No Room To Wiggle
Summary: Grissom tricked Sara into going to a conference with him. What's going to happen now that she knows the truth?
A/N: A follow up to my Improve Challenge short story, Wiggle Room,
that one of my betas blackmailed me into writing. A few sprinkled
spoilers for season four. Thanks to Burked and Marlou for their beta
skills. All errors are mine.
Rating: PG-13 - may change later.
Disclaimer: If I haven't figured out a way to own CSI by now, I'm never going to.
Chapter 7
With a deep yawn, Sara wandered into the suite's living area early the next morning, pausing in mid-scratch when she spotted Grissom. He sat slumped in one of the upholstered chairs by the window. A mug shifting absentmindedly from one hand to the other was the only sign that he was awake.
"Good morning," Sara called out, frowning when she realized he was wearing the same clothes from last night. Turning on a light, she shook her head slowly; Grissom looked terrible. His answering grunt made her worry.
After reading his letter, she'd laid in bed staring at the ceiling as she tried to plan the best way to handle the situation between them. From his missive, she learned that the job provided a sense of stability in his life that he craved. It was something she always suspected, but Sara never realized the depth of that need, or how much the job played into it.
And their conversation last night drove home the extent of his insecurities. He really felt she would eventually get fed up with him and leave. To him, the pain of denying their attraction was easier than dealing with the possibility of a breakup.
Unfortunately, Sara didn't know what else she could do. She'd stayed in Vegas for years; she'd made the first overture; she'd let him know how she felt. Whatever issues he had, Grissom had to work them out for himself. All she could do was be supportive while he came to a decision.
Sara hoped he could do it quickly; she wasn't joking about the deadline. As much as she wanted to be with him, things between them couldn't stay the same. It wasn't healthy. The uncertainty, the hurt – it all had to stop. It would be hard moving on, but this unrelenting dance they did around each other was wearing her out.
Moving to the coffee pot, she sneered at the dredges coating the bottom of the carafe. A quick search revealed they'd used all of that day's complimentary coffee provided by the hotel, and that wasn't something she'd picked up from the store.
After washing out the pot, Sara grabbed two bottles of juice from the mini-fridge and crossed the room hesitantly, trying to gauge Grissom's mood. She held out one of the bottles to him as she settled into the other chair, resisting the urge to roll her eyes when he directed a dirty look at the juice.
"We're out of coffee. The hotel doesn't provide much. I'll pick some up during lunch. Did you get any sleep?" Sara asked.
"Not yet."
"Don't you know what time it is?"
"It's not a school night."
That time she did roll her eyes.
He's in a petulant mood, and I don't have any coffee. Great. At least I slept.
Okay, Grissom's been up all night. He must have been thinking about what I said. Is that a good sign or not?
Well, Sherlock, considering he's pissy, I'm going with not.
"Grissom, it's five in the morning," she stated softly, nodding when he looked up in surprise. "Yeah. Look, why don't you sleep in today?"
"I can't. Bob's talk is the first one. I can't miss it."
"Then grab a nap. You can get a couple of hours sleep before we go down."
"I don't need a nap."
With a long-suffering sigh, Sara stood up and headed back to the fridge. "Did you eat anything last night?" When he didn't answer, she rested her hands on the counter, counting to ten silently before fixing a bowl of cereal.
"Eat," she commanded, shoving the carton of Rice Krispies in his hands. When he set it on the table untouched with a nasty look, she nearly growled.
He is upset. Fine. I can understand that, deal with that. But this … pouting … is getting out of hand.
"Grissom, just eat. There's no significance to it. There's no pressure. It's just a bowl of cereal. It won't hurt you."
"No. Thank you."
"What do you think starving yourself is going to prove?"
"I'm not starving myself," he said, shifting in the chair and opening the curtains.
"Then eat something," she said, making a point to keep her voice calm.
"No."
"Grissom, there's no coffee. Don't piss me off before I had my caffeine."
