LKFICS.COM (Story)

Pouring
Things had become infinitely more complicated in the last hour. He’d never opened up to her like this, and she’d never felt so connected with him. G/S.
Rating: PG-13; Published on 07/24/2005 - Reviews 1

Chapters: - 1 -

A/N: Thanks ScullyAsTrinity for the beta.

Sitting in the parking lot of Sara's apartment complex, Grissom lingered a while in his car, letting the air conditioning soothe, wondering briefly how he got there.

He supposed it all started with the Reinhardt case from two weeks ago, a complex double homicide involving a family from Henderson. It was brutal, and it had annoyed him, got under his skin, and generally made him a bear to be around. The lab carried on, the peons there ignoring his attitude and often gruff exterior. The CSI's who worked for him directly bore the brunt of his grumpiness, but they all took it like pros, working diligently and avoiding personal interactions with him as much as they could.

Except for Sara. She worked diligently too, logging her overtime and struggling for a break in the case like the rest of them, but then she did something a little unorthodox. She…called him. Twice. After work. Grissom let voice mail pick up both times.

The third time she called, he answered, and his curtness set off one hell of an explosion.

He shook his head now, remembering the conversation. She'd started off calm enough, delving into odd questions like, "Do you consider me a friend? Because you sat on my couch once while I cried for an hour and babbled about my traumatic childhood and…"

He was baffled at the time, working to catch up to her line of thinking.

She'd grilled him and started hitting him with statements like, "I don't think you understand how this works. We're friends, and I don't really care if you sign my leave requests."

He remembered wanting to interrupt her and make up some lie that someone was at the door, but he couldn't get a word in edgewise.

"People care about you. Do you understand that? At all? It doesn't mean we want to know all your secrets, or we want to eat every meal together, or we're trying to get in your pants. We can just care. We can talk to you. I can talk to you. Why can't you let me be here for you?

"You're going ape-shit over this case, and you won't talk to anyone. Who are you talking to? It's not any of us. It's not Catherine. It's not Brass. Why can't I be someone that you talk to? I thought we were past all this. Are you worried I'm going to throw myself at you or something?"

"No!" He distinctly remembered setting her straight on that part.

The rest of the conversation was mostly a blur. She did it though, managed to worm her way right into his brain and got him to open up about what was bothering him. It was nothing tangible, nothing specific, and nothing serious by any means, just an overall disgust with the case—a mild disillusionment with forensics in general. He knew it would pass and he would get over it eventually. He always did.

They talked for over an hour about the case, the lying asshole boyfriend, the dead girlfriend, her dead son, the mysterious woman who seemed to know them all just a little too well, the social worker who had once been sent to investigate allegations of abuse, the lack of incriminating evidence supporting any logical theory.

It was the same old crap. Murder in Las Vegas. Sara listened to him complain about the monotony, the depressing fact that, regardless of his role, nothing ever changed in these cases. The dead were still dead, and the guilty were still guilty. Only the evidence changed, and he ran around like a robot, chasing it.

Grissom eloquently whined; Sara patiently listened.

And then, something unexpected happened. He felt better.

Grissom checked his watch in a panic. Relieved that he still had a good ten minutes, he found himself staring at Sara's building, remembering how the conversation turned a little strange, that night. They started talking about their friendship (since she had brought it up) and how utterly mangled it was. Comforting her through difficult times seemed like a natural thing to do, but—to Grissom, wanting her to reciprocate that comfort seemed…selfish. After all he'd put her through, it was difficult to admit how very much he wanted her friendship.

He did admit, though, that it made him sad, how thorny things had become between them. Then, perhaps because of the tender openness of the conversation, he admitted something else. He confessed that his interest in her seemed endless, with his attraction to her weighing heavily on him. He was conflicted, just talking with her like this. It seemed almost painful, to come this far and still face rejection. Yet at the same time, it was all so ambiguous. His mind reeled, and he had no idea where it was all leading.

"I don't want to take you for granted," he had said, cautiously pausing to gather his thoughts. "I don't even know if it's something you would consider…anymore."

Sara was surprisingly quiet and simply allowed him to stammer nervously. Truth be told, she was a little stunned. Of course she still had feelings for him, but she'd actually gotten used to the idea that nothing would ever happen between them. Caring about him was second nature. Being his friend was a blessing. Being more was suddenly laid before her on a platter, a frightening possibility, and her heart began to pound.

Flustered, tired, and feeling closer to her than he had in years, Grissom uttered a phrase that Sara never thought she'd hear him say. "Will you go out with me, Sara?"

