Dislclaimer: They're not mine, although I'd love them to be. I own nothing but these words.
Small Swords Chapter Two
Eventually, the world began to move. Internal Affairs arrived, Nick's car was found, and the case could proceed, although causing great frustration to them all with the loss of most of the evidence. Sara worked into exhaustion, and then gratefully, weightlessly, headed home. She passed Grissom in the hall as she carried her kit towards the front door. He stopped mid stride, file in hand.
"You're going?"
"Yeah. Unless you need me for something?" He looked at her, smiled kindly. He could see she was tired.
"No."
"Goodnight, then." She smiled at him, and looked at the tiny lines around his eyes that she loved. He was so real. She wanted to ruffle his hair, to smooth her hand down his face.
"Goodnight Sara," he said, in no rush to walk away from her. She picked up her kit. It always seemed heavier when she was tired. She walked slowly down the hall towards the light of day. As she pushed through the door she turned, and as her eyes grazed the floor behind her she saw the shadow of him still standing there.
Grissom watched her go. He seemed to be always letting her go. She was tired, and he saw the sag in her shoulder as she carried her kit case. He wanted to take it from her, carry it to the car for her. He knew that he wouldn't, and shouldn't, but he wanted to. He wondered if he would see her this weekend, and then wondered if that was such a good idea. He would see her that night at work. That, he tried to convince himself, might be enough.
That weekend, Sara did something highly unusual. She met a man. In a surreal and almost alarming coincidence, she ended up having breakfast with him and Grissom. They weren't the only ones there, of course, a small mercy she would later be thankful for. After a typically frantic Vegas Friday night, overtime and backlogs running into unknown figures, they had all ended up still working as Saturday dawned. It was midday before they could leave, and there were no excuses offered as the inevitable team breakfast approached. Everyone wanted in on it, after a night like that. Two particularly gruesome homocides, a six-car pile up and a casino jumper. They deserved it, and this time Catherine shut off her phone as she ordered.
He was a friend of Nick's, a police officer that Nick had presented a case in court with, now a sometime buddy. He was seated in the window, alone, out of uniform, when they walked in. Nick went straight across to greet him. A moment later, Nick was back, asking if anyone minded his friend joining them. Of course, no-one would, and when he was unveiled as a fellow law enforcer, they made him feel welcome. His name was Drew, and he sat between Catherine and Warrick like he had always known them – like he knew that occasionally Catherine and Warrick really needed someone to intersect them, to keep them on the straight and narrow. It didn't feel like an intrusion, and as he and Nick talked about the case they had worked together, they all accepted Drew's easy manner. He was pleasant breakfast company, no more, no less.
Sara regarded him quietly, always the last to cast her vote where new people were concerned. She liked to see what everyone else thought first. She didn't like to be the first to believe. Nick seemed to regard him highly, and Sara trusted Nick's judgement, knowing he didn't give his approval lightly. Other than that, she didn't give it much more thought. At first. Once the plates had been cleared and the coffees refilled, Greg, Grissom and Warrick fell into a deep discussion about chain of custody. Catherine listened as she flipped her cell phone open, reluctantly turning it back on. Nick went to the restroom. Sara sank back into the chair and savoured her coffee. Drew turned her way, fixed her with the most beautiful smile, and said,
"Sara, right?" She nodded, swallowing the elixir that would keep her awake on the drive home. She was exhausted again, and perhaps a little off guard, she would think later.
"Nick's mentioned you." She nodded again, blinking as she acknowledged a time when Nick might have mentioned her. When she might have mentioned Nick. If only for a short time. If only a temporary lapse.
"He mentioned that you're brilliant with cars." She was surprised. Not that he might think that, but that of all the things Nick could have said about her, that would be it. Not that she was highly strung. Not that she was opinionated, or emotional, or that a dead pig experiment had prompted her to become vegetarian (the guys had liked that), not even that she was a relentless, detail-obsessed perfectionist.
"He also mentioned you're a bit of a perfectionist." She laughed, involuntarily, as though he had read her mind.
"Me, too, " he continued. His manner was relaxed, and although she was partly bemused by the conversation they were having, she wasn't uncomfortable. Which, for Sara, was saying something. Effortlessly, he drew her into a conversation about the common ground between his job and hers. For some reason she felt compelled to talk to him, not least because he chose her favourite subject. More because she sensed it was close to him, too, and that here was another rare individual who took his work right to heart. Like her. Like.. She pushed that thought away quickly, registering that Grissom was still embroiled with Greg and Warrick. He wasn't thinking about her.
