Chapter 13
Shaking out his still-floured pants, Grissom sighed. After 15 minutes in the shower, he still didn't have a plan for how to talk to Sara. He didn't know why he'd expected to have one; he'd never exactly been good at talking unless he was lecturing. Still deep in thought, he re-donned his clothes and made his way out of the bathroom.
He was surprised to see that Sara wasn't in the kitchen. She wasn't planning another pillow fight, was she? He sincerely hoped not; one a day was quite enough for him. Cautiously making his way into her living room, Grissom pulled up short at the amazing sight in front of him.
Sara lay on the couch, deeply asleep from the looks of it. "She looks so . . . so relaxed when she's asleep," he mused. Awake, Sara was always running, never willing to take time to relax, constantly adding more stress to the load on her shoulders. Asleep, her face took on a calm, peaceful look that he imagined hadn't appeared on her face while she was awake for years – probably since her childhood. Sara was just too intense to allow herself much peace.
A smile played on his lips as he watched her. After a few minutes, he realized that it shouldn't be a big surprise that she had fallen asleep; after all, neither of them had slept since they woke up in bed together yesterday. Now that he thought about it, he was rather tired also.
An idea flashed into his mind. Would she kill him if he did it? She couldn't . . . she wouldn't. He was going to do it, he really was. Taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm his suddenly-racing heart, Grissom gently slipped his arms under Sara until he could pick her up. He was thankful that one of the few facts he knew about Sara's private life was that she slept like the dead – once she managed to fall asleep at all, that was.
Carrying Sara toward her bedroom, Grissom smiled at himself. Holding her in his arms made him feel all sorts of manly and invigorated. Well, at least it would have if he hadn't been so dog-tired.
Reaching her bed, he laid her on it and sighed. It hadn't seemed like it in his head, but what he was doing was a huge step. A very non-Grissom step. But he was going to do it anyway. Another gibe of Catherine's suddenly popped into his head, something about hiding in his hermetically sealed townhouse. She had meant it literally, but as a metaphor for his mind, it was too apt for comfort. He was going to change that. He felt like he had suddenly taken a sledgehammer to the walls of that mental townhouse, and smiled.
It felt good to step outside.
Settling himself in the bed, he reached over and managed to alternately lift and push Sara until she was under the covers. He could feel her body heat, even with a foot separating them. That foot didn't have to be there, and he didn't want it to be there. "Deep breath, Gil," he thought, and curled his body protectively around hers.
She felt wonderful, but as much as he tried to stay awake to enjoy their closeness, his eyes were drooping.
