A/N Let's be honest here and face reality. You think I own CBS/CSI by now? No? You sure? Good, 'cause you're right.
Thanks to my betas Laredo and LK, and any mistakes that are left in this chapter are mine. Again.
Chapter 4
A quick look at his watch confirmed the fact that it was nearing one in the afternoon, and while Sara's soft breaths and occasional dream-filled twitches were quite amusing, and strikingly unfamiliar to Grissom, he knew that he did need some proper sleep before heading off to work again.
The sofa was comfortable enough, when one sat relatively straight and nestled comfortably in the pillows that were adorning the cream and white quilt. But with legs angled to the left and his upper torso bizarrely twisted against the armrest, Grissom was uncomfortable. It didn't even matter that the person leaning against him was Sara, with one hand flattened against his chest, using him as a makeshift pillow. Besides, Grissom figured, the pose that Sara was half sitting-half reclined in wasn't exactly conducive to her health either. He could already imagine the neck and side ache that she would have for real in a few hours time if he didn't wake her up now.
The back of his fingers barely brushed her earlobe, then continued down her jaw line and chin, softly tracing back the path along her chin and cheek, creating a silk touch that was tender yet ticklish at the same time. It was a touch sure to wake her up.
A quiet moan escaped on a sigh, and she awoke slowly, a few blinks of the eye and lick of the lips ensuring that her facial features were all in prime working order. She straightened slightly, still retaining her physical attachment to Grissom in the form of a hand casually resting on his shoulder. A yawn escaped her as she spoke. "Why did you wake me up? Your chest's a wonderful pillow."
"While I would love to dedicate the use of my chest as that of your personal pillow, this couch isn't too comfortable for my back." He twisted around slightly and propped his arm up on the back of the sofa. A fist supported his cheek in a typical Grissom pose. "I prefer a bed."
"Then we'll go to bed. "Sara's still slightly sleep riddled brain was more than happy to be going back to sleep. "I'm an adult, you're an adult, and we're both tired, so let's go." Sleep sounded heavenly to her, with his strong arms holding her securely and resting on her abdomen, her back warmed by his smooth chest, his soft exhalations matching hers. Yes, sleep sounded like a wonderful idea to Sara.
She tugged on his hand and stood, walking a few feet in the direction of what Grissom presumed was her bedroom. Just as he started to follow her, Sara nearly slipped on a journal that apparently had fallen on the floor. Stifling a curse, she picked it up and moved the sleeve of her sweater over its cover to clean off any remnants of dust. Staring at it for a few seconds longer, she placed it gently on the dining table and turned around. "You coming?"
He ambled over to where she stood, and glanced at the indigo blue and red cover."You okay?" Looking back over at her, he saw her nod.
"Yeah, sure." She looked around the place with a frown marring her face. "I should reorganize everything again. Lately, I just haven't had the time to keep it all neat and tidy. Guess I should just watch where I'm going. And so should you." She smiled.
Her voiced words traveled through the air and reached his ears, but Grissom's focus had deviated slightly, his interest piqued by the journal with its dark and cosmos like cover. He stood in thought, his irises looking at Sara without truly seeing her, then swiftly flitting over the dining table and its magazines and clutter, then to the floor and back up to Sara's eyes. "Intriguing design."
"Huh?"
He clarified. "The cover. May I?"
Sara waved one hand in a 'go ahead and do as you please' gesture, the other tried to stifle a broad yawn. "Sorry, guess the lack of sleep is catching up to me. Sure." Her sleep-muddled brain realized the possible implication of her affirmative answer a tad too late. Her eyes went wide, and a near silent curse mixed in with yet another yawn went unheard by Grissom.
He picked up the booklet, his thumb gliding over the glossy finish. The cover was sturdy and smooth, soft slithers of color draping into one another. Turning it around in his hand and studying each detail, he noticed the more than off-white upper corners of the pages indicating a use that rose above the occasional handling and flicking through. The papers were snugly secured in its back, the pages actually sewn into the lint by hand, showing an art of craftsmanship that was rapidly disappearing. For all of Sara's outward appearance that hinted at simplicity, touches of luxury and class were all around him, the object in his hand no exception.
She was such a contrast, he thought, when laying her different character aspects side by side– her almost tangible need to be seen as strong and tough by the outside world, by those who she would deliberately keep at bay emotionally. Yet a softer, hurt, perhaps even scared side mingled within, almost like the different colors on the cover he was still holding. Distinctive, yet opposing character traits and feelings encompassed Sara's personality, creating a potent mix of passion and intuitiveness, empathy and stubbornness that so often served her well at work.
While these thoughts lingered in his consciousness, Grissom flipped open the booklet and started to read a random page. What he found took him by surprise.
Sara felt him stare at her, but she already had her back turned to him and didn't speak. She didn't want to explain why she wrote her experiences and feelings in a journal. Not now. Not when all she wanted to do was snuggle under the covers and enjoy the warmth and comfort another human body could provide– the safety and tenderness that she craved. And from their previous snuggling on the couch, she knew that he was exactly what she needed.
Upon hearing a soft sigh she turned around. "Grissom?"
He stopped reading and closed the book, but didn't look up. "Is this yours?"
"Well, yeah. It wouldn't have been on the floor otherwise. You coming?" She hoped that he would be smart enough to drop the subject. 'Don't go fishing for details Grissom. I mean it. Please, just put it down.' If her curt tone of voice didn't convey her displeasure with the situation, Sara's body language would have done the trick. She stood tense, her arms folded tightly across her abdomen.
Grissom looked up, his observation of her handwriting temporarily halted. Instead, he looked at her and got a reality check. Dealing with an angry Sara was not something with priority on his 'to do' list. Sleeping, preferably with her, was. Fat chance, if her posture was any indication.
