"I just want you to know I'm still mad at you," Sara said as they flew to
Colorado, the first stop on their tour.
"That's fair," he replied absently.
Sara flashed a grin at him, eyes shining. "You're so rational," she teased.
"Being rational makes me a good scientist." He'd completely missed the tone of her voice, as he was absorbed in the information he was going to present.
She laughed, and grabbed for the papers. Grissom glared at her as she snatched them away from under his nose. Sara looked him in the eye, and advised, "Don't prepare so much."
"I'm just supposed to get up there and lecture?"
"You know the seminar where we met?" At his nod, she continued, "What impressed me the most about you, and I'm saying this completely honestly, is that you didn't act like you'd prepared much of anything. You got up there and didn't read off of a script, you didn't have notes, you had no paper. You taught that group like you teach Warrick, Nicky, and me. And I really liked it."
"Honest?"
"Yes."
"You want to know the truth?" Grissom motioned for her to lean forward, she did so eagerly. "I'd prepared especially hard for you Harvard kids." And with that, he grabbed the papers back, and returned to studying them.
She sat back hard in her seat, staring up at the ceiling, laughing. "God, I love you."
He froze, snapped his head up to look at her, bewilderment written all over his features. "What did you say?" he asked guardedly.
Sara's eyes were closed, a smile playing on her lips. "I said I love you." She left it at that, the way he'd left a beauty comment floating on the frozen air of a hockey rink.
Grissom stared at her, mouth gaping. He didn't move until a flight attendant asked, "Warm pretzel, sir?"
-----------
At the hotel later that day, he held on to the key cards until they were in front of a standard hotel door. "Here," Grissom said, handing her a card, using his to enter the room. She glanced at it, then back at the door he'd just gone through, noting the numbers were the same, then followed him inside.
"Grissom!"
"What?" he said, putting his suitcase down.
"We're sharing a room?" Sara dropped her bags next to one of the two beds in the room. He sighed. "I knew you were going to complain."
"I. . .I'm not complaining, I'm just curious."
"Yes, we are sharing a room. Until this is over."
"Why?" she asked petulantly, sitting down heavily on the bed.
Grissom sighed again. She was not going to like this one bit. "It's safer if I know where you are all the time."
Sara rolled her eyes. "You're not going to follow me everywhere, are you?"
He nodded. "Everywhere."
"You are not coming in the bathroom with me, you understand?" He grinned, knowing she didn't like it, but she'd accepted it.
"Dinner?" Grissom asked. "I'm sure you're hungry."
"Yeah," she said grudgingly.
-----------
He took her to an out-of-the-way, small Italian restaurant that had the best pasta in the country, a place he always went to when he was in Boulder. It was mostly unknown, and was not crowded. A candle was lit at every table, occupied or not, which lent flickering light to the dark main room. "It's not dark so you can't see the food, it's dark so you can concentrate on the food," he explained to her. And who you're with, he added silently.
Grissom realized, as she was chowing down on garlic bread and making snide comments about how many mints she was going to need, just how beautiful she was. Of course he'd noticed before, but she was truly radiant in this light. It didn't matter that she was talking with her mouth full, she could pull off anything and still be beautiful. He had known many very attractive women in his life, Catherine included, but none who had ever caught him like Sara did. Her statement on the plane had startled him, it seemed like it had come out of nowhere, but now that he thought about it, she'd made it pretty clear. Question now: was he in love with her? Grissom realized that he had never thought about loving Sara, but he'd never thought about not loving her. If it wasn't love he felt for Sara, than what was it? He went through the few appropriate questions that applied to being in love. Was he always wanting to work with her? Yes. Did he want to be close to her? Yes. Did he get upset at the idea of Sara and another man? Last time Sara was with another guy, it was that EMT wuss Hank, and Grissom could hardly look at her when she came back from her date with the guy. All he could think about was she'd dressed up for Hank, Hank, who had probably kissed her. . . Grissom felt himself getting angry all over again, so. . . Yes, a thousand times, yes.
He contemplated this for a few moments, watching her.
"Grissom? Hello?" Sara waved her hand in front of his face. He snapped to attention, meeting her eyes, with a "Sorry."
"What's going on?" she asked. "You've been staring at me for, like, five minutes."
"I. . ." He could not get the words out, and it didn't really matter, because as she was staring at him quizzically, the food arrived, large quantities of steaming pasta placed before them.
