There was a sense of urgency, voices propelling him forward. He lurched and stumbled and almost lost his balance. The voices were still there, Go Grissom... run... as fast as you can... you need to go... now... There was no denying them, theirs was a power beyond his ken. Obeying was his only option. So he ran, but he ran blindly, arms flailing, feet stumbling. He couldn't see where he was going; he'd never been here before. He was a blind man running somewhere he'd never been before. This was insane! Something scratched at his legs, tearing his clothes. His hands bled from striking unseen hooks and brambles. But the voices wouldn't let him stop. They only got louder and more insistent if he dared slow down. His chest was heaving and his heart was pounding and saliva was flying from his mouth. His legs screamed their bloodless agony but he went on... and on... and on...
He sat bolt upright in bed, gasping. The
sheets were pooled around his legs and his skin was clammy with drying sweat. Light
was dimming in his room and he could just make out the forms of his furniture. His
breathing returning to normal, he glanced at the clock: two hours before shift started.
Two hours to see Sara. Two hours and Greg was still in the hospital.
And he only barely spoken with him yesterday. He shut his eyes against the knowledge
that someone was going to have words with him when he got
to work. At least she'd gone to talk to him
herself, not hiding behind a report that Greg would eventually hear about.
He sighed and swung his legs to the side of the bed and got up. A
quick shower and a change of clothes and he was done. So easy when you're man,
he thought with a smug grin. A cup of coffee to wake up the mental synapses and he
was out the door. It may be one and a half hours before shift started in actuality,
but for Grissom, shift never really ended. He just went home to catch a few private
winks before returning to work. Like another particular workaholic that he knew
would be listening in on her radio, a forensic journal in one hand, and a notebook in
another. The perpetual criminologist. He smiled, and a warm memory permeated
his mind at finding her asleep in the breakroom, the sun's early morning rays making a
golden halo in her hair and lending a surreal aura to her resting body...
They'd been fine then, no real tension. They could work together
and be fine, putting their personal feelings aside for the sake of the case. They
were good at that, both of them. But now... it was different. He'd pushed her
away, but she'd come back and now it was out in the open. This. It was there, always had been and probably always would be if it could survive
three years of stagnation. To acknowledge it and go from there or let it die a
mournful death and possibly die with it. No, his mind had been made up. He
would talk with her. If only she'd listen...
~*~
Of course, as predicted, twenty minutes before shift was due to
start , a head appeared around the corner of his door. He looked up to see
Catherine staring at him as she leaned against the door frame, smiling.
"Catherine. Is there something I can do for you?
Seeing this as a welcome, she walked in, took a seat and got to the
point. "Have you been in to see Greg yet?"
"Yes, I have."
"Good." She sat back in her chair, not taking her eyes
of him.
He returned her stare. "Was there anything
else?" His curt manner had always allowed him to get the time he wanted to
himself. But this woman hadn't ever taken well to the tactic. And, of course,
she certainly wasn't going to start today.
She sat and stared at him, her shiny blue eyes twinkling in the subdued
lighting of his office and her lips just itching to smile, or so it seemed.
"Catherine? Was there anything else?"
And then she smiled, a curiously broad smile that made her look
slightly fiendish if he hadn't know her all these years. He felt his eyes twitch as
fought the urge to look away, and met her grin with a serious face of his own, an eyebrow
raised in silent question. "Well, if that's all, I have a little bit more to do
before I join you in the breakroom." And with that he dismissed her with head bowed
toward the papers on his desk. From this position, he heard her get up and leave
and when he was sure she was really gone, he raised his head and stared at the doorway, as
though it held the answer to her curious actions.
In the breakroom, he found his team. His team. It
had always had a peculiar feeling to it. And even though he didn't really feel as
though he were their leader, he tried to take his newfound status seriously and at least
attempted to run a tight ship, even though he knew his leadership skills were questioned
as he tended to loose himself in the work more than leading the team.
Catherine was tossing a ball in the air and catching it
absentmindedly. Nick and Warrick were huddled in the corner, no doubt discussing
their latest bet on whatever minor case was open at the moment. Sara sat quietly in
the chair in the corner, staring off into space, her mind undoubtedly on whatever case was
still open for her.
It never ceased to amaze him how her mind was a constant flurry of
activity, day and night. Her eyes constantly searching her surroundings for evidence
of... what exactly? He loved how her body was ever present for action, ready to go
at a moment's notice. It has always been his favourite part of her being, her never
ending quest for the truth in life, and her choice in forensics had pleased him greatly,
not only because he could train her up to be the best in the field, but another part of
his mind quietly reminded him on various occasions, it also allowed him to be with her
much more than he'd dared hope. Her inquisitive mind and her probing questions,
going deeper and deeper than most people were willing to go, were a refreshing change from
the staid and safe questions usually posed by students and laymen alike.
