Fic: Words Have Consequences
Title: Words Have Consequences
Series: Sleeps with Butterflies
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Grissom/Sara (angst)
Rating: PG-15. Some references to sex. Lots of language.
Timeframe: Just post Butterflied
A/N: This one is for elucreh and sand_mercury. Because they sat there with me and watched it while I cried. Thank you to kittyknighton for the beta.
Disclaimer: CSI, Sara Sidle, Gil Grissom, et al do not belong to me. But I have enjoyed watching them for the past 13 years and writing fic for the past 8. No, I don’t make any money from these endeavors.
Summary: “Debbie Marlin wasn’t your conscience, Gil. And I’m not here for you to use every time you need to work out your issues. I’m sorry that I’m fifteen years younger than you and that loving me might fuck with your hard won position here in Vegas, but I am who I am and you had absolutely no problem loving that person in San Francisco.”
He was standing against her apartment door when she walked up. Still dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing since his never ending shift began; even the forensics jacket was zipped up as it had been. Tired blue eyes watched her and for a moment, just a moment, she wanted to take him inside and put him in her bed and when he rose, they’d talk it out. But the longer they stared at each other, the more she remembered his confession to the doctor and what feelings of compassion she felt for him faded as quickly as they’d emerged.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Gil?”
He flinched and even she was surprised at the anger that dropped from her lips. Usually when she swore at him it was in bed, urging him on. But that hadn’t happened in over a year. Since her breakup with Hank. Since before she’d told him to man up and make a decision. He couldn’t comfort her and call her honey and then run from her in terror. She was tired of this, of this dance, of the look in his eyes when he pinned her against a bedsheet and the feel of his breath against her cheek when he violated her personal space to look over her shoulder at a collection of evidence. She was tired of everyone knowing about the feelings she couldn’t hide. She was tired of the whispers in the hallways and the pitying looks from Catherine and Nick. She was tired and done with all of it. What if anyone else had been watching that interview with the good doctor? Jim’s new understanding was enough to send her running back to San Francisco. Or maybe Russia. They needed forensic scientists in Siberia, right?
“I came to talk, Sara.”
Rolling her eyes at his exhausted tone, she reminded herself not to feel sorry for him. If he was going to show up after having worked four shifts straight, she had a right to yell at him. And oh, she wanted to. Shaking hands shoved her key into the lock and she stepped in and tossed them and her bag onto the cluttered table by the front door. He followed and closed the door behind him and she heard the click of the lock as he turned it. “I’m going to change,” her voice was still ice.
Inside her bedroom she shed her jeans and shirt for a pair of lounge pants and a favorite tank top. At the last minute she stopped and pulled one of his tshirts from his drawer. Yes, even all these tortured years later, he had a fucking drawer. Emerging from the bedroom, she tossed the garment at him. “Change,” she ordered. “I’m not having you sit in here smelling like you’ve been processing a scene for three days straight.” Normally she would have stuck around to watch, but today she turned and walked the three steps into her little kitchen and pulled a bitch beer out of the fridge. If he wanted something, he’d have to ask for it. She was giving him a shirt. That was it.
What would she do if he asked for her heart?
His words lingered, worming their way through her head like snakes after prey. Someone young and beautiful … someone we could care about …. I couldn’t do it. She hated him, absolutely hated him for every single thing he’d uttered. She’d given him more than a goddamned second chance at life. She’d given him herself and her heart and let him see her in the most vulnerable moments and he sat there, brushing off every damned emotion she’d ever let him see and all because he was too damned scared that everything he’d worked for would be swept away because he dared to let himself love. Fuck. Him. She was one of the best forensic physicists in the country and her reputation at the lab had been reduced to the Girl who loved Grissom. The reputation had even come up in court, on more than one occasion. Her world was not of her own making and she still walked into work every damned day and got the job done, no matter the whispers in the halls. And he couldn’t stomach it? He couldn’t stomach it? The fucking bastard.
Sara popped the top off the drink and turned, watching him from her place in the kitchen. He’d changed and folded his shirt and jacket neatly, leaving them on her cluttered table. Now he stood at the window, staring out at her less than appealing view. His shoulders were slumped with fatigue and his head bobbed a bit, but she wasn’t going to let him come here and just pass out. And he wasn’t getting into her bed. The couch would suit him just fine. She was tired of his coming and going and it didn’t matter how much she missed him, it didn’t matter how much she craved his touch and his kiss, this was the last straw. This moment.
