The afterwards is almost as intimate as the act. We lie in bed, kissing and caressing each other with little touches. Eventually, Grissom shifts his weight off of me and moans appreciatively.
"Believe me, " I say. "The feeling's mutual."
"I love you so much, Sara. I wish I knew how to tell you."
"I think you just did. I love you too."
We're quiet again for a while, looking at each other, touching and thinking.
"Grissom?"
"Yes, love?"
I melt when he calls me that. "We really did it, didn't we? We actually got married?"
His mouth moves as he considers how to respond, and then he smiles that beautiful smile back at me.
"Yes, we certainly did...Mrs. Grissom."
Oh no. I swear that never even crossed my mind.
"What did you just call me?" I'm somewhere between horrified and appalled.
He grins broadly and he's got that teasing look in his eyes.
"That is your married name now, Mrs. Grissom."
I groan in disbelief.
He runs a finger over my lips and says, "I meant it, you know."
"Meant what?"
"'As long as we both shall live.' I fully intend to spend the rest of my life with you."
"I meant it too," I tell him. "But if you ever call me that name again, all bets are off. Deal?"
"Deal."
He's serious now. "What do we tell the others?"
I knew we'd have to deal with real life, I was just hoping to postpone it for as long as possible. Leave it to Grissom to quickly dissuade me of that idea.
"Hmm. Good question," I say. "Honestly, I'm not sure I'm ready to tell them anything. Getting married wasn't about them."
He considers this carefully before nodding and gazing over at me. "Have I mentioned lately that I love you?"
I laugh. "Let me think. Yes. But I never get tired of hearing it."
"Good. Because I never get tired of saying it."
**************************
We've been busy at work recently and end up staying well into the day. Back home we collapse, exhausted. I'm too tired to deal with all the questions that seem to be nagging at me suddenly. We're married, but we've never lived together. I haven't lived with a roommate since college, more than 10 years. Grissom has 15 years on me age wise, so I can't imagine that it's been any sooner for him.
These first few weeks together we've been walking on eggshells around each other. We're polite to a fault, neither one of us wanting to challenge the other, for fear of opening a can of worms we're not ready for. It's just easier to pretend these issues don't exist. Maybe all newlyweds go through this, I don't know. I do know that eventually something's got to give.
Grissom can tell something's on my mind, but he doesn't say anything about it.
It starts with the couch.
"This must be the most uncomfortable couch, ever," I say.
"I doubt that," he replies. He knows I'm not really upset about the couch, and his purposeful avoidance of the real subject makes me egg him on further.
"I don't. My couch is more comfortable anyway."
He says to me, "We can use your couch if you'd like." He's trying to be helpful. It's a shame I don't see it that way. It starts with the couch, but it doesn't end there, not by a mile.
I'm yelling at him now, which I don't think I've ever done before. "My couch won't fit. Neither will my coffee table, or my computer or anything else of mine. You hate it when I listen to my police scanner, all you ever listen to is opera and Pink Floyd, and there's god-knows-what in the refrigerator." He starts yelling back at me.
"What do you want Sara? I'm not a mind reader; I don't always know exactly what you're thinking! Would you please just tell me what it is that you want from me?"
I've never seen him angry like this before. He snapped at me when that baby was killed and I told him he was getting too close to the case, but he's never actually yelled at me. He's angry, hurt, confused and afraid. I can hear it all in his voice. He's feeling everything I've been feeling and neither one of us has been talking about. That's what happens when two slightly anti-social, overly intelligent scientists get together.
His emotion knocks some sense into me. "I'm sorry, Gris. It's not the couch. It's living somewhere new; it's living with someone new. It's everything."
He sits down next to me on the couch.
"Well, it is a pretty uncomfortable couch," he says sweetly.
"You haven't even met my parents."
"I didn't know you wanted me too," he points out.
"Lord. I didn't. I don't. I don't know. Remember how I said this was about us, and not other people?"
He nods.
"Apparently, I was wrong. I'm so confused, Grissom."
