Chapter 22
The apartment was quiet no lights were left on. Grissom kicked his shoes into their usual space by the door and rubbed his hands over his face. The lack of sleep was catching up to him; every creek of his bones reminded him of the years he could stay up for days without missing a beat.
Entering his room with caution he checked to be certain Selina wasn't sleeping in his bed. Satisfied that he was alone he stripped off his shirt and padded to the bathroom. He started the shower to warm the water, relieved himself of the countless coffees that had gotten him this far and shed the remainder of his clothing.
Anticipating the relief of the hot spray on his aching muscles Grissom yelped loudly when he instead hit his cranium on something square and hard hanging from the showerhead.
A waterproof radio was his only suspect. While he was a man who loved music, who indeed had a living space filled with complex and sophisticated equipment to maximize the enjoyment of sound, he had not once in his lifetime considered it necessary to a decent shower. This sanctuary of silence, save for the soothing sound of falling water wanted for no music he could think of. Curiosity bested him though, and he switched the machine on.
Country music.
Three bars of something twangy that he could not have named if his life depended on it escaped from the speaker before he shut the thing off.
It took a moment to regroup but soon he was relaxing into the steam and strong stream of water pounding at him (once he readjusted the nozzle away from the wide rain like spray he never used). Eyes closed he reached, closed his hand around his shampoo and poured a small dollop into his palm; the scent reached his brain just as the cream hit his head. Raspberries. Wiping the suds from his face with his forearm he looked for the bottle.
Raspberry cream body wash sat crammed in next to raspberry-lime body scrub, black raspberry smoothing shampoo, black raspberry deep conditioner for frizzy hair and a can of apparently soothing mint shaving cream not meant for his face. He rinsed the fruity foam from his head and searched for his sensible, scent free shower accessories.
Wrapped in the robe that he found, not on its peg behind the bathroom door but folded over a chair in his room, he went to the kitchen hunting for a snack before falling into bed.
The sesame crackers were gone. No, untrue. They were simply moved to the other side of the cabinet. He counted to ten and batted away the annoyance of nothing being where it belonged. It worked, for a moment.
Giving up on the kitchen he fell into bed. In the fuzzy place between sleeping and waking he found himself crawling on the floor of his office, searching for something. He heard a familiar laugh and looked up to see Sara, smiling down at him, radiating joy and self-assurance. His fingers found the small black box he had dropped from quivering hands and he stood, holding it out to her. She was speaking, her hand over her chest, smiling and saying words he couldn't hear over the ringing of the phone.
The phone. He rolled out of bed and grabbed his cell phone from the pocket of his pants on the floor. He never left his pants on the floor.
"Grissom."
"You're home! I waited for you but it was getting so late I couldn't wait any more. They're thinking about letting Kerry out tomorrow but aren't sure yet. Can we have lunch and talk?"
"What time is it?" he grumbled.
"10:15, can we meet at noon?"
"I just got in, I've got to get some sleep. How about I see you at 4?"
Selina was obviously disappointed but agreed.