Headers, disclaimers in Chapter One
Continued from Chapter Five
IMPORTANT NOTES:
Slight rating change here; this one is rated a strong R for non-
graphic sexual situations. I am also honored to have a co-author for
this chapter; that the wonderful Midnight Caller would even be a
part of my work is very flattering and I thank her for getting the
Geeks to a new level. I'm so happy to have had the opportunity to
write with her. She's amazing. When you need RST, go to the best, I
say. I take responsibility for everything up through the vaguely OOC
date. The good stuff starts out on the deck. ;-) Thanks, MC, for the
great ride. Enjoy. -- Devanie
Well, we all know Devanie's lying, first-off, because this story is
so incredibly awesome that no amount of self-deprecation on her part
can hide the brilliance of this piece. Devanie, it's an honor to
have been a part of this epic. If I could conjure up casefiles as
creative and fascinating as this one, and write such meticulous
detail, I'd still be half the writer you are. In all sincerity, I
enjoyed this more than I ever thought I would. Rock on. --
Midnight Caller
Andi, Amber, Alison, Amanda, and A-Stepf, thanks as always. The
rocking Alison didn't get a chance to beta this one because of my
last minute tweaking, but big kudos to her as always.
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*
For an irrational moment he thought she was gone.
It wasn't until after he found her case reports strewn across her
unmade bed that he made his way to the patio off the common area,
pushing aside the vertical blinds that had blocked his view. Grissom
squinted in the harsh sunlight; it was only ten, but the temperature
had to be nearing ninety. Shielding his eyes with his right hand he
spotted Sara sitting at the edge of the balcony, her feet propped
against the metal railing. Her hands were folded over a book in her
lap, but she appeared to stare out over the water from behind her
sunglasses.
After watching her a few moments, he took a few tentative steps
before coming to a stop just shy of her chair. "Hey."
"Hey." Her voice was flat and she made no move to look at him.
Grissom remained silent. He watched a sailboat skim across the top
of the water before resting his eyes back on her. She wore a light
blue tank top and denim shorts, her bare legs ending in a pair of
open leather sandals. Somewhere in the back recesses of his mind he
realized he had never seen her in shorts before, but he pushed that
thought away in lieu of the more pressing matter before them.
"What are we doing here?"
The sharp edge to her voice caused him to jump slightly. "What?"
"You. Me. What are we doing?" She shifted in her chair, facing him
now. He couldn't see her eyes, but her body language betrayed her
agitation.
"We're investigating a crime."
Shaking her head slightly, she clarified. "I'm not talking about the
case, Grissom."
He shifted his gaze to the pattern in the tile. He had known that,
but had given the safe answer in hopes of delaying the conversation
that Sara had just made inevitable. "I'm sorry about last night."
"I know you are." She did. Grissom was honest, almost to a fault. It
was one of the reasons she was as nervous about this discussion as
he probably was. "What was that about, anyway?"
Meeting her eyes, he answered. "I don't know."
Regarding him for a few moments, she spoke again. "Everything was
fine. The case was going well; we…" She looked down at her fingers,
laced together in her lap. "Then all of a sudden you were treating
me like an insubordinate lab assistant. I just want to know why."
Grissom said nothing as he watched a sailboat skim across the top of
the water. Mentally trying to formulate an answer, he was about to
speak when Sara continued.
"You went to go make that call, came back, talked to Steve…" Sara
shook her head. "That's it, isn't it? Last night… all that alpha-
male behavior… was about jealousy?" Her words held a bit of a
challenge.
"Yes."
"Oh." If she had just played her trump card, Grissom had just dealt
it back to her. She hadn't expected him to be so straightforward.
Judging by the conflicted look on his face neither had he.
Her ears buzzing, Sara was faintly aware of the sound of children
splashing and laughing in the pool below. She stole a glance at
Grissom; he stared straight ahead, his face unreadable. She wanted
to say something, to somehow break the tension. Like ripping off a
band-aid, she thought before she found her voice again. "I'm not
very good at these kind of conversations." She started, a self-
conscious smile forming. "And I know you're not..."
"Would you like to go to dinner tonight?" Grissom interrupted, his
earlier uncertainty now replaced by something a bit more intense.
Meeting his eyes, Sara hesitated. Shared meals were nothing new.
Grissom asking her, however, was almost unprecedented. There was a
definite underlying intent to his question; they would likely have
had dinner together that evening regardless. "Okay." She paused
before adding: "we need to talk."
"Yeah."
They stared at each other for a few moments; Sara realized they had
just taken a giant step forward, but didn't know how they had gotten
there. Looking away, she rose and walked across the balcony to the
open door. "I'm going to go for a jog on the trail. I'll be back in
an hour and we can go over some reports."
Grissom nodded. Watching her step into the living room, he called
after her. "Hey, Sara?"
She turned around, one eyebrow raised.
"I apologize for last night. You did a good job."
"Thanks." After a sincere smile, she stepped into the dim room. He
watched her through the glass until she was out of his line of
sight. Returning his gaze forward he noticed the book still lying on
her empty chair. As he reached for it, he read the title for the
first time.
The Computational Beauty of Nature : Computer Explorations of
Fractals, Chaos, Complex Systems, and Adaptation.
With an amused smirk he pulled his glasses out of his pocket and
opened the large hardcover to the middle. Intrigued, he flipped back
to the beginning. Now it was a waiting game.
Disney's Contemporary Resort
California Grill, 15th Floor
19:25 PM
Sara was beautiful; that had never been in question. Whether she was
in her standard pants and print top or the loose-fitting navy
coveralls, he had always found her attractive. Now as she walked
across the floor toward him, he could honestly say he had never seen
her look quite the way she did right at that moment. A pair of slim
fitting black pants with a slight flare to the legs was set off by a
cranberry colored top, the loose neck and filmy material elegant as
part of the nearly backless garment. Her hair was piled loosely on
top of her head and he could tell she was wearing slightly more
makeup than usual. His eyes caught hers and she smiled as she walked
through the maze of tables toward where he was seated against the
glass; it extended 180 degrees around the perimeter. Thinking
quickly, he stood as she approached and pulled out her chair; she
smiled nervously as he crossed back to his side of the table.
"Hi." Grissom began, once they were both seated.