He reaches out to me, and I gratefully put my head in his lap. I can tell he doesn't know what to say. "I'm sorry," he attempts.
"Oh, don't be. It's not your fault."
Right. It's not his fault I fell in love with my boss who's fifteen years older than I am. It's not his fault that he owns and I rent, making it automatic that I would move into his place. It still feels like his place, it just has some of my stuff in it now. He'd do almost anything to make me happy, including moving. I'm just not sure that's the solution, much less the problem.
We stay like that for a while, actually talking about things that matter: my apartment, his furniture, my family, and his music. Somehow it seems like as well as we think we know each other, in some ways we really don't know each other well at all. He doesn't promise me 'happily ever after', and I don't promise him either. Instead, we promise to try and to talk and to forgive each other for picking fights or saying things we don't mean. At least it's a start.
******************
So here I am, 33 years old, about to get married again. It's my second wedding, my first marriage. We kept our word and haven't told anybody about that first ceremony, not even Catherine or Warrick, and certainly not Nick. It's just been Grissom, the tarantula, and me.
Getting married that day was probably one of the best things we've ever done; it took all the pressure off of everyone looking in on our relationship, wondering and asking questions. When people asked me when Grissom and I were going to get married, I'd tell them the truth.
"When we're ready." When we're ready to let everyone else into that part of our lives.
Grissom wanted to make sure we "did it correctly" this time. Six months later he surprised me by proposing. He bought me a big, shiny, diamond ring, and we told our friends, grinning at each other as always, that we were getting married. They never had any reason to wonder what was behind our smiles.
Today is three months after he proposed, and our second wedding day. It's just our closest friends and family here. I thought about asking Catherine to be my maid of honor, but then Grissom would have had to ask both Nicky and Warrick to be his best men, and that was just too much for us. They're all special to us, Greggo, too and we've told them as much.
I'm wearing a simple white satin gown, my hair is pulled back and I have a small bouquet of crimson roses clutched nervously in my hands. The butterflies in my stomach aren't helping, as I'm looking into the eyes of the man I'm spending the rest of my life with. The priest asks me a question; it's my turn to speak.
"I do."
FIN
"Believe me, " I say. "The feeling's mutual."
"I love you so much, Sara. I wish I knew how to tell you."
"I think you just did. I love you too."
We're quiet again for a while, looking at each other, touching and thinking.
"Grissom?"
"Yes, love?"
I melt when he calls me that. "We really did it, didn't we? We actually got married?"
His mouth moves as he considers how to respond, and then he smiles that beautiful smile back at me.
"Yes, we certainly did...Mrs. Grissom."
Oh no. I swear that never even crossed my mind.
"What did you just call me?" I'm somewhere between horrified and appalled.
He grins broadly and he's got that teasing look in his eyes.
"That is your married name now, Mrs. Grissom."
I groan in disbelief.
He runs a finger over my lips and says, "I meant it, you know."
"Meant what?"
"'As long as we both shall live.' I fully intend to spend the rest of my life with you."
"I meant it too," I tell him. "But if you ever call me that name again, all bets are off. Deal?"
"Deal."
He's serious now. "What do we tell the others?"
I knew we'd have to deal with real life, I was just hoping to postpone it for as long as possible. Leave it to Grissom to quickly dissuade me of that idea.
"Hmm. Good question," I say. "Honestly, I'm not sure I'm ready to tell them anything. Getting married wasn't about them."
He considers this carefully before nodding and gazing over at me. "Have I mentioned lately that I love you?"
I laugh. "Let me think. Yes. But I never get tired of hearing it."
"Good. Because I never get tired of saying it."
**************************
We've been busy at work recently and end up staying well into the day. Back home we collapse, exhausted. I'm too tired to deal with all the questions that seem to be nagging at me suddenly. We're married, but we've never lived together. I haven't lived with a roommate since college, more than 10 years. Grissom has 15 years on me age wise, so I can't imagine that it's been any sooner for him.
