A/N: OK, three things. #1: I'm very sorry for the length of time between updates. Writer's block sucks. The only thing that kept me going was the wonderful reviews. Which brings me to… #2: Thank you. You have no idea how much those reviews meant! Every single one of them brightened my day. And, finally, #3: I've done the best I can to research the topic but, considering I'm not a biologist or a zookeeper, please forgive me if there are mistakes regarding Komodo dragons. :-)
Spoilers: "Sex, Lies, and Larvae," "Fahrenheit 932," "Burden of Proof"
Disclaimer: Yeah, as if.
Chapter 20: The Deep Burn of TruthGrissom brought one last spoonful of root beer float to his mouth and slowly savored the creamy chill on his tongue before swallowing. Keeping his head judiciously lowered, he cautiously glanced up at his companion seated haphazardly on his coffee table. Her attention was focused on her own half-full mug, affording him the opportunity to gaze at her unnoticed.
He studied her, furtively absorbing all he could from the unguarded moment. He allowed his eyes to wander, noticing the delicate fingers that clasped the metal spoon and the graceful legs crossed in an unrepentant display of femininity and the wooden table that seemed so ancient and so desperately unworthy to hold her.
Just like me, he thought as he dropped his eyes to his mug. It was funny how the furniture was so much like its owner. Old and common and not much to look at. And so very undeserving of the beauty that now graced its presence.
He sighed quietly, not enjoying and certainly not needing his brain's constant reminders of why he wasn't good enough for her. Forcing away the negative thoughts, he focused instead on the ounce of melting ice cream left in the bottom of his cup and lifted it to his mouth to finish off the final sip.
The movement caught Sara's attention, and she surreptitiously watched as he tilted his head back to drain the contents of his mug. And she was surprised to find herself completely mesmerized by the moment, her gaze taking in the neck muscles that moved with each swallow and the strong fingers wrapped around the glass handle and the frosted mug that seemed so impenitent and so blatantly mocking of her emotions.
She'd been envious before – of friends with loving relationships, of women with easier access to Grissom's attentions, even of the insects that demanded so much of his time. But never – not once – had she felt that particular emotion towards an inanimate object. The very idea was so ludicrous that it bordered on insanity. Yet she found herself wishing with all that was within her that she could be that mug.
Because it would mean she'd feel his lips again.
When he finally lowered the glass, it shook Sara from her reverie, and she dropped her eyes lest he see the thoughts plainly written there. She fidgeted idly with her spoon, its metallic clink against the thick glass making a tinny sound. Casually, she glanced up at Grissom as he licked the remains of an ice cream mustache off his upper lip and smiled when he left a tiny bit behind.
"You have some, um…" She gestured slightly to the corner of his mouth, not wanting to embarrass him with words but knowing he'd be mortified if she didn't tell him.
"Hm?" Confusion clouded his features, and she pointed to the corner of her own mouth to clarify.
"You have some ice cream right here."
"Oh," he replied, his face reddening slightly. He reached up to swipe the back of his hand roughly across his upper lip but, in mimicking the mirror image she presented to him, he chose the wrong corner.
Exasperated by their seemingly endless penchant for miscommunication, Sara said, "No, here." And, without further thought, she reached out to wipe away the ice cream with her thumb. It wasn't until her fingers inadvertently brushed against his goatee that she realized her mistake. She hadn't anticipated the sudden electric jolt that began in her fingertips and shot directly to her heart, generating a vivid flood of memories that ended with his mouth on hers.
She pulled her hand away from his face slowly, feeling déjà vu as she trailed her fingers along his facial hair for the second time that day. But it was different this time because his eyes were open – and fixed on her. She deliberately avoided his stare but could nevertheless feel it searing her skin in its intensity. And, when she at last broke their physical connection, she summoned up her courage and lifted her gaze to meet his.
Had he been any other man, she would have recognized that expression. The fiery stare he leveled at her looked, for all the world, like desire. But it couldn't be. Get real. This is Grissom, she told herself. Yet she still found it nearly impossible to catch her breath while she was spellbound by his eyes.
