A/N: We're definitely in for a bumpy ride folks, don't be fooled. They will reconcile, as they did on the show, but there will be difficulties. I can write fluff–but I write angst and smut too. It's part of life. It's part of growing together. It's part of discovering one another. We all know that in the end, Sara and Grissom do get back together, but be prepared for the roller coaster ride in the meantime. Oh–and another thing–just what was that dog's name, anyway? I'm seeing a lot of "Bruno" but I only ever heard him called "Hank" on the show. Was there ever any reason mentioned on the show for the dog to be named after Sara's ex-boyfriend? Really curious about this one. Please–continue reading and enjoy!
Chapter Fifty-Three
She could smell the alcohol on his breath as soon as he sat next to her and it alerted her that things weren't going to run too smoothly. She knew Grissom would drink on occasion, but never enough for her to actually smell it from this distance. Perhaps if they were cuddling and their faces were closer together, and especially if they were kissing–she always knew when he would take a shot or two–but this time it was different. Her face was at least a foot away from his and she could still smell it. She only hoped the odor wasn't traveling across the table to Warrick–but then, on second examination, if it did–he seemed unconcerned by it.
"Um–could you excuse me, Grissom?" Sara asked quietly as her three other friends were deep in a conversation about the near-amputation of a woman's leg that had been mauled by a bear.
"No," he said just as quietly as he leaned his elbows on the table and brought his hands up to hold his chin, partially hiding his mouth as he looked over at her. "You'll leave."
"I won't leave."
"You did the last time we were here and we were fighting."
"Let me up," she hissed.
"Huh-uh."
"Fine!" Then a bit more loudly, enough for the other men to hear she added, "Excuse me, Grissom, but I think I just got my period. I need to go to the bathroom."
With a variety of disgusted exclamations such as, "Whoa–let her up, man!", "Ah, man! I didn't need to hear that!" and "Jeez, not something I want to hear while I'm eating breakfast." coming from around the table, and each man retreating to the point of almost pulling their plates away from hers, Grissom had little choice but to move out of her way. They heard "that!," Sara thought with half a smile as she moved out of the booth but noticed that the other three quickly became involved again in the possibility of actually having both legs removed by a bear. She guessed, "that" was appropriate breakfast conversation.
Sara had finished in the unisex bathroom and opened the door to find Grissom leaning against the wall, shaking his head as if to clear it. Evidently whatever he drank was hitting him full force about now. He turned to look at her and stood straight, with God only knows what, in mind. Instead of waiting to see what he was planning to do, she grabbed him by his shirt sleeve and yanked him back into the bathroom with her.
"What are you doing here?" She demanded angrily.
"I–uh–came back to use the bathroom."
"You've been drinking!"
"That would probably explain why I need to use the bathroom!" He stared at her defiantly but when she didn't budge, he added, ""Brass and I stopped in at Benny's and had a couple."
"So you had to come back to the restaurant afterward?"
"No," he explained. "I "wanted" to come back. Why? Don't you want me here?"
"Why do you think I went out with the guys in the first place? Why do you think I didn't ask you to come along? If you're allowed "off" time from me–then I'm sure as hell allowed "off" time from you!"
"Fine," he said, but reached for her at the same time. "So, now we've had some "off" time. Let's go home and go to bed."
"No, Grissom!" She stepped back from him, and he took another step toward her. "Why didn't you answer your phone the other night?"
"I didn't hear it," he said honestly. "Let's forget about the other night for now. I need to go home and go to bed. You "want" to go home and climb in bed with me–don't deny it. I know how you are when you need your Snickers. A heating pad on your front and me on your back–and you'll be all settled in for the duration."
"I'm not going home with you! You didn't want to come home to me two nights ago–now you can just go home by yourself today! See how it feels to be alone, waiting, wondering what "I'm" doing while I'm not there!"
"I "know" what you'll be doing. You'll be in bed until your cramps go away."
"Not necessarily! Maybe I'm heading out to have the time of my life!"
"Come on, Sara. I just want to go home to bed. I'm tired. I haven't slept in over twenty-four hours and I'm a little drunk. . ."
"You're more than "a little" drunk."
"Alright, so I'm more than "a little" drunk–I need to go home to bed." He moved up against her, pinning her against the wall with his big body as his hands rested on her hips; his thumbs slipping under her blouse and stroking the soft skin of her abdomen as he pressed himself against her. It didn't take long for her to feel the rising interest he was growing inside his pants as he whispered against her ear. "I'll take care of you, honey, I promise."
