Disclaimer: Not mine, but it is nice to share.
Author Notes: It has been an age for this poor little story. I'm sorry.
A huge and heartfelt Thank you to all those who have reviewed, the only thank you I can give is to keep going with this… and a shout out to my elusive reader TG who has somehow managed to leave more reviews for this than there are chapters! I haven't forgotten this story I promise, I just hope it hasn't forgotten me.
p.s: Two fics in one weekend… can't you just tell there are important things I should have done this weekend that I am trying to avoid! ;)
Holding Patterns.
By Rianne.
Chapter 5.
She had a total of seventeen minutes.
Seventeen painful minutes left to wait.
Seventeen minutes of tapping toes, trembling fingers that just would not still, and endless nervous shifting.
Everything inside her felt like it was in constant motion.
Bubbling and alive with nervous energy and delight.
Whilst everything about her plodded along at an unthinkably slow ebb.
Seventeen minutes.
Of pulse beating, nerves jumping, fluttering stomach.
Seventeen more shifts that the minute hand had yet to make around the full circular dial on her watch.
And there would, of course, be no chance of him being early. Actually, scratch that… he would be early, but he would wait until exactly seven before he knocked at her door.
He would hover out front like a jumpy stalker, waiting right until the very last second before he raised his knuckles to the wood.
He would think he was doing her a favour, which was the funny thing. When really he was just about driving her out of her mind.
He was probably out there right now, but she couldn't work up the nerve to go and peer out the window.
But after all, it was nice to be nervous.
Nervous in this nice way, certain that something good was about to happen.
It didn't happen that way for her often.
This sweet anticipation.
She ran her palms over the soft black fabric of her trousers again, trying to soothe herself with the stroke of the fabric against her skin, the sensation nice and unfamiliar and different to her usual jeans.
She refused to give into the temptation to go and peer at herself in the looking glass again.
She knew that giving into that urge would mean the overwhelming desire to be frantically raiding the wardrobe again, fighting the pain and aggravation and wanting to cry out loud in frustration at her usually didn't bother her, but recently discovered, limited selection of clothes hidden behind those doors.
No, this was the outfit.
Sleek, soft black trousers, long mid-thigh length gossamer thin cardigan, which was extra soft too, and beneath that the one piece of clothing she wore that she felt nervous about, a deep red, lace trimmed, cotton camisole with delicate straps.
Not low cut by any means, not revealing, yet still more feminine than anything he had ever seen her wear before.
With a faint groan of embarrassed frustration she lowered her head with a huffed out sigh.
Studying her bare toes, the nails unpainted, it just wasn't her style, looking strange peeking out of the only pair of strappy sandals she owned.
Dizzily glaring down at her feet, she swayed between feeling empowered by the pretty feminine touches in her outfit and enjoying how they made her feel, and the uncertainty and unfamiliarity and insecurity she always felt about herself.
He knew her too well for her to be able to hide tonight, he would know immediately the moment she put on any airs and graces, would know as soon as she tried to hide from him.
He knew her, he wanted her, and still she could hardly believe it.
He had wanted her, even first thing in the morning when she had effectively slept in her clothes all night!
It felt good to dress up some and present herself nicely.
He probably wouldn't notice, but maybe he might.
She lent her elbows on her knees, twisting her fingers together in a forced attempt to not look at the clock again.
She just needed a distraction.
God, a beer would be great right now.
Cool and crisp, bubbles prickling as they burst on her tongue, the soothing slide of tangy liquid gliding down her throat.
She could practically taste it.
There were some in the back of her fridge. She could picture them there, condensation beading along the sleek chilled lines of green glass.
Just one wouldn't hurt, it would loosen her up a little, calm the raging of her nerves.
But her attention was pulled in that other direction again.
It was becoming an obsession.
Her eyes were drawn again to the watch on her wrist.
Eight minutes.
No, not even a beer would cut it.
She swallowed and breathed, keeping her eyes closed like she was in some kind of hypnotic state.
Four minutes.
God, she laughed quietly to herself, how was it that Nicky, and Greg and even Cath were always raving about this dating business? Sure, she hadn't been on one for a long time, but she still felt the same about this whole process.
