A/N: This takes place sometime after S1 of CSI Vegas and has some sexual situations. It's a bit long for a one-shot but I didn't see the need to break it up. FFN still hasn't fixed their stats page, so if you enjoy the story, please let me know.
She woke up to his warm body cuddled around hers. The Ishmael had only a small sleeping cabin and on nights when she actually slept through until morning, they woke up curled together like one being.
Sara loved those mornings, when she could not tell where he began and she ended. The press of his body left hers buzzing with want, a need which could never quite be fulfilled, no matter how often they tried. That desire overrode the aches in her joints and the dull pain in the small of her back.
On this occasion, Sara sprang from bed anxiously, her excitement at being back in San Francisco too obvious to hide from her husband. But he simply got up a few minutes after her and poured them both a cup of coffee as Sara sat up on deck, drinking in the sights of the city.
"We should get some land under our feet," Grissom suggested, noticing the way she looked so longingly at shore.
"Yeah?" she asked, looking back at him for not just confirmation but reassurance.
"I'd love some Chinese food," he told her in complete seriousness. Sara laughed but dipped her head in that way he found so endearing. She accepted the subterfuge as an offering - to give her more time in one of her favorite places.
"I might know a good place in Chinatown," she said, favoring him with a smile.
"Sounds perfect, darlin'."
The way they walked together, it was as if they had forgotten how to act on land. They veered and collided into each other, as if they could not navigate basic walking skills without the other to steady them.
Sara touched him every chance she could. She tried to resist herself, he knew. But even when she spent valiant minutes leaving him to his own devices, she inevitably reached out to him after her self control faded away.
For all his bluster and blushing, Grissom did not mind the attention. Sara's touch was not only exhilarating but familiar, and he assigned more significance to the latter than the former. For him, all it took was the way his hand fit over the curve of her hip or the swell of her breast. She ignited a passion he could not quell, a low grade burn he could never escape.
And his body was not alone in its obsession with Sara. His mind followed her like a willing slave, desperate to hear her thoughts and theories. She had a way of not just connecting truths and observations, but of incorporating the human element he often just did not understand.
He had asked her about it once, but she had simply grinned. "I just think about how I would feel in their circumstances," she said.
Gil had trouble putting himself in anyone else's shoes. He had trouble ignoring rationality and logic in favor of base emotion. Except, of course, when it came to Sara.
She embodied both thought and feeling. And she excited him. Her mind beckoned to him at every turn, the way she looked at the world through a completely different lense. But she also managed to charm the rest of him, the blood and muscle and sinew which seemed to yearn for her on the most basic of levels.
With every fiber of his being and with his body, he wanted her.
Even on days when sex was the furthest action from his mind, he could not resist the allure of his scent and the warmth of her skin as he leaned his head into the crook of her shoulder. While Grissom had long ago forsaken religion for science, he supposed that laying skin-to-skin with Sara was the closest thing to heaven he might ever experience.
They paid an exorbitant slip fee to park the boat near San Francisco Bay then took a ferry across to the city. As they passed the defunct Alcatraz prison, Grissom nodded his head towards the island.
"Have you ever taken the tour?" he asked.
"Of course," Sara said, as though it were a right of passage for any SanFran native. Then she narrowed her eyes at him. "Haven't you?"
Grissom shrugged a shoulder. "Never saw a need."
"We should go," Sara declared. "Play the tourist. Get a handcuff keychain from the gift shop…"
The way she looked at him, Grissom could not consider the term "handcuff" in anything but a sexual manner.
"Let's discuss over Chinese food," he suggested.
When the ferry arrived, Sara took over their impromptu tour of the city, leading him by their clasped hands into Chinatown. The flavor and feeling of the area both changed drastically and, amazingly, also mirrored the rest of San Francisco. The two of them immediately became minorities, despite the numerous other tourists they saw wandering about.
Keeping tight hold of his hand, Sara led him with confidence through streets and up hills until she paused in front of a back alley. He started to question her but she simply held up a hand as she examined their surroundings. She was trying to remember.
"This way," Sara said finally, leading them down the alley. They rounded a corner.
A tall Asian man suddenly stood blocking their path. Grisson began to move in front of Sara, to shield her from any harm, but the man cracked a smile as he looked at Grissom's wife.
With an excited utterance in Cantonese, the man reached out a hand to take Sara's. She stumbled through an awkward, ill-toned response but flashed a heart-felt grin any man would envy.
"Come on," she told Grissom, and he followed her without a word.
The restaurant resembled someone's large, refurbished basement. Every table had hand-embroidered tablecloths protected by a layer of glass, and the mis-matched chairs looked like they had been bought from estate sales around the city.
