AN: Post "Committed", probably sort of a companion piece to my other fic "To listen in the silence", but they stand alone so no need to read that first or anything. If anything, this would take place before.
Title from Paulo Coelho, "By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept: A Novel of Forgiveness"
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Also, unbeta'd, so any and all mistakes are mine
To love is to lose control
The knock on the door is so hesitant she's not sure she actually heard it. She mutes the TV and tilts her head towards the door, as if that will help her hear the sound that's already gone, and considers the pros and cons of getting up to see if there really is someone outside.
Cons – getting up from her actually comfortable position on the couch and having to interact with the potential person on the other side of the door.
Pros – none, really. After the night she's had, she really doesn't want to be around people, she needs the break between shifts to recharge her batteries more than ever.
On the other hand, it's not like the old Jeopardy episode on TV is exactly captivating, and she was already fighting to keep her mind from returning to the institution white walls, barred windows and antiseptic smell of the psychiatric hospital. The fingers digging into her shoulder, the cold ceramic against her throat. Grissom staring at her through the window.
Before she can make up her mind, there's another, slightly louder knock, and she throws the blanket off her legs and gets up.
The man on the other side of the door probably shouldn't be a surprise.
"What are you doing here, Griss?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. "And no, the answer cannot be 'checking up on me'."
He was looking down at his shoes when she opened the door, hands shoved deep in his pockets, but at her voice, he lifts his head to meet her eyes.
The look in his is so raw she almost takes a step back.
"I…" he starts, only to trail off and avert his gaze.
"Did something happen?" she asks, the only thing she can think of to explain his expression. An accident, a suspect still at a scene. Catherine, maybe, or Nick. Jim, Warrick.
But he shakes his head. "Can I come in?"
She steps aside almost automatically, responding, perhaps, to the echo of what he said last time he showed up at her door, and he slips past her, pulling the door closed behind him.
He says nothing as he leads the way into her living room, and she follows just as quietly. He sits down on the couch she just abandoned, and she claims the armchair, mirroring their positions from a couple of weeks ago.
"Come on, Griss," she says when he doesn't speak. "You're scaring me here."
He looks up at her with a half-smile, eyes less haunted than a moment ago. "Shouldn't that be my line?"
"What?"
He sighs, running a hand over his face. "I was trying to get ahead on some paperwork, but Catherine dragged me out of my office and practically force-fed me breakfast. Then she threatened to call Conrad if I didn't go home, so I did, but I… I couldn't… every time I closed my eyes, I was back there."
She doesn't have to ask what he means. "I'm fine," she tells him gently. "Barely even a scratch."
His eyes drop to her throat, to the red welt she knows is there, her little souvenir from Adam. He reaches out, fingers ghosting her shoulder, thumb brushing over the mark gently, and she sucks in a harsh breath at the touch.
"I'm not." He pulls back slightly, but he's still too close. She can't quite think when he's so close. "My mind keeps playing it back to me, over and over, changing the details… there's nothing I can do and he, he…"
He breaks off, as if saying the words will make them come true, and impulsively, like he had, she reaches out to take his hand. He doesn't move apart from turning his hand over to clasp hers in a vice-like grip.
"I know it doesn't really matter what I say at this point, but I really am OK."
"I know. I know." His eyes are focused on their hands, his thumb rubbing against the back of hers. "I just… I needed to see it for myself, I guess. Physical confirmation. I knew there was no point in trying to sleep, if I woke up from a nightmare and you weren't there…"
"What, you would have driven over here to make sure I was alive?" she jokes, but the look he gives her tells her that she might not be far from the truth.
"I probably would have called first," he says.
"So you, what, want to watch me sleep to make sure I'm not dead?" It comes out a little harsher than she intends, and he flinches slightly at the last word. "Sorry."
"No, I'm sorry, I know this…" He lets out a frustrated breath. "I know I don't have any right to invade your privacy like this, I just… it was the only thing I thought might actually help, being here. Knowing you were… close."
