Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Rating, Beta Props, etc. – See Chapter 1.
A/N: Writing is therapeutic. I should write more often. A million thank yous to those who continue to read and review this fic!
First and last lines of the YTDAW Improv challenge were provided, and are italicized. Microsoft Word says 1,619 words.
"Who ordered this?" Grissom asked irately. A large bouquet of balloons was resting on the four-poster bed in his room. The theme seemed to be rather risqué, considering the condoms, and Grissom's scowl was deep with embarrassment. He turned to her, "Sara, this isn't what it… I didn't…" He strode over to the old fashioned white telephone and pushed a small button installed on the side. "Yes, I believe there has been a serious mistake. There are balloons in my room… I did not order them, and I would like them removed… as soon as possible." As an afterthought he added, "Please."
Sara tried very hard to hide her amusement. They had just finished breakfast, and Grissom had quite bluntly indicated that he'd like for her to join him in his room. She suspected he wanted to continue with where they'd left off under the pavilion, but she wasn't about to allow any more of that. It seemed like fate had decided to squelch his plans without Sara having to say a word. Thank God for small favors.
She was surprised at his seemingly instantaneous change of heart. Perhaps he had done some soul searching as well these past three weeks. His confidence was apparent, yet there were hints of insecurity and impatience. It was endearing yet disconcerting; the Grissom she knew was reserved and kept his emotions well hidden. Grissom did not … pursue women. Yet here he was, and damned if he didn't come across like a rutting stallion on the scent of mare. He was suave during breakfast, making polite conversation while 'accidentally' bumping his leg against hers or grazing his fingertips across the top of her hand. This was not at all like the Grissom she knew. She pushed her doubts towards the back of her mind and attempted to focus on the situation at hand – abandoning Grissom without hurting his feelings. She was exhausted, and she needed to pee.
"Gil," she said simply, commanding his immediate attention, "why don't we get some rest and meet tonight downstairs for dinner? I think the last seating is at 8:30."
Grissom was crestfallen as he bitterly murmured, "If that's what you want…"
"Yeah, it is. Look, we can talk tonight, okay? And breakfast was fine, really. And I loved driving the car. So it's okay, all right? I just want to get some sleep. It's been a long night." Annoyance was flickering in the back of her mind now. Why should she have to reassure him? He hadn't done anything to assuage her feelings at any time during their un-relationship.
Sara gave him a quick smile and a nod as she hightailed it down the hallway to her room. The bitterness she'd felt before returned in earnest. She was not some beast in heat, she was not some lovelorn maiden, she was not about to jump into his bed just because he had turned on some strange male charm that she never knew he had.
After spending some time in the bathroom, complete with steaming shower and a thorough shaving of her legs, she wrapped herself tightly in the thick pale robe provided and wrapped her hair in one of the soft fluffy towels. Her reflection through the fading fog on the mirror betrayed her.
She was smiling. Unbidden, unabashed and uncommon, but present all the same. Dammit! Damn damn damn him! She trounced into the bedroom and flopped backwards onto her bed in disbelief and disgust. It was official; she was totally pathetic.
"You are totally pathetic," she told the miniscule plaster cracks in the ceiling. "Utterly and completely pathetic. And over a middle-aged socially handicapped entomologist of all things."
But he certainly was an appealing entomologist. And the look in his eyes at breakfast… The little spot deep in her belly fluttered in anticipation. He wanted her, and she knew it.
Sara sat up, shaking her head and dislodging the towel. "No." She would not let lust or pent-up emotions get the best of her this time. Sleeping with Grissom had 'disaster' written all over it. He'd called her a whore. He was controlling and stubborn and surly. And he was either in the throes of an overdose of Viagra or… or what? What was he doing, anyways?
