A/N: You people are going to make me break down and cry from your reviews. I love you all and I want to give you all a huge hug for saying such nice things about my story. I'm having an absolute BLAST writing it, and I plan to keep adding at least a chapter a day, but I'm already on chapter six, and it's only been a day or two since I started, so maybe the pace will be even faster than that. FF is being painfully slow about updates, though, so be patient, please! They're not showing up until 12 or 15 hours after I post them... Now then, let's see...where were we?
As Sara left the Las Vegas Crime Lab, she looked at her watch. She had plenty of time to go to the gym and dance before her "appointment" at the Center for Sports Medicine. She tossed her stuff in her Tahoe and headed toward the gym.
Slipping on her ancient pointe shoes once again, she mentally reminded herself to buy a new pair, now that she knew it wouldn't be a total waste of money. She spent a few minutes warming up, and then stepped over to the stereo. She wanted to launch right into the creation of her own personal "therapy dance." Some ideas had come to her over the course of the previous day, and Sara was anxious to try them out. As the music began to play, she took some timid steps as she tried to get a feel for what she wanted to say with her body and the music. Sticking to strict classical ballet was not going to get it done; she would have to add some modern steps, as well. There was too much pent-up emotion going into this piece. She needed to be able to thrash about a bit, and, strictly speaking, "thrashing about" was looked down upon in traditional ballet.
----------
Grissom couldn't help himself. He had to go the gym. It was not his day to work out with Brass, but he didn't care. Pulling into the parking lot, he saw Sara's Tahoe and took extra care to avoid parking anywhere near it. As he got out of his own vehicle, he glanced around, pulled his baseball cap down, slipped on the Oakleys that had been a Christmas gift from Nick, and walked into the gym.
The receptionist didn't seem to recognize him as he came in, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't want to take any chances of being noticed today. He was wearing a t-shirt, running shorts, and his comfy New Balance tennis shoes. He would blend in, and he would even work out a little bit, just to be safe. But he had to see her dance again. 'Like a moth to the flame,' he thought wryly.
Stepping to the window that looked out into the dance studio, he saw Sara, and again, he was rendered speechless. Her hair was pinned back, and her body was stunning. She was clad in a pale blue leotard today. It was the kind with no sleeves at all—just spaghetti straps—and she wore no bra underneath it. Grissom took a deep breath, trying to banish the inappropriate thoughts that were suddenly running rampant in his head. She had on the same kind of cut-off pink tights as yesterday, but the Harvard shorts were gone. In their place was a pair of grey cotton running shorts that said LVPD in huge black letters on one leg. Grissom smiled and looked down at his own leg, where the letters LVPD stared back at him, albeit upside-down. 'We wore the same shorts today,' Grissom thought rather giddily. Turning his head back to Sara—his Sara—he realized that the inappropriate thoughts he had had moments earlier were gone. Everything else faded into oblivion in the face of the amazing things she was doing with her body. He looked on in awe as she planted her left foot on the ground and extended her right leg behind her in an arabesque. She was supporting her entire body on one perfectly pointed foot, and her balance was flawless. Her extended hands seemed to be begging for something. She brought her right leg down and began leaping and pirouetting madly. The emotion on her face was almost too much for him to bear. He had never—in all the years he had known her—seen so much emotion from this woman. He was frozen. 'My God,' he thought. 'Where is all of this coming from?'
At that moment, he knew he was doing the right thing. Sara needed him. She needed someone to be strong for her so that she could let her guard down occasionally. She needed to let someone in. He resolved to be that person.
----------
As the music played, Sara gave herself over to it completely. At that moment, the music and her emotions had total control of her body. She simply obeyed. As she reached out into an arabesque, she thought of all that her heart had suffered at the hands of the man she so loved. Her body immediately responded with renewed passion. Bringing her right leg down, she stepped into a combination of leaps and spins, letting all of her emotions out. Her face contorted as she pictured him in her mind's eye. Had any human being ever loved another person as much as she loved him? She had told him in a moment of frustration that if he didn't figure it out what to do about "this" soon, it might be too late. It was a complete lie, but she hoped he wouldn't call her bluff on it. She knew she would wait for him until the day she died. 'Not that it will do any good, Sidle,' she warned herself. 'He doesn't love you.' She wished she could make herself fall out of love with him, but it was hopeless.
The music came to its soft close, and she came to a stop. This piece of music was perfect, really, because it was written in minor mode, and the haunting melody never reached a resolution. Just like she and Grissom.
She glanced at her watch. Just enough time to get home and grab a shower before she was supposed to be at the Center for Sports Medicine. She grabbed her stuff and headed out the door, leaving her CD behind in the stereo.
----------
Despite his intent to work out at least a little bit to blend in, Grissom never even looked at a weight bench or any other piece of equipment in the weight room. He stood back a little bit as he realized Sara was getting ready to leave. As she walked out the door, he realized she'd left her music in the stereo. A smile played on his lips as his curiosity grew. He wanted to know what piece of music had caused her to dance with such passion. He waited a couple of minutes to assure himself that Sara wasn't coming back, and walked into the dance studio. Popping the CD out of the stereo, he looked at the hand-written label: Philip Glass, Facades. Placing the CD back in the player, he committed the composer and title to memory and headed home to his computer.