"I never pegged you as someone who kept a diary." His hand, which held the book, dropped to his side as he spoke.
"It isn't exactly a diary, at least not in the sense of it being a record of my day to day life. You've been a CSI longer than I have Grissom; you know the pain and death that comes with this job." She shrugged. "Sometimes it just becomes too much. Writing... well, it helps."
"When did you start keeping this journal?"
"It wasn't a suggestion from my counsellor, if that's what you're asking. I'm sure you've seen some of the dates on the pages." She walked up to Grissom and held out her hand, waiting for him to return the journal to her. Fine eyebrows were raised in a questioning look tinged with exasperation. "Please?" While the word in itself was a plea, her tone of voice low and soft, it still came out as a demand. She held out her palm a bit more, slightly wiggling her fingers from sheer annoyance.
"I... wasn't asking that." He handed over the journal into her waiting palm, as though it was an Oreo filling and their hands were the biscuits that sandwiched it. His fingers slid over the cover and curled slightly around Sara's upturned wrist in an act of acknowledgement rather than posessiveness.
He noted that, while she had answered the questions he had asked, she wasn't about to say anything more on the matter, and he wasn't too happy about it. He understood her need for privacy, for retaining a corner and spaces within you that were yours alone– untouched, unheard, unexplored by the other. In all the years that he had lived he had built up an impressive array of hiding places within his heart and mind. Perhaps that was the reason why he was seen as enigmatic and odd. But as he and Sara grew closer, they had touched upon them, upon memories and fears that he had never expected to share with anyone. And they had stumbled upon a few dark mines in her past, which she eventually shared with him. But the journal was different. From what he had seen from his last quick glance through it, the entries hadn't started within the last few months. Rather, they dated back several years, back to a time when they had been able to communicate freely, when they had been friends.
"Look Sara, I know that you value your privacy, but talk to me, please. Yes, this job is harrowing and highly disturbing at times, and it tends to make us reflect on who we are, on our actions and missed opportunities, but why did you feel the need to write them down?" Grissom flexed his hand and slowly slid it back into his pant's pockets. This was all coming out wrong, he thought, but he couldn't seem to help himself, prying into her feelings because he needed to be close to her, to maintain a bond that would last. Wording his thoughts in a relative jumble, a pleading note flowing through it. "Why a journal instead of sharing it with someone?"
Sara's gaze turned to shock, then anger before finally succumbing to sorrow. She had hoped she wouldn't have had to explain. "Because I had no one here, Grissom, that's why!" She stalked off to the kitchen, retrieving a bottle of water from the fridge and unscrewing the top as though it could it absorb all her pain. "Damnit, when I first came here, I was a pariah. It was never my life's plan to be an outcast, Grissom. It took some hard work to get my bearings here, and then when I finally started to be accepted and became friends with some, you started to withdraw. No matter what you think of me, I do not go around and tell my deepest innermost feelings to someone whose favourite color I don't even know." The bottle of water that she had kept in a tight hold was firmly planted on the counter and she turned to face him. "You of all people should know that."
Her head hung in a show of defeat and her chest was rapidly moving, breathing shallow wafts of air in and expelling it just as quickly. It wasn't so much a result of anger as of anguish.
"Does that mean you know my favourite color?" Deciding that a lighthearted question was the safest bet, Grissom stepped closer to Sara, keeping a close eye on her reaction. He had already pushed it far enough, and the last thing he wanted was for her to feel trapped in her own house, within her own emotional barriers.
"Hmm..." A corner of her mouth lifted against her will, and she looked up to find him standing a few feet away as though waiting for her permission to come closer. "Navy blue." Bracing her hands on the counter a moment, she pushed off and enfolded him in a tight embrace.
He placed a light kiss on her hair and bent down to softly murmur in her ear. "I... This isn't over, you know." Sara started to withdraw slightly, but his arms only tightened around her. "But we're both still tired, and there'll be plenty of time when we can talk about this. So, will you sleep with me?"
A finger lifted her chin slightly and tender blue eyes met her tired and slightly shimmering ones, and she nodded. "Yeah. Sleep sounds good."
She tugged on his hand, playfully pulling him in the direction of her bedroom. Sara could hear the soft mattress calling her, with either Grissom or a real feathery fluffy pillow as head support. The earlier argument, although not a full–out fight, had depleted her of energy.
Suddenly, the implication dawned on Grissom that they were headed to her bedroom. To her bed. To what was often seen as the inner sanctuary of any house. 'Well,' he thought, 'the bedroom is the sanctuary of my house too, besides the well stocked terrariums in the guest room. '
As Sara got nearer and nearer their mutual destination, her thoughts took on a similar appearance. She stopped and turned, keeping her hand wrapped around his. "Are you sure about this?"
He furrowed his brow pretending he didn't know what she meant. "What do you mean?"
"Us, sleeping in my bed, presumably going to be wearing less than we currently are? I don't want you to feel uncomfortable. I mean, I could, leave, if you want." Why in the world would she leave? This was her house after all. She had the advantage in this situation at the moment. Things were finally moving along again, and she had to open her big mouth. 'Overtalking seriously appears to be your forte, Sara.' She willed her mental voice to retreat to its corner and sulk as she heard Grissom not quite chuckling, but sounding suspiciously amused.
"This is your house Sara, leaving wouldn't really serve a purpose. It certainly wouldn't make me more comfortable." He turned her around and steered her towards the last door in sight, the bedroom. "In fact," his lips brushed her helix in a satin soft touch, "sharing a bed with you sounds perfect. Like a dream come true."
TBC
