Author's Notes: Thanks again for all the kind reviews;) This will be my last update before Christmas; I'm taking a wee bit of a break. So, enjoy. And have a very happy whatever you happen to celebrate! If I'm not back before then, see you in the new year!
Letting Go
by Kristen Elizabeth
I believe it's meant to be, darlin'
I want you when you are sleeping
You belong to me
Do you feel the same?
Am I only dreaming?
Or is this burning an eternal flame?
Say my name, sun shines through the rain
My whole life, so lonely
Now come and ease the pain
I don't wanna lose this feeling
- The Bangles
Criminal Action 05-CR-41-D, the People vs. Callie Marie Lamb, defendant.
We, the jury, upon our oaths, unanimously find as follows:
Count 1, Murder in the First Degree: Not guilty
Count 2, Assault with a Deadly Weapon: Guilty
Count 3, Attempted Murder: Guilty
Count 4, Unlawful Kidnapping: Guilty
Count 5, Assault against a Law Enforcement Officer: Guilty
Dated 22 December, Miguel D. Lorenzo, Foreperson
"Nog?"
Sara looked at her full cup, then at the identical one Greg held out to her. "I'm good. Thanks."
He shrugged and took a swig, leaving a foamy moustache behind. "Call me crazy, but I don't think you're getting into the holiday spirit, Sara. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve."
She hid a smile by pretending to take a sip. "You're not crazy. In this regard, at least."
All around them, the crime lab's yearly party raged. Perhaps 'raged' was an exaggeration. With the exception of the egg nog, which itself had only enough rum to qualify as non-store bought, there was no alcohol being served. Christmas or not, after the party, the LVPD still had work to do.
"I get what's going on," Greg sympathized. "It was a sucky call. I mean, those twelve idiots basically said she's too crazy to be held accountable for actual murder, even though they were absolutely sure she was just crazy enough to try to kill you." He sighed. "But at least Callie Lamb won't be out on the streets before she needs a walker to get around."
"The D.A. jumped the gun." Nick joined them. Instead of egg nog, he had a club soda in his hand. And a Santa hat on his head. "He shouldn't have gone for murder one."
Sara agreed, but it was impossible to take him seriously at the moment. "I appreciate the support, you two, but I've had a whole day to get over it. Right now, I'm trying very hard to get into the Christmas spirit. So, Nick…" She flicked the white pom-pom on his hat. "What's up with this?"
"Ongoing bet with Warrick," he grumbled.
"Do I even want to know over what?"
He and Greg exchanged a look. "No, you don't," Nick replied.
She might have been inclined to press further if Grissom hadn't entered the room just then. To the best of her recollection, Grissom had never so much as stopped by the lab Christmas party, at least not during the six years she'd attended them as an employee. This year she was merely Greg's "plus one." She would have liked to have been the "plus one" of the man standing in the entrance to the hotel ballroom, nervously adjusting his tie, but she hadn't seen him since court the day before when the verdict had been announced.
Still, she was suddenly very glad she'd given herself the little red dress in the window that swung three inches above her knees and gave her actual cleavage for Christmas.
Greg followed her eye line all the way to Grissom. "So this is the end of the world as we know it." He took another swig of nog. "And I do feel fine!"
Nick watched as Grissom spotted them. The older man's eyes immediately found Sara's and didn't waver from then on. He moved through the crowd of their co-workers, approaching them a moment later.
"Nog?" Greg asked him.
"No." Grissom paused. "Sara, can I talk to you for a minute?"
"Um…sure." She handed her glass off to Nick. "Bye, guys."
Greg shook his head as Grissom led Sara away. "What happens to you and Warrick's bet if they hook up tonight?"
"I'll ask and get back to you." Nick raised Sara's glass into the air. "Grissom, have yourself a merry little Christmas, man."
Christmas in Las Vegas was generally no different than any other night, but Sara could have sworn that the lights were just a little bit brighter that year. The air was crisper, the world was a little more peaceful. And Grissom was standing next to her on the ballroom balcony, offering her his coat.
"It's cold," he explained.
His body had warmed the heavy fabric for her. Slipping her arms into the sleeves was like embracing him. "Thanks."
