Chapter 2 is here guys! This is my first fanfic ever so please read and
review, if it sucks say so..I want to here constructive criticism!
People I do not own the characters of CSI, they belong entirely to the nice people at CBS. I'm just playing with them! I do this neither for profit or gain of any kind financially..it's just for the craic!
Gil Grissom stood beneath the flow of water in the shower, feeling it cascade down
his body, the water as hot as he could bear it. His mind drifting from thought to
thought. His work load this week, phone calls to return, paper work to be finalised for
Jim Brass, the autopsies, the press intrusion in his latest case, the death, the disease,
the way in which human beings can be so filthy toward one another....
"Enough!" he screamed out loud. Then the tears started. In his forty-six years he knew
that he could count on one hand the number of times he had cried.
His father and mothers funerals, the day he received his PhD and neither of his
parents lived to see it, and the night he went home from work with the belief that Sara
Sidle was going to leave Las Vegas, and consequently leave him?
"This is too much for one man to take," he thought. For maybe the first time in his life
he felt truly alone.
And there it was. That feeling in the pit of his stomach that reminded him that he was
just a man. An ordinary man. He didn't love Sara, he adored her. Everything about
her. The way she could argue her way out of a bag if she wanted to. Her tenderness,
the way she could look at Grissom as though he were the only man alive, the only
thing that mattered to her. Her voice, her touch, her smell were intoxicating, he
laughed in spite of himself thinking of that Joni Mitchell song. "I could drink a case
of you, and still be on my feet, I could still be on my feet." He would gladly drink a
case of Sara. There was that ache again, the knowing full well that she could never be
his that she would never see him in the same light as he saw her.
Running soap over his chest and arms he thought of the night she stood before him
and touched his face. He wanted so badly to reach out and pull her to him. "It's just
chalk" she had said. Her touch, like liquid electric velvet caressing his cheek.
Gil felt the throb from his groin and caressed it in his hand. Thinking only of Sara, her
hair, the thought of her encircled in his arms in the darkness of his bedroom. Her
teasing at his mouth with her own, as he buried his hands in her hair. He shuddered as
the release coursed through him. It was then that the ebbs of guilt washed over him.
"You're her superior, chronologically and otherwise, and this is how you respect her
trust in you?" He cleaned himself off, shut off the water, and stepped from the shower
and towelled himself dry. It was then that he caught a glance of himself in the
bathroom mirror. "Do I really look that old at forty-six?" he said.
"When was I so busy living a life that I forgot to enjoy one?" Shaking his head he
walked to the bedroom and pulled on his favourite blue shirt, for some reason it
reminded him of Sara.
People I do not own the characters of CSI, they belong entirely to the nice people at CBS. I'm just playing with them! I do this neither for profit or gain of any kind financially..it's just for the craic!
Gil Grissom stood beneath the flow of water in the shower, feeling it cascade down
his body, the water as hot as he could bear it. His mind drifting from thought to
thought. His work load this week, phone calls to return, paper work to be finalised for
Jim Brass, the autopsies, the press intrusion in his latest case, the death, the disease,
the way in which human beings can be so filthy toward one another....
"Enough!" he screamed out loud. Then the tears started. In his forty-six years he knew
that he could count on one hand the number of times he had cried.
His father and mothers funerals, the day he received his PhD and neither of his
parents lived to see it, and the night he went home from work with the belief that Sara
Sidle was going to leave Las Vegas, and consequently leave him?
"This is too much for one man to take," he thought. For maybe the first time in his life
he felt truly alone.
And there it was. That feeling in the pit of his stomach that reminded him that he was
just a man. An ordinary man. He didn't love Sara, he adored her. Everything about
her. The way she could argue her way out of a bag if she wanted to. Her tenderness,
the way she could look at Grissom as though he were the only man alive, the only
thing that mattered to her. Her voice, her touch, her smell were intoxicating, he
laughed in spite of himself thinking of that Joni Mitchell song. "I could drink a case
of you, and still be on my feet, I could still be on my feet." He would gladly drink a
case of Sara. There was that ache again, the knowing full well that she could never be
his that she would never see him in the same light as he saw her.
Running soap over his chest and arms he thought of the night she stood before him
and touched his face. He wanted so badly to reach out and pull her to him. "It's just
chalk" she had said. Her touch, like liquid electric velvet caressing his cheek.
Gil felt the throb from his groin and caressed it in his hand. Thinking only of Sara, her
hair, the thought of her encircled in his arms in the darkness of his bedroom. Her
teasing at his mouth with her own, as he buried his hands in her hair. He shuddered as
the release coursed through him. It was then that the ebbs of guilt washed over him.
"You're her superior, chronologically and otherwise, and this is how you respect her
trust in you?" He cleaned himself off, shut off the water, and stepped from the shower
and towelled himself dry. It was then that he caught a glance of himself in the
bathroom mirror. "Do I really look that old at forty-six?" he said.
"When was I so busy living a life that I forgot to enjoy one?" Shaking his head he
walked to the bedroom and pulled on his favourite blue shirt, for some reason it
reminded him of Sara.