He's too endearing for her good, really, and she should tell him to leave.
But she never has been good at turning him away, and why would she start now?
"It's OK," she says instead, ignoring the little voice in her head that tells her this is a very bad idea. "I get it."
"Not kicking me out?" he asks with a sheepish smile, and she shakes her head. "Thank you."
They make small talk for a while, until she yawns hugely into her elbow.
"You need sleep," he admonishes lightly and she quirks one eyebrow at him.
"So do you." At her words, he looks down at the couch he's sitting on and she immediately shakes her head. "You cannot sleep on that. Hell, I can't sleep on that."
"It's fine, Sara," he assures her. "You shouldn't have to accommodate my… over-protectiveness."
"Yeah, well, I won't be able to sleep if I know you can't sleep, and then it would be your fault," she reasons, getting to her feet and squaring him with a look. "We're both adults, right? I have a big bed."
His eyes widen at that but before he can say anything, she turns on her heel and heads off towards the bedroom.
"There are toothbrushes under the sink in the guest bath," she calls over her shoulder. "Unused. Toothpaste too. Clean towels on the rack. Let me know if you need anything else."
He remains frozen on the couch until he disappears from view when she reaches her bedroom, but she hears him move soon after.
She grabs a pair of sweatpants and an old Harvard t-shirt and brings them with her into the master bath, falling back heavily against the door when it closes.
You should not be doing this, Sara. You're playing with fire.
She ignores the voice yet again, focusing on getting ready for bed. This has nothing to do with her little… crush. They're both still shaken up after a tough case, there's nothing wrong with finding some kind of solace in just being close to another human being.
Keep telling yourself.
She hears the water running in the guest bath when she returns to the bedroom and busies herself with tossing the few throw pillows from the bed onto the floor next to it, pulling the bedspread off. She grabs the glass on her bedside table, goes back into the bathroom to fill it with water.
Then there's nothing left to do but actually get into bed. She hesitates for a moment, glances at the open door, but the water is still running.
Letting out an annoyed huff, she pulls back the comforter more violently than strictly necessary and slides in, careful to stay on one side and not sprawl out over the entire bed, like she usually does. She makes sure her phone is connected and charging on the bedside table and that the alarm is set as usual, and then finally settles back against the pillows, flipping open the latest JFS issue that she hasn't gotten around to reading yet.
She's still on the first page, not having taken in a single word, when she hears the door to the guest bath open and close a few minutes later, and then Grissom appears in the doorway.
"Not too late to change your mind," he says wryly.
She hadn't noticed before, but he must have changed while he was home, he's wearing a pair of sweatpants himself and a soft looking t-shirt. She doesn't quite trust her own voice at the moment, so instead of responding, she just pats the bed next to her and gives him what she hopes is a reassuring smile.
He gives her another long, scrutinizing look, but her nerves must not show, because he crosses the room and gets into bed next to her, carefully keeping as close to the edge as he can.
"Careful, you'll fall out," she notes amusedly, turning her attention back to the magazine in her hands. She hears him shift a little and glances over to see he's moved a few inches further into bed. There's still over a foot of space between them, but it feels charged.
"Anything good?" he asks after a moment, nodding at the magazine when she gives him a questioning look. "I haven't had a chance to read it yet."
"Me neither," she admits. "The article about the spread of gunshot residue sounded interesting, though."
They discuss the premise of the article for a moment, until he's the one to hide a yawn.
"OK, sleep," she says pointedly, trying to keep her voice light, and puts the magazine away.
"Still not too late to change your mind."
She levels him with a look. "Stop it. It's fine."
"If it's ever not, please, tell me," he implores. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable in any way. More than I already have, that is."
"You're not making me uncomfortable," she assures him, which is only partially true. But then again, the part that's not true isn't what he thinks.
He nods slowly before moving down so he's completely horizontal. She turns off the light and follows suit, settling on her back, mimicking his position.
"Night, Sara," he mumbles after a moment.
"Night," she repeats, turning away from him onto her side.
