DISCLAIMER: Don't own anyone - characters are property of creators.
S E P I A
By Jane Moss
Sara could smell the aromatic scent of coffee before her. Both hands absorbed its slow heat. Closing her eyes, she inhaled its sepia scent. That was the description she thought of. There were only two old photographs in her possession, which held that delicate picturesque colour.
She knew she was taking advantage of his distraction. Her eyes would sometimes covet him for minutes with no end and only retreat sharply if he happened to glance her way. He did that less now. She couldn't say whether this simple fact disappointed or relieved her. Perhaps it was the latter. Choosing to hide the growing discomfort and specks of anger seemed the best course of action. Or perhaps, there lack of.
Yes, perhaps sepia was the best colour for him. She didn't even have a photograph of him. Her memory, though quite sufficient and more dynamic than a flat picture, wasn't always clear enough to her satisfaction.
Now he was handing Nick a case, who in turn looked slightly quizzical, while Grissom explained. She tuned in briefly enough to hear Nick say, "So there's no body?"
"It's a missing person's case, but they think that once a search of the apartment is complete." Grissom went on, but his words could only dissolve into background noise.
Sara did not need to listen further and slowly sipped her cooling coffee. It had plenty of cream, which gave it a soft textured, chocolate taste. Just the right temperature as well. She once again noted the soft greying curls in his hair, his nose, his glasses, his soft shoulders and back, and tried her best to store a sharp image in her mind. How many times has she done that before? Suddenly feeling intrusive, once her eyes reached his pants, she looked away. Sara hoped her slightly obsessive observations went unnoticed, but of course with no guarantee. That's how it worked; something was done, someone would see.
"Sara?"
"Huh?" The sound of her name was an automatic response, even if her mind was elsewhere.
"You get your own body this time"
"Lucky me," she commented with rather more disinterest than she'd intended. Momentarily, she thought he might have suspected her low mood, but just as quickly sensed his cold detachment once more. He held out the case file. Not even a chance of skin contact. Not that she lived for it, but she realised she never really touched his bare skin, except for that one rare chance where she forgot who she was and brushed her hand across his face. Right then, she thought she saw something in his eyes. She still waited for it to return. Accidental contact only happened through clothing.
She opened the file, and skipped the blocks of text. Instead her gaze fell upon his signature at the bottom and Sara noted, once again, how surprisingly fitting his handwriting was to his character. The script was indescribable. Then again she was far from a poet. Running a finger over the indentations left from the pressure of his pen, she briefly wondered if he ever composed his own poetry. What was it about? Did he ever experience true love? The kind he might have only read about in those sentimental, classic poems? His quotes gave him away. What failed true love does to a person, might in fact be a plausible explanation for Grissom, but somehow she doubted he ever truly let his feelings go. She didn't know if that was because she knew him so well or her discomfort at such a suggestion.
Now that Nick and Warrick left the break room, Sara noted only absently that Catherine stayed to talk to him. The words made no sense and she did not feel like listening. They weren't including her, in any case. That felt upsetting - that much she admitted staring deeper into the dark milky waves spiralling in her cup. She stole a look at him and couldn't help imagining how easy it would be to just walk up to him and touch him. Just touch him. On the arm, on the face. Look but don't touch, was the warning. Employer, employee. It was becoming maddening. She wondered what he would look like when the shock set in. How would he look at her if she came up and stood real close? A few brief possible responses came to mind, none of which, she admitted disappointedly, were wholly realistic. She's been living a dream.
Catherine walked out. Just do it. Who would stop you? Sara shrunk back into her shell. Yes, it was uncertainty. She sometimes imagined herself sharing her deepest secrets with this man. He would be so temptingly easy to trust. Grissom seemed so uninterested in her private life, that she could only guess of how much it would bore him. She couldn't initiate anything because for the last few months she felt nothing but his cold shoulder. Sometimes she just wanted to look into his eyes without any professional masquerade, but then he would always turn away. Why would he risk breaking the rules of conduct?
"Sara?" she heard his voice the second time that morning and looked up without reply. "Is there anything you need?" - Only something you won't give me - "Are you thinking of pursuing this case or should I assign it to Catherine instead?"
"I'm finishing my coffee," she answered back, somewhat accusingly without intention.
He looked away, evidently noting it. She waited for his shadow to leave but instead he lingered indecisively. "Sara, are you okay?" Could he sense she was upset? And everyone believed he was immune to sensitivity.
"No. YES," she corrected her subconscious answer quickly. He knew. "I'm fine" It's did nothing to convince him and he seemed caught in another interlude of contemplation. "I'll give the case to Catherine and you can stay and help me with paperwork." No, that was the last thing she needed right now - to be teased. It would only make things worse. Her confidence dissolved at the thought of diving head-first into a complex crime before sorting out her own turbulent emotions. He seemed to sense her indecision and came closer to take the case file.
"No, wait!" she protested before he could take it.
"Sara, you know I don't assign you to paperwork if I can help it. I know how tedious it seems, but that's why I need your help." He could tell she was completely unconvinced, if not annoyed at his attempt. "Look, I'm not doing this to hold you back," he paused, wondering if the next part should leave his lips, "You want to talk?" This got her attention and he knew it. After only a moment of hesitation, she handed him the file and got up to follow him. Curiously, a day at the office seemed much more promising.
* * *
More soon;) Tell me what you think of it so far! I didn't bore anyone to death, did I? Hehe! JM.