"Hi." She echoed. It was already feeling a bit surreal.
"I take it you found my note?"
"Yeah. Meet me upstairs, 7:30, wear something nice."
Whatever she was wearing certainly qualified. "You look very…"
"Nice? Thanks." She replied, giving him a self-conscious smile. "So
do you." She added quickly.
He looked down at his black dress shirt and felt almost
underdressed. "You didn't pack that." It was a statement more than a
question and Sara laughed softly.
"No, lucky for you there's a store in this resort that sells
something other than Mickey t-shirts."
"Is that the store the dead guy fell on?" Grissom wore an earnest
expression.
"I don't think he was dead before he fell and no. I asked."
He eyed her skeptically. "You didn't."
She merely tilted her head before taking a sip of her wine. Looking
around the dining room, she commented, "It's beautiful up here."
Nodding, Grissom took in the expanse of water and trees that framed
the view from his vantage point. "Raymond recommended it."
She nodded and nervously traced a finger around the rim of her wine
glass. Hearing a soft laugh, she looked up to find him smirking at
her.
"What? This is a little strange." She justified, her voice defensive
but her eyes light.
"How so? We have dinner all the time."
"No, usually dinner includes food in baskets, pick-up windows, and
Nick playing paper football with Warrick. I don't recall many times
involving alcohol, napkin rings, or seasonal menus."
Grissom shrugged, his face inscrutable. "Speaking of which, what did
you want to start with?" He gestured toward the menu in front of her.
Looking at it for the first time, Sara blinked back a reaction to
the prices. Disney was apparently going all out. "Artichokes
vinaigrette with parmesan flats and black olive coulis?"
He looked skeptical. "Coulis?"
"I have no idea either."
"Okay."
Their server returned with a basket of bread and Grissom ordered
the appetizer. Sara reached for a roll and frowned at the small cup
of butter.
"I'm guessing the mouse sculpture doesn't fit in with the ambience
here." He read her expression.
"That's too bad."
"I could have taken you to Chef Mickey's. They have a cupcake bar."
"We still have three days." She paused. "I used to hate cupcakes. I
had a trauma once."
Grissom stared. "A cupcake trauma?"
"It was my tenth birthday. My first party with friends from my new
school. My mom had insisted on making me wear a dress. First and
only time. Anyway, I had a crush on a boy from my class; his name
was Andrew. We did our science project together."
"I'm not surprised."
She smiled. "Yeah, well. He asked me to sit with him and I was
happy. At least until he reached over and smushed my chocolate
cupcake into my hair."
Grissom was surprised by the sympathy he felt for her 21 years later.
"All the kids laughed and it took my mom almost an hour to wash all
the icing out of my braids. I didn't eat another one until the
Christmas party last year."
"I'm sorry," he said lamely.
Sara laughed and then took another bite of her roll. "I don't know
why I still remember that."
"Childrens' memories often are more vivid than adults. Especially
those involving pain or embarrassment. "
"Ah." She watched the light from the low candle on the edge of the
table flicker across his features. "Do you have any persisting
childhood memories?"
"None worth sharing."
Sighing, Sara sat back in her chair. "I find that hard to believe."
She eyed him skeptically until she continued. "Roller coasters. Did
you like them as a kid?"
"Actually, no. The first one I rode was in a physics experiment my
senior year of high school. My interest in them started from that."
"Do you enjoy them at all?" Sara asked, intrigued.
"Yes." He paused a moment. "Actually, probably not in the
traditional way. Most people ride roller coasters for the rush, the
euphoria element. With a few exceptions..." Giving her a pointed
look, he continued "there's nothing like that. I ride because I find
it relaxing. I can detach myself from the experience and concentrate
on the science of it."
"That's almost disturbing." Sara's voice was light. "I don't think I
could ever give up that much control."
Grissom shrugged and looked up as their appetizer arrived. "So, this
is coulis." After they were alone again he gestured toward a thick
black paste.
"I'm thinking." Sara spooned the artichoke spread onto a piece of
flatbread. "You can have my half."
"I was about to make the same offer."
"I insist."
"They ate in silence for several minutes, the only interruption came
from a server bringing more wine. "So, any ideas about the main
course?" Grissom asked, his attention on the menu again.
"I think I'm going to have the pan-roasted black grouper." She
watched as he looked up, confused.
"I eat fish."
"Okay."
"What about you?" She prompted when he didn't continue.
"Oh. The 'Oak-roasted chicken under a summer spinach salad.'"
"That sounds like a girly dish."
Did he hear her correctly? "What?"
"Just saying."
"I'm getting it." Grissom sounded almost wounded.
"And there's nothing wrong with that." Smiling, she took a long sip
of wine. Their eyes met for a long moment before the reappearance of
their server broke the silence. After placing their orders, they
moved to another topic.
"Did you talk to Catherine today?"
"No, but Nick called for you during your run." Grissom looked
amused; she took a guess.
"It wasn't about work, was it?"
Shaking his head, he laughed. "He managed to ask a vague question
about his robbery case."
"He wants us to bring him back something." She stated, matter-of-
fact.
"Any suggestions?"
"I'll think of something. You know, I almost miss them. When I first
came to Vegas I never thought that would happen."
Grissom nodded. It had been a bad time for everyone. "I'm sorry I
had to bring you in under those circumstances. Warrick was in a bad
situation and Catherine felt guilty...They viewed you as an intruder
and my introduction of you didn't help matters."
He had her attention now. "How did you introduce me?"
Staring at her, he wiped his mouth before speaking. "I said you were
a friend. Someone that I trusted...trust."
Thank you." Smiling broadly, she spoke again. "I think Catherine had
her own ideas, though."
He looked down at the candle and watched as a pool of wax formed
around the bottom of the glass. "I'm sure she did."
"Do you ever wonder..." She trailed off and simply looked at him.
Feeling her gaze, he searched for a response. He considered changing
the subject, but opted for the truth.
"All the time."
She smoothed the tablecloth with her hand, her eyes revealed
nothing. "'So many unanswered whys...'"
Suddenly Grissom was reminded of a night very much like this one.
