CSI Las Vegas, Grissom/Sara: Five Senses
Title: Focus
Author: plasticeneposes
Theme: Smell
Rating: G
As his hearing worsens, Grissom’s other senses sharpen - his sense of smell in particular. He finds himself tantalized by subtle food spices and the hint of a woman's perfume.
The consummate professional, Sara never wears anything scented to work. Grissom realizes one day that he has seen so little of her outside of the lab that he doesn't know if she has a favorite perfume. It strikes him as odd considering how much time he spends with Catherine, the scent of Promises sometimes mingling with Lindsay's Lucky You.
She would wear something light, he decides. Warm, passionate, but with a hint of something darker. No flowers for his Sara - vanilla and orange, maybe, with an undercurrent of clove.
The shells around them have been cracking, fissuring...one hesitant step forward finds Grissom curled against her couch watching movies when neither of them can sleep.
She doesn't wear perfume at all, he discovers. She smells clean and fresh - soap, toothpaste, mint. When the weather gets colder, he sees her slathering lotion on her hands, and when leaning towards her, finds that she smells vaguely of cake batter. He breathes in deep, and knows there’s no artificially-created scent quite as sweet.
Author: plasticeneposes
Theme: Smell
Rating: G
As his hearing worsens, Grissom’s other senses sharpen - his sense of smell in particular. He finds himself tantalized by subtle food spices and the hint of a woman's perfume.
The consummate professional, Sara never wears anything scented to work. Grissom realizes one day that he has seen so little of her outside of the lab that he doesn't know if she has a favorite perfume. It strikes him as odd considering how much time he spends with Catherine, the scent of Promises sometimes mingling with Lindsay's Lucky You.
She would wear something light, he decides. Warm, passionate, but with a hint of something darker. No flowers for his Sara - vanilla and orange, maybe, with an undercurrent of clove.
The shells around them have been cracking, fissuring...one hesitant step forward finds Grissom curled against her couch watching movies when neither of them can sleep.
She doesn't wear perfume at all, he discovers. She smells clean and fresh - soap, toothpaste, mint. When the weather gets colder, he sees her slathering lotion on her hands, and when leaning towards her, finds that she smells vaguely of cake batter. He breathes in deep, and knows there’s no artificially-created scent quite as sweet.