A few moments passed while below them, the city celebrated the holiday. Sara looked up at the full moon, unaware of Grissom's eyes on her. When she finally turned to look at him, he had moved close enough to her that their arms touched.
"You did everything right, Sara," he told her, speaking up to be heard over the whip of the winter wind. "Your case was simply stronger than Julia's."
"I know." She gave him a little smile. "It's fine, Grissom." He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Really," Sara insisted. "If there's one thing my time with IFFS has taught me, it's that justice is a rare and precious thing. The people I spent the past six months unearthing…their killers will never be found. But I'm lucky. I got justice for what happened to me. And through me, so did Julia."
"And you're okay with that?"
She thought, then nodded. "I am."
Grissom shook his head, marveling at her. "You're somewhat amazing. You know that?"
"Just somewhat?" She faced him, tucking long, loose strands of hair behind her ear. "Grissom…"
"Gil," he said. "That night in the desert, you called me 'Gil.' I liked it."
"Gil." Sara paused. "It'll take some getting used to."
Ignoring the usual warning bells that went off in his head whenever he entered dangerous emotional territory, Grissom blurted out, "Spend Christmas Eve with me."
She searched the blue centers of his eyes. "Don't you have family obligations? Your mother? Uncle?"
"I spend Thanksgiving with my mother, so I can work on Christmas."
"Right." Sara inched her fingers closer to his on the stone railing. "My first Christmas here…we processed a double murder in Henderson."
"I remember. But this year, I asked for the day off." His hand covered hers. "I figured you probably didn't have plans. But if I'm wrong…"
Sara cut him off with a kiss. "What time should I come over?"
At 7:57 p.m., it was a matter of minutes until Sara was set to arrive. At least he'd finished the final decorations hours ago. Waiting until the last minute had not been the smartest of plans, but after a frantic trip around town, Grissom had managed to find a decent tree and some generic trimmings for it. He'd positioned it to the right of the fireplace. Much debate had taken place internally about whether a fire would be overkill. In the end, he'd taken his chances and lit one; it crackled merrily in the hearth.
Frank Sinatra sang Christmas classics through the stereo. He had a vegetarian lasagna and garlic bread warming in the oven, the easiest meat-less meal he could think to prepare. As he opened a bottle of wine, Grissom wondered for the hundredth time if the single present sitting underneath the tree had been a good idea. They hadn't broached the subject of gifts, and he didn't want her to feel obligated to get something for him. But when he'd seen what was now carefully wrapped up in ice-blue paper and silver ribbon, he had instantly known that he wanted Sara to have it.
The cork came out of the bottle with a pop and there was a knock on his door.
"Merry Christmas," she greeted him. She had a sprig of plastic mistletoe in her free hand, the other being occupied holding her large handbag. As she passed over the threshold, she held it up over their heads and planted a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. "Something smells amazing." She moved past him, into the house, searching out the source of the mouthwatering scent.
He held onto the doorframe for a moment, collecting himself. The old Sara Sidle was definitely back.
Sara moved through his home like she belonged there. Or maybe he was just projecting his desire to have her be a permanent part of his life. Whatever it was, something within him stirred when she slipped out of her coat, revealing tailor black pants and a red sweater that softly hugged her body, and hung it next to his on the coatrack. Her hair cascaded over her shoulders and, admittedly, it made her look dangerously young. But also acutely desirable.
Grissom cleared his throat. "Would you care for some wine?"
She seemed distracted by something. "Um…sure. Grissom? I mean, Gil." Sara cocked her head to one side. "What happened to your butterflies?" She gestured to the bare wall.
Pouring her a glass, he nodded. "I took them down awhile back."
"Why?"
Grissom approached her with the wine. "I've stopped putting the beautiful things in my life behind glass." He handed hers to her and touched his glass to it. "To the early Christians, for moving the celebration of Jesus' birth to winter to coincide with the pagan festival of Yule."
"To religious imperialism." Sara drank, studying him over the crystal rim. "I like your tree," she blurted out a second later. "The decorations at the Sphere are nice, but there's something about a real tree."
"My mother's influence. She still doesn't believe in fake trees."
Sara nodded. "I hadn't ever seen a plastic tree until my first Christmas in foster care. At the time, I thought it was blasphemous. But then the next year, I was with a family who didn't care enough to put one up. Suddenly a fake tree didn't seem so bad."