Look away! Her mind commanded her obedience and, with every ounce of willpower she possessed, she forced her body to comply. She reached for her napkin and slowly wiped her shaking hands while she willed away the dizziness that seemed to be one of Grissom's main effects on her.
Nervously, she cleared her throat as she pushed herself to her feet, silently praying that her legs would hold her. "Well, I guess I'll go get cleaned up. It's been a long day." She mentally rejoiced that her voice came out strong and confident, not at all like she'd expected.
"OK," he rejoined quietly, and the tiny catch in his voice caused her to snap her eyes to his. The blaze she had seen there moments earlier had died down, leaving only a few smoldering embers, and she wondered what it would take to fan those coals into a full-blown flame. Stop it, she ordered herself and, before her treacherous heart could steer her thoughts down the same dangerous path it had traveled far too often, she grabbed her mug from the coffee table and quickly strode toward the door.
When she heard him call her name just as she reached the entrance to the kitchen, she wanted so badly to pretend she hadn't heard him. But they both knew she had, and she turned to face him. "Yeah?"
His voice was shy but hopeful as he said, "American Movie Classics is showing Charlie Chaplin movies at 10:00 all week. I thought you might be interested in watching again this morning. Good memories." When her eyes widened in surprise, his cheeks tinged pink, and he quickly clarified, "Of your grandparents. Didn't they like Chaplin?"
"Uh-huh," she replied, but both her voice and the wide grin that accompanied it clearly conveyed her amusement at his unintentional double entendre. When he looked away and began fidgeting with his mug, she took pity on him and said, "10:00, huh? That only gives me an hour to get my relaxation time in."
And with that, she turned on her heel and walked out without waiting for a response. Grissom remained in the same position until the sound of her footsteps had completely receded before he rose from his seat to clear away their dishes. It was the only way he could be sure she wouldn't see the genuinely happy smile that he just couldn't seem to corral.
XXXXXXXXX
As he lifted the coverings away from the wire, Grissom smiled at the sight of his pet curled up in one sun-drenched corner. The electric blanket and quilt draped over Nathan's cage in his owner's absence kept him warm enough, but the cold-blooded creature always seemed to enjoy the fact that the side of the enclosure facing the window typically remained uncovered. More often than not, Grissom would return to find the reptile basking in sunlight. "Hey, big guy," he called affectionately and, hearing the familiar voice, the lizard roused and cracked open one eye.
For a Komodo dragon, Nathan was tiny, measuring just a little over two feet in length, a size that would have made him easy prey in the wild. But his stunted growth was a blessing for the 5'11" scientist who was his caretaker and, though there had been a couple of relatively minor mishaps, the two had gotten along remarkably well. It had been a learning process for both, but they had adjusted over time into a comfortable routine.
One thing Grissom had learned long ago was to stay away from animals at feeding time. It was just a wise practice, one he had always adhered to it strictly with all his pets – and even more so with one as potentially dangerous as Nathan. Today was no exception. The lizard eyed the plate of steak in his owner's hand steadily, but Grissom shook his head with a grin. "Yeah, I know you're hungry, but you know the routine."
After arranging the plate carefully on the floor beside a full bowl of water, he glanced around the room. Satisfied that everything was in order, he picked up the remote device lying on the dresser, stepping through the glass door into his backyard and shutting it behind him with a quiet click. After a quick double-check to ensure the door was closed, he pressed a button to release the latch on Nathan's cage, allowing the reptile to leave his metal prison.
Grissom lowered himself into the canvas chair on the back patio and surveyed his surroundings. This enclosure had served many purposes over the years – playground for Lindsey, barbecue pit, even a makeshift lab for some of his larger experiments. But far and away its greatest usefulness was as a sanctuary from the emotional exhaustion of seeking justice in the aftermath of utter moral bankruptcy, his own private oasis of sanity in a parched wilderness of depravity. A high fence ensured his privacy but, jutting just beyond the tops of the wooden posts, one especially majestic peak beckoned. The mountain was breathtaking beauty, its green and purple hues commingling into a kaleidoscope of color splashed against the brilliant blue canvas of the early morning sky.
