The door was closed but she could see his broken image through the textured glass. She gently tapped a balled fist against the glass and waited. His head snapped up from the paperwork in front of him and he gestured for her to enter. Don't get angry, she reminded herself as her hand found the cool metal knob and turned it. The door swung open before her and she entered, shutting it with a soft thud behind her.
"Sara," he stated, watching her take the seat in front of his desk. "Everything okay?" She felt he would forever be asking her that question and it would forever annoy her. Of all people he should know that she was NOT OK.
"Yes and no, Grissom. That's why I'm here. I want an answer. No more pretending it's not there, no more games, none of it. It ends now, here."
"You haven't asked a question," he said pointedly. She glared at him a few seconds before looking back at her hands and speaking. "Grissom, do you love me?" Her face appeared to him again, both anticipating and dreading his answer. It was obvious to her that he was stunned – eyes wide, mouth agape, and speechless. He remained in his stupor for a few more seconds before seeming to shake it off.
Tears began filling her eyes. There was no holding them back. He was taking so long to respond and she was thinking the worst. "Yes and no," he finally answered. Sara nodded, even though she was very confused. At least it was something. He could see the confusion in her face. "I mean…have dinner with me, tonight." It was a command, not a question.
"Okay," she answered, still confused and not knowing how else to respond.
"Come around five o' clock to my townhouse. I'll cook and we can talk." She nodded, wiping away the tears with the back of her palm. "Vegan, right?" he asked. Her face filled with puzzlement. "Yeah, that's right." He smiled softly, his gaze never leaving her as she stood and left his office.
That evening, Grissom prepared for what he hoped to accomplish with Sara. He busied himself by preparing the vegetable stir fry and tossing a salad – both vegan friendly dishes. His table was set with his finest of Chinas and two bone white taper candles sitting in their silver holders on a wine red linen tablecloth he'd found with his China. Everything was picture perfect, right out of a home décor magazine, and he hoped that he was up to the performance.
While he showered and dressed, he'd tried to play out how he hoped their conversation was going to go. It was like making a script inside his head and he had some trouble guessing how Sara would respond. As he went over it, he continually found himself shaking his head and griping, "No, she would never say THAT."
A little after five, a soft knock sounded on his door. She's here, his mind screamed and he tried not to panic. He took a few deep breaths before opening the door. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. Sara was adorned in a beautiful mauve dress that extended to just above the knee. The front came down in a flattering V exposing a little cleavage, the sleeves were flowy, and it fit tightly, accentuating every curve beautifully.
"Are you going to invite me in?" she asked softly, noticing his gaze moving over her.
"Oh yes, please, come in." He moved aside and watched her expression as she took in the room that he'd so carefully prepared. The lights were dim now and several candles placed around the room were burning, casting a pale glow. The only source of bright light came from the kitchen, where he had been stirring the stir fry before she knocked.
Sara gasped at his touch when Grissom took her arm and escorted her to a chair. She sat, thanking him. He moved swiftly to the kitchen. After easing the stir fry from the pan into a casserole dish, he brought it and his salad over to the table.
"Wow, I didn't know you could cook," Sara commented, admiring the dishes.
"There are a lot of things you don't know about me," he whispered, taking his seat across from her. The flames on the tapers bounced and reflected in each others eyes. And I intend to tell you about them, he thought. They placed their napkins on their laps and dug into the food. Little conversation was made while they ate.
"That was delicious Gil. I'm stuffed." She didn't realize she had used his first name, but he caught it and smiled.
"Dessert?" he asked, rising and moving toward the fridge. "I made a strawberry pie."
"Mmm," she moaned, "I think I can find room for that." He brought two slices on white China plates.
When they had finished, he began clearing away the dishes. She offered to help but he assured her he could handle it and to sit on the couch if she liked. He would only be a few minutes – just wanted to cover the leftovers and put them away. She took her time moving across to the sofa, taking in his possessions. Many bugs in boxes adorned the wall; his shelves were stuffed with forensics and entomological journals and books. She sat comfortably on his couch, watching him move fluidly around his home. True to his word, he joined her a few minutes later, sitting close enough to take her hand gently in his own.
"Sara, we have to talk."
"I'm listening," she said softly. He sighed deeply and stared down at their entwined fingers for a few minutes, gaining some confidence and briefly reviewing his script.
"You asked me today if I love you, and I know my answer must be confusing," he said finally.
"Yes, it is," she said, hoping he was going to explain. He wouldn't lift his gaze, just continued to focus on his hand in hers. "And start with the yes part," she added.
"Okay," he replied, nodding slowly. "Yes Sara, I do love you. I suppose…that you recognized it for what it was before I did. But I know now that it's there."
"So why no?" she asked. He just admitted to caring for her, why was there a need for no?
"No because I…I'm not sure I can love you the way you deserve. Honestly, I don't know what you see in me. I know what I see – a bitter and selfish old man. What could I offer someone as young and vibrant as you?" There were tears now, leaking slowly from his tired eyes, and running wet lines down his cheeks. She drew his face up to meet hers with her palm, thumb sweeping up the droplets, smearing the line. His blue eyes swirled with sadness and love. It was obvious he was torn. He forced his eyes to focus through his tears to see her brown ones. Seeing the love returned to him in her eyes caused more tears to erupt and spill down his cheeks.
Suddenly, he was pressed against her, the soft, silky fabric of her dress caressing his face. The feel of her arms wrapped around him was soothing and soon the tears ebbed. Breath hitching in his throat, he pulled slowly back. A flash of terror shook his heart. Was he really saying these things to this woman?
"Gil, I understand, I really do. Do you believe in fate? In true love? Because I know I've never felt for anyone else the way I do for you." She kissed him now, full and with fervor. He shuddered under the touch of her lips before slowly drawing into the kiss. When she pulled back, a smile graced her lips. "I've been waiting years to do that," she breathed.
Now, his left hand was buried in her hair gently drawing her back. The left sleeve of her dress slipped down her arm revealing the creamy shoulder underneath. His fingers gently played over the naked skin making her shiver. Their kisses deepened, her hand moved through his hair down his neck and over his chest, playing with the buttons on his shirt. The fingers on her shoulder trailed down her arm making the skin tingle as they went. His mouth suddenly pulled from hers and moved to nuzzle her milky neck. A moan escaped her lips.
"All I want is you, Gil. It's all I've ever wanted." Her hand was no longer on his chest. It had moved behind her to grasp something. His lips were moving over her collarbone when he saw the glint of the knife in the corner of his eye. Abruptly, he pulled back from her, confusion and sadness filling his features. Her face displayed a deep sadness as well, her lips turned down as she held the knife, brought it slowly toward him. "All I've ever wanted," she repeated before shoving it through his heart.
Now, his eyes were open wide and she let go of the handle, watching the blood as his body fell silently back onto the couch.
Grissom shot up in his bed, his hand coming up to wipe the cold sweat from his forehead. A dream…it was all a dream. His heart thundered in his chest, felt like it was trying to rip through his skin, and the sound echoed in his ears. The glare off the blade still reflected in his blue orbs. It almost felt too real to be a nightmare. He was afraid to look at his chest, expecting to see the thin slit in his skin and the blood beginning to pool in his lap.