How anyone could ever think that dating was the exciting part of any relationship?
They were definitely wrong about that one.
How could this twisted stomach feeling, this inability to sit still, this inability to stop looking at the clock, this being wary and uncomfortable in your own skin, be the best of anything?
Three minutes.
Oh yeah, this was not exciting, no, this was terrifying.
Butterflies and beating heart and shivers…
Alright, maybe those weren't too painful.
The way her body reacted just at the thought of him couldn't ever be bad.
She took another shuddering breath.
She shifted the overnight bag at her feet with the tip of her toe and wondered again if she hadn't read all the signs wrong, read too much into his offers earlier in the parking lot, interpreted too much from that gleam in his eyes.
Even the bag before her held a wealth of connotations.
And not so many items inside.
A change of underwear, her toothbrush, a few other cosmetics, a change of clothes for tomorrow.
She hadn't packed any nightwear, a bold move on her part, was it more of a daydream to sleep nude in his arms than something she would feel brave enough doing when the moment came… should she have packed nightwear?
Indecision twisted her belly again, she looked towards her bedroom, her fingers twitching to go and at least throw in something to sleep in.
She was on her feet, brain racing through the clutter in her dresser to choose something to take.
When the knock came.
Jolting her.
Knocking the breath from her.
Seven O'Clock.
Panicked she turned back towards the door, the wave of nerves surging up again, making her blind to everything but the man and the evening ahead of her that lay beyond her apartment door.
So fixated in fact that she took three strides across the room before her left foot made contact with something soft but substantial and then she was flying.
Stumbling hard over the temporarily forgotten overnight bag and crashing straight into the front door with a winding thump.
Unable to stop herself with her outstretched palms, the tender flesh of her wrists took the brunt of her weight before her breasts were also crushed against the wood.
Nooooooo!!
She heard the whimper escape her.
But she just couldn't open her eyes.
She had not just done that.
But of course she had.
Delicate, Sara, just perfect.
There was no way that he hadn't heard that.
She took a breath and a step back from the door.
Smoothing down her clothes again as she took another moment to get her breath back, then she risked a glance through the peephole, the fish eye lens curving the view before her.
There he was, his nervous features warped into a humorous distortion.
He was finally here, this was finally happening.
No more waiting.
This was going to be okay, this was going to be okay.
It was GOING to be okay.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Outside the door he pulled his hand back, taking a step backwards as something barrelled into the door from the inside.
There was a moment of quiet.
"Sara," he gently tapped on the wood again, "are you alright in there?"
More silence.
He then heard the bolts and chains being drawn back.
The door swung open and there she was.
Smile broad and shoulders high and obviously all bravado.
"Sara…?" he repeated, his eyebrow rising, still worried that something was wrong. "What was that?"
"What was what?" she tossed back cheekily glancing back up at him with eyebrows raised, sounding way, way calmer than she felt.
The nervous excitement brimming into a gorgeous smile.
And he smiled too, eyebrows still at full rise mirroring hers, a blend of curiosity and amusement.
He did not believe her for a moment, that was obvious, but he didn't seem to be doing anything about it, except standing there.
And why was he just standing there?
Mainly because she looked so beautiful, her intoxicating teasing smile was pulling at him in ways he found irresistible, flowing out to him, wrapping around him, coaxing him into cahoots with her, even if he had no idea about what was happening.
It took another moment before the intensity of his attention had her really wanting to squirm.
So she was the first to break their connection; it was stretching out for too long and self-consciousness was creeping in.
She looked away, waiting for him to say something.
Of course he didn't.
She fidgeted, tucking a stray strand of her hair behind her ear.
From the brush of her fingers against her cheek she was caught by how warm her skin was and that meant only one thing.
She was blushing.
Pressing the backs of her hands to her flushed cheeks she looked coyly up at him above her fingertips, shy beneath her highlighted dark lashes, as a trickle of laughter escaped her.
He really wasn't going to say anything, so as usual she had to get the conversation rolling.
"Hi?" She managed to whisper, cringing a little on the inside at how breathy she sounded.
And that broke the spell.
Still bemused he returned the greeting just as softly.
