I swear to holy God in Heaven, I had this mostly done before the episode Snakes aired. When it came the other night, my jaw hit the floor as Sara practically recited some of the dialogue I had already written down for this chapter (she said, "Why do you think I moved to Vegas?" and I had written, "Don't you have any idea why I decided to stay in Las Vegas?"). So while that was pretty damned freakin' cool, I had to slightly change what I wrote, of course. It was awesome to see that I'm kind of on the same page with the actual writers of the show! I decided I'd better post this before the CSI writers steal any more of my ideas. So, on to the…
Reverse disclaimer! : CBS, if you ever swipe any more of my story ideas, then in order to convince me to refrain from suing, you will have to make me a real writer on CSI. Just a fair warning.
This is the final Chapter of Entropy. It ended up longer than the others. It contains some promised GSR. I hope you all enjoy it.
Rating change alert: This got only slightly naughtier than I expected. To be safe I'm changing the rating, kids. Please note that it's now PG-13.
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Sara approached her door cautiously on quiet stocking feet. It was late, and she told herself that she wasn't expecting anyone. If her job had taught her one thing, it was to always check before she opened the door. A little jolt went over her when she saw who it was. Her immediate impulse was not to respond at all. Sara leaned silently against the door, her eye glued to the peephole to see what he would do next. The convex apparition that was Grissom rang the bell, peered knowingly at the peephole, and then knocked three more times. Sara leaned back, feeling irritable and torn. He looked extremely uncomfortable, but he didn't look like he was leaving. She deliberated with herself through another round of knocking, and then, cursing internally, reached for the deadbolt.
Despite his persistence, Grissom actually looked surprised when she opened the door. "What are you doing here?" she asked. Her voice was tired and chilly, and her stiff body blocked his view of her apartment. "I was hoping we could talk," he replied, breath steaming in the night air. "About what?" Sara retorted. Now Grissom was the one to look annoyed. "Sara, it's cold. Would you please just let me in?" he asked. She let out a frustrated sigh. Mentally kicking herself, Sara stepped aside and let Grissom into her apartment.
He looked around as she closed the door behind him. Sara's apartment wasn't what he'd expected. It was cozier, for one thing. Overstuffed chairs, rugs on the hardwood floor; a couple of magazines scattered on the coffee table. She had the heater going. Grissom was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was surrounded by Sara; her things, her scent. He unbuttoned his jacket, feeling abruptly quite warm. Sara walked around to face him; his eyes went reflexively over her body. He took in her oversized flannel pajama pants and form-fitting fleece sweatshirt, the casual way her hair curled behind her ears, and swallowed hard. Maybe this wasn't the best idea. He suddenly thought he might know why he'd always avoided coming here.
Searching for a way to break the ice, Grissom glanced around and spotted a laptop open and glowing on the countertop. "Doing some email?" he asked lamely, trying in vain to make small talk, to soften the hard contours of her face. Sara crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm searching the Internet for job postings," she replied shortly. "Grissom, what do you want?" He sighed. So much for pleasantries. Maybe it was best if he just jumped right in and got it over with.
He looked her straight in the eye. "I owe you an apology, Sara," he said.
She was so startled that she actually took a small step backward. An apology from Grissom? This was certainly a first. "For what?" she found herself asking, though she knew the answer. "For this afternoon," he replied immediately. "I was angry at Ecklie, and at the entire situation. I took it out on you. I shouldn't have been judgmental, and I'm sorry." Amazed, Sara studied him, trying to decide how to respond. It was clear that he'd had to muster some courage in order to deliver his apology. But he'd been honest and forthright, and he looked like he meant it. In spite of herself, Sara felt something within her soften. Damn Grissom. No matter how righteous her anger was, the smallest gesture on his part could knock out her defenses before she knew what was happening. "Grissom," she said, and paused. A hundred different and conflicting phrases ran through her mind; she finally settled on old-fashioned, truthful simplicity. "Thank you." she finished with a difficult sigh. "It… doesn't erase what you said, but… it helps."
