Day Dawning

By Camilla Sandman

Disclaimer: I am not a large American TV channel, thus they do not belong to me. No money made, no offence meant.

Author's note: Rating due to hints of sex. Nothing too descriptive, but you're hereby warned.

II

He awakens to feel cold. Not freezing, but cold, as if warmth has seeped out of him and only the faint memory of it lingers. The bed-covers feel cool against his skin and he shivers. Blindly, he seeks heat, but the bed is empty. There is just him.

He opens his eyes to the emptiness of his bedroom. The light feels muted, the sun still without the heat and radiance of day. A car in the distance hoots, shattering the illusion of silence. But he knows there is no true silence in Las Vegas. There is always a noise, always a roar, even if humans choose not to listen. People lose themselves in the sounds and think them silence.

And there is one sound he is missing. Her breath, mingling with his. Her heartbeats under his palm. Her sighs at his touch. He is missing her sound, the sound of Sara.

He dreamt of her in the night, he remembers. Dreamt that she left him, that he did finally chase her away as he wanted to, as he feared to. Dreamt that she tired of being two steps away every step she took forward.

Dreamt that he lost her.

He stares at his hands and feels old. So many regrets, so much lost. So much he would undo, but time knows only one direction.

"You better get up or we'll be late."

It is shouted softly to him across rooms and without even thinking he follows the sound, the call of his mate drawing him in. All men are animals, even him.

She stands in the bathroom door, a towel around her head and body, water still glistening on her skin. Freshly out of the shower and more beautiful than in any gown of creation.

"I thought you had left," he says, feeling stupid, feeling relieved. She smiles.

"I'm here."

She did leave him. But he came after her and for all he had not said, she had still come back with him. Back to Las Vegas. And her she is, in his cold home, his fear realised, his dream come to life.

"You were asleep when I came home," she continues and he nods. She still works too hard and too much. But he lures her home early sometimes now and so does she.

He walks over and embraces her, merely smiling at her protests. He does not care if she makes him wet, does not care if they'll be slightly late this morning. She is here.

He tastes soap on her skin as he kisses her neck, cherishing the warmth of her in his arms. She fits. In his arms, his life, his home.

"Grissom!" she laughs, the sound of her trickling against his skin. He kisses water from her lips, silencing her protests. Her towel is rough under his fingers compared to her skin and he loosens it. She lets it fall, merely sighing as he dries her with his body, his touches, his presence.

"Sara," he whispers.

He is not letting her go again. He is the calm and she is the wind, sweeping through his life and changing all. But in the still of air it is hard to fly and he will dare the storm.

She clings to him as he lifts her up and kisses her deeply for the fears of the words he might utter. He will tell her one day soon. But not before the fear passes and he will not wake to think her gone in the morning. Not until his morning is not haunted by dreams he needs to kiss away.

"I'm here, Gil," she whispers, her eyes dark as he sinks into her. And he reads in her eyes what he has known since he first turned to her voice on a Las Vegas street.

Maybe he will tell her soon.

Maybe he will tell her today.

And then he loses himself in her silence, the morning roaring ever on beyond her, loud and bright and day dawning.