Author's Notes: Large shout-outs to sweet-baby-lemon, Crystal Wimmer, star-shimmered-dragon, brainfear and Lauren for reading and reveiewing the last chapter. I appreciated your kind comments mucho much, and I hope you keep reading and enjoying!
Giving Up
by Kristen Elizabeth
"I guess I can scratch grilled eggplant off my list of foods to try." With his fork, Greg pointed at Sara's plate. "If the vegetarian won't even eat it…"
Snapping out of her reverie, Sara looked down at her barely-touched dinner. "Don't blame the eggplant, Greg. It's never done anything to you." She took a big bite, chewed and swallowed. "It's very good."
He grinned. said this was the best restaurant on the Strip for vegetarian food."
"You did research for our date?"
"I eat at McDonald's and a variety of cheap buffets. I wasn't about to take you to a place where your food comes on a plastic tray."
Watching him dig into his meatless meal, Sara couldn't keep a smile off her own face. Whatever else he could be, Greg Sanders was a good guy. He'd cleaned up for their date by donning a coat and tie, but his hair was still in its trademark chunky spikes. Adorable, maybe even someone's definition of "hot."
But just not Sara's type.
"How's your arm feeling?" he asked her out of the blue.
Sara blinked. "No more sling." To demonstrate, she bent her arm back and forth at the elbow. Her forearm was still in a cast, but at least she was halfway back to completely mobile. "And this only stays on for another two weeks."
"We really lucked out, didn't we?"
"Yes." She cleared her throat. "We did."
Greg continued between bites of his curried vegetables. "But you know, in a way, it wasn't all bad. The accident. I mean, we're here, aren't we? And you've…well, you've been almost happier since it happened. Not bouncing off the walls like me, but you don't look so down anymore."
"I suppose…" She picked up her water glass and lifted it to her lips, but forgot to drink. "…I realized how much I was taking for granted."
"Sara." He set down his fork with a look of determination. Sara busied herself by taking a sip of water. He looked too serious. "You didn't just agree to go out with me because you had a near-death experience or anything? Did you?"
Just then, their waiter appeared. "How is everything?"
"Fine." Sara broke Greg's stare. "Everything's great."
"Can I interest you in our dessert menu?"
Greg shook his head. "No thanks. Just the check, please."
Twenty minutes later, they stepped out of the restaurant and onto the bustling Strip. The temperature had dropped a few degrees, and Sara was instantly grateful for the light black sweater she'd put on over her sleeveless dress.
"Well." She flashed him a bright smile. "What now, Mr. Research?"
"I thought we could just take a walk." He paused. "You know, talk and stuff."
Sara hid a smirk behind her hand. "And stuff, eh?"
It was amazing how quickly his cheeks turned pink. "How long have you lived in Vegas now? Four, five years? Have you ever really looked around it?"
"With a magnifying glass. That's our job."
Greg shook his head. "No. No, not like a scientist. C'mon." He gestured to somewhere down the street before taking off.
"Where are we going?" Sara called out as she followed him. "I'm in heels, Greg!"
"It's not far," he yelled back over the noise of the Strip.
She broke into a jog as his speed doubled. Trying not to think about how ridiculous she looked trying to run in the strappy sandals she'd debated over buying for nearly an hour, Sara kept after him until he stopped. "Greg," she panted. "Have you…ever worn heels?"
"Yes. And don't ask." He pointed across the street. "Look."
From the spot they stood, they had a perfect view of the Mirage's world-famous fountain. Sara had passed by a million times, but never really looked at it. "Wow."
"I love coming here," Greg mused. "It's total Vegas cheese, but there's still something cool about it. And it's free."
The water rose and fell in patterns and swirls and every now and then, Sara felt a cool spray of mist on her face and arms. "Thanks for taking me here, Greg."
When he gently turned her to face him, she knew what was coming, and part of her wanted to stop it. The other half, however, was genuinely curious to see what would happen. Damnit, she thought when his eyes closed and his lips lowered to hers. Curiosity really does kill.
The kiss last no more than five seconds.
With Greg's lips still smashed against hers, Sara cracked one eye open. His were scrunched close in concentration.
"Greg," she said around his mouth.
"Hmm?"
Sara pulled back just enough to escape the kiss. "This isn't working."
"Thank god." Greg's eyes popped open. "I thought it was just me."
A moment passed before Sara burst into laughter. "I have to say, that was the worst kiss I've ever been a part of."
"Ouch." He slapped a hand over his heart. "I'll have you know that with the right girl, I'm known for my mad kissing skills!"
"I'm sure," she assured him, still laughing. "With the right girl."
Greg sighed, but tempered the melancholy with an amused smile. "I really hoped it could be you, Sara. But the kind of awkward we just experienced can only happen between friends."