Sara's eyebrow rose in challenge when her sharp tone got his attention, causing him to give a half-apologetic shrug. "I don't like bananas," he said, pointing to the offending slices floating in the milk.
"Why didn't you just say so?" she asked, giving him a grin as she took the cereal for herself. "I didn't know that."
"There are a lot of things you don't know about me," he said enigmatically, resuming his examination of the cityscape.
"Well, there's a lot you don't know about me, either."
Sara looked down at the cereal quickly. If his tone had been hinting at secrets, hers had been an Acme anvil dropping from several floors up. The quick glance at the shock and concern on his face convinced her that Grissom had picked up on it, too.
Great move. Like he doesn't already have enough doubts about us. Now what's he thinking?
"Sara?"
"Everybody has secrets, Grissom. Everyone has stuff they don't like to share. I'm no different."
He's not buying that. Damn. I don't want to talk to him about that. Not now. It's too personal. And God only knows how he'll react. I'm afraid of scaring him off.
He deserves to know. Well, if things work out, I'll have to tell him. But not before then. Hell, he'll probably forget before the day is over. He won't ask.
"Like what?"
Damn.
"It's not important," she evaded, getting up to throw away the empty container.
Grissom stayed in his chair, but Sara was aware that he tracked her every move as she cleaned up the counter.
"I'm older than you."
Sara blinked at the sudden statement, leaning against the wall as she faced him. "I do know that."
"Have you really considered the implications?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
"Yeah, I have," Sara said, pushing off the wall as she crossed the room. Squatting on the floor beside his chair, she rested a hand on his arm when Grissom avoided looking at her. When he did meet her eyes, Sara continued seriously.
"It means you're 15 years older than I am. And, statistically, men die 10 years younger than women. That's skewed, because males are more likely to die at a younger age, but it still means there's a good chance I'll spend the last quarter-century of my life alone. I know exactly what it means. And it's what I want."
"Why?"
"Grissom," she sighed, looking away for a moment. She patted his knee, giving him a sad smile. "I love you. I'd rather spend whatever time we have left with you, than years longer with someone else."
She waited as Grissom chewed over that, rubbing his beard with one hand before giving her a level stare. "That's not fair to you."
"Life isn't fair. No one can say what's going to happen. Hell, I could find out I have cancer the next time I go to the doctor. I could slip in the tub and break my neck. I want to live life, Grissom. There's always going to be risks. You can try, but you can never really hide from them."
He didn't answer, but rested his head in his hand, staring out the window as the sun started to rise. Sara waited several moments; she could tell he was working through something.
He's thinking. Again. So what else is new? Face it – you over-talk around him; he over-thinks everything. Better get used to it, because I doubt either of us are ever going to change. It's part of who we are.
At least he's considering it. That's something. He's not trying to back out of it. That's a good sign, right?
Or you just gave him a reason to be 'noble', and he'll call it off because it's not 'fair'. Oh, just try that excuse, Grissom, and I'll show you 'fair' …
When he made no move to share what was on his mind, she stood up, holding his hand briefly.
"I'm going to grab a shower. If you insist on going to the conference, do everybody a favor – at least change clothes," Sara said, winking as she headed to the bathroom.
By the time she finished her shower, Grissom had retreated to his bedroom. She then went to her own room to change and read, letting him have some space. He even managed to both change clothes and shower before they headed to the conference center.
Still, he didn't look well; there was a tightness to his face, and he still seemed pale. Sara resisted the urge to tell him to go back to bed, but she insisted he grab something to eat. Sipping her second cup of coffee, she watched him push some eggs around his plate, hoping that some of the food would eventually end up inside him.
"Damn, Gil. You look like shit!"
Both turned around as Bob's voice boomed through the room, causing multiple heads to turn their way.
"Bob, really. You need to learn to speak up for yourself. I'm sure someone across the street didn't hear you," his wife said sarcastically. "Gil, you don't look well. Do you need a doctor?"
