Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: Mature
Spoilers: Time of Your Death
Summary: After Time of Your Death. GSR.
A/N: It's almost 3 AM and I'm so tired. This fic -- I already see the problems with it but am too tired to do anything but post.
Carte Blanche
They stood in the elevator with Carl from HR who tipped his head as he said goodbye, exiting the doors to the main floor. When they slid shut, Grissom took a step closer to Sara on the ride down to the basement garage.
"Am I supposed to buy you something?"
Sara raised a brow. "Excuse me?"
"The bracelet. You were looking at it. Do you want one? Should I get you one?" He dug his hands in his pockets.
"No."
They walked out into the dimly lit garage. Though Grissom had a primo parking spot up front, he elected to forgo it as of late and park towards the back, near his girlfriend. And he had to face it -- that's exactly what she was. They had been sleeping together for two weeks after a chance meeting in front of a movie theater -- a small, out of the way vintage-type deal that screened only in black and white. On a balmy Saturday afternoon, Sara came across her boss buying a matinee ticket for Random Harvest. She had smiled at him as he gripped the ticket awkwardly.
"Random Harvest? What's that?"
"It's a movie," Grissom answered, immediately regretting saying the obvious.
"Ahh," she nodded and then moved to continue on her run. "Enjoy the…"
"See it with me."
That was all it took. In three hours Grissom got laid for the first time in seven years and his sexual drought didn't show any sign of returning. She was insatiable -- something that both excited and worried him. For the first time in his life, he felt…desired. Grissom had always prided himself on his brain -- it had taken him far in life and he'd gotten used to the compliments on his intelligence. He was always the smartest guy in the room of smart guys. No other measure of achievement mattered: money, fast cars, gorgeous women. Those were all superficial. Grissom based his worth on his brain and though Sara spent hours with him discussing minutiae in detail Sara also liked sex and she liked it often. Most mornings after work they'd go to his house and spend the next hour with her perched above him, bouncing up and down and screaming his name. After their first few times together she apologized. "I don't know what's gotten into me. I'm not like this. This isn't me," she said urgently, desperately trying to convince Grissom that the wanton women who had scratched his chest hard enough to draw blood was not the norm.
He just smiled and got a prescription for Viagra.
When Sara kissed him, he felt like he was being swallowed. It was thrilling and terrifying and something Grissom knew he had no control over. Their relationship was a separate entity that lived and breathed on its own. It had been hibernating and was finally waking up, hungry after a decade-long slumber. Stopping was not an option. He not only had grown used to her, he had grown to need her. To lose her would mean death -- not physical, but emotional death. Sara was his core and without her Grissom was a hollow shell of a man.
Knowing that had him paranoid to please her. When Nick had flashed the ten grand diamond bracelet purchased by the latest victim for his girlfriend of twenty-four hours, Grissom felt his blood turn to ice. He and Sara had been friends for almost ten years and what had he bought her? A plant and a textbook.
How very sexy.
As he watched Sara unlock her car door, Grissom cursed himself for asking her if he should buy her something special. There was no way someone as independent as Sara would say yes to a question like that. He stopped her before she got in her car.
"I've got some errands to run. Come by in about an hour."
There it was, that look again. She wanted him. Though Sara nodded, Grissom could see the disappointment mixed with desire wash over her face. He immediately felt guilty but promised himself he'd make it up to her. From the lab, Grissom drove down the Strip and scouted out the best jewelry shops. Many were located in hotels and he knew enough from half-listening to Catherine which ones had the best stuff. First stop was Fred Leighton at the Via Bellagio.
The small man behind the counter nodded politely. "How may I help you, sir?"
It was at that point he had always flashed his ID and explained his status as a criminalist. He was sorely tempted to make up a story just to avoid being an actual customer. Customers bought gifts for their wives and girlfriends, they didn't stand three feet from the counter and interrogate.
But he wasn't there as a criminalist. Grissom was a customer. A customer with a girlfriend.
"I'm looking for some jewelry. Obviously," he added, feeling stupid. He didn't like feeling stupid.
"Ah…what did you have in mind, sir?"
"Something nice."
"Oh, everything here is nice, sir," the man assured him. "Were you looking for any piece of jewelry in particular? A ring? A necklace?"
Grissom swallowed. "I…don't know."
"May I ask who the jewelry is for?"
"My…girlfriend. Sara."
"Very good, sir. Is Miss Sara fond of a particular style of jewelry? Or a stone, perhaps?"
Never, in their three thousand four hundred and eighty one days of acquaintance, had they ever discussed her jewelry preferences. "She was born in September."
"Sapphire! A beautiful stone," the man said enthusiastically. He eagerly pulled out several pieces with the blue-hued gem. "This bracelet," the clerk said, cradling it like it were a newborn, "is sapphire and diamonds set in platinum."
It looked like glitter. Expensive glitter.
"And this," the man continued, "is a vintage diamond and sapphire Art Deco necklace. Notice the radiant cut diamond in the center, sir. Two-point-three carats!"
"Uh…nice."
Where would she wear that thing? Grissom asked himself. A crime scene? She'd get mugged. It isn't safe.
"Do you have anything…plainer? She's not very glitzy. She's the opposite of Las Vegas."
Grissom spent the next hour and a half mulling over the large selection in front of him. Nothing screamed 'Sara.' Guilty over wasting so much of the clerk's time, he ended up buying a broach for his mother and shipping it off to her address on Balboa Island.
Depressed, he drove home. The dull pain in his head turned sharp and unbearable when Grissom pulled into his driveway and noticed Sara waiting on his stoop with her overnight bag in her lap. He was late.
"I'm sorry…" he began, dashing to the door, not bothering to lock his car.
"It's okay."
"I should get you a key."
Sara tilted her head. "Can we go inside?"
"Sure. Sure."
They stepped into his house and Sara began her usual ritual of undressing, leaving a trail of clothes on her way to his bedroom. Grissom stopped short and watched her half-naked form disappear down his hallway. After several minutes, she called out to him. He made no answer.
"Gil? Gil, babe, where are you?"
Sans clothes, Sara wandered to the living room with a look of genuine concern on her face. "What's up?"
He shook his head. "What do you want?"
"Is this some kind of…I'm naked, Grissom. Obviously, I want you…now…or at least in the next ten minutes. Why are you--"
"I mean…what do you want? Like…a present or something," he interrupted, flustered.
"I told you I don't want anything."
"You've got to want something."
"No, Grissom, you don't have to--"
"Just…tell me. Anything. Whatever you want."
She watched him for a long moment. Grissom felt prepared for anything. If she wanted to see the Taj Mahal, they'd see the Taj Mahal. If she wanted a pet pot-bellied pig, he'd find her the best pot-bellied pig Nevada had to offer. Anything she wanted was hers. He was giving her carte blanche.
"What's your fantasy?"
Grissom blinked at her. "Excuse me?"
"Your fantasy. You told Greg you thought fantasies were best kept private. What's your fantasy?" she asked again, her voice low and unsteady.
"I don't…have one. I was just…"
"Tell me. Please."
"No, Sara it's--"
"Tell…me."
"Never leave me," he blurted out. "I never want to lose you. That's my fantasy: that I have you…forever."
She let out a breath and he felt it tickle his face. "That can be arranged."
THE END