She wasn’t good enough for him.
The realization hit her so hard she almost spilled her drink. She wasn’t good enough for him. She never would be. She had been once, back in San Francisco, back when what? Back before she’d made her own choices and not left with him? Because she’d needed to make the choice on her own, she was no longer good enough? No longer right for him? Was that what all of this boiled down to?
Okay. Well then.
Now all she had to do was kick him out and let her broken heart heal. She could even keep working with him, but there was also that offer from the lab out in Los Angeles. They needed a team lead for the swing shift. Better money, better hours, sand and surf and no Gilbert Fucking Grissom and his sulking judgment of her.
Never in a million years would she take it.
“What are you doing here, Gil?” She asked again. Gil. She wasn’t asking him as his subordinate. She was asking her lover.
“Apologizing.” The word was quiet. Sara leaned against the counter and watched his back, waiting for him to turn around. She wanted him to say it to her face, to tell her he was sorry for everything. She didn’t even want him to tell her he’d fix it and that they’d run off into the sunset together. She wanted him to apologize for toying with her heart. It wasn’t a heart she gave freely and she was tired of having it held up for the world to pity.
“For what, exactly?” Her tone was still icy. Two years ago, he’d have pinned her to the wall and fucked the apology into her. She’d have scratched her nails down his back until he threw her onto the bed and held her down and ravaged her, his cock searing his apology into her body. His whore, in every sense of the word. And after she’d come, screaming his name, he’d tie her to her bed and hold her still while teasing her to the brink over and over again. She’d have been a good little sub, giving her Dominant everything he needed. But even then, they wouldn’t have talked about what was really going on. Just how broken were they? “Are you apologizing for losing your cool on this case? For leading me on? For bringing me to Vegas? What are you sorry for, Gil? Because right now, there’s a lot you should be sorry for.”
He turned and stared at her and again, for just a moment, her heart softened. There were tears in his eyes. “The last thing I said to you before I left San Francisco was how worried I was that Dan would kill you.”
His words stopped her internal rantings. She stared down at the sweating bottle in her hand, remembering the weight of the cast and how she’d told him that if Dan killed her, he killed her, and there was nothing either of them could do about it. Years later, Gil had walked into a house and found his worst nightmare staring up at him from a shower floor. “I’m alive, Gil,” she said. “Dan didn’t kill me. And I wasn’t the one in that house.”
“Sara …”
“I’m alive, Gil. I survived everything he put me through. I survived what I put myself through. And have you ever stopped to think that I might be perfectly capable of handling myself and my choices?”
He glanced up at the ceiling. “I know you are, Sara.”
Moments ticked by on the clock before she spoke again. Everything hurt. Everything. He knew she was capable of handling herself but he still treated her like some damned trainee. Some student with a crush on her teacher. “How dare you? How dare you? Come here and stand there, after what you said to Dr. Laurie about us? Oh, I’m sorry, about the someone young and beautiful who offered you a new chance on life.”
He paled. “You heard that?”
“Every. Damned. Word.” She shook her head. “Debbie Marlin wasn’t your conscience, Gil. And I’m not here for you to use every time you need to work out your issues. I’m sorry that I’m fifteen years younger than you and that loving me might fuck with your hard won position here in Vegas, but I am who I am and you had absolutely no problem loving that person in San Francisco. So, I am left wondering who I really fell in love with back then. Was it this guy who is here right now or the guy who I knew then? Because I tell you, they’re different men. Funny thing is, I still love both of them.”
“Sara …”
“I risked it, Gil. I risked everything! I have a reputation and what has it brought me here? Meanwhile you’re …” she sighed and started to deflate. “What the hell do you want? Why did you come here?” He stared at her and she stared back and the bottle in her hand grew warmer and warmer.
“What if she was my conscience, Sara?”
