JULY AND DECEMBER
Happy ending (revised version)
Sara's card opened doors for Grissom; all he had to do was flash it, and security guards let him pass with barely a glance at his ID.
Gil shook his head every time this happened; they assumed he was ok just because of a card –a card that could have been stolen? That didn't say much for the FBI and their security measures.
Deep down however, he wasn't really concerned about security; it was the fact that Sara's card carried such weight in this town that worried him the most. She obviously held a position of authority now; there was no way that she'd trade all this for her old job in Las Vegas.
Shaking this thought from his mind, Grissom looked for a parking spot.
---
He didn't like her apartment.
While the Stafford building was decorated with so many Christmas lights that it looked like something out of Las Vegas, Sara's place was devoid of decorations of any kind.
He'd sized it up at a glance: A square surface that held a kitchen, a living room and a dining area. Small and cramped, to Grissom it looked remarkably like his own place: Functional but lacking warmth. It was ok for him, but not what he would have wanted for her.
A darkened hallway led to the rest of her apartment. He was wondering what her bedroom looked like, when something else drew his attention : Several boxes neatly piled against a wall, with her name and her old address still stuck on them. She still hadn't finished unpacking, and he considered this a good sign.
She obviously didn't consider this a home yet.
"So." Sara said, interrupting his musings.
He wondered if she resented him for gawking. He looked at her but saw no resentment in her eyes. He saw nothing, actually. She was determined not to show any feelings in his presence.
Grissom lifted the cardboard box he had brought with him.
"Where do you want this?" he asked, since every surface in the tiny living room was covered with papers and books.
"The dining table," she said, motioning him to follow. She pushed aside a pile of books and her CD player to make some space.
Grissom set the box on the table and looked up.
She merely stared back. If he was expecting to rush to open the box, he was in for a disappointment.
"Thanks," she said simply.
Grissom knew she was dismissing him, but he was not ready to go, yet.
"By the way," he said, reaching into a shirt pocket. "I guess you'll want this back." He gave her the card back. He smiled faintly, "I was wondering if it would get me a discount at the Quantico gift shop."
She didn't appreciate the humor.
"It wouldn't," she said curtly.
Grissom wasn't defeated by her reaction.
"I'll open this for you," he said, and before Sara could stop him, he set to work on the numerous layers of tape that Greg had used to secure the box.
Uncomfortably, Sara turned away.
"I'll make some tea," she said.
She was busy in the kitchen for a couple of minutes, and when she returned she brought a box of store-bought cookies with her. She put it on the table.
"There," Grissom said, finally getting all the tape off. "Everybody sent something," he added, looking expectantly at Sara.
Sara reluctantly opened a flap and peered inside the box. Her eyes widened when she saw the treasures within. Her first impulse was to reach inside but Gil's presence put a stop to that. She didn't want to open her gifts in front of him.
Grissom noticed.
"Am I a stranger to you now?" he asked.
She was apologetic.
"Grissom," she said, "A lot has changed -"
"I know," he interrupted. He looked into her eyes, "Just tell me this," he said softly, "Are you happy here?"
She opened her mouth but before she could answer, the shrill sound of the kettle interrupted her. She was torn between answering his question and rushing to the kitchen, and in the end Grissom solved the problem for her.
"It's ok," he said. "I'll take care of it. Open your presents," he added gently.
He didn't wait for her response. He went to the kitchen and got busy. He opened cabinets in search of tea bags and mugs, and then he poured the tea. He was aware of her every move, though. He noted how she would pick a gift, partially unwrap it, and then put it aside. The gifts themselves didn't held her attention for long, it was the cards that she wanted to see. She impatiently tore the envelopes open, as if hungry to read their contents. She'd read a card, put it down, and then pick it up again, as if to make sure she'd understood the words.
There was a moment when she started shaking. Afraid that she might be crying, Grissom looked up in alarm, only to realize that she was chuckling softly.
He poured two mugs of tea and brought them to the table.