"Hi… Sara, did something…"
"I tripped," she admitted biting her lower lip, "was stupid, I left my bag in the way, I…" her voice trailed off and for a moment they just stood there facing each other smiling.
Drinking one another in.
The air between them tingling and less nervous now, more anticipatory.
"Did you hurt yourself?" he reached out concerned, but she waved him off.
"Just my pride," she admitted begrudgingly as she rolled her eyes, trying to retain any sense of her usual self and failing, feeling her lips melting back into a smile.
Noticing how nicely he was dressed.
Relaxed, in a pale blue polo shirt and comfortable jeans.
He was there.
Really standing before her.
"You look lovely," he whispered to her, and before she could process his compliment he was moving.
And she found herself breathing in as he leant towards her, her cheeks flushing once again as he pressed a soft kiss just to the left side of her mouth.
His lips were light and soft amongst a wave of his warm breath and she swooned a little inside.
And the air practically crackled with a new awareness.
A 'date' awareness.
An awareness that this was nothing like they were used too.
And a building anticipation, this was it. Finally it!
When he drew back she noticed the hand behind his back.
Curious, but subtle she leant sideways, trying to see around to what he was concealing, but he quirked a brow and hid his secret evasively.
"You brought me something?" she questioned, teasing lit sounding strange.
He looked uncomfortable then, awkward and unsure and immediately she wished she could take the words back, to make it all all right again.
They were right back to awkward. Again.
Eventually, looking sheepish he withdrew his gift and shyly held it out to her.
Knowing that it was frivolous and unnecessary to bring her a gift, but he had wanted too.
"A spider, for a spider," he muttered self-conscious still. Referring to the head massage gift she had given him earlier. "I'm sorry about the wrapper, I…"
But she cut him off.
"Thank you," she smiled back shyly, the curve of her lips warming the tone pleasurably, clearly touched, as she took the elaborately decorated spider plant from him, her fingers reaching out to pluck the little white card from between the fronds.
Only to feel the heart stopping contact of his touch to her fingers, halting her progress in opening the little envelope.
"Open it later," he assured, his gaze intent and almost pleading with her.
"Okay," she responded, surprised, and downright curious about what sentiment that little card held. She could only hope it was more than 'From Grissom,' this time. But if he was so insistent then waiting seemed the least she could do.
She reverently placed the gift on a bookshelf beside the door, only the third gift he had ever given her, smiling at it and the mystery of the message behind it.
"Shall we go?" He suggested from behind her.
And she turned back to him, trying to not look as eager as she felt.
"Let me get your bag," he bent to scoop it up a gentleman through and through.
"Griss…." She countered, his name escaping her lips in a way that clearly told him that she felt she was on vulnerable ground.
Panicked she too stooped to capture the bag herself.
She was flustered and distracted and all at once too aware of all the changes in their relationship that the little bag represented.
Unnerved and embarrassed at the difference in the way he was treating her, she didn't know how to feel about the fuss he was making.
And with a dull clunk their foreheads cracked.
Stunned, both reeled for a moment of silence.
And a dizzy spinning throb of headache.
Followed by a rapid, tumble of apology and guilt and anxiety.
Both of them brushing away their own pain to check on the other.
Both panting out; "You okay?" at exactly the same moment. Kismet!
Once sure they were both fine, laughing seemed the only way to shatter the awkward desperation of the moment.
And the relief of it felt good, and only ebbed out as he carefully captured her face in his palms, drawing her up to look at him.
Allowing them both to take a moment to calm down and slow down.
Dissolving into shy smiles as they relaxed some.
Stroking her hair he took another moment to just smile at her before he stepped away.
"I'll carry your bag," he told her, " before you do yourself, or me," he added with a sly grin, "any more mischief."
And she smiled, she agreed far too much to pout.
0o0o0o0o0o0
He held the car door open for her and she just did not know how to handle that, but it seemed important to him so she let him.
Just like she had accepted the warm press of his palm against her lower back. A gentle touch with which he guided her away from her apartment.
The car journey was oddly quiet.
He turned down the radio as he started the engine indicating that he might want to talk with her, but the further they moved from her apartment, the more they fell into contemplative silence.
It was just the behaviour pattern they seemed to fall into lately when they were outside of the privacy of one another's homes, or the familiarity of the Lab, like they slid a mask over their emotions.