But Grissom and Sara were the only non-Asians. A few heads turned to look at them, but then the other patrons returned to their conversation, unperturbed. Customers were customers, clearly.
"How did you find this place?" Grissom asked.
Clearly, Sara had not stumbled upon the restaurant by chance. And having lived so many years in Vegas, Grissom knew that the true test of an ethnic restaurant was the number of natives who frequented the establishment.
Sara hesitated just long enough for him to notice.
"Long story," she answered carefully, taking care not to look at him.
But as it happened, Grissom found out in due course. Long stories have a way of making sure they are known, as much as their participants might wish them to be buried to the pages of time.
They were almost finished with their meal when an unusual figure entered the basement restaurant. Grissom would not have looked at the man twice except that he was as pale-skinned as them and stood out just as glaringly. And, more importantly, Sara went absolutely rigid when she noticed him. The man, tall and of a similar in age to her, froze at the sight of them.
"Sara," the man said.
Grissom knew immediately from his tone there was history there. He quickly did the math, factoring in that Sara had never mentioned such an individual before, and came up with a pre-Vegas romance. By his looks, the man was law enforcement, the sort who could try to go undercover but never fully succeed. He just seemed to exude a sense of authority over others.
Grissom despised him immediately.
"Fancy meeting you here," the man said, his eyes entirely on Sara.
She shrugged, clearly uncomfortable, and stated blandly, "Best Chinese food in the city."
Grissom could tell from the set of her shoulders that she and this stranger were no strangers at all. Former lovers, perhaps. Definitely work colleagues, Grissom decided, as Sara never met someone outside of the job. But not a fellow CSI. This man moved with conviction and purpose, not with care or thoughtfulness. A deputy sheriff, perhaps?
"Gil," Sara said finally, albeit reluctantly, as she turned to him. "This is Doug Wilson. We worked a big case together back when I was in San Francisco."
Again, Grissom's brain spun through possibilities. Not a local cop, certainly. And not another jurisdiction. So, a federal agency, no doubt. FBI? Possibly. Wilson had that same entitled body language, but he was not dressed the part. Instead of a G-man suit, he wore well-fitted jeans and a button-up shirt.
"ATF?" he asked with a casual glance at Sara.
She rewarded his question with a smile. "NTSB."
Slowly, Grissom nodded in understanding. Sara had once mentioned a plane crash case but had studiously skipped over all details. Apparently, those details involved Doug Wilson.
He looked at the tall NTSB agent for a moment before offering magnanimously, "You should join us."
Doug took in their finished meals and immediately back pedaled.
"Nah, I'm just picking up a to-go order. Plus I don't want to interrupt." He held up his hands even as Sara began to speak. Doug interrupted her, "But if you two are still going to be in town tonight, we should have dinner. My treat."
Raising his eyebrows, Grissom took in the way Sara's mouth fell open, words abandoning her as she looked with a mixture of awkwardness and panic between the two men. After giving her a heartbeat to find her voice, Grissom filled the awkward silence.
"That sounds great."
"Awesome. Seven o'clock? I'll text you the address of the restaurant. Once I figure out one that hasn't closed since Sara took off for Vegas."
Doug shot her a teasing look, but Sara had only managed to close her mouth, that uncomfortable expression still on display for both of them to see. She managed a tight smile which did not reach her eyes.
"Great."
Grissom said, "Let me give you my number. For the text."
"Oh, don't worry," Doug said with a deliberately casual shrug. "I still have Sara's number from when I saw her in Vegas a few years ago."
This time, Grissom's eyebrows shot up in surprise. But Doug did not stick around to watch his reaction, instead returning to the hostess and taking a plastic bag with his take-out lunch.
"Um… I can explain," Sara began quickly when Doug was out of earshot.
"Explain?" Grissom said, suddenly confused at the expression of guilt she wore. "What, an old boyfriend? Sara, I never thought you were a nun before we met."
Shaking her head, she clarified, "He wasn't a boyfriend. We just… we got a little close during that first case, and the investigation happened to stretch on for several months. But I meant that I can explain the thing about him still having my phone number. A little before we… Well, before the divorce… he came to Vegas for another plane crash case. DB assigned me to work with him since we had history, and…" She took a deep breath and tried desperately to stabilize her breathing. "That's why he has my phone number."
For a long moment, Grissom studied her.
Sara had always been emotional, of course, and prone to awkwardness when it came to romance. Or specifically, romance involving Grissom seemed to leave her in a difficult state, back before they had officially taken the plunge. And while he searched for some indication that Sara held those same feelings towards Doug, he could not quite see it.
But there was clearly something going on.
"What aren't you telling me?" he asked.
