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A/N: Please review this one!! :) ...I'm kinda nervous to see what you guys will think. I don't think anyone saw this coming... tell me if I'm wrong though!
Chapter 12: The Actions of a Desperate Woman
By the fall I had fallen into a routine—I got up in the morning, got ready for work, ate toast or an apple on the way, with lots of coffee, I worked a full shift, pulled a double when necessary—often more than necessary, especially if I'd been thinking about Gil—and then made my way home.
I ordered take out because I wasn't much of a cook and, after eating Gil's food for a few weeks, I couldn't justify putting in the time and effort to cook for myself, for so little in return. I'd eat in front of the tv, or the computer, or a forensic journal, and I'd fall asleep listening to the police scanner. If I couldn't sleep—which was often, because I was having nightmares again—I would stay up and read.
The nightmares were better in some ways, and worse in others—it wasn't always scenes from my life anymore. I saw the victims' faces, especially if I felt they had endured something similar to me… I saw the crimes being committed, I heard their screams… I watched the faces of their killers or their rapists or their abusers and I would wake up screaming too.
But there were a few positives, despite living without him and enduring the unexpected emotional fallout of my job… because I was working a job I loved. I had a few friends at the lab—I wasn't really close to them—and the creepy DNA tech turned out to be a great guy, even if he was constantly hitting on me.
His name was Greg Sanders, a few years out of Stanford, fresh from the streets of New York, and as awkward socially as I was. We went out for drinks, or to eat after shift—always in a group, because I didn't want him to get the wrong idea about us—but we sat together, and talked mostly amongst ourselves. It was nice, to have a friend in town.
Eventually we worked around to a movie, here or there—as long as he promised to keep his hands to himself. I was not interested in fighting off come-ons while trying to enjoy a movie with the only friend I had in town. And he was good for a while—he stopped blatantly hitting on me, his flirting was limited to the minimum amount he subjected everyone else to, and he was a good friend. I trusted him… maybe too much.
And then Gil made me an offer that I felt I should refuse… but which I really didn't want to refuse. The problem was that not only did I want to run to him, but that I wanted it so much… wanted him so much… that I was at a very real risk of actually doing it.
Grissom: So, uh… listen, I know this is going to make you run away from the computer with lots of excuses, but… let me make my argument first, before you run.
SidleOnOver: …Okay.
Grissom: I don't know if you have any… family to speak of, but I'm going to guess not, because you never talked about them, and you didn't have any pictures up, in your apartment. I'm not asking about them, I'm just… making an offer.
Grissom: My mom is getting too old to travel very far, and I'm stuck working over Thanksgiving and Christmas…
Grissom: I was thinking, since neither of us, to my knowledge, has anyone to spend them with… maybe we could spend them together… here, in Vegas. I'd be working nights, but… we could still have the big meals… the traditions… during the day.
Grissom: And, you know… you could sleep in the guest room. I'm not… expecting anything. I just thought…
Grissom: I thought that it would be terrible for two people to be alone for the holidays, especially when they're friends and they could… just as easily spend the time together. You know?
Grissom: I could pay for the flight, that's no problem.
SidleOnOver: Gil…
Grissom: Please, Sara?
SidleOnOver: … I'll think about it.
SidleOnOver is Offline.
That conversation had me running for the door in five minutes—meeting Greg at a club in twenty. He was the only person I'd ever let myself get drunk around—like, actually drunk, not just a little silly, or tipsy like around Kelly. He was the only person, other than Gil, that I trusted enough—with Kelly, you needed to make sure someone was sober—and Gil hadn't been much for recreational drinking. It was wine at dinner, champagne for special occasions, a glass of scotch at the end of a long day…
Greg was waiting at one of the tables—I was surprised he'd been able to get us one, even though it was early. He had a beer in hand and a Sex on the Beach in front of the seat across from him. I beamed.
"Hey Greggo! Thanks for coming…"
"Of course. You sounded like you needed to talk." He takes a drink and I appraise how much is left. I don't want to be drunk alone.
"Well, you were wrong. I don't need to talk, I need to forget. What d'you say you order another beer while I finish off my sex…" He grinned at me like a school boy and I felt myself returning it, with a roll of my eyes. "…and then we pound some shots and go dance?"
He shakes his head. "You are a strange, strange woman, Sara."
"We all are."
By midnight I couldn't see a foot in front of my face clearly—and I had made sure Greg was well ahead of me before I let myself go, just in case I said something I didn't want to say… I wanted him to not remember it, or at least not be able to make sense of it, later. I'd spent the whole night in his arms—grinding in time to the music, and trying to forget how tempting, and how sweet, Gil's offer had been. Trying not to let the investigator in me tell me that I'd been ridiculously stupid—if he worked for the FBI, why was he so consistently online at the end of shift? It seemed off… and knowing that, I wanted to ask myself if I'd overreacted—if I'd made myself believe there were more lies than there were…
I didn't ask. I drank.
And when Greg called us a cab because we'd been cut off at the bar and could hardly walk straight, I was the one who said it made sense to crash in one place, since we both had the day off the next day. I was the one who, after we'd all but crawled up the stairs to his apartment—not mine, I didn't want anyone in my bed but Gil—asked him whether he was going to make me sleep on a couch. And when, somehow, through his drunken haze, he'd found his inner-gentleman and offered to sleep there instead, I was the one who asked why we couldn't just pass out together—we'd been in closer proximity than that all night.
When in the bedroom, I was the one who stripped down to my underwear, claiming how hot it was, and I was the one who curled up against his chest when he'd tried to look away from me. After he was on top of me, naked and trembling, I was the one who convinced him that he wasn't taking advantage of me, because he was drunk too. I was the one who explained that I still wanted him, I just wouldn't kiss him because of all the alcohol on my breath. And when he finally relented, and pushed inside me, I was the one rocking against him—pushing us both to the edge—and I was the one who slipped, screaming out Gil's name instead of Greg's, closing my eyes and pretending it was the older man, rather than the younger.
The next morning, we woke up in each other's arms, and neither of us seemed disappointed by the turn of events. Greg, for his part, worried that he'd taken advantage of me, but as I had a better memory of how we'd even gotten to that point of the night, he was easily reassured—and ecstatic. I had to take another moment, to explain to him that just because we had drunk sex didn't mean we were going to be more than friends. To my surprise, he laughed—apparently he had expected as much from me, and even remembered that I had said someone else's name… he just couldn't remember exactly what I'd said.
I gave him a big hug, when I left, promising I'd call him later—and I did. We managed to stay close friends, and he only brought up the night—and my errant screams of passion—in private, and that was good. I hadn't planned to use Greg, but the release had helped my mood immensely.
I told Gil, that night, that I could do Christmas, but not Thanksgiving—I didn't really have a reason, I was just afraid of letting myself have too much of him—I'd never be able to stick to my convictions otherwise. He seemed like he hadn't expected to get either, and so he was happy with my decision.
…I just hoped I wouldn't regret it.