"One sugar, no milk." He said, setting a mug in front of her.
She composed herself before she looked up. She was smiling but there were tears in her eyes. She waved the card in her hand.
"Greg," she said as sole explanation, "He's an idiot, right?"
"Absolutely," He said, smiling back.
But she didn't put the card down; she read and reread, as if she wanted to memorize the message. Finally, she put it on the pile of cards she'd already read, and reached into the box for another gift.
She picked a flat object and started to unwrap it.
Grissom cautiously took a seat. To his relief, she didn't object.
He knew keeping quiet was probably the best course to take, but he couldn't help saying something.
"They've told me you don't say much in your e-mails."
"They ask too many questions." She replied dryly.
She smiled when she saw what lay inside the elegant box in her hands. She even showed it to Grissom: It was a glossy make-up case.
"Catherine," Grissom said, and Sara nodded.
"Do you think she's trying to tell me something?" Sara asked with a mischievous smile.
"You don't need it," Grissom said, "You're beautiful already."
Sara's smile wavered. She looked down to read her card.
Grissom hesitated, and then he spoke again.
"You never answered any of my mails."
She didn't look up. She spoke reluctantly.
"I told you I needed to start over," she said quietly. "I thought you'd accepted my terms."
"I didn't know you'd cut me off like that," he replied. He didn't like the way he sounded, as if he couldn't live without hearing from her. It put him in a vulnerable position.
But he couldn't help it.
"I thought we'd still be friends," he added, "I thought we would -"
"We can't be friends," she said abruptly. She looked at him but didn't hold his gaze for long. It was the first time she'd spoken with something close to passion, and it seemed that this single burst of emotion bothered her. She took a moment to get herself together.
When she lifted her gaze, she was serene again.
"I told you I wanted to start over," she said reasonably. "I thought I'd made myself clear."
Grissom kept her gaze on her.
"What about your friends?" he asked, "Or you don't miss them, either?"
His words struck a chord.
"I miss everyone," she replied, almost angry that he would suggest otherwise. "Just because I'm -" but she stopped. She forced herself to back down again. She took a deep breath, "Grissom, these past months have been hard on me," she said slowly. "But I don't regret my decision."
She seemed more secure, now. "I needed something different in my life, and I got it." she explained, "It's a different job altogether. I have other concerns now."
Grissom stared at her.
"You still haven't answered my question." He challenged.
She didn't immediately reply. She looked down at the table.
"Sara?" he pressed on.
She shook her head.
"You have no right to do this," she said. "You can't come in here and ask me questions, as if -" she stopped abruptly. She was making an effort to keep her emotions in check, but she was losing the battle.
She shook her head again. "I couldn't stay in Vegas, Grissom." She said with finality. "Not after seeing what my life had become. I'd spent too many years waiting; waiting to see one of your rare smiles, waiting for you to say something -" she gulped, "Waiting for a crumb of your affection -" she finished bitterly.
He was taken aback by her words. He didn't know –but then he had never looked at the world from her own perspective.
"I hated that," she said. She looked at him. "I had to choose between being angry at myself or doing something to remedy a bad situation. I did what was best for me –and for you, too." She took a deep breath. "It's not that I don't appreciate all this," she said in a lighter tone, and she waved at the piles of cards and gifts. "I do. I appreciate that you came here -"
"I came because I care -"
And he said with such sincerity that it instantly moved her. Her eyes filled with tears, but she quickly blinked them back. She impatiently rubbed her nose with the back of her hand.
"I think you should leave now," she said resentfully.
"I can't," he whispered.
"Please, Grissom." She said. She looked pleadingly at him, "Remember what I said? We need to grow up -"
"I remember what you said, but this is important. It's the rest of your life we're talking about. You can't stay here, working for bastards like Culpepper -"
She smiled cynically.
"I think that's what it bothers you the most," she said, "The fact that I'm working for him -"
"Do you trust him?" he challenged. When she didn't answer, he softened his tone, "You have a home in Las Vegas, Sara. Friends who love you. And a job too, if you want it." he paused, letting these words sink in. "I never processed your letter of resignation. I used an old 'leave of absence' form that you filled out years ago."