She's convinced she won't be able to sleep with him so close, but maybe she's more exhausted than she realized, because she's out in a few minutes.
The first thing Sara notices when she wakes up is that she's warm. Warm in a way she hasn't been for a long time. The kind of warm that doesn't come from thick comforters or cozy pajamas.
It takes a moment to realize where it is coming from, but then she registers the heavy arm over her waist, the leg wedged between hers, the breath brushing against the top of her head.
Shit.
They must have moved in their sleep. Not completely unexpected, but definitely awkward.
Judging by Grissom's slow and heavy breathing, he's still asleep. She starts moving back carefully, hoping to slip out of his hold without waking him, but his arm tightens around her, pulling her closer.
"Morning," he mumbles, voice gravelly with sleep, and she freezes.
"More like afternoon," she corrects when she can speak again.
"Mmm, morning when you work nights."
She tries to move away from him again, and this time he lets her, but his fingers close around the fabric of her t-shirt before she can get out of bed completely. It's not actually enough to keep her there, she could easily pull out of his grasp.
But she doesn't.
When she manages to look at him, he's already watching her, a soft expression in his eyes that makes her breath catch for a moment. He releases his grip on her t-shirt, hand sliding up along her side, her throat, and tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and she sees his eyes drop to her mouth before meeting hers again. The moment stretches between them, infinite. Then his hand slides around to the back of her neck and he moves a fraction of an inch closer, a question, an offer.
She's not sure what her face is telling him, but he closes the distance between them, claiming her lips in a soft kiss.
For a moment, she's completely frozen, unable to reciprocate or even process the situation. Then his hand spasms against her skin and she snaps out of it, pushing closer and opening for him.
He hums in the back of his throat, deepening the kiss without hesitation, and she relaxes, sliding one hand up his chest and around to hold herself closer, absentmindedly noticing that his shirt is just as soft as it looks.
For a long moment, that's all there is – their mouths moving together, his thumb rubbing against a spot behind her ear, her fingers exploring the planes of his back, closing around his t-shirt.
Then she shifts, sliding one leg over his, and he groans, nudging her back gently until he's on top of her.
He hovers over her for a second, breath labored. "OK?" he finally asks, eyes dark.
She knows she should say no. Should rein them both in, before it goes too far.
But she's wanted this for so long.
So instead, she pulls him down, and he comes willingly, resuming the kiss with a new fervor, one big, warm hand finding the hem of her shirt and sliding under it, making electricity dance across her skin.
She returns the favor, pushing his shirt up to explore the skin of his lower back with her fingers, and he breaks the kiss to pull the shirt off and toss it aside. When he leans back down, he bypasses her mouth to trail kisses down her throat, hand sliding back under her shirt, caressing her waist and higher. She lets her head fall back with a moan, pushing up against him, and he slots a knee between her legs.
It's too much and not enough all at once and when she can't stand the thought of not kissing him anymore, she tugs him up to her. He returns the kiss eagerly, sliding his hand higher still, and when his thumb brushes the underside of her breast, she whimpers against his mouth.
"Shh, I've got you."
She nods, kissing him back with a desperation she's not sure she's ever felt before.
But the need to be closer isn't sated and she lets one hand trail from his back around to his stomach, tugging lightly on the waist of his sweatpants.
He freezes above her for a moment, pulling back to scrutinize her. "Are you sure?"
She can't believe he even has to ask, but nods anyway.
"Because there's no rush," he insists. "We don't have to do anything tonight that you don't want."
"I want. I've always wanted." That's never been the problem, she almost adds, but refrains. Not the time.
He leans down to kiss her for a long moment before pulling away slightly. "Condoms?"
She nods at the bedside table and he reaches out to open the drawer. "Maybe, uh, check he dates?"
He hums, scrutinizing the small foil packet, and she takes the opportunity to pull her t-shirt up and over her head.
"No problem," he says, eyes shifting back to her, widening at her half naked in front of him.