She stared up at him and could see the weariness tearing at him, but she had gone through that very same weariness while he remained distant and often snappy toward her.
"I'm not going back out there with you in "that" condition!" She informed him, regarding the tent in his pants.
"So, then take care of me, Sara." He urged quietly as his lips met hers in the softest of kisses and she knew that he was trying very hard to seduce her with his "gentle touch." But she wasn't in the mood for his "gentle touch" right now. "Come home with me and I'll make you forget you have cramps. By the time I'm through with you, you'll never even know you've got your period."
"Oh, really?" She asked as he pulled her even closer, moving his kiss down to her neck. "Are you saying what I "think" you're saying?"
"If you think I'm saying I want to take you right now, period or no period, then I guess I am."
He moved his kiss over the tops of her breasts, not stopping until he started suckling at her nipple that quickly tightened and sent a jolt through her so intense that she was glad she was propped up against the wall. She couldn't seem to stop herself from leaning back against it and cradling his head to her, until she felt the moisture of his caress coming through the cloth of her blouse and it sunk in what a picture they would present when they returned to the other guys.
"Stop it!"
He stood up and smiled his little-boy-smile that could melt her heart, but she chose to ignore it as best she could. When he slid his hand up inside her blouse and stroked his thumb over her nipple, she thought she was going to climax at any second. "Sara. Let's go home and finish this."
"Dammit, Grissom!" She shoved his hand away and tried to take a step on shaky legs. "You wouldn't be doing this–or "offering" to do "the other thing" if you were sober. So just stop it."
"I wouldn't want you if I were sober?" He asked with disbelief.
"I'm beginning to wonder," she said under her breath as she turned away from him and went to the sink, looking at the wet spot directly over her nipple that he had left there. She groaned as she kept trying to pull her jacket closed over it, then released it, only to have it part again, revealing the evidence of Grissom's affection. "How am I supposed to go back out there now?"
He moved up to stand behind her, looking over her shoulder at her dilemma. "We can camouflage it."
"How?" She looked doubtfully at his reflection in the mirror.
"Easy," he told her as he put his hand under the faucet and turned on the water. "Like this."
He brought a handful of water up to her blouse and she watched in open-mouthed astonishment as he removed his grasp from her breast, leaving a perfect hand print in its place. Her gaze went up to meet his just as his met hers, both suddenly overcome with the ridiculousness of their situation and her giggle escaped her.
"Oh, that's a hundred percent better," she laughed sarcastically.
"I didn't mean to do that," he told her sheepishly.
"Really? And just what "did" you mean to do?"
"Just get it wetter, like you spilled something down the front of your shirt. I guess it didn't work."
"No, I guess not."
"Take your jacket off." He started pulling her sleeves off of her and even though she looked at him suspiciously, she continued removing the garment. Once he had that removed, he pulled her blouse up so she could remove her arms, then he twisted it around so she was wearing it backwards before putting the jacket back on. "There, good as new."
"Alright–now what?" She turned and looked at him, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of pure desire glowing from his eyes. "Gil! What is wrong with you! What did you have to drink down at Benny's?"
"Two double-scotch. Why?" He moved up again, pressing her against the edge of the sink.
"Well, whatever brand they gave you–we're getting that for at home," she said under her breath but he caught it as his hands clamped down on her waist and lifted her until she was sitting on the sink's edge.
"See, you "do" want to go home." His mouth lowered to hers, then after a few kisses, he moved on to her eyes and the tip of her nose.
"Gil?"
"Hmm?"
"Remember that water you tried to put onto my shirt with your hand?"
"Mm-hmm."
She knew he was only half-listening as he proceeded to press her knees apart and step between them.
"Well, you just sat me right in it–and my jeans are wet."
"I don't care." His mouth covered hers as he slid his tongue inside. "Take them off."
She pulled her head back and grabbed onto his face with both of her hands. "Gil!"
"What?"
"We can't do this in here! And you're getting my pants wet. . ."
"That's the idea." He gave her one of his sexiest half-smiles.
"Nooo!" She hopped off the sink and pushed him back a step, which was easily accomplished since he wasn't maintaining his balance very well. She turned around and lifted the back of her jacket to show him where there was a long streak of wet cloth outlining her bottom. "Look!"
"Sara!" He almost groaned as he looked at her buttocks. "Lets–go–home."
She turned and looked him in the eye, then before he could stop her, moved around him and grabbed the doorknob and said pertly, "No!"
She swung the door open without thinking and yelped with surprise when she saw Greg standing there, waiting.
