Thank you for your reviews and messages.
I wanted this to be the last chapter, but this song fit the story line so well, I felt it deserved a chapter of its own.
But I'm finishing the last chapter, "The Day we Meet Again" and I'll post it soon.
THE AIR THAT I BREATHE
(The song is by The Hollies)
Holding his breath, Grissom reached out until he finally touched Sara's face. For a moment he was afraid; he was sure that she would reject him. She didn't. She smiled and leant into his touch.
He exhaled with relief.
"Promise me-" he whispered urgently, "-promise me not to think of me as a victim. When you look at me, will you try to see Grissom, and not Virgil?"
Sara couldn't answer immediately; she was still trying hard to hold back her tears. But she covered his hand with her own, and after a moment she spoke.
"I promise to look at you with love." She whispered. "Always, Grissom." she said, "No matter what."
She waited until he acknowledged her words with a nod, and then she reached for him. Cautiously, she invaded his personal space until she was able to put her arms around him. She held him as close as she could, until he relaxed and leant against her.
"You kept it to yourself, all these years-" she whispered, "Grissom, nobody should have to bear this alone."
"I didn't remember all of it," he explained, "I had flashbacks of the shooting now and then… but I didn't remember the rest." He leant his forehead on her shoulder, "I didn't want to remember, Sara. It's nothing to be proud of."
"Gil, listen. You have nothing to be ashamed of." Sara said firmly. "You didn't deserve any of this-"
He loved her for saying that. Maybe hearing those words aloud might convince him that, indeed, he didn't deserve it.
"Being a victim is so degrading-" he muttered.
"Oh, Gil, no, don't think like that. Look, we need to talk-"
"Not now." He pleaded, burrowing his face into her neck, "Please."
"-not to me, if you don't want to," she said quickly, "Someone else, then. Please?"
Grissom closed his eyes. He didn't want to talk anymore; he was sure that if he opened his mouth again he'd start to cry and he didn't want to do that in front of her. He didn't doubt that she would understand; she might even welcome it as a chance to comfort him, but to him, silence would always be safer.
Sara needed reassurance, though.
"Please, Gil." She whispered in his ear, punctuating her words with soft kisses. "Please."
He shivered under her caresses. "Please," and she kept saying the word and kissing his cheek, until he spoke.
"Yes." He gasped at last. Oh, he'd say yes to anything she asked him. At that moment, he felt as if all his memories were turning into ashes, burned down by the wonderful heat of her body, so close to his. She was curvy and soft and oh, so alive. And she fit in his arms.
"Oh, God," he sighed, "it feels as if-"
"As if?" she asked, her words a bit muffled by his cheek.
"-As if I'm holding you for the first time." He confessed. "I held you last night, but… this is more real."
And scary. After all they had talked about, he felt awfully exposed; it was as if he were naked in all senses. Oh, they had already slept together, but last night they hadn't even turned on the lights. Right now it was daylight and she would see him…really see him.
That was the problem with physical relationships: They made you take a hard look at yourself, making you aware of every flaw. It was disturbing for Grissom, who for years hadn't worried about his physical appearance.
As a child he had known that he was 'cute' and hated it. (Young Gil had blocked the reason behind this, but now Grissom realized that even as a kid, he was aware that beauty attracted molesters.)
Oh, as a young adult and even as a teen he had been aware of himself; he knew that women found him attractive, but he hadn't particularly cared or taken advantage of it, (except in College, with disastrous results).
As he grew older, Grissom had stopped caring about people's opinion. Until now.
Now he wondered what she saw in him. He couldn't ask her, but maybe all he had to do was to think of the circumstances of their first meeting, during a Seminar in San Francisco. He had expected to get the half-hearted attention of sleepy students and young cops; that is, the usual. But he was wrong. She was there this time; firing up questions, challenging his statements, hungry for knowledge and recognition.
He was immediately smitten, he could admit it now. That first night he had been aware of everything she did, even as he spoke to the whole group. When the class ended, he took a long time to put his material in order, fervently hoping she'd stay around so they could talk. He dodged some of the other female students (who asked things like, 'are you married?' 'do you have a girlfriend?'), and when they finally left, there she was. She approached him shyly, and asked him questions… about his work, and about science and books.
She was different all right; she didn't flirt, not really, and she was incapable of playing coy games. And he had the feeling that she wasn't really looking at him but inside him. Not into his heart, but into his brain. And eventually, his knowledge dazzled her and she fell in love. For years he believed she was in love with his brain. He never let himself believe she could love his heart and his body, too.