But now she sat in a corner, quietly observant, avoiding eye contact
with those around her. Catherine was still tossing that ball. Where did
that ball come from? For a moment, just a moment, he almost felt as
though he'd stepped into a Rod Sterling universe where tossing balls in the air was a form
of hypnotism as Catherine seemed not to want to stop anytime soon, and Nick and Warrick
seemed not to notice him, and Sara was the resident zombie, staring aimlessly ahead.
He blinked and shook himself and Catherine caught the ball and turned
to her boss - with a smile. Nick and Warrick both turned around, "Hey
Grissom!" they said in unison. Sara glanced at him once and then turned away
again. No one noticed. No one except Grissom, it seemed. He shrugged and
began handing out assignment sheets. In short, everyone had to work on their cases
already open as the crooks of Las Vegas decided to let them catch up before new ones were
thrown their way. How nice.
~*~
Grissom caught Sara in the lab peering over evidence laid out on the
illuminated table. Her hair hung past her face obscuring his sight of her.
Body bent over, gloved fingers holding a piece to her face on the other side of a
magnifying glass, she appeared for all intents and purposes like the studious scientist in
those comics. The piece was gently laid back down and another picked up. Her
attention being totally absorbed in retaining all the tiny minute details of each piece
for later retrieval.
He couldn't move, his feet wouldn't obey. He knew he should move
forward, go to her, check up on her progress, but he was totally absorbed in his
observation of her. Nothing existed for him but the sight of Sara working, engrossed
in her flights of fancy as she created a mental picture of what each piece could mean to
the case. Like a puzzle, deciphering each piece's meaning and where it might fit in
it.
She moved. She stood up and turned to him, her brown eyes
distorted behind the plastic safety glasses. She stared at him a moment before
removing them and showing him her true self. He caught himself and came forward, his
eyes going to the evidence on the table. Staring at her like that would definitely
get him into trouble in this place. He stood beside her and stared at the evidence,
keeping his eyes away from hers. He looked but he didn't see, the pieces were a
jumble of shapes and colours and their significance eluded him.
The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle and he could
feel her eyes on him, boring into him. He knew she was looking at him, waiting for
something a bit more significant than a glance at her evidence. There were words in
his throat that wanted to come out, but they were stuck. Stuck behind his
anxiety.
"Well?" she said.
He tensed, and stood up, not looking at her. "Well... it
looks good." His voice came out low and rough and he swallowed.
He saw her body turn toward him, and knew her eyes were staring right at him,
challenging him to do something. He looked at her from the corner of his eyes before
turning his body to match hers. She continued staring at him, her lips pursed
tightly, a hand on her hip, leaning on the other one that rested on the table, chin
slightly raised. A challenge.
He saw the fire in her soul, the fire that would never allow itself to
be tempered, never allow itself to be tamed, never allow itself to be dulled to
embers. Her chin jutted out, tilting her head upward slightly. She would not
back down. He had come into her space and now she trapped him there with her fierce
determination. He felt himself caught in her flame, a willing observer and captive
of her impetuous zeal. And he forgot to breathe.
"So?"
The words tumbled among each other, but stayed put.
"Uh..."
And then she smiled and he was taken aback by it. Not because of
its beauty, but because of something else. Catherine had smiled like that.
Did all the women have these special grins they brought out to show the men they knew more
than they were putting on? He blinked and her smile changed. It had relaxed
into a more genuine smile. And he remembered why she'd been on his mind lately. Dinner.
"Uh Eat You Me "
Her eyebrows rose as her smile fell from her face. "You want me to
eat you?"
"NO!" he said, a little too loudly, before his face flushed
beet red and he lowered his head. "Uh" he sighed. "Dinner."
"Dinner?"
He bit his lip as he tried to form at least one coherent sentence in
his mind that would translate as such when it would reach his mouth. He took a big breath,
held it, and let it out slowly, biting his lips. And decided, all or nothing...
it's never too late, right? Well... hopefully now was not too
late. "You... were talking about dinner yesterday..."
She nodded slowly, the smile leaving her face. "Yes, I
was."
He tried to discern the meaning behind those three little
words. "Well... is the offer still there?"
And the smile returned, though she tried to hide it. "It
is."
"Can I... take you up on it?"
She tilted her head and regarded him as he would regard an interesting
new specimen of insect. "When?"
He looked around himself, thinking. "Tomorrow? We both
have it off."|
And she smiled again, a genuine smile that reached her eyes and made
then dance. "Tomorrow. Seven?"
He returned her smile. "Seven. I'll pick you up."
"'K."
With one last look, he turned on his heels and left her to her evidence
and headed to his office. A queer feeling fell over him and he couldn't quite place
it. It wasn't like when they solved a particularly challenging case or when he
finally discovered the name of an new insect or even won a debate. This was much
different. His skin prickled all over and made him want to jiggle and dance down the
hallway. There was an energy coursing through his veins, it was a mild burning
sensation, not wholly unpleasant, just different.
He got to his office and sat in his chair. And just sat, his
hands steepled beneath his chin. Then he realized what it was he was feeling. Elation.
~*~
Copyright © 2003 Anansay