TITLE: Learning to Walk
AUTHOR: coolbyrne
RATING: The very generic PG
SPOILERS: Crash and Burn, BoP, PNN, OHW
CLASSIFICATION: GSR, naturally
DISCLAIMER: Oh, if only I owned these characters in any way, shape, or form. I don't.
ARCHIVE: If you like it, by all means.
FEEDBACK: Compliments/constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated. Flames will be mocked in other forums. Send any combination of the above to: fugitive@ihateclowns.com
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wow, a sequel. I don't normally do that sort of thing, and yet, here it is. My thanks to those who keep reading, to WP and JF who peripherally inspire me, and to my beta reader, papiliondae, who does both.
SUMMARY: A sequel to "An Open Door". In order for anything to happen between them, Grissom and Sara need to learn to "walk" first.
*
Dying is easy it's living that scares me to death/
I could be so content hearing the sound of your breath/
…But the more I want you, the less I get/
Ain't that just the way things are…
-Annie Lennox, "Cold"
*
There was a moment of hesitation when she swung open the door. Without the protective barrier between them, uncertainties crowded in. There they stood, silent and awkward, unable to meet each other's eyes. Sara's gaze, a rapid blink to keep back the tears, was fixed on something up and away, while Grissom quietly bit the inside of his bottom lip and looked over her shoulder into her apartment.
He opened his mouth several times before finally managing, "You're dry.
Her brow creased, puzzled until she realized the context of his statement. Needlessly looking down at her appearance, she admitted, "Yeah, I am." With a nervous energy, she rocked back on her heels twice before finally asking, "Do you… do you want to come in?"
"I do."
"Okay," she said, and moved aside.
She waited for him to step through then pushed the door shut, deliberately taking her time with the lock, trying to gather her scattered wits. Taking a deep breath she turned around to join him in the living room and was surprised to find him right behind her, quietly watching.
Making a move to go around him, she asked, "Do you want something to drink?"
"No."
She stepped back, realizing he wasn't going to move.
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.
"No."
Her abruptness startled him and gave her the opening she needed to get past.
'Did she mean it?' he wondered in his daze. 'Does she not want to talk about it, or was that her way of telling me she really does?' He refrained from rubbing his forehead; there were too many variables at work here, no logical pattern that he could identify. So rather than make a decision one way or the other, he chose to follow her into the apartment.
She finished some unseen task in the living room and ended up meeting the lagging Grissom at the kitchen counter. Reaching into her fridge, she grabbed a bottle of water and showed it to him.
"Are you sure you don't want something to drink?"
"No, thank you," he repeated.
Seeing her lean back against the counter, he did the same. They shared a moment of silence until he tilted his head at the sound wafting from the living room.
He smiled. "Bob Marley."
She confirmed it with a nod. "He lifts me up."
"Do you need lifting up?"
When no response came from her, he asked, "Do you love him?"
Her head turned. "Who? Bob Marley?"
He smiled briefly before resuming his serious tone. "No. I mean… Hank."
She snorted and took a sip of her water. The longer it took her to answer, the more he dreaded hearing it. Finally, she let him release the breath he didn't know he was holding.
"No. I don't love him."
She leaned her head back and released a breath of her own before looking down at her feet. "But I found out how easy I could fool myself into thinking I was in love with him. And that scared me." She felt his questioning look without needing to see it. "It scared me to know how easily I could settle for second."
"You're not the type of person who should settle for second, Sara," he said quietly.
"Is anyone?"
Unsure of how to respond to that, he let silence descend upon them once more.
The sounds of a reggae beat softly drifted through the apartment, and they remained leaning against the counter, shoulder to shoulder, silent. Just as Grissom was beginning to think they'd never speak again, she asked, "Just what did Catherine tell you?"
He shrugged. "She told me about the case and the insurance agent being at the restaurant. With Hank. I put the rest of it together myself, so don't be mad at Catherine." He caught Sara's look of amazement at his admission. "What? Just because I don't interact well with people doesn't mean I don't know how they work." He allowed a bit of a smirk. "I often suspect my social disinterest is mistaken for social awkwardness, when in fact, that's the farthest from the truth. After everything I've seen over the years, I've just given up on people."
Sara's amazement grew. "Do you honestly feel that way?"