The silence hung in the air, awkward, awful, and prolonged. Sara swallowed loud enough that she worried he heard it. God, it had been so long that she carried this torch. The longing for him had become such an intricate, familiar part of her, regardless of the fleeting pleasure or intense pain it caused. It wasn't as if she could ever say no, but—was it really as simple as just rolling over and saying yes? Things had become infinitely more complicated in the last hour. He'd never opened up to her like this, and she'd never felt so connected with him. It seemed so tenuous, so frail, this bond they shared.

"What does a guy like you do for a date?" she'd uttered in reply, landing it somewhere between a serious question and a flirtatious tease.

"No pressure, right?" he muttered back, his voice low and husky. He'd glanced at the folded newspaper on his coffee table, seeing an ad for the Las Vegas Botanical Garden's Concert in the Garden series. What the hell, he decided, feeling under the gun.

"Outdoor concert at the arboretum?"

"Huh..." Sara was intrigued and a little excited by his answer. Maybe they would be good as friends. Talking to Grissom always felt good. Maybe they would be even better as something more. "What kind of concert?"

He squinted and scanned the ad as quickly as he could. "Las Vegas Philharmonic." He winced, wondering if it was too stuffy an event for Sara.

"Hmm. Not bad." A pause, and then, "Does this include dinner?"

Something inside him began to relax, then. It wasn't quite disastrous. She was still on the phone. She hadn't said yes, but…she was still on the phone. He deserved to be strung along. He only hoped that she wasn't the type to play vengeful head games.

"Apparently it's a picnic sort of thing." Grissom read on.

"Are you sure about this?" she'd asked on a sigh, offering a very deliberate out. She was leery.

"I can picnic," he deadpanned.

"Grissom."

"It's a concert, Sara. What could happen?"

"Gil…a lot could happen," she reminded rather seriously.

He gave a grunt of acknowledgement, but gave nothing else in reply. He knew the ramifications better than anyone. They just weren't compelling enough, anymore. They couldn't compare to the feeling he had in the pit of his stomach just discussing the possibility of a date with her.

"Do you feel better? About work?" she'd asked suddenly, downshifting and momentarily throwing him. He smiled then, as he did now, sitting in his car.

"I feel a lot better," he replied honestly, and then he blurted without thought, "In fact, I think if you were here right now, I'd kiss you."

"Then I'm coming over!"

They shared a laugh, and she promised she was only kidding. Everything eased between them, like they'd finally hurdled the worst of it. It had to get easier from this point on. It would be enjoyable. He swore, in that moment, he would make enough of an effort to make it so.

"Sara,"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sure."

The next night at work, they didn't mention the phone conversation or their impending date, but Sara smiled at him more, and he liked that. He might have been smiling too, though that may have had more to do with the boyfriend's unexpected confession in the Reinhardt case. He knew work would improve eventually.

Now, three days later, he was here, at her apartment, about to embark on a major change in his life. He turned off the car and opened the door, making his way to her with a doggedness that was new to him. He would get used to it, he decided, lifting his hand to knock on her door.

When Sara opened the door, she smiled and gave him a surreptitious once-over, unaware he was doing the same thing to her. He looked exactly the same as work Grissom, wearing a blue polo shirt she'd seen a hundred times, paired with a pair of chinos that looked equally familiar.
Sara wore a purple sleeveless shirt and black Capri pants with a pair of slip on sandals. She'd wanted to wear shorts, but she worried it might make him uncomfortable—diving right into hello, here are my legs and this is very much a date, so she went with the capris, his uncertainties be damned. It was ninety-six degrees.

It was a humid night, which was rare for Las Vegas, and in the distance, dark, ominous clouds held the prospect of rain.

"Darn, it's crappy out," she commented with a curled upper lip as she walked with him to the car.

"It never rains in Vegas," he lied, unlocking the doors. "I'm not concerned."

Sara glanced in the backseat of his car. "But you brought an umbrella, just in case."

"I'm a practical kind of guy."

"I've noticed."

He did a double take, catching her smirk. Was that a dig? Did she find his overly cautious nature to be a turn off? His insecurities were running rampant, and he barely noticed that Sara had moved on, talking about the results of a tox screen from work the night before.

"I think we should try not to talk about work," he said, sounding much more authoritative than he intended.

"Okay." She seemed to visibly shrink as he continued driving, and he felt awful. God, he was screwing this up already.

"It's just that if we talk about the same things that we talk about at work, then…well, then nothing's different, right?"

Sara frowned, confused, and Grissom continued, "If this is a date, then I should be saying things like, ‘Cute pants, Sara', and you should be telling me I smell good."

Sara snorted a laugh. This was not at all what she expected. Not that she really had expectations.

"I haven't smelled you yet, so let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"The night is still young."