Grissom could talk on autopilot, when he had to. Today, he had to. He let Greg engage him, heard Warrick join in, and was aware of Catherine pressing buttons on her cell over the table. All of that demanded about seventy five percent of his brain activity. The rest was unequivocably dedicated to eavesdropping. He had heard Drew say her name, and immediately his curiosity was aroused. He waited for her to be contrary, or caustic even, as she could be sometimes. He knew she wouldn't let herself be dragged into having a conversation she wasn't interested in, especially if it wasn't in a professional capacity and she wasn't obligated under anyone's remit. Sometimes, Sara didn't play well with others. Secretly, Grissom was glad of this, although he would never say so out loud. It allowed him to keep her close, never fearing foreign bodies. No cross contamination.
This time, though, he was surprised to hear that her tone was light, and she talked easily to this man. Alarm bells not immediately ringing, Grissom listened with one ear as he maintained his part in Greg's conversation with the other. He heard her laugh. The sound ran lightly down his spine. As their conversation progressed, and Sara became engrossed, Grissom chastised himself for what he was doing. Friends, they had said, and friends they had become. His choice, their best interests, now his cross to bear. Friends didn't pay such close attention. Friends didn't treat each other's interaction with strangers as evidence to be analysed. Tearing his attention away from her, Grissom grimaced slightly, for the first time ever not entirely glad to have his hearing intact.
Drew was charming, she had to admit. Non threatening. Not once did he make any allusion towards anything remotely sexual. So why, after talking about work for a whole thirty minutes, had she been left wondering if he was going to? Not going so far as to admit she wanted him to, Sara tried to fathom her feelings as she sat easily across from him, still talking. He was beautiful, no denying it. Deep brown hair, lots of it, and a firm, square jaw. Not quite chiselled, she thought, berating herself for even attempting to use that word. Chiselled. What am I, she thought, a romance writer? She took a deep breath and let it all go, rationalising as she was adept at. There was a handsome, endearing man holding her interest in an entirely enjoyable way. There was another man, also handsome.. no, she wouldn't list those things, not now. There was another man, but he didn't want her. She was single, decidedly so. There had been so many chances for the other man to avoid this day ever coming, but he had not, and they were, however tentatively, surviving as friends. Having a friend should not stop her appreciating another man. And that was all she was doing, appreciating, feeling refreshed and challenged by the coffee and conversation. When breakfast was over, she would drive home, feeling happily sated and nothing at all else.
It all went to hell, anyway. Grissom left, squeezing out from the booth opposite her while she was still hemmed in. She didn't immediately notice, assuming he was paying his check, or talking to the waitress as he did sometimes. Drew kept talking, or rather, they kept talking, and when she looked up, Grissom was gone. Catherine, Greg and Warrick were by the door. Nick was still drinking coffee beside them. Sara felt self conscious then, more so because she didn't altogether want to stand up and leave. She did, though, joining the group at the door. Nick and Drew walked behind her, talking easily. She said goodbye to Catherine, and waved as Warrick and Greg got back in Warrick's truck. She headed for her car, and turned briefly to say goodbye to the men following her.
"Bye Sara," Nick said, patting down his pockets for his keys. Sara took a deep breath and wondered what she was about to do even as she knew that against all better judgement she was doing it. She held out her hand, and smiled, very warmly.
"It was ..very nice to meet you Drew." Simple enough, but she knew as she blushed that she had somehow loaded her voice. It was in his eyes, too, as he finally put two and two together and shook her hand for a moment longer than was necessary.
"You too." She turned quickly and walked to her car, feeling his eyes bore into her.
He called before she'd even got home. Nick had given him her number, he confessed, and without broaching the question of why he was calling or in what capacity he wanted to see her, he said that he would like to, and wondered if she would have coffee with him. With no mention of it being a date, and with the memory of the sparkling conversation she had to admit had stimulated her earlier, Sara didn't think to say no. She didn't think there was anything to it. She thought this would be another man she would be friends with. She heard Grissom in her head. You deserve to have a life. Well, then, intelligent conversation over coffee was on her list of things that would make up such a life.
She was relaxed as she walked into the coffee shop later that day. A few hours left before work, perfect time to take on extra caffeine and get her mind working. She only sat for a minute or two before she saw him drive up. He got out of his truck and skipped lightly up the steps to the door. She took in what he was wearing, and approved, but thought no deeper than that. Their coffee talk went the way of their breakfast talk. They were engrossed within minutes, and it did not take many refills for Sara to begin to feel like she had known him all her life. He was so warm, so open. He told her things she didn't even think to wonder about, how he was raised on a farm in Iowa, how his parents now ran a roadside diner there. That his older sister married a cop when he was a teenager, and that it drove him into the same profession. That he transferred to Henderson six years ago, following a woman he was sure he would marry. That he had applied to Vegas PD when he had realised she had outgrown him. That he missed home sometimes, that he didn't blame the woman, and that he didn't mind living anywhere, so long as there was work to be done.