Instead of an expensive restaurant it was a cheap diner. Instead of
Orlando it was a crowded section of San Francisco. It was the night
before he left for Las Vegas, and they were at a similar crossroads
in their relationship. He thought they had made the right turn back
then, just as he thought they were on the brink of making the right
turn now. "Do you remember Ed's?"
"How could I forget Ed's? That place was horrible. Bad food, not
particularly clean..."
"You never seemed to mind." Grissom's voice seemed lower now.
"It was the best part of my week." They had started going to the
small restaurant the day of the seminar and had met there each
subsequent Friday. Sara had never asked why she was different than
the more than 100 attendees that day, what had prompted him to
approach her after class. He had never told her.
Neither had noticed that their entrees had reached the table. After
pouring them each a second glass of wine, the server left them alone
with their food.
"The presentation here is fantastic."
"It is."
"Your food doesn't look nearly as girly as it sounded on the menu."
"Thanks. Neither does yours." He offered. This was a bizarre
conversation.
Sara laughed and looked down at her plate. "I don't think I've ever
had such...artistic...seafood before.
"Why do you eat fish?" He was genuinely curious.
Sara considered for a moment. "I've never stayed up watching flies
devouring a grouper."
"You've never watched them eat a cow before, but you don't eat beef."
"Fish don't have legs."
He frowned at her odd logic, but decided to move on. "Okay." They
ate in silence for several minutes, the only sound coming from the
open kitchen and the conversation of other diners. Picking at his
own food, Grissom found himself lost in thought. He stared,
unseeing, at the table in front of him until Sara broke his reverie.
"Did you want some?"
"What?"
"Some grouper. It's really good." She cut off a tender piece of the
white fish and offered her fork to him.
He shook his head. "Thanks, though."
"I insist."
Staring at her for a moment, he reached for the utensil and brought
it to his lips. The flaky seafood was spicy on his tongue. "That is
good. Is that chipotle?"
"Sure." She smiled, taking her fork back.
"Do you cook at all?"
Mock-wounded, she thought a moment before responding. "I can cook. I
just don't have many opportunities to use something called chipotle
in my daily routine. I take it you do?"
"You don't need a special occasion to use spices, Sara." He waited a
moment before adding "You should come over more often. I'll
introduce you to some of these things." Her laugh in response
startled him.
"More often? I think I can count on...one finger...the number of
times I've been to your apartment in the last year."
He looked almost embarrassed. "I don't tend to have people over very
much."
"Why does Catherine get the priviledge?"
Because Catherine doesn't make me feel the way you do. "Habit borne
out of an old friendship. We just never got into that routine."
Smiling ruefully, she looked at the table again. "Yeah."
"That doesn't mean we shouldn't start now." The words came out
before he process what he was saying.
"As a 'habit borne out of an old friendship'?"
"Maybe as a habit borne out of something stemming from an old
friendship."
Sara had grown accustomed to Grissom's more cryptic comments over
the years, but something this significant warranted clarification.
She noticed for the first time that her hands were clammy. "We've
been here before."
Nodding, he didn't offer a response until the silence felt
heavy. "We have, but the timing is different now. I'm not moving;
you're not in grad school."
She had been waiting to have this conversation with him for as long
as she could remember. Why was she playing devil's advocate
now? "You're my supervisor. Is that any less of a problem?"
"It's a surmountable one."
Staring at him, Sara wondered again when their roles had become
reversed. "Discretion."
"We operate just like we have." He watched as she tapped her fingers
against the edge of the table between them and wondered if her
nerves compared to his own. Reaching for her hand, he squeezed
lightly until her fingers relaxed in his grasp.
A brightly colored flare reflecting off the bay window in front of
their table caught Sara's attention. She looked down at her hand in
Grissom's, his thumb running over her knuckles lightly. After
thinking a moment, she rose to her feet. Seeing his surprise, she
shook her head. "Fireworks. I want to watch."
"Oh." He followed her as she pulled him gently across the dining
room and out onto the observation deck. The night was warm, but a
breeze took the edge off the cloying heat of earlier. Heading across
the deck, they found an empty spot against the barrier as another
loud burst of light spread over the darkened visage of Cinderella
Castle.
She leaned on the wall and had to catch her breath as she tried to
drink in the view before her. Grissom released her hand and brushed
her arm as he took up position next to her. Suddenly, the air was
alive with lights, bursting and flashing out toward the horizon.
She shifted to her right and pressed against his body just firmly
enough to feel his warmth through her clothing. As she continued to
gaze out at the fireworks she felt skin against her left arm. Out
of the corner of her eye she saw his hand resting on the wall, and
only then did she feel the rest of his arm pressed against her
back. She leaned against him again, and then felt his hand move up
and down her arm, lightly grazing the skin with his fingers.
Almost instinctively, she tilted her head, resting it on his
shoulder. A few moments later, as his touch continued to coax goose
bumps from the surface of her skin, she swallowed hard before
wrapping her own arm around his waist. She paused for a moment,
perhaps waiting for common sense to tell her to stop, and then
slowly slid the tips of her fingers into the very top of his
pocket.
The fireworks continued to explode as she finally noticed how fast
her heart was beating with each passing moment. Every time his
fingers touched her skin she nearly shivered from sheer excitement.
There seemed to be a goose bump for every emotion. Curiosity.
Anticipation. Desire.
She was barely cognizant of her actions as somehow her mouth found
his neck. With each inhale, his scent possessed her, traversing the
length of her entire body until it returned to that reserved spot in
her memory set aside just for him. As she exhaled, the warmed air
caressed his skin, and she heard his breath quicken. Within moments
she had moved closer, lightly pressing her lips to the soft skin
where his neck met his shoulder. She felt him shudder slightly, his
breath coming in short, quiet gasps. The hand that had been
caressing her suddenly stopped, the fingers wrapping around her
arm.
His breaths got more audible as her lips slowly made her way up to
the bottom of his chin, stopping just below his earlobe. She spent
a few brief moments teasing his skin with her breath, enjoying the
gasp she finally drew from him. Slipping her hand out of his
pocket, she turned her body toward him to get a more comfortable
angle, and eventually stepped around to face him. His eyes were
still closed, out of fear, or pleasure, or both, and she slid her
arms under his, interlacing her fingers behind his back.
