DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters from 'CSI'. They're not my property.
"What now?" Bertha sounded annoyed.
"We found these in your apartment," Sara said, showing her photographs of the surgical instruments.
"I collect," Bertha replied.
"Do you also happen to collect human hearts?" Grissom asked.
Bertha sighed, looking around.
"The blood on them matches your ex-boyfriend's," Sara told her.
"We also found out that you were at Deeper End with Graham, and a frequent visitor at that," Grissom continued.
"So, I lied. Big deal."
"You know, all the evidence is already speaking against you. You can tell us or let it all speak out in court."
Bertha shook her head and leaned forward. "It started out innocently. Just sex, no feelings, no strings attached."
"But it turned into more," Sara said.
Bertha nodded. Her fingers started making invisible circles on the table's surface. "He stole my heart…" she started, almost in a trance, eyes on the table. "And broke it. Someone should have just killed me 'cause that was one…. big, horrible… pain. So…" she looked up at them. "I stole his heart." Her hand formed a fist on the table. "And crushed it." She then leaned back, undisturbed by her confession.
"The heart will break, but broken live on," Grissom said, watching her being taken away.
"And she picked the wrong way to mend it," Sara replied.
The hot drops of the water hit her face hard but she did not protest; in fact, it felt soothing. As her hands ran across the flattened hairs on her head, she gazed around, thoughts from earlier beginning to creep up. The hot drops sliding down along the curves of her nose and then hitting the floor quick and hard; some managed to remain on her skin and slide down to the opened entrance of her lips. Sara licked the drops and sighed.
She took a step back and leaned against the wet tiles of the wall, each drop sipping into her skin. She stared in front of her, not looking at any object present but rather a not so distant ghostly memory. Her fingers touched the tiles scarcely to make certain it felt warm enough for the rest of her palms to follow.
He allowed the last fall of water to wash over the remains of the shampoo before he opened his eyes again.
It had been way too misty for his eyes to recognize solid objects.
The rising steam somehow triggered something inside him, causing his movements to come to a stop. His eyes moved around the available space until they could find nothing to satisfy them. Turning slightly to his right, Grissom placed his hands against the tiled wall, facing it. He closed his eyes and let out a slow sigh….
Sara's arms began sliding up along the cooling wall, her hands forming into weak fists. Her wrists felt the soft pressure applied by his fingers. Her arms went further up; her palms receiving the soft but brief tickling sensation of his index finger. Her hands were soon on the same level as her head. It was there that she stopped and it was there that her lips parted.
He opened his eyes and was met by the white ceramic. But his eyes did not see the white material…. They saw the whites of her eyes, the brown circles floating in the middle, looking back at him. She was confused; Sara was so confused at the beginning; her eyes begging for an answer. But then, they adjusted. She went along with it. Grissom was not sure if she would have, but she did not let him down, not even like this. He lifted his face and let a soft breath pass through his lips.
Did she feel it then?
She could have stopped him, voicing her discomfort. Sara closed her eyes. She did not object to this "strategy". He was so confident…. Incredibly convincing; the blue pools painted over by a darker, more alarming presence with her as its target. But it had not been a presence she had wished to escape from.
A soft moan was released. She had washed her body a million times, but the skin on her neck could still feel it. That incredibly tender and yet carnivorous breath hitting the flesh like a wave of salty water crushing against the shore. What if there was no one else in that room? What if she hadn't diverted her eyes from him but stared back with the same strange intensity as the blues in front of her did?
What if….
His left hand slid down slowly against the wall, as if caressing a female arm. His right hand remained in its place; he did not wish to lose balance. The right hand then rotated as his fingers began retracing the earlier path upwards. His eyes followed those fingers, focused on them as if they were leaving pale marks on her skin… where his touch had been. They suddenly turned from that straight line, going towards the middle… course was changed once more. They started moving down….
Sara's eyes shot open. She let out a louder moan, blinking several times. His blue eyes disappeared; her hands and her body felt free.
Sara lowered her hands and pushed herself from the wall. It had not been the right place. Intimate - yes; appropriate – no.
Grissom's hand stopped. He looked up again and this time leaned his forehead against the wet tiles. He closed his eyes and sighed. The mist disappeared; the warmth of her body was still here…. Not even a million showers or baths could wash it away; but it was such a pleasurable warmth; the scent of her neck, not disguised by an artificial fragrance. He was becoming addicted to that scent.
He did want her there. But he wanted her at the wrong place.
His hands pushed him away from the wall.