He was philosophical about everything, and had the simple, wise manner of one who has been through and around so many things. He was down to earth, but accomplished. He spoke simply, but seemed to know everything. He was beautiful, but kind. He reminded Sara of herself. Or of the person she might become, when finally, all said and done, she could find peace in the losses she had overcome. He was a few years older than her, and she wondered if, a few years ago, he might have held any of the bitterness she did. That his calm might be new, a recent addition to an already sound personality. His demeanour suggested not, that he had always been this way, and that people had always loved him for it.
He asked her questions, but not too many. He was interested, but not invasive. He nodded, listening intently when she spoke. He looked right into her eyes, and responded with enthusiasm or sensitivity to everything she said. He had emotion, but under control. He was unafraid, she thought, and that was what made him so attractive. Attractive? she repeated in her head, feeling sure her inner monologue had made some awful error. Attractive. There it was, the feeling in the pit of her stomach that she had hoped desperately would not come. She wrestled with herself, frustrated inside, wanting to leave, but also to stay. Wanting the conversation to go on long into the night, but never to have to face what was becoming slowly clear. When Drew left, she would be sorry. Damn, she thought, how did that happen? He got out of his seat, picking up both their cups in one hand, asking if she wanted a refill. She nodded, more aware of the fact that his free hand had touched her arm when he spoke than what he had actually said.
It felt strangely nice. Not like the rare moments when Grissom laid a hand on her. How rare they were, she reminded herself, and how incidental, usually. They burned. With the knowledge that he would scarcely have let it happen if he'd been thinking. With the certainty that he would feel scalded, too, and remind himself never to do that again, instead of thinking how nice it might feel. He treated her like a leper, like a hot surface, something he had to watch himself around, be wary of. Drew's hand reminded her that she was just a woman, and she so badly wanted to be touched. Drew went to the counter, and ordered their coffees. Her heart, against her better judgement, sank when he asked for them to go. To go. She sighed. There it was, the mutant sentiment she could not beat down – she didn't want this moment to end, and it was about to, and she was altogether not happy about that.
"I'm sorry, " he said, returning with the steaming cups, but I have to get to work." Sara checked her watch.
"So do I," she realised. She stood, put on her jacket and followed him out to the parking lot. She had left her car around the side of the lot, away from the main door, an old habit she found hard to break. She didn't like to be under too close a scrutiny. As they passed his car, she turned to take her coffee from him, but he shook his head lightly and walked on to hers. He placed both cups on the roof of her car and looked down at her.
"I can't tell you what a pleasure this has been, Sara." He smiled, and she happily registered that he had been having as good a time as she was.
"No, really, the pleasure's mine." His smile twisted slighty at the side of his mouth.
"Do you know how often I go to Frank's?"
"No."
"About twice a year."
"Really?" She wasn't sure she knew what he meant. That it was unlikely that they'd meet? That it was lucky? "I go all the time."
"So, maybe if I'd made my two visits in January instead of saving one til October I'd have met you a whole lot sooner." She thought back to January.
"I wouldn't have been such good company in January."
"I doubt that."
"Not so willing, then." He nodded, as if he knew exactly what she was talking about.
"Because of Grissom?" She was speechless for a moment. How could he..?
"Nick's made mention of it." What? She would kill him.
"Mentioned what?"
"Only that you two have history. I'm just guessing here." He didn't seem to be hedging, seemed only to know what he claimed to know, and he wasn't using it against her. He seemed, if this was at all possible, to understand.
"It's…" She sighed, unable to say anything more lucid than that. Somehow this ruined things. She didn't want him to know about that, to know that side of her.
"You don't have to explain, at all. It's none of my business. " There was that hand on her arm again. His eyes were deep, imploring her not to hate him for bringing it up. She didn't, only hated herself for not having a quick, simple answer.
"Nick shouldn't have said anything."
"Sara, everyone has a past.." She nodded, knowing he was right. For the first time, she quite liked the term history applied to Grissom. Implying that she could move on, implying that they had negotiated the worst of it, implying that she was well entitled to enjoy the feel of Drew's hand on her elbow. The lightest touch.
"I was just wondering because.. I mean, if it is history.. I'd love to see you again."
His hand went to her waist then, and he moved, not more than half an inch, but definitely closer to her. She looked up at him, realising as she did that her past was not a side of her. It was all of her, and he wasn't afraid of it.
"I want it to be history," she said. His other hand found her waist on the other side, and she put hers on him, feeling the fabric of his sweater where it covered the waistband of his jeans. It didn't feel wrong at all.
"Good enough." When he kissed her, she stopped thinking. It was slow and delicate, and reminded her after what felt like, no, what actually was, years, how much she loved to be kissed.