Chapter Six
Disclaimer, header in Chapter One
Notes: Thanks for the feedback about Ch. 5! And now…
******
Well, maybe he could just go…see if she was around. She had yet to walk by his office, but she was invariably early for shift--she was probably around somewhere. As he ran a hand over his tie to smooth it for the fourth time, Grissom sought reassurance in logic. If Catherine's little appraisal was to be taken at face value, he looked fine. But then, he reminded himself, what did he know about these things? It was hard to feel wholly enthusiastic about a suit he had purchased largely in deference to his expanded waistline, even if it met with at least one woman's approval. He hardly knew how he had picked it out, actually; the whole shopping experience had been brutal. So many styles to choose from, the smarmy attentiveness of the young, perfect-looking salesman, not to mention the cost, which was a great deal more than he had bargained for…The only consolation was that the salesman had successfully steered him to something both dark and tailored enough to slim down his…silhouette.
Despite his current preoccupation, he really was not a vain man. These sorts of unhappy thoughts only plagued him at odd intervals, usually when he found himself admiring Sara's litheness. She had a lovely, light figure, while his own was …well, a good thirty pounds heavier than it used to be. What bothered him most was his conviction that she must have noticed the change since she arrived in Vegas, especially when she compared him to the other men she knew, including…that guy. He really didn't know what his former rival looked like, but his insecurities assured him that the younger man looked better, and fitter, than him. Feeling even more at sea that he had before, Grissom looked doubtfully at his reflection in the glass of his office door and sighed. This is probably as good as it's going to get, Michelin Man, he told himself ruefully. Time to move. After one final, unnecessary adjustment to the knot in his tie, he moved into the hall to look for her.
Swearing. That must be what he was hearing. Grissom stepped just inside the door to the break room. He could only see Sara's back, but her angry mutters were unmistakable. At regular intervals between her grunts and curses, she tugged fiercely on a drawer. He recognized it as the one where they kept the plastic knives and forks, and that it appeared to be stuck. Each time Sara yanked it open, whatever what causing the obstruction made a loud smacking sound as it hit not only its own casters, but the bottom of the drawer above as well. Grissom's eyes drifted to the plastic fork that already rested on top of the bright colored can of fruit that sat on the counter to Sara's right. He stared at it for a moment. What was she so desperate to retrieve from that drawer if she already had a fork?
"Do you need some help with that?"
"Goddamnit!"
Intent on breaking through whatever was blocking her access to the drawer, she had not heard Grissom approach. When she heard his voice directly above her lowered head, she had jumped and slammed her thumb into the cabinets. She bit down hard on her lip now to distract herself from the pain, and stood up straight. Her mouth opened to growl at Grissom for sneaking up on her, but the words died on her tongue. The man was…she closed her mouth abruptly…fabulous. It was the only word that would do. As she readied her lips to register her appreciation and looked him up and down, she wrapped her uninjured hand around her thumb and squeezed it distractedly. If her nail had felt a little bit less as if it had been ripped clean off, she would barely have noticed the pain. As it was, she tried not to scream.
"Sara, are you okay? Did you hurt your hand?" The pain on her face was obvious, and he reached down to force her hands apart so that he could assess the damage.
She let him loosen her grip, and raise the hand that been hurt up to his face.
"Ah…it's nothing. I just jammed my thumb. And I guess I banged the nail pretty good." They both inspected the slim thing, which he held in both hands. The nail had not actually been torn, but there was some bleeding underneath the surface, just below the crescent of the nail bed.
"Looks painful. The nail is still intact, but I think you're going to have to cut the extra growth down just to be on the safe side, " he noted, turning her thumb gently back and forth to catch the light.
She managed a small smile. "Yeah. I usually don't let my nails get this long. Guess that's what I get for being…"
He considered her over his glasses briefly before dropping his eyes back to her hand. He hadn't noticed before, but her nails were longer. She normally kept them cut down so that there was very little free nail visible—neat, but no nonsense. Now she had some growth, maybe an eighth of an inch on each finger. And, he realized quickly, there was paint—polish, he corrected himself. It wasn't clear, but it came close--just a hint of a pale pink so sheer that he could see straight through it to her natural nails. As he moved her hand back and forth, the light danced across the curious color in tiny gleams. It made for a very pretty display.
