Where
It Starts
by Camilla Sandman
Disclaimer: CSI is the property of CBS. I'm only borrowing the characters for a little romp.
Author's Note: Spoilers for "Way to Go".
II
Sara was never quite sure where it started.
Grissom started smiling slightly differently. He'd always had a smile she felt was just for her, out of hope as much as arrogance, because as long as he had it, she could reason she wasn't just imagining things and wasn't just looking for the emotionally unavailable again. But the smile had changed, ever so slowly. She didn't know when, she just knew it had.
It held promise now.
His eyes too, dark and possessive one moment, excited and bright the next. There was a look there she had not seen before, and was afraid to read into. He wasn't quite like any other guy, after all. Too Grissom for that. But if any other guy gave her that look, she would know he was thinking about fucking her against any available surface.
Maybe that's where it started. A changed smile and a different look, and Sara and Grissom and time.
It wasn't where it ended.
II
He held her hand a normal Wednesday walking in the heat of the desert to another scene of death. She wasn't particularly upset and he wasn't particularly suffering from head trauma. She didn't even notice it at first, lost in the details he was giving of the case, mind on evidence and decay and justice. Only vaguely did she become aware of a hand around hers, and skin on skin.
She didn't say anything, because words were so very good at killing things between them. She just squeezed his hand back and wondered why.
Not an offered comfort as once before, because neither was in need of it. Not an attempt to steer her or steady her, as she was walking fine on her own. Not a demonstration of ownership, because no one was paying it much heed.
She dared think maybe he took her hand because he wanted to and that was all the reason he now needed. She dared think a lot of things, and his hand was warm and naked in hers.
Maybe it was where she felt hope again.
II
He took her out on a Saturday, and she thought it might be a date. It didn't quite feel like work, even if they discussed work and he brought her to witness him sink a miniature boat to prove the plausibility of his Kennington murder theory. It felt more like just woo-ing, Grissom style, and he had brought food.
She ate, and he talked, and the water broke sunlight to reveal what was hidden in light while she watched.
She thought about what was hidden in Grissom, and what had been hidden in her, and lifetimes of hide and seek. Sara seeking Grissom. Grissom hiding. Sara seeking elsewhere. Game reset. Grissom seeking Sara...
"You look lost," Grissom said, and she smiled at him, silly hat on and all.
"Clever enough of a CSI to find me, then?"
"Yes."
Later, he drove her home, and she fell asleep in the lull of his car, the sunlight like a blanket around her.
Maybe it was where she started getting ideas.
II
He kissed her on a Tuesday, and it felt like an accident. Work over, car park empty, an offer to drive her home rejected, a slightly heated discussion over what shouldn't be heated at all, and suddenly, his lips descending on hers.
Clumsy and awkward as first kisses went, but it didn't seem to matter when she tilted her head slightly and he drew his tongue across the corner of her mouth. She could taste something sharp and chemical that reminded her of the lab, and something that was just taste not yet familiar. Grissom, whom she knew and didn't.
"You can tell me we shouldn't," he whispered, nose rubbing against her.
"I can," she agreed, feeling the strange taste of power too. "I don't."
He kissed her again before walking away abruptly, but she knew that was only postponing and she could still feel moisture on her lips from him, proof of what had been. Proof of what could be, and she stored it as carefully as she would any other evidence.
Maybe it was where she finally was sure of his desire too.
II
He slept with her on a Thursday, nothing like a fantasy and yet delivering on one. Her place, her bed, her terms, and she wondered why it was so important to him. Not perfect as first times went, but he made her whimper and she made him moan; and she touched his lowered eyelids when he thrust into her and wasn't afraid he was imagining someone else.
Fears could come later. They always did.
He didn't ask to stay, and she didn't ask either. He just didn't leave, sleeping with his head nestled against her breast and her fingers on his chest, feeling his heartbeat echo her own.
In the morning, they had breakfast, had sex in the shower, made plans for what to eat for dinner and went off to work.
Maybe it was where she got settled into a routine.
II
He talked of the future on a Sunday, even if he didn't use the word. He talked a lot about changes, and work, and Brass's near brush with death, and all the things he wasn't sure what to do about, and she knew he wanted her opinion and it would matter even if he would make his own choices in the end.
Maybe that was where she realised she loved him and that wasn't a fantasy at all.
"If it's too difficult, we can end this," she said, and meant it, even as the possibility hurt.
"We can," he said calmly. "We don't."
Maybe it was where she realised he loved her and that there would be a 'we' now.
"We don't," she agreed, and he gave her a smile she still believed was just for her.
Sara was never quite sure where it started and didn't care.
She was finally thinking about where it might end up.
FIN