But she had, last night. The reality of these last twenty four hours hit him once again. They had made love, he'd revealed his secrets… It was too much. In a moment of abrupt honesty, he mused aloud,
"I can't believe I let you touch me-"
"What-" she started to pull away in order to look at him, but Grissom stopped her.
"You touched me, Sara." He repeated, holding her tightly, "You've seen me inside and out, now; I'd never trusted anyone like that before."
"Gil, you'll never regret it, I promise." She said firmly, "your heart is safe with me."
Grissom believed her, but he couldn't help wishing he were younger and appealing, if only for her sake. He wished he were in better shape; he wished… he wished he didn't feel so inadequate.
And the worst (or best, he couldn't decide just yet) was that Sara seemed to know what he was thinking, because she slowly began to touch him, as if to reassure him of his appeal to her. She kissed his neck, chuckling when he shivered.
"You're sensitive there." She noticed, kissing him again.
She was tender… and bold, too- he gasped when she reached under his clothes-
Grissom told himself to stop thinking, and just reciprocate.
When Grissom woke up, he found himself staring at her. They had fallen asleep in each other's arms and now they were lying face to face, sharing one of her pillows. He smiled.
He remembered an old song from the seventies (didn't he know any recent song, for God's sake?), and it felt so appropriate…
making love with you
has left me peaceful, warm and tired
what more could I ask
there's nothing left, to be desired
peace came upon me and it leaves me weak
so sleep, silent angel-
Perfect. And he was going to ruin it by telling her that he had to leave for a while. He needed closure. 'Truth brings closure' he had said once, and he believed it. For him, that meant finding out what had happened to Donald Jones. He didn't want her to know, though. If she knew, she'd offer to help, she'd want to get involved… Or maybe she'd try to stop him.
And there was something else he couldn't tell her: He still didn't know if he'd go back to CSI.
"Hey." She whispered, interrupting his musings.
"Hey, Sara."
She loved that look on his face. It said 'I'm exhausted and happy.' She noticed too, that his lips were a bit chapped and swollen after her enthusiastic ministrations.
She touched his bottom lip with the tip of her finger.
"I went overboard, didn't I?"
"Did I thank you for that?" he replied, his mouth curving in a mischievous smile.
"Yes, I think you did." she replied, smiling back.
They looked at each other for a moment.
"Sara-" he said abruptly, "I'm going to take the leave of absence."
He noticed the subtle change in her smile. Suddenly, it seemed too bright.
"That's ok. You deserve some vacation time." she said.
"I'll visit Herb and Emmy." he explained, "Gary, too."
"That's great." She said, "It really is." And she smiled the toothy grin he loved.
Inwardly, though, Sara was scared. What if he felt so safe in Chicago, that he didn't need her anymore? What if he found it easier to start anew than coming back to old troubles?
She didn't want to think of that now.
"Hum, Grissom? You haven't eaten anything since yesterday, have you?" She said, trying to get out of bed.
"Sara, I'm fine." He assured her, keeping his arms around her. "Stay here with me."
He caressed her shoulder, noticing how her skin turned pink and feverish under his fingers.
"Your body's so soft." He said dreamily, "It feels like velvet." He whispered, and then looked at her, "You're warm velvet on steel."
"You mean I'm bony." She said apologetically. "I've lost some weight, but-"
"No, Sara." he said quickly, "what I mean is that you're warm and soft. And lovely," he added pointedly, "But you're also strong." He pulled back to look at her, "Strong-willed. You're not going to let me get away with anything." He smiled a little, "Are you?"
A half smile graced her lips.
"Grissom, I won't let you get away, period."
"Good." He said gratefully. "Because sometimes all I want to do is run." He confessed ruefully. "But that's not what I need."
"And if you ever need to run, I'll go with you." She said, smiling. "Now, aren't you hungry, Griss? There are still some muffins-"
But Grissom didn't let her move, and to her surprise, he started to sing.
If I could make a wish
I think I'd pass
can't think of anything I need....
no cigarettes, no sleep, no light, no sound
nothing to eat, no books to read
making love with you
has left me peaceful, warm and tired
what more could I ask
there's nothing left, to be desired
Sometimes
all I need is the air that I breathe
and to love you
She gaped at him. He was clearly embarrassed, but he bravely kept singing while gently tucking her under the covers again. He kissed her cheek and then wrapped his arms around her as he repeated the chorus.
Sara's last coherent thought was that she would start listening to his discs. Sometimes a song said it all.
TBC
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