See disclaimer in Chapter 1. Chapter 12, Confessions. Vplasgirl

Chapter 12 - Confessions

Sara's unexpected anger and withdrawal staggered Gil. Astonished, he stared after her as she stormed into the house, wondering what sin he had committed this time. Himself rarely quick to anger, it was nevertheless what propelled him inside after her, to the kitchen where he found her dumping a tray of ice cubes on a tea towel. Gil watched as she twisted the towel around her fist and pressed it to her cheek. Her movements were brisk, her jaw was clenched, her nostrils were flaring, and she seemed oblivious to his presence just inside the door.

Either that or she was ignoring him.

Her reaction to being assaulted was understandable, to be expected even, but not to his simple offer of comfort. She recoiled from him as though he were the sort of man who would lay a hand on a woman in anger.

She knew better.

Gil expelled a breath, a deep sigh filled with bemusement, and she looked up, her eyes for a moment naked, betraying a deep sorrow, deeper than he had expected. Overwhelming tenderness suddenly expanded his chest until he could barely breathe. Without hesitation, he crossed the room to her. "Sara—"

"Don't," she said, taking a step back.

"I just want to help, honey."

"I don't need your help. And I told you not to call me that."

His teeth clenched, but he forced himself to remain calm. Unthreatening. In a low voice, he said, "Okay. I don't know how to make this better, but I would never hurt you, you have to know that much."

"Do I?" A storm brewed in her eyes. "You think you're better than men like Patrick? You think I've forgotten how you used to play me?"

"Excuse me?"

"For years you used my little crush on you to control me. Look at me, Sara. Flatter my ego, Sara. But don't dare get too close, right Grissom? Don't ever expect anything back."

"That's not—"

"You were so afraid to lose all that adoration that you tried to stop me from leaving that last night in Vegas, didn't you? I wondered how far you'd go to make me stay. I didn't have to wonder long."

"That's what you think? What you've been thinking all this time?"

"The only downside to taking off before you woke up was that I couldn't see your face when you realized I didn't give a damn about you anymore."

Gil flinched and an eerie silence descended between them. They stared at each other through the calm after the storm. It was difficult to remember that Sara's outburst was motivated by adrenaline and her anger towards Armstrong when her words had just ripped open an old, but still very tender wound, a hurt that time had not managed to completely soothe. At least everything was clearer now. Why she left all those years ago, ignored his emails, made herself unreachable.

Finally, Gil could see beyond the bruised look around Sara's eyes and the evidence of Armstrong's angry hand swelling on her cheek, to the ravages of careless people underneath the surface of the pretty face and beautiful smile she presented to the world. And he recognized his own hand in her devastation.

Sara was right. Not about that last night in Vegas, at least not entirely, but about everything else. He had encouraged her infatuation for years knowing that he wouldn't reciprocate. He hadn't seen a way to make a serious relationship co-exist with the demands of the career that had chosen him. He hadn't even tried until it was much too late, choosing instead to sacrifice a life with her to focus on his vocation, and hurting them both in the process.

Hurting her.

"Sara…" He reached for her and she jerked back so violently that the makeshift icepack flew from her hand and the ice cubes went scattering across the floor. The noise seemed to jolt her, and she looked up, her eyes growing wide, her expression turning to horror.

"Oh God." Sara covered her mouth with her fist and her eyes filled with tears. And then, on a sob, she suddenly pushed past him and fled to her room.

XXXXX

GIL FOUND HER sitting in the faint light of her private patio. A more cautious man would have turned tail and hidden until she had cooled off. But this was Sara, and she was hurting, and he was done protecting himself from her. He had a lot of amends to make and he would start by not denying her his love anymore. Not even if she didn't want or need it.

It was that love that made him step outside where she was seated, curled up in a ball, her face hidden in her arms resting on her knees.

Gil knew the moment she sensed him there. Her back stiffened and she surreptitiously dried her cheeks with the back of her hand. He gave her a moment to compose herself before quietly approaching her.

From beneath her thick lashes, Sara raised her eyes to look at him, her gaze barely touching his before skittering away. Her lips curled into a rueful smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said in there."

"It's okay," Gil replied. "I, uh…" He cleared his throat and drew her attention to the icepack he had put back together, "…thought you might need this."

"Thank you," she said, but instead of taking it from him, she scooted over, making room for him on the chaise.

Gil sat down and pressed the cold compress to her cheek, and then drew back swiftly when she flinched. "Sorry."

