For Lauren
There was a breath, it began deep down in her lungs. At first it was a short clipped one. She'd breathed it when he first said her name, when he'd looked into her eyes and said her name. A tiny little thing that she held deep down for nearly eight years. It was sweet and warm and was simply dying to be released.
The next was choked and wracked with unseen pressure. A call in the middle of the night had her in tears; who called just to talk after six months of stagnation? The sound of his voice had set off a cacophony of butterflies in her stomach and endorphins screeched to her head. Deeply she choked out a sob and attempted to catch her breath as she realized she was drowning. Drowning in something that she couldn't possibly begin to understand or control.
The heart was a rebellious organ, one far more cumbersome than the lungs.
A long languid sigh nearly released all of the tension in her gut when he had called and asked her to come to Vegas. She'd wished he'd asked her to come home but no, to come to Vegas, stand beside him, fight what was left of the good night to be fought.
Strained intakes of air followed, when he would catch her eyes. Lacking in the oxygen department, she would tuck the glint and hue of his irises away for later dissection. A quick gasp could sustain her for days, a brief touch and a rushed breath of air could make her tingle for months.
The air in the desert wasn't good for deep respiration, not great for sobbing that wracked the body. Often times, she'd find herself driving the winding roads into the mountains, the Rockies calling out to her like home. It was damp way up there, up that high. It was damp and alive and nature cycled breaths right along with her.
It had been one of the first places that he had caught her off guard, his brief innuendo making her mouth go dry, rendering her unable to swallow. When she went back to that place it was easier to feel alone, because up there, she truly was. The breeze was crisp and reminded her of autumn at Harvard. It was sweet and spicy and tasted on her tongue what she had sometimes imagined his mouth might.
The earth was cold and harsh when she sat down on it, leaning back against a large rock. The sky was endlessly velvety navy when she looked out over the desert; the other side of Vegas, the beautiful side that led as far as the eye could see straight to the west. The Pacific was somewhere out there, somewhere beyond miles and miles of families and lovers and criminals and thieves. Did it matter? Did any of it, did any of them matter? She wondered this constantly.
Tonight it was making her sob, suck in those tiny puffs of chilled air and made her shiver. Hiccoughs bubbled up from her soul and she wept into her hands. Sara was unsure how long she had sat there, but when she heard shuffling behind her, she stood up straight, alert and just tinged with fright. Miles away from what one would call civilization, she wondered what possible creature would venture out to find her.
The form, bulky and slow ambled into view. "Is there, is someone over here hurt? Is there..." His voice was so low and worried, she wondered how the intonation of it would change when he found out it was her and not someone in real need of help.
"This is chance," she choked out, not bothering to hide the stains on her cheeks, the irritation of her eyes. "This is that fucked up chance that likes to torture me."
Grissom came into view, startled by her presence atop the mountain. Her words floated on the breeze to his ears and he became utterly confused. The two of them, miraculously defying the laws of predictability were standing nearly twenty miles away from the Strip, looking into the other's eyes.
"Why did you come here?" She asked as she moved her hands up and down over bare arms. It was colder than she had thought and even chillier standing in his gaze because she continually felt naked to him even though he couldn't see past the gentle veneer of her smile.
Grissom shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I don't know." And it was the truth. He went there because he could remember Sara so vividly there under the stars, he could remember how he was when he was alive. Under the stars, surrounded by sierra stone, he could remember for a moment why he was alive, could remember why she was alive... but he couldn't pinpoint any one reason he'd driven out there.
At the moment, it felt right, so he didn't much care what had drawn him there.
When she chose to breath again, there was lead in her mouth, in her nose; the air felt heavy, like it was challenging her to keep breathing. 'Breathe all you want Sara Sidle, none of it matters.'
"What are you doing up here," he countered, shuffling a bit closer to her, wanting to reach out but decided against it.
"Helps me think," she shrugged, sniffled hard and moved over to the edge of the cliff. She wondered if 9.8 was really as fast as it had been back at Harvard, wondered if her body would just go a bit slower if she flung herself over that edge.
Grissom blew out a breath; he never seemed to take any, he just let them loose, like he could simply survive from himself. "What, what are you thinking about?" He sat down on top of the rock she had been leaning against and had clasped his hands.
Another shrug and sniffle accompanied her answer. "Life, death, Nick..."
He nodded, looking over at her, looking over the edge.
"You," she added like an afterthought.
If it had taken him by surprise, it didn't register on his face. "Me."
"Yeah," Sara turned back around and shuffled closer to him. "I always think about you," she paused. "But you knew that."
He was surprised when she sat beside him, mimicking his posture. Sara shook her head, a laugh mingled with a sob.
"C'mere," he asked, so softly she almost pretended she didn't hear him. But when she tilted her head to the side to regard him and his hand was out, literally reaching out to her, she buckled in such a wonderful way.
His arms enveloped her in such a way that was so foreign to him, he had to suck in a huge lungful of air, taking in the scent of her hair, their mingled breath. "This will get better," he murmured, lips in her hair. "We'll get better."
And she released that culmination of a nine year breath, her cheek pressed to his neck.