Sara looked at the table briefly, and he watched as her eyes rapidly flitted back and forth before she drew her gaze back up to his. "I think I've told you everything," she said. "I mean…"
As she paused, he sensed that her feelings had changed from that of guilt to embarrassment.
"...the only other thing was that when Doug was in Vegas on that investigation, he sort of… asked me out."
"Ah." Grissom nodded.
She had already made it a point to say that the investigation had occurred shortly before their divorce, so this reacquaintance had obviously happened during that difficult period of separation between them. Neither liked to really talk about that time, but Sara had never made mention of this particular individual before, let alone his interest in rekindling something.
"What did you tell him?" he asked.
Sara shot him a fierce look.
"Well, at the time, I was married. And he knew I was married, so he suggested we all have dinner together, and…" With an obviously forced smile, she finished with annoyance, "Now it looks like we're all having dinner together after all."
He sighed, finally understanding the myriad of emotions she had been projection. "Sara…"
"No, it's fine. Nothing happened back then. It just sort of reminded me of the end of… well, you know."
"Our first marriage."
"Yeah."
"And you weren't even a little tempted?" Grissom asked, his curiosity losing to good sense.
He was surprised he had even posed the question, but Sara looked even more surprised.
"Tempted? I mean, sure. I guess? You and me had been separated a long time by then and I was ducking your calls because I knew you wanted to talk about getting a lawyer to draw up papers, and…" She looked away. "But all that's ancient history now."
Very deliberately, he reached out his hand to take hers, and she answered him with a warm squeeze.
"Ancient history," he agreed.
While Sara suggested they cancel dinner with Doug, Grissom advocated for keeping the date.
"I just want to check out my competition," he teased.
Narrowing her eyes at him playfully, Sara informed him, "There is no competition."
"Oh, I don't think your NTSB guy agrees. He asked us to dinner for a reason. Clearly, he thinks the ball is still in play."
This time, Sara's tone dropped an octave as her annoyance bled involuntarily through.
"The ball is not in play. The game is over and the ball is packed away and everyone has gone home."
Grissom simply rewarded her with one of his exasperating smirks.
It bothered her far more than she wanted to admit, that she'd be forced to endure a dinner in between Doug's not-so-subtle innuendos and Grissom's charming but enigmatic comments. She had no doubt that her husband would prevail in the end, primarily because he was her husband, and she loved him more than anything. But suffering through a night of male egos did not appeal to her.
As they spent the rest of the afternoon playing at being tourists, Sara tried not to be distracted by their looming dinner date. Doug texted the name of the restaurant, a well-known local place not too far from the dive bar they used to frequent during that long-ago investigation. Sara vaguely remembered that they had good mozzarella sticks.
Grissom looked it up on his phone and said with appreciation, "There are lots of good reviews. We should be sure to order appetizers."
As he looked up at her for confirmation, Sara was suddenly struck by his easy manner. Nothing with Grissom had ever been easy - not until they had both surrendered themselves to fate. And then, only then, had it been all too easy. He understood her, remembered her preferences, and even spent long periods of time meditating on what she might like. The effort bespoke not just consideration on his part but an active desire to please her. And to Sara, nothing could be more romantic.
"Definitely ordering the cheese sticks," she agreed, not trusting her voice to say more.
Through fate or karma or the whims of the uber gods, they arrived at the restaurant five minutes early.
"They said our table will be ready momentarily, darlin'," Grissom told her, drawing out the last word as he so often did.
With a nod, Sara just looked at him. Her husband.
The last vestiges of brown hair had long ago faded to gray, and then quickly to white. While that change had inspired some self conscious feelings, Sara had no such qualms. She loved the "silver fox" look and quietly wished women could age just as gracefully in the eyes of society. But even as the thought crossed her mind, he paused and looked at her. Really looked.
She could see so much in his gaze - love, certainly. And admiration. Grissom had nurtured that appreciation for beauty, at least in her. And finally, she noticed that spark of passion which had never really dimmed between them.
"Your NTSB guy is late," he told her unceremoniously, still looking at her with barely veiled lust.
"Stop saying that," Sara grumbled. "He's not my NTSB guy."
The buzzer in Grissom's hand went off, allowing her to skirt the rest of where that conversation would have gone, and they went inside to claim their table. Only then did Sara check her phone and see a message from Doug.
"He's running ten minutes late," she said, even as their waitress arrived to take their drink order.
"We'll order him a glass of water," Grissom said, nodding to their server. "And two orders of your world-famous mozzarella sticks."
The waitress, a girl barely out of high school, blushed at the way he smiled at her. But rather than feel a flash of jealousy, Sara grinned to herself. She had been on the other side of Grissom's charm so many times, especially early on in their friendship, and she knew how difficult it was to ignore.
