"Nocturne"

by faketreefinger

Frederic Chopin's Nocturne in E-Minor echoed quietly throughout Gil Grissom's dim and calm rooms. The shades were drawn, a solitary candle and the soft light from a lamp being the only illumination that barely washed over him as he lay on the sofa. Thus Spoke Zarathustra was propped on his chest. His eyes skimmed over the pages with slight interest, his attention being held mainly by the glass of Scotch in his right hand.

After a long, heavy sigh, he closed the book and left it atop his chest, swirling the Scotch around with his right hand. The ice jingled against the glass sending him into a sort of trance. He needed sleep, though it was not coming to him as easily as he had hoped. He had tried everything. Dimming the lights, playing soothing music, reading, drinking. Nothing could calm his nerves and his mind enough to allow rest. His exhaustion was overwhelming and he feared if he did not rest soon, he would get sick. Possibly a migraine. All he wanted was sleep.

The events surrounding Nick's abduction had sapped so much from him. He had felt things he didn't know he could feel and thought things he didn't know he was capable of thinking with truth and honesty and deliberation. It had quite plainly exhausted him and he could try no harder to keep from analyzing himself.

He needed nice thoughts to wash away the horrible ones that were flowing through his mind. He needed a distraction, but none of his usual diversions were doing the trick and he was not surprised. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so dreadful and drained.

Yes, he needed nice thoughts so he could just sleep.

Grissom removed his glasses and lifted the tumbler to his forehead, pressing the cold against his skin. A long moment passed as he lay there with his eyes shut and he almost reached up to turn the lamp off when a soft knock was heard at his front door. His eyebrows came together in confusion and he set the book and glass on the coffee table to head towards the door. The knock came again as he looked through the peephole. It was Sara standing outside his townhouse, kicking the imaginary dirt at her feet, looking completely awkward and confused herself.

He stood back from the door and bit his lip. He tried to ignore the way his heart leapt in his chest. In fact, his almost natural instinct was to run to the furthest spot from the door and hide there until she left, but he knew he couldn't do that. He needed to answer. She knew he was there anyway.

But why didn't she call first, he wondered.

He looked through the peephole again and saw her let out a sigh and turn. His heart leapt again as he quickly unlocked the door and threw it open in a slightly desperate manner. She turned abruptly, her eyes wide.

"You're home," she said simply.

"Yeah." Grissom felt his eyes involuntarily avert from hers and to the pavement. When he became conscious of it, he adjusted his gaze to meet hers. The night wind blew her brown, slightly wavy locks in her eyes and she tucked it behind her ear.

After a long silence, she looked to the side then back at him awkwardly. "Can I… come in… or?"

"Oh! Yes. Of course!" He responded quickly, feeling quite foolish.

Sara only smiled crookedly and walked past him through the doorway. He cleared his throat and ran his hand through his hair, then down through his beard. The door clicked shut and Sara turned to him, the smile still sitting sideways on her face.

"You were probably sleeping. I should have called." It was said simply and calmly, but there was no trace of regret. Grissom appreciated this, attributing it to a certain bravery he would never have.

He shrugged. "I wish I could sleep," he said honestly then quickly asked, "Can I take your coat?"

Sara nodded and shrugged out of her coat. She handed it to his outreached hand.

"It's dark in here," Sara commented idly, "Do you always keep it so dark?"

"Not really, no," answered, taking the coat over to a hook by the door, flipping a switch that illuminated the large foyer. "Better?"

She said nothing, but let a long pause follow his question. Her head tilted as she took in his slightly uncomfortable expression.

"You are wondering what I'm doing here," She finally said with a sort of conclusiveness. It wasn't a question. She realized that it was inevitable that he would ask somehow, some way or another. He only hoped he would phrase it in a way that didn't make her feel unwanted.

He wasn't sure he could do it so he declared to himself that he wouldn't actually ask what she was doing at his house. He would just… let her tell him.

Grissom frowned and once again a pregnant pause followed. He moved closer to her, his hands in the pockets of his worn blue jeans, and pursed his lips. "Well… I suppose your being here is a little out of the ordinary."

Sara nodded.

"But you aren't unwelcome, Sara," He added, quite proud of himself for maintaining the composure that was so likely to crumble in her presence, especially when he was alone with her.

