Grissom stared into his coffee, watching the liquid swirl gently around a
red straw. Sometimes focusing on something simple like his coffee would
clear his mind, open it up to the case. . . sometimes staring at coffee
drowned out everything but the evidence. He had solved many cases this
way, but not today.
The pain in his eye had lessened to the point of disappearing, but there was a new tide of discomfort rising in his chest. It wasn't physical, it was emotional, and no matter how much he had thought it would go away, Barnes' comment had stayed with him.
Isn't he a bit old for you? It echoed in his ears, old for you?
He didn't think Sara knew he had heard it, he didn't think Sara knew he had seen the look of awareness that had come over her face, as if she was thinking, Yes, he is. . .
He didn't think Sara knew how much the idea had affected him.
One of these days, she's going to leave you. . .his inner voice taunted. One of these days, she's going to wake up and realize she's better off with a younger man. . .
Grissom sighed as a wave of depression passed over him. He hated to admit it, but his voice was probably right. He didn't hear Catherine enter as he stared woefully into the coffee.
"What's up?" the blond asked, and he turned slowly to meet her eyes.
"Catherine, what do you think about Sara and me?" The question, seemingly out of nowhere, caused her to fold her frame into the chair across from his desk. She pulled her knee to her chest, resting her head on it.
"You guys are great together," Catherine offered with a small smile. "Perfect for each other, really. Why? You're not fighting, are you?"
He shook his head, confirming the gesture with, "No." Grissom sighed again, staring into his cup for a moment before asking, "Is the age difference a problem?"
The what? Why was he worried about that? "Only if you make it a problem," she said. "When I heard about the two of you getting together, the only problem I saw was the whole boss-subordinate issue, not the age difference. And the two of you don't have any problems with that, so. . .Why?"
"I've been thinking about it," he admitted hesitantly. "What if she decides one day that I'm too old? That she should be with someone younger?"
"Well, I can't see the future, Gil, so I can't say. But Sara adores you. She's built her whole world around you and this place. She's too in love with you and too much of an adult to make it an issue."
"But what if she does?" He sounded lost, looking for reassurance or confirmation of his beliefs.
"The way I see it, she's stuck with you this long, she's not going anywhere. If she wasn't going to stay with you, she would've left you during the Barnes. . .thing. Sara would never do something she disagreed with just because it makes other people happy."
"True," he conceded.
"Where's this coming from?" she asked. "Three days ago, you were completely happy, now you're in this funk. I don't like it, Grissom."
"Barnes said something to Sara," he confessed after a few silent moments. "She doesn't know I heard it." He told Catherine what had happened at the prison.
She listened patiently, like the good friend she was, waiting until he'd stopped and given her a plaintive face she hadn't seen in quite a while. "Well," the blond started, looking for words. "This is Barnes we're talking about. He likes to play with the two of you. He's probably just trying to cause tension and angst for his own entertainment. Like a writer."
Grissom sighed, his jaw working as he tried to come up with a response. "I. . .I know that, up here," he said finally, tapping his head. "It's the internal part I'm having trouble with."
"The evil little self-doubt devil working overtime again?" she asked with empathy. "He took enough time off, he's got to work three times harder now?"
"Something like that," he nodded. "Cath, could you. . .go now? I need to think about this alone."
Catherine rose willingly from her seat, crossing behind his chair to touch his shoulder reassuringly. "No problem, Gil. I'll be around if you want to talk."
"Thank you," he said softly as she walked purposefully out of the office, his eyes returning to his coffee, the color of Sara's eyes.Catherine turned back to look at the entomologist, thinking, as she'd thought before, ah, Sara, you're going to kill him one of these days. . .
Either that or save his life.
"It's their most recent model, brand new, never been touched before," Sara said giddily, looking down at the white material that made up the crime scene suit she was wearing. "They sent two: one for comparison for my case, and one for the department. I think I'm in love."
"Goody," Catherine said sarcastically. "Listen, Sara. . ."
"Grissom has no idea what he's talking about when it comes to one of these puppies," she interrupted, continuing enthusiastically. "I've been working in it for the last hour and it's easier to work in than those damn coveralls we have in Auto Detail. And, yeah, white sucks as a color, but it's so comfortable."
"Sara," Catherine said firmly. "I don't give a crap about the suit right now, okay?"
The brunette looked crestfallen that Catherine didn't share in her happiness, but only for an instant. She shrugged, her face saying, your loss. "So what's up? I know you're not here to chat about the suit, or my case, so. . ."
"Something's up with your man," Catherine said bluntly. "He's watching his coffee."
Sara's eyebrows narrowed, and she reached up to pull the hood of the suit off of her head. "He's watching his coffee? And, I'm supposed to do. . .what, exactly. . .about that?" Her lips quirked into a half-smile, and Sara shrugged again. "He's just being Grissom. Nothing to worry about."
