Chapter 4
He had fallen asleep on her couch again.
Sara checked her watch. It was a early in the afternoon, just when the average nightshift employee would be heading to bed. She knew he had to have been working hard at the lab. Grissom was already short employees thanks to Ecklie, and now he would be short one more. Permanently. Sara was not going back. She couldn't. That part of her life was over, and she didn't want to tempt herself by returning to work for a short while only to be ripped away once more when her hearing deteriorated. There was no telling when it would give out. Going back to work would mean putting the team in danger, putting Grissom in danger.
She stared at him.
He looked so at ease, his head resting on a throw pillow, one arm hanging off the couch. Sara momentarily forgot her troubles and smiled at him. She lifted his feet onto the couch so that he'd be more comfortable, and she removed his shoes, placing them on the floor. Sara retrieved the blanket that had covered him only the day before and placed it on him. She wanted to kiss him -- a small kiss -- just to feel her lips press against his skin. He looked so warm and soft. Sara bent down closer to him and inhaled. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she bit back a moan. He smelled nice, too.
Damn him, she thought. Damn him for smelling nice and looking good.
She gently lifted the arm that had been hanging off the side of the couch, placing it alongside his body. Grissom sighed and smiled to himself, leaving Sara to wonder what he was dreaming.
Sara had many fantasies about waking up to Gil Grissom, but she never quite had one about waking him up. The nightshift would begin in an hour. However peaceful he seemed while sleeping, Sara knew he wouldn't be too pleased if he awoke to find he was late for work.
"Grissom," she whispered. "Grissom." She placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a light shake.
His eyes slowly opened and Sara could see disorientation flicker over his face before embarrassment set in.
"You fell asleep," she smiled kindly. "Work starts in an hour." Sara handed him a cup of coffee as he sat up on the couch.
"Thanks," he said, gratefully taking the mug from her hands. "I, uh…I'm sorry."
Sara shook her head. "Don't worry. You were tired."
"I guess I'd better get going. I need to shower and change."
"Yeah, you smell pretty awful."
He looked up at her, wide-eyed.
Sara just laughed. "I'm kidding."
Grissom gave her a small smile and got up from the couch. He looked down at his feet. "Where are my shoes?"
"Dorothy took them. First the Wicked Witch of the East and now you. She's on a crime spree!"
"You really are a joker, Sara," he said, rolling his eyes and noticing his shoes lined up neatly on the floor. She watched him slip them on. Sara couldn't explain it, but it was a very intimate moment watching Grissom do something as mundane as put on his shoes. Couples did that -- witnessed the ordinary goings on of everyday life -- and it warmed her heart in an odd way. She had seen him interrogate suspects and chase down clues and had admired him for it, but seeing him do the ordinary was beginning to make her skin flush. God help her if he ever blew his nose in front of her. She'd have a heart attack.
He found his jacket and slipped it on.
"Do you need anything from outside? Do you want me to rent you a video, maybe?"
"You don't have to," Sara said, shaking her head.
"Come on. What video do you want?" Before she could tell him not to bother, he warned, "If you don't tell me, I'll be forced to pick myself. We could end up watching The Three Stooges for hours."
We? Sara managed to hide her alarm. "I trust your judgment. I only have one stipulation."
"And that is?"
"No Meg Ryan."
Sara cleaned her apartment as best a one-armed woman could. Her list of things to do before she went deaf went into her underwear drawer along with all medical information the doctors had given her pertaining to her disorder. She wasn't taking any chances leaving them out for him to stumble upon.
At eight in the morning, her home phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Sara."
"Hey, Grissom," she smiled into the receiver. There was noise in the background and she thought she heard Greg's voice from a distance.
"Can I come over later?" he whispered. "Catherine's shift is in the middle of a big case and Ecklie wants all of swing shift and day shift working it. I have to pick up some of the slack."
"Do you need any help?" Sara asked instinctively.
"No," he answered firmly. "I'll see you at around six."
"Cool. I'll order pizza."
"Goodbye, Sara."
"Goodbye."