"I'm sorry," he said, as if the words could heal every bad thing that had ever happened to her, every wound that had been inflicted by her mother's actions.
She shook off regret with a jaunty lift of her shoulders. "So…I brought a gift. For you." The words were rushed, like she had to get them out to fill up the silence between them. "We didn't discuss presents and I don't want you to feel bad if you didn't get one for me, but…" Sara stopped when she noticed him smiling. "What?" He pointed to the tree. When she spotted the lone present underneath it, Sara let out a little sigh of relief. "How is it that we speak the same language, but never really communicate?"
"I don't know," Grissom admitted. "It isn't easy, Sara. You have this ability to put everything you feel into concise statements that leave me utterly flabbergasted. And by the time I know what I want to say to you, it's too late."
"You're not too late."
"And that's exactly what I wanted for Christmas."
Sara blinked rapidly. "Well, you're going to get a little bit more than that." Setting down her glass, she reached for her bag and pulled out a brightly wrapped package. "Under the tree? Or do you want to open it now?"
"After dinner," he suggested. "Will you have dinner with me, Sara? See what happens?"
What happened was that she discovered the man could cook. If she hadn't already been hopelessly head over heels for him, his homemade marinara sauce might have been enough to steal her heart.
They ate at the elegantly set table for two, but when it came time for dessert, they moved into the living room. Grissom stoked the fire and added a couple of logs while Sara put on a pot of coffee.
"I'm a student of the Greg Sanders School of Coffee Artistry," she told him as she carefully measured out the grounds. "In Bosnia, I made the fatal mistake of making a pot over the fire on one of our first nights in the camp. From then on, it was my unofficial daily chore. I guess it was a compliment." She turned the machine on and joined him on the couch in front of the hearth. "Ask me."
He frowned. "What?"
"You want to know about Bosnia, don't you? So, ask me."
After a moment of thought, he asked her, "How was the weather?"
Sara stared at him. "That's…not what I was expecting you to ask."
"You'll talk about it when you're ready," Grissom simply said. "I won't be the one to decide when that is."
She let out a breath. "Thank you." A moment passed as they watched the fire dance. "Do you want your present now?" she asked him.
He answered her by getting up and retrieving both gifts from under the tree. He handed her the silver and blue, keeping the red and green wrapped box for himself. "Go ahead," he urged her.
Sara shook her head. "You first."
Grissom pulled the paper away to reveal a glass specimen jar with a dead bug inside. To anyone else, it would have been the equivalent of a lump of coal. But for him, it was cause to exclaim with a fair amount of joy, "A larch bark beetle!"
"He found me while I was working in the Valley one day." Sara smiled as Grissom peered through the glass at his gift. "I tried to keep him alive, but as you can see…" She trailed off. "I hope you don't already have one. The textbook said they were rare and pretty specific to Eastern Europe." When he said nothing, she went on, "I'm sorry I didn't have time to display him. But you can probably do that better than I…"
"Sara…" He tore his eyes away from the bug. "Thank you."
She managed a weak smile under the force of the gratitude that shone in his eyes. "You're welcome."
Grissom forced himself to set down his new toy. "Your turn."
Sara took her time unwrapping her gift. Each fold of the paper was another second of delicious anticipation. Finally, a small jeweler's box lay in front of her. "This is too much," she said, shaking her head.
"You haven't even opened it yet, Sara."
"It's in a velvet box. Anything that comes in a velvet box is too much."
"Please open it."
She did so hesitantly. But then, something inside the box caught the light and shone, nearly making her heart stop. "Oh, Gil…" A delicate butterfly made of silver lay nestled inside; she lifted it out by its silvery chain with trembling fingers. "It's beautiful…but I was right. It's too much."
He took the necklace from her. "Turn around." When she complied, Grissom gathered her hair up and draped it over her shoulder to get at the smooth nape of her neck. Sara's entire body tingled as he fastened the clasp. She turned her head back around to see him. "You're beautiful."
Sara touched the butterfly resting at the notch of her throat. "What are we doing here?"
"I'm not sure. But I don't want it to stop."