Sara shook her head, covered his hand with hers and brought the pack back to her cheek; with her hand still over his, she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. Gil studied her face, took in the weariness around her eyes, the slack, resigned look around her lips. Earlier, he had wanted to murder the man who had done this to her. But now, he was humbled by the painful reminder of his own behavior towards her in the past.

He cradled her good cheek in his free hand and gently stroked the skin over her cheekbone with his thumb. Sara slowly opened her eyes, her gaze catching his, and the sensation of being barely able to breathe was back.

"I should have recognized the signs," she said.

"Well, men like Armstrong can be very charming."

"You knew."

"He showed me his Jekyll."

To Gil's delight, her eyes sparked with a flash of humor.

"He was jealous of you, you know."

"Hmm. We had that in common," he heard himself say, shocked by his candor. Sara's eyes widened and he quickly steered the conversation in a more comfortable direction. "I can't help feeling responsible for what he did to you. I provoked him earlier—"

"Don't Gil. Anything could have set him off, if not tonight, then tomorrow or next week. I'm glad you were here when it happened. Thank you."

The urge to kiss her then was overwhelming. In fact, his needs ran much deeper than a simple kiss, but he intuitively held them back. And then, Sara started speaking again, distracting him from everything but what she needed most from him at the moment: a friend.

"I always knew when my dad and mom were about to go at it. She was sick and unpredictable, but he… he was just nasty. I was so attuned to his moods that most of the time I knew before it happened that it was going to be one of those nights. He'd come home in a foul temper and wait for an excuse to start picking on her. The littlest thing would set him off." Sara sighed. "I wouldn't stick around for it," she said with a hint of regret in her voice suggesting residual feelings of shame. "I'd go for a long walk on the beach, or lock myself in my room. It was too awful to watch…but I always saw the results. The bruises, the bleeding; my mom cried a lot. And he'd be apologizing, cuddling her, pretending like he hadn't been a monster, and he'd always blame her for setting him off." Sara gave Gil a pointed look. "Your typical abuser. The last time it happened, the night she—killed him—I was distracted, I guess, and didn't pick up on his mood. I got in the way and he slapped me so hard that he cut my lip open. That was it for my mom. She became somebody I'd never seen before. Somebody mad enough and strong enough to stop him." Sara visibly shuddered. "You know the rest of the story."

Gil nodded and said nothing. Nothing he could say would ever make these memories less painful for her, or erase the marks of that childhood, which still lurked in the corners of her lovely face.

Sara gently removed his hand and the icepack from her cheek. "I'm cold," she said. "I think I'll turn in."

It was a warm, balmy July evening. Gil knew that her shivers were a reaction to the night's traumatic events, and he wished he could wrap her in his arms, keep her warm and safe. More than anything, he wished her to know that she was safe with him. It was said that actions spoke louder than words; well, he had a few weeks to prove to her that he would cherish her forever if she gave him another chance.

For now, he rose from the chaise and gave her a hand up. "You should take a nice hot bath before bed. I'll lock up and turn in myself."

Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. "You're a good man," she said in a tight voice. "I'm so sorry…you didn't deserve what I said."

"I deserved some of it." Sara looked at him curiously. "You were right about some things, though not about my reasons for coming to see you on your last night in Vegas. Well, not entirely. But I do realize that I hurt you, and that was not my intention."

"It's all water under the bridge now anyway."

"Is it?"

Sara sighed. "I don't know. It should be."

"What's the statute of limitations on apologies?"

"Six years, one month, and twenty-five days?"

Gil smiled. "Good, then I'm not too late." He turned her hand in his and laid the icepack in it. "If you need anything, you know where to find me."

Sara gave him a soft smile. "Thanks."

"Goodnight, my dear."

XXXXX

SARA DIDN'T KNOW why she hadn't told Gil that her private quarters didn't have the luxury of a bath. She had tucked a toilet, a pedestal sink and a shower into a very small space off her bedroom, and there hadn't been enough square footage for a tub. Not that she was fond of baths anyway when showers were much more efficient.

But tonight, she would have welcomed one.

Sara turned on the shower and undressed while waiting for the water to warm to the desired temperature. She dropped all her clothes in the hamper wedged between the toilet and the shower, and quickly reached for the soft terrycloth robe hanging on the back of the door.

Despite the steam that was now filling the tiny bathroom, she was still shivering. Shock, she mused as she wiped the steam off the mirror with her sleeve and leaned in to closely examine the swelling under her right eye. She would have a nasty bruise in the morning, one that would be difficult to explain to her guests.

