Heyyyy there.
Are you flipping out about the CSI:Vegas trailer as much as I am? Yes? !!!!!!!! The ENDING!!!! He calls her DARLING! I had to take advantage of this brainwave and put my ideas down in writing.
As always, thankyou for reading.
All mistakes are my own.. and I didn't really proofread this, it was more of a strike of inspiration thing, so I hope it makes sense and makes your tummy flutter.
As always reviews and favourites are much much appreciated!
Xx
I have always hated nicknames.
I think they are corny, honestly.
I've tried out "babe" and "baby" and "sweetie" with a few odd boyfriends.. and even thinking about it now makes me cringe. I just can't seem to wrap my head around it... the idea of it physically gives me the chills.
Maybe it's because I'm not really a romantic.
Maybe it's because I have a somewhat hardened heart after all of the broken homes I've seen in my line of work, and more significantly, the one I came from.
That's why, the first time he called me honey it took me by complete surprise.
It was before we had even gotten together, years before even.
I was eating my peanut butter sandwich in the break room and had been trying to work up the nerve to ask him if he'd like to have dinner, or breakfast, or whatever.. then when I finally got up to follow him to try and ask, the damned lab exploded. I had cut my hand pretty bad, and was in shock from it, understandably.
My ears were ringing, my heart was still thumping like crazy in my chest, I was a little nauseous and I can't remember much about the rest of that afternoon.. but I can still hear him call me honey.
"Honey, this doesn't look good.."
I remember going home that night, absolutely heartbroken.. because as it would turn out, I did finally muster the courage to ask him to dinner and got shot down with a chuckle and an eyebrow raise... and I remember lying in my bed, holding my stitched up hand and replaying his words in my head as I fell asleep.
Actually, it's funny, even after all of these years we have never talked about that moment. When he held my hand, and used a term of endearment to address me.
He cooled right off towards me again after that... I didn't hear him call me honey again for several more years..
But since then, he has called me honey dozens of times, if not hundreds even. I often wonder if he knows how significant that first time was to me.
Despite the seriousness of the first time, honey is usually what he calls me when he's in a more playful or carefree mood. The simple domestic things, you know? But also occasionally when I need comfort.
"Honey, do we need more spinach while I'm out?"
"Do you need help with that, Honey?"
"Hey Honey? Would you mind checking my jacket pocket for that receipt? I could have sworn I kept it.."
"Honey, there's nothing else you could have done for her.."
I hate nicknames... but I do love when he calls me honey.
Is that ridiculous? Probably.
I also love when he calls me dear.
Admittedly though, that one took some... getting used to.
If you know Gil, you know he tends to be a little old fashioned in a lot of things. He's the kind of man who makes his pasta sauce, instead of buying it at the store in a jar. He prefers to hand wash dishes, even though we have a perfectly good working dishwasher. He likes to decorate a Christmas tree every year, even though we have no one to give gifts to and no reason for a stupid tree. He was the kind of man to wait to have sex, even though we were both more then ready emotionally and physically the first time we kissed. He speaks in Shakespeare and reads poetry for fun, so unsurprisingly, he is also the kind of man who apparently prefers old fashioned terms of endearment..
The first time he called me dear, it was so casual, so simple.
We had been together about two or three months, but had only just started sleeping together for the night after intimacy. I remember it was kind of like uncharted territory for a while.. neither of us knew where to step, in fear of breaking what we had going for us. It had been going so well.. neither of us wanted to screw it up.
At first, he stayed at my apartment a lot. Most of the time, actually. But the first time I stayed over night at his condo, my heart was racing a million miles a minute.
It was the stupidest thing.
I had brought my toothbrush, but forgot my toothpaste.
He had always brought his own toothpaste when he stayed over.
I remember poking my head out from the bathroom like an embarrassed child, and saw him sitting up in bed with his book in hand and his glasses at the end of his nose.
"I, ah.." I stuttered, and he looked up at me over his glasses with amusement, "I forgot my toothpaste. Are you ok if I use yours tonight?"
He laughed, and as if it were completely obvious he simply replied, "Yes, dear."
And that was that.
We only own one tube of toothpaste now, for the record. But that was the first time he ever called me dear.
I brushed my teeth with his cool mint tooth paste and stared at myself in his bathroom mirror in shock.
Dear?!
What were we?! Some 70 year old couple named Mary Beth and John who live on a country farm and sleep in nightgowns and flannel pjs and talk about our twelve grandkids before falling asleep?
Dear.
Over time it grew on me, and he even accidentally slipped it into work conversations when no one else was around to hear.. but most commonly, it was used when he was feeling particularly intimate.
"It's all yours, my dear."
"Hello dear."
"I'm headed to bed, dear."
"Would you like to join me, dear?"
"Goodnight, dear."
Somehow, when he calls me dear, it's like he lights a match in my heart. It's what he calls me most often, and it's become like a second name now. In fact, I think he calls me dear more than he calls me Sara these days.
It's his go to.
At first, it shocked me. Now it either turns me on to no end or it endears me to him even more then I thought possible.
I've never asked him why or how he settled on that name for me, but he did.. and even though I hate nicknames, I sure do love that one.
Occasionally, very, very rarely he will call me Sweetheart.. but I think I've probably only heard that one less than a dozen times in our years together and it's only ever been used in empathy.
When I was sick to my stomach, one time in Paris,
"Sweetheart? Are you ok? Do you need anything?"