He nodded. He'd been studying her posture during his carefully worded apology; she'd uncrossed her arms, and her shoulders had relaxed a bit. Her thank you had sounded sincere. Grissom decided that it was safe to discuss the second, more difficult reason that he was here. "Sara," he said. "I want you to come back to work." She gave an ironic huff. "Don't you think it's little late for that? I've done a pretty good job of burning my bridges with Ecklie. And to be honest with you, Grissom," Sara straightened pridefully. "I'd do it again." Grissom sighed. "Sara, I understand that what Ecklie said…" he stopped, trying to think of the least embarrassing way to rephrase the accusation. "What he said about you and I was unacceptable, for so many obvious reasons. But the way you responded…" he shook his head, trying not to come across as accusatory.
She knew what he was asking. "It was about respect," Sara said. "Standing up for myself. The right to make my own decisions and have control over my own life." She watched as he took off his glasses; the familiar gesture made her heart constrict, and she continued without considering the consequences. "And it was about you."
Not at all sure how to respond to that, Grissom cleared his throat uncomfortably. "You still don't get it, do you?" she continued softly, almost to herself. She watched him; his expression remained uncertain. "Grissom," Sara said, struggling for the right words. "Do you remember when I said… when I asked you if you knew why I stayed in Vegas? I thought you understood that it was because of you. I moved here because I wanted to work with you." She let the truth tumble out. No point in stopping now. "If I'm not on your shift, Grissom," Sara looked away, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. "Then this job isn't worth it to me."
He stared at her with eyes widened by flattered surprise. Sara's gaze was fixed pointedly on the floor, as though she found something there utterly fascinating. A flush crept delicately up her neck, staining her face. And suddenly he was plunged into yet another one of those dreaded moments; awkward silence thick between them like a physical presence. He felt heavy and useless and ridiculous. Sara looked like she just wanted out of this conversation, out of the room entirely. But this time, he realized, she couldn't walk away. There was no place for her to go. He cleared his throat again and found his voice.
"Ecklie changed his mind," Grissom said. "If you come back, you won't be moving to days." Sara's head snapped up; her mouth dropped open. If anything, her blush intensified. "He changed his mind?" she asked, disbelieving but very grateful for the subject change. "How? Why? What happened?" Grissom raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure," he replied honestly. "I do know that Catherine was in his office tonight. But apparently Ecklie decided all on his own that it was best for you to stay on night shift." "What about his demands?" Sara stuttered. "The required apology?" Grissom gave her a nod. "I spoke to Ecklie about that, and I got an email from him right before I left the lab. I copied it to you, if you're interested. He says that you won't be expected to submit a letter of apology. He understands how the stress of working in CSI might cause the occasional emotional outburst." Sara shook her head, dumbfounded. "Do you think that Catherine had something to do with this?" she asked. "I think it's possible," Grissom admitted, concerned that she would take it as interference on Catherine's part. Sara paused for a moment, as though considering; then to his surprise, a wry grin spread slowly across her face. "I would have loved," she said, "to have been a fly on that wall."
"So would I," Grissom replied, relieved, and hesitated. "Sara, I know that what I said… it must have seemed like I was supporting Ecklie's decision, but that wasn't my intention. We need you at CSI. I need you on my shift." She watched him, listening carefully. "I filed a formal report with HR about what went on in Ecklie's office today." Grissom continued. "I felt they should know about his mistreatment of you. If they don't follow up, I'm going to go to the director. Ecklie was using you to get to me, and you deserve much better than that."
Helplessly, Sara felt the remainder of her resentful anger trickling away. Grissom had gone to bat for her. Maybe it had been a little later than she'd have liked, but he had done the right thing. He seemed to be gauging her reaction; after a moment he reached into his jacket pocket, taking a small step toward her. Grissom withdrew her badge, holding it carefully, not pressing her to take it. "Sara," he said gently. "Ecklie doesn't know that I have this. Please come back." Sara didn't know what to say. Even if every other fiber of her being wanted that badge, her stubborn streak always refused to let go of a decision once it was made. She hesitated, torn.
And then, to Grissom's own astonishment, for once in his life he knew the right thing to say to her.
