After closing the phone, Sara had dropped it in the hallway to free her
hand to grab the baton. She flipped it to extend it to full length, keeping
it alongside her leg as she inched forward. A few beads of sweat gathered
on her forehead as the tension built in her stomach. I hope this works, she
thought to herself, as she positioned herself against the wall.
With one quick move, she punched the hotel door back with the baton, swinging it back on the hinges and slamming it against the door stop. Gunfire from the darkened hotel room rang out, and she dodged back and to the side, landing heavily on the soft carpet and quietly swearing as she bit her lip. She froze in position, laying on her back with her gun steady in both hands to cover the door. One breath, two, and then the door creaked on its hinges and she pulled the trigger, snapping off three quick shots, and then another burst. In a remote corner of her brain, she found the calmness of her voice surprising as she ordered the SWAT team to move, almost as surprising as how steady the gun barrel seemed as she waited, her heart beat pounding in her ears. One team member, then a second, reached the door of the hotel room and were inside before she lowered her gun, her eyes closing and head falling back at the same time.
She lay like that for just a moment, letting the tension drain out of her, before snapping the safety on her gun and pulling herself into an upright position, steadying herself against the wall as her legs threatened to give out. Brass was beside her then, clamping a hand around her arm and saying her name in a loud voice. She took one last, deep breath before pushing her hair back from her face and straightening. "I'm fine, Jim, thanks." Shaking his hand off of her arm, she crossed to the door, watching as the EMTs worked on the man she had shot. Two of the first three shots she had fired had hit his arm and shoulder, and the second volley had torn through his leg, just as she had planned, and he looked like he might survive. Good, she thought as a feral smile graced her face, he'll have a long time to remember this.
Sara turned from the gory scene in front of her to see Gil standing dead center of the hallway, staring at her. Raw emotions played over his features, his thoughts heartbreakingly clear. She saw the unshed tears that made his eyes a beautiful liquid blue, the deep breathes that labored through his whole body, and the concern etched in every line of his face. He had been scared to death for her, and emotion drove him the rest of the way to sweep her up in an all-encompassing hug, one arm pressing around her waist tightly while the other squeezed her shoulders almost painfully. She let her arms wrap around his comforting frame, breathing in the chemical and soap scent that was essentially Grissom.
She wasn't sure how long he held her like that as she lost herself in the unexpected sensation she had dreamed about for years. It was eternal, endless, and yet entirely too short. She did know he recovered first, eased his grip, and finally pulled back a few inches to look at her. The instant she looked at his face, saw the guarded, impassive expression, she knew. That moment of weakness was already being rationalized, compartmentalized, and forgotten, some memory to be dredged up to be savored, if he even did that. She released her hold and stepped back, seeing a sad expression flit across his face as she left his arms. They stood just a foot apart, but Sara knew that if she looked down at her feet, she would see the gulf between them gaping beneath tips of her shoes. She closed her eyes as a wave of vertigo hit, and she stumbled back against the wall.
"Sara?" And there he was again, his arm solicitously wrapped around her waist to hold her steady, the other catching her shoulder. "Are you ok?"
She swallowed against the nausea rising in her throat and said, "Fine. Just a reaction to the sudden lack of tension in my body." He nodded understandably, and she hoped he believed it. She just wished it were the truth. Almost as much as she wished she didn't want him to go on holding her, that she could be weak and dizzy forever if it would keep him by her side. She sighed, letting go of that impossibility, and straightened, shaking away the last of the cobwebs.
An agent, who had obviously been waiting for just such an opening, stepped forward to ask her a few questions about the shooting and to take her gun. "Standard procedure," he said apologetically, but she smiled and waved his explanations aside. It wasn't until he turned and walked away that she realized that Grissom had stayed, his arm still protectively circling her waist. She didn't question it, just stood there watching the aftermath, her eyes following the stretcher as the EMTs wheeled it out of the room and down the hallway past her, her face expressionless.
Grissom's arm tightened around her waist, pulling her thoughts back to the rapidly clearing hallway. "Come on. Let's go," he whispered near her ear, his warm breath heating her neck. She let him guide her along the hallway, luxuriating in the feeling all the while knowing later she could chalk up this moment of weakness to emotional and physical exhaustion. Just like Gil, probably, she thought, glancing at his face, trying to read his expression. The guarded expression was gone, and he looked... happy, she realized, and her heart gave a little flutter. They reached the elevator and got in, not noticing Brass holding a couple of agents up to leave them alone.
The small lurch caught her attention as Gil hit the stop button. "Sara, hon," he said, sliding his hands into her hair and holding her face in her hands. "Are you sure you are ok? I was so... worried." Emotion choked his next words, and Sara was suddenly terrified and ecstatic at the same time as she waited for his next words. He paused, wiped at the blood on her lip where she had bitten it, and stared into her eyes for a long time. Her breath had caught when his thumb had caressed her lip, and she knew her eyes were betraying her as she looked at him hopefully. "You took a terrible risk," were the last words she wanted to hear, especially with that exaggerated Grissom patience which bespoke the disappointment he wasn't expressing. "You could have been killed," he finished.
She searched his eyes for another second, and then sighed, her eyes closing in pain for just a moment, before she answered quietly. "Gil, I'm fine, really." She laid her hands on top of his, soaking in the warmth, imprinting the feeling in her memory, before removing them so she could step around to start the elevator again. Silence enveloped them for the remainder of the descent.