She found his neck again, this time zeroing in on the hollow between
his collarbones. The tiny depression throbbed slightly as blood
pumped beneath the skin, the pulse increasing under the pressure of
her lips. His hands were warm on her skin, moving up the length of
her arms and then down the graceful curvature of her spine.
She pulled her lips from his neck to catch the breath that was
quickly sliding away, along with every inhibition she had harbored
when it came to physical contact with Grissom. That intense gaze
was focused on her head - she could feel it bearing down - and when
she finally looked up, the sight of him was almost too much to
take. His eyes were as wide as she'd ever seen them, alive with an
undeniable hunger.
The line had been drawn, and it had just been crossed. Whether or
not they could ever go back weighed on their next move. And for the
first time that night she was afraid to make it.
Despite the wall pressed against her back, she unconsciously shifted
away from him, looking away as she did so. Her face felt flush with
an unnamable form of embarrassment, and she released her arms from
around his back. His hands paused at her shoulders, waiting. She
knew he was staring at her, but she refused to look, afraid of what
she'd see.
Whether it was fear or guilt or something else equally paralyzing,
an unseen force had prevented her from taking that next step. And
yet, at the same time, in some unexplainable way, the feel of his
hands on her skin was so comforting and soothing that she wanted
nothing more than to lean forward and press her body against his.
As if he had somehow read her thoughts, he stepped forward, pinning
her against the wall. His hand moved slowly, tenderly, from her
shoulder down to her wrist, where he stopped to rub his thumb over
her skin. She shivered at the touch, biting her lip as her head
involuntarily tipped backward. Somewhere in her mind, she
registered his hand on hers, the fingers caressing the skin before
wrapping around her own. When she felt a gentle squeeze, her eyes
crept open wide enough for her to see his head coming down toward
her. The lids closed again as the warm air of his breath teased her
neck, and they squeezed tight when his lips finally touched her
skin.
She couldn't help but release an audible sigh, and her free hand
found its way to his head, where she scraped her nails along the
back of his neck. She wasn't sure if the rapid popping she heard
was her heartbeat or the faint clapping of the fireworks' finale.
Nothing was certain at the moment; she was still trying to convince
herself of what was happening.
After lightly teasing her neck for a number of minutes, Grissom
moved to her ear, where his breath was enough to elicit a small gasp
from her. He stayed just long enough to entice several more short
pants of air, and then moved his face directly in front of hers.
She finally opened her eyes, and there was nowhere to look but right
at him. Somehow his eyes removed the uncertainty, the doubt, and
somewhere deeper inside the pang of regret transformed into the
exhilaration of arousal.
Her eyes closed again as she felt him move closer, until finally his
lips brushed teasingly against hers, floating just far enough away
to drive her mad with curiosity. When there was no deeper kiss to
follow, she opened her eyes and saw his, still shut.
After a moment his hand squeezed hers again, and he stepped back a
few feet. When their eyes met he tugged at her arm gently, and she
followed him as they slowly walked back through the restaurant,
returning eventually to the elevators. Without a word, he pressed
the down button and readjusted the grip on her hand. She was half-
stunned, half-giddy, and bit her lower lip as they stepped in the
elevator and he pressed their floor button. They rode in silence,
hand-in-hand, their eyes stealing brief glances during the short
ride.
He fumbled slightly with the card key, distracted by Sara's intense
stare. They both stepped into the darkness of the room, the door
quietly clicking shut behind them. For a few moments their eyes
adjusted to the dark, their breathing the only other noticeable
sound besides the quiet hum of the air conditioner. He smacked his
lips quietly in hesitation, the earlier bravado apparently drained
from his body. Sara was intently focused on him, her eyes darting
across his face, searching for clues, signs, an invitation.
She squeezed his hand again, which brought his eyes back up from the
carpet, and then took a step forward to stand only inches away. Her
pulse now on overdrive, she strained to keep her breathing steady,
but the heat coming off of him was making it difficult, especially
when she felt his other hand on her back. It wandered between her
shoulder blades, searching for all those places that would make her
arch this way or that, lean into him more, or open her mouth to a
quiet moan.
The moan came when he reached the base of her skull, running his
hands through the soft hair at her neck, and she instinctively
leaned forward into his body. Letting go of his hand, she wrapped
her arms around his waist, and he did the same to her. She rested
her head against his shoulder as they continued their mutual
exploration, their nerve endings working at full capacity.
After what seemed like an eternity she lifted her head to look at
him. In the blue glow of the room his eyes glistened, and he
somehow managed to look perplexed, intrigued and aroused, all
simultaneously with the same degree of emotion. This made her smile
and she leaned forward, bringing their faces closer.
She wasn't sure who moved first, but in one fluid motion their lips
met, chastely at first, as they silently tested the boundaries of
their actions. His hand crept further into her hair as the contact
intensified, gracefully morphing into a rhythmic, elegant kiss.
What followed seemed to unfold just as surrealistically, as they
slowly made their way into Sara's room. The awkwardness evened out
between them as they crossed the carpet, still unable to let go of
one another. Her eyes relieved his hesitation, his warmth eased her
nervous shivers, and their mutual caresses reassured their anxiety.
They fell onto the soft cushion of her bed, and he was immediately
overwhelmed by the scent of her all around him. The sheets, the
pillow … her body … everything seemed cocooned around him,
enveloping all of his senses, all at once.
They continued in their illusory state, neither one able to process
the individual events or desires. Skin against skin. Hands and
mouths. Bodies feverishly tangled together, sensations ebbing and
flowing in a tide of emotion and electricity. And then, finally,
everything focused down to a single, solitary moment, only to be
scattered just as quickly by the overpowering exchange of thousands
of nerve impulses and the release of blind ecstasy.
They fell against the pillows, their gasps eventually slowing to
steady, deep breaths. He felt her hair slide across his cheeks as
her head came to rest on the soft skin of his shoulder. His index
finger made slow, circular trails where her shoulder met her
collarbone, and his eyes slipped shut as he felt himself on the
brink of slumber.
She turned onto her side, draping her arm over his chest. Her eyes
felt heavy as the weight of exhaustion tugged at the lids,
eventually pulling them shut. She nuzzled against his chest, loving
the feel of his skin against hers. All sensory imput diminished as
she drifted off, until all she could process was his hand on her
shoulder and the comforting, steady sound of his breathing.