Truthfully, she wasn't unwelcome. He rather enjoyed her presence or… he used to. She used to be easy to talk to and to joke with and to work with. That was long before he realized his feelings ran much deeper for her than a friend. Once he realized how deeply he felt for Sara, it became quite a chore to be around her. But he still could not deny how wonderful it felt to be in the presence of someone you cared about so strongly. It was invigorating underneath it all. It made him feel like he wasn't the unfeeling robot everyone thought him to be.

That he was, after all, capable of loving a woman.

Whether he could allow that love to be returned, whether he could necessarily give it the way it was deserved to be given was, altogether, another matter.

Grissom moved past her and into the kitchen. "Can I get you something to drink?"

After a moment, she spun around, confusion set in her expressions. "Aren't you going to ask what I'm doing here?"

He opened the refrigerator and dipped his head in. "I have water, orange juice, grapefruit juice, milk…" he pulled the carton of milk from the refrigerator and smelled it with disgust. "Well,I wouldn't drink the milk…" Looking back up at her, he noticed her amusement and lifted his eyebrows in question, suppressing a grin himself.

She moved closer and looked up at the wine rack above the refrigerator.She let a moment pass as he followed her gaze. He almost pretended not to notice that she wanted the alcohol. Though he had been drinking himself, he didn't know how he felt about drinking with Sara. There really was no way to say no without sounding authoritative though. And for whatever reason she was here… authority was the last thing Sara Sidle was looking for. He knew that much about her. Still, there was a concern about her travel arrangements and there was no way he would allow her to drive even after only one glass of wine.

He looked at her wearily, his eyes narrowing, and she seemed to know what he was thinking because she rolled her eyes with a slight grin and said, "I'll call a cab. I'm not trying to get tanked here, anyway. Just a few glasses."

He sighed and nodded.

"Wine it is," he said, reaching up to grab a bottle of Merlot. "How is this?" He showed her the bottle and she nodded, amusement still etched in the lines of her face.

"Seriously, Griss…" she started and then trailed off.

Grissom looked up from pouring the wine in the glasses. "Seriously, what?"

She accepted the glass from him and took a small sip. Their gazes held as they both swallowed. After a moment, Sara said, "I guess I was just out driving around trying to clear my head and I drove by and remembered you live here. Something told me to stop."

"I see."

"I mean, I would have called, but I guess I figured… it's weird either way," she said with an uneasy laugh, shrugging and taking another sip of her wine.

Grissom watched her, aware of how uncomfortable it may make her. But he couldn't resist. She leaned against the counter and tucked her left arm underneath her right arm as she held the glass close to her lips. Her eyes roamed the room, taking in her surroundings, and Grissom's eyes took the chance to look over her body. Her beautifully long legs were clad in somewhat dark blue jeans that looked brand new. She was wearing a plain black long-sleeve shirt that made her look even thinner than she already was. Circles underneath her eyes revealed that she hadn't slept much, if at all, since leaving the hospital where Nick was taken. She probably hadn't eaten much either. Grissom smiled slightly, his heart feeling overwhelmed with the notion that she should be taken care of. But he brushed it back and moved towards the living room.

"Let's have a seat," he said, directing her to the sitting area. He tried to keep his tone light and hoped he was succeeding. She hadn't indicated that she needed him to talk to her the way he would as her boss. Perhaps she needed advice on something, but he couldn't imagine Sara coming to him this way if all she needed was advice from her boss. No, she needed a friend.

But would she dare ask for more? He pondered. He couldn't imagine that, either. Well, he could imagine it all he wanted but he had long since decided that if he ever wanted to pursue things with Sara Sidle, it would have to be him doing the pursuing. She had given him chances. He had rebuffed her.

He was now battling with the idea that he may regret that after all, but he was far too afraid to find out if it really was too late.

As they sat in the living room, Prelude in E-Minor now reverberating throughout the room, Grissom noticed that Sara seemed distracted. He began to worry about her and then himself. It occurred to him that she wanted to talk, surely, but it was probably something that wasn't quite so easy to bring up.

Which meant it was most likely the one thing he didn't want to discuss: their dysfunctional relationship and what it meant and how it should be handled.

But, he decided, if that was what she was there to do, little could be done about it now. So, he pushed forward hoping to fill the silence. "Did you… want to discuss something?" he asked as casually as possible and took a long gulp of his wine.

She looked up at him with tired eyes. "I don't know, not really." She shrugged with clear indifference to the idea of "discussing" and took a sip of her wine too.