Hoping to change the subject, Sara asked as the waitress moved away, "Where should we go after this? Further north? Or back down towards Mexico?"
Grissom rarely cared where they traveled so long as they stayed on the boat, kept moving, and found something useful to occupy themselves with. But she hoped the question would not only distract him from this dinner but also remind him of the permanency of her affections.
"Where would you like to go?" he asked, his eyes piercing through her like those pins holding the butterflies from his old townhouse.
Before she could answer, Doug approached their table. The moment which followed consisted of an awkward exchange of the two of them hugging while Doug and Grissom determined whether a nod would suffice or if a handshake needed to occur. In the end, they settled on the handshake, one brisk, perfunctory movement before they broke apart again. Then Doug had eyes only for Sara.
They took their time during dinner, and Grissom graciously engaged in small talk with the NTSB agent. But gradually, it turned more into a session of reminiscing between Doug and Sara.
They talked about their first investigation together and then the second, with more enthusiasm on the subject from Doug than from her. But Grissom nodded along and asked all the appropriate questions. Beside him, he could feel Sara's nerves begin to calm.
But then her phone buzzed, and Sara pulled informed him, "It's Greg."
Whatever the former tech-turned-CSI might be calling about, it did not matter. Greg had been through a tough year. Suffering a series of highs and lows with his wife and their prematurely born daughter, Sara never let his calls go through to voicemail.
"Go," he told her. Sara flashed him a smile of thanks. She did not even bother looking at Doug as she left the table to answer the call outside the restaurant.
"Greg?" Doug asked perfunctorily.
"A friend."
The other man did not ask more, and Grissom supposed it to be because Doug simply did not care. But rather than settling in to continue the lackluster back-and-forth they had already established in Sara's presence, Doug did the unexpected.
"While I have you alone," he said, drawing out the words in a show of false hesitance, "I thought I'd make sure you're doing right by Sara."
Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Do you have any reason to suppose I haven't?"
"Well, the last time I saw her, she was having a pretty rough time. Something about being abandoned by her husband, or so I heard through the grapevine."
It was a sore subject for Grissom, of course. He hated the separation which had ultimately led to their divorce. It had never been what he wanted. He wanted Sara. But in maintaining the farce of their marriage, he felt as though he had been shackling her to a walking corpse.
And Sara did not need shackles. She needed love. Light. Happiness.
"I suppose you've also heard through the grapevine that we reconciled," Grissom stated blandly. "Eight years ago."
Those eight years had been the most magnificent of his life. Ever since the day Sara had followed him from Vegas and stepped on the Ishmael, his existence had been complete again. They were rarely apart, and if some strange circumstance required one of them, the other would follow soon enough. For that reason, Grissom had followed Sara back to Vegas to investigate the false charges against David Hodges.
"Wow, time really flies," Doug said in a mocking tone.
"I'm surprised you're still holding a torch," Grissom noted.
With an off-handed shrug, Doug said, "Well, someone like Sara is hard to forget."
Speaking his only authentic words of the evening, Grissom agreed, "I know."
Doug pierced him with a look of deliberate challenge. "She didn't look very happy the last time I saw her. And she didn't look very happy today."
Grissom gathered his wits about him, ready to do battle with this new foe seeking his wife's heart. It felt a bit exciting, defending her honor. And if he was being honest with himself, it felt necessary to defend his own.
"She's happy now," he said simply.
"Not from what I can tell."
"Then you must not be very observant."
Shrugging his shoulder, Doug shot back, "Maybe it's just a physical thing, you know? I know guys your age aren't the most spry. Have to rely on that little blue pill. Most women don't mind it. Or at least, they say they don't mind it." He paused and let his lips curl into a snear-like grin. "Sara's always been that type, not one to hurt anyone's feelings. But that just means she has to deal with being unsatisfied."
Grissom hated to admit how effectively Doug Wilson had pierced his veil of stoicism and nailed his own insecurities to the restaurant wall. But he refused to let the other man witness his inadequacies.
There were little blue pills involved, he had to admit. And Sara was fifteen years younger than him. Now that they were both well over forty, the age difference seemed to have faded to the background. But Doug's vague allegations still rankled.
Donning a false sense of calm assurance, Grissom said, "Sara has never mentioned being unsatisfied."
"Well, of course not," Doug agreed. "Not to you."
The smarmy NTSB agent flashed him a smile then, probably intending it to be patronizing. But Grissom saw through his tough-guy exterior, through the pitiable attempt to upset the usually unflappable entomologist, and he glimpsed a deep-seated patch of regret in Doug. To him, Sara was the one who got away. Twice, it seemed. And here she was now with an older husband who had previously divorced her.
