Dislclaimer: They're not mine, although I'd love them to be. I own nothing but these words.

Small Swords Chapter Five

Sara arrived for work the next day feeling sheepish. She wished she hadn't been quite so honest with Grissom, or that she had stayed to explain a little better why she was so upset. She avoided him as best she could for the first half of her shift. When a call came in for a double homicide in Henderson, she, Warrick and Grissom went. Upon their arrival there was a road block in place, and Warrick got out to talk to the officers on the scene before they proceeded to the primary scene. As the door closed on them, Grissom took a deep breath, and turned to her.

"You're right, there are things I should have said to you. Yesterday I should have told you that the only reason I said it couldn't ever have happened was because I thought that was what you wanted to hear, I thought that would make things easier for you, and I wanted you to be happy. And in the spirit of being clear about things, the reason that I want you to be happy is because I do have very deep feelings for you. There. I should have said that years ago."

As she turned to register what he had said, Warrick opened the passenger door once more. Sara had no time to respond, only to mentally stagger about, wondering if she had heard him correctly. They were not alone again for the rest of the shift, as the double homicide was quickly revealed to be a triple with the discovery of a third body in the garage.

Five hours later Grissom was at his desk, once more giving a little time to the 'pending' pile, picking out a few files to look at anew the following day. He was tired, and ready to call it a day.

Sara sauntered into view, a half smile forming on her lips as she sat down opposite him. She placed a case file on the desk.

"Lab work."

"Thank you. Any surprises?"

"Not so far. One victim left to be processed, but there's a backlog. We'll know more tomorrow."

"Good." She rose from her seat.

"Are you done for the day?"

"Yes. I need to go home. I need a shower, and bed."

He nodded, looking down at the desk. She was at the door, not gone yet.

"You coming?" Her voice was so low, almost husky, and it drove him a certain kind of crazy. He blinked in surprise. She just looked at him, and he wondered what he had missed.

"You said you wanted a shower and bed." He was confused, lingering on the brink of something, closing in on a break, and she was playing with him. It felt delicious, if a little dangerous. She stood in the doorway, her dark eyes ablaze as she closed those slender fingers around the door handle and he would have done anything to be steel beneath her hands.

"That is what I want," she said, her tone commanding. Her eyes asked him to open his mind a little, and he was shocked by the flood of images he was soon wading through.

"I'm just wondering if you're going to be joining me."

It was all that he could do not to rise from his seat and dash her into the wall. He restrained himself, instead closing his eyes momentarily to imagine himself push her gently but fervently into the glass of his office wall and kiss her, maybe even take her, where she stood. He opened his eyes and he was still in his chair, she was still leaning nonchalantly against the door jamb.

"I'll be along in a while, " he managed, his own voice hoarse now.

He made himself wait twenty minutes before he rose from his desk, his pulse racing before he even started the car. He drove slowly and carefully, stopping only to pick up a token bottle of wine. He wasn't sure if it seemed presumptuous, but he didn't much care. He wasn't going to arrive empty handed, when so much awaited him.

She opened the door slowly, the sound echoing down the quiet hallway of her building. She moved aside to let him in, taking the bottle from him as he did, smiling at his etiquette.

She closed the door, and turned. He stood in her living room, his hands hunched in his jacket pockets, waiting, but not awkwardly. She watched him for a moment, her back against the solid wood of the door. He was beautiful.

Grissom stood, not uncomfortably, in the middle of the room, which was lit only from the light above the island in the kitchen. He watched Sara watch him, and felt certain that something explosive was happening to them. The air seemed thick, the breeze cool but charged, as though a storm was brewing. Behind him a curtain billowed, he could just hear the gentle swatch of the fabric as it moved. It was perfect, he realised, in its incongruity. He didn't move. She didn't move, and he took a long, luxurious moment to take in every inch of her. She was beautiful.

Sara placed the bottle in the cooler and turned once more to face him, this time taking a step. Another followed, and in what felt like hours, she picked a slow path across the room towards him. With every movement he felt the reasons why they never had shrink into petty excuses. He had been so sure that this would hurt, or that it would be a wrench, an effort to separate himself from the cold, hard world of proof and fact he was safe within. He stood now on the edge of warm abandon, and it felt so good. He smiled, unable to take his eyes from her as she came within three feet. Her arms were still by her sides as she stood before him, asking for nothing and promising the universe. She took a deep breath and the muscles beneath her tank top rippled. Something deeper within him stirred, and he let out a breath too.