Grissom had often imagined climbing to the top of that precipice to watch the sun make its trek across the sky. It was a favorite fantasy of his. An indulgence really, because that vision always included Sara. He pictured her silhouetted against a backdrop of rose-colored light, and he envisioned himself wrapping his arms around her from behind, burying his nose in her hair as she leaned back against him, kissing her when she turned in his arms to face him.
But today was different. Because today he no longer needed to imagine what her hair would smell like or how her lips would feel. He could simply remember.
Remembering was a bittersweet act, though. Because, along with the joy he felt in finally taking action on his feelings for Sara, he also felt the pain of her rejection afterwards. And his mind seemed to be replaying in a continual loop her acknowledgment that she didn't trust him with her heart. The sting of that statement sent a pang through him even now.
For four years, he had utilized every weapon in his arsenal to defend his emotional walls against the constant onslaught that was Sara. But now that he'd seen firsthand how she filled the emptiness in his home, in his heart, he had realized he couldn't go back to the way things were before and had faced his long-held fears to take the next step. Only to have Sara push him away. He would have laughed at the bitter irony of the situation had it not been so horribly sad. He deserved it, and he understood that, but it didn't make it any easier.
He looked away from the spectacular view, examining the yard with an investigator's eye in a desperate attempt to distract himself with some menial task that had yet to be completed. But it was all for naught, as even the tomato plants he carefully tended only reminded him of the pasta dish she'd made for him the day before.
Frustrated with his apparent inability to think of anything other than Sara, he shifted his chair slightly to the left to focus his attention on Nathan. Let it go, Gil. She doesn't trust you. It wasn't so long ago that he might have been happy about that fact, but now it just settled into his chest with a heavy, suffocating weight.
A part of him wanted to give up, to resort to his old ways, to embrace the fear and let it harden him into flinty steel that couldn't feel hurt or rejection. It was the path of least resistance, a comfortably familiar road that led, if not exactly to happiness, then at least to safety.
But safety was no longer a destination he desired. What he wanted instead was to scale that rocky hillside. And, though the climb had the potential to destroy him, it would be worth it to receive Sara's kiss as his only reward if he reached the top. If only I knew how to get her there…
He sighed and forced himself to concentrate on his
pet's scaly frame as he peered through the glass door. The lizard
had finished eating and was slowly moving across the bedroom in
search of as yet unexplored objects, and Grissom smiled wistfully at
the sight. Fearless, as usual.
The angle of his body in the chair was awkward, and he reached out to brace his palm against the doorframe in order to steady himself. Absently, he glanced at his hand, his intention merely to keep himself from leaving fingerprints on the clean glass. But the scar on his middle finger captivated his attention, and he winced slightly in remembrance. He and Nathan had been new to each other then, and he'd made the mistake of reaching for the animal from behind, an action he hadn't repeated for a long while. He could still feel the bite of tiny razor sharp teeth sinking into his finger.
Grissom pulled his hand down slowly, staring at the small mark that marred otherwise smooth flesh as realization slammed into the forefront of his consciousness with all the force of a runaway locomotive. He didn't always trust me, either. But he eventually learned to.
The clarity of the moment was startling. Certainly, he'd had revelations before – a tightly wrapped blanket interfering with insect colonization on human remains, an inadvertent kerosene accelerant thrown at a philandering husband, a bullet made entirely of frozen beef – but they had always been in the context of work. Solving crimes he was good at. Science he understood. Anything outside the purely professional, on the other hand, had always been shrouded in a veil of mystery, and he lived in a constant state of knowing what he wanted but not how to get it.
Until now.
For once, he knew exactly how to get what he wanted and, though the sudden lucidity in the personal realm came as something of a shock, it was nonetheless plainly obvious. When Nathan bit him, he hadn't given up on the animal. He had simply moved more slowly, been more deliberate in his actions until, one day while he sat on the floor watching television, the lizard had leaned his scaly head against Grissom's knee. He had attained Nathan's trust with his continual presence, with his persistent loyalty, with his unerring consistency. He would earn Sara's in the same way.