"He's upset."
This caught Sara's serious side. "Why?"
"I can't tell you," Catherine said, shaking her head. "You need to go talk to him."
Sara came bearing fresh, very hot coffee, which she promptly spilled on the pristine white crime scene suit. "Crap," she whined. "Now it's dirty!"
Grissom looked up at the white-clad brunette, surprise on his features. He hadn't heard her come in, and the fact that she looked like an astronaut with a coffee-stained uniform did nothing to alleviate his surprise. "Where'd you come from?" he asked, completely serious.
"I brought you fresh coffee," she said, immensely proud of herself. "I figured if you were going to be staring at the stuff all day, you might as well get a warmer cup." Sara looked down at the suit wistfully. "I spilled some of it, though."
"The suit's washable," he said absently. "You aren't wearing the evidence, are you?"
She rolled her chocolate eyes at him, chuckled softly at the insinuation. "Would I wear evidence? The manufacturer sent two."
Sara was too damn cute sometimes. That little gap-toothed grin of hers, her pride in the suit, her enthusiasm. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun, that combined with the first three made her look like she had on the very first day he'd met her, beautiful. And she had brought him coffee in the suit. . .no embarrassment problem at all. Although. . . "How'd you know I was staring at my coffee?"
"Catherine," she replied simply. "She said you were upset about something, but she wouldn't tell me what. Wanna share with the class?"
"Thinking about you," he explained.
"So I got you all upset?" she teased. "Ouch."
"Barnes actually got me upset," Grissom admitted, bracing himself for the very revealing conversation that was rushing at them full speed. "Lock the door."
"Uh, Gris, I'm sure I don't have to remind you of the 'no affection at work' policy, do I?" Sara grimaced, looking at the ceiling. "I mean, aren't there cameras in here? That's really not my thing anyway."
"Sara, did you have to crawl into the gutter to get into that suit?" he asked, astonished. "And what do you mean that's not your thing? You're a Mile-Higher, remember?"
"Grissom, I was twenty-two, I was going to Miami, and Ken Fuller had the most amazing eyes . . ." She sighed. "I'm not saying it's right or that it isn't strange, because it wasn't good and. . . Stop looking at me like that!"
He raised his eyebrows in a "Who, me?" expression.
"Gris, it was an impulsive decision that I, for the most part, regret.like most of my impulsive decisions."
"Like marrying me?" Finally, they were back on topic.
She looked at him like he had just suggested day shift was better at solving cases. "No, never. What did Barnes say to you?"
"You were there. 'Isn't he a bit old for you?'" The question was in his eyes, challenging her to agree or disagree.
"My god, Grissom. Are you serious?" Sara stood directly in front of him, kneeling down to meet the sad, questioning blue of his eyes. "Look, I love you. That wouldn't change if you were a hundred years older than me, that wouldn't change if you were younger, that wouldn't change if we were born on the same day."
"Positive?" His voice was still down, but he was definitely cheering up.
"I married you, didn't I?" She smiled at him, but it didn't have the desired results.
"My father married my mother. That didn't stop him from leaving her. Leaving us."
Oh, God. This was more serious than she thought. They stared into each other for a full minute in silence, then Sara reached up, pulling his head down. So much for the 'no contact' policy, she thought, kissing him hard. "You ever see your father kiss your mother like that?" she questioned. He shook his head. "Were they friends, Grissom? Or were they just married?"
"I don't remember." She shook her head at him.
"No, Grissom. You remember stuff like that. My parents, they're friends. You can see it."
"They're still together," he reminded. "My parents divorced."
"You know what my father does? At least once a month, if not more?"
"What?" He was beginning to lose patience, getting irritable, as he always did when he wasn't perfectly clear on where the conversation was going.
"He'll leave the house, comes back in a suit and tie, like he's going to a formal event, and takes my mother out. He's done this. . .forever. And they don't even have to go anywhere special. They'll go to the beach sometimes, both dressed to the nines, and just talk. I think they're crazy, but it's held their marriage together. Because they're friends. They treat each other more like friends than most couples I've seen. It's. . .different. It jaded me."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that we're friends, Grissom. I'm saying that I grew up watching this perfect romance, and it completely messed me up. I've gone through, god, five or more failed relationships because I couldn't be friends with those guys. So, here I am, married. To you."
"Really?" he interrupted sarcastically.
"Grissom, we were friends first. I married a friend, because he was the only friend I've ever fallen in love with. And friendship doesn't have age boundaries. I love you, Grissom. Not your age."
"You're too smart for me." She chuckled, kissing him again lightly.