"This is more than bad chicken. I know this is an entomology conference, Gil, but that doesn't mean you're supposed to catch bugs," Bob said, laughing at his own joke.
"I'm fine," Grissom said, shooting Sara a warning look.
"If you say so," Cheryl said, turning her attention to Sara and giving her a wink. "A group of us normal folks are heading to the museum this morning. You want to escape these maniacs?"
Sara noticed that Grissom dropped his eyes to his plate and resumed nervously shifting food around. Okay. What's that mean? Let's see: he wants me to go, so he can have some space, but he doesn't want to tell me. Or, I go with Cheryl, and he'll think I think he's a maniac.
Oh, brother.
Okay, if I stay, and he does want space, I can still do that. We don't have sit together. I wanted to get some coffee at lunch; I can grab a sandwich when I'm out.
"Thanks, but I'll stay," Sara said.
"I told you she would," Bob said exuberantly, excusing himself as he went to talk with some of the other attendees.
Grissom didn't look up from his plate, so that left Sara wondering if she'd made the right decision. She was trying to keep an eye on him and answer Cheryl's questions when Bob came storming back to the table later, his face flushed with anger.
"Talk to your daughter," he demanded, slamming a cell phone on the table in front of his wife.
"What about?" she asked, ignoring the phone as she ate her breakfast.
"About that, that, that … man!"
"Tom? Are they finally getting married?" she asked happily, turning to Sara. "Deanna is our youngest. I've been hoping she'd finally marry him."
"How can you … don't you … what …," Bob sputtered as he collapsed in a chair. With a dramatic sigh, he laid his head on the table, wrapping his arms on top of it.
"Well, it's about time. They've been living together for a year."
"They have not!" he hissed, pulling his head back angrily.
Sara looked to Grissom for guidance, but he seemed equally uncomfortable and fascinated by the scene unfolding around them. Sara picked up her coffee, trying to ignore the hundreds of amused faces watching their table.
"Yes, Bob, they have. He moved in with her when she got the apartment."
"That bum! That…"
"Oh, hush. You know he's not a bum," Cheryl said patiently.
"Deanne is too young to get married," Bob insisted, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
"She's the same age I married you."
"She is not!"
Sara sat there, her eyes wide open as the couple continued their bickering. Well, half-bickering. Bob's arms flailed wildly, while his wife serenely continued her meal. Sara looked back to Grissom. He lifted his shoulders in a "what can you do" gesture.
"Bob, I was there when I married you and when Dee was born. I'm not sure which was more painful," she teased. "I wouldn't forget either event. She is."
"But, but," Bob said, grasping for straws. "He's a plumber!"
"He owns his own contracting company. And he makes more money than the two of us combined. Besides, we don't have to worry about the basement flooding again."
"That only happened once. I didn't know the pipe was going to break. And stop trying to change the subject."
"I'm not, Bob. I'm happy. Just think – we could be grandparents soon."
"Noooo!" he wailed, turning to his friend for support. "Gil! Say something!"
"Congratulations?" Grissom offered uncertainly, his comical expression almost drawing a laugh from Sara.
Glad I'm not the only one that's confused, and Grissom's known them for years. If you listened to them, you'd think they were fighting, but they're holding hands now. Bob is taking this so hard, but his ranting doesn't even faze Cheryl. They're so different from each other, but it doesn't interfere with their relationship. God, I wonder if they realize that what they have is so special.
"Congratulations?" Bob moaned. "How can you say that? Some friend you are."
Sara's head snapped in time to see the hurt in Grissom's eyes before a mask of detachment settled over him. Before she could react, Cheryl reacted angrily for the first time.
"Bob! Apologize this minute!"
"What? Oh, Gil. Sorry. But that, that … creepy toilet plunger is robbing my little girl from the cradle!"