"Sara, I would hate for this… for you to come to regret this decision," Grissom's intimate tone forced her eyes up to the sharpness of his blue eyes, and suddenly the very air between them felt charged. "Grissom," she found herself asking. "What would you know about regret?" Sara's heart thumped at the daring of her words and she braced herself; this was always when the moment broke, disintegrated. But amazingly this time Grissom held fast. He shifted, but he didn't look away. "More than you would think," he replied, voice barely audible. "I know how it can eat at you, wear you down. I know about reliving a moment in your head, wishing you'd done something different. Wondering how things might have turned out if you had."
He had drifted somehow closer to her as he spoke, until Sara's every nerve ending was tingling at his proximity. She tried to clear her mind, focus on the decision at hand. If she was indeed going to go back to her job, she knew it had to be for the right reasons, not because Catherine had cared enough to intervene. Or because Grissom had gone to the trouble to file that report, come to her apartment, apologize and ask her to stay. Or because he was standing so close, and had cryptically but somehow clearly admitted that he regretted decisions he had made about their relationship. And then suddenly she realized, like a flash of lightening. These were the right reasons. They were exactly the reasons that she needed.
She reached out and let her hand close softly on his. For a moment their fingers tangled. His hand flexed with surprise, and she soothed hers over it, gently disengaging his fingers from her badge. Once it was back in her own hand, a strange strong relief swept through Sara, making her feel shaky and grateful. "Grissom," she said, and her voice sounded raw in her own ears. "I'm sorry, too." "For what?" he asked softly. She focused on the subtle rise and fall of his chest and shook her head mutely, feeling her throat tighten; she couldn't explain.
Instead she somehow found a different kind of courage. Sara stepped forward, crossed that last small, intimidating distance. She put her hands against Grissom's chest and leaned carefully against him. Rested her head on his shoulder, her face near the warmth of his neck; closed her eyes because she couldn't bear to keep them open. Couldn't bear to see it if he pushed her away. For a split second he stiffened and her heart dropped. And then, wonder of wonders, she felt his arms close gently around her. They stood silently, and for the first time, Grissom held Sara in his arms. His hand smoothed hesitantly down her back and she slowly let herself relax against him, curling her fingers on the material of his shirt. She opened her eyes. Felt her heart knocking painfully against her ribcage, studied the weathered texture of Grissom's skin, his collar; became aware of the tickle of his beard against her cheek.
"It's okay," Grissom said finally, and the words rumbled low, reverberating into her. His breath was hot on her neck. He was sure that his pulse was through the roof. Sara was warm; beneath the softness of her sweatshirt he could feel the firm contours of her shoulders, the slope of her back. He could feel every breath she took. His face was against her hair, and she smelled incredible. She was so real. He knew he should let her go and take a large step back; they'd been standing together longer than any friendly embrace had a right to last. But his arms were mutinous and wouldn't obey. He felt Sara's hand move again, gently, against his shirt. A great, frightening tenderness welled vibrant in his chest. And before he had time to think about what he was doing, Grissom bent his head very slightly and brushed his lips across the pale skin of Sara's neck, just below her ear.
Sara's eyes went wide. Her neck tingled as though he'd burned her. She forced herself to be perfectly still. Agonized, holding her breath, she waited. One of Grissom's hands pressed the small of her back; the other came up to her neck, thumb stroking the sensitive place where his lips had been. He pulled slowly away, his mouth grazing over her jaw, then across her cheekbone. His beard rasped with soft, electrifying friction against her skin. A quiver of desire spiked through Sara's body; she lifted her head just in time for their eyes to meet. Another shock passed between them, this time thick and sharp with longing. Sara couldn't stand it. She closed her eyes.
Grissom's lips found hers.
He kissed her softly once, then again, his mouth warm and tender, achingly slow. Helplessly trembling, she responded, kissing back, feeling as though she'd been drugged. Her hands slipped from his chest up around his neck, beneath the collar of his jacket. Grissom dragged his lips sideways and she groaned at the loss, but he took his time, placing soft kisses on her cheek, her temple and forehead. Oh God. Sara melted against him, knees literally going weak. His arm tightened around her back. One of his legs slipped gently between hers. Sara slid a hand up the back of Grissom's neck, sought his wandering lips. They met in the middle and this time she kissed him hungrily, fierce frightening thrills of desire sweeping through her.
