Just a heads up, most of this fic is in italics. If that's not your cup o' tea, or it hurts your eyes, please don't bother reading. Don't want your eyes to go crazy squiggly and such.
"Where did you get that one?"
Keith leaned in, licking his lips before he licked up her neck. He was slow and careful, but the flare in his eyes warned her of his true intent. But Sara couldn't help but moan as he located her weak spot and sucked, worrying the delicate skin against his teeth.
It was how it always happened. It was how he loved her. She couldn't think of any other explanation to justify the things he did to her, with her. Her pants were already half unbuttoned and one of his fingers was skirting the edge of her panties.
God, she just wanted it over with.
Rolling her head back, she missed his hand come up, lowering the screaming end of the cigarette to her hip, the light sizzling out as tobacco met flesh. She fought the scream that struggled up her throat that was already constricted with unshed tears.
"Good girl," Keith whispered, kissing her cheek and the tears as he ran an index finger through the blood that had begun to weep from the wound. He licked it off his finger and she... well she just cried.
He nodded and grabbed her arm, kissing her bicep, encouraging her. "Whaddabout this one?" he whispered, slipping rough fingers over a white indentation on her arm. "How'd you get that?"
"Jeff! Jeff! I got it, can you catch it?"
Sara lifted the frisbee above her head in triumph and grinned, transferring it from one hand to the other.
Summer wind blew through the maple trees, bringing with it a scent of sea salt and promise. Sara braced her foot on a branch and leaned back, tossing the frisbee into the air, sending it back towards the red picket fence. Jeff laughed, shook his head and chased after it, hoping to grab it before it went over the fence.
But then she was fumbling, tumbling out of the tree, slamming her wrist down hard on a rock, hearing the crack but not crying out in pain, just waiting there until her brother noticed she was no longer lingering in foliage.
"Sara, gross! The bone's through the skin!" She winced and closed her eyes, scrunching her nose as the tears welled up quickly. "I'm getting dad!"
"NO!" she shrieked, pushing herself up with her good arm as she began to sob. "You take me, please."
He kissed that spot too, reaching an arm around her torso to slip over the little groove on her stomach. "And this?" Sara smiled and snuggled back into him, slipping her fingers through his, pressing their joined hands against her stomach.
"Shit, Sarah, this really, really doesn't feel right," Sara said, putting the large, red cup down on a nearby table.
Her friend swung her head to look at her and wobbled on her feet. The Red Sox cap that had been precariously set atop her head fell off and she walked on gelatin-like legs over to her friend. "What did you drink, babe?"
Sara curled one hand around the edge of the table and grasped at her stomach with the other. "Just beer and some of that shit punch," she seethed through her teeth as Sarah knocked Sara's ball cap from her head. "And I didn't eat at the game."
Grabbing her shoulders, Sarah bent down and got in her face. "You drank on an empty stomach, are you-"
"It's not that!" Sara bit back and doubled over, grabbing the right side of her stomach, just above her hip. "Oh no, it's not that... oh god..."
Sarah tossed her hair over her shoulder and wrapped an arm around her friend, leading her through the crowd. "We gotta get you to Mass General, I think you have appendicitis. Gary! Pick up our tab! I owe you!"
His fingers ticked up her spine and poked a spot on the back of her neck. "This is weird, how'd you get one back here?"
Sara's brow screwed up in thought, "My best guess?"
"Ken, just, ow, damn... move to the right!"
Why was she even in there? Why did she even bother? He'd just turn out to be another disappointment, another man trying to impress her, trying to please her. He'd just turn out to be a man who tried too much and cared too little.
The sandy-haired man shifted a bit and huffed out a laugh as Sara smiled back down at him. "Better," she sighed, a little breathless, as she braced her hands on his shoulders. Her skirt was around her waist and her heels were digging into his back.
It was alright, she supposed; he wasn't anything too spectacular. A solid B-... maybe a C.
Sara was pressed up against the door with Ken Fuller between her thighs. Truth be told, he wasn't very big, or very suave... or very smart for that matter. But the tequila sunrise she had at the airport coupled with the scotch she'd been fed aboard the flight went a long way in explaining why she'd allowed any of this to happen. "Ken, wait, no..." Sara shifted just as he bucked his hips and-
"DAMN IT!" she seethed quietly through clenched teeth. "You pushed me into the coat hook!" That was all she really cared about, not that he was inside her or was flushed and ready to fuck her in an airplane bathroom. She was worried that he's have a concussion.
Now that would really ruin spring break.
He kissed her one last time and fell back, spent and sweaty on the sheets. Grissom shifted and grabbed the blanket that had been kicked to the floor in the tumult. Tossing it over their torsos, they both stared at the ceiling for a moment.
Grissom felt her shift at his side and glanced over to her; her lids were heavy so he took the liberty of looking over her body, the way the blanket fell over her.
His gaze trailed down her legs and ended at her feet. "What about that one, Sara," he whispered as he leaned over to place a sloppy kiss below her ear as he swept a piece of hair from her forehead.
A slow smile crept upon her lips and she allowed her eyes to drift shut.
"Grampy, you're a good dancer!" the five year old squeaked as the older man spun her around, the sundress flying at her sides. She giggled and squealed as her grandfather tickled her, mid-dip.
Laura Sidle appeared on the porch behind them, balancing a large down in her slender arms. "Sara!"
The girl disentangled herself from the elderly gentleman, who staggered back and sat on one of the picnic tables, going on singing Sinatra to himself. The child skipped up to her mother and snatched the bowl from her arms, waddling back with it to the table. She set it down with a bit of trouble, scraping her elbows on the dry wood, pushing it up onto the table so it wouldn't fall.
Hands on her hips, she looked at her grandfather and then moved to hop up next to him. "What's wrong papa?" Sara asked, picking an ant off of her leg.
Sighing, he reached over to clamp a cool hand on her knee. "I just miss your nana."
Her small smile fell into a frown and Sara licked her lips, screwing her face up in confusion. "Is she in heaven watching you?"
The man smiled sadly and nodded. "She's watching over me, and she's watching over you and Jeffrey and your mom and dad too."
"You mustah loved-"
Just then, Bailey Sidle came out of the house with a large cooler in his arms; Laura followed closely behind. "Isn't it a little early to be drinking?" she hissed through clenched teeth.
Her husband waved her off and Sara hopped down from the picnic bench to run over to him. He'd moved to the grill and was opening it to inspect the hamburgers. "Daddy! Grampy says that nana-"
Bailey turned to look at her, swayed and dropped the barbeque fork. It fell straight down, stabbing Sara in the foot.
Falling back on her bottom, she screeched and screamed for her mother.
"You're such a bad father," Laura whispered as she cradled the girl against her chest.
Sticky beneath the blankets, Grissom slid his hand up over her hip and let it rest there, his mouth against the back of her neck. "This is a good way to learn about a person," he mumbled against her flesh, "I like learning about you."
Although she'd recounted some painful moments to him, she felt lighter for having done so. She felt better about the day, more optimistic. And somehow, she knew that Brass would pull through. Sighing, she slipped her eyes closed just as Grissom whispered "What do you think Brass's will look like?"
Worn from the day's events, Sara sighed and grabbed onto his arm, squeezing it tightly. "It'll look like... a scar Grissom, just a scar... with a story."