"Oh, hush! She's 21, Bob. Trust me – we got rid of her cradle years ago," she said, giving him a loving look as she patted his arm. "Darling, Dee's all grown up. Gil, will you be able to make the wedding?"
"There isn't going to be a wedding," Bob insisted.
"Yes, there is. Convents stopped locking up girls years ago."
"Well, I'm not going!"
"That's entirely up to you, Bob. But it's going to happen, whether you want it to or not. That's life. It goes on, with or without you. You can hide from it, but you'll miss out on all the joys," Cheryl said as she buttered her toast. Setting her knife down, she turned to Sara. "Will you and Gil be joining us tonight? We're going to see the Mud Hens."
"What? Mud hens?" Sara asked in puzzlement. Both the sudden switch in conversation and Grissom had confused her. After the older woman's last comment, Grissom's head had jerked sharply. Well, it was something else for him to think about. "Bird watching?"
"Someone's not a MASH fan," Bob chuckled.
Sara looked around the table in continued bewilderment. Grissom was still lost in his own internal world. Bob looked amused, his earlier anger dissipated as suddenly as it arrived. Cheryl remained serene. How did they get to a TV show? Oh…
"Baseball? There's really a Toledo Mud Hens team?"
"Sure is. Gil, what about you? Should we arrange a gurney for you?"
"I'll be there."
"So will I," Sara said, not responding to the harsh look Grissom directed towards her.
Okay, he did want to be alone, and he hadn't counted on me attending a sporting event. And he's not happy.
It's going to be a long day.
In spite of her gloomy prediction, Sara was surprised by how much she underestimated Grissom's mood. She kept her distance from him during the day, but he still gave her hurt looks. At the lunch break, she left to grab the coffee. Sara knew she'd seen him eat apples, so she bought a few of those as well.
When she got back to the conference, she learned from Bob that Grissom had spent the entire break looking for her. Walking up to him, he stormed off in a huff, without even acknowledging her statement that she was going to put the purchases away.
Sara took a seat in the back of the auditorium, mentally bouncing between worrying about him and devising plans to dispose of Grissom's body and explain his disappearance when he took the seat beside her. He didn't say anything, and Sara didn't push, just glad that he was at least willing to be physically near her.
His mood didn't improve even after his racing roaches won again, moving up in the standings.
Changing into more casual clothes, Sara debated actually attending the game, deciding in the end to go. If Grissom wanted some time alone, he should have said something. She half-hoped he'd stay at the hotel and sleep. Besides, she didn't have any of her own friends around, and enjoyed being around the Crothers; they were amusing, if nothing else.
"You're not driving," she said, holding her hand out for the keys.
"You're not on the insurance," Grissom said, frowning when she leaned against the driver side door.
"And if you drive in your condition, we'll both need that insurance. Keys."
He didn't argue; in fact he was silent the entire drive. Arriving at the ballpark, Bob waved them over to the group of bleacher seats reserved for them.
"Fred, here they are. Let me make the introductions," Bob said to a younger man beside him.
"Gil Grissom," Grissom said, sticking out his hand, and quickly sliding into the bleacher, literally dragging the other man onto the bench next to him.
Sara rolled her eyes as she sat on the other side of Fred. Bob and Cheryl snickered softly.
"Fred Horowitz, from Stanford," the younger man answered politely before turning around and holding his hand out again. "Sara Sidle?"
She shook his hand, glancing over his shoulder to see Grissom staring in disbelief. It mimicked her own mood. "Yeah, Dr. Horowitz."
"Call me Fred. Actually, it's Freedom Moonsage Horowitz. You wouldn't believe the parents I had."
"Actually, I think I know the type."
"I guess you would. I heard you studied theoretical physics at Berkeley."
"Grad school, yeah," Sara answered, risking another look at Grissom.
Oh, definitely pissed. Well, he's the one that stuck Fred between us. Jeez, I'm just being polite to the guy.
"Did you know a Professor Kramer in Optics?"