He took the last few steps and one after the other they ran hands over arms onto shoulders into necks and up to finger strands of hair. He couldn't remember the way a woman's hair felt, as though there had been no woman but her. She tugged on his hair so gently and again he felt himself stir inwardly. This was no mere moment. This was life, as life was meant to be, and he was letting it happen. No, he was helping it along, he realised, as he smoothed his thumb over Sara's cheek. She passed her tongue lightly over her lips at his touch.

Their kiss was serious, a long, intoxicating moment in which nothing else registered. Sara didn't start it, but she gratefully took the gentle invitation he issued, taking her bottom lip between his teeth for just a milisecond, but far too long for her to recover from. Wild horses couldn't have pulled her from him as she returned the kiss, her breath mixing with his as his hands came to rest on her waist. His fingers pulled lightly at her as she pressed her mouth against his, running her tongue along his bottom lip in return. He was sure that she would feel the shudder that left him.

Sara felt him tremble, and pulled back, knowing that the point of no return loomed not far from where they were. She took his patient hands in her own and brought them up to her face, examining them closely, shocked and amazed by the sight of their fingers entwined together. There could be no other way, now, she knew. Forward or fall. She led him away from their kiss, from one private place into another. Grissom lamented the loss of her touch, but was soon placated as he stepped into the bathroom behind her. It looked like a hundred candles. Later, upon closer inspection, he would see that many of them lined the mirror tiles along one wall, making ten seem like fifty.

"I changed my mind about the shower," she said, and stood back to reveal the bath full of water. If there had ever been a moment when Grissom had doubted Sara's intentions, it was long gone. There was not a second's hesitation as she began to slowly undress him. He basked in the feeling of her hands on him, and in the darkness there was no awkwardness, no shy reluctance to be the first to let their work clothes fall to the hardwood floor. She stood in her underwear as his fell away, and she gestured for him to get in. He did, watching her walk away in just a bra and knickers, in quiet awe. He sank back into the warm water, closing his eyes. When he opened them she was slipping in to the bath in front of him, her long, slim back just inches from his chest. In her hand was a glass of the wine he had brought. Beside his right cheek was another, placed delicately on the side of the bath.

As she leaned back into seven years of watching and waiting, Sara felt for the first time her naked skin touch his. She wasn't ready for it, even now, even after all. A tear raced to her eye, idly forming a pocket of moisture that would, she knew, soon spill over. She didn't care. He had seen her tears before. This, however, was new, and as she tilted her head back into his chest she felt his arms snake around her waist below the level of the water, inches from her breasts.

It was beautiful. It was something she would never forget as long as she would live. It was the pay off for all of the days and nights she had been left wondering and hoping and chastising herself for doing anything of the sort. For all the looks given and received and all the action not taken.

At least, she thought it was. She hadn't reckoned on what came next.

After a long hour soaking in the warm water, they gave in to the need for more wine and dry land. Sara rose first, dripping suds and soap all over him. She stepped into a warm towel and held one out for him, too. They stood, silently absorbing the beauty of the situation, the occasional drip sounding on the floor. Sara's hair fell in loose waves down her back, damp and sweet smelling.

"I'm glad you're here," she said quietly, brushing her hair back.

"Me, too," he replied, and touched her cheek gently.

Sara left him to towel off and padded into the kitchen to refill their glasses. The wine had cooled significantly, and slipped deliciously down her throat as she stood and drank. A single bead of wine escaped and ran down her chin. As she lifted her towel to catch it, she felt his arms come around her, taking the towel from her grasp. It fell to the floor as she turned in his arms. He kissed her face, moving slowly down her neck, tasting water and wine and the skin he had craved for so long.

It felt like hours before her back made contact with the cool sheets of her bed. They had inched and kissed their way there, each step a moment of great discovery. They seemed to become encased in one skin as they got closer and closer, the air between their bodies not enough to breathe. Grissom stroked her cheek as he kissed her, the full length of his body covering hers. She had never felt so alive, and the pulse that raced through her echoed in her ears along with his words. Without looking away, without a moment's hesitation or distraction, he said;

"I have always loved you."

As they moved together, slowly, each tiny movement a groundbreaking stride, the battles they had fought began to leave them. They laid down their arms. The war was over, and they were coming, coming home.

End.

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