Leisurely, they made the trek from the parking lot of the Botanical Garden to the grassy seating area, he, carrying the folding chairs and a small cooler over his shoulder and she, occasionally swinging that umbrella as she walked. They passed a lot of people spread out on beach-type blankets, and Sara wished for a moment they had a blanket instead of chairs. It would have made for a more intimate evening.

They chose a spot and settled into their seats. She watched him deliberately turn his chair a little toward hers, and it comforted her, knowing he anticipated and most likely wished to talk to her, to look at her.

He handed her a vegetarian deli sandwich, and bit into a turkey-filled one of his own. They ate in companionable silence, watching the area fill up around them. People were pouring into the place now, despite the threat of rain. The occasional raindrop didn't bother Sara, but in the back of her mind she felt nervous. Rain would surely screw up this evening royally.

The sun began to set, and the orchestra took the stage as they finished eating. Sara kept her eyes focused on the musicians for the first few songs, even though they were seated at such a distance that she could only vaguely make out human forms. Grissom tried to watch the orchestra, but Sara proved to be much more interesting. He swore she looked bored. Was it possible she was bored? This probably wasn't her thing. He looked up at the sky for a moment, studying it intently. It was going to rain. He could smell it, and feel it and just overall sense it. This was going to be a disaster. Fucking weather.

Little twinkle lights came on along the flowerbed pathways, and they watched several couples around them sort of sink into one another as darkness fell. The air of romance was practically overwhelming, and they glanced at each other, feeling the sporadic spurt of cool rain on their skin. Sara gave him a nervous smile.

"It's going to rain," she said, still grinning.

"Story of my life," he grumbled.

The occasional raindrop chose that moment to multiply exponentially into a full-fledged downpour. They reached simultaneously for the umbrella, and both backed off without it, returning and retreating again until Sara laughed out loud. "Stop!"

She picked it up and quickly removed the cover. Then she extended the handle and pushed the mechanism, waiting for it to open, but it didn't. Meanwhile, of course, they were getting drenched.

He grabbed it from her hands, familiar with its temperamental release action, and gave it a good jiggle. Finally, they were protected from the onslaught of rain, though they were wet enough now to doubt the point. He scooted his chair against hers until the armrests kissed, leaving them in a new, intimate zone that took a few nervous seconds to get used to.

The concert continued as scheduled, as the stage was properly covered, but the scene around them was downright chaotic. It was practically amusing, watching people use umbrellas, programs, blankets, trash bags, paper plates—anything they could to keep from getting wet. Sara couldn't stop from giggling quietly.

"Maybe we should go," he began, meeting her eyes and looking rather dejected.

"No."

"Sara,"

"I'm not leaving." She shivered and squished her feet around in her sandals, taking the opportunity to lean even closer to him.

Grissom stiffened in his seat, feeling hot and wet and sticky. "This is awful."

"You're not leaving either."

He shook his head and decided this would fall into the good intentions category. He meant well. It could have been a nice, potentially even romantic evening. "We could be sitting in a restaurant right now. We should have gone to a movie. We probably could still catch one, if—"

"Would you stop it?" She felt so ridiculously giddy and wanted to just giggle at him. It was hard not to. This neurotic, nervous side to him was so…oddly adorable, but so…unexpected. He actually looked pissed at the sky.

"You're freezing," he complained softly, running a finger along her elbow. The goose bumps from the rain paled in comparison to the ones brought on by his touch.

"No, I'm not. I'm…" She lost herself in a burst of laughter, brushing against his shoulder lightly.

He watched her with a distinct look of bemusement. "What?"

"It's funny; you have to admit." She looked up into his eyes as the people next to them started packing up their things, arguing loudly over who forgot the umbrella in the car.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, returning her gaze, and Sara got annoyed. Enough was enough.

"For what? You didn't make it rain. I'm having a nice time."

"How could you possibly?"

The stupid man still didn't understand that she just wanted to be with him. Defeated, Sara shrugged and swiped the umbrella from his grip with her right hand, slipping her left hand into his empty palm.

"I just am," she answered quietly, relieved when he returned her soft squeeze. She didn't dare look at him. A new song played, and they just sat there through its entirety, adjusting to the moment. Another song began, and Grissom gave a brief biography of the composer, not that Sara was really listening. It was hard, with the distracting, deliberate caress of his fingers, the movements appearing casual and habitual, when in fact they were shocking and stimulating, sending continuous shivers up her spine.

Her grip tightened momentarily when the twinkle lights surrounding the arboretum went out, leaving them very much in the dark. Music filled the air again, and the laser show began. It was all so surreal, sitting there in such incredibly unusual circumstances. Here they were, holding hands in the pouring rain, huddling close together under an umbrella while the symphony's music accompanied a fantastic Technicolor display that lit up the sky before them.

She had a grin on her face the likes of which he'd never seen.