TBC
Continued from Chapter Five
IMPORTANT NOTES:
Slight rating change here; this one is rated a strong R for non-
graphic sexual situations. I am also honored to have a co-author for
this chapter; that the wonderful Midnight Caller would even be a
part of my work is very flattering and I thank her for getting the
Geeks to a new level. I'm so happy to have had the opportunity to
write with her. She's amazing. When you need RST, go to the best, I
say. I take responsibility for everything up through the vaguely OOC
date. The good stuff starts out on the deck. ;-) Thanks, MC, for the
great ride. Enjoy. -- Devanie
Well, we all know Devanie's lying, first-off, because this story is
so incredibly awesome that no amount of self-deprecation on her part
can hide the brilliance of this piece. Devanie, it's an honor to
have been a part of this epic. If I could conjure up casefiles as
creative and fascinating as this one, and write such meticulous
detail, I'd still be half the writer you are. In all sincerity, I
enjoyed this more than I ever thought I would. Rock on. --
Midnight Caller
Andi, Amber, Alison, Amanda, and A-Stepf, thanks as always. The
rocking Alison didn't get a chance to beta this one because of my
last minute tweaking, but big kudos to her as always.
~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*
For an irrational moment he thought she was gone.
It wasn't until after he found her case reports strewn across her
unmade bed that he made his way to the patio off the common area,
pushing aside the vertical blinds that had blocked his view. Grissom
squinted in the harsh sunlight; it was only ten, but the temperature
had to be nearing ninety. Shielding his eyes with his right hand he
spotted Sara sitting at the edge of the balcony, her feet propped
against the metal railing. Her hands were folded over a book in her
lap, but she appeared to stare out over the water from behind her
sunglasses.
After watching her a few moments, he took a few tentative steps
before coming to a stop just shy of her chair. "Hey."
"Hey." Her voice was flat and she made no move to look at him.
Grissom remained silent. He watched a sailboat skim across the top
of the water before resting his eyes back on her. She wore a light
blue tank top and denim shorts, her bare legs ending in a pair of
open leather sandals. Somewhere in the back recesses of his mind he
realized he had never seen her in shorts before, but he pushed that
thought away in lieu of the more pressing matter before them.
"What are we doing here?"
The sharp edge to her voice caused him to jump slightly. "What?"
"You. Me. What are we doing?" She shifted in her chair, facing him
now. He couldn't see her eyes, but her body language betrayed her
agitation.
"We're investigating a crime."
Shaking her head slightly, she clarified. "I'm not talking about the
case, Grissom."
He shifted his gaze to the pattern in the tile. He had known that,
but had given the safe answer in hopes of delaying the conversation
that Sara had just made inevitable. "I'm sorry about last night."
"I know you are." She did. Grissom was honest, almost to a fault. It
was one of the reasons she was as nervous about this discussion as
he probably was. "What was that about, anyway?"
Meeting her eyes, he answered. "I don't know."
Regarding him for a few moments, she spoke again. "Everything was
fine. The case was going well; we…" She looked down at her fingers,
laced together in her lap. "Then all of a sudden you were treating
me like an insubordinate lab assistant. I just want to know why."
Grissom said nothing as he watched a sailboat skim across the top of
the water. Mentally trying to formulate an answer, he was about to
speak when Sara continued.
"You went to go make that call, came back, talked to Steve…" Sara
shook her head. "That's it, isn't it? Last night… all that alpha-
male behavior… was about jealousy?" Her words held a bit of a
challenge.
"Yes."
"Oh." If she had just played her trump card, Grissom had just dealt
it back to her. She hadn't expected him to be so straightforward.
Judging by the conflicted look on his face neither had he.
Her ears buzzing, Sara was faintly aware of the sound of children
splashing and laughing in the pool below. She stole a glance at
Grissom; he stared straight ahead, his face unreadable. She wanted
to say something, to somehow break the tension. Like ripping off a
band-aid, she thought before she found her voice again. "I'm not
very good at these kind of conversations." She started, a self-
conscious smile forming. "And I know you're not..."
"Would you like to go to dinner tonight?" Grissom interrupted, his
earlier uncertainty now replaced by something a bit more intense.
Meeting his eyes, Sara hesitated. Shared meals were nothing new.
Grissom asking her, however, was almost unprecedented. There was a
definite underlying intent to his question; they would likely have
had dinner together that evening regardless. "Okay." She paused
before adding: "we need to talk."
"Yeah."
They stared at each other for a few moments; Sara realized they had
just taken a giant step forward, but didn't know how they had gotten
there. Looking away, she rose and walked across the balcony to the
open door. "I'm going to go for a jog on the trail. I'll be back in
an hour and we can go over some reports."
Grissom nodded. Watching her step into the living room, he called
after her. "Hey, Sara?"
She turned around, one eyebrow raised.
"I apologize for last night. You did a good job."
"Thanks." After a sincere smile, she stepped into the dim room. He
watched her through the glass until she was out of his line of
sight. Returning his gaze forward he noticed the book still lying on
her empty chair. As he reached for it, he read the title for the
first time.
The Computational Beauty of Nature : Computer Explorations of
Fractals, Chaos, Complex Systems, and Adaptation.
With an amused smirk he pulled his glasses out of his pocket and
opened the large hardcover to the middle. Intrigued, he flipped back
to the beginning. Now it was a waiting game.
Disney's Contemporary Resort
California Grill, 15th Floor
19:25 PM
Sara was beautiful; that had never been in question. Whether she was
in her standard pants and print top or the loose-fitting navy
coveralls, he had always found her attractive. Now as she walked
across the floor toward him, he could honestly say he had never seen
her look quite the way she did right at that moment. A pair of slim
fitting black pants with a slight flare to the legs was set off by a
cranberry colored top, the loose neck and filmy material elegant as
part of the nearly backless garment. Her hair was piled loosely on
top of her head and he could tell she was wearing slightly more
makeup than usual. His eyes caught hers and she smiled as she walked
through the maze of tables toward where he was seated against the
glass; it extended 180 degrees around the perimeter. Thinking
quickly, he stood as she approached and pulled out her chair; she
smiled nervously as he crossed back to his side of the table.
"Hi." Grissom began, once they were both seated.