And then suddenly he stopped.
Broke the kiss and drew back, leaned his forehead against hers. Their noses brushed sensually. "Sara," Grissom rasped. Their breaths mingled in sharp, heated gasps. She tried to lean back into him. He evaded her. She wanted to scream. "Sara," he repeated, trying to get her to listen as he fought for control with every ounce of willpower. "Wait." Her fingernails dug into his neck. "Why?" she whispered desperately, blood roaring through her veins, finding it impossible in that moment to think of any reason why they should. He brought both shaking hands up, stroked her hair slowly. "This…" he cleared his throat. "This has been a very long, trying day, and I'm just not sure either of us is thinking clearly."
Vaguely, as if from a distance, Sara heard what he was saying. What she very clearly felt was that he still wasn't pushing her away. And suddenly she realized that this was up to her. She could ignore what he'd just said and he would give up his tenuous fight and take her to bed. She could have him, here, tonight. Now. Her body ached for him; Grissom's hands, his mouth, his solid weight. Somehow, though, through her fuzzy haze of desire,she managed to consider his words. Sara forced herself to take deep, calming breaths as Grissom's hands stilled on her hair. She'd been on an emotional roller coaster all day. It seemed a long time ago (actually only a few hours) that she'd considered the fact that she and Grissom hardly spoke anymore. To go so quickly from polite small talk to sleeping together was a huge leap, one that could be devastating. No matter how much she wanted him. No matter how much they wanted each other. Something so impulsive could possibly have an effect on how they worked together, and she'd be damned if she'd make an honest man of Conrad Ecklie. Heart aching, body still trembling with adrenaline, Sara slowly realized what she had to do.
"Grissom," she murmured, and somehow it was easier to be honest with his body against hers, while she was breathing his breath. "I…know this isn't the best time…but if we stop, please promise me one thing," She let her eyes flutter open, found that his were closed. Sara tipped her chin forward. "Promise me," she whispered, her lips brushing feather-light against his, "that there will be a right time." Grissom's eyes opened and he pulled back just enough for his gaze to hold hers, steady and certain. "There will," he said.
And the way he said it spoke volumes for them both.
Sara nodded slowly, swallowing, bracing herself. Reluctantly she slipped her hands off of Grissom's neck, sliding them down his chest, letting them linger there as she softly levered herself back. She felt weak and dizzy from the loss of contact. Sara took more deep breaths, trying to shake off the way her body had reacted to Grissom's. Doing her best to avoid the threatening waves of disappointment. And then Grissom's hands closed over hers, holding them gently against his chest. He was watching her with an expression she'd never seen; open and caring, still tinged with desire, and full of tender understanding. In that instant Sara knew that she'd made the more difficult, but ultimately smarter decision. Finally she knew for certain that he wanted her, too. That fact alone could sustain her until their moment finally came. And now she could finally let herself believe that it would.
Trying her best to regain a sense of normalcy, Sara decided to speak before the moment had a chance to turn difficult. "Grissom," she said, carefully keeping her voice neutral, "would you like to stay for dinner? I was about to make something. We could eat, and we could just… talk. About anything. About work, if you want." Grissom looked at her; despite her shaky hopeful expression, Sara retained an air of quiet, dignified strength. He could still taste her, still feel the curves of her body. Her hands were soft beneath his. He thought about his dreary townhouse, waiting empty and cold. Thought about his promise to her.
"Thank you. I'd like to stay," Grissom said quietly, and hesitated a moment before continuing. "But I think we've talked about work enough for one day." A smile lit her face; that singular smile, the one that seemed made just for him. "Here," she said, blushing again, eager to busy herself. "Um, let me take your coat." She disengaged her hands and circled behind him to rather unnecessarily help him shrug out of his jacket. Sara went over to the rack by the door and hung it carefully beside her own. She turned the deadbolts on the door and flipped her badge onto a small table with a practiced flick of her wrist, gestures so personal and domestic that his heart twisted tenderly in his chest. "What do you feel like for dinner?" Sara asked. And he didin't know how, but it suddenly felt normal, incredibly good to be this way with her. It felt right.
"Whatever you're having, Sara," Grissom said, "Would be fine with me."