"Will you tell me if you want to leave?" he asked, still feeling like a first-class idiot, sitting in the rain with her.

"Yes, but I won't," Sara assured. Then she looked at him and asked worriedly, "Do you?"

"Want to leave?"

"Yeah."

"No." He swallowed hard and officially noticed how pretty she looked, all wet and soggy, curled up in her chair, leaning against him. Sara at work was always pretty, but there was a hardness to her, a seriousness. She was intelligent and busy. This was different. She looked soft and happy, very relaxed. Maybe she really was enjoying herself.

On impulse, he tipped his head and mumbled, "Come here."

Sara gave him a puzzled look, as if she misheard him, and leaned even closer. "What?"

"I said come here," he said softly in her ear, dropping a light kiss on her cheek.

She didn't budge, but she shuddered contentedly—so he did it again, this time further down her cheek. There was something so deceptively private about being under that umbrella together, being wet and cool, closer than they'd ever been, breathing each other's air. No one was paying attention to them.

Their eyes were locked, in this small world of their own, and they just kept inching closer—a shy hint of a smile, the brush of skin against skin, his nose on her cheek, her lips skimming his bearded jaw. He didn't mean for it to be the slowest, most delayed kiss in the history of the world. Clearly, the rain kick-started some kind of time warp. The second his lips descended on hers, he lost track of everything else in existence. Her soft gasps barely even registered. A mouth like Sara's could make you forget how to kiss, and there he was, lower lip hanging open—lazily brushing against hers as he stared into her heavy-lidded eyes like a stunned teenager.

Just as affected, Sara relied greatly on instincts, nibbling at his lips with a soft tentativeness that only further fueled the heat between them. Another long moment of faltering, and then it was going, that wonderful rhythm of true kissing, true exploration. His tongue worked her mouth open further, and Sara purred into him.

They kept kissing while the symphony commenced playing some Russian piece that was vaguely familiar. The laser show was long forgotten. The newness of this intimacy overtook them, and they exchanged tender, meaningful gazes. It was a perfect moment, and something neither of them expected in this evening of small disasters.

Grissom reached up and touched her face, and Sara started and dropped the umbrella, making him laugh out loud. It fell behind their chairs, and the pouring rain pelted them immediately.

"Sorry!"

"My fault," he answered, reaching back and raising it above them again.

"Yes, it was your fault. I can chew gum and talk, but kissing you while holding an umbrella is apparently not as easy as it looks," she mumbled, blushing and avoiding his eyes.

She looked embarrassed and nervous, and for some reason, it made his confidence soar. "Maybe I should hold the umbrella."

She smacked playfully at him, and they watched some more of the laser show, choosing to ignore the fact that they'd just made out. It was oddly comfortable, until Grissom shifted in his seat and pulled out his pager that had begun to vibrate.

"Damn it," he mumbled under his breath.

"What?" Sara was oblivious, until she saw what he was holding. "Oh."

His sigh was long and dismal, and Sara actually rolled her eyes. As if something like this would surprise her. "It's no big deal."

It vibrated again in his hand, this time with more details from Brass. "Huh. It's a double homicide," Grissom said. "Just off the strip."

She was already silently thinking that he'd need help.

"You know, this is what it'll be like," he muttered, and it sounded like he was giving her an out.

Sara only stared at him. "You know, we've met, before. I'm vaguely aware of what you do for a living." He nodded blankly and took her hand again. He wasn't moving to leave, and it puzzled her.

"You know, the other night, on the phone," he began, keeping his eyes focused on the symphony.

"Yeah?"

"That was rare for me. I don't really talk to people."

"I've noticed," she whispered, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. He was quiet after that, and she still wondered why they weren't leaving. "That's okay, you know," she blurted, essentially thinking out loud. "I mean, that's who you are."

She listened to the rain hit their umbrella and wondered if it was going to let up anytime soon. Why wasn't he saying anything? Instinctively, she babbled, "But it's nice to know that…if you want to, you can talk to me, right?" This was awful. He was obviously conflicted, and her incessant yacking probably wasn't helping.

Sara looked away and fought a laugh as the band struck up "Singing in the Rain." This was truly one of the goofiest dates she'd ever been on.

"Sara,"

"Hm?" She turned, shyly looking in his eyes.

"I like talking to you."

"Good." When she smiled, he leaned over and kissed her again.

"We need to go," he said breathlessly when they stopped. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," she promised, slinking out of her chair to collect their things. He held the umbrella over them and picked up the cooler.

"Maybe we can do this again sometime," he said on the way to the car. He sounded unsure of himself, and Sara couldn't help but find it amusing. "But next time we'll go to a restaurant," he added, looking up at the stormy sky with stern loathing.

THE END.

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