He held his breath until she replied, "Neither do I."
There was no mistletoe, but his mouth met hers a moment later. It wasn't right that a single kiss from Grissom caused more intense sensations than an entire night with Hank ever had. His hands skimmed her lower back, making her long for his touch everywhere. She urged him on by pulling at his buttons.
The fire laid out before them couldn't generate the kind of heat flaring up between their bodies. Just like in her hotel room, her shirt went first, followed by his. Soon, his larger frame covered her slender one on the wide couch. Sara reached up to run her fingers through his hair when a thought occurred to her. "Gil, what about…" Her own shyness surprised her. "I'm not on anything to prevent…"
It took him a second to catch on. "It's okay, honey. I've got it covered." Sara stared at him for a second before snickering. "I mean…you know what I…oh hell." He lifted himself up on his elbows, flushed with embarrassment.
She loved him even more right then. Her bumbling scientist. "You know, some women would consider that presumptuous, but choose to think of it as merely being..."
Grissom kissed the base of her throat, just above the butterfly. "Optimistic?"
Her answer to that was to pull him back down to meet her lips in a kiss that promised much more.
The fire had died down to a pile of orange embers. The coffee pot was full, but stone cold after the machine turned itself off. The CD had long since ended. And they'd traded the couch cushions for the blankets and pillows of Grissom's bed.
He woke in the early hours of Christmas Day. Sara lay in the crook of his arm, like she'd been there a thousand times before. With her face turned into his bare chest, her hair spread out over them both. The covers had slipped down to expose her shoulder. He tugged them back into place to keep her warm.
Everything about being with her like this was perfect, better than any dream and far better than it had ever been with any other woman. Was this the difference between having sex and making love? It wasn't a distinction he'd ever recognized in the past. Sex had been sex, a biological necessity that could feel pretty damn good. Sex with Sara was a life-altering experience that had drained him in such a clichéd fashion, mind, body and soul, yet left him completely fulfilled.
He didn't want to break the spell that had fallen over them, but nature called. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Grissom carefully moved her body and slipped out of bed. Sara frowned in protest, but didn't wake.
A few minutes later, he was brushing his teeth with the wicked intent of waking her for another life-altering experience, when he heard a strangled cry from the bedroom. "Sara?" Grissom left the water running and ran back to her.
Caught in the throes of a nightmare she couldn't escape, Sara had twisted herself into his sheets. Her head shook back and forth on the pillow.
"Sara?" He climbed onto the bed and gently took her shoulders. "Wake up, honey." She fought against him, but he refused to let go. "Sara!"
Her eyes flew open, letting loose the floodgate of her tears. "Gil?"
"I'm here, honey." Her face crumpled. "It's okay." Grissom pulled her into his arms and rocked her gently. "Whatever it is…it's all right."
"There were so many of them," she sobbed into his neck. "They just…dumped them in that hole like…like they didn't matter! Even the children. And…and there was this little girl…oh god…what they did to her…"
"Honey, you don't have to…"
"No…I do." She drew back a bit, dragging her lower lip between her teeth. "I'm ready now."
Guidling both of their bodies back down to the bed, Grissom combed his fingers though her tangled hair and let her talk until she wore herself out. She poured her heart out, telling him every horror, every injustice she'd uncovered during her time in Bosnia. He held her the whole time, until she fell asleep curled against him once more.
Grissom watched her, searching for any signs that the nightmares had returned. But her face was peaceful, like she'd conquered all of her demons just by putting them into words. It amazed him; she amazed him. She'd experienced a level of hell to which even his many years on the job had never exposed him. But she'd come back from it with her sense of self even more intact. At the same time he was proud of her, he was also terrified for her.
Before he drifted off himself, he made a vow.
"I'm never letting you go again."
To Be Continued
A/N: I know I took some serious liberties with Grissom's townhouse. I claim artistic license. And if some fan fic authors can make Grissom gay, I can certainly give him a fireplace. I actually wrote the majority of his chapter in front of a roaring fire. But Kristen, you might say, you live in Florida, land of perpetual heat waves...do you even have fireplaces down there? Why, yes, we do. We also have air conditioning. Crank the temp down to sixty-five and spark up the Yule log. Merry Christmas from the Sunshine State!