It had always been hard enough, for the both of them, to open up about their feelings to one another in private, they were trying, and they were learning.
But with the outside world as a witness it was unthinkable.
She knew that there were rules and regulations in place at work that they had to be careful about. So being 'normal' around their friends and colleagues was always a must, but she didn't know why they continued with this façade in times like this? To pretend the nervousness didn't exist?
I mean, come on, no one out there cared if they were having intimate conversations in public, people in Vegas often had far, far worse.
It was stupid and she was well aware that it was juvenile and ridiculous, that she wasn't all-important, that the drunken Vegas tourists didn't even blink an eye at anything she did.
But she still felt oddly anxious and under scrutiny, painfully aware of herself and how much bravery every single gesture towards him took.
Thank goodness he wasn't taking her to a restaurant right now.
Nothing good was easy, that was for sure, but the idea of someone else watching her in these moments of weakness, besides Grissom, was just awful, just plain awful.
It was painful enough that Grissom had to see her bumbled attempts to express her affections and emotions.
Her reaction to him arriving to pick her up just now was the perfect example.
God, she couldn't even think about it without wanting to die with embarrassment.
She longed to be good at this; it looked so easy when others interacted in such a way.
Why couldn't she be sexy and alluring and normal around him?
But there was nowhere to look up answers like that.
This was one place where all her book learning wouldn't be able to help her.
She frustrated herself so much she wanted to scream.
She just had to try, to experiment, she was usually so good at that!
She should say something, break the quiet…
But what was there to say? This silence was crazy. It was becoming an almost living being in the car with them.
After the events of the last few days, after falling asleep in each others arms, after endless heated kisses and slow caresses, surely they were more comfortable around one another than this?!
But as this insane nervousness, proved, clearly they were not.
So something to talk about, work… no… a journal… no…
God, her life was boring, she couldn't even make small talk anymore!
Okay, what did other people talk about at times like this, well… there were the usual mood killers involving latex brands and doctor's checkups and painful personal history questions, but no one wanted to have those conversations.
And working where they did, and knowing each other for so long ruled the necessity for asking some of that, but she really did not know how to bring up the other things.
He would blush seven million shades of red if she just calmly announced that she was on the pill right now and really she didn't want to cause him any distraction, not whilst he was driving.
At the thought of flustered Grissom she cracked a sly smile.
It was amusing really all things considered.
Absurd that it was awkward talking about what they both knew they were planning, or at least hoping to take part in this evening.
No, make that most definitely hilarious, especially after the sheer number of times that she had spoken of sex with him. Damn, even her brain whispered it in his presence.
And after this morning too when they had almost… and it had been so good.
That was the problem, she should never be given time to think things over. Her mind took too many liberties.
Like thinking things along the lines of: If the idea of them having sex was rendering them mute, maybe they shouldn't be having it?
Or maybe they had talked themselves out.
After all she had lost count of the number of times that they had stood in crime scenes, in cars, restaurants, hotels and other places she didn't even like to think about other people's carnal behaviours in, breathing in the musk left behind, examining the evidence of the pleasure of others, the torn underwear, the lipstick stained glasses, the occasional dead body...
Trying not to blush or blanch, keeping it professional when their thoughts were anything but.
It was wrong really, tasteless, but they had to keep the moral up some how. So they joked, they sparred, they all did it, flirting and teasing over unmade beds, words volleyed and tossed back and forth across tangled five star linen, but there was always more behind the words when she played this game with Grissom, more tantalising danger, the memory of private teasing words of banter echoing back at them from inside the close quarters of a minuscule claustrophobic aeroplane bathroom still made her grin.
It depended on the scene, her hormones, or her mood, or in the past her current position on the hate Grissom to love Grissom scale that she had weighted everything against, as to whether her mind wandered to daydreams of pleasure or her stomach twisted to distaste.
And yet now they said nothing.
Oh God this was crazy! What was wrong with her!
But that was okay, it didn't really matter, it was just something else to tax her overactive brain and hyperactive imagination and keep that silence well and truly filled to the brim.
She was more than glad to see his house pull into view.
Thank god, the silence had just about felt like he was driving her out of her mind.
