Author's Notes: Thanks so much everyone for reading my story. I know the angst is...well...thick, but I hope you're still enjoying it;) Take care until next time!
Someone Else's Star
by Kristen Elizabeth
The minute you settle for less than you deserve, you get even less than you settled for. – Maureen Dowd
"Where the hell is it?"
Sara threw a handful of bras back into her top drawer. It was a sign of just how frustrated she was at being unable to find her favorite one that she was actually talking to herself.
Bracing her hands on the edge of the drawer, she ran down the list of possible places the garment could be. It wasn't with her clean clothes. It wasn't with her dirty clothes. It wasn't under her bed. It wasn't in her bathroom. It wasn't in the washer or the drier, or around, underneath or behind either appliance. It wasn't in her locker at the lab. It wasn't in her gym bag. It wasn't…
She stopped as she suddenly recalled the last time she'd worn the bra.
His fingers fumbled with the clasp. She tried to reach back to help, but he got a frustrated little frown on his face. Male pride was delicate matter. She leaned into his chest and let him work on it. As impatient as she was to be skin to skin with him, it was also wonderful to have his arms around her. She pressed her lips against the warm nape of his neck and…
"Shit."
The options available to her were limited. Blow another hundred bucks on a replacement, granted that the store still had the right color, design and size in stock. Or ask Grissom if he'd found it.
Her bank account would survive. She wasn't so sure about her heart.
But it was her favorite. A rare indulgence she'd allowed herself. And even if she could get another one, it wouldn't be the same. It wouldn't carry the memory of how he'd pulled it from her body or how his eyes had devoured the flesh it had covered.
Sara cursed again. There was only one option left.
It was always easier to bury yourself in work when there was a lot of work to bury yourself in. For Grissom, that meant a body found in the mountains with extensive insect activity. The linear regressions on each species kept him occupied for several days. He emerged from his office on the fourth day for the most mundane of reasons.
He was out of mounting pins.
The supply room was little more than a walk-in closet, further cramped by the two shelves which held everything from paperclips to canisters of film. There was a narrow aisle between them, barely big enough for one person to fit through. The room was dark and smelled like stale paper and cleansing fluid.
Grissom didn't hear her come in; he was digging way in the back for a box of pins. His head was halfway buried in the steel shelving unit. When he heard her voice calling, "Grissom," he tried to stand up straight, but only succeeded in banging his head against the metal.
"Are you okay?" Sara reached for him, but at the last second she pulled back.
He rubbed away the throbbing pain and cleared his throat. "I'm fine." The worried look on her face bolstered his spirits for a few seconds…until he remembered why he was currently burying himself in so much work. "What do you want?"
"Ink cartridge for the printer," she replied softly.
They both realized at the same time that the ink cartridges were stored at the far end of the room. She was going to have to pass him in order to reach them.
He tried to flatten himself against the shelves as much as possible, and as she walked, she tried to do the same against the opposite shelf. Still, it was the closest they'd been to each other since the night they'd spent together.
What little space there was between them crackled with invisible electricity. As she inched past him, Grissom looked up at the ceiling. Anything to keep still. But when she was squarely in front of him, Sara stopped.
"Grissom," she tentatively began. "I lost…something. And the last place I can remember having it was…your place."
He looked down, but the first thing he saw was her chest. Quickly, he averted his gaze. "What was it?"
Sara was quiet for a moment. "I think you know."
The fresh scent of her shampoo surrounded him. "I'm not so sure."
"Why are you going to make me say it?" Her forehead crinkled. "It was a bra, all right? Navy blue, expensive as all hell, and you stripped it off of me before we fucked. You do remember that, don't you?"
He said nothing.
"Fine. You know what? Keep it. Mount it on the wall with your butterflies. I don't give a damn any…"
He cut her off by grabbing her arms and hauling her body against his. They were magnets, and he couldn't fight the attraction anymore. He didn't think of it so much as going back on his decision to set her free. He was simply reclaiming all the areas he'd annexed. She fought him for the few seconds it took for his mouth to seek out hers. And then it was all he could do to keep up with her.
Limbs twisted around limbs and suddenly the already stuffy room was unbearably hot. Sara whimpered as his lips broke away and forged a path to her ear. The breathy sound of yearning thrilled him all the way down his spine. He had her pinned against the shelf; his legs had kicked hers apart and she was practically straddling his thighs. Reason and common sense took a backseat to burning need.
She left a sweetness on his lips that he craved. Having her in his arms was like coming home after a long day. There was no system of measurement that could gage how much he wanted to keep going and never stop. How much he wanted to never let her go again. To make her forget Matthew Wilson's very name.
You haven't made her happy…can you live the day-to-day reality of being with her…if you haven't taken your chance by now, you never will.