His head dipped further downward for a better look. "What's this color called?" His voice was quiet, almost a murmur.
She stared at the top of his head. It was probably as straightforward of a question as it seemed. But although she had worn the polish in hopes he would notice, now that he had she was more than a little chagrined. He probably thought she was trying to be something she wasn't.
"Uh, not really sure…I just grabbed the palest shade I could find…it was part of a free gift set thing I got with another purchase…they insisted I take it, " she said jerkily, the words coming in fits and starts.
He settled her down with his eyes. "Nice."
She felt the warning surge of warmth, but managed to forestall the blush in time. "Thanks."
She figured he must not have heard the voices in the hallway when she did, because when she abruptly pulled her hand out of his, she could see his eyes cloud over before he looked away.
"Hey guys." Nick preceded Warrick into the room and grabbed at a chair. His eyes widened comically. "Well, well, what do we have here, boss? Going GQ on us?"
"I think it's called the Grissom look, Nick."
Warrick's smile was sly. He tried to catch Sara's eye; she busied herself in the examination of a spot on the floor as if it contained the secrets of the universe.
Grissom looked from one to the other, frowning. "What was that?"
"Nothing, man, nothing. Inside joke," Warrick replied, with a careless wave of his hand. He walked to the table and sat on its edge. "So, why the Hugo Boss, boss?"
Grissom sighed. "The Rittle funeral was this afternoon."
"Oh yeah, I forgot. Two o'clock, right?"
"Yeah."
"I'd guess it was probably over by…what, 3:30?" He took in the suit again. "Didn't have time to go home and change, huh?"
"Well, I…I had to come in and do some paperwork, and I was sure I had a change of clothes here in my locker." Grissom shifted his weight from one foot to the other uneasily. "But then…I realized that I took those clothes to be cleaned the other day. After I was already here." He shrugged and hid his hands in his pockets.
Warrick took in this little performance with amused eyes. "Oh, right, right." He looked over at Sara again, who was still determined not to make eye contact. She could tell what Warrick was getting at, but she didn't think Grissom would appreciate her joining in her colleague's little joke. Besides, as she confirmed by checking him out from the corner of her eye, the man looked too damn good to let him walk away feeling anything less than appreciated. Caught up her surreptitious ogling, she made the mistake of squeezing her thumb again and was forced to suppress a yelp of pain.
"What kind of noise was that, Sara?" Nick laughed.
She gave him a look. "A whimper. I hurt my thumb, OK?"
Grissom broke off his attempt to stare Warrick down, and turned back to Sara. "Speaking of which, what were you looking for anyway? You already have a fork."
"Can opener," she mumbled.
He reached into the small dish rack on the counter. "Here you go," he noted calmly.
"And since you've hurt yourself inflicting property damage on my lab, why don't I just do this for you?" With a few coordinated flicks of his wrist, he worked his way around the can, carefully pried off the lid, and placed it in the sink.
"There." When he looked up, her dark eyes were focused on his.
"Can I have some?" Warrick's sinewy arm snaked between them and grabbed the can. Grissom eyed him sharply.
"Sara lets me have the pears," the younger man explained, straight-faced. Sara started to laugh, but the stare that Grissom sent her way quickly forced her to transform it into a cough.
"Pretty shade. 'Secret Garden,' right?" Pointing to her hands, Warrick raised an eyebrow. He had meant to tweak her about this girly upgrade days ago, but now he was glad he had waited; any opportunity to yank Sara's chain in front of Grissom was a serious bonus.
Sara's jaw went slack. "How did you know that?"
"Don't ask, don't tell, Sparky."
Grissom squinted at Warrick. Sparky? His head swiveled back to Sara. And why did she pretend she didn't know the name?
Sara read the question in his eyes, and floundered her way to a reply. "Cosmetics companies…stupid names…lame marketing ploys... "
With an innocent grin, Warrick neatly sidestepped their boss's other unspoken question. "I used to date a manicurist. She always brought her colors home." He cocked his head thoughtfully. "That's an Essie 'Special Series' color, too. Can't get it unless you buy it from a salon. They don't do department store giveaways or stuff like that."
Sara's face went completely red.