She would feel exposed, embarrassed, if it hadn't been for the open hunger in his eyes, the way they roam over her, as if trying to memorize every little detail.
"Gorgeous," he finally mumbles, reclaiming his earlier position on top of her, mouth demanding against hers now.
She gives as good as she gets, meeting him stroke for stroke, hooking one leg over his to pull him flush against her.
Too soon, though, he breaks away to explore down her throat again, and further – her chest, ribs, stomach. He pauses when he reaches the waist of her sweatpants, two fingers sliding under the fabric, and she lifts her hips to let him tug both them and her underwear off.
She expects him to return the way he came, but instead, he moves further down and leans in to place a soft kiss on her hip bone.
"What're you…" she starts, her voice shaking slightly.
"I just want to taste you," he replies, looking up at her with beseeching eyes. "May I?"
"I should have known you'd be polite even in bed," she half grumbles, but then he leans in to kiss the inside of her thigh and, well, far be it for her to object if he insists.
He works her up quickly but then lets her linger for what feels like an eternity, teasing her with his mouth and fingers, not pushing her over the edge until she's practically begging.
While she comes back down, he must get rid of the rest of his own clothes, because when she opens her eyes again, he's once more hovering over her.
"Still sure?"
"I swear to God, if you don't…"
He chuckles and leans down for a kiss, hand sliding down her side, hooking behind her thigh and she understands what he wants without words, bending her knee. He hums in appreciation and then she feels him line himself up.
He pulls away from her again, eyes intent on hers as he slides inside her in one smooth stroke. He stills when he bottoms out, eyes unreadable, and for an absurd moment, she's sure this is when he's going to realize what's happening and panic.
Instead, he lets out a shaky breath before leaning down, nudging her chin up to get better access to her throat, and starts moving.
She lets herself get lost in the moment – the feel of him inside her, his fingers dancing over her skin, his mouth trailing fire in its wake as he explores every inch of her he can reach.
He kisses her through her second orgasm, slowing his movements to draw it out, apparently not noticing – or at least not minding – the way her nails dig into his back, probably leaving marks.
It's only fair, after all, she's sure he's left his own on her shoulders, stomach, thighs.
Soon, though, he's speeding up again, chasing his own release, and she wraps one leg around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on.
Then he stills, buries his face against her throat, and she can feel him pulsing deep inside her.
He slumps down on top of her, carefully not putting his whole weight on her, and she relishes the closeness, their bodies pressed together from head to toe. When he's caught his breath a little, she feels his arm sneak in under her, and then he's rolling onto his back, pulling her with him so she's on top.
"You OK?" he mumbles quietly into her hair and she hums, tucking her head into the crook between his shoulder and neck, lips against his skin. She feels his mouth brush lightly against the top of her head, arms wrapping tightly around her.
She's not sure how long they stay like that, but after a while, she can't help but shiver a little, the sweat starting to cool on her overheated skin.
"You should get under the covers," he says, moving to pull out of her carefully.
She moves off him, turning onto her side, and he leans over to kiss her. "Be right back."
He gets out of bed and goes into the bathroom, presumably to get rid of the condom. It's only a moment before he's back in the doorway again, and she gives him an appreciative once over, eliciting a smirk. "It's rude to stare, you know."
"Just admiring the view," she shoots back, stretching in bed, enjoying the way his eyes roam over her in turn.
He crosses the room in a few long strides and gets in next to her again, finding the comforter, which was apparently discarded at the foot of the bed at some point during their endeavors, and pulls it up over both of them.
When he's settled down against the pillows again, he reaches out and tugs her closer. She comes willingly, craving his skin against hers, and when her nose nudges his throat, he lets out a deep sigh.
"A few more hours of sleep?" he suggests. "It's only a couple of minutes to four, plenty of time before shift starts."
"Sounds good."
The second time Sara wakes up, she's alone. She reaches out for him automatically, but the sheets under her hand are cold, indicating it must have been a while since Grissom got up.