"Oh, my God," Sara moaned after the first bite. "This. . . this is incredible, Grissom! Thank you for taking me here."
He grinned at her as she wolfed down the pasta, twisting spaghetti around his own fork and placing in his mouth. It truly was the best Italian he'd ever had, and it was the first time he'd shared it with anyone.
Twenty minutes later, she shoved the bowl away, leaning back in her chair and sighing contentedly. "Yummy," she stated uncharacteristically.
"Glad you liked it," Grissom replied. "Dessert?"
She nodded enthusiastically. "If it's anywhere near as good.You may have to drag me back to the hotel."
Grissom motioned for the waiter, a young tan college man, who, at their request, recited the dessert menu. "Chocolate cake with your choice of peanut butter or vanilla ice cream; a very delicious Mud pie; strawberry cheesecake. . ."
"No strawberries," Sara whispered to Grissom.
"Too much like brain matter," he agreed.
". . . And finally, we have wonderful, wonderful profiteroles with vanilla ice cream, drizzled in chocolate."
"I'm all for the profiteroles," Sara said. "Want to share?"
"We'll share the profiteroles," he told the waiter.
"I love these," she told him as the waiter walked away. "My favorite dessert, hands down. My mom used to make them for my birthday."
"They're perfect for sharing, if you're sharing with someone you love." They locked eyes, both half-smiling at his revelation. "I do love you, Sara. I may not always act like it, but I do."
-----------
"Hold still," she said, stopping him in the entryway of the hotel room. "You've got chocolate on your face."
Grissom glanced down at her, she reached up and wiped it from his lower lip, then put her finger in her mouth and got rid of the offending chocolate. Sara winked at him. "All better."
He could think of nothing to do but kiss her, so he did, a short and sweet blurring of the boundaries. She grinned at him as they separated. "Thanks," he said simply.
"I didn't want you walking around looking like an idiot," she said, not mentioning she had let him get all the way from the restaurant to the hotel without saying anything.
"Not just for that. For coming along, for letting me be the protective.man stereotype. For everything."
Sara kissed him this time.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------- A/N: I forgot to put this in the headers, so here goes: Any medical and scientific inaccuracies are all mine. I'm not a doctor or a scientist.
"That's fair," he replied absently.
Sara flashed a grin at him, eyes shining. "You're so rational," she teased.
"Being rational makes me a good scientist." He'd completely missed the tone of her voice, as he was absorbed in the information he was going to present.
She laughed, and grabbed for the papers. Grissom glared at her as she snatched them away from under his nose. Sara looked him in the eye, and advised, "Don't prepare so much."
"I'm just supposed to get up there and lecture?"
"You know the seminar where we met?" At his nod, she continued, "What impressed me the most about you, and I'm saying this completely honestly, is that you didn't act like you'd prepared much of anything. You got up there and didn't read off of a script, you didn't have notes, you had no paper. You taught that group like you teach Warrick, Nicky, and me. And I really liked it."
"Honest?"
"Yes."
"You want to know the truth?" Grissom motioned for her to lean forward, she did so eagerly. "I'd prepared especially hard for you Harvard kids." And with that, he grabbed the papers back, and returned to studying them.
She sat back hard in her seat, staring up at the ceiling, laughing. "God, I love you."
He froze, snapped his head up to look at her, bewilderment written all over his features. "What did you say?" he asked guardedly.
Sara's eyes were closed, a smile playing on her lips. "I said I love you." She left it at that, the way he'd left a beauty comment floating on the frozen air of a hockey rink.
Grissom stared at her, mouth gaping. He didn't move until a flight attendant asked, "Warm pretzel, sir?"
-----------
At the hotel later that day, he held on to the key cards until they were in front of a standard hotel door. "Here," Grissom said, handing her a card, using his to enter the room. She glanced at it, then back at the door he'd just gone through, noting the numbers were the same, then followed him inside.
"Grissom!"
"What?" he said, putting his suitcase down.
"We're sharing a room?" Sara dropped her bags next to one of the two beds in the room. He sighed. "I knew you were going to complain."
"I. . .I'm not complaining, I'm just curious."
"Yes, we are sharing a room. Until this is over."
"Why?" she asked petulantly, sitting down heavily on the bed.
Grissom sighed again. She was not going to like this one bit. "It's safer if I know where you are all the time."
