Geek's A/N: I'd just like to say that my husband rocks. He helped me rescue Stalemate from the deep, dark recesses of the internet. Scully thinks he's awesome, too, but the truth of the matter is, I just couldn't let Stalemate go! It's a HOT little fic, people. My husband doesn't know it, but it's responsible for at least a couple of the times I've run into his office and jumped his—er, well, you get the picture.
Scully's A/N: Yeah so, as you all know, I can't write good sap. I mean, I just can't do it. That's why Holly juxtaposes me so wonderfully. This is alllll her in this chapter.
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Grissom lay awake for a long time after Sara slipped into the confines of slumber. He spent the first half hour acclimating himself to the fact that he was in Sara Sidle's bed. When he was certain that had become as accustomed to that realization as he was ever going to get, he allowed his mind to wander into the forbidden territory of his love for her. A steadfast perfectionist by nature, he had long ago decided that if the time ever came that he acted on his love for Sara (which he was sure it never would), it would have to be perfect. She deserved nothing less, and he was quite positive that his fragile heart could withstand nothing less.
As these thoughts flooded his mind, he began to plan his course of action for that evening after they woke up. He was certain that he had disappointed Sara by not making love to her earlier, but he simply couldn't take the chance that her inebriated state would leave her regretting their actions later—not to mention the fact that he had been telling the truth in what he said. It had to be perfect. They had to make love—not have an all-out fuckfest.
As his mind began to formulate a plan of action, he pulled her a little closer and watched her smile in her sleep. Oh, yes. This was going to be good indeed.
(---)
Grissom opened his eyes that afternoon to the sound of moaning. He rolled over and looked at a very pale Sara Sidle in alarm. "What's wrong?" he asked, forgetting for a moment that he should probably feel awkward waking up in her bed.
"Hangover," was all she muttered.
"Even after throwing up?" he asked incredulously.
"What can I say?" she groaned. "I don't handle the hard stuff very well. At least, not in large quantities," she said with a wince.
"Ok, hold on just a sec," he said with concern. He threw off the comforter and padded to her kitchen. He poured her a large glass of cold water and brought it to her. "Drink this. It'll help with the dehydration. I'll go get some Tylenol." She began to drink obediently while he rummaged through her medicine cabinet, feeling slightly embarrassed when he came across a box of tampons. When he returned with the Tylenol, she was looking slightly more alert.
"Thanks," she said, taking the proffered pills. After swallowing them down, she looked at her hands and said, "I'm sorry if I was obnoxious this morning."
In what was still a rather bold move for him, Grissom moved to gather her into his arms. "No, no, shh…You have nothing to be sorry for. The only person in this room that needs to be apologizing is me. I have been such an ass to you for so long…I don't know if I can ever make it up to you, but what I said before was true." He swallowed and forced himself to repeat the words that had come so easily only hours before. "I'll spend the rest of my life trying," he whispered. She looked up at him with shining eyes, but he continued before she could say anything. "And I'm going to start tonight. You are on the schedule as having tonight off, correct?"
"Yes, but I was planning to come in and—" He silenced her with a soft finger to her lips.
"It can wait. I am going to take a much-deserved personal day off this evening, and we are going to start the evening with dinner." He looked at her clock. It was 2 in the afternoon. "Can you be ready at 6 o'clock?" She nodded silently. He leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Good. Dress nicely."
She raised her eyebrows at that and said, "Define nicely."
"Umm…court clothes, maybe? Something you'd wear to a nice restaurant." He winked.
He was rewarded with a bright Sara Sidle Smile.
"Now, my dear," he said lovingly. I am going to go home and take care of a few things. I will see you back here at 6 pm sharp, ok?" She nodded. He gave her a final peck on the cheek, and started to leave.
"Wait!" Sara said suddenly. He turned to her. "You brought a gift, remember?"
He smiled. "Yes, that I did. It's still on the coffee table, if you'd like to open it."
"I would," she said brightly, already on her way to the living room.
When she was settled on the couch, she picked up the small box and fingered it lovingly before ripping the paper off in a mad rush. The small leather box gave nothing away as to its contents, so she eagerly opened it and immediately gasped. "It's…it's beautiful," she said reverently.
"Do you like it?" he said, concern and self-doubt evident in his voice.
"I love it," she breathed. She lifted the necklace out of the box. It was a scarab beetle encased in amber, threaded onto a thin strip of soft leather.
"I bought it awhile ago," Grissom explained. "When I saw it, there was no question in my mind that it was made for you to wear. I knew it would look exquisite on you. May I?" he said, reaching for it. Sara relinquished the unusual piece of jewelry, and he lovingly placed it around her neck, fumbling momentarily with the clasp.
She turned to him and said, "What do you think?"
"I was right. It was made with you in mind."
Sara blushed and ducked her head. "Thank you. This really means a lot to me."
He didn't respond. He was too preoccupied with the picture of beauty in front of him. Yes, even in a tank top and sweatpants, with bedhead and the pale complexion born of a hangover, Sara Sidle was beautiful. He brushed the back of his fingers over her face and leaned down to kiss her cheek. "I'll see you at 6," he whispered.
