Author: geekyfrog
Rating: Mature
Pairing: Grissom/Sara
Spoilers: general through the end of Season Six
Disclaimer: I'm not affiliated with CBS and don't have any claim to these characters.
Author's Notes: I'm sorry it took so long to get this chapter posted; I hope you find it worth the wait. Nomadic Soul, thanks for helping me take this to the next level.
Hand in hand, Grissom and Sara walked back to his townhouse in silence. Lost in thought, linked by touch, each of them musing about what was to come. Knowing they were about to cross a threshold, together.
He turned his key in the lock and let her pass the entryway first. Closing the door, he turned to her, humbled by what he saw on her face.
Trust.
Words seemed incapable of expressing how he felt in that moment. Even his thoughts were inchoate, the internal dialogue and commentary which always played in his mind temporarily stilled by the surge of sheer emotion rising in his chest.
And so he simply cupped her chin in his hands, stroking his thumbs over her cheekbones like a blind person learning a face. Wanting to memorize her skin. Hoping to immortalize the moment.
Her face mirrored his amazement. Lips slightly parted, eyes huge, she reveled in the gentleness of his caress, the kiss of his fingertips on her skin.
"Beautiful Sara," he whispered. "I want to make love to you tonight. May I?"
Her response was soft and low. "Yes, Gil."
He swallowed, hard. "And, I want to… I have waited so long for this, honey. Will you let me take my time and please you?"
Puzzled, she tipped her head to the side. "Of course you'll please me. Just being with you pleases me."
"I mean…" At a loss for words, he trailed off, unsure how to express to her that he wanted to delay his own pleasure to focus on hers.
"Griss, we'll please each other. It isn't necessary…"
"It isn't necessary for you, I understand that. But it is… it's important to me, Sara."
Understanding, she acquiesced.
He closed his eyes, relief bathing his features. "Thank you."
In response, she pulled him into a tight hug.
He was gone for just a few moments, returning with two heavy Turkish towels, an old patchwork quilt, and his bathrobe. He indicated a door down the hall. "Laundry room is in there, so you can get out of your wet clothes. I'll put the fireplace on in the living room and you can curl up there while I get a few things ready for us. Do you want a cup of tea?"
Not sure how he had transitioned so quickly from tenderness to task, she was caught off-guard. "Umm, no, thanks. I'll get warm as soon as I'm dried off…"
"A glass of wine, then?"
"Okay, sure. That would be nice."
Bemused, she took her time peeling off her wet things, rubbing her body briskly with one of the towels to restore her circulation, and wrapping the other around her hair. Pulling the belt on his robe taut around her waist, she peeked out the door, feeling a little foolish.
He was nowhere in sight, so she walked to the living room, quilt folded over her arm. The fireplace was flickering and a glass of wine awaited her on the coffee table. She curled up on the couch, tucking the quilt around her, and sipped the wine gratefully. The robe smelled of him, and she could hear his soft footsteps padding about upstairs. She wondered idly what he was doing, then closed her eyes and began to fantasize in earnest about where the night would take them.
He found her like that, and paused to enjoy the view before interrupting her reverie. Her cheeks had flushed nicely from the wine and the fire, and she seemed unaware of his presence, lost in her dream.
Oh, Sara. Oh honey. Mine. You're mine.
You're mine.
He coughed gently to announce himself, and she opened her eyes, stretching languidly. "So… you're back."
His mouth went dry as his robe slipped off her right shoulder. "I… uhh… I drew you a bath."
Pulling the robe back up and tugging to tighten the belt, she smiled. "How perfect. Which way?"
He took her hand and led her up the stairs to a door on the right side of the hallway. "In here."
She looked in and gasped. By the size of the room, she realized this must be the master bath. The floor was tiled in beige, and on the dark blue countertop were two more towels, a tube of toothpaste, and a new toothbrush still in its packaging. The lights were apparently on a rheostat, because they were dimmed, and three fat candles burned on the wide edge of the huge tub.
He indicated a switch on the wall. "That will turn on the jets in the tub..."
Surprised, she looked at him. "Aren't you going to join me?"
He blushed. "Umm, not tonight. I want you in my bed, Sara, and if… if I join you in here, I don't think we'll make it that far…"
"Oh. Okay." She smiled bashfully, ducking her head.
