If the thunder rolls for a while
And the sky is clouded, bringing rain,
Then you will stay beside me.
Even when no thunder sounds
And no rain falls, if you but ask me,
Then I will stay beside you.
--Japanese dialogue poem
It was a Sunday, actually. She and Ecklie just didn't have the same definition of 'intimate.'
"Have dinner with me tonight."
She blinked, and realized her mouth was hanging open. It had been a long time since she'd slept, and she was half-convinced she'd hallucinated the question. "Dinner," she said slowly.
Grissom nodded, his hand on his car door. His expression was perfectly calm, as though asking her to dinner while standing in the parking lot were a completely normal course of events. "We're off tonight. The doctors said that they would prefer to keep Nick's visitors to family only until tomorrow." He shrugged. "I thought it would be fun."
Sara stared at him. "Fun." She realized that repeating what he said was probably not the most intelligent-sounding response, but her sluggish brain was having trouble processing the situation.
Grissom. Was asking her to dinner. Voluntarily.
He smiled. "Go home," he told her. "Sleep. I'll pick you up at eight. It's late for dinner, but this place is best after dark."
By the time she'd recovered her voice, he was already in the car. "Where are we going?"
The window rolled down, and he stuck his head out. "It's a surprise," he said.
The world had clearly tilted on its axis. She turned to walk to her own car, fairly certain she'd wake up in a few minutes and realize this was a dream.
"Oh, and Sara?" She looked back over her shoulder. "Dress warmly."
Dream. Had to be.
"As in, processing a crime scene warmly."
"Grissom?"
She sounded wary. "Yes?"
"We aren't really going to a crime scene, are we?"
He smiled. "Not exactly."
Silence for a moment.
"The body farm?" Her voice was half incredulous, half intrigued.
He laughed at that one. "No. Be patient."
She muttered something to herself, the gist of which suggested that anyone willing to even get in a car with him deserved a gold medal for patience right at the start.
"Trust me," he told her. "It will be worth it." They drove quietly for a few minutes. "Can you close your eyes? I'll tell you when to open them."
He was grateful he had to keep his eyes on the road; even so, the edge of her glare was frightening.
The look on her face had been worth it.
He'd helped her out of the car, tilted her face up to the sky, and watched as her eyes opened wide.
This far out of the city, with none of the lights they used for processing scenes, none of the noise and distraction of cars and uniforms trekking around…the stars were all that you noticed.
"I forget, sometimes, what it looks like without all the neon," she said softly, simply staring. "Even when we're working a scene out here, it's easy to just…not look up." Suddenly she looked around sharply. "Speaking of working a scene…"
He shook his head as he spread a blanket over the hood of the car. "Not quite. The edge of the fire damage is a few miles east of here." He hauled himself up onto the Denali with what he hoped was a minimum of awkwardness, and held out a hand to her. "But being out here then was what gave me the idea."
Sara's eyes flicked from his hand, to his face, and back to his hand. Finally, she pulled herself up onto the blanket beside him. He was nervous, she realized. Outwardly, he appeared as composed as always. But as she studied him, she noticed one of his few tells – the tapping of his little finger against his knee. He was nervous, and so, she discovered, was she.
Nothing to be nervous about, she told herself firmly. She took a deep breath of the cold night air, and let it out.
"I was told there would be dinner," she said teasingly, hoping to put them both at ease.
Grissom almost imperceptibly let out a breath of his own, and the moment of tension faded. "There is," he said, pulling a thermos out of a bag next to him. "Vegetable soup," he announced, handing it to her and pulling out several more, "something involving butternut squash, tomato, coffee, and hot chocolate."
She stared at him for a minute, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Not a chicken noodle or Italian wedding in the bunch.
He paused as he unscrewed the lid of the coffee. "What?" he asked, looking at her quizzically.
Sara let the smile have the right of way. "Nothing," she said quietly, beginning to open the soup. "Any cups in there?"
They ate in companionable near-silence, swapping thermoses back and forth, occasionally pointing out stars and constellations as they spotted them. They'd packed away most of the soup and were idly sipping at the hot chocolate when Grissom grabbed her hand. "Look," he said, gesturing with his other hand, nearly dropping his cup. "Shooting star."
Her fingers tightened on his as she followed his pointing and saw the bright flash. "Beautiful," she murmured.
"Very," she heard him say. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that he was looking not at the sky, but at her profile. She managed to keep her face still, but she couldn't stop the flush that spread over her cheeks. She could only hope the darkness hid it.
"Sara," he said after a moment. "Why are you still here?"
She took her time answering. She had a million quick responses, everything from professional to flippant, but they wouldn't work here. Slowly, she put into words something she'd known on some level since the first week she'd known him, the first time they'd had coffee together.
"Because if this were it…If everything ended here, and all we'd had were the past seven years and this night, right here. If this were all there would ever be for us," Sara squeezed his hand gently, almost afraid he'd dissolve if she held on too tight, "this would still be the best relationship I've ever had."
He was quiet for a minute. "I'm miserable at relationships."
Sara shrugged. "Me too."
"I'm a workaholic."
"So am I."
"I race cockroaches for fun."
"I read cold case files. We all need a hobby."
"I hate the music you listen to."
"Opera makes my eye twitch."
"I love steak."
"Just don't make me eat it or touch it."
"We can't tell anyone at the lab."
"So? It's none of their business anyway."
"I'm fifteen years older than you, and I'll die much sooner."
That one gave her pause. Death. Thinking ahead to death meant forever. Meant he really was serious about all this. Meant he'd finally figured out what to do about 'this'. A tiny, happy shiver ran down her spine. "I could try to cross a street tomorrow and get hit by a car. We know there aren't any certainties, Gris."
She could still feel his eyes on her, and she finally turned to look at him. One side of his mouth was lifting, ever so slightly, in what she'd learned over the years to interpret as a smile. He nodded, once, as if to say, "All right, then," and squeezed her hand equally gently. Then he went back to studying the sky.
But he didn't let go of her hand.
Sara smiled quietly to herself and looked back up at the stars. She let the moment play itself out, then said, "This whole thing, by the way? Stars, picnic, hot chocolate? Very nice."
Grissom smiled a little more. "It was a risk," he admitted. "The last unconventional date I tried met with a less than enthusiastic response. I've stuck with the fairly traditional since then."
Repressing a laugh, she glanced over at him. "Really." She tried to imagine Grissom pulling off a traditional dinner-in-a-nice-restaurant date and had to swallow another laugh. "What did you do?"
Even he was laughing a bit now. "A viewing of The Wizard of Oz on mute with Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon over it." He looked at her worriedly when she suddenly stopped laughing.
Her eyebrows were raised. "Really?" she said again.
Grissom thought he heard something like interest in her voice, but he was afraid it was more like incredulity. Or possibly horror.
"Does that actually work?" she continued. "I've always wanted to try it."
Blinking in surprise, he stared at her. He knew Sara Sidle well enough to tell when she was being sarcastic, polite, or distant.
This was not one of those times.
It was one of the few instances in his life Gilbert Grissom acted without thinking. Her cheek was warm against his cold fingers. Her lips were cold, but warmed quickly once they touched his. And she leaned into him with something that sounded so much like a happy sigh he had to believe that's what it was.
Because she was right. Whether it ended in the next thirty seconds or the next thirty years or never, whether it was preceded or followed by two affairs or twenty, whether they fought once a day or once a month…
…it would still always be the best relationship he'd ever had.