She was speechless.
"Please, come back." he said, and after a moment's hesitation, he reached for her hand. He didn't know exactly what to do with it, and so he simply held it tight. "Things are going to change," he offered. "I promise."
She looked down at their clasped hands. She'd fantasized about a moment like this so many times…
Too many.
She gently started to remove her hand from his, but Grissom held on to her.
"Wait," he said. He looked down at their hands too, while trying to come up with something meaningful, something that would finally convince her.
Things were definitely not happening the way he and Greg had envisioned. He couldn't even remember the advice that the young man had given him. He did recall Greg's final words, Tell her you're sorry! Grovel, and she'll forgive you!'
But of course, she would forgive him; she was not a rancorous woman.
That was not the problem.
And then, before he knew what he was doing, he said something.
"These past months have been tough."
He paused for a moment, and then he added. "I've been living off my memories of you." He looked at her. "I thought it was enough, but it isn't. It was at first. It's just…" he paused. There was despair in his voice as he added, "Lately, I've started to have trouble remembering your face. Sometimes I can't even remember what your smile looks like. I'm afraid that one of these days I'll wake up and find that you've simply disappeared from my memory."
Sara visibly gulped, but she recovered quickly.
"All you need is a recent picture of me, then," she said.
She managed to pull her hand away at last, but after a moment's hesitation, she laid her hand on top of Grissom's. "You're just scared of change, Grissom," she said gently. "I'm not. You just need a little time."
She patted his hand reassuringly, and then she rose from her seat.
He looked up. She gave him what was probably intended as a reassuring smile; it only made her look as if she'd put on a mask.
"Listen," she said brightly, "We do have a long way to go, you and me. It won't be easy. But we'll be fine. You'll see."
She waited, and it was obvious that she expected him to take his leave.
Grissom suddenly remembered one word Greg had used: appease…
"I haven't given you my gift." he said impulsively.
"Grissom-" She sighed, but Grissom was already taking something from a pocket of his jacket.
She reluctantly sat again.
Grissom placed a flat package in front of her.
Her eyes widened when she saw the wrapping paper and the little sticker on it –both a bit faded, but with the words San Francisco Antiques still recognizable.
Grissom didn't notice the conflict in her eyes because he was looking at her hands, waiting for her to reach for the gift. He held his breath when she finally did, and then he forced himself to wait while she slowly unwrapped it. She touched the piece of burgundy velvet that protected the bookmark but didn't rush to unfold it. And when she finally did, she simply stared at it.
Grissom had the sinking feeling that he had failed to make much of an impression.
"You probably don't remember," he said, breaking the silence, "Back when I was in San Francisco, we used to window-shop every evening. No matter where we went, we always ended up at this little store that sold antiques."
He kept his gaze on her as he continued, "One night there was a bookmark collection on display; most of them were delicate and fragile, but there were other, sturdier ones. I saw this one and I thought it would be perfect for you; you used to carry some thick textbooks in those days-"
She didn't look up.
"You bought it all those years ago?" she asked.
"Yes," he said. Anticipating her next question, he said, "I couldn't give it to you because I had to leave sooner that I expected."
"But you could have -" she didn't finish. She looked at him, "Why are you giving it to me now?"
"It's yours." He said, "Please, take it."
Sara caressed the shiny surface, but there was no joy in her reaction, only regret. Grissom couldn't understand it.
"You don't like it?"
"I do," she said, "It's just…" she shook her head.
And then to Grissom dismay, she rose again. Only, instead of asking him to leave, she crossed the room and hunched down in front of the unopened boxes. She read the labels until she found the box she was looking for. She opened it and rummaged inside.
From his seat, he noticed that the box was filled with old pictures and pieces of jewelry –family mementos, probably.
She finally found what she was looking for and returned with it.
