4. Grissom the Man
Nick stared at Grissom. Sara stood beside him, arms now crossed, her expression that of stone; Grissom looked at them, stood unmoving.
"Grissom? It's four in the morning, man."
Grissom cleared his throat, put his hands in his pockets. He couldn't lie and say his reason for stopping by was about work, this time.
"Well, I see now what's been going on," he said quietly, glancing to Nick's undone belt and jeans.
Nick fastened his pants, glanced back at Sara.
"Why are you here?" Sara asked, stepping forward to stand beside Nick in the doorway.
Grissom looked at her, his eyes expressing everything at once: fear, anger, hurt, love, disappointment. Love. Hurt.
"I wanted to talk to you."
Sara grimaced. "About what, exactly?"
Nick put his hands on his hips and he and Sara waited for an answer.
Grissom tried to give them one. Under the circumstances, however, he regretted that he'd come, and words failed to escape him. He regretted that he'd showed up like this, at four in the morning, sleep depraved, jealous, hurt, wearing and now hiding his heart on his sleeve; wanting, needing, unable to have her.
"It's a private matter," he said finally, glancing again to Nick, and Sara frowned when Nick walked away from the door, went into the bedroom and came back dressed, picked up his jacket and keys.
"Where are you going?"
Nick planted a quick kiss on Sara's forehead. "Call me later," he said, striding out the door, past Grissom and down the hall, and Sara pulled her robe tighter around her.
They stood there, speechless and still, one looking awkward and confused, one looking upset and confused; Sara sighed. She had dreamt of a moment like this, Gil Grissom at her door, off the clock, wanting to talk to her about 'private' things (and perhaps do 'private' things) so many times, and yet, now she had no interest in it at all. She was upset that he chose to pull a stunt like this now, after all these years. She was with Nick, had been for months. He knew about it but refused to accept it; what the hell was he thinking, showing up like this? And Nick had left on account of it. Grissom had left the club without saying a word to anyone, had said very little to anyone all night, and now here he was, standing confused and helpless in an empty hallway at four in the morning, staring at the woman he'd secretly loved for years. She was clad in nothing but a flimsy bathrobe, vulnerable and exposed, and he was unable to speak or move.
"What do you want, Grissom?" she asked again, tired, now.
He took his hands from his pockets.
"May I come in?"
Sara glanced behind her: clothes and undergarments strewn everywhere. She was in nothing more than a robe.
What the hell, she decided. He deserves to see it.
She stepped aside and he hesitated, then entered. She closed the door and turned around.
Grissom eyed the clothes strewn about and cleared his throat again.
"Have a seat," Sara offered, and Grissom did so, found the nearest chair without a bra or panties on it.
Sara sat down on the sofa across from him, picked up or moved nothing, and waited for him to speak.
He stared at her and then sighed, crossed his legs and then uncrossed them, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his fingers intertwined, and began.
"Sara, I wanted to talk to you about what's going on between you and Nick."
She looked at him, said nothing.
"I understand that working together, especially with the job that we do, that certain feelings can arise for a co-worker, and you may be conflicted about how to deal with them…" His brows furrowed and his voice trailed off, wasn't sure of what he was trying to say.
"Don't you think it's a little unprofessional?"
Sara laughed and he looked at her, hurt.
"Grissom, we don't have sex at work. We remain professional, and you should know that. Our relationship doesn't impair our abilities at criminalists."
Grissom frowned.
"You can't ask us to stop seeing one another just because we work together. Lots of people who work together date their co-workers. Some of them even marry their co-workers."
Grissom's eyes shot up. Marry. Marriage. Matrimony. Wedlock. Husband and wife. Sara and Nick. Sara and Nick, married, husband and wife. Was it possible? Had they discussed marriage so soon? It took him a minute to fully hear the words. The mental imagery made him feel queasy all of a sudden.
"What have we done, aside from a platonic hug in an interrogation room, when we were alone, I might add, that makes us seeing one another so wrong to you?"
"You shouldn't be hugging anyone at work in the first place."
"What, we're not allowed to touch people, now? We can touch cold, dead bodies and evidence while wearing latex gloves, and do paperwork all day long, but touching a warm, live human being is against the rules? Did I miss a memo?"
"It's not about the job," he blurted, and in an instant, Sara saw it.
He sat motionless, his head down, mentally kicked himself again. Her words stung, her attitude was cold and harsh. Maybe he was too late.
Sara looked at him.
"Grissom, why don't you stop being my boss, for just a second, and tell me why you're really here?"
He sighed, looked up at her. He felt emotionally drained. He was tired of hiding it, tired of lying to himself.
"Okay."