At least there would be motion now, something to distract from the 'what happens next' thoughts now scrambling for focus in her mind.
Were they going to head straight in and straight back into bed?
A huge part of her would love that, to climb back into the calm and content hours of earlier in the day when she had woken happy in his arms. Yeah, she'd definitely like for that to happen again. With more being held, and kisses and maybe a little time left over for actual sleep, but this time those wonderful things wouldn't be the main event, so to speak.
Oh God!
Her stomach trembled at the thought.
Going straight into his bed, with him… it was tempting…
Her nerves would probably appreciate that more than anything, but she doubted that was his plan for them.
He was wearing date clothes, bringing… well not flowers, but their Grissom equivalent, and truthfully he was just too much of a gentleman for his own damn good.
And now he was coming around the car to open the door for her, shy smile on his face and his palm centred against her back again, that simple warm touch.
She had to hide her own smile at his struggle to find his keys, and then fit them into the lock.
He was nervous too.
Good.
That was better.
And then they were inside and everything was different there.
She felt calmer, more secure.
The scent of food filled the air and her nerves seemed to fade and be replaced by two different kinds of hunger.
o0o0o0o0o0o0o
Yes, he felt calmer now that they were inside his home.
The car ride had been blissful torture; he had never felt so scrambled around Sara before.
He loved just sitting beside her, taking her home with him.
But the accompanying agonising silence, changed the comfortable into slightly painful, into palm sweatingly nerve wracking.
And his brain was hurting from trying so hard to conjure up something to talk to her about, he had fumbled for topics for conversation, and kept fumbling… what did she like… vegetation had been his conscience's somewhat cocky response, so clearly that wasn't going to help him here.
And then he had been pulling into his familiar parking space and time had run out for him to open his mouth and so action had been the next thing on his to do list.
Gentleman, be a gentleman.
He had clambered out of the car, opening her door for her, relishing the fact that he was allowed to reach out and touch her lower back, just like he had watched the suave old movie stars do when he was a kid, guiding their leading ladies gracefully and with class.
Although their palms probably didn't tremble, and they usually didn't fumble with their keys as they tried to open their own front door.
Getting inside had been something of a relief.
Here he could find more semblance of himself, hopefully, and stop acting like a nervous teenager.
The smell of the pasta he had prepared earlier was still warm and spicy in the air.
Food, offer her some food.
And wine, wine was good.
He finally opened his mouth, and asked, "drink?" whilst lifting up the bottle.
She smiled and nodded, looking as relieved as he felt.
He uncorked the wine, carefully poured two glasses, handing one to Sara in return for a pretty crinkle of her eyes.
Okay good, now food.
He could do that. Crossing into the open kitchen area he set to work, turning the gas on under the pan of pasta to a simmer, washing his hands and then tearing the bread into pieces.
Always conscious that she stood a few foot away, lounging against his breakfast bar, taking the occasional sip from her glass, her attention focused on different things, dancing from his actions to the butterflies and other curiosity items framed on his walls.
It seemed that no matter how many times she visited, his walls still offered fascination for her.
And his bookshelf seemed to have a positively magnetic affect on her. So he knew not to be worried when she drifted away, knew immediately what had enraptured her, she was going to look at the books.
He took a breath, free from her scrutiny for a few minutes, he was able to give himself a little shake to try and rid him of all his nerves.
He glanced over at her back, the quaint way she tilted her head to read the titles of his books, one finger tracing the spines as if they were a thing of beauty.
In so many small ways she was perfect for him.
She was someone to be awed by, someone to be grateful for, thankful for, not someone to fear, he shouldn't fear the way he felt for her.
He was in love with her, had wanted this for so long, despite all his confusing thoughts and struggles.
It was time.
And in that moment he had never been surer of himself, he felt calm confidence begin to glow inside him.
Taking his wine glass in hand he took a long sip, feeling the warmth of the liquid flood into his system.
All he wanted to do was to go over there, to be close to her, to share a nice meal with her whilst he whispered things that drove them both crazy, and then to finally give in, wrap his arms around her and take all the time he wanted to show her how much she meant to him.
He'd give it his best shot anyway.
Oh, it was way past time to get this date started…