It was a smallish package that looked oddly familiar, and when she put it on the table he realized why: It was a package just like the one he had given Sara. It was the same paper, the same sticker from San Francisco Antiques. There were dates handwritten all over the sticker, each one of them crossed out.
Grissom looked sharply at her.
"It's yours." She said softly.
His hand shook a little as he reached for the package. He thought he knew what he would find inside –a bookmark, probably one of the paper bookmarks they'd seen that night. But the weight of the package belied this assumption.
He didn't share Sara's restraint; he tore the paper in his haste to open the gift. And when he finally saw what it was, he thought he was dreaming. There, resting on a square of blue velvet, was a silver bookmark, the one with the spider-in-its-web etching that Sara had pointed at all those years ago.
"I bought it the next day." She said, breaking the silence.
Grissom looked at her.
"But you couldn't afford this," he said, "You were still paying off student loans-"
She as dismissive.
"I had savings."
"But Sara… This…" he didn't know what to say. Nobody had ever given him anything this beautiful.
"I wanted to give it to you that night." Sara said, interrupting his thoughts. "But you left earlier."
Grissom couldn't cope with the pain that these words brought.
"I thought you had a boyfriend." He said, and the words sounded like an accusation in his own ears. But it wasn't an accusation; it was a cop-out.
"Steve," Sara said with a little ironical smile, "Steve the cop." She sat down again, and for a moment, she seemed lost in thought. "He was a nice guy," she said after a while, "I liked him, but…we never talked much. We never took walks or watched the stars in the sky; we never discussed books -"
All the things she had Gil had done together.
"I tried to make it work," she said. "I even borrowed money to make that trip to Florida. But after I saw you that second time, I realized I'd rather be with you, even if we couldn't be more than friends."
She looked down at the spider bookmark, "I tried to give this to you on several occasions but I didn't think you'd understand."
"I'm sorry." He said. The words were grossly inadequate, and he knew it; no apology would suffice. Years had been wasted because of his actions. "I'm so sorry-"
She smiled reassuringly.
"Don't be," she said kindly. "Listen. I don't remember saying this to you before, but… I don't regret meeting you, Grissom. I swear. I learned a lot. I grew up."
Her smile wavered a little, and to cover up for this she impulsively picked up her mug and took a sip of tea. She grimaced at the taste.
"It's cold," she said. It was the perfect excuse for her to get up and go back to the kitchen.
Grissom looked at the bookmarks on the table. On a whim, he reached for the butterfly bookmark and put it next to the spider. After shuffling the pieces, he finally made them fit together, like pieces from a jigsaw puzzle. The butterfly's wings became an extension of the spider's web.
This was the way they should have always been, he realized. The bookmarks resting together on a night table, while their owners made love in a neighboring bed.
Grissom couldn't help wondering what life would have been like, had they exchanged these gifts all those years ago. He couldn't imagine asking her to move to Las Vegas to live with him, but what if he had? Would they still be together?
What if they'd simply become lovers, meeting once a year in San Francisco or at seminars all over the US, while Steve stayed at home, taking care of the kids? What if -
But it was too late for speculations.
Grissom suddenly realized that giving her the bookmark had accomplished nothing. He thought the gift would make her understand how he felt about her; that she'd be so moved by his offering, that she'd say something…
Instead, nothing had changed. She still wanted him to leave.
In despair, he looked around for inspiration and got none, but his gaze fell on the old CD player on the table. He turned it on and got a pleasant surprise.
'Love, you didn't do right by me
As they say in the song you do me wrong-'
That brought an immediate response from Sara.
"Turn it off, please."
"I know that song." Grissom said, "It's from an old Christmas movie, isn't it?"
"White Christmas." She said, "Please turn it off."
"I watched that movie so many times-" Grissom said wistfully, completely oblivious to her discomfort. "There were dancing numbers and songs- you know musicals, they don't say things, they sing them-"
"They're sappy." Sara retorted.
"Yeah, they are." He said, as if it were something positive, "You watch a movie like this one and you almost believe that life can be sweet and trouble-free."
