A/N: This is the second chappie. There won't be an update real soon, because I'm going on vacay. In fact, I'm leaving in about two hours. Super thanks to Sara for betaing. If there's anything OOC, it's her fault. :points finger: Just kidding. Read, review, enjoy.
Her palms begin to sweat as she tries to perfect her parking. She takes a deep breath. It's a meal. Somehow, the sentence doesn't begin to be reassuring. She pulls down the visor, and quickly fixes the nuances of her appearance she doesn't like. She huffs out a breath. What am I doing? It's food…with Grissom. With another shaky breath, she quickly finger-combs her hair.
She enters the restaurant, embracing the cool air conditioning. She spots his booth, nestled in the corner in the far right. She smiles softly. Her steps sound thundering in her own ear, her feet feel heavy. The plateau they were on had a cliff, and she feels like he's about to push her off it. She sits, across from him, and they chat. It's mindless chatter, just random things about the weather and their occupations. They're both stereotypical. For only a moment.
He grasps her hand, and her eyes instinctively drift towards the sight. His hand dwarfs hers by the slightest touch, and her breath catches in her throat. Her eyes seek his, and she sights nothing but concern. "Are you okay?" She wants to laugh. It was absolutely stupid of her to think he wouldn't find out. He does this for a living. She pulls her hand away, and replies.
"The waitress is coming." Her voice is raspy. The waitress, true-to-form, arrives when they're caught in this trap of awkwardness, and she takes their orders with a bright, painted face and a high-pitched voice. She leaves, and they're still caught. It isn't hard for us at all, she surmises. She mentally laughs, and the echoes frighten her. Our relationship is nothing if not awkward. He takes her hand again, and the tingles travel up her arm, down her spine. She hates herself. But she rationalizes. It's the one thing that will not change in her.
It's all impulses and chemical reactions, she thinks. It's a mantra she's used for every time he's touched her. But she knows. She knows there's more to her than her genes, cells, and the chemical reactions they indulge in. There's something so wretched in knowing that she's in love. "You didn't answer my question," he says.
She smiles, superficially, and leans back in the booth, taking her hand. "I'm fine." He has no reply to follow up, but his expression is enough. She knows he doubts the accuracy of the statement.
Their food arrives, and they eat, in relative silence. What was supposed to be a great leap forward does nothing but propels them back. She applauds his mustering of courage to ask her, but they haven't done anything but revel in the awkwardness. Afterwards, he pays for both of them, despite her voiced protests. "I'll see you later," he says. She smiles, and nods.
She drives home somewhat erratically, but she makes it there without being pulled over. She quickly hauls herself into her apartment. She wants to do nothing more but weep. Weep over the ashes of their relationship, of what happened, of what didn't. Instead, she returns to the kitchen floor.
Withdrawal is a funny thing. She's pouring herself another shot of gin. Their first encounter had been brief, but passionate, and she had longed to see him again afterwards. And now? It was their septillionth encounter and she no longer felt what she had in earlier years. She loved him, but that feeling of unrequited love had fallen over her heart, her soul, and she didn't know if he could seize the threads they'd dropped long ago. A feeling of independence settles over her, and she feels like she doesn't need him. She knows better. She does need him.
He calls her later, when she's laying on the sofa, enjoying the rush of alcohol in her mind. She answers the phone quickly. He invites her to dinner, at his apartment. She's thoroughly surprised. This is Grissom. And any step towards intimacy involving the both of them must have been preempted by a message from fate or Mother Nature. She agrees, though she doesn't know why, and he gives her a time.
Why is she so determined to make things work with this man? She rolls over, and stares at the blank television screen. She feels…nothing. Nothing but emptiness, and the faint stirrings of…of something.
What's the point of the shiny button being there if you don't click it? Click it. I daaaare you.