Sara rolled her eyes. "You're not going to follow me everywhere, are you?"
He nodded. "Everywhere."
"You are not coming in the bathroom with me, you understand?" He grinned, knowing she didn't like it, but she'd accepted it.
"Dinner?" Grissom asked. "I'm sure you're hungry."
"Yeah," she said grudgingly.
-----------
He took her to an out-of-the-way, small Italian restaurant that had the best pasta in the country, a place he always went to when he was in Boulder. It was mostly unknown, and was not crowded. A candle was lit at every table, occupied or not, which lent flickering light to the dark main room. "It's not dark so you can't see the food, it's dark so you can concentrate on the food," he explained to her. And who you're with, he added silently.
Grissom realized, as she was chowing down on garlic bread and making snide comments about how many mints she was going to need, just how beautiful she was. Of course he'd noticed before, but she was truly radiant in this light. It didn't matter that she was talking with her mouth full, she could pull off anything and still be beautiful. He had known many very attractive women in his life, Catherine included, but none who had ever caught him like Sara did. Her statement on the plane had startled him, it seemed like it had come out of nowhere, but now that he thought about it, she'd made it pretty clear. Question now: was he in love with her? Grissom realized that he had never thought about loving Sara, but he'd never thought about not loving her. If it wasn't love he felt for Sara, than what was it? He went through the few appropriate questions that applied to being in love. Was he always wanting to work with her? Yes. Did he want to be close to her? Yes. Did he get upset at the idea of Sara and another man? Last time Sara was with another guy, it was that EMT wuss Hank, and Grissom could hardly look at her when she came back from her date with the guy. All he could think about was she'd dressed up for Hank, Hank, who had probably kissed her. . . Grissom felt himself getting angry all over again, so. . . Yes, a thousand times, yes.
He contemplated this for a few moments, watching her.
"Grissom? Hello?" Sara waved her hand in front of his face. He snapped to attention, meeting her eyes, with a "Sorry."
"What's going on?" she asked. "You've been staring at me for, like, five minutes."
"I. . ." He could not get the words out, and it didn't really matter, because as she was staring at him quizzically, the food arrived, large quantities of steaming pasta placed before them.
"Oh, my God," Sara moaned after the first bite. "This. . . this is incredible, Grissom! Thank you for taking me here."
He grinned at her as she wolfed down the pasta, twisting spaghetti around his own fork and placing in his mouth. It truly was the best Italian he'd ever had, and it was the first time he'd shared it with anyone.
Twenty minutes later, she shoved the bowl away, leaning back in her chair and sighing contentedly. "Yummy," she stated uncharacteristically.
"Glad you liked it," Grissom replied. "Dessert?"
She nodded enthusiastically. "If it's anywhere near as good.You may have to drag me back to the hotel."
Grissom motioned for the waiter, a young tan college man, who, at their request, recited the dessert menu. "Chocolate cake with your choice of peanut butter or vanilla ice cream; a very delicious Mud pie; strawberry cheesecake. . ."
"No strawberries," Sara whispered to Grissom.
"Too much like brain matter," he agreed.
". . . And finally, we have wonderful, wonderful profiteroles with vanilla ice cream, drizzled in chocolate."
"I'm all for the profiteroles," Sara said. "Want to share?"
"We'll share the profiteroles," he told the waiter.
"I love these," she told him as the waiter walked away. "My favorite dessert, hands down. My mom used to make them for my birthday."
"They're perfect for sharing, if you're sharing with someone you love." They locked eyes, both half-smiling at his revelation. "I do love you, Sara. I may not always act like it, but I do."
-----------
"Hold still," she said, stopping him in the entryway of the hotel room. "You've got chocolate on your face."
Grissom glanced down at her, she reached up and wiped it from his lower lip, then put her finger in her mouth and got rid of the offending chocolate. Sara winked at him. "All better."
He could think of nothing to do but kiss her, so he did, a short and sweet blurring of the boundaries. She grinned at him as they separated. "Thanks," he said simply.
"I didn't want you walking around looking like an idiot," she said, not mentioning she had let him get all the way from the restaurant to the hotel without saying anything.
"Not just for that. For coming along, for letting me be the protective.man stereotype. For everything."
Sara kissed him this time.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ------------------- A/N: I forgot to put this in the headers, so here goes: Any medical and scientific inaccuracies are all mine. I'm not a doctor or a scientist.