"-And that's why people commit suicide more often during the holidays-" she retorted, "Reality sucks at Christmas time."
He looked curiously at her.
"You don't like the song?"
"The song's ok." She said, "I just don't want to hear it."
"Well, there are other songs," he said, selecting the next track. He didn't recognize the song. "There was a song in this movie…" he mused aloud. "Something about dancing-" and then to Sara's surprise, he actually sang, "The best things happen when you're dancing…" he smiled.
Sara looked away.
He looked back at the CD player.
"I used to watch White Christmas when I was a kid," Grissom said, and to him it sounded like a confession. "And it was like watching a science fiction movie: Completely unreal but fascinating. I used to wonder, who are this people? Do humans really feel like this for each other?"
He shook his head, "My parents didn't display much affection to each other or to anyone else, so-" he let the word trail off. He didn't really want to talk about them. This wasn't about them, anyway. It was about him and his inability to express his feelings.
He took a deep breath, "I guess I never had any faith in love," he said, almost to himself, "All I knew was that I'd better not get attached to anyone. So I didn't."
He looked in her direction. Sara was staring at the kitchen counter.
He rose from his chair.
"Do you still have faith in love, Sara?"
She didn't answer.
"I've done many unforgivable things in my life," he said, "but the worst would be to rob you of that faith. Don't let that happen."
She still wouldn't look at him or say anything. He didn't know what else to say, when suddenly, a new song began. A happy song, the one he'd been thinking of.
"The best things happen when you're dancing
Things that you would not do at home
Come naturally on the floor
For dancing soon becomes romancing…"
He looked at her.
It suddenly dawned on him, the fact that he could talk to death and nothing would change. The time for talking had passed; it was time to do things. Something completely unexpected.
He took a few hesitant steps in her direction.
"You offered to teach me to dance, once." he said.
She rolled her eyes.
"Please, don't remind me." She said. "It was a silly thing to do."
She picked up her mug, despite the fact that it was empty. She rose it to her lips, anyway.
It effectively hid her face from him.
Grissom wasn't deterred by her reaction; he chose his next words with care.
"Would you teach me now?" He asked, and she almost dropped the mug.
Grissom gently took it from her and put it on the counter.
"I put my right arm around you, right?" he said as he did just that, "I take your right hand in my left hand…" he added, taking her hand despite her attempts to evade him, "And then -" he gently pressed his cheek against hers.
She turned her face away.
"You said this was a bad idea." she said.
"Yes, but I was being an ass." He said simply. "Come on. Tell me what to do," he pulled back a little in order to look at her. "You said this was easy."
She tentatively moved to the right, and she was surprised to feel him yield to her. She froze.
She didn't like this. Actually, she was afraid. She had spent these past months telling herself that she was over Gil. She could have sworn that she was. But now that he was there, so close… She wasn't so sure.
"This is a bad idea." She said, uncomfortably.
"Definitely," he said cheerfully, "But I swear I'll do my best not to step on your feet."
This brought a reluctant smile to her lips. Encouraged by this, Grissom gently led her into a less cluttered area of the apartment.
He put his arm around her again and waited.
"Grissom -" she hesitated. "I don't -"
"Just one song," he said.
Resigned, Sara placed her arm on his shoulder and led him into a half-hearted dance.
Even guys with two left feet
"That's me." Grissom mumbled, as he followed Sara's steps.
come out all right if the girl is sweet
"That's true." Grissom whispered in her ear.
When you hold a girl in your arms
That you've never held before-
They stepped around hesitatingly, completely out of sync with the music. Sara wasn't cooperating, but Grissom was far from discouraged by this. He was smiling.
He glanced at her.
"You know…" he said, "I bet that with a little practice, I could out-dance that guy, Fred Astaire -"
"It wasn't Fred Astaire, it was Danny Kaye-" she said, and then cringed when she realized what she'd just said.
