Authors Note: Okay so I missed Christmas for this one and I know it's already midway through February and a Valentine's story may have been more appropriate. But anyway, it developed too late for Christmas so here it is, lol.
Big shout out to my Beta, Jessi who did an excellent and speedy job on this despite a hectic schedule, lol.
Big shout out also to Sharon and Catherine :)
For Sara S.
He arrived at her door on Christmas Eve – his hair soaking wet, his lashes spiky and a rain splattered blue plastic bag hanging from his left hand. It surprised her to see him standing there; it was only the second time in the six year period she'd lived in Las Vegas that Gil Grissom had ever come to call on her.
The first time she'd opened her apartment door to see him standing there it had been work related, and she couldn't find any other reason in the world that Grissom might be standing there now.
"Griss," she said, she quickly hid her surprise and confusion by forcing a smile. Sara's mind was full of questions that she couldn't quite speak yet.
Gil Grissom paused, as if carefully considering his words before he spoke. Sara felt a quaint resentment for that; Grissom always had to consider his words before he spoke, and sometimes he took so long that by the time he'd gotten to the point, things really no longer mattered. It was as if he had to weigh out every word with thorough vigilance, as if every sentence had to contain a pearl of wisdom or be more profound even when the situation didn't always warrant it.
"Would you like to come in?" Sara asked, deciding to break the silence. She wasn't sure how much longer he intended to take deciding on what he needed to say and she wasn't in the mood to wait.
He smiled a little, and stepped inside, his leather jacket was as wet as the blue plastic bag he was carrying, "thank you," he said appreciatively; he stood dripping on the mat on the hardwood floor near the door.
"Caught in the rain?" she asked. She glanced towards her window, the drapes were pulled back and she could see the full force of an almost violent torrent of rain. There was something almost comforting about the persistent loud tapping it made against the glass.
"No, I took a shower with my clothes on," he cracked with a sarcastic smirk.
"Here, take your jacket off, you're dripping everywhere," she held her hand out to retrieve his jacket before he'd even had a chance to put down the blue plastic bag, let alone take the jacket off.
"Sorry," he apologised, and put the bag down on the mat. He shrugged out of his jacket, and then passed it to her.
"This new?" Sara asked.
"Matter of opinion," he confessed, "I've had it eight years and worn it twice. Most of the time it stays in the closet. Does that count as new?" he reached up with his right hand and swept his fingers through his wet hair. His normally grey waves had taken on loose curls of almost black, making him seem younger, almost admittedly boyish.
"Funny, I thought it was only women who bought clothes and only bothered to wear them twice before leaving them to rot in the closet." Sara moved to the bathroom and hung his jacket on the showerhead on the stand in her bathtub, so that the water would drip down into the drain.
She entered the living room again, drying her hands on her hips as she walked. She noted Grissom had not even moved from the spot where he'd been standing.
"So what brings you here?" she asked.
Grissom gave her a look, almost as if he were slightly wounded by what she'd said, as if she were insinuating he had a motive for being there; as if he wasn't the type of guy who'd just stop by out of the blue for a visit.
Feeling the need to justify her question, she continued, "what I mean is," she wet her lips, "the last time you were here it was because I'd been suspended."
"Actually," he said, and he bent down to pick up the blue plastic bag on the mat, "I brought your Christmas present over," he held the bag towards her.
Her second surprise in a five minute period of time. She took the bag from him, and said unsurely, "thanks."
"I usually give you it at work, and I meant to bring it yesterday, but as I was leaving for work, the Sheriff called me at home asking me to come see him and unfortunately I forgot about your present. I'm sorry."
"It's okay…" Sara assured. Despite being a little disappointed that she could be so easily forgotten, she felt the little tinge of delight that he'd brought it to her home.
She moved towards the kitchen counter holding the bag open to stare in awe at the book-shaped present. It was wrapped in silver holographic paper with a glittering purple bow adorning one corner, and a label with her name, Sara S., in Grissom's careless – but endearing nevertheless – handwriting. He never signed his name on presents; it was something she'd noticed her first year in Vegas.
"Aren't you going to put it under your tree?" Grissom asked curiously.
Sara threw a glance in the direction of her sad, tacky little Christmas tree on a small table by the window. "Maybe later," she replied.
"Would you like something to drink? Water? Tea? Coffee? Maybe a beer?" she asked hopefully. It would be just like Grissom to drop the package off and then leave – it was just his style. He'd taken care of his reason for being there, and would probably wonder if there was any other reason for being there.
"I still have to drop of Catherine's present and Lindsay's present," he made a face, and looked towards the door in an almost anxious fashion.