A long time ago, Sara had promised herself that no man would ever lay a hand on her again. She had even prided herself in her ability to spot an abuser a mile away. So how could she miss the signs with Patrick? Gil hadn't.

Gil. As long as she lived, she would never forget the hurt look in his eyes when she served him a good helping of misplaced anger. With her sanity finally restored, she could admit that he was no more responsible for the pain she had suffered as a result of loving him all those years ago, than he was responsible for not being capable of loving her back. Until her last night in Vegas, Gil had never behaved in any way to encourage her feelings for him.

And by then, it had been too late anyway.

God, what he must think of her now. That she was a nutcase? The apple that hadn't fallen far enough from the tree? The feeling of shame that came over her as she recalled what she had said to him in the kitchen earlier was near unbearable. Somehow she had to make amends and the thought of him going to sleep thinking that she was insane lent urgency to the matter. Without thought for the consequences of her actions, or for that matter, her true motives, Sara turned off the shower, slipped into the soft-soled sandals she often wore around the house, and left her room.

It wasn't until she was standing at Gil's door in her robe that she realized how fortunate she was not to have run into anyone on the way up.

Gil opened the door. She didn't know what to make of his expression, only that she felt anything but unwelcome. He didn't look surprised to see her exactly—after all, who else would be knocking on his door at that time of night?—still, he seemed at a loss for words. Not an unsual condition for him.

"May I come in?"

"Sure," he said, talking a step back.

"I, um, don't have a bath. Not enough space for one in my room," Sara explained quickly. "My bathroom only has a shower."

"Oh." Oh. Gil closed the door and motioned her in.

"I happen to have a soaking tub," he said, his eyes level with her hips as he climbed the stairs behind her. "I hear it's quite comfortable."

Sara glanced back at him, smiling. "I heard the same thing."

By the time they reached the top of the stairs, Gil was questioning whether she really had come for a bath or if it was code for something else. Something he very much wanted. The answer, if he knew it, would dictate his next move. What he didn't want was to make the wrong assumption and end up looking like a fool.

Sara looked around the room, her eyes falling to the laptop on his desk. "I hope, uh… Is this okay? I mean if you're busy…"

Her uncertainty and the hesitation in her voice settled the question for Gil. It was usually better to err on the side of caution anyway. "No. It's fine," he said, and then added in jest, "Make yourself at home while I run your bath."

"I can do it," she said, but Gil was already at the bathroom door.

He glanced back at her. "I know, but let me."

In the bathroom, he turned on the faucets then took in the array of bath products and the three fat candles on a glass shelf that ran the full length of the tub. He had never really paid attention to them before, but now noticed that there were several fragrances ranging from light herbals to a more potent, Eucalyptus foam bath.

He uncapped several bottles and inhaled the scent before settling on jasmine. As he poured a capful of the liquid under the running water, he sensed Sara watching him, and looked up to find her leaning against the doorjamb, studying him with eyes so dark, yet gentle, that it made him catch his breath.

Softly, he asked, "Jasmine okay for you?"

She nodded.

"I've got a bottle of wine on the top shelf in the closet…if you want, it might help you relax."

"I'm fine," she said.

"Okay. It might help me relax."

Sara smiled at that and turned back into the room to fetch the wine.

As the bath filled with bubbles, Gil lit the three candles and spaced two of them on the shelf at either end of the tub. The third one, he placed on the vanity. Next, he dimmed the lights, so that when Sara returned with the wine, the room was bathed in candlelight.

"Nice," she said.

"Almost ready," he replied, turning off the faucets. He took the wine glasses from her and set them down on the edge of the tub, not missing the flicker of panic in her eyes as she glanced first, at the glasses, and then at him. "I'll be out of your hair soon," he said reassuringly as he laid a thick bath towel and facecloth next to the glasses. There was only one thing missing to achieve the mood he was aiming for. "Don't go anywhere," he told her. "I'll be right back."

There was a radio-CD player and several compact discs in his desk. He chose an album of soft instrumental music that Sara must have selected for this very purpose and quickly returned to the bathroom only to stop short, his heart landing a sharp kick in his chest, as his eyes fell on the peach robe in a heap on the floor. Sara was lying back in the tub, her eyes closed; her hair spread over the edge, making an arousing picture despite the fact that she was covered up to her neck in bubbles. They were no impediment to Gil's imagination.