These first few weeks together we've been walking on eggshells around each other. We're polite to a fault, neither one of us wanting to challenge the other, for fear of opening a can of worms we're not ready for. It's just easier to pretend these issues don't exist. Maybe all newlyweds go through this, I don't know. I do know that eventually something's got to give.
Grissom can tell something's on my mind, but he doesn't say anything about it.
It starts with the couch.
"This must be the most uncomfortable couch, ever," I say.
"I doubt that," he replies. He knows I'm not really upset about the couch, and his purposeful avoidance of the real subject makes me egg him on further.
"I don't. My couch is more comfortable anyway."
He says to me, "We can use your couch if you'd like." He's trying to be helpful. It's a shame I don't see it that way. It starts with the couch, but it doesn't end there, not by a mile.
I'm yelling at him now, which I don't think I've ever done before. "My couch won't fit. Neither will my coffee table, or my computer or anything else of mine. You hate it when I listen to my police scanner, all you ever listen to is opera and Pink Floyd, and there's god-knows-what in the refrigerator." He starts yelling back at me.
"What do you want Sara? I'm not a mind reader; I don't always know exactly what you're thinking! Would you please just tell me what it is that you want from me?"
I've never seen him angry like this before. He snapped at me when that baby was killed and I told him he was getting too close to the case, but he's never actually yelled at me. He's angry, hurt, confused and afraid. I can hear it all in his voice. He's feeling everything I've been feeling and neither one of us has been talking about. That's what happens when two slightly anti-social, overly intelligent scientists get together.
His emotion knocks some sense into me. "I'm sorry, Gris. It's not the couch. It's living somewhere new; it's living with someone new. It's everything."
He sits down next to me on the couch.
"Well, it is a pretty uncomfortable couch," he says sweetly.
"You haven't even met my parents."
"I didn't know you wanted me too," he points out.
"Lord. I didn't. I don't. I don't know. Remember how I said this was about us, and not other people?"
He nods.
"Apparently, I was wrong. I'm so confused, Grissom."
He reaches out to me, and I gratefully put my head in his lap. I can tell he doesn't know what to say. "I'm sorry," he attempts.
"Oh, don't be. It's not your fault."
Right. It's not his fault I fell in love with my boss who's fifteen years older than I am. It's not his fault that he owns and I rent, making it automatic that I would move into his place. It still feels like his place, it just has some of my stuff in it now. He'd do almost anything to make me happy, including moving. I'm just not sure that's the solution, much less the problem.
We stay like that for a while, actually talking about things that matter: my apartment, his furniture, my family, and his music. Somehow it seems like as well as we think we know each other, in some ways we really don't know each other well at all. He doesn't promise me 'happily ever after', and I don't promise him either. Instead, we promise to try and to talk and to forgive each other for picking fights or saying things we don't mean. At least it's a start.
******************
So here I am, 33 years old, about to get married again. It's my second wedding, my first marriage. We kept our word and haven't told anybody about that first ceremony, not even Catherine or Warrick, and certainly not Nick. It's just been Grissom, the tarantula, and me.
Getting married that day was probably one of the best things we've ever done; it took all the pressure off of everyone looking in on our relationship, wondering and asking questions. When people asked me when Grissom and I were going to get married, I'd tell them the truth.
"When we're ready." When we're ready to let everyone else into that part of our lives.
Grissom wanted to make sure we "did it correctly" this time. Six months later he surprised me by proposing. He bought me a big, shiny, diamond ring, and we told our friends, grinning at each other as always, that we were getting married. They never had any reason to wonder what was behind our smiles.
Today is three months after he proposed, and our second wedding day. It's just our closest friends and family here. I thought about asking Catherine to be my maid of honor, but then Grissom would have had to ask both Nicky and Warrick to be his best men, and that was just too much for us. They're all special to us, Greggo, too and we've told them as much.
I'm wearing a simple white satin gown, my hair is pulled back and I have a small bouquet of crimson roses clutched nervously in my hands. The butterflies in my stomach aren't helping, as I'm looking into the eyes of the man I'm spending the rest of my life with. The priest asks me a question; it's my turn to speak.
"I do."
FIN