She hung up the phone, surprised at how disappointed she was that she'd have to wait to see him. He truly was her addiction. She craved being with him, and when she would finally get her fix, all she wanted was more.
Sara jumped at the knock on her door. She stopped herself from running to open it like an overeager child. After three calming breaths, Sara turned the knob and pulled, finding an exhausted looking Grissom dressed in green scrubs.
"Contemplating a change in profession? Those are some snazzy threads you've got there."
He rolled his eyes. "I was working the rape case of a teenage girl. When I went to process her at the hospital, she threw up all over me. A doctor gave me these," he said, gesturing to his new outfit.
Sara made a face, feeling bad for both the victim and Grissom. He walked into her apartment and removed his jacket.
"What movie did you rent?"
"Shit," he moaned. "I forgot."
"Don't worry about it," she said with a wave of dismissal. "Sit down, you look dead on your feet."
"I'm only mostly dead," he told her as he sat down on the couch and leaned his head back, closing his eyes.
Sara found a seat next to him and sighed. "You know you should keep those scrubs. Women love doctors."
"I am a doctor."
"You're a PhD," she clarified.
"Yes, a doctor," he said, his eyes still closed.
"You know what I mean."
"Listen, when you get a PhD, you can decide what you want to be called," he told her. "As for me, I'd like you to refer to me as 'Dr. Grissom' from now on."
"I have a PhD."
Grissom's eyes snapped open and he lifted his head from it's resting spot on the couch. "You do not."
Sara nodded. "I do."
"In what? Theoretical physics?"
"Classical mythology."
His eyes widened. "You're joking."
"Nope."
"Why classical mythology?"
She shrugged. "Why not?" He made a face and she pressed on. "Okay, my life had mainly been math and science. I was a science nerd. So I thought it would be a good…balance…to get a degree in something that didn't require time in a lab. You know, to work the other side of my brain."
"Huh. So you're Dr. Sara."
"Dr. Sidle," she corrected. "Dr. Sara sounds like a talk show host or one of those radio call-in therapists."
He smiled tiredly. "I like Dr. Sara better. I'd call in to your radio show," he said, closing his eyes and yawning.
"What would you say to me?" she asked.
"I'd ask for your advice."
"On what?"
Grissom yawned again. "I'd ask you to tell me how I can keep you here."
Sara stared at her hands in her lap. "I'd make a lousy therapist."
When he didn't answer, she looked over at him. He had fallen asleep. Sara could only sigh and find his blanket.
While Grissom slept, Sara planned. The time would come when their little sleepovers would end and he'd go back to his job and she'd be deaf. She fished out the brochures the doctor gave her for lip reading and ASL classes. Though Sara did not plan to slowly go deaf in Las Vegas, she thought it best to get an idea of what she would be doing, so she found the college's website and did some research. There were links to other deaf colleges in other states, and Sara began to narrow her focus down to Seattle and Charleston. Both had the facilities she needed once her hearing went, and both were cities she enjoyed when she had visited. The pace wasn't too fast and the people were nice.
She had a fairly large nest egg -- money saved from years of penny pinching to avoid ever having to depend on anyone for anything. Sara learned one important thing growing up: You can only depend on yourself. That lesson had been honed through years of personal disappointment until Sara had become an independent machine, capable of sustaining herself without a need for true personal contact.
Except with Grissom.
Everyone had an Achilles' heel. He was hers. It amazed Sara how she could go from perfectly happy the way she was to desperately needy for his affection in a heartbeat. The moment she'd determine to not need anyone, he'd smile at her or say something nice and she'd melt in a puddle. Sara never wanted to need anyone. He wasn't part of the plan. Little girls dream of meeting their prince and riding off into the sunset on a white horse. They dream about their wedding days and being Miss America. That wasn't Sara. She shunned all of that.
But when it came to Grissom, Sara's sensibilities flew out the window. She didn't want to suddenly turn into Cinderella or a beauty queen by any means. But after meeting Grissom, being alone seemed…lonely.
Sara heard the now familiar stirrings of a waking Grissom. She turned the coffeemaker on and walked to the living room just in time to see his eyes open.