She tries to push down the lump forming in her throat, the tears rising in her eyes. She knew this might happen, knew there was a high possibility that he'd realize he'd made a terrible mistake and slip out quietly.
It shouldn't be a surprise, shouldn't hurt.
But it does.
She rolls onto her back, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment.
Was it worth it? If someone had asked her yesterday, she would have said yes in a heartbeat. She'd take one night – or day, as it were – with Grissom over nothing.
But now…
Now she knows. Every time she sees him from now on, she'll know. What it feels like to kiss him, to be held by him, skin on skin, as close as two people can get.
Maybe it would have been better to have stayed in the dark.
Glancing at the clock, she notes that it's after eight, and she really should get up if she wants to have time to eat something before shift starts. Her stomach rumbles uncomfortably at the thought. Or maybe she should just call in sick. She almost got killed less than twenty-four hours ago, after all. If that doesn't warrant a night off, she doesn't know what does.
But that doesn't mean she has to stay in bed. In fact, the sooner she gets up, the sooner she can throw the sheets in the wash and get rid of the smell of him that lingers behind.
When she sits up on the side of the bed, she frowns at the chair against the wall. The clothes she wore to bed are neatly folded on top of it – pants, t-shirt, even her underwear. Why would he take the time to find and fold her clothes before rushing out?
The frown stays on her face as she finds another pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt in the closet and pulls them on, and deepens when the sound of one of her kitchen cupboards closing drifts in through the half open bedroom door.
When she leaves the room she finds Grissom at the kitchen counter, whipping something in a plastic bowl. He turns at her sharp intake of breath and smiles.
"Hey, sleep OK?"
"Uh, yeah." She's stopped a few feet into the room and can't make herself move. What's going on here?
"I turned your alarm off, I was going to wake you up as soon as the food was ready," he continues, focusing back on whatever's in the bowl.
"You're… cooking?" she asks, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that he's in her kitchen.
"We need to eat before work, right? You didn't have a huge selection to choose from, but I found enough to make some French toast." He pauses to look up at her again. "You do eat eggs and milk, right? I assumed, since they were in the fridge, but…"
"Yeah," she cuts off his rambling. "Vegetarian, not vegan."
"Good." He cocks his head to one side, studying her for a moment. "Is everything OK?"
She has to look away from his piercing gaze. "I, uh… I thought you left."
"What? Of course not, why would I leave?"
She shrugs, focusing on a loose thread on the hem of her sweatshirt. "I just… figured you decided it was a mistake."
"No!" His exclamation makes her look up, just in time to see him round the kitchen island. He comes to a stop in front of her, one hand raised, as if he wants to reach for her but isn't sure if he's allowed to. "If I knew you'd think that, I would have stayed in bed. God knows I wanted to."
The knot in her stomach unties itself a little. "Yeah?" she asks, trying out a small smile.
His raised hand comes out to close gently around her wrist, tugging her lightly, and she comes willingly. When she's close enough, he tilts her chin up with his other hand and kisses her.
"If I could stay in bed with you all night, I would," he assures her when he pulls away a moment later. "But unfortunately, we have work in less than two hours, and I'm pretty sure you didn't eat anything this morning, so food."
"OK."
He steals one last kiss before returning to the counter and the French toast batter, and after a moment, she follows him, leaning against the kitchen island to watch him.
"I don't think there's any syrup," she notes and he shrugs.
"I figured we'd make do with butter. I also saw some strawberries and a mango, I think, if you want some fruit."
"Sure." She opens the fridge to get the berries, rinses them off in the sink and grabs a cutting board. They move around each other in comfortable silence until the fruit is cut up in a couple of bowls and the French toast is waiting on two plates.
"What do you want to drink?" Sara asks, and he frowns.
"I forgot to get coffee going."
"I'll start it now," she says, opening the cupboard where she keeps the coffee grounds. "It won't take long. There's orange juice and, obviously, milk in the fridge for now."
"What do you want?"
"OJ, please."
