Disclaimer: Same as the previous chapter. I am still not in any possible way related to CSI or any of its corporate affiliates.
A/N notes: Once again, thank you to my betas and friends, and for the reviews.
Stop Haunting Me.
She looked over her shoulder expecting him to move away, like he had been doing lately, whenever she got too close. Several years ago they would have basked in each other's presence, wanting to prolong the sensations that would course through them. But that had rapidly vanished. She hadn't been able to pinpoint the exact time, but it seemed to have happened around the time of the Haviland trial, when Philippe Gerard had so kindly 'pointed out' the "relationship" between her and Hank in front of Grissom. That memory was imprinted also, as was the look of hurt, even anguish, on Grissom's face when he looked at her that particular time.
Grissom had moved away, but only a few inches, giving her the space she needed to at least outwardly compose herself. Holding the keys with one hand and the other one softly touching the door, she stood motionless, gathering courage to once again step into a lonely house. A house that in the last four years had never become a proper home. "I'm sure you have better things to do than baby-sit me, Grissom. Go home, we can survive without each other."
She pushed open the door and walked in, sensing that Grissom had no intention of leaving her alone. At least not right now. She tossed her coat onto a nearby chair and kicked off her shoes, not caring where or how they landed. "Coffee?"
His reply wasn't a mere yes or no. It didn't even answer her one-worded question. "Was this a one-time thing, Sara?"
Stunned, she turned around, confusion and anger battling for superiority. "I'm not an alcoholic, Grissom, if that's what you're asking. I have disappointed myself on countless occasions and done some foolish things in my life, but being an alcoholic isn't one of them." On seeing his frown and slightly clenched eyes, she exclaimed "For Christ's sake Grissom. Not acknowledging the problem is the first thing anyone who's addicted does. Don't you think I know that? Search the house, the cupboards, my pockets. The only thing you'll find are a couple of beer bottles. That's it!" Furious, she turned around, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. "Are you done with your little inspection, because then you can go and leave me alone. You've haunted me enough as it is."
Hearing the percolator gurgle and smelling the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, she looked around and saw Grissom leaning against the counter, arms loosely folded, his eyes locked on her form, yet seemingly miles away. Even after three beers she recognized his stand as one that's 'protective of the heart and inner personality', or at least that was the explanation she remembered. She didn't quite remember who told her that, but she didn't mind. Memories consisted of crystal clear images and sounds, as well as those that lingered in the mind, but always seemed hazy. This particular memory was in the latter catagory.
Deciding that she'd done enough talking for the night, she folded her arms as well, eyes fixed on his. It took a while before he responded, blinking once then steadily meeting her gaze. What was different was the intensity that existed in them. She had always seen his eyes as the most expressive part of him; with contempt and superiority shining from them they could render any suspect defenseless, with compassion and tenderness they could convey his regard and admiration for a victim. Yet all the while, his eyes would only be showing a glimpse of himself. While they were often called the windows to the soul, with him, it seemed these windows were glazed or tinted, halting any deep insight into who he was. But now, Sara realized that his eyes were clear and open, allowing her to reach deeper and see more than she was ever intentionally allowed to. And it confused her once again. For why now would he allow her to see him? Why now, after all those years and all those cases, after all the joys and sweet flirting in the earlier times, then the sorrow and tears in the later ones? She couldn't trust him, not with matters of the job, and most certainly not with matters of the heart.
"What's your biggest fear, Sara? Mine is allowing myself to love you, and then having to let you go."
Eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, she did a quick shake of the head. What was wrong with the man? Did he purposely keep her on edge, capable of knocking her over the cliff of sanity yet keeping her dangling with one fragile lifeline? "My biggest fear, Grissom, is to be alone. Not solitary, but alone. And I'm getting damned close."
Her fingers kept the now half empty water bottle in a death-like grip, the malformed plastic not able to withstand the pressure. Pouring the remainder down the drain, she turned to throw it away in the trashcan. Anything to keep busy, anything to not give in to the urge of throwing it with all her might across the room, knocking over one of the few memorabilia she had collected over the years. Then suddenly, he stood next to her, once again closer than was expected. In a move reminiscent of earlier that evening, he flexed his hand before taking hers gently in his grasp. When she uttered no objection, no stepping away from him or an angry gaze being directed towards him, he delicately took her other hand and softly ran his thumb over the dry skin.
"When I got the call earlier this evening, the first thing I thought off was that it was too late. Too late for me to finally realize who'd been in front of me all those years: A beautiful, vivacious, intelligent, independent woman who, each time she looks at me, smiles at me, even walks into the same room as me, has a spectacular effect on my heart rate." He cocked his head, a soft smile forming on his face. "There are so many things that I've done lately that I regret, Sara; pushing you away while you needed someone to support you, allowing my personal feelings and biases to enter into the realm of professionalism, robbing you of a deserved promotion. Turning down your dinner invitation." He allowed one hand to let her go, only to slowly trail up an arm and neck to cup her cheek. Taking a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily he continued, "I can't undo the past. But I can stop it from happening again."
Hesitantly, he opened his eyes again, gauging Sara's reaction. Deep in his heart, he knew that he was more than partially to blame for what happened tonight. He didn't believe that she was an alcoholic, but he knew that her tired appearance, her diminished enthusiasm at work, her increasingly lonely existence were factors that he had contributed to. And he was determined to at least mend their friendship. Only then was there a true possibility of taking their relationship further. For what future had a romantic entanglement if there was no true friendship and trust between the lovers?
Her feelings were again tumbling and jostling around inside of her, but now the anger and resignation didn't win the inner battle. Hope did, and acceptance. For what she saw in his countenance and heard in his voice told her that he did care for her. More than she allowed herself to hope lately. "Try to be my friend again, Grissom? I don't think I'm ready for anything more. That is, if you want more."
Two strong arms were carefully draped around her back and drew her softly to him, enveloping her in an embrace that would last forever in her memories. "I will try to be your friend again, Sara. But I will continue to make mistakes, not on purpose, but because I don't know better. All the reasons why we shouldn't be involved still stand, and most of them are permanent. Age, work, me. I'm a stubborn old mule, Sara, but I will try with all my might to be your friend again, one who you can trust to be there for you at all times of the day and night, regardless of work. And when you're ready to branch out into a romantic relationship, tell me. I'll be waiting."
Neither one initiated it, but in the seconds that followed, their lips met, if only as a taste of what lay ahead in their future. Sweet, soft and sensual, it conveyed love rather than lust, patience over longing.
Perhaps all the images and memories that had been replayed and rehashed countless times over the last years had never been mere illusions of love. Perhaps they had always been real.
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