A moment to Meet
Authors Notes: this is not beta'ed. The idea just popped into my head. Here
you go.
Disclaimer: not mine, although I am planning to sue for ownership.then
they'll be mine and G+S will be together.
Sara's POV-
I was running late for the lecture that day. I had decided to finish off my physics essay before coming, and as a result, I was running late. I didn't know what I was going to do after Harvard. I knew I wanted to be a Crime Scene Investigator, not to fight for justice or solve the puzzles. I don't think I ever fully understand why I had chosen that profession with no clear reason, to be honest I had no idea, until I met Gil Grissom.
I managed to catch a cab to the auditorium. The cab driver flirted incessantly on the way there. I've never been subtle, probably because it never worked. So I told him I wasn't interested in a less than polite way, and as a result found myself walking in the rain. I like the rain, when I'm on one side of a window and it's on the other, not when it's beating against my body mercilessly.
Two blocks later I was at the auditorium. I managed to get in, ignoring the strange looks. I quickly snuck into the back of the room. Most people would have sat discreetly at the back of the room. I on the other hand decided that if I had risked pneumonia to get here, I was at least going to be able to hear the man speak. Of course at the time, I had no idea how much that decision would mean to me.
I sat down and put my black tote bag on the ground. I looked up, realizing I hadn't heard anyone speak. The man wasn't here. At least I wasn't the only late one. Annoyance ran through my body. I thought to myself 'honestly, couldn't he get here on time.'
Then he entered. He was reasonably tall, masculine and strong. He also carried an aura of intelligence and perception. He was an enigma. I felt my head slip coquettishly onto one side. That was something I did when I had stopped breathing. Both events occurred simultaneously when I was around Gil Grissom. Over the years I have managed to control that habit, but occasionally, I find myself holding my breath, anticipating his next words. My head tilted to the side, looking into his eyes.
I listened to him speak, I listened harder than I had ever done before, afraid that I would miss a crucial piece of information. At the end of the lecture, I went up and introduced myself. I made sure I was at the end of the line, so that I wouldn't have people behind me complaining about my appearance or uttering incoherent phrases to try and hurry me along.
I finally reached the front of the line. Could this man, a human being live up to my image of him, and the image I had formed during one lecture. He could. He looked at my bedraggled rain soaked appearance. I knew he was assessing me, being a CSI. He didn't ask a question verbally, but I answered it. 'The cab broke down.' It wasn't quite the truth, but it would do. He looked at me again and simply stated, 'You're going to die of pneumonia.' He offered me his coat and suggested we find a place to talk. We talked for 4hrs after that lecture. I felt more at ease with him than I had with anyone else in my entire life. I later realized that was because I had spent my life building a wall, it had taken him a second to knock it down.
Then he presented me with a CSI position in California when I had finished Harvard. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. To be perfectly honest, when I had left for Boston, I had always counted on the fact that I would never return to California. But then again I had never counted on meeting Gil Grissom.
I realised later why I wanted to be a CSI. Not to fight justice or bring peace. Crime Scene Investigation was part of who I was, part of my soul. It had made itself part of the very fiber of my being, something I couldn't live without. Just like Gil Grissom.
Sara's POV-
I was running late for the lecture that day. I had decided to finish off my physics essay before coming, and as a result, I was running late. I didn't know what I was going to do after Harvard. I knew I wanted to be a Crime Scene Investigator, not to fight for justice or solve the puzzles. I don't think I ever fully understand why I had chosen that profession with no clear reason, to be honest I had no idea, until I met Gil Grissom.
I managed to catch a cab to the auditorium. The cab driver flirted incessantly on the way there. I've never been subtle, probably because it never worked. So I told him I wasn't interested in a less than polite way, and as a result found myself walking in the rain. I like the rain, when I'm on one side of a window and it's on the other, not when it's beating against my body mercilessly.
Two blocks later I was at the auditorium. I managed to get in, ignoring the strange looks. I quickly snuck into the back of the room. Most people would have sat discreetly at the back of the room. I on the other hand decided that if I had risked pneumonia to get here, I was at least going to be able to hear the man speak. Of course at the time, I had no idea how much that decision would mean to me.
I sat down and put my black tote bag on the ground. I looked up, realizing I hadn't heard anyone speak. The man wasn't here. At least I wasn't the only late one. Annoyance ran through my body. I thought to myself 'honestly, couldn't he get here on time.'
Then he entered. He was reasonably tall, masculine and strong. He also carried an aura of intelligence and perception. He was an enigma. I felt my head slip coquettishly onto one side. That was something I did when I had stopped breathing. Both events occurred simultaneously when I was around Gil Grissom. Over the years I have managed to control that habit, but occasionally, I find myself holding my breath, anticipating his next words. My head tilted to the side, looking into his eyes.
I listened to him speak, I listened harder than I had ever done before, afraid that I would miss a crucial piece of information. At the end of the lecture, I went up and introduced myself. I made sure I was at the end of the line, so that I wouldn't have people behind me complaining about my appearance or uttering incoherent phrases to try and hurry me along.
I finally reached the front of the line. Could this man, a human being live up to my image of him, and the image I had formed during one lecture. He could. He looked at my bedraggled rain soaked appearance. I knew he was assessing me, being a CSI. He didn't ask a question verbally, but I answered it. 'The cab broke down.' It wasn't quite the truth, but it would do. He looked at me again and simply stated, 'You're going to die of pneumonia.' He offered me his coat and suggested we find a place to talk. We talked for 4hrs after that lecture. I felt more at ease with him than I had with anyone else in my entire life. I later realized that was because I had spent my life building a wall, it had taken him a second to knock it down.
Then he presented me with a CSI position in California when I had finished Harvard. It was the opportunity of a lifetime. To be perfectly honest, when I had left for Boston, I had always counted on the fact that I would never return to California. But then again I had never counted on meeting Gil Grissom.
I realised later why I wanted to be a CSI. Not to fight justice or bring peace. Crime Scene Investigation was part of who I was, part of my soul. It had made itself part of the very fiber of my being, something I couldn't live without. Just like Gil Grissom.