To create a perfect world where they could be together.
She clutched at him. "Close the door," she whispered throatily. "Please…"
Unconsciously, he'd started to tug at the button on her black pants. Her request pushed him over the edge, back into his sanity. Or at least what passed for it. He couldn't do this to her. Not again.
"Sara. We can't." He brought his hand up to touch her cheek. "I'm sorry. This shouldn't have…" Grissom paused. "I need you to listen, and really hear me." A moment ticked by in silence as he prepared the hardest words he'd ever had to utter. "Eventually…when you have a husband who worships you and children who adore you…you'll be grateful that you didn't waste any more of your time on an old man who plays with bugs."
They remained locked together until Sara had recovered enough to push him away. She pushed harder than necessary; his back hit the opposite shelf. Straightening her shirt, she walked to the back of the room, grabbed an ink cartridge, and stalked back past him.
At the door, she stopped and looked back. "Tomorrow night, you're going to have my request for a shift transfer on your desk. I'd like days, but swing would be okay." Her eyes were glassy as she continued, "I'm not a masochist, but I'm definitely a glutton for punishment." Sara let out a sad laugh. "I should probably work on that."
The door slammed shut behind her.
Grissom closed his palm around a box of straight pins. In one swift motion, he crushed the cardboard in his hand and sent the pins flying.
Three kinds of meat. Two cheeses. Lettuce. Tomato. Mayo. Mustard. Lightly toasted sourdough bread. Greg was five seconds away from biting into the world's most perfect sandwich when Nick entered the break room, determination in his stride.
"Greggo," he said loudly. "Put the food down. I need to talk to you."
"Even rookies get breaks," Greg reminded him. "Besides, I need to refuel. In case you haven't heard, I have a new lady in my life." He waggled his eyebrows. "I think you know what that…"
Nick held up his hand. "I got it. You're getting laid. Congrats." He paused. "This is important."
"What's going on?"
Glancing over his shoulder to make sure their conversation wasn't being overheard, Nick slipped into the chair next to Greg's. "I've started running some background checks on that Wilson guy."
"Matt?" Greg set down his lunch with a frown. "If Sara finds out, she'll have your nuts removed."
"It's already proven to be worth the risk."
He picked up a sliver of ham that fell out from the sandwich. "You found something?"
Nick nodded. "It took a lot of serious-ass digging, but yeah." He paused. "Back in 2000, just after they got engaged, Matt Wilson filled out papers for a life insurance policy on his fiancée, Sara Sidle." Another pause. "It would have gone into effect on their wedding day."
"How much?"
"A quarter of a million dollars."
Greg swallowed. "Well, that doesn't necessarily mean anything."
"C'mon, Greg. Think about it. Even if he wasn't planning to bump her off, he knows the dangers of the job. The whole reason they met was because she was attacked on a scene. How much do you want to bet that at the very least, he figured it would just be a matter of time?"
"But it's been six years since they were together."
"Exactly! Look, we all know why she really came here."
Greg sulked. "Grissom."
"And he had to have known that. But he shows up six years after being thrown over for another man and acts like nothing ever happened?" Nick shook his head. "I don't buy it. He wants something. Maybe 250,000 somethings."
"We're jumping to an awful lot of conclusions here."
Nick shrugged. "Yeah. But…it's Sara."
"Yeah." Greg picked up his sandwich, but quickly set it down again, having lost his appetite. "Okay, before we go any further with this…how do you explain the fact that he did wait for six years?"
A moment passed before Nick blew out a breath. "Got me." He stood up a second later with renewed energy. "But I'm gonna find out."
Greg wasn't able to wait long before he jumped up and followed.
In true Las Vegas fashion, when it rained, it poured.
Sara pulled into the parking lot of the diner where she usually met Matt for breakfast just as the heavens opened, shedding tears over the city. Two seconds after she got out of her car, she was thoroughly waterlogged. She entered the diner dripping wet. Ignoring the waitresses who shot her dirty looks for the puddles she left behind, Sara walked to the back booth where Matt was already waiting with coffee.
"Honey, you're soaked," he said, concerned. "Sit down and get warm."
Water dripped off the dark ends of her hair as she remained in place. "Matt," she said hoarsely. She closed her eyes. The tears she'd been holding back disappeared into the leftover raindrops coursing down her cheeks. "Will you marry me?"
There was a flash of lightning followed by the distant rumble of thunder. "Did something happen tonight?"
She shook her head and just kept shaking it, flinging droplets everywhere. "I made a mistake six years ago. I know I can't go back and do it all over again…but you're here and I'm here and…" Sara opened her eyes. "I can't climb any more stairs."
Matt reached for her hand and gazed up at her intently. "Okay. Let's get married."
To Be Continued