him again, but they both stayed awake for a long time afterwards, Sara trying to remember more and him thinking of the possibilities.