With a quick glance at the clock, she responded, "it's only quarter past six; you have plenty of time to get the presents to them. Besides, you already have your jacket off – and you might as well wait until the rain lets off a little," she added. She wanted to say: And it's the first time you've ever come to my place for a reason other than work – you think I'm about to let you walk out of here when this is probably the first and only chance we'll have to visit with each other 'socially'?
Defeat. She saw it in his eyes and felt the ultimate glee of victory. She suppressed a smile of success.
"Perhaps tea," he decided after a moment of reflection.
"Tea it is," Sara opened an overhead cupboard, "My neighbour Janet works for a tea and coffee specialists in the mall and got me this basket of all different types of tea for Christmas," she said, trying to make conversation. "I haven't had a chance to try any yet; she only brought it over this morning."
He moved over to the counter and took a seat on one of the tall stools.
"What kind of tea do you like?" she asked, gesturing to the small boxes lining the bottom shelf in her cupboard. "Jasmine Green, Java Green, Lotus Green, Pepperment…?" She trailed off with a frown. "Is it just me or are these all green?" she asked absently, and then moved some boxes around, "Earl Grey?"
"Earl Grey is fine," he responded. His voice gave off the faintest resonance that he was slightly uncomfortable.
Sara filled her kettle and then set about putting out two cups, "Janet gets me these great teabags from England. I drink those all the time here at home," she continued tapping her fingers absently waiting for the water in the kettle to boil.
Grissom watched her for a moment. "Would you like to open your present?" he asked her. He seemed to sense she was having trouble finding something to talk about besides tea.
Yes, something else to talk about – I feel like an idiot here. Tea? Who makes intelligent conversation about tea apart from the Queen of England? Sara took the present out of the plastic bag and disposed of the bag in a drawer. "Hard…and book shaped," she said as she tore into the paper preparing to feign surprise at what she was sure would be another entomology text book.
It caught her by complete surprise to discover the present was not an educational book, but a fictional mystery. The white cover was patterned with black fingerprints and a splotch of blood.
She read the title out in as happy a tone as she could muster – trying to hide her surprise, "Forensically Speaking," she smiled a little, "by Keene Williams," she added.
He smiled a little, "You look surprised."
"I am. You always give me an entomology text book for Christmas," she gestured to the shelf behind her where the books were lined up and – as she hoped Grissom would not notice – gathering dust.
Why does he always get me a present…even when I never get him anything? Why is it always a book? And why on the tags of his presents does he never write 'from Grissom', or 'Love from Grissom'? she wondered.
She nearly laughed. Grissom wasn't the kind of man who wrote 'love from' on his cards or tags. You identified something Grissom had given by his handwriting and that was it. Once she'd received a plant with the gift tag stating 'from Grissom', but it hadn't been in his handwriting, so she suspected his involvement in that gift was even more minimal than his giving her a book every year.
I suppose I should be grateful for what I get. I'm the only other person on the team who even gets a present apart from Catherine. I can't just outright ask him why it always has to be a book he gives me every year…
The switch on the electric kettle clicked, and Sara returned to the kitchen to make the tea. Grissom sat quietly watching her. No, more than watching; Observing. It was almost as if everything she did at the counter was part of a sacred ceremony he'd never witnessed before. The dropping in of the teabags, the pouring of the water first, and then adding the sugar. It never ceased to amaze Sara how Grissom found human behaviour so fascinating
"How'd you know I like sugar in tea?" he asked, he raised an eyebrow, his eyes showed intense curiosity.
"Don't you remember? We had tea together at a little cafe when I was your student."
"Ah yes, myself, you, and that other girl. I forget her name but she had a rather unfortunate mouth that made her look like a fish…"
"Yeah. Trudy Trout Lips Kisner," Sara laughed softly, passing him his tea. She stood on the opposite side of the counter with her own in her hands, hands being warmed by the cup.
Grissom fell silent, staring into his cup almost as if he were trying to read tea leaves. He bit on the inside edge of his lip as if he were trying to remove a piece of loose skin.
"She had the biggest crush on you," Sara admitted with a soft laugh.
Grissom had been about to raise the cup to his lips, but stopped and stared straight ahead at her. "She did?"
With a laugh, Sara nodded. "Oh yeah. Huge crush. She had all these huge plans to seduce you."
"Ah, now her asking me to her father's apartment for the weekend to discuss her 'future' seems to make more sense," Grissom nodded, and sipped from his cup.
Sara raised a finely shaped eyebrow. "Did you go?"
"No," he answered quite firmly.
"Trout lips aside, you didn't think she was attractive?"
"She was attractive," he shrugged, "I just wasn't interested," he sipped his tea.
Even before she thought to ask, she knew Grissom would probably never give a proper reason why he wasn't interested in Trudy. Still, she had to ask. "Why weren't you interested in her?"