"Anyway, don't forget to leave me the pears when you're done. I'll pick up the can from the fridge later." Satisfied with this mischief, he returned the can to the countertop. He looked first at Sara, then at Grissom, offering them both a mysterious evaluation. Then he turned and strode out. Nick, duly impressed, flashed an admiring grin at his friend's back before heading out behind him.
Outside in the hallway, Warrick gave a single shake of his head. Geeks, gussied up. Heaven help us.
*****
"I woke you."
"Mmm…no, no, I was just…" Her brain was befogged. "I was…just listening to some music, and I guess I needed to rest my eyes for a minute," she finally mumbled.
"Sure you were. With your face pressed into the pillow so hard that I can barely hear you," he teased her, amused. "It's okay, I'll just talk to you later."
"No, no, I'm fine. Talk to me." Her eyes closed again.
He hesitated. God knew she needed her rest, especially on her day off, but if more than a day or so went by now without their speaking…well, it didn't do wonders for his peace of mind. He wished he had thought of some reason or purpose to his call before he picked up the phone. It would have made it easier to justify disturbing her.
When Grissom remained silent, Sara sighed. "This is one of my favorite songs. Can you hear it?" As often happened, she had fallen asleep to music. She fumbled for the CD remote and clicked up the volume.
He grimaced. It was just his luck that she would ask. His hearing was so often muted these days, it was a wonder he was able to hear her as clearly as he did. It was one of the only things he regretted about interacting with her like this—the risk. Nothing but random chance dictated whether her voice would fade out to a level so low that he would be forced to ask her to repeat herself again and again. The first few times it had happened, as he listened to music in his car, as he spoke to a clerk in a store, and even, once or twice while he was alone in his office, he thought he was going crazy. He could handle the quiet roaring or high-pitched tones that only he could hear, but the dampening of sound, the brutal suddenness of it, was a different matter.
"Kind of," he replied, vaguely. "You know what cordless phones are like."
"Oh, let me turn it up some more," she said sleepily, missing the slight undercurrent in his voice. She pressed the remote again and burrowed more deeply under her covers. "Isn't it beautiful?"
"Yeah." Better to let her get caught up in describing it to him, and simply agree when he could. "So who are we listening to? Starsinger?"
"Cocteau Twins." She laughed gently. "And it was Starsailor, Grissom, not Starsinger…Man."
He frowned. "Whatever. Starsailor, Cocteau Twins…what kinds of names are those?"
"What kind of name is Pink Floyd?" she countered.
"An excellent one."
"Uh-huh." She smiled at this illogic. "Anyway, this is a great album." She paused to listen. "Especially this song, too…"
"Sorry, I can't make out the words."
"Oh, me either," she chuckled. "That's one of the funny things about these guys. I swear, no one can understand what the hell the lead singer is saying." She rubbed her eyes. "They rarely print the lyrics in the liner notes, and so everyone scrambles to decipher them. I went online looking for them, and it's like a cottage industry…people who do 'lyrics interpretations' of the Cocteau Twins. Personally, I'd rather not pin them down like that…Some things are better left to the imagination, you know?"
She yawned lightly, hoping she didn't sound as incoherent as she felt. "Plus, that way you focus on only the most poetic lines, which are always the ones that matter most and magically, the only ones you can make out. After that, though, you let the music itself do the rest."
"How so?" He asked, curious.
"Well, you can hear the amazing beat of the song that's playing right now, right? It's…hypnotic, isn't it? You can sort of fall into the sound itself, on its own. And you you, but then you hear the one line.." She paused, waiting for the chorus. " 'I only want to love you…Just that one line. But then, what else do you need?"
"I can't imagine."
"Yeah, I know." Suddenly she laughed.
"What?"
"One of my college roommates had a name for songs like these."
He started to smile. "Well?"
"Oh, come on, you can hear it as well as I do. Just listen…" she hedged.
"I hear something, but I still don't know what you mean."
She rubbed her face in exasperation. "Never mind. I don't know why I even mentioned it."
"But apparently, you do."
And so do you, you little…she shook her head. "What is this, phone sex? Just…never mind."
His eyes took on a devilish glint. "What exactly is 'phone sex,' anyway?"
"If you think I'm going to say 'beauty' again, forget it," she warned tartly.