What Doug didn't know, what he couldn't know, was that Grissom had no fear of Sara leaving him. She had promised to remain by his side until death parted them -twice now- and never once had she come close to breaking those vows.
But Doug had stirred in him the one thing he did fear - disappointing Sara.
Their sex life was slower now, more planned and deliberate. But he made every effort to see to her pleasure, even when his own was elusive. Sara looked spectacular in such moments, open and passionate and vulnerable at the same time, and Grissom gladly observed her in the aftermath every time. The scientist in him studied her reactions, of course. But the man in him simply enjoyed the exquisite beauty of Sara.
"You know, some people in your situation have a broader outlook," Doug commented, sounding conversational rather than abrupt.
"Broader…" Grissom began, but Doug cut him off.
"You know - open marriages."
"Ah."
Grissom did know. His time in Vegas had exposed him to all sorts of non-traditional arrangements, especially where sex was involved. And while he saw no need for such a thing in his marriage, he found no fault in those who did not require monogamy.
"Maybe that's something you and Sara should talk about," Doug said, sounding like an old friend offering advice rather than what he was - a guy Sara had turned down even when their marriage was on the rocks.
Grissom considered him for a long moment, and then he considered the man's proposal with more depth than it deserved. If Sara were unsatisfied in their marriage - and he did not agree that she was - then he would give anything to see to her satisfaction. The thought of letting another man touch her set off a wave of primal jealousy, but he clamped down on it hard.
Instead, he pictured Sara frustrated and lonely, the way she must have been those years ago in Vegas. He thought of her back then often. At one point, it had been a near obsession, picturing her living her life apart from him, in relationship limbo.
The months and years he had stolen from her weighed on him heavily, so much so that he had eventually been forced to break free of them and to free her in the process. Grissom had not stopped loving her. Not for one instant. But he knew he had to let her go.
And she had come back to him…
With a sigh, Grissom said, "You would have to talk to Sara. But I would never stand in the way of her happiness."
"Oh, I wasn't suggesting-"
"Of course you were. That's the point of this entire dinner, isn't it?"
Before Doug could answer, they both looked up to see Sara returning to the table. Grissom stood to pull out her chair for her. But rather than return to his own seat, he leaned close to whisper into her ear.
"I'm going back to the boat. Stay and have dinner with your friend. I love you, and you have my blessing, Sara."
Her face contorted in confusion as she said, "What?"
With a mod toward Doug, Grissom said, "He can explain."
Without another word, he left the restaurant.
"What did you say to him?" Sara demanded angrily.
Doug shrugged non-chalantly. "I wasn't trying to upset him. He must have some serious insecurities."
"What did you say?" she repeated.
"Come on, Sara. You can't expect me to believe that this guy is it for you."
"Why not?" she demanded.
"I mean… he's old. He has white hair, Sara."
She skewered him with a glare. "Last I checked, I wasn't some young spring chicken either," she shot back.
"He could be your father."
She flashed a smile, the anger giving it a deadly look. "He's not my father. My father was murdered. And Grissom taught me how to catch people who murder other people."
"That's another thing. He was your boss when you started dating, right? That's messed up, Sara. The power imbalance there makes it seem predatory."
She let out a genuine laugh at the notion of Grissom as some scheming predator, intent on ensnaring a vulnerable female employee. Even if he had the intent, she knew him incapable of expressing himself enough to carry it through.
"If anyone was the prey in this scenario, it wasn't me."
Doug looked at her with an open, genuine expression. And she waited for his explanation, as certain as ever that he had nothing worse to say about her husband than Grissom himself had expressed to her at some point or other.
"You deserve better, Sara," he said finally.
She nodded, acknowledging his words but not the notion. She had dealt with this sentiment before and long ago grown tired of the elevation of youth and beauty over wisdom and experience.
"So, maybe someone who would track me through the Vegas desert after a flash flood?" she asked. "Or someone who would quit their job - no, their career - to follow me to the Amazon? Someone who can't truly sleep unless I'm there. Someone who would pull up stakes and do anything I asked just to stay with me?"
She leveled Doug with a fiery look. "Do I deserve someone like that?" she asked. "Because I sure hope so."
"I know you have history…"
Sara huffed at the understatement.
"But I wouldn't consider myself your friend if I didn't point this out, Sara," Doug continued. He took a breath and then said gravely, "You seemed pretty lonely last time I saw you."
She looked away reflexively, hating the reminder of that part of her relationship with Grissom. It was a blight on their past but one they had both worked very hard to overcome. She had no regrets, even as she knew that Grissom looked in the face of his own self doubts every morning.
"Well, I'm happy now," she stated through gritted teeth.