"Ah, ha," he said gleefully, "You watched the movie, didn't you," he looked at her, "And you liked it -"
"No, I didn't -"
"Yes, you did," he replied, enjoying her embarrassment, "In fact, you liked it so much that you even took notes -"
She was looking at him with an odd expression on her face, a mixture of hope and mistrust. She turned her face away, but not before Gil noticed. And the fact that he was finally able to read one expression of hers gave him hope.
He held her closer to him.
"Apples," he whispered.
"What?"
"You smell of apples." He explained.
"It's my shampoo." She said, a bit uncomfortable.
"You smell of flowers, too." He added softly, "It's you, isn't it?" he said, leaning a little closer, "It's not perfume, so it's got to be you." he added, "The scent is stronger in your neck." He said thoughtfully, "It feels stronger because you're flushing-
She pulled away.
"Why are you doing this?" she said, "You never took note of those things before -"
"I did," he replied. "I always did. I just never said anything." He pressed his cheek against hers again, "I never did anything but I wanted to. That day at the picnic, when you kissed me-"
"Talk about sappy things to do-" she said, almost angrily.
"It wasn't sappy-"
"Yes, it was." she said flatly, and she pulled back and looked at him as if daring him to contradict her.
Grissom almost smiled at that. Gently, he held her close again.
"Let's dance," He said gently.
They were silent for a moment.
"You've lost weight." He said suddenly. "You've been missing meals."
"I've been busy-"
"And there's no one here to remind you to take it easy." He said knowingly, "No Greg, Catherine, Warrick, or Nick -"
"Grissom-" She tried to pull away but he didn't let her.
The song ended, and they stood in the middle of the room. Grissom held her tightly.
"This is been hard on them, Sara." he said. "They miss you, back at the lab."
She shook her head. She wanted him to stop but couldn't say the words out loud.
"We miss you back home," he continued, "Sometimes one of the guys will look up and almost call out your name, as if you're there, sitting in the break room or waiting for a DNA result along with us. Sometimes one of them will say, 'Sara would have loved to see this' or, 'Sara would have known how to do this,' or 'Sara would have loved the dinner's new veggie menu.'"
"Even Doc Robbins got a little teary the other day," Gil continued, "'How's our girl doing?' he asked. And I didn't know what to say because you just cut me off from your life. No calls, no e-mails, no nothing."
"And I deserved it," he added, "But not them. Not the Doc, not Greg or Nick. They deserve to have their friend back –you deserve to have your friends back."
He pulled back at her and looked into her eyes. She stared back, her lips pressed tight.
"Sara," he said softly, "If you're happy here, then say so and I'll go back and tell them." he gently touched her face, "But if you're not happy… if you miss them… If you ever wish you were sitting in the conference room, or just sharing a meal with them -"
She held on for just a few seconds, then she abruptly looked away.
"All right," she exhaled, as if she'd been holding her breath, "All right," she said again, more wearily this time. "I'll go back. Just -" she pulled away from him, "Just –stop."
Grissom was so surprised by her sudden capitulation that he let her go. Sara stepped away, as if she wanted to put as much distance between them as she could. But the room was too small; she was soon blocked by the wall.
She put a hand over her eyes.
"I miss them," she blurted out. "I miss my job, I miss everything -" She stopped abruptly; she took a deep breath, then another, until she calmed down. They stood like that for a while, Sara's breathing the only sound in the tiny apartment.
When she lowered her hand at last, he noticed that, contrary to what he'd first thought, she wasn't crying. She just didn't want him to look at her during a moment of weakness.
"I hate it in here," she admitted, "I've spent entire mornings telling my pupils about ethics and about the importance of preserving the evidence, and then they go to some jerk's class, and he undoes it all. They don't care about ethics or evidence here; politics mean more than anything -" she stopped.
She probably felt she'd said more than she intended.
She looked at him.
"Why did you have to come?" she said resentfully, "I would have made it work, somehow. I would have."
"We need you." Grissom said as sole explanation.
Sara looked away. She leant on the wall, as if she couldn't stand on her own. She was exhausted. Keeping her defenses up had taken every bit of energy from her.