She preps the coffee machine and hits the button while Grissom finds two glasses and pours juice for both of them. They meet at the island, and he pulls out one of the chairs for her.
"Chivalrous," she teases, and he chuckles.
"I try."
They eat in silence for a while, but as the food slowly disappears, Sara feels herself starting to get antsy again.
She wants to think that she's reading him right, that he wants to be here, with her. But that can mean a lot of things. As much as she doesn't want to have this conversation, they need to. She needs to get her expectations straight.
"Hey," he says, one hand landing on her thigh, and she realizes she was jiggling her leg without even noticing. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"
She pushes her now empty plate away and turns to be able to face him more directly.
He's watching her intently, brows slightly furrowed.
"I just…" she starts, trying to pull her thoughts into something that will make sense. "I don't know what… all of this means to you, but I can't just go back to how things were before. Not now."
"Of course not." He sighs. "I know I probably haven't given you much reason to believe this, but I want this. I want you."
It's everything she's wanted to hear for so long. Still, she can't quite make herself believe him.
"I know that everything that happened last night might have… stirred up feelings," she says.
"Is that what you think?"
"I don't know what to think! First you flirt with me, then you blow me off and now…"
"I know I haven't always handled things right, but that's… it was never about not wanting you. Never."
She tries to find a trace of insincerity in his voice, his eyes, but there isn't any. "Then why…"
He sighs, the sound heavier than anything she's ever heard. "In one word? Fear. I was afraid. Plain and simple."
"Of what?"
"Of… you have to understand, for almost thirty years, work was my life. I didn't think I needed anything else. And then there was you." His mouth quirks up in a wistful smile. "With your questions and your sharp mind and… I couldn't let you go. When I asked you to come to Vegas, I told myself it would be enough, to work with you, to have you in my life. To be your friend. And I continued believing that lie for years. Do you remember when you told me that I might be too late?"
"Of course."
"I did hear you, you know. I just… I figured being too late meant you moving on. Finding someone who wasn't afraid to let himself love you. I told myself I could live with that, as long as you were happy. Another lie… And then, last night… I realized that being too late could mean something else entirely."
His eyes are intent on hers when he finishes speaking and she looks back, heart beating wildly in her chest.
"So what exactly does that mean?"
Grissom considers her question for a moment. "I guess what it means is that if I haven't completely messed everything up between us, if you still… want to take a chance on an old man who doesn't know what he's doing, then I'm yours."
"Just like that?"
"I mean, you know as well as I do that if things work out the way we want, there will be obstacles ahead," he shrugs one shoulder. "I assume you have the code of conduct memorized."
There's no need to tell him she's read the section about fraternization about ten times. "Obviously."
"So, yeah. When Conrad finds out, it won't be fun. Then again, most interaction with Conrad isn't much fun. But we're both too valuable to the lab, nobody's going to get fired. The worst thing they can do is make one of us move to a different shift, but I think they'll rather put Catherine in charge of your evaluations. Either way, it won't be the end of the world."
She tries not to hang on to individual words in his little speech – when, not if, can do, not could do, won't, not wouldn't. He's not talking about a hypothetical scenario, a potential future that might not happen. She knows it's still not guaranteed, nobody knows what the future will bring, after all, but he wants this. She's so certain it makes her entire body warm.
"In conclusion," he continues, oblivious to the emotions coursing through her. "Everything I used to justify maintaining status quo is still true, I just… I don't care."
"You don't… care?"
"I'm done putting the best of the lab, or my career, or propriety, or… any of the other things that have always felt important before happiness." He reaches out a little hesitantly, lets out a relieved breath when she meets him halfway and lets him intertwine their fingers. "Things could have so easily ended differently last night, and I could have lost you. And I hate that it had to get to that point before I realized what was at stake, but…"
"Better late than never," she half-jokes.
"Better late than too late," he amends. "Unless I'm…"
"No," she cuts him off, smiling at the relieved look on his face. "Just in time."
"I don't know if I would go that far," he replies with a low chuckle. "But we got there."