"Are you really?" Doug pressed. "Living on a tiny boat, going from place to place with no real home, no real job? Sara, that doesn't sound like you. And this Grissom guy…"
She once again shot him with a glare as he said her husband's name.
But he blundered on. "How can he keep up with someone with your vitality? Your passion?"
She sat stunned at the insinuation, made so boldly across a restaurant table. But then he completed his pitch, and it all fell into place.
"I told him you two should consider an open marriage. That way, you could have your needs met but still stay together. Assuming that's what you want."
An open marriage.
The dinner, Grissom leaving, Doug's smug expression… it all clicked into place.
Sara had no issue with the concept of polyamory generally and had seen it work well for others. Some people loved more than one person, and monogamy was too confining. So long as all parties were informed and consented to the arrangement, Sara saw no harm in the practice.
But she loved only Gil. And she knew that he felt the same.
"You seem to be under the misapprehension that I am anything other than completely satisfied with my husband," Sara said icily. "So let me clear that up first. I am in love with Gil. I have been in love with him from the moment we met. I haven't been with anyone else since our relationship started, not even in the time we were apart. And I haven't wanted to be with anyone else, either. I will follow him anywhere. Everywhere. To the ends of the Earth and back."
She took a moment to compose herself as her voice grew more angry and accusing.
"And not that it is any of your business, but Gil is a thoughtful and considerate lover. I am anything but unsatisfied. But I suppose it takes someone with patience and experience to really meet a woman's needs."
She looked down at the remains of their meal - the extra order of cheese sticks, Gil's mostly uneaten lasagna, and her untouched fettuccine alfredo - and then back at Doug. The man's eyebrows had risen almost to his hairline at her statements, and he blinked twice, apparently searching for something to say.
Not bothering to wait for his response, Sara simply stated, "Thanks for dinner. Let's not do it again. Ever."
Sara pushed open the restaurant door with unnecessary force, desperate to be out in the fresh air again. She also knew she wanted to catch up to Gil before he got too far away.
Had he taken an Uber back to the boat after all, leaving her to the farce of a meal with Doug? He had said as much before leaving, but Sara did not believe it. She looked around the restaurant parking lot before her eyes fell on a street lamp not far away. The light just barely illuminated a bench, but she knew immediately she would find him there.
Sara approached slowly, sorting through her anger and outrage at Doug's comments to try and figure out what Gil might be thinking. How much had Doug said to him? What had Gil said in return? His parting words to her made more sense now than when he had spoken them, but Sara still felt lost and little adrift. Surely he didn't believe any of Doug's insinuations?
As she drew closer, Sara recognized the outline of his body. She also knew the defeated slump of his shoulders. He sat forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied the busy city on the hillside below him.
"I thought you said you were going back to the boat," she stated, taking the spot on the bench beside him.
Grissom showed no surprise at her appearance. Rather, he said, "I thought I might spend a few minutes taking in the local ambiance."
They sat in silence for a long time. But the quiet felt neither uncomfortable nor heavy to Sara. Rather, she was simply taking in the local ambiance with her husband.
Finally, she ventured, "We should get some real dinner."
Turning to her for the first time, Grissom asked, "You didn't eat?"
Shaking her head, she answered, "I didn't care for the company."
Slowly, Grissom nodded.
"There's still time to swing back through Chinatown before the last ferry leaves," he said.
But Sara had no desire to return to that part of the city. In fact, the city itself held little appeal for her at the moment.
"Let's go home," she suggested.
The seduction began in the Uber ride back to the boat. Grissom allowed his hands to slide beneath the flimsy cotton of her t-shirt, and Sara squirmed in delightful ways as she both avoided and sought out his touches.
He teased and tickled before soothing and massaging the abused flesh. Sara writhed under his touches, throwing her head back one moment before burying her face in the crook of his neck the next. They likely looked like tipsy teenagers, but the driver paid them no attention. By the time they arrived at the marina, Grissom had made the choice to slide out a twin pair of $20 bills as a tip. The Uber driver murmured a surprised thanks before wishing them a good night.
They stumbled halfway to the boat before Sara had her mouth locked with his, greedy for the familiar taste of him. And Grissom did not disappoint. He ran his palms along the curves of her body even as he allowed his lips their own slow and thorough exploration. As long as they had been together, Grissom always sough to discovere something new during their lovemaking. A sound. A sigh. An indrawn breath as he found some piece of skin which responded to the heat and wetness of his tongue.
Sara grinned into their kiss, unable to help herself. She reminded him of a lovesick teenager in moments like these, when they found their way back to the boat after some adventure on shore. It was not possession for her but belonging - a place to be at home and to call home. She had searched for that feeling for so long, and now that she had found it, she relaxed into his embrace automatically.