After a brief silence, Grissom spoke again.
"I need you, too." he said softly.
She shook her head.
"You don't have to say that," she said.
"It's the truth." He said. When she shook her head again, he asked, "You don't believe me?"
She stared at him for a long time.
Her lips parted but she didn't say anything at first. She was evidently choosing her next words with care.
"I believe you," she said at last. It's just -" she hesitated.
Grissom braced himself. She was obviously trying not to hurt him, and this only made him more nervous.
"You've been sweet," she said. She smiled a little, "You've been charming. Funny. You even danced," she added, waving a hand in his direction. "And I'm sure that if we went out for a walk, you'd look at the sky and point at the stars."
She paused, and for a moment her eyes had a faraway look, as if she weren't looking at him, but at something cherished that only existed in her mind. Then she focused on him again.
"But the thing is," she continued, "You were like this when we met. And then, after I moved to Las Vegas, you slowly started to pull away."
He wanted to explain but before he found the appropriate words, she continued.
"I believe you missed me, Grissom," she said gently, "And I believe you'd try to do this, for my sake. But some things will never change. You'll never change. I mean, when I first saw you today, I was hoping you'd say that you missed me; that you'd missed me so much that you'd taken the first plane to Washington."
"But you didn't," she said, "Instead, you said you were here for a conference. But I keep track of every conference and every seminar, including the ones on Entomology -especially the ones on Entomology!- and I knew you were lying."
She wasn't angry or disappointed at him; she was simply stating the facts.
"You can't say it," she said. "And I know it will always be like this, Grissom. No matter how much you want this, you'll end up pulling away anyway. And I can't go through that again."
"It wouldn't be like that," he said.
She shook her head.
"Listen to me," she said, "This is our chance to make things right. You're my boss, and that's it. And it's ok," she said, "I can live with that." She glanced around her tiny apartment, "It's better than this, I can tell you that," She said, and she smiled a little.
After a moment's hesitation, she reached for him and patted him on the shoulder. "We need to forget San Francisco," she said. "And the picnic. Act as if nothing happened, ever."
Her hand dropped. She looked at him for one last time, and then she turned away and closed her eyes. She was drained. She didn't even have the energy to say 'Please, go. Please, leave me alone,' but she hoped that he would take the hint.
When he finally moved, she thought he was walking to the door. But he wasn't. When he laid his hand on her shoulder, she practically jumped.
She looked up sharply. He was looking intensely at her.
"I don't want to forget." He said. "I can never forget. I remember every conversation we had in San Francisco. Every meal we shared, every discussion -" he paused. He'd never said this and it wasn't easy. The right words eluded him. "I've always felt the same -"
"Stop," she said abruptly. She rose a hand and placed it flat on his chest. She didn't push him away, but her gesture was eloquent.
He didn't stop.
"From the very start," he said, and now he was so close to her that he was practically whispering in her ear. "From the moment we met." He shook his head, because he didn't know how to explain this so she could understand. "I'd never felt anything like this before. I didn't know what to do about it. Even after you gave me chance after chance, I never thought I could do anything."
Sara looked away. She didn't want to listen, but she couldn't get away; he had her trapped against the wall just as she'd trapped him against a tree a few months before.
"Sara," he said, and since words failed him again, he leant forward until his lips brushed her cheek, her earlobe, her neck. His caresses were soft and tentative. He would only go as far as she wanted him to.
He was waiting for her reaction.
She was fighting with herself. Her mind was telling her to run and fast, but part of her refused to obey. She slowly turned to him. Her hand was still on his chest, but instead of acting like a barrier, it seemed to move in its own accord, instinctively reaching for his face and gently guiding him to the places where she craved his kisses the most.
They kissed tentatively, as if they were doing it for the first time. It was, in a sense.
Grissom pulled slightly back. He still wanted to say something to her.
"Sara -" he started.
She shook her head.
"Don't say anything." She said gently.
TBC