Some time later, a yawn sneaked out, followed by another, and her mind started to succumb to the lack of sleep. She'd over-thought herself into exhaustion. Typical. She snuggled under the light down comforter and buried her face into her pillow. For now, she was sleeping alone, and she planned to keep it that way, no matter what new behaviors Grissom might throw at her.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The lights on her back were warm, bathing her in a hazy glow inside and out. She focused on her three points; the Elvis photo, the bottle of chambourd on the shelf, and the exit sign over the kitchen door. She heard Warrick on her right, and Pete on her left, and she knew she was singing. It was euphoric, as it always was.
The faces in the crowd were blurred, indistinct. She stood before them, confident and sexy. The faces cheered in approval and barely restrained desire. Suddenly, there was silence. She turned, and Warrick and Pete were gone. An ivy-covered trellis was behind her, and the warmth from the lights faded. She turned towards the audience, her audience, and found herself at the Sailor's Dock.
The audience was not cheering. They were not applauding. She heard the scrape of wood along the floor as the now-faceless crowd stood in unison. They turned in synchronization, presenting their backs to her as they walked away.
Crushing humiliation flooded her. She wasn't good enough. She had poured her soul onto the stage, and it wasn't good enough.
She turned towards the right, head held down. With each step, the echo of her footfalls grew louder and louder. The more she walked, the further away the curtain became. She couldn't leave. She couldn't get off the stage. Frustrated, she stopped, but the echoes continued. She raised her head, and a huge stallion reared up in front of her.
Cowering, she hid behind the chair in Grissom's office. The stallion settled and stepped towards her, snorting aggressively. Its mane was black as night, and the black of its coat was streaked through with gray. It reared again, demanding her surrender with glowing eyes.
Grissom appeared in his chair and simply stated "No". The stallion turned and disappeared through the curtain backstage. She watched it trot happily away, and longed to follow. It was free. But she was stuck. She pushed herself, leaping back towards the wall, but found herself sitting across from Grissom, his eyes focused on the papers on his desk. She waited for him to say something, anything; to acknowledge she was here. But he said nothing.
She stood, yelling, although she wasn't quite clear why she was upset. Still, he didn't stir. Not even to blink, or to breathe. She looked closer, and she understood why he wasn't answering. He wasn't real.
He was stone, like the angel in the fountain behind the Inn. She blinked, and she saw many more statues of Grissom. Grissom in the interrogation room. Grissom outside of the apartment complex. Grissom smiling at her when she handed him the coffee. Grissom standing scant inches from her, preparing to pin her to the wall.
"It isn't real." She stared. Had the stone lips moved? Had they spoken to her? She reached out cautiously to the Grissom before her, and at her touch, he shattered. Panicked, she went to each, begging for help from someone, anyone. As she ran towards each one, they crumbled into debris and dust.
"Your conclusions are invalid, Sara."
This was all wrong. That was Grissom! She knew his voice. He was inside one of those statues. She had to get to him. She dug through the debris, digging, digging with her bare hands until they burned.
"Reverse, Sara. Reverse." She spun around quickly, her world whirling in shades of black and white.
She was on stage again. The lights were warm, and she felt at peace. The tattered red curtain was nearby; she could finally leave. She needed to leave. The warmth grew, and she turned to face it. The light was bright, and as it faded, she made out the shape of a man in the shadows.
Grissom. The man walked forward, and she couldn't tell if it was Grissom or not.
"Are you ready to go?" the man asked her softly, placing a warm hand on the small of her back like Grissom would, if it was Grissom. Was it Grissom? She wasn't sure.
"Go where?" she asked. Her voice sounded melodic, rich. Was that really her voice?
The man smiled brightly, bathing her in warmth. "Forward. We need to go forward." He stepped ahead of her, eager, excited. "C'mon Sara. You need to put it behind you."
"I don't want to go," she said, surprising herself. "I don't know where that is."
"It's okay, honey," the man who was or was not Grissom murmured to her. "You can do it. And remember," he said while walking away, fading away, laughing at her, "the last one there is a rotten egg!"
... continued next chapter ->
A/N: Okay so that was weird, I know. But I couldn't think of a better way to incorporate that line… my apologies. Next chapter should be better, I hope. Thanks to my two betas and for all you readers for reading this!