"Crazy Karl?" Sara asked lightly. "Oh, yeah. How do you know him?"
"He's my uncle."
"Oh," Sara muttered, wishing she could disappear. Her eyes narrowed as Grissom settled back with a broad grin on his face. She blushed as she smiled apologetically at Horowitz. "Sorry."
"Oh, don't be," he said, leaning into her. "That's nicer than what the family says about him. I was wondering if he was as big a nut job at work."
"He was, uh, interesting," Sara said, noting – without surprise – that Grissom was scowling again.
"That's an understatement! And for the record, he's not a blood relative. He married my aunt," Horowitz said in mock-severity, before tilting his head and frowning. "Of course, that means I had a blood relative insane enough to marry him."
"Love is … weird," she said, smiling as Grissom darted his eyes to her briefly before looking away, clearly perplexed.
"Among other things," Horowitz chuckled as he smiled appreciatively.
Oh, no. No way. This can't be happening.
"Uh, huh. You know, I didn't eat before coming over. I wonder if they sell anything suited for a vegetarian," Sara said, getting up quickly.
"You know, I was wondering the same thing," Fred said as he joined her.
Oh, he's not. What are the odds?
"That's something else you two have in common," Bob said.
"What else do we have in common?" both asked in unison. Sara couldn't stop the resulting laugh, ducking her head towards Bob to avoid Grissom.
"You're both from San Francisco."
"Actually, Tamales Bay," Sara corrected, leaning forward slightly to look around Fred.
Well, Grissom's watching the game now. Or practice. Whatever it is they're doing down there. He better not be angry. This wasn't my idea.
"No kidding! I love that town. I go power biking with friends on weekends. Sometimes we swing through there and eat at Magpie's for lunch."
Fred kept a continual conversation going as they wandered around the concession area, finding out what other people they both knew. By the time they headed back to the bleachers, she was ready to strangle him. Not only did he never shut up, he'd been down right condescending when she bought hot dogs for Grissom. She looked around in concern when they returned, noting that Grissom was gone.
"He's in the little bug's room," Bob explained, letting out a disappointed yell at something on the field.
With a subtle shift, Sara let Fred into the bleacher first. When Grissom did return, she smiled kindly at him as she handed him the food and soda. After staring at her for a moment, he took the meal with a grateful nod of his head.
Unfortunately, Fred continued talking, asking her about Vegas, finally commenting that it didn't sound anything like the Northern California coast.
"It's not home," Sara admitted, surprised at the sadness in her voice. It was true; while the desert held its own beauty, it didn't compare. And the city itself was gaudy and loud. Too many of the residents – like herself – were recent transplants. There was no sense of community like she grew up with.
She could feel Grissom's gaze, and she cautiously turned around. His stare was deep, but he didn't say anything as he eventually offered her one of his french fries. She took it, sighing as Grissom frowned and turned back to the game when Fred started another barrage of questions.
Dammit, Grissom. Don't you get jealous on me. You don't have any reason to be. I don't like Fred. Besides, you tried to dump me last night. And let's not even start on the whole possession bit.
After the game, Sara watched as Grissom silently brooded as they made their way to the car. On the ride back, she expected him to be jealous, but when she finally looked at him, he looked concerned.
"I never knew you weren't happy in Las Vegas," he said softly.
"I never said I wasn't," she pointed out.
"You aren't," Grissom stated, closing his eyes as he leaned against the seat.
Thinking he'd fallen asleep, Sara drove slowly to the hotel, unable to resist darting her eyes towards him. His quick exit from the car when they got there convinced her Grissom had been playing possum. By the time she got upstairs, he'd already taken refuge in his room, leaving her in the living area, shaking her head.
What's going on inside that head of yours, Grissom?
If Tuesday had been awkward, Wednesday was a demonically-inspired day.
Even with separate bedrooms, sharing the suite was uncomfortable as they tried to avoid each other as they took turns in the bathroom. Grissom apparently had slept, but it didn't improve his mood any.