After a moment, when it was clear that Sara meant what she said, Grissom was surprised to find that he was actually disappointed that Sara didn't want to discuss their relationship. He certainly hadn't the courage to bring it up and truthfully, he wanted to discuss "them" because then perhaps he could gauge if he still had a chance to make things right.

"I guess I just needed some company, Grissom. And for some strange reason I found my way to you," she said with a sort of detachment from the situation. Somehow, it sounded like an unintentional insult.

If Grissom hadn't agreed that he was an unlikely candidate for "company," he may have been a bit slighted by the remark.

"Well," he said after a moment, "I'm glad you're here for what it's worth."

Her eyes, which had been fixated on the rug beneath her feet, glanced up at his and they locked for a long moment. A single eyebrow rose in interest and the corner of her mouth turned upward. Grissom suddenly felt uncomfortable, realizing that what he said may have been quite revealing. His jaw clenched, his heartbeat palpitated. He cleared his throat and heard a small chuckle come from Sara.

She picked up the book from the coffee table and looked at the binding. "A little light reading?" she asked with a raise of her eyebrow in curiosity.

He shrugged. "It was the first thing I picked off of the shelf."

She nodded. "I was at home, trying to read myself, but I couldn't…" she threw her hand up lightly in a sort of frustration, as if she was trying to pull a word from the air around her, "…focus. And all I wanted to do was sleep." She shrugged. "But I couldn't do that either."

"I know what you mean."

She put the book down and poured herself another glass from the bottle Grissom had brought from the kitchen. He watched her pour, her slender fingers grasping the bottle in an elegant manner. He was used to paying attention to those kinds of things about her. It was hardly his style to gawk at a woman and it was difficult not to stare at Sara when he was alone with her, so he tended to pay close attention to the little things she did. He wondered if this would offend her.

Grissom reached his glass across the coffee table in a silent manner for her to pour him more as well. She did, slowly, and he thanked her quietly, and then leaned back in the chair. She did the same on the couch and they sat in an uncharacteristically comfortable silence for a while.

Finally, Sara sighed and poured herself another glass. "It could have happened to any one of us," she said quietly. "I wonder why it happened to Nick."

Grissom had been wondering the same thing and hardly wanted to flesh out his thoughts and feelings on what happened to the young CSI. He found it depressing and limitless.

But, he found himself talking, knowing that Sara was there to listen. "I wonder, myself, what it's all about. Quite often." He took a sip or a gulp rather, of his wine and looked to the stereo as the tracks continued changing. He noticed the song to be Mozart's Violin Concerto No. 3 and resisted turning it off, its melodies at odds with the morose mood of the conversation.

"I mean," started, looking him straight in the face, "Any one of us. You, me, Warrick, Greg, Catherine. Any of us. And evil chose Nick that night."

Grissom knew not what to say to this. It seemed to be a concept Sara couldn't grasp and he would be no help in the matter. Her eyes dropped to the floor again and she sipped her wine.

"I just… I don't know," came her defeated, quiet voice from across the table.

"Sara," Grissom started, but had nothing to say. Instead, he rose and rounded the table to sit next to her on the couch. He sat closer than he thought he would, their legs practically touching. Both of them leaned over, their elbows propped on their thighs, eyes locked on the floor.

"I hope he's going to be okay," she said, looking over at him with a sad smile.

"He will."

She nodded and picked up the book again. A moment passed and she asked, "So… do you believe in the whole eternal recurrence thing?"

He hadn't read the book in quite some time, but he remembered studying Nietzsche and recalled the theme of eternal recurrence. That any event that happened would ultimately happen again as the universe occurred in the exact same manner an unfathomable number of times.

Not really something to be discussed at the moment and he smiled at the absurdity of such a philosophical discussion.

"I don't know," he said with a small smile and he gently took the book from her hands, flipping through the pages absently. "It isn't something I have given much thought."

He looked up at her, still smiling in spite of himself and they locked eyes once again. She looked a bit inebriated and very tired.

She gave him a toothy grin. "Probably isn't the best time to think about it either, huh?" She sounded a bit inebriated and Grissom bit the inside of his mouth, unsure of what to do. He had to admit to himself though, she looked rather adorable.

He chuckled. "Probably not."

"Yeah. I'm too tired for philosophy."

They looked at one another, both smiling faintly, and Sara's eyebrows came together as if in thought.