"Too bad," he shrugged, trying not to laugh. "Well, I suspect that beauty doesn't really come into it, anyway." His tone turned thoughtful. "Did you know that phone sex businesses have some of the highest profit margins in any industry? Ironic, given that they're organized along a traditional assembly line production model adapted for use in catalog companies that use call centers to service their customers." He made an approving noise. "Whether you're selling sweaters or sex, all it takes is renting a space and lining up operators to answer the phones."
"Cite your source." She grinned as she shifted her head on the pillow. "I knew that roller coaster thing was a sham. Diversions…right."
He sighed. "Don't be ridic--."
"You might as well admit it. I can always hack into your credit cards records, anyway."
"Sara. I do not do phone sex."
"You mean because you have it done to you?"
"Shut up." The sternness was undermined by the hint of laughter.
"Well, that would kind of defeat the purpose, don't you think?"
Now he really was laughing. "I'm hanging up on you in exactly two seconds."
"Okay, okay," she relented, sounding pleased. "Don't want to turn into 'Alone By the Telephone' just yet."
"Good," he said dryly. "So what else can you make out on this CD?"
"Practically nothing. It's mostly phrases…"
"What's your favorite, then?"
"Oh that's easy," she smiled. "Heaven or Las Vegas…" She considered for a moment. "You know, I first bought this album way back in college when a friend turned me onto it. I must have listened to it a hundred times over the years."
"And here you are."
"And here I am."
They were both quiet. "So which is it?" he asked.
"Well, like I said, who knows what Liz Frasier is saying, but from what I can make out, it sounds like she's tilting toward Vegas."
The singer's opinion was not the one he was seeking, but he did not correct her.
"She says something like, 'Must be why I'm thinking of Las Vegas, Heaven or Las Vegas, Why it's so much brighter than the sun is to me.'" The words ran through her mind, tumbling over each other. "And then later, " 'He's so scared to roll and then bet, too, I'm watching this…the last fanfare.' I know that the lines from the chorus are right, but I'm not sure if I'm hearing the other phrases correctly." She shrugged, her shoulder stretching against the ribbed cotton of the undershirt she was wearing. "Maybe I just made that last part up."
"You have a good ear," he said, staring at his hands. "It's probably pretty close."
She fought back another yawn. "Neat, anyway…Vegas over heaven…or maybe making Vegas into her heaven." Her opened her eyes wide to try to will herself awake. "I didn't know this until recently, but they performed that song here once…a long time ago. Funny, huh?"
"Yeah."
"And the rhythm is just perfect for this place, too. All these slow, rolling guitars and electronic echoes…The first time I heard it, I'd never been here, or even thought about visiting. But still, all I could think about was that if I ever did come here, I'd have to drive out of Vegas, and off towards the desert and the mountains with that song playing as loud as I could stand." She sighed. "When I leave, that's what I'll listen to. "
He felt a sharp pinch. "When you…leave?"
She tried to deflect another yawn, and failed. God, I'm tired, she thought. But she hardly wanted to say good night, either.
"Yeah…you know…it's always seemed like a farewell song to me. Just seems like the best way to hear it is while facing the mountains and the desert…moving towards the open…" She ran her tongue over lower lip, losing the battle against her urge to sleep. "I don't know, maybe if I had the chance to listen to it on the way in…when I first came here, it would be different. But you said to hurry, so I flew, instead of coming by car. You should always see Vegas first on the road, you know? See the city's edge from the road, and then go straight in…then straight out…"
Her voice trailed off. The next time her eyes opened, she sighed again, this time apologetically. "I'm sorry, Grissom, I can barely think right now. I must be babbling…Guess I'm more tired than I thought."
She wasn't sure if she then drifted off for another minute or two, or if he had actually been silent for that long. "Gris? Are you still there?"
"Yes, I'm here." Even the words felt heavy.
"I probably won't even remember what I said tomorrow," she murmured. "Will you remind me?"
He looked at his reflection in the perfectly square window where he liked to take in the view. A ghost. "Sure."
The sound of her sleepy smile was still some comfort.
"Okay then. See you tomorrow?"
"Of course…Now go back to sleep."
He could just hear the soft rushes of her breath.
"Night."
********
tbc…