Before Sara could talk to him, Fred and the Crothers had joined them for breakfast. Grissom cut out early, saying he needed to talk to a colleague. He kept his distance through the day, but did reappear magically when Fred joined Sara at lunch.
Sara's patience was starting to wear thin by the end of the day. Grissom didn't even smile when she congratulated him when his roaches continued their winning streak. She bowed out quickly when invited to join in the poker game, feeling a sense of relief when Grissom agreed to go.
She read a journal and then ordered room service, eating a late dinner as she watched the news. A long, hot soak in the tub relaxed her muscles some, but her mental state was still jumpy. She couldn't figure out what was going on with Grissom.
Okay, he wants to be with me. I know that. He's trying to convince himself that it'll work before he'll commit. Or convince himself it won't before he runs. He's confused.
Guess Grissom believes in sharing, 'cause I sure as hell don't know what's going on.
I wish Catherine was here. Damn, I really am a mess. Nah, she gets Grissom better than I do. Or she knows people better. Probably both, but at least she would know how to handle him now.
If she believed it. Damn, I can see the expressions at work if they knew what was going on here. 'Oh, yeah, Grissom gave me dance lessons, and we almost ended up in bed.' I think Greg would have a heart attack.
That imagery did bring a smile to her face. After changing into her pajamas, she called the lab. She wouldn't tell them what was going on, even if it had been positive, but she missed her friends. She was laughing loudly at the result of Greg's first attempt to deal with a stoned biker when Grissom walked in.
"It's the lab," she called out before his mind could jump to jealous conclusions. "Everything's okay there. Hold on. Do you want to talk to anyone?" she asked Grissom, who shook his head, still standing by the door. "Hey, no, that's cool. Good luck with the case."
Hanging up the phone, she found Grissom staring at her with a curious expression. "Just chatting," she offered, looking nervous when he tilted his head. "You okay?" she finally asked.
"Hmmm."
"That's one thing I always admired about you, Grissom. You're so witty."
"There's nothing planned for tomorrow," he said.
Sara watched as he moved slowly, circling around the room as he headed for the window. Distant lightning played across the skies, but the city noise drowned out any hint of thunder. He leaned against the cool glass, looking into the distance.
"I thought you were going to the amusement park," she said, creeping up to stand on the far side of the window.
"What about you?" he asked.
"I hadn't given it much thought."
"I … ," Grissom began, tapping his fingers against the window ledge fretfully. "What do you want to do tomorrow?"
"Don't worry about it. I'll find something to do," she assured him gently. "Go have fun. You could use it."
"I want to spend the day with you."
"What?" Sara asked incredulously.
Grissom turned to face her, looking extremely nervous. "I want to spend the day with you."
"Really?"
Seeing her smile, he nodded, licking his lips as he took a step towards her. "I promised to take you dancing, but we never made it to dinner."
"I made it," she pointed out, easing her own way closer to him. "You never showed up."
"I want to make it up to you."
"No," Sara said firmly, but giving him a smile. "You wanted to go to the amusement park. I won't have you missing that because you think you owe me an apology. I wasn't kidding, Grissom. Go have some fun. It'll help you clear your mind."
"I wasn't joking," he said, taking a resolute breath. "I want to spend the day with you, Sara."
"Seriously?" she asked, dropping her head embarrassedly. If I start giggling, someone please shoot me.
"Very," he promised.
"Okay. Uh, we might as well go to Cedar Point. You wanted to, anyway. No, I'm serious. I want to see what you find so interesting about roller coasters."
"It's the thrill, the anticipation," he whispered, leaning in close enough that his breath tickled Sara's chin, prompting her to close her eyes. "Goodnight."
She snapped her eyes open, but he was already most of the way to his room. He paused before going in, giving her an amused wink before closing the door.
"Anticipation? Oh, like I'm going to sleep now."
TBC