"Are you still hungry?" he asked, pulling his lips away just long enough to pose the question.
"Only for this…" she murmured in response, and he shut his eyes tightly as she brazenly swept her hand down across the front of his pants.
"Sara-" he started to chide, but stopped himself.
They had made it to the boat, and the other boats in the half empty marina bobbed silently around them in the dark water. Sara paused at the sound of her name, although she did not relinquish her hold on him.
"About tonight…" he began.
But she said quickly, "Doug is an ass. I'm sorry I subjected you to that."
Grissom had to agree - Doug was an ass. But he could not deny some truth to the man's assertions. He was older, less able to keep up with Sara's desires. That concern remained in the back of his mind, something she could deny a thousand times but would still exist all the more for her assertions otherwise.
He took a deep breath before answering her, before broaching this very sensitive subject.
"Sara… I don't want you to settle for something that isn't enough," he told her frankly.
She seemed genuinely confused by the statement. With her eyebrows drawn into her hairline, she asked, "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about you. About me. Us."
It did not help that his entire body still felt the sexual edge of their encounter in the Uber. While his mind wanted more, his flesh was not as responsive as he would have wished. The blue pills Doug had mentioned were back on the boat, and Grissom hated the fact that he had come to rely on them so frequently.
It only took Sara a moment to understand his meaning, to connect the dots between their dinner with the NTSB agent and the poisonous words he had whispered into each of their ears.
"What did Doug say to you?" she asked pointedly.
Grissom shook his head. "That doesn't matter."
"It matters to me," she insisted.
He could not meet her gaze, not when she looked at him so intently, as though her eyes could see right through him, through all the guise and artifice and pretending. He was a fraud, Grissom admitted to himself. He projected confidence even when he did not feel it, when the alternative was to let his own doubts and insecurities carry him under.
Forcing himself to meet her gaze, Grissom stated evenly, "I only want you to be happy, Sara."
She did not hesitate a moment before asserting, "You make me happy. Only you, Gil."
Self-doubt crept its chilly tentacles into his heart, into his brain.
"You don't have to just say that…" he began.
But before he could go on, she was in his arms again. Her mouth was on his, and he had lost himself amidst the warmth of her embrace. She moved aggressively, capturing his bottom lip between her own before sucking and teasing, again and again. Even as he felt his body respond to her, even without the aid of a prescription bottle, Sara did not move against him. Rather, she focused on their kisses, on the repeated exploration and domination of his mouth.
Somehow, they managed to make it from the starboard side of the boat into the cabin, each of them taking turns colliding with railings and hulls and inconvenient outcroppings. Grissom worried that they might be covered with bruises the next morning, but he could not stop to concern himself with such mundane worries when Sara pulled at him so insistently.
They ended up back in the too-small cabin together, the place where they fell asleep every evening and awoke every morning. But on this occasion, it seemed transformed by Sara's energy.
When at last she allowed him to take a breath, Grissom instinctively reached for the bottle of pills he kept tucked away, exactly for such occasions. But Sara intercepted his questing hands.
"We don't need that tonight," she assured him.
"We don't?" he asked, confused.
Sara shook her head. "No sex tonight, Gil," she told him with an expression of secret elation. "Just you and me. Kissing. Touching. Having some fun."
Before he could respond, she pulled him down to her and began stripping off his clothing half-heartedly. But she made sure to leave one button still buttoned on his shirt. She unzipped his pants but left them on him, as though abandoning the venture without regard for any finality to their evening.
Feeling both aroused and confused, Grissom tried to keep up with her. But she moved beneath his grasp as slithery as an eel. At one moment, his outreached hand found her clothed breast. In the next, her bare skin greeted him. But then it was gone. She was like a sprite, like a siren, tantalizing and exhausting with her sexuality and the strength of her song.
By the time she laid down in the bunk beside him, they were both drawn tight like strings, the need for release taught between them.
"Sara…" he murmured into her hair, the scent one more tantalizing detail of their evening.
"I don't want to have sex tonight," she explained quietly, her voice absorbed by the darkness. "I just want to feel the want of you."
Her words flowed over him, and he knew in an instant what she described. It reminded him of too many nights at crime scenes keeping his eyes to himself when all he wanted was to seek out her gaze. He thought of investigations where they had worked shoulder to shoulder, never quite touching, but also working together in lock-step. It was a dance, elusive and intense, and Grissom missed it like he missed the smell of the desert after an unexpected rain. He delighted in Sara's sudden spontaneity, but part of him had to wonder at what had prompted this change in her.
"You know…" he spoke softly in the darkness, "I would never begrudge you."