"Hi." She echoed. It was already feeling a bit surreal.
"I take it you found my note?"
"Yeah. Meet me upstairs, 7:30, wear something nice."
Whatever she was wearing certainly qualified. "You look very…"
"Nice? Thanks." She replied, giving him a self-conscious smile. "So
do you." She added quickly.
He looked down at his black dress shirt and felt almost
underdressed. "You didn't pack that." It was a statement more than a
question and Sara laughed softly.
"No, lucky for you there's a store in this resort that sells
something other than Mickey t-shirts."
"Is that the store the dead guy fell on?" Grissom wore an earnest
expression.
"I don't think he was dead before he fell and no. I asked."
He eyed her skeptically. "You didn't."
She merely tilted her head before taking a sip of her wine. Looking
around the dining room, she commented, "It's beautiful up here."
Nodding, Grissom took in the expanse of water and trees that framed
the view from his vantage point. "Raymond recommended it."
She nodded and nervously traced a finger around the rim of her wine
glass. Hearing a soft laugh, she looked up to find him smirking at
her.
"What? This is a little strange." She justified, her voice defensive
but her eyes light.
"How so? We have dinner all the time."
"No, usually dinner includes food in baskets, pick-up windows, and
Nick playing paper football with Warrick. I don't recall many times
involving alcohol, napkin rings, or seasonal menus."
Grissom shrugged, his face inscrutable. "Speaking of which, what did
you want to start with?" He gestured toward the menu in front of her.
Looking at it for the first time, Sara blinked back a reaction to
the prices. Disney was apparently going all out. "Artichokes
vinaigrette with parmesan flats and black olive coulis?"
He looked skeptical. "Coulis?"
"I have no idea either."
"Okay."
Their server returned with a basket of bread and Grissom ordered
the appetizer. Sara reached for a roll and frowned at the small cup
of butter.
"I'm guessing the mouse sculpture doesn't fit in with the ambience
here." He read her expression.
"That's too bad."
"I could have taken you to Chef Mickey's. They have a cupcake bar."
"We still have three days." She paused. "I used to hate cupcakes. I
had a trauma once."
Grissom stared. "A cupcake trauma?"
"It was my tenth birthday. My first party with friends from my new
school. My mom had insisted on making me wear a dress. First and
only time. Anyway, I had a crush on a boy from my class; his name
was Andrew. We did our science project together."
"I'm not surprised."
She smiled. "Yeah, well. He asked me to sit with him and I was
happy. At least until he reached over and smushed my chocolate
cupcake into my hair."
Grissom was surprised by the sympathy he felt for her 21 years later.
"All the kids laughed and it took my mom almost an hour to wash all
the icing out of my braids. I didn't eat another one until the
Christmas party last year."
"I'm sorry," he said lamely.
Sara laughed and then took another bite of her roll. "I don't know
why I still remember that."
"Childrens' memories often are more vivid than adults. Especially
those involving pain or embarrassment. "
"Ah." She watched the light from the low candle on the edge of the
table flicker across his features. "Do you have any persisting
childhood memories?"
"None worth sharing."
Sighing, Sara sat back in her chair. "I find that hard to believe."
She eyed him skeptically until she continued. "Roller coasters. Did
you like them as a kid?"
"Actually, no. The first one I rode was in a physics experiment my
senior year of high school. My interest in them started from that."
"Do you enjoy them at all?" Sara asked, intrigued.
"Yes." He paused a moment. "Actually, probably not in the
traditional way. Most people ride roller coasters for the rush, the
euphoria element. With a few exceptions..." Giving her a pointed
look, he continued "there's nothing like that. I ride because I find
it relaxing. I can detach myself from the experience and concentrate
on the science of it."
"That's almost disturbing." Sara's voice was light. "I don't think I
could ever give up that much control."
Grissom shrugged and looked up as their appetizer arrived. "So, this
is coulis." After they were alone again he gestured toward a thick
black paste.
"I'm thinking." Sara spooned the artichoke spread onto a piece of
flatbread. "You can have my half."
"I was about to make the same offer."
"I insist."
"They ate in silence for several minutes, the only interruption came
from a server bringing more wine. "So, any ideas about the main
course?" Grissom asked, his attention on the menu again.
"I think I'm going to have the pan-roasted black grouper." She
watched as he looked up, confused.
"I eat fish."
"Okay."
"What about you?" She prompted when he didn't continue.
"Oh. The 'Oak-roasted chicken under a summer spinach salad.'"
"That sounds like a girly dish."
Did he hear her correctly? "What?"
"Just saying."
"I'm getting it." Grissom sounded almost wounded.
"And there's nothing wrong with that." Smiling, she took a long sip
of wine. Their eyes met for a long moment before the reappearance of
their server broke the silence. After placing their orders, they
moved to another topic.
"Did you talk to Catherine today?"
"No, but Nick called for you during your run." Grissom looked
amused; she took a guess.
"It wasn't about work, was it?"
Shaking his head, he laughed. "He managed to ask a vague question
about his robbery case."
"He wants us to bring him back something." She stated, matter-of-
fact.
"Any suggestions?"
"I'll think of something. You know, I almost miss them. When I first
came to Vegas I never thought that would happen."
Grissom nodded. It had been a bad time for everyone. "I'm sorry I
had to bring you in under those circumstances. Warrick was in a bad
situation and Catherine felt guilty...They viewed you as an intruder
and my introduction of you didn't help matters."
He had her attention now. "How did you introduce me?"
Staring at her, he wiped his mouth before speaking. "I said you were
a friend. Someone that I trusted...trust."
Thank you." Smiling broadly, she spoke again. "I think Catherine had
her own ideas, though."
He looked down at the candle and watched as a pool of wax formed
around the bottom of the glass. "I'm sure she did."
"Do you ever wonder..." She trailed off and simply looked at him.
Feeling her gaze, he searched for a response. He considered changing
the subject, but opted for the truth.
"All the time."
She smoothed the tablecloth with her hand, her eyes revealed
nothing. "'So many unanswered whys...'"
Suddenly Grissom was reminded of a night very much like this one.
Instead of an expensive restaurant it was a cheap diner. Instead of
Orlando it was a crowded section of San Francisco. It was the night
before he left for Las Vegas, and they were at a similar crossroads
in their relationship. He thought they had made the right turn back
then, just as he thought they were on the brink of making the right
turn now. "Do you remember Ed's?"