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Grissom went home and made reservations before falling into bed in an attempt to catch another hour or so of sleep before getting ready for his first date with Sara. At that thought, his pulse began to race. 'My first date with Sara…I never thought that would happen,' he mused.
At 4:30, his alarm went off and he hopped up, surprised at his level of excitement. He showered, brushed his teeth, and carefully selected a suit that he thought would complement his blue eyes nicely. As an afterthought, he sprayed on cologne. He never wore it at work, but he thought it might be a nice touch for a date. At 5:30 on the dot, he took a deep breath and headed to his door to make the twenty-minute drive to Sara's apartment, with a quick stop on the way.
At 6 pm sharp, Grissom stood at Sara's door, single red rose in hand. He rapped his knuckles against the wood and stood back, feeling very much like a teenager on his first date. After a moment, the door opened and Grissom couldn't help the gasp that escaped his throat as he looked at her. She was…positively stunning. She wore a strapless sundress in a brown and yellow stripe pattern. The sundress was short enough to reveal her shapely legs, but not so short as to be inappropriate. A pair of strappy brown sandals adorned her feet. Her jewelry consisted of only a silver watch and the scarab beetle necklace he had given her.
"Sara," Grissom managed. "You look…" he couldn't find the right word. "Beautiful," he breathed.
She smiled shyly. "Thank you. You look very handsome."
He handed her the rose. "This is for you, but now it seems rather pale in comparison."
She grinned at him as she took the flower. "Charmer," she said with a smile. "Come in while I put this in some water."
Five minutes later, the rose in a proper vase, Grissom and Sara were leaving her apartment. "Where are we going?" Sara asked in curiosity.
"Postrio at the Venetian, if that's okay with you," he answered.
"Mmm, very nice. I've never been there, but I've heard wonderful things."
"I checked to make sure there was plenty of vegetarian cuisine on the menu, so it should do nicely."
She was touched that he would remember to check on something like that for her. She smiled as he opened her car door for her.
They arrived at the Venetian just in time for their 6:30 reservation. Grissom slipped his hand into hers as he gave the maitre d' his name, and Sara felt light-headed at his very public display of affection. 'So unlike him,' she thought to herself.
Once seated, they fell into comfortable and casual conversation. Nothing too heavy, but nothing as mundane as the weather, either. They chatted about some cold cases that perpetually bugged them, a couple of recent journal articles that had intrigued them, and even a rare species of beetle that seemed to be making a comeback in the Nevada desert, much to Grissom's delight.
They enjoyed a delicious meal—she the Heirloom Tomato Salad, and he the Alaskan Halibut—but only after ascertaining that his entrée would not bother her. To his surprise, she said, "Actually, I do eat fish occasionally, so it won't bother me, I promise. Thank you, though."
When they had finished their meal, Grissom settled the bill, stood up to get Sara's chair for her, and offered her his arm. As she looked on in shock, he smiled and said, "Just doing things the way my mother raised me to do them. Is that okay?"
She loved his concern. "Well, I've always been something of a feminist, but I think I could get used to this!" She winked at him and he chuckled lightly before leaning in to peck her cheek.
"Good," he murmured. Sara struggled to keep her jaw in its proper place. Had Gil Grissom just kissed her on the cheek in public?
Once they were outside the restaurant, Grissom took her hand. "What now?" Sara asked.
"Do you like art?" he asked cryptically.
"Yes…" she said.
"Would you like to go to the Guggenheim?" he asked, pointing farther into the Venetian.
Her face lit up. "Absolutely!" she cried. "I haven't seen the new exhibit!"
(---)
Grissom watched in delight as Sara's observant eyes took in every detail of the beautiful works in the "Pursuit of Pleasure" exhibit at the Guggenheim. She seemed particularly fascinated by the Chagall painting on display, The Soldier Drinks. "Look," she breathed softly. "Look at the strong lines, his amazing use of color here."
Grissom shook his head in disbelief. "Is there anything you're not an expert on?" he asked with a smile.
She turned to him. "Gil Grissom," she whispered, not unkindly.
Her words stung. "I'll make sure I change that," he said seriously, his eyes locked on hers. He was rewarded with a small smile. He decided to start immediately. "Did you know my mother owned an art gallery?"
"Yes," she said succinctly, but not rudely. "Did you know I used to paint in high school?"
He gave her a look of surprise. "No. I didn't."
She shrugged. "Just a hobby, really. I always enjoyed it, though. I haven't picked up a brush in years."
He shook his head in wonder. The things one learned about Sara Sidle…
Over the next hour or so, they saw works by Edgar Degas, Edouard Manet, Pablo Picasso, and Henri Rousseau, among others. Grissom shared his knowledge of art, as well as some of his experiences as a gallery owner's son, and Sara continued to impress Grissom with the breadth of her artistic knowledge, as well. By the time they finished their journey and wandered back out into the Venetian, they were laughing and talking animatedly, all the tensions of the previous months seemingly forgotten.
As Grissom reached for her hand yet again, Sara turned and looked at him searchingly. She seemed to be considering something, and she finally leaned her head to the side and asked, "Would you like to come back to my apartment and have coffee with me? No pressure," she said quietly, almost as an afterthought.
Grissom smiled warmly at her. "Nothing would please me more," he said in a low voice.