With one quick move, she punched the hotel door back with the baton, swinging it back on the hinges and slamming it against the door stop. Gunfire from the darkened hotel room rang out, and she dodged back and to the side, landing heavily on the soft carpet and quietly swearing as she bit her lip. She froze in position, laying on her back with her gun steady in both hands to cover the door. One breath, two, and then the door creaked on its hinges and she pulled the trigger, snapping off three quick shots, and then another burst. In a remote corner of her brain, she found the calmness of her voice surprising as she ordered the SWAT team to move, almost as surprising as how steady the gun barrel seemed as she waited, her heart beat pounding in her ears. One team member, then a second, reached the door of the hotel room and were inside before she lowered her gun, her eyes closing and head falling back at the same time.
She lay like that for just a moment, letting the tension drain out of her, before snapping the safety on her gun and pulling herself into an upright position, steadying herself against the wall as her legs threatened to give out. Brass was beside her then, clamping a hand around her arm and saying her name in a loud voice. She took one last, deep breath before pushing her hair back from her face and straightening. "I'm fine, Jim, thanks." Shaking his hand off of her arm, she crossed to the door, watching as the EMTs worked on the man she had shot. Two of the first three shots she had fired had hit his arm and shoulder, and the second volley had torn through his leg, just as she had planned, and he looked like he might survive. Good, she thought as a feral smile graced her face, he'll have a long time to remember this.
Sara turned from the gory scene in front of her to see Gil standing dead center of the hallway, staring at her. Raw emotions played over his features, his thoughts heartbreakingly clear. She saw the unshed tears that made his eyes a beautiful liquid blue, the deep breathes that labored through his whole body, and the concern etched in every line of his face. He had been scared to death for her, and emotion drove him the rest of the way to sweep her up in an all-encompassing hug, one arm pressing around her waist tightly while the other squeezed her shoulders almost painfully. She let her arms wrap around his comforting frame, breathing in the chemical and soap scent that was essentially Grissom.
She wasn't sure how long he held her like that as she lost herself in the unexpected sensation she had dreamed about for years. It was eternal, endless, and yet entirely too short. She did know he recovered first, eased his grip, and finally pulled back a few inches to look at her. The instant she looked at his face, saw the guarded, impassive expression, she knew. That moment of weakness was already being rationalized, compartmentalized, and forgotten, some memory to be dredged up to be savored, if he even did that. She released her hold and stepped back, seeing a sad expression flit across his face as she left his arms. They stood just a foot apart, but Sara knew that if she looked down at her feet, she would see the gulf between them gaping beneath tips of her shoes. She closed her eyes as a wave of vertigo hit, and she stumbled back against the wall.
"Sara?" And there he was again, his arm solicitously wrapped around her waist to hold her steady, the other catching her shoulder. "Are you ok?"
She swallowed against the nausea rising in her throat and said, "Fine. Just a reaction to the sudden lack of tension in my body." He nodded understandably, and she hoped he believed it. She just wished it were the truth. Almost as much as she wished she didn't want him to go on holding her, that she could be weak and dizzy forever if it would keep him by her side. She sighed, letting go of that impossibility, and straightened, shaking away the last of the cobwebs.
An agent, who had obviously been waiting for just such an opening, stepped forward to ask her a few questions about the shooting and to take her gun. "Standard procedure," he said apologetically, but she smiled and waved his explanations aside. It wasn't until he turned and walked away that she realized that Grissom had stayed, his arm still protectively circling her waist. She didn't question it, just stood there watching the aftermath, her eyes following the stretcher as the EMTs wheeled it out of the room and down the hallway past her, her face expressionless.
Grissom's arm tightened around her waist, pulling her thoughts back to the rapidly clearing hallway. "Come on. Let's go," he whispered near her ear, his warm breath heating her neck. She let him guide her along the hallway, luxuriating in the feeling all the while knowing later she could chalk up this moment of weakness to emotional and physical exhaustion. Just like Gil, probably, she thought, glancing at his face, trying to read his expression. The guarded expression was gone, and he looked... happy, she realized, and her heart gave a little flutter. They reached the elevator and got in, not noticing Brass holding a couple of agents up to leave them alone.
The small lurch caught her attention as Gil hit the stop button. "Sara, hon," he said, sliding his hands into her hair and holding her face in her hands. "Are you sure you are ok? I was so... worried." Emotion choked his next words, and Sara was suddenly terrified and ecstatic at the same time as she waited for his next words. He paused, wiped at the blood on her lip where she had bitten it, and stared into her eyes for a long time. Her breath had caught when his thumb had caressed her lip, and she knew her eyes were betraying her as she looked at him hopefully. "You took a terrible risk," were the last words she wanted to hear, especially with that exaggerated Grissom patience which bespoke the disappointment he wasn't expressing. "You could have been killed," he finished.
She searched his eyes for another second, and then sighed, her eyes closing in pain for just a moment, before she answered quietly. "Gil, I'm fine, really." She laid her hands on top of his, soaking in the warmth, imprinting the feeling in her memory, before removing them so she could step around to start the elevator again. Silence enveloped them for the remainder of the descent.