"How could I forget Ed's? That place was horrible. Bad food, not
particularly clean..."
"You never seemed to mind." Grissom's voice seemed lower now.
"It was the best part of my week." They had started going to the
small restaurant the day of the seminar and had met there each
subsequent Friday. Sara had never asked why she was different than
the more than 100 attendees that day, what had prompted him to
approach her after class. He had never told her.
Neither had noticed that their entrees had reached the table. After
pouring them each a second glass of wine, the server left them alone
with their food.
"The presentation here is fantastic."
"It is."
"Your food doesn't look nearly as girly as it sounded on the menu."
"Thanks. Neither does yours." He offered. This was a bizarre
conversation.
Sara laughed and looked down at her plate. "I don't think I've ever
had such...artistic...seafood before.
"Why do you eat fish?" He was genuinely curious.
Sara considered for a moment. "I've never stayed up watching flies
devouring a grouper."
"You've never watched them eat a cow before, but you don't eat beef."
"Fish don't have legs."
He frowned at her odd logic, but decided to move on. "Okay." They
ate in silence for several minutes, the only sound coming from the
open kitchen and the conversation of other diners. Picking at his
own food, Grissom found himself lost in thought. He stared,
unseeing, at the table in front of him until Sara broke his reverie.
"Did you want some?"
"What?"
"Some grouper. It's really good." She cut off a tender piece of the
white fish and offered her fork to him.
He shook his head. "Thanks, though."
"I insist."
Staring at her for a moment, he reached for the utensil and brought
it to his lips. The flaky seafood was spicy on his tongue. "That is
good. Is that chipotle?"
"Sure." She smiled, taking her fork back.
"Do you cook at all?"
Mock-wounded, she thought a moment before responding. "I can cook. I
just don't have many opportunities to use something called chipotle
in my daily routine. I take it you do?"
"You don't need a special occasion to use spices, Sara." He waited a
moment before adding "You should come over more often. I'll
introduce you to some of these things." Her laugh in response
startled him.
"More often? I think I can count on...one finger...the number of
times I've been to your apartment in the last year."
He looked almost embarrassed. "I don't tend to have people over very
much."
"Why does Catherine get the priviledge?"
Because Catherine doesn't make me feel the way you do. "Habit borne
out of an old friendship. We just never got into that routine."
Smiling ruefully, she looked at the table again. "Yeah."
"That doesn't mean we shouldn't start now." The words came out
before he process what he was saying.
"As a 'habit borne out of an old friendship'?"
"Maybe as a habit borne out of something stemming from an old
friendship."
Sara had grown accustomed to Grissom's more cryptic comments over
the years, but something this significant warranted clarification.
She noticed for the first time that her hands were clammy. "We've
been here before."
Nodding, he didn't offer a response until the silence felt
heavy. "We have, but the timing is different now. I'm not moving;
you're not in grad school."
She had been waiting to have this conversation with him for as long
as she could remember. Why was she playing devil's advocate
now? "You're my supervisor. Is that any less of a problem?"
"It's a surmountable one."
Staring at him, Sara wondered again when their roles had become
reversed. "Discretion."
"We operate just like we have." He watched as she tapped her fingers
against the edge of the table between them and wondered if her
nerves compared to his own. Reaching for her hand, he squeezed
lightly until her fingers relaxed in his grasp.
A brightly colored flare reflecting off the bay window in front of
their table caught Sara's attention. She looked down at her hand in
Grissom's, his thumb running over her knuckles lightly. After
thinking a moment, she rose to her feet. Seeing his surprise, she
shook her head. "Fireworks. I want to watch."
"Oh." He followed her as she pulled him gently across the dining
room and out onto the observation deck. The night was warm, but a
breeze took the edge off the cloying heat of earlier. Heading across
the deck, they found an empty spot against the barrier as another
loud burst of light spread over the darkened visage of Cinderella
Castle.
She leaned on the wall and had to catch her breath as she tried to
drink in the view before her. Grissom released her hand and brushed
her arm as he took up position next to her. Suddenly, the air was
alive with lights, bursting and flashing out toward the horizon.
She shifted to her right and pressed against his body just firmly
enough to feel his warmth through her clothing. As she continued to
gaze out at the fireworks she felt skin against her left arm. Out
of the corner of her eye she saw his hand resting on the wall, and
only then did she feel the rest of his arm pressed against her
back. She leaned against him again, and then felt his hand move up
and down her arm, lightly grazing the skin with his fingers.
Almost instinctively, she tilted her head, resting it on his
shoulder. A few moments later, as his touch continued to coax goose
bumps from the surface of her skin, she swallowed hard before
wrapping her own arm around his waist. She paused for a moment,
perhaps waiting for common sense to tell her to stop, and then
slowly slid the tips of her fingers into the very top of his
pocket.
The fireworks continued to explode as she finally noticed how fast
her heart was beating with each passing moment. Every time his
fingers touched her skin she nearly shivered from sheer excitement.
There seemed to be a goose bump for every emotion. Curiosity.
Anticipation. Desire.
She was barely cognizant of her actions as somehow her mouth found
his neck. With each inhale, his scent possessed her, traversing the
length of her entire body until it returned to that reserved spot in
her memory set aside just for him. As she exhaled, the warmed air
caressed his skin, and she heard his breath quicken. Within moments
she had moved closer, lightly pressing her lips to the soft skin
where his neck met his shoulder. She felt him shudder slightly, his
breath coming in short, quiet gasps. The hand that had been
caressing her suddenly stopped, the fingers wrapping around her
arm.
His breaths got more audible as her lips slowly made her way up to
the bottom of his chin, stopping just below his earlobe. She spent
a few brief moments teasing his skin with her breath, enjoying the
gasp she finally drew from him. Slipping her hand out of his
pocket, she turned her body toward him to get a more comfortable
angle, and eventually stepped around to face him. His eyes were
still closed, out of fear, or pleasure, or both, and she slid her
arms under his, interlacing her fingers behind his back.
