The room was dark and smelled of sweet pea and vanilla. Soft, soft cream licked the purple walls like a lover, casting eerie shadows over bookshelves and tables.
Sara Sidle sat on her couch, the low light from the candles just enough to cast yellow over the pages of her novel. Her music was low, a woman's voice slowly crooning out deep, jazzy, tortured words. She'd memorized the CD and could now listen to it without being perturbed by the lyrics. She'd long since passed the days of committing her feelings along with the lyrics. It had been cathartic and painful at the same time, so she'd given up looking for an outlet and had just left them to fester.
Now, with the emotions still burning a hole in her soul, she set about relaxing, something that she'd hadn't done in an incredibly long time. 'Book, book, read the book,' she told herself, attempting to physically shake the unwanted thoughts from her head.
The healing had begun. Yes, the healing, the new empowerment phase. Yes, feminism and all that wonderful rubbish. She'd all but admitted her feelings, proudly keeping her eyes to his the entire time, showing him that no, she wasn't afraid of speaking them, and that she certainly wasn't afraid of having them. She wasn't a coward anymore, and it had felt like a fresh, icy blast getting the words off of her chest, saying the words to his face.
And he hadn't responded, no surprise there. Sara pursed her lips and rearranged herself on the couch, catching a cool breeze from the open window as she did so. No more thinking about him, just, just read. 'Relax. You've set the mood for yourself. An environment condusive to totally unravelling...'
Her eyes stilled on the page of her book, neither reading nor ignoring the words there. Sara stared, and closed the book, finding no solace in Bradbury this evening. Instead,she leaned back and breathed in the scented air, willing her blood to slow in her veins, asking her thoughts to stop, for just a moment. 'Just one moment, it's all I need.'
Slowly, she slipped into warm oblivion, abscent from thought, swimming in a sea of scent, not caring about much of anything until there was a soft, almost hesitant, knock on the door.
She pulled herself out of the supine position on the couch, smoothing out her jeans and passing a hand over her hair.
She peered through the peephole and was mildly surprised at what she saw there: Gil Grissom holding two cups, a bag dangling off of his arm, looking rather lost and nervous. A rather odd sight without the accessories, but spectacularly out of place balancing his offerings in his hands, feigning nonchalance and failing miserably.
Belatedly, she opened the door and leaned against the frame with her hands crossed over her chest. It was difficult to reign in her brow, so she let it shoot up, a delightful smirk toying with the edges of her lips.
"I uh, before you say anything, and before I try to find an excuse to leave... I've been thinking about before. I mean, how we were before, and I think we could both benefit from having that back, that friendship." Pausing for a moment, Grissom thought, decided that he had said what needed to be said and waited for her to respond.
It was dazzling when she smiled and moved into her apartment. "And what is this, a peace offering?" Gesturing to the two cups and the bag, she allowed him inside and shut the door.
"Of sorts. I know you've been drinking tea lately but, I just remembered, the last time we had coffee..." His lips quirked and his eyes smiled. "You got one of those fancy mocha drinks so I figured..."
Grissom's ear picked up the sound of the CD, and he smelled the scent of the candles and ammended his earlier proposition. "But if you're busy-"
"I'm anything but. Take off your coat." Sara said, moving to switch off the CD player and turn on some lights. "So, coffee and...?"
Griss placed his coat on the rack by the door and turned around, bag in hand. "Movies?" He held them up, a question in his eyes and Sara moved forward and snatched them from him. Opening the bag, she scanned the titles.
"Psycho... and Casablanca. Opposite ends of the spectrum." She smiled up at him and he realized that this was exactly what he needed. "Sit, I'll make popcorn." Her voice was full of enthusiasm, something that had been missing from her voice for a rather long time.
Was it really that easy? Walking to her door with coffee and movies, being invited in, mending their friendship? His heart broke for how open and understanding and hopelessly in love with him she was. But he smiled, quirked his head and asked, "Popcorn and coffee?"
While rummaging through her cupboards and cursing, she turned back to him, over her shoulder. "Oh like you haven't had anything grosser." The man ate bugs, and he was questioning the culinary compatability of coffee and popcorn. That thought made her smile internally, lightheaded from his kind gesture.
"Touche," he replied and settled on the couch, rubbing his hands together briskly, wondering now that he'd worked up the courage to come to her apartment, what would he say? He hadn't planned that far ahead. In fact, he'd had to improvise his speech on the spot, completely forgetting what he'd intended to say. He gave a mental shrug to himself; things were going as smoothly as could be hoped for so he allowed himself to relax a little.
Friend. Friendship. Words he wanted back into the regular rotation of his vocabulary.
Sara took the packet of popcorn out of the wrapper noisily. "Butter or no butter?"
Grissom smiled at the question, for what reason, he was unsure. "Butter, please."
"Oh thank god!" Sara responded. "I don't think I could deal without butter on my popcorn." She turned, smiled, and went back to localing the butter, which was hiding somewhere towards the back of her refrigerator. His smiled turned into a grin then at the prospect of health-freak Sara Sidle hoarding the butter. He ducked his head to hide his grin.
A few minutes later, she returned to the living room with a large bowl of popcorn and seated herself two feet away from him on the couch. She was stiff, but just a bit. He looked at her. She looked at him, and nearly blushed, until she realized that she really didn't have a reason to blush.
So what? Gil Grissom was in her apartment. It didn't mean the same now as it would have then, and she wasn't sure why, but she was happy about that. She felt more at ease. If this had been two years or even a month ago, she would have felt naked under his gaze in her loose tank top. But now she didn't, she felt comfortable, like she was somehow on new footing.
No, not somehow. She was on new footing for sure; very, very, firm ground.
Though they hadn't addressed it directly, they had both mentally agreed to forget the encounter in his apartment, to move past it without hindrance.
"Which movie first?" He asked, holding them out to her. She regarded them for a moment and then grabbed Casablanca. He raised a brow at her, a silent question.
Sara placed the DVD carefully into the tray, turned on the television and looked over at him, seeming all of a sudden, years younger.
"I just have a feeling that after all that angst, I'll need a good old fashioned slasher flick." And with that she quite literally flopped herself down on the couch, a few inches closer to him than she had been before. She peered at him for a moment before asking in a low voice, "Ready to start?"
The clicker was pointed towards the television, and she balanced her coffee in the other hand, looking towards him expectantly.
He turned slowly to her and smiled, handed her her coffee and toasted it with his own. "Let's begin."