"Good friends." Sara weaved her arm through his.
"Really?"
"Really." On impulse, she kissed his cheek. "I don't wear heels for people I don't care about at all."
He looked down at her bare legs. "You should wear 'em more often. You'd blow Gris…"
"Don't finish that sentence, friend," she warned.
"But I like to live dangerously."
Sara smiled at him sweetly. "I would get away with your murder, you know."
"Yeah, I'll remember that." He laughed, in spite of the situation. "So, you want ice cream?"
Grissom poked at the sausage patties sizzling in the skillet. They had seemed like a good idea for a late lunch when he'd woken up from a fitful sleep, but now he couldn't imagine choking down a single bite. Maybe Sara was right about meat; there was a nauseating quality to it.
Snapping off the heat, Grissom set the pan aside and removed the dish towel that was draped over his shoulder. If anyone else confessed to having recurring thoughts about an attractive co-worker, he would be the first to tell him to curb those thoughts. Too bad he couldn't follow his own advice.
Sometimes he almost regretted giving that lecture at Harvard all those years ago. If he hadn't, he never would have met Sara, but then if he'd never met her, she'd never have gotten tangled up in his life. And she would have never been hurt by his shortcomings. She would have been a brilliant physicist and met some other equally young and intelligent physicist and been happy. Happiness. Something he'd never even offered her.
His head ached all of a sudden. Regret was a daily burden that he carried around, and it weighed on him. Maybe that was why Catherine thought he looked older than he should. She had no idea how heavy his load was. Or maybe she did. She was damn perceptive. His best CSI for a long time, after all.
When his doorbell rang at that exact moment, Grissom sighed. It would be Catherine. No one else would drop by his place uninvited. It was like she could tell that he wanted to be alone with his headache and his thoughts, and had decided to make it as difficult for him as possible.
"Are you cooking?" Catherine asked as soon as he answered the door. She whipped off her sunglasses and entered the townhouse, brushing right past him. "I'm starving."
Grissom closed the door. "You didn't eat with Lindsey?"
"She's spending the night at her friend's house," Catherine replied, deep into her quest for food. She spotted the pan and pointed to it. "Sausages?"
"They're cooked and there's English muffins in the breadbox."
"What would I do without you?" With some cheese from the fridge, Catherine fashioned herself a sandwich and took a bite. "You're not eating?" she asked between mouthfuls.
He sat on a barstool across the island counter from her. "I decided I wasn't hungry. Shouldn't you be getting to work?"
"I'm on my way. I just wanted to stop by and…"
"Check on me?"
Catherine shrugged. "If you want to call it that. I call it being a friend."
"What prompted this display of friendship?" Grissom asked.
Finishing off her sandwich, Catherine moved around to his side of the island and took the stool next to his. "I heard a rumor the other day."
"Office gossip," he muttered.
"Apparently Sara and Greg went out on a date over the weekend." She hesitated. "Didn't see that one coming. Did you?"
Grissom scratched his beard. "I could be the only person in that lab more concerned with work than with who's dating whom."
"So, you're happy for Sara?"
"Catherine. Quit prodding."
She feigned innocence with wide eyes. "I never prod. I simply have a curious nature."
"Curiosity killed the Cat."
"You are getting back your sense of humor, I see."
Grissom stood. "Even the aged and decrepit occasionally manage to make a joke."
"So, not a word of our last conversation got through, did it?"
"Catherine, what do you want from me?"
"Nothing. I have what I want from you, Gil." Facing him, she put a hand on his arm. "Your friendship. Your respect."
"Then why…"
"I'm worried about you. Twenty years from now, I don't want to still be dropping by your empty townhouse to find you eating alone."
Grissom covered her hand with his and moved it away. "I'm a creature of habit. And I like my space."
"I'm glad. 'Cause the way you're going, you'll have plenty of it. For the rest of your life."
He said nothing in return, a good indication that her words had hit some deeply buried nerve. Yet she felt no satisfaction. There was nothing rewarding about making her old friend face the reality of his life.
"So, I guess I should go." She pushed her sunglasses up onto the crown of her head. "If you think about anything that I've said, remember, I only want to see you happy."
Still, Grissom was silent. With a sigh, Catherine started for the door.
"Catherine," he called out, halting her exit. "It's too late for me."
"Bullshit," she replied as she pulled the door open. "Pure bullshit."
She didn't know what she was talking about, he told himself for a long time after she was gone. He had a full life. A successful career. The respect of the international criminology community. He'd gotten this far with this much. To want anything else, especially now, was just a waste of time.
Still, when he slid into his big, cold bed nearly twenty-four hours later, he couldn't help but think how nice it would be if he wasn't quite so alone.
To Be Continued