She was silent for so long that Grissom knew he needed to say more, to commit himself fully to the notion he intended to share.
"If you need more, Sara," he said with a sigh, "then I want you to have more. I want you to have everything-"
She stroked her hand over his pants, and Grissom groaned aloud at the sensation her hand elicited with so simple a movement. And before she could say more, he felt her reach into his undone trousers and grasp him with a firm but gentle hand.
Her name was on his lips, but he could not speak it. She held him suspended in time, in circumstance and feeling. He could barely draw breath as she surrounded him with sensation.
Then she was speaking into his ear, so gently that he trembled at the intensity of what she held back.
"I have everything," she told him. "I have everything because I have you. I could not want for more."
He felt her stroke up and down his length, his open trousers giving her easy access.
"I want the part of you that you are so eager to give. But I also want all the other parts you are so careful to keep hidden."
He froze at that observation, not sure what to make of it.
"I want the Gil Grissom who would love me from afar," she whispered into his ear, igniting memories from past days. "I want the part of you that wanted me before you even realized what that meant."
Grissom knew what she was talking about with perhaps more accuracy than she herself understood. She wanted him smitten and bemused with her, always wanting but never seeking. She wanted the man who had turned himself inside out to resist her allure.
Sara did not care about the difference in their ages. None of that had ever mattered to her. Instead, she wanted his embarrassed possessiveness and thoughtful words. She wanted a lover so attuned to her emotions that she did not need to express her needs more than once. She needed a protector and a confidant, a man utterly enraptured in her beauty, but someone who could be trusted to act with rationality.
Somehow, Grissom was that man in all respects.
"I always loved you, Sara," he whispered into the darkness, his fingers finding her bare skin again. She moved against him but did not pull away.
"I loved your intellect and your sense of humor," he went on, not caring how foolish he sounded. "Your passion…"
Her hand on him halted his words and with deliberate care, he pulled her fingers away from him, threading them between his own as he pressed his body against hers. They were still half dressed and in a state of messy arousal. But Grissom understood her need to continue that tension. He needed it too, the familiarity and comfort of bygone days when he fell asleep with Sara's image in his mind rather than her lithe body pressed against him.
Casually, he moved his hand to fondle her breast, and Sara drew in a sharp breath at the contact. She had removed her shirt and bra, he observed with pleasure, and for a long time, he simply delighted in exploration without a mind towards anything else.
While Sara's long legs were certainly her most enticing asset, her small breasts were perfectly symmetrical and perfectly balanced. One filled his hand, the bud of her nipple peaking hard into his palm at the contact. They were soft and sexy, begging to be devoured.
"I can't really blame him," Grissom muttered. "What man wouldn't want to do this?"
Not waiting for an answer, he took her entire areola into his mouth. Sara arched up into him, the movement as involuntary as the moan simultaneously wrenched from her throat. She tasted sweet and a bit salty from the ocean air, her own unique musk underlying everything after a day spent exploring the city.
"Gil…" She breathed out as he moved from one breast to give the same attention to the other. Her fingers tangled in his hair, softly kneading, and he had to smile.
His erection grew harder at that sound, but he paid it little attention. Tonight was not for sex. Sara had insisted on that point herself. So there was no concern about expectations or his performance. No, tonight was for touching and tasting, and he intended to get his fill of both.
"I don't want anyone else," Sara panted quietly. "Never have. Not since-"
He moved from her breast to her lips, catching her in a deep and soulful kiss amidst her recollection. He knew she was about to mention the day they met, and just the thought of her enamored with him from that long-ago conference filled him with a renewed awe of her. But it also reminded him of the years he had spent resisting her, worrying over whether he should risk his job for a chance with her.
In hindsight, he felt utterly foolish. But he also knew how incredibly lucky he was. Too many times, he had made poor decisions when it came to Sara. He had even divorced her, he reminded himself with a stab of guilt.
But she had always taken him back.
Again and again. Even when he hurt her. When he disappointed her. When he froze her out or denied her his innermost thoughts.
She still welcomed him back with open arms and a vulnerable smile. She still took him to her bed and let him know that he was her one and only. The love of her life.
Abruptly, he broke their kiss. An overwhelming need rushed through him to simply hold her. So he did. Fitting one arm beneath her neck, he enclosed her in the tight circle of his embrace.
Sara did not protest or resist the sudden abandonment of his amorous touches. Instead, she settled happily against him, letting the sexual buzz in her body gradually die away. There would be other days for seeking that, other days when she would insist on making love with her husband. But for now, she was content to simply be together.
"Good night, Sara," he said. The words were simple and perfunctory, but she sensed an entire lifetime of emotion in them.
"Good night, Gil."
fin