And, with the memory of her kiss still fresh in his mind, failure wasn't an option.
XXXXXXXXX
Sara leaned her head back against the cool porcelain of the tub and concentrated on the sensation of warm water caressing tired muscles, her hand trailing lazily back and forth across the sudsy surface. The soft crackle of bubbles and a faint scent of lilac blended together in a tantalizing conglomeration that soothed and lulled as it beckoned her into the netherworld between sleep and wakefulness.
She allowed her eyes to close and, slipping further into a state of complete relaxation, she smiled when Grissom made his usual appearance in her thoughts. The last few days had given her many images of him that she had never believed she'd see, so many more snapshots for her mental photo album, and she indulged herself in them.
The first was an image of Grissom holding his pet Komodo dragon, and the enraptured look on his face as he stared down at the animal brought a corresponding smile to her own. He clearly loved Nathan, and just seeing that he was capable of that emotion thrilled her somehow. For years, she had wondered if he had that ability in him, even as she hoped it would someday be directed toward her.
The picture shifted, and she could see him when he first awoke, all tousled curls and wrinkled T-shirt and drowsy eyes. She would caption that one, "Gil at dawn," though she knew it hadn't been dawn when she'd seen him that way. The label just seemed to suit, and she somehow knew he would still look the same if they lived a normal life that involved children and in-laws and 9-to-5 jobs. The fact that she saw one normal life rather than two separate ones didn't cross her mind.
The vision danced and morphed into the memory of the kiss they'd shared just a few hours earlier, and her stomach fluttered slightly as she recalled the exquisite rightness of his mouth on hers. Subconsciously, her tongue moved across her lips, her body not needing her consent in its attempt to relive the moment. His kiss had been everything she'd ever imagined… and everything she'd ever feared.
The remembrance sparked a flame deep inside her, and it sent out sparkling offshoots of emotion. Glowing embers of excitement and confusion and anger that hissed and flared and died away as though they had never been. The flame burned on, though – deeper, stronger than the rest – and she could call it by its four-letter name if she were so inclined. But such powerful emotions were nothing to be trifled with and, if she didn't keep them under a tight rein, they would surely end up controlling her.
Grissom had power over her, probably more than he realized, but he only had what she'd given him. It was the reason she had ended their kiss when she had – and long before she'd wanted to. She had tried to give him her heart once before, only to have it thrown back in her face, and she wouldn't make the same mistake again. She couldn't offer him that much power until she knew he was willing to give himself in return.
What else would you have him give? She had no time to ponder the question or the harsh and demanding tone of the inner voice that asked it before she was drawn into a final recollection, the most vivid yet. She saw Grissom's agitated pacing as he told her of past rejection, heard his defeated voice, felt his fear. And yet, he had risen above it all to give her a piece of himself, knowing, and probably expecting, that she might reject him for it.
She sat bolt upright in the tub, not caring about or even feeling the water dripping from her hair or the chill that caused her skin to erupt in gooseflesh. She only felt an overwhelming awe in being entrusted with something so fragile and an absolute terror that she might somehow damage it.
For there were few things more easily broken than a heart.
XXXXXXXXX
The townhouse was unusually quiet as she padded down the hall, but Sara didn't pause to think about it. She wanted to see him, immediately if not sooner. She simply wanted to be near him again, to hear his breath, to feel the heat of his body beside hers as they watched Chaplin in comfortable silence. And so she walked on, each step of her stockinged feet bringing her closer to her goal, closer to Grissom, closer to Gil.
That thought caused her steps to falter, but only for a moment. He was Gil to her now, if in her thoughts only, and she would not be ashamed of that.
She rounded the corner and smiled to hear the faint murmur of the television, disembodied voices rambling about matters that didn't concern her. A morning of silent film and intelligent company awaited and, for the first time in as long as she could remember, she was happy. Deliriously, ridiculously so. And, though her brain demanded that she temper emotion with reason, she couldn't force her heart to listen.