She found his neck again, this time zeroing in on the hollow between
his collarbones. The tiny depression throbbed slightly as blood
pumped beneath the skin, the pulse increasing under the pressure of
her lips. His hands were warm on her skin, moving up the length of
her arms and then down the graceful curvature of her spine.
She pulled her lips from his neck to catch the breath that was
quickly sliding away, along with every inhibition she had harbored
when it came to physical contact with Grissom. That intense gaze
was focused on her head - she could feel it bearing down - and when
she finally looked up, the sight of him was almost too much to
take. His eyes were as wide as she'd ever seen them, alive with an
undeniable hunger.
The line had been drawn, and it had just been crossed. Whether or
not they could ever go back weighed on their next move. And for the
first time that night she was afraid to make it.
Despite the wall pressed against her back, she unconsciously shifted
away from him, looking away as she did so. Her face felt flush with
an unnamable form of embarrassment, and she released her arms from
around his back. His hands paused at her shoulders, waiting. She
knew he was staring at her, but she refused to look, afraid of what
she'd see.
Whether it was fear or guilt or something else equally paralyzing,
an unseen force had prevented her from taking that next step. And
yet, at the same time, in some unexplainable way, the feel of his
hands on her skin was so comforting and soothing that she wanted
nothing more than to lean forward and press her body against his.
As if he had somehow read her thoughts, he stepped forward, pinning
her against the wall. His hand moved slowly, tenderly, from her
shoulder down to her wrist, where he stopped to rub his thumb over
her skin. She shivered at the touch, biting her lip as her head
involuntarily tipped backward. Somewhere in her mind, she
registered his hand on hers, the fingers caressing the skin before
wrapping around her own. When she felt a gentle squeeze, her eyes
crept open wide enough for her to see his head coming down toward
her. The lids closed again as the warm air of his breath teased her
neck, and they squeezed tight when his lips finally touched her
skin.
She couldn't help but release an audible sigh, and her free hand
found its way to his head, where she scraped her nails along the
back of his neck. She wasn't sure if the rapid popping she heard
was her heartbeat or the faint clapping of the fireworks' finale.
Nothing was certain at the moment; she was still trying to convince
herself of what was happening.
After lightly teasing her neck for a number of minutes, Grissom
moved to her ear, where his breath was enough to elicit a small gasp
from her. He stayed just long enough to entice several more short
pants of air, and then moved his face directly in front of hers.
She finally opened her eyes, and there was nowhere to look but right
at him. Somehow his eyes removed the uncertainty, the doubt, and
somewhere deeper inside the pang of regret transformed into the
exhilaration of arousal.
Her eyes closed again as she felt him move closer, until finally his
lips brushed teasingly against hers, floating just far enough away
to drive her mad with curiosity. When there was no deeper kiss to
follow, she opened her eyes and saw his, still shut.
After a moment his hand squeezed hers again, and he stepped back a
few feet. When their eyes met he tugged at her arm gently, and she
followed him as they slowly walked back through the restaurant,
returning eventually to the elevators. Without a word, he pressed
the down button and readjusted the grip on her hand. She was half-
stunned, half-giddy, and bit her lower lip as they stepped in the
elevator and he pressed their floor button. They rode in silence,
hand-in-hand, their eyes stealing brief glances during the short
ride.
He fumbled slightly with the card key, distracted by Sara's intense
stare. They both stepped into the darkness of the room, the door
quietly clicking shut behind them. For a few moments their eyes
adjusted to the dark, their breathing the only other noticeable
sound besides the quiet hum of the air conditioner. He smacked his
lips quietly in hesitation, the earlier bravado apparently drained
from his body. Sara was intently focused on him, her eyes darting
across his face, searching for clues, signs, an invitation.
She squeezed his hand again, which brought his eyes back up from the
carpet, and then took a step forward to stand only inches away. Her
pulse now on overdrive, she strained to keep her breathing steady,
but the heat coming off of him was making it difficult, especially
when she felt his other hand on her back. It wandered between her
shoulder blades, searching for all those places that would make her
arch this way or that, lean into him more, or open her mouth to a
quiet moan.
The moan came when he reached the base of her skull, running his
hands through the soft hair at her neck, and she instinctively
leaned forward into his body. Letting go of his hand, she wrapped
her arms around his waist, and he did the same to her. She rested
her head against his shoulder as they continued their mutual
exploration, their nerve endings working at full capacity.
After what seemed like an eternity she lifted her head to look at
him. In the blue glow of the room his eyes glistened, and he
somehow managed to look perplexed, intrigued and aroused, all
simultaneously with the same degree of emotion. This made her smile
and she leaned forward, bringing their faces closer.
She wasn't sure who moved first, but in one fluid motion their lips
met, chastely at first, as they silently tested the boundaries of
their actions. His hand crept further into her hair as the contact
intensified, gracefully morphing into a rhythmic, elegant kiss.
What followed seemed to unfold just as surrealistically, as they
slowly made their way into Sara's room. The awkwardness evened out
between them as they crossed the carpet, still unable to let go of
one another. Her eyes relieved his hesitation, his warmth eased her
nervous shivers, and their mutual caresses reassured their anxiety.
They fell onto the soft cushion of her bed, and he was immediately
overwhelmed by the scent of her all around him. The sheets, the
pillow … her body … everything seemed cocooned around him,
enveloping all of his senses, all at once.
They continued in their illusory state, neither one able to process
the individual events or desires. Skin against skin. Hands and
mouths. Bodies feverishly tangled together, sensations ebbing and
flowing in a tide of emotion and electricity. And then, finally,
everything focused down to a single, solitary moment, only to be
scattered just as quickly by the overpowering exchange of thousands
of nerve impulses and the release of blind ecstasy.
They fell against the pillows, their gasps eventually slowing to
steady, deep breaths. He felt her hair slide across his cheeks as
her head came to rest on the soft skin of his shoulder. His index
finger made slow, circular trails where her shoulder met her
collarbone, and his eyes slipped shut as he felt himself on the
brink of slumber.
She turned onto her side, draping her arm over his chest. Her eyes
felt heavy as the weight of exhaustion tugged at the lids,
eventually pulling them shut. She nuzzled against his chest, loving
the feel of his skin against hers. All sensory imput diminished as
she drifted off, until all she could process was his hand on her
shoulder and the comforting, steady sound of his breathing.
TBC