On one of our last phone calls before the divorce, I was crying over the phone, and heard him sigh, defeated,
"Sweetheart..."
Or again, when I was sea sick on his boat a few days into our reunion,
"Are you ok, Sweetheart? Come lay down.."
When my mother died, last year, as he held me,
"I'm so sorry, Sweetheart."
It's not my favourite nickname, as you can probably imagine. It seems to be what he calls me when my life is falling apart around me.
It's a source of comfort, though, and it reminds me that he does in fact care.. even when he's not quite sure how to help.
Lastly, and probably the best of all, he sometimes calls me darling.
Darling!
Again, as if we are some elderly English couple... darling.
Sometimes he calls me darling to be goofy, and he takes the 'g' off and playfully calls me darlin'.
"Whatever you say, darlin'."
"Well, darlin', I'm not surprised."
"Come here, darlin'."
"Over here, darlin'!"
I usually just roll my eyes, and he knows, too. I tell him I'm not from some small town in Texas, and he just laughs and then tries to do his best impression of Nick... usually resulting in him getting a smack over the shoulder.
It's a side to him you'd never expect to see, unless you knew him intimately. He can be a real goofball, when he wants to be.
Sometimes when he calls me darlin' it reminds me of when we first met, when I was barely 28 and he was my mentor. It's not condescending by any means, just.. us. I can't explain it, but it makes me feel younger.. like everything is still fresh between us and we aren't 50 and 65 years old.
But no, my favourite is when he calls me darling, in his soft and deep voice.
When he comes up behind me as I'm drying the last few dishes, and kisses my neck and then whispers in my ear,
"Come to bed, darling."
Over the phone, when I can tell he is missing my physical presence and has something specific on his mind,
"I miss you, darling."
Or when we are laying in bed, our sweaty limbs tied in knots, and he brushes hair away from my face,
"What's on your mind, darling?"
When we got back to our hotel room in Costa Rica after our wedding, I was dressed in a simple sun dress and he looked at me with emotion filled eyes as he kissed me,
"You are beautiful, darling."
When he is above me, his thrusting erratic and hurried, about to lose his control and tip over that glorious edge and breathes out a desperately loving warning,
"Darling!"
And the first time he told me he loved me, we were laying again, naked in his bed, and he kissed me before he whispered,
"I love you, Sara darling."
Darling is definitely my favourite, because he only calls me that when we are in a particularly intimate situation. In the throes of passionate love making, or shortly before or after. He has never called me darling outside of our home, or our bed. Never around others. It's a private nickname.
His voice is usually breathy from making love, or deep and intimate, and it's a word he could whisper over and over in my ears and I would never tire of it.
I know I'm not making a strong case for myself, but I really do hate nicknames.. aside from those four.
As for me, I don't use nicknames for him often. Occasionally honey, but it's uncommon.
He's always gone by nicknames. Grissom. Gris.
I spent years calling him by his nicknames so now that I can finally call him by his given name, that's what I do. Every chance I get.
Gilbert.
He thinks it's a nerdy name, and stopped going by it by the time he was ten, he says. He started introducing himself as Gil because it sounded cooler, and the other kids didn't laugh at it as much.
But I like Gilbert.
I tease him, when I answer the phone,
"Hello Gilbert."
Or when he snuggles up next to me in the mornings and I can feel his hardness against my thighs,
"Well, good morning to you too, Gilbert."
Whenever I beat him at a crossword puzzle on a Sunday morning,
"In your face, Gilbert Grissom."
I love using his full name, and while he insists he hates it, I'm pretty sure he loves it too.
Most of all, though, my favourite thing to call him has to be plain and simple Gil.
Gil.
The first time I called him Gil, I think it took him by surprise almost as much as the "dear" thing did me.. but it definitely wasn't an unpleasant surprise because he quickly kissed my lips and we fell into my bed where I proceeded to moan his name over and over and over again into the lust filled room.
It's often what I gasp when I reach my climax, or what I whisper into his ear when I wake him up from a deep sleep.
It's what I call him when I'm frustrated and angry.
It's what I call him when I'm yelling at him to switch over the laundry or bring more toilet paper from across the condo.
It's what I grumble when he forgets to take the garbage out.
I like to call him Gil. It makes me feel powerful, privileged and special. It makes me feel like his wife. Only a few very close friends call him by his name. It holds a deep intimacy that is only between us.
...
As I wait for him to finish up in the hotel room ensuite, I clear off the table, put our empty tumblers in the sink and close up his laptop. The work and the puzzles and the truth can wait for tomorrow.
I think about closing the blinds to block the harsh neon city lights out as I slip out of my black button up shirt and jeans, but think twice about it. It's been so long since we have been here together in the city, the lights are a surprisingly welcome reminder of our beginnings.
I slip on a satin robe, one of the many he has bought me over the years, and tie up the front in a loose knot before I cross my arms and gaze out at the busy city below. It amazes me how years can go by, and not much really changes.
The city really doesn't sleep. I guess we never did either, years ago. This time of night we would have just been heading into work.
But now, as I stand in-front of the obnoxiously huge window watching the cars go by and the casino lights flash, I feel his strong arms snake around my waist and pull me closer to his warm body. He smells like cool mint toothpaste, and it makes me smile as I lean my head back into him.
His fingers reach up to move the hair away from the right side of my neck and he kisses me, softly, on the exposed skin before whispering,
"Come to bed, darling."