He tried to hold her gaze as long as he could, but he knew his eyes would reveal the bluster in his claim.
When his answer never came, she said, "Well, I don't feel that way. Although after today, I can certainly see why you might." She looked down at her hands. "Remember when you told me you never think you know someone? I didn't really understand what you meant at the time, but I do now."
He also glanced down at his hands before turning his head to look at her. "Sara, at risk of contradicting my own words, I know you. And I know you'll rise above this and come out of it a better and stronger person. You'll…"
Abruptly, she pushed herself away from the counter and held up her hand. "Don't. Don't give me a pep talk. Just… don't." She walked three steps away before spinning around. "You know what, Griss? Sometimes I don't think you know me at all. Because if you knew me, you'd see that I'm standing here, falling apart. And all it would take…" She pressed her lips together.
"What, Sara?" he asked. "What would it take?"
She crossed her arms in front of her body, bit her bottom lip, and plunged ahead. "It would take something definitive, beyond this…" she waved a hand in the air, "…whatever this is that we've been doing to each other for years." She saw his puzzled expression and sighed. "We go from plants and conversations about beauty to months of silence, and my heart just can't take it anymore, Grissom. I need a look or a gesture or a goddamn sign from above to let me know that all of this hasn't been in vain. That I haven't been waiting in the wings for nothing."
His expression of puzzlement became one of realization. Then shock. He had concentrated on reading her lips, because he didn't trust his ears to hear the words that were tumbling out of her mouth. Sure, he had entertained the thought of her returning his affection, but he never allowed himself to truly believe it. When he had first learned about her and Hank, it only seemed to make those thoughts even more ridiculous. And now here she was, standing before him, expecting something so small from him. And yet it meant everything.
"I… I don't know what to say, Sara."
She closed her eyes briefly before replying, "You don't have to say anything, Grissom." And with that, she began to walk past him. But before she made it very far, his hand reached out and grabbed her right arm. She turned her head at the contact.
"That's not what I meant. I meant…" he stumbled with the words and gestured to his chest with his left hand, "I meant, I have the words right here, but I… I can't get them out."
She pulled her head back apprehensively as she felt him encroaching her personal space, but when she realized he was doing it deliberately, she stood motionless. Still, he moved toward her.
Tilting his chin up slightly, he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. He held it for several long minutes, until he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. Their shaky breaths entwined as he gently nuzzled her face with his own, and the hand that had gripped her arm slid down to lace with her fingers. He brushed his mouth across her lips once, then again, before pressing against them with a firmness and decisiveness that surprised him. He wasn't asking her permission; he was simply letting her know his intent. Whether her mouth opened in surprise or acceptance, he wasn't sure, but it didn't really matter.
From tentative beginnings, the kiss quickly deepened, sweeping aside any momentary insecurity and uncertainty. He registered a sound, but couldn't tell if it was her soft moan, or the rush of his blood from this newfound sensation. Everything seemed to be reduced to this one moment, every sense focused on their physical connection. Her smell, her taste, their clasped hands trapped between their bodies, the feel of her fingers and they rubbed against his was pushing him off-balance. A simple break in their connection would have restored his equilibrium, but for the first time in his life, he realized it was the last thing he wanted. Security and stability and certainty were all good and wonderful things, but what had they gotten him? They hadn't gotten him Sara. Almost the opposite, in fact. With that thought, he replaced his right hand with his left, sliding his free hand around her waist, pulling her closer.
She was the one who finally broke the kiss. "Wow," she said.
He mirrored her smile and agreed. "Yeah."
Looking into eyes that had darkened to cobalt blue, her voice caught in her throat as she lost herself in the intensity of his gaze. Transfixed by a connection every bit as powerful as the physical, her heart rate picked up again. Drawing a shaky breath she asked, "Now what?"
He took a deep breath before admitting, "I don't know. It took me three years to do this."
As truthful as it was, she couldn't help but laugh. "Well, when I told you I didn't want the world, you told me we'd start with something smaller. This… this is good."
They remained like this for some time until his eyes prompted her to ask, "What are you thinking?"
He gave her a grin. If he couldn't put into words what her admission of her feelings meant to him earlier, how could he possibly explain to her now all the things he felt in his heart? As brief as the words were, he hoped she would understand the truth and the meaning behind them. "I'm glad you let me in."
-end.