"I guess I did it again."
She raised her eyebrows as he sat up. "I may have to start charging rent," she joked.
He rubbed his eyes. "How long was I out?"
"Eleven hours."
"Jesus," he wheezed. "I'm sorry."
"No need to apologize," Sara said as she went to get him some coffee.
He sipped his coffee and regarded his clothes. "I need to shower and change. Will you come with me?" Sara's eyes widened. "To my house," he clarified. "We can do something. Anything you want. Do you feel up to it?"
"Uh…sure. I guess I'll just…get my shoes on."
Grissom nodded and began pulling his own shoes on. "This is a really comfortable couch," he said in passing.
"I'm ready."
"Let's go."
His house was just like she remembered it: cluttered but organized. Charming. Grissom.
Sara expected him to be nervous. The last time she was in his home -- during the Strip Strangler case -- he was ill at ease. When she had asked to use his bathroom, he all but freaked out, as if he were hiding a body in the shower stall. This time, he was different.
"Make yourself at home," he smiled. "I'll be back in ten minutes."
She watched him disappear into the hallway and then took his advice. She wandered around, scanning the bookshelves and the CD rack. A model of the human ear rested above a stack of books. Sara paused and sucked in a breath. She examined the large, medically accurate piece of plastic, carefully tracing the lines with her fingers. It occurred to her suddenly that Grissom knew sign language. She had once asked him how he knew it, but had received no answer. Sara could only chalk up his reaction to the confrontational manner in which she asked the question. She supposed if she asked him now, he would probably just shrug and say, "Some people learn French. I learned ASL."
She wished it were that simple for her.
Sara made her way to the couch and plopped down on it, grabbing a National Geographic and thumbing through it. She heard his footsteps, but didn't bother looking up from the article she was reading.
"Interesting?" he asked.
"Eh," she shrugged.
Grissom sat down next to her. "I never realized how uncomfortable my couch is until I sat on yours," he said, fidgeting as he tried to get comfortable.
"Well, I'll give it to you when I leave."
"Sara…"
"Grissom…" she mocked. "Look," she said, putting down the magazine and turning to look at him, "this is it, Grissom. I have to leave."
"But why?"
"Why on earth do I owe you an explanation? I'm not going to give Ecklie an explanation when I resign. I'm not going to bother telling Dr. Cavallo why I'm leaving," she argued.
"But we're friends," he insisted, leaning closer.
"Are we?" she asked coldly. He furrowed his brows and opened his mouth to speak, but Sara held up her hand. "What's my favorite color? How did I get this scar on my shoulder?" She tugged at the neck of her shirt until it exposed the imperfection right above her collarbone.
He just sat their staring, breathing deeply. She knew it was futile to wait for any answers, but she did anyway. He'd never know her favorite color. He'd never know how she got the scar.
But as she sat there waiting, Sara began to realize that no one would know her favorite color. No one would know how she got her scars -- the visible and the invisible.-- because she never got close enough to a person to share her secrets. It wasn't his fault. Or it wasn't only his fault.
And as he stared at her silently, a look of guilt marring his face, Sara took pity on him. "My favorite color is green." Grissom just kept looking at her. "Now it's your turn," she prompted. "What's your favorite color?"
"Uh, blue," he told her, a bit flabbergasted at her change in demeanor.
Sara knew she was leaving soon. She didn't want her last meaningful moments with Grissom to be her bitching him out for not trying hard enough. She knew he'd always wonder why she left, and she didn't want him to feel like he had driven her off. Truth be told, it was his presence, though sometimes exasperating, that had kept her in Las Vegas for so long.
"I got this scar when my mother's boyfriend hit me with a broken beer bottle."
His hand flew to her shoulder, slipping under the fabric to touch the raised, rippled skin as he frowned. Grissom peeled the side of her shirt down to get a better look at it. He ran his thumb over it, staring at the scar for the longest time.
"Now…now you go," she said, barely above a whisper. "Tell me one of your secrets."
He didn't let go of her shoulder as he met her eyes.
"My mother is deaf."
TBC…