"I'm going to run down and take a quick shower in the guest bath. Take as long as you want, and when you're ready, that door…" he pointed with his chin, "…opens into my bedroom. I'll be waiting for you." He pressed a quick kiss to her lips and was gone.
Padding barefoot about his room, wearing only a clean pair of boxers, he lit the candles he had placed on the dresser and nightstand. Blowing out the match, he watched the little wisp of smoke rise from it as it cooled, willing his nervousness to dissipate with the plume.
While he waited for her, he looked out the cathedral window at the stars, glad that the passing storm had carried the clouds away with it. The incredible view of the heavens was what had prompted him to buy this townhouse, and he found such comfort in their constancy. He calmed himself by looking for the Pleiades, reciting their names like a prayer:
Celaeno, Electra, Taygeta, Maia, Asterope 1…
Before he completed his mantra, the click of the latch told him Sara had come into the room. He heard her soft "Oh…" as she surveyed his most personal space, his private sanctuary. Without turning, he tried to picture what she was seeing.
The first thing that will catch her attention is the candles, and then my old wrought-iron bed, perfectly centered under the glorious starscape. She'll notice that I have the sheets turned down, and then she'll see me, standing over here at the side of the window…
He felt her hand on his back, felt the soft heat of her lips as she pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder, felt his breathing quicken and his body tighten in response.
I can't turn around. I can't look at her yet. I want to take this slowly, want to savor every minute. But if she's naked, I… I…
"Sara." His voice sounded a little strangled. "Will you lay down on the bed for me? On your stomach?"
"Umm, okay…" Her voice was choked as well, and he was minutely calmed by the knowledge that she was equally affected.
He heard heavy fabric hitting the floor as she dropped the robe, heard the soft creak of the bed frame as she lay down on the bed, heard her sigh of delight as she settled in.
Slowly he turned and savored the sight.
"Ohhh…" he breathed huskily. "Ohhh, Sara…"
Her pale skin glowed in the moonlight. She was completely nude, and she lay on her belly, head pillowed on her crossed arms. He saw her throat work as she swallowed.
"Griss? I… I'm really nervous."
"So am I, honey," he answered honestly, dropping to his knees to bring his face next to hers. "But it's just us, Sara. We're going exploring together. And there's nothing we're going to find that will do anything but make me love you more. Okay?"
She took in a deep breath and exhaled sharply. "Okay."
He looked at her body reverently. "You are so exquisite. Just let me love you, honey."
And she did.
Watching her chest rise and fall as she slept, tangled in his sheets, was the most spiritual experience he had known in recent memory. He lay on his side, head propped on one hand, close enough to be anointed by the chrism of each exhaled breath.
Dear God, I'm not a faithful man. But tonight… tonight I believe.
Dark hair tousled, skin still kissed with the glow of satisfaction, she looked younger and more innocent than in her waking hours. Sleep erased the tension from her eyes, the guardedness from her face, giving him a glimpse of the Sara she might have been had her life had been different.
But I want the Sara that she is.
His body was sated, but his synapses kept firing, attempting to maintain his gyroscopic axis as his world shifted and resettled about him. As he tried to make sense of his disorientation, a fragment of Ariel's song came to mind:
Full fathom five thy father lies:
Of his bones are coral made:
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange. (1)
Something rich and strange. So enhanced, so complex. Familiar and yet completely new.
He studied the contours of the room in the liquid moonlight.
The window arches over my head, just like it always does. There's the ceiling fan I stare at when I can't sleep. The books on that low shelf are stacked just as haphazardly as yesterday. The Pleiades still stand guard in the heavens. Nothing has changed.
Everything has changed.
He turned his attention back to the woman sleeping peacefully beside him, and was startled by a realization:
I can never again sleep in this bed, in this room, without her. Any nights I spend alone will be in the guest room. She has transformed this space so completely that I can't inhabit it without her.
She has transformed my life so completely that I can't inhabit it without her.
He waited for the panic, and was surprised by the peace which settled upon him, washing over him like a wave breaking on the beach, smoothing the rough sand of his broken life into something fresh and clean and whole.
Releasing him.
Freeing him.
Healing him.
With infinite tenderness, he stroked her cheek, whispering her name like a benediction. She stirred without waking, sighing sweetly and curling her body against his. He closed his eyes, laying his head down on the pillow and relaxing into her embrace.
And finally, he slept.
(1) William Shakespeare, The Tempest