"I–uh–thought you might be running into a bit of trouble back here." Greg put his hand on the knob, holding the door partially closed as he stood in the doorway.
"What kind of trouble did you expect to find, Greg?" Grissom asked irritably as he looked past Sara at him.
"Well, Grissom–it could be the way you sort of swayed as you were walking back here. Or maybe it was the cloud of alcohol fumes that was hovering over your head. I remembered the last time you drank too much–I had to put you to bed."
"I had two drinks! Hardly too much to drink!"
"You may have to put him to bed again," Sara told him, ignoring Grissom as he placed a hand on the edge of the sink to steady himself.
"You into going out and drinking alone now, Gris?" Greg asked with a nervous smile. "Ya know that's one of the first signs of a problem."
"I wasn't drinking alone!"
"Yeah?" Greg asked disbelievingly. "Prove it."
"You'll just have to track Jim down and ask him," Grissom told him, clearing intending to dismiss him.
"Jim? That's an easy name to come up with. Jim could be anyone," Greg said as if he were having an intellectual battle with a second grader.
"I think he's talking about Brass," Sara whispered to Greg.
"Oh–Brass," Greg said as it dawned on him who Jim was.
"Yeah–Brass," Grissom told him. "And when did "you" ever put me to bed?"
"When Sara couldn't carry ya, Ace! So, I helped her put you to bed."
"It was the night you threw up on Ecklie," Sara explained in a quiet tone.
"Oh. Well, I'm not going to throw up today. So, if you'll excuse us, we're trying to have a private conversation," Grissom told him as he tried to reach forward and close the door.
"No, ya don't." Greg held the door where it was then looked at Sara with an apprehensive warning. "I–don't think–it would be such a good idea to let the other guys see you two locked up in the bathroom together. So, maybe you should head back now, and I'll stay here with him."
"Sounds like a plan to me," Sara said as she dipped out the doorway beneath Greg's arm.
"Oh, I'm sure it'll look so much better with you and me walking out of the bathroom hand-in-hand," Grissom said sarcastically to Greg.
"No way," Greg chuckled at him. "You're not holding my hand. Who knows what you've been touching in here."
"Does Nick and Warrick know he's been drinking?" Sara asked.
"Don't think so. Nick's too preoccupied with finishing his pound of steak and dozen eggs. And Warrick's been on his cell with his woman–it hasn't been a pretty sight out there."
"Okay, send him out in a few minutes. I'm going back to the table."
"Sara," Grissom called after her in an almost warning tone, but she continued walking to the restaurant area of the building.
"Hey, guys!" Sara smiled at the two men, who, just as Greg had mentioned, were busy eating and talking on the phone. "I see they brought my sundae."
"Are you sure you want to eat that?" Warrick asked as he hung up his phone. "That ought to take your blood sugar up to around five-hundred."
"She's got her period, man," Nick explained as he put one of his three over-easy eggs on a slice of toast and folded it in half, preparing to take a bite out of it. "She needs the chocolate when she gets her period."
"How do you know what she wants when she's. . .doing that?" Warrick asked skeptically as he went back to his cup of coffee, having already finished his breakfast.
"Simple–she already told us she had it–and she normally doesn't eat like this–and I've known a few girls in the past who were chocoholics. It's like PMS or somethin'. It's like a woman-thing."
"Oh, not quite like that "man-thing" of devouring a three-thousand calorie breakfast just so you can go to the gym and try to work it off for the next five hours." Sara picked up her spoon and took her first bite of crushed Snickers, savoring the salty-sweet flavor as it melted on her tongue.
"It's all in the metabolism, kiddo," Nick told her as he bit into the "sandwich again, this time breaking the yolk and having it run down onto his chin. "When you've got a great metabolism like I do–you can eat as much as you want."
"And evidently eat like a pig, too," Warrick said with distaste as he looked away from the yellow about to drip off of his friend's chin, then looked up to see Grissom making his way back to the table and sliding in next to Sara.
"You count up all the calories in my breakfast–and I bet they aren't that much more than her sundae."
"Yeah, but like you said–she only eats Snickers when she gets her period. You eat like that almost everyday." Warrick sipped at his cup of caffeine.
"I do not!" Nick chuckled. "I only stop in here a few times a week–and I only order the wrangler special about once a week."
"How would "you" know she eats Snickers when he gets her period?" Grissom asked Nick irritably.
"I've got my ways," he teased.
"Here, big guy, clean yourself off," Sara said as she couldn't stand the sight of egg yolk on his chin anymore and moved her napkin to wipe it off. "Now, can we "please" stop talking about my reproductive cycle?"