S E P I A
By Jane Moss
Sara could smell the aromatic scent of coffee before her. Both hands absorbed its slow heat. Closing her eyes, she inhaled its sepia scent. That was the description she thought of. There were only two old photographs in her possession, which held that delicate picturesque colour.
She knew she was taking advantage of his distraction. Her eyes would sometimes covet him for minutes with no end and only retreat sharply if he happened to glance her way. He did that less now. She couldn't say whether this simple fact disappointed or relieved her. Perhaps it was the latter. Choosing to hide the growing discomfort and specks of anger seemed the best course of action. Or perhaps, there lack of.
Yes, perhaps sepia was the best colour for him. She didn't even have a photograph of him. Her memory, though quite sufficient and more dynamic than a flat picture, wasn't always clear enough to her satisfaction.
Now he was handing Nick a case, who in turn looked slightly quizzical, while Grissom explained. She tuned in briefly enough to hear Nick say, "So there's no body?"
"It's a missing person's case, but they think that once a search of the apartment is complete." Grissom went on, but his words could only dissolve into background noise.
Sara did not need to listen further and slowly sipped her cooling coffee. It had plenty of cream, which gave it a soft textured, chocolate taste. Just the right temperature as well. She once again noted the soft greying curls in his hair, his nose, his glasses, his soft shoulders and back, and tried her best to store a sharp image in her mind. How many times has she done that before? Suddenly feeling intrusive, once her eyes reached his pants, she looked away. Sara hoped her slightly obsessive observations went unnoticed, but of course with no guarantee. That's how it worked; something was done, someone would see.
"Sara?"
"Huh?" The sound of her name was an automatic response, even if her mind was elsewhere.
"You get your own body this time"
"Lucky me," she commented with rather more disinterest than she'd intended. Momentarily, she thought he might have suspected her low mood, but just as quickly sensed his cold detachment once more. He held out the case file. Not even a chance of skin contact. Not that she lived for it, but she realised she never really touched his bare skin, except for that one rare chance where she forgot who she was and brushed her hand across his face. Right then, she thought she saw something in his eyes. She still waited for it to return. Accidental contact only happened through clothing.
She opened the file, and skipped the blocks of text. Instead her gaze fell upon his signature at the bottom and Sara noted, once again, how surprisingly fitting his handwriting was to his character. The script was indescribable. Then again she was far from a poet. Running a finger over the indentations left from the pressure of his pen, she briefly wondered if he ever composed his own poetry. What was it about? Did he ever experience true love? The kind he might have only read about in those sentimental, classic poems? His quotes gave him away. What failed true love does to a person, might in fact be a plausible explanation for Grissom, but somehow she doubted he ever truly let his feelings go. She didn't know if that was because she knew him so well or her discomfort at such a suggestion.
Now that Nick and Warrick left the break room, Sara noted only absently that Catherine stayed to talk to him. The words made no sense and she did not feel like listening. They weren't including her, in any case. That felt upsetting - that much she admitted staring deeper into the dark milky waves spiralling in her cup. She stole a look at him and couldn't help imagining how easy it would be to just walk up to him and touch him. Just touch him. On the arm, on the face. Look but don't touch, was the warning. Employer, employee. It was becoming maddening. She wondered what he would look like when the shock set in. How would he look at her if she came up and stood real close? A few brief possible responses came to mind, none of which, she admitted disappointedly, were wholly realistic. She's been living a dream.
Catherine walked out. Just do it. Who would stop you? Sara shrunk back into her shell. Yes, it was uncertainty. She sometimes imagined herself sharing her deepest secrets with this man. He would be so temptingly easy to trust. Grissom seemed so uninterested in her private life, that she could only guess of how much it would bore him. She couldn't initiate anything because for the last few months she felt nothing but his cold shoulder. Sometimes she just wanted to look into his eyes without any professional masquerade, but then he would always turn away. Why would he risk breaking the rules of conduct?
"Sara?" she heard his voice the second time that morning and looked up without reply. "Is there anything you need?" - Only something you won't give me - "Are you thinking of pursuing this case or should I assign it to Catherine instead?"
"I'm finishing my coffee," she answered back, somewhat accusingly without intention.
He looked away, evidently noting it. She waited for his shadow to leave but instead he lingered indecisively. "Sara, are you okay?" Could he sense she was upset? And everyone believed he was immune to sensitivity.
"No. YES," she corrected her subconscious answer quickly. He knew. "I'm fine" It's did nothing to convince him and he seemed caught in another interlude of contemplation. "I'll give the case to Catherine and you can stay and help me with paperwork." No, that was the last thing she needed right now - to be teased. It would only make things worse. Her confidence dissolved at the thought of diving head-first into a complex crime before sorting out her own turbulent emotions. He seemed to sense her indecision and came closer to take the case file.
"No, wait!" she protested before he could take it.
"Sara, you know I don't assign you to paperwork if I can help it. I know how tedious it seems, but that's why I need your help." He could tell she was completely unconvinced, if not annoyed at his attempt. "Look, I'm not doing this to hold you back," he paused, wondering if the next part should leave his lips, "You want to talk?" This got her attention and he knew it. After only a moment of hesitation, she handed him the file and got up to follow him. Curiously, a day at the office seemed much more promising.
* * *
More soon;) Tell me what you think of it so far! I didn't bore anyone to death, did I? Hehe! JM.