Grissom had staring into his cup as he sipped his tea, and his eyes raised to hers. He put the cup down slowly. "Why aren't you interested in Greg?"
The question caught her by surprise, but she remained calm, took a slow, even breath and responded, "He's Greg."
"You're not attracted to him at all?" Grissom queried, his tone had a professional politeness about it that reminded Sara of the way he spoke to victims when working on cases.
"He's okay looking…but I'm not attracted."
"Even after you saw him naked?"
She blinked, and tried to compose herself as quickly as possible. "How do you know I saw…" she trailed off.
"Overheard a conversation."
She shook off the urge to reprimand him for listening to private conversations, and sighed, "Well, anyway, he might be good looking, and he may look okay naked, but…there's no spark."
Grissom nodded, apparently satisfied with this.
"Is there a point to this?" Sara asked.
"You made my point. A person can be attractive, but attraction isn't everything. If the interest isn't there, it isn't there."
"So…she just wasn't your type…"
"Sara, I don't have a type."
"Okay…" Sara nodded. For several minutes they just sat there quietly sipping tea, occasionally glancing over at each other but never really knowing what to say. In Sara's case, she had plenty to say, plenty to ask, but deciding to hold back. There were some things she decided Grissom just wasn't ready to handle.
The ringing of a phone broke the uncomfortable silence between them, and Grissom reached into the pocket in his pants with a curious expression to retrieve his ringing cellphone. He checked it and then answered. "Grissom."
Typical, you get him alone finally and his phone rings. Does he ever turn that damn thing off?
"Right now?" he asked of his caller, he glanced to Sara momentarily, and then to his watch, still listening to whoever was on the line. "Alright. I'll be there as soon as I can," he advised, and then hung up.
"You have to go" she asked, although the answer was more than obvious.
"Ecklie," he gestured to the phone, "A female victim was found with a letter-opener stuck through her chest."
"Oh," she remarked, finding nothing more eloquent to respond with. It seemed he'd just barely gotten there, and already work had more priority.
"She was found out in an alley. The rain has probably washed away or compromised most of the evidence, but nevertheless I have to go." Grissom put his phone away. "I'm sorry…"
Sara tucked her hair behind her ear. "Do you want me to come with you?"
"Unfortunately, you're maxed out on overtime until January. Besides, it's the first night off you've had in awhile. You need it."
So do you, she thought desperately.
Grissom glanced down at his half-drained cup of tea wistfully. "This…this has been…" he trailed off. He looked lost for a moment, as if he were thrashing around in his mind for words to best describe the experience of tea. "Nice."
"Yeah…" she responded, she tried to hide the disappointment in her voice.
"We should do this again sometime."
She raised her eyes from the floor to him. Of all the things she expected him to say, she never expected him to suggest they have tea together again. "Well, we will at work," she reminded.
"I'm not talking about work," he remarked rather wryly, a slight smirk built at the right side of his mouth.
"Oh…well, uh…" Sara was completely thrown by this. She pulled herself together and prepared to ask herself if he was asking her what she thought he was asking her. Before she could even open her mouth, his beeper went off and she and Grissom both groaned in unison.
"I have to go."
Sara gave a nod and went to the bathroom to retrieve his jacket from where she'd hung it. He slipped it on and adjusted the collar. They stood staring at each other for one more moment and then he led himself to the door. She followed, reluctant to let him leave, but having no real choice on the matter.
"I'm sorry," he said again. When she looked into his eyes she knew he was being sincere.
"It's fine. Go work. I'll sit here and drink tea and be thankful I'm not the one called out in the rain." She forced a smile, however weak it might have been.
"Read the book. You'll like it," Grissom suggested thoughtfully. There was a twinkle in his stormy blue eyes. Without another word, he opened the door and took off. She heard his footsteps echoing down the hallway.
She sighed and closed the door. The apartment felt empty now that he'd gone. She sighed and slumped onto her couch, melancholy draining her of the want to even clean the teacups away.
Her eyes fell on the coffee table where she'd left the book he'd given her as a present. She picked it up, opened the cover, and gave the description inside a brief glance. The story revolved apparently around a team of fictional forensic investigators who work to solve the case of a high profile murder.
Sara inwardly laughed. No wonder he thought I'd like this, she thought.
She flicked the first blank page over, intending to flick right onto the next which would have taken her presumably to the first page of the story.
And then she stopped, because right there on the pristine white page in sharp black letters was the Author's dedication. The words made her smile as she read them to herself out loud.
"For Sara S."
The End
Hope this wasn't too terribly boring to read. Big thanks again to my beta, and thanks to Sharon and Catherine for always being supportive and helpful whenever I have probs with my fanfic.
You know the drill - if you like the story, give it a review :)