Disclaimer: CSI belongs to Zuicker &Co., Alliance Atlantis, and CBS. As far as I'm concerned, Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle should belong to William Peterson and Jorja Fox, but nobody asked me.
A.N.: I apologize once again for the time between updates. I had to radically change direction mid scene, because these people just don't do lighthearted. Also, dialogue hates me.
Unbetaed so far, all mistakes are mine.
Feedback: Blows my mind every time. Thank you so much. Please, feel free to be brutally honest, I appreciate any criticism.
Two and a half weeks after Grissom's stint in the ER, Sara had a teenage runaway. Fifteen year old Patricia Mc Coy hadn't shown up at school, clothes and duffel bag were missing. Poor neighborhood, clean but messy house, both parents working too much to earn too barely enough. There was tension between them, but nothing really suspicious. Patricia's diary was missing, nobody knew of a boyfriend, and she didn't have any close friends.
No amount of zeal or stubbornness could help when there was no evidence to process, no lead to follow. Patricia was gone and Sara couldn't find her. With a heavy heart, she signed her report, and dropped it off at Grissom's desk. Shift had ended less than an hour ago, she was wide awake and starving. Maybe even for company.
Checking her appearance in the rearview mirror, she put on her sunglasses; four days of full immersion in a heartbreaking case had left their imprint. Sara huffed at her inane thoughts and headed to the farmer's market.
xxxxxxxxxx
"Pineapple?"
He blinked. "Sara?" Damn, he hated that… squeak in his voice.
"Hi!" The only thing missing was the cartoonish, self-inflicted forehead smack of mortification. She was so obvious, and the fake Barbie cheer in her voice was just pathetic.
Why was he blinking that much? Was it the daylight, had he been asleep, or…
"Good morning," he said, and kept staring at her. Backlit by the sun, showing up on his doorstep, she was a fantasy come to life.
She looked down at his feet. Generic black socks ... was he going to let her in or not? When had a meal become a Machiavellian undertaking?
Plastering on an even more fake grin on her face, she looked up. And found him staring at her. This was worse than those dreams where she showed up at the lab naked.
"I'm sorry, did I wake you?"
His lips twitched, and he finally seemed of aware of the situation. "Not at all. Please, come in." A smile spread on his face, one she could only reciprocate. "It's good to see you."
Two socially awkward workaholics, grinning at each other. Possibly over pineapple.
Lift off.
xxxxxxxxxx
"This is really good."
"Thank you. I've never tried French toast and pineapple together, but I like it."
His ribs were doing better, as far as she could tell. The bruises should have faded. His movements had been careful but steady, and if they had caused him any pain, he'd hidden it carefully. Still, she had to ask.
"How are you doing?"
He took a sip of his coffee before answering. "Fine. Back at the lab on Monday."
The implication being, he wasn't cleared to be back in the field.
They fell silent for the rest of the meal, occasionally trading smiles and lingering looks over their mugs.
Sara felt not tense, but charged, like a live wire, coursing with unfamiliar energy. She'd essentially barged into his home bearing fruit and now they were wordlessly flirting over breakfast. All good things, except for the volatility of the situation. Then again, Grissom wasn't avoiding her eyes or changing the nonexistent subject. He looked relaxed and content and Sara just wanted more of this.
"Catherine told me about your case", he said with an even voice, and poured the last of the coffee into her mug.
She froze. They were more comfortable, true, but only as long as they stayed on safe ground. Where was he going with this? She decided to wait him out. "She did?"
He looked at her for long seconds before slowly and deliberately putting his hand on hers. "I'm sorry", he said, his eyes firmly fixed on hers.
Sara had to swallow the lump in her throat. Looking down at their hands, she choked out a heartfelt "Thank you". She couldn't think of anything else to say.
Grissom carefully disengaged and moved towards the fridge. "More coffee?"
"Please." She watched him as he was rummaging around his kitchen. Every movement precise and unhurried, there was no evidence of tension in the line of his back. Patricia was still gone, but Sara felt almost at peace.
This is why I'm still here.
"Have you heard about this study they're doing in Germany?" she asked, falling back on familiar territory.
"Interesting, but inherently flawed", he retorted, sitting back down.
She smiled as he expanded on his point of view.
xxxxxxxxxx
Half an hour later, at the verge of feeling drowsy, she decided to take her leave.
"Thank you for breakfast."
"Thank you for the company. We should do this again."
"Maybe we should", she answered, her light tone mirroring his.
Opening the door for her, Grissom leaned against it, invading her space. "I'll call you this weekend."
He wasn't touching her, but the look in his eyes was tender and made Sara feel warm on the inside. Flashing him a parting smile, she put on her sunglasses and turned towards her car. Things were looking up.
xxxxxxxxxx
Grissom closed the door on a sigh. What were they doing? Were they doing anything? What am I doing? They'd spent a quiet hour sharing a meal and enjoying each other's company, the strain of the past few years gone. He hadn't felt pressured by her presence alone, and she'd seemed more relaxed than ever. Good things are a rare commodity. Hold on to them.