"I have to get back to my case, okay? Don't you worry about me or how I feel."
-------------------------------------------------
More coming soon. Maybe next week.
The pain in his eye had lessened to the point of disappearing, but there was a new tide of discomfort rising in his chest. It wasn't physical, it was emotional, and no matter how much he had thought it would go away, Barnes' comment had stayed with him.
Isn't he a bit old for you? It echoed in his ears, old for you?
He didn't think Sara knew he had heard it, he didn't think Sara knew he had seen the look of awareness that had come over her face, as if she was thinking, Yes, he is. . .
He didn't think Sara knew how much the idea had affected him.
One of these days, she's going to leave you. . .his inner voice taunted. One of these days, she's going to wake up and realize she's better off with a younger man. . .
Grissom sighed as a wave of depression passed over him. He hated to admit it, but his voice was probably right. He didn't hear Catherine enter as he stared woefully into the coffee.
"What's up?" the blond asked, and he turned slowly to meet her eyes.
"Catherine, what do you think about Sara and me?" The question, seemingly out of nowhere, caused her to fold her frame into the chair across from his desk. She pulled her knee to her chest, resting her head on it.
"You guys are great together," Catherine offered with a small smile. "Perfect for each other, really. Why? You're not fighting, are you?"
He shook his head, confirming the gesture with, "No." Grissom sighed again, staring into his cup for a moment before asking, "Is the age difference a problem?"
The what? Why was he worried about that? "Only if you make it a problem," she said. "When I heard about the two of you getting together, the only problem I saw was the whole boss-subordinate issue, not the age difference. And the two of you don't have any problems with that, so. . .Why?"
"I've been thinking about it," he admitted hesitantly. "What if she decides one day that I'm too old? That she should be with someone younger?"
"Well, I can't see the future, Gil, so I can't say. But Sara adores you. She's built her whole world around you and this place. She's too in love with you and too much of an adult to make it an issue."
"But what if she does?" He sounded lost, looking for reassurance or confirmation of his beliefs.
"The way I see it, she's stuck with you this long, she's not going anywhere. If she wasn't going to stay with you, she would've left you during the Barnes. . .thing. Sara would never do something she disagreed with just because it makes other people happy."
"True," he conceded.
"Where's this coming from?" she asked. "Three days ago, you were completely happy, now you're in this funk. I don't like it, Grissom."
"Barnes said something to Sara," he confessed after a few silent moments. "She doesn't know I heard it." He told Catherine what had happened at the prison.
She listened patiently, like the good friend she was, waiting until he'd stopped and given her a plaintive face she hadn't seen in quite a while. "Well," the blond started, looking for words. "This is Barnes we're talking about. He likes to play with the two of you. He's probably just trying to cause tension and angst for his own entertainment. Like a writer."
Grissom sighed, his jaw working as he tried to come up with a response. "I. . .I know that, up here," he said finally, tapping his head. "It's the internal part I'm having trouble with."
"The evil little self-doubt devil working overtime again?" she asked with empathy. "He took enough time off, he's got to work three times harder now?"
"Something like that," he nodded. "Cath, could you. . .go now? I need to think about this alone."
Catherine rose willingly from her seat, crossing behind his chair to touch his shoulder reassuringly. "No problem, Gil. I'll be around if you want to talk."
"Thank you," he said softly as she walked purposefully out of the office, his eyes returning to his coffee, the color of Sara's eyes.Catherine turned back to look at the entomologist, thinking, as she'd thought before, ah, Sara, you're going to kill him one of these days. . .
Either that or save his life.
"It's their most recent model, brand new, never been touched before," Sara said giddily, looking down at the white material that made up the crime scene suit she was wearing. "They sent two: one for comparison for my case, and one for the department. I think I'm in love."
"Goody," Catherine said sarcastically. "Listen, Sara. . ."
"Grissom has no idea what he's talking about when it comes to one of these puppies," she interrupted, continuing enthusiastically. "I've been working in it for the last hour and it's easier to work in than those damn coveralls we have in Auto Detail. And, yeah, white sucks as a color, but it's so comfortable."
"Sara," Catherine said firmly. "I don't give a crap about the suit right now, okay?"
The brunette looked crestfallen that Catherine didn't share in her happiness, but only for an instant. She shrugged, her face saying, your loss. "So what's up? I know you're not here to chat about the suit, or my case, so. . ."
"Something's up with your man," Catherine said bluntly. "He's watching his coffee."
Sara's eyebrows narrowed, and she reached up to pull the hood of the suit off of her head. "He's watching his coffee? And, I'm supposed to do. . .what, exactly. . .about that?" Her lips quirked into a half-smile, and Sara shrugged again. "He's just being Grissom. Nothing to worry about."