"Your eyes are a very pretty color," she said quietly, surprising Grissom. He must have shown his surprise because she let out a short laugh. "Very tranquil."

"So are yours," he responded in a low tone. Surprising himself. He slid his hands back and forth against one another and laced his fingers together. "I think."

"Thank you."

Another moment passed as they looked at one another curiously. Grissom thought he must have been slightly drunk himself to allow such a moment to occur, but he knew he wasn't and therefore he must have wanted such a moment to occur without fully realizing it himself.

Sara was biting her lip as Edvard Grieg's Notturno played faintly in the background and Grissom saw no reason to change the track or his proximity to Sara. He was even aware of her moving towards him and was even more attentive when her lips locked with his. For a moment, the kiss was still, as if they were moving in slow motion. Then, Sara's mouth opened slightly and her lips slid wetly against his. It was a blissful moment for Grissom, to be completely lost in another person. He couldn't remember the last time this had happened for him. And he didn't remember ever feeling such warmth. He was overcome with vitality and he his tongue slipped past her lips and his hand came to rest on the side of her face. The taste of the wine in her mouth alarmed him and he pulled back, inches from her face.

He watched her swallow nervously. He kept his hand on the side of her face and took a much needed breath then breathed out of his nose. She said nothing, but her eyes showed no apology to Grissom's relief. He moved his hand down.

"I don't want to do this while you're drunk," he finally said despondently, making sure to look her straight in the eyes.

She sighed and leaned over to put her wine glass on the table. "You don't want to do this at all," she responded, looking back at him with a strange smile. It was said lightly as if she had expected such a thing to occur in the first place. She sat back, still smiling and Grissom pursed his lips.

"Actually, I do," he said simply, then lowered his voice and said again, "I do."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Oh?"

"I, uh," Grissom cleared his throat and felt hisexhaustion overcome him again. Still, hesat back from her a bit to gain some composure. Quietly, he said, "I feel very deeply for you, Sara." His eyes narrowed on hers to gauge her reaction.

Sara's mouth opened a bit as if she was struggling to form a response. Her face showed a mix of delight and confusion.

"And if this is going to happen," he pushed on, "I would like it if you were fully aware…"

She smiled at him lovingly at he swore her eyes lit up. She seemed to sober a bit at his words and she said, "I'm not that drunk, Griss."

He nodded. "Still, you're very tired. As am I."

She nodded back and looked down at her hands. She was still smiling, her face calm and understanding. "Right."

"Why don't you crash here?" he asked.

She looked up.

"You can take my bed. I'll take the couch."

Her eyebrows rose and doubt flashed in her eyes. "I don't—"

He cut her off. "Or you can take the couch if you would prefer." She didn't answer, but he insisted anyway so he got up and headed towards the linen closet. "I'll get you some blankets."

As he walked away, Sara stopped him. "Grissom…"

He turned around and looked at her in question.

"About what just happened..." she looked down and smiled, seemingly unsure of what she wanted to say.

"Don't apologize," he heard himself say, though he could have sworn he was only saying it in his head. He meant it; he didn't want that moment to be rationalized or taken from either of them. It had been everything he didn't know that he needed.

"No. No, I wasn't going to apologize."

"Oh, good." He let out a silent sigh of relief.

"I'm not sorry."

A short moment passed and he said quietly, "Neither am I."

Sara smiled crookedly, almost seductively, and added. "I was going to say that it was very… nice."

He would argue that "nice" is usually a very boring adjective, but the way it rolled off of her tongue made his heart beat faster for a moment.

It was nice, he thought to himself.

He grinned and shared eye contact with her for another moment, then turned towards the linen closet once again.

When he returned to the living room, blankets and a pillow in hand, he found Sara already lying down across the cushions of his sofa and he was thankful that he had recently purchased something much more comfortable than what he used to have. She was on her side, facing out. He had never seen her in slumber like this before and his heart was inundated with affection as he watched her breathe in and out. Her expressions were relaxed and careless. He spread the blanket out over her long form and propped her head to place the pillow underneath her brown locks. Moving the hair from out of her eyes, he bent down to kiss her forehead lovingly. When he looked down at her, a small smile appeared on her lips.

Chopin's Nocturne in E-Minor filled the silence of the room once again and he chose to keep it playing. He smiled himself, turned off the lights, and navigated towards his bedroom, fully confident that he could sleep now.

It was nice. It was precisely what he needed.