Her first sight of Grissom caused her breathing to hitch and, though she felt the sting of disappointment all the way to her toes, she couldn't help but smile. Watching him sleep seemed to evoke the same response from her every time.
He sat on the couch with bare feet propped on the coffee table, legs crossed in relaxation. His left hand still clutched a forensic journal, though it now rested next to him on the sofa. His right held the remote control loosely against his abdomen, and his head lolled slightly to the side, the glasses slipping down his nose at a humorous angle. Gil in repose.
The caption was unintended but not necessarily unwanted, and she quickly filed it alongside the image in her mental album before moving to restore order. She carefully pulled the journal from his grasp and set it aside, and the remote control followed just as easily after she turned off the television. Sara then turned her attention to his glasses, knowing their removal was a much more difficult task to accomplish without arousing him. But, after much deliberation and painstaking care, she at last succeeded and stood back to survey her handiwork.
He still looked uncomfortable, and it bothered her. The awkward tilt of his head would certainly cause a sore neck when he awoke, and to leave him in such a state was unacceptable. She debated shifting his legs so that he was lying on the couch, but such drastic motion would undoubtedly wake him and was thus not an option. Finally, she picked up the cushion from the far end of the couch and ever so gently eased her fingers against his cheek, pressing lightly to force his head in the opposite direction. He stirred, and she took advantage of the movement to prop the pillow against his shoulder, pleased when his head ultimately came to rest against it with his neck in a healthier position.
Only one task now remained, and she unfolded the throw from the back of the couch slowly. She allowed herself one last look at his slumbering form before she gently draped the blanket across him, covering him from shoulders to feet. She smiled tenderly at the sight he presented and was unable to resist pressing a soft kiss to his forehead, whispering quietly against his skin, "Good night, Gil." And, when she looked down at him as she pulled away, she could have sworn he was smiling.
The townhouse was even quieter than before, with her light steps on the carpet offering the only sound. The return trip down the hallway contained none of the eager anticipation that had characterized her earlier trek. But the happiness remained, and she knew it had nothing to do with Charlie Chaplin.
She pushed open the door to her room and couldn't help but grin at the mess that greeted her. In her hurry to join Grissom, she had simply tossed her clothes and toiletries onto the bed, not really caring where they fell. With a quick shake of her head, she opened the closet door and pulled out her suitcase. She had just wrestled it onto the bed and unzipped the black canvas to examine its contents when inspiration struck. "This is ridiculous," she grumbled aloud as she walked over to the oak bureau.
It didn't surprise her to find every drawer in the chest empty. She'd somehow expected it, and she made quick work of unloading the contents of the suitcase into the bureau. The simple act fulfilled the dual purpose of making her feel more at home and of causing the stark surroundings to seem more inviting. She couldn't quite bring herself to relinquish her underwear, but she still felt that she'd made huge strides as she rezipped the canvas suitcase. And, when she fell into bed, the dreams that came involved a strange mixture of oak furniture and silent film stars and, of course, Gil.
XXXXXXXXX
He smiled when she touched her lips to his, all searing pleasure and overwhelming joy and sheer perfection. But the sensations gave way to annoyance when the sound intruded, and the noise was distracting enough for him to plead, "Sara, turn off the alarm." She moved away from him then, and the loss jolted him awake.
The cell phone was still ringing, and he snaked a hand out from under the blanket to grab it. "Grissom." His voice was gruff with sleep and irritation, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
"Gil," came the familiar voice. "We need you. Nick's on his way to your place now."
Nick? He was slightly more awake now, but he still wasn't comprehending Brass' logic. "What?"
The cop heaved an exasperated huff as he patiently explained, "You can't leave Sara alone, and you can't bring her with you. Nicky was the first one I called."
Grissom sighed, sitting up and running a hand across the back of his stiff neck. The lack of sleep was making him irritable, and it showed in his tone. "Just have Nick meet you down there. Sara and I will come in to the lab to help-"
"Gil," Brass barked, cutting him off. "Our perp left another note. We need you here."
And the familiar terror rose in his chest. Only this time it was not because he was afraid of being with Sara, but because he was afraid of being without her. "What's the address?"
TBC…