"He's upset."
This caught Sara's serious side. "Why?"
"I can't tell you," Catherine said, shaking her head. "You need to go talk to him."
Sara came bearing fresh, very hot coffee, which she promptly spilled on the pristine white crime scene suit. "Crap," she whined. "Now it's dirty!"
Grissom looked up at the white-clad brunette, surprise on his features. He hadn't heard her come in, and the fact that she looked like an astronaut with a coffee-stained uniform did nothing to alleviate his surprise. "Where'd you come from?" he asked, completely serious.
"I brought you fresh coffee," she said, immensely proud of herself. "I figured if you were going to be staring at the stuff all day, you might as well get a warmer cup." Sara looked down at the suit wistfully. "I spilled some of it, though."
"The suit's washable," he said absently. "You aren't wearing the evidence, are you?"
She rolled her chocolate eyes at him, chuckled softly at the insinuation. "Would I wear evidence? The manufacturer sent two."
Sara was too damn cute sometimes. That little gap-toothed grin of hers, her pride in the suit, her enthusiasm. Her hair was pulled back in a loose bun, that combined with the first three made her look like she had on the very first day he'd met her, beautiful. And she had brought him coffee in the suit. . .no embarrassment problem at all. Although. . . "How'd you know I was staring at my coffee?"
"Catherine," she replied simply. "She said you were upset about something, but she wouldn't tell me what. Wanna share with the class?"
"Thinking about you," he explained.
"So I got you all upset?" she teased. "Ouch."
"Barnes actually got me upset," Grissom admitted, bracing himself for the very revealing conversation that was rushing at them full speed. "Lock the door."
"Uh, Gris, I'm sure I don't have to remind you of the 'no affection at work' policy, do I?" Sara grimaced, looking at the ceiling. "I mean, aren't there cameras in here? That's really not my thing anyway."
"Sara, did you have to crawl into the gutter to get into that suit?" he asked, astonished. "And what do you mean that's not your thing? You're a Mile-Higher, remember?"
"Grissom, I was twenty-two, I was going to Miami, and Ken Fuller had the most amazing eyes . . ." She sighed. "I'm not saying it's right or that it isn't strange, because it wasn't good and. . . Stop looking at me like that!"
He raised his eyebrows in a "Who, me?" expression.
"Gris, it was an impulsive decision that I, for the most part, regret.like most of my impulsive decisions."
"Like marrying me?" Finally, they were back on topic.
She looked at him like he had just suggested day shift was better at solving cases. "No, never. What did Barnes say to you?"
"You were there. 'Isn't he a bit old for you?'" The question was in his eyes, challenging her to agree or disagree.
"My god, Grissom. Are you serious?" Sara stood directly in front of him, kneeling down to meet the sad, questioning blue of his eyes. "Look, I love you. That wouldn't change if you were a hundred years older than me, that wouldn't change if you were younger, that wouldn't change if we were born on the same day."
"Positive?" His voice was still down, but he was definitely cheering up.
"I married you, didn't I?" She smiled at him, but it didn't have the desired results.
"My father married my mother. That didn't stop him from leaving her. Leaving us."
Oh, God. This was more serious than she thought. They stared into each other for a full minute in silence, then Sara reached up, pulling his head down. So much for the 'no contact' policy, she thought, kissing him hard. "You ever see your father kiss your mother like that?" she questioned. He shook his head. "Were they friends, Grissom? Or were they just married?"
"I don't remember." She shook her head at him.
"No, Grissom. You remember stuff like that. My parents, they're friends. You can see it."
"They're still together," he reminded. "My parents divorced."
"You know what my father does? At least once a month, if not more?"
"What?" He was beginning to lose patience, getting irritable, as he always did when he wasn't perfectly clear on where the conversation was going.
"He'll leave the house, comes back in a suit and tie, like he's going to a formal event, and takes my mother out. He's done this. . .forever. And they don't even have to go anywhere special. They'll go to the beach sometimes, both dressed to the nines, and just talk. I think they're crazy, but it's held their marriage together. Because they're friends. They treat each other more like friends than most couples I've seen. It's. . .different. It jaded me."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that we're friends, Grissom. I'm saying that I grew up watching this perfect romance, and it completely messed me up. I've gone through, god, five or more failed relationships because I couldn't be friends with those guys. So, here I am, married. To you."
"Really?" he interrupted sarcastically.
"Grissom, we were friends first. I married a friend, because he was the only friend I've ever fallen in love with. And friendship doesn't have age boundaries. I love you, Grissom. Not your age."
"You're too smart for me." She chuckled, kissing him again lightly.
"I have to get back to my case, okay? Don't you worry about me or how I feel."
-------------------------------------------------
More coming soon. Maybe next week.