He cleared his throat and Sara's eyes blinked open.

"I, uh, thought music would help you relax."

She gave him a lazy smile. "Thanks."

Gil's hands shook as he plugged in the CD player and added the disk. The soothing strings of a classical guitar were soon filling the room.

"I was doing really good," Sara said in tones so soft he wondered whether she had meant for him to hear. "Before you came here," she specified. "I was finally happy."

"My being here is making you unhappy?"

She gave her head a quick shake. "That's not what I mean. It's just, you make me...feel, and I'm not handling it very well."

"Feel what, Sara?" he asked softly.

"Just feel. After my brother died—"

"Your brother died?"

"Yes, in a motorcycle accident a couple of years ago. He was all the family I had left, and when he died, I think I decided I'd had enough emotional pain in my life, and for a long time, I was really okay not feeling anything anymore. And then you showed up and that changed. All these confusing feelings came back and—" Sara broke off abruptly. "Never mind. I'm still over talking around you."

Gil sat on the edge of the tub. "Sara—" She looked up at him. "I know what it's like to be filled with confusing, sometimes even unwanted feelings, and not know what to do about them. In my experience, keeping them to yourself doesn't make them go away."

"Would talking about them accomplish that?"

He smiled. "Probably not."

Sara looked at him quizzically, as though weighing something in her mind. "Get in the tub with me."

Gil was quiet for a long moment. "God, Sara. You have to be very sure about this, because I can't say no to you."

He waited for an answer, but what he got instead was a furtive glance and a silence that lasted long enough for him to understand that doubt still lurked in her heart. Picking up his wine glass, Gil rose to his feet. "Take your time and try to relax. I'll be waiting out there when you're ready," he added, before leaving her to ponder his deliberate double-entendre.

XXXXX

WHEN SARA CAME out of the bathroom less than five minutes later, Gil was stretched out on the bed. "That was fast," he said, sitting up abruptly.

Sara didn't say a thing. Her gaze locked with his and she took determined steps towards him, her hair damp, curling at the tips, her robe loosely wrapped around her waist, the soft lapels barely covering her breasts. Her purpose was clear.

Gil swallowed hard. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Touch me."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth that his hands were cupping her waist and he was pulling her closer, between his legs. He parted her robe and ran his hand over the soft skin of her abdomen, then trailed wet kisses up to the valley between her breasts. Sara's sharp breath drew his gaze up to her face. There was no doubt in her eyes now, only the glitter of a passion that seemed to match his own. Gil reached up and buried a hand in her damp hair, guiding her face down to his. Her lips, her mouth, tasted like heaven. He licked, stroked, drank her sweetness until he needed more and he drew her down onto the bed and into his arms.

Her robe had slipped off her shoulders, revealing her soft curves, nearly everything that he had wanted for so long. His eyes drank their fill of her, his hand, which shook from barely controlled desire, touched where it wanted, and the sensation of her heated, slightly damp, breasts through his shirt sparked his passion, making it soar to heights such as it hadn't reached in a very long time.

At least not since that night so long ago in a dungy motel room in Vegas.

Gil ran his thumb over a hard nipple, sucked the other into his mouth, eliciting a satisfying moan from her, and her own hands became impatient, running over his shoulders, his back, trying to find a way into his shirt. Gil's mouth moved up, nipped at her neck, captured her lips, and Sara opened them for a deep, bone melting kiss.

"Sara—I want you so much," he said against her mouth. "Promise me you won't regret this in the morning."

"No regrets. I promise." Her beautiful smile, more so than her words, was all the encouragement Gil needed. He quickly removed her robe and let it fall over the side of the bed; his own clothes soon joined the heap on the floor, and then he helped himself to the body she so generously offered with hands that wanted to be everywhere at once, and a mouth that was greedy for the taste of all of her.

When he pressed inside her moments later, Sara cried out.

Gil cupped her face between his hands. "Are you okay?"

"Yes…yes, don't stop." To a body that had lain dormant for several years, Gil felt huge inside her. And so, so wonderful. Sara closed her eyes tightly against the wave of emotion that threatened to spoil the moment, and turned her mind to the sensations he was creating with his hard thrusts, his body moving in perfect rhythm with her own, as though they hadn't done this only once before; as though it hadn't been several years since they had been together this way.

Maybe they were made for each other, Sara thought fancifully, before abandoning herself to this man she had loved for so long and so deeply, that she had not been able to let another touch her.

