Author's Notes: Writing this fic helped me deal with last night's season finale. Don't get me wrong; I loved it. But I did, and still do a little bit, feel cheated that we won't ever get to see the build up, the first kiss, the walls coming down. But hey...they had to leave something for the fan writers;) Enjoy!
At Least
by Kristen Elizabeth
Greg found out first, but in all fairness, it was a fluke, and had nothing to do with the power of his investigative skills.
It didn't take a genius to walk into a restaurant and spot your boss and your co-worker having dinner together. The fact that they were holding hands across the candle-lit table only helped make things clearer.
The way they stared at each other…this wasn't their first date. Or second. Or probably even third.
As he was seated with his own date, he kept a discreet eye on the secluded corner where they sat. She was leaning across the table, telling him something that had him smiling. Smiling. Really smiling. It was almost as freaky as Brass in a sweater.
Grissom and Sara left before Greg and his date had even ordered their entrées. They were still holding hands in that comfortable way that he'd only ever associated with his parents who had been married for forty-two years.
At least it explained why Sara had never really looked at him as anything more than a younger brother.
Warrick was the first to actually put the pieces together, although there was a catalyst that prompted him to take a close look back over the six years since she'd shown up at the lab.
Calling your boss in the middle of the day to ask about case notes and having the phone be answered by a very distinct and very sleepy female voice was a pretty big freaking clue.
It was as he closed up his phone that it all came together.
No personal bubble.
Oh, when they were around other people, they definitely liked their space. He could count on two hands (maybe) the number of times Sara had touched anyone of her own volition. Grissom, too, was not known for his physicality with others.
But put them together, and their personal bubbles popped. He couldn't even begin to count the number of times he'd walked into a room and caught them standing shoulder to shoulder as they worked.
At the time, he'd chalked it up to Sara's crush and Grissom's eye-on-the-prize obliviousness when he was on a case. But now…if they could get that close in the lab, it wasn't much of stretch to imagine how close they got when they were away from the lab.
At least it explained why Grissom was fun to be around again.
Catherine didn't see it coming until it was right there, in her face. And she was truly pissed off about it.
Not about them being together. God knew there weren't two people alive who needed to get laid more than them. And quite frankly, who else would have them but each other? He'd managed to screw up a purely sexual relationship with a dominatrix, and she couldn't keep a puppy-dog paramedic from wandering away. The world must be peopled, as Grissom had once quoted Shakespeare, and if they wanted to team up to people it with baby geniuses, more power to them.
It was the fact that she'd only found out they were together because she'd been snooping through Grissom's desk that had her blood boiling.
He really should learn to keep the damn thing locked.
In all fairness, she'd just been looking for her evaluation. He'd become so distant lately. She was worried that maybe he was doing that thing he did to people who disappointed him, and that it would reflect in her eval, and possibly affect her professionally down the road. She wasn't proud of her paranoia, or her lack of faith in him. But going back to the graveyard shift had been a bitter pill to swallow, and she'd only choked it down for him. If he was going to turn on her now, she wanted to be prepared.
When she discovered the card buried under a stack of old journals, she kissed her guilt goodbye. It was not in Catherine's nature to forgive anyone, even a good friend, for keeping such a big secret.
It wasn't cutesy or flowery, even though the only image on the front was a black and white picture of a dew-dropped rose. Inside, there was a short message written in Sara's block-letter, precise print.
Infantile love follows the principle: "I love because I am loved."
Mature love follows the principle: "I am loved because I love."
Immature love says: "I love you because I need you."
Mature love says: "I need you because I love you."
Erich Fromm said it. And I think we personify it. Here's to year one, and all the ones to follow.
It was an insult to Catherine's long friendship with him, as well as a blow to the pride she took in being observant, that she hadn't noticed that they'd been together for an entire year.
At least it explained why she never caught Grissom looking at her tush anymore.
Nick had known for a long time. He'd kept their secret, and would continue to keep it until they were ready.
After all, they still didn't know that he'd woken up in the recovery room of Desert Palm after his kidnapping, and seen them holding each other like they'd just realized the world could end at any moment. He'd been polite enough, even in that broken, exhausted state, to look away when they started kissing.
It actually made his trauma easier to deal with, knowing that at least one good thing might have come out of it.
But whatever was going on between them could have just as easily started before he was buried alive.
In a year, there had only been one time he'd ever let on that he might know about what they were so successfully hiding from everyone else. What could he say? His third eye had been open wide.
She'd made some off-hand remark about the lack of fresh linens in her motel room. Having been raised with a pack of sisters, he'd learned to get by with little more than a washcloth. The night before they'd found Cassie McDermott alive, Nick had brought Sara his extra towels.
He knocked first, of course, but the door wasn't completely closed, so the force of his knock pushed it open. She was sitting on her bed, wrapped up in her robe, talking on her cell phone.
"…miss you, too. Have fun with the cadavers. Bye, baby."
Nick cleared his throat and tried not to smirk when, upon finally noticing he was standing there, she scrambled to close up her phone and look nonchalant at the same time.
"Towels," he said, holding out the neat, white pile. "So you can stop bitching about sloughed-off epithelials."
She hesitated before accepting them. The look she gave him clearly indicated that she was desperate to know just how much he'd heard.
"You know," Nick continued. "I've never really wanted to go to the body farm, myself. But after this case…I bet it'd be a walk in the park." He winked at her. "Night."
Everyone had their secrets. The two of them just happened to share one.
At least it explained how Sara had rediscovered her smile.
Hodges caught on after two years.
While he was patiently explaining the complex chemical breakdown of the pink substance found the soles of Sara's victim's feet, her cell phone rang.
"Grissom," she answered, identifying herself.
At least it explained the ring on her left hand.
Fin
A/N: Mart on YTDAW is completely responsible for the idea of Sara answering her phone with her new last name; it's her fervent wish for season seven. I cannot take credit for coming up with it;)
Also...while this story could just be a straight-out reaction fic to the finale...I think it could also be construed as a sequel to one of my other stories, "Someone Else's Star." The lack of Brass's POV could be because we already know that he knows...or that he's recovering from taking one to the heart. I'll let you decide;)