XXXXX

MUCH, MUCH LATER, when they were lying face to face with nothing but a feather soft Indian cotton sheet covering their sated bodies, Gil confessed that he had always desired her. "And I was ashamed of it," he admitted. "You were so young when we met, so brilliant and full of life. I didn't delude myself into thinking that I could have a quick fling with you and be satisfied. Eventually, my desires turned to obsession and I couldn't look at you without hating how you made me feel. So I stopped looking, and tried staying away from you; and it worked for a while, but of course, it couldn't last." Gil brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen over Sara's cheek. He frowned at the slight discoloration there, and had to check a fresh wave of anger towards Armstrong before pressing on.

"When Nick was abducted, I needed you so much, Sara. I still feel shame for what I did to you that night. In my heart, I was still fighting you, and it never occurred to me until much later that my behavior was hurting you. I should have explained myself then, but instead I ignored it and again resolved to stay away from you. But then you were leaving and I realized what a colossal mistake I'd made."

Two vertical frown lines marked Sara's forehead between her brows; Sara's silent question mark, which Gil had always found adorable. It made him smile a little, despite the shadow of grief he could clearly see in her eyes. "You were right about that last night in Vegas. I went to beg you to stay, but not because I couldn't live without the ego boost. I didn't think I could live without you."

"Really?"

"I was in love with you, Sara, and I couldn't bear the thought of never seeing you again. And then you left and I had to bear it. Years passed, and eventually, I lost all hope of ever finding you, but I never really stopped looking."

"You mean…" Her eyes widened and filled with tears. "Oh my God! Oh my—" she dropped her head with a wretched sob, and Gil quickly gathered her into his arms.

"Hey, it's okay. I found you."

With her face buried in his chest, Sara shook her head. "You don't get it," she said, and pushed against him. He loosened his hold and she looked up, her eyes wet with tears. "All these years, I thought… I tried so hard to forget you and all along you were looking for me? You loved me!"

More tears escaped her eyes. He bent and pressed his mouth to them. "I couldn't forget you. I still can't."

Sara shook her head in wonder. "I don't know what to say."

"Say that you'll give me another chance. I'm here for a while. We can take it slowly, get to know each other again, see what happens."

A half chuckle, half sob burst out of her at his choice of words. Then, Sara slipped a hand under the sheet and gave his cock a gentle squeeze. It twitched in response. "I think I know what will happen."

"Well, the desire for sex is biological, therefore unavoidable."

"Unavoidable for a man, maybe, you romantic fool, you."

Gil cocked his head. "Are you saying that you have no such desires, because, my dear, after the hour we just spent together, I'd say the jig is up," he smugly told her.

Sara laughed. "I do want you, I can't deny it. But only you. That's a cross I had to bear for six long years."

"There's never been anyone else in all that time?"

"Nope. I know it must sound crazy, but I didn't want anyone else. I tried, but I just couldn't let anyone else touch me the way you had touched me—"

His lips smothered her words, and because it was his turn to not know what to say—he barely knew how to feel, except that his heart was beating one hell of a tattoo—Gil pulled her even tighter against him and kept kissing her until they were both out of breath.

When he pulled his head back, Sara's face was swimming before his eyes. His unshed tears were of happiness, for in that moment, Gil considered himself the luckiest man on earth. What's more, if Sara still loved him, and he was cautiously beginning to suspect that she did, he would be the happiest man on earth.

It was a heady feeling, and he took a deep, steadying breath, but his voice was still hoarse when he made his final confession. "I love you, Sara."

XXXXX

IT WAS PAST MIDNIGHT when they fell asleep in each other's arms, smiling, and the next morning, when Gil woke up alone, he didn't panic. Still, he was extremely pleased to see that Sara had left a note on the bedside table. It was written on Summerhouse stationery. The note was brief and said everything he needed to know: Breakfast (in bed) will be served at nine. I love you, too. S.

THE END

AUTHOR'S NOTE: My confession time. I had originally planned another two chapters to this story, three counting a short epilogue, but since the likelihood of my finishing them in this decade is extremely slim, I decided to end the story here. Other than a couple of loose ends, particularly with Dan's drinking problem, Gil's book, and the letters he wrote to Sara, I felt that a satisfying conclusion could work at the end of this chapter. If I'm ever motivated to wrap up the loose ends, it will probably be in a short sequel.

So this is it. Thanks for reading and for the wonderful and useful reviews over the years. Danie