“You’re the only one who can determine that.” She rubbed her eyes. “I should kick you out but see, if I do, we won’t actually talk like we need to and you know it too. That’s why you’re here.” He bit his lip. She looked down at the countertop. There was a warp in the formica and a chip along the edge. The silence stretched out, making the room bigger and bigger until she was sure he’d disappeared into some void that took him directly back to his condo. Maybe that would be better. Maybe they weren’t ready for this. Maybe what they really needed was a break because they were just so tired of talking about it, of working their way across bridges they kept burning. Maybe talking about it would just make it worse. The thing was, words had consequences and words spoken aloud meant something and now they had to face those words. All of them. From the first hello to this moment, when they both had no choice but to acknowledge everything he’d ever said about them.
When she looked up again, there he stood, still at her window. “You know, until today, I still didn’t understand why you pushed me away. I mean, I figured it was your usual excuse - supervisor/subordinate and you’re under the close watch of the Sheriff so you have no choice. It was stupid, but I understood it. And then I hear that it’s all about the fact that you’re too scared to actually have the life that we talked about back in San Francisco. The life we outlined together. The house, the dog, the research we’d do together. Back when you wanted to spend your life with me. You’re scared, Gil.”
“I am.”
She stared at him, glad at least for his honesty. The exhaustion stripped down his defenses and she could see past the walls he’d put up, walls that had been building for eight years now, since the first time he’d seen Dan. “Why are you so scared of me? I’m your partner, Gil. I have been since that conference and I’ll be six years from now. So why are you so scared of us?” His shrug pissed her off. Not because it was a shrug of uncertainty but a shrug that told her she already knew his reasons. She’d watched the interrogation. She’d stood there and listened to a confession never meant for her ears. She wanted to tell him to go home, but she was terrified he’d crash his car and she knew he’d never allow her to call him a cab. Was this how it was going to be for the rest of their relationship? Her caring for him in between his emotional confessions? His concept of self-awareness tinged with an ego he’d never admit to having all unraveling from time to time in a way that put him at her doorstep, hat in hand, begging for a forgiveness he didn’t deserve?
Fucking Catholic.
He took two steps toward her but altered his plan and collapsed onto her couch. She cringed. If he slept, they risked this moment, this honesty. But he was utterly unable to function and driving to her place must have been the last thing he was truly capable of. How long had they been staring at each other? Ten minutes? An hour? It didn’t matter. He was all but unconscious and she could fling anger at him for the rest of the day and he’d only have to sit there and take it. No, they were done. For now. And maybe a break was good. Maybe it was best if they let this fester. She didn’t see a resolution on the horizon any time soon.
“Gil …” she bit her lip, willing away the tears. She couldn’t cry in front of him. The bastard had even taken away that ability. But he was going to sleep on her couch and she’d lock herself in her bathroom and cry in the shower. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Without saying another word, she went to the closet and pulled out a spare pillow and blanket. He’d toed off his shoes and she helped him settle, letting her fingers linger on his cheek before she tucked him in, turned off the light, and slipped into her bathroom. The rush of the water hid the sound of her tears.
***
He came to in a cocoon of warmth and her smell, the soft scent of lavender and musk and that hint of cinnamon she liked to dab between her breasts from time to time. His body ached from having slept on a couch, but at least he’d finally slept, nightmares about finding her dead body aside. The weight of the case still made his chest ache, the breaths came easier. And he was at Sara’s. She was alive. She was okay. Angry, but okay.
God.
She’d heard him. Heard his fatigued ramblings to a man they’d never be able to convict. His confession of love made not to her but a stranger and in the presence of a man he could consider a best friend. Words he’d never been able to say to her.
His thoughts were haunted by the faint sound of her tears that the water hadn’t completely masked.
Groaning, he sat up, taking the time to get his legs under him. Once steady, he rose and walked to her bedroom. The door was closed but not locked and when he turned the knob, he saw her in the shadows of the blackout curtains. Asleep, curled into her blankets like they were a cocoon. What creature would emerge? The angry ex from the night before or someone a little calmer? He deserved her anger. Her anger was easier to deal with than her pain.
The man who loved her wanted to crawl into bed and hold her close. The man who had lost those privileges when he had forgotten how to be a man stood in the doorway. His confession had not been something to bring them closer together. In truth, it ended everything. She knew now why he hesitated and she had no reason at all to turn around and allow him back into her life. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to even try. Maybe Sara would be off finding someone else. And this time, he’d have to let her. He’d have to back off. He’d have to allow for the possibility that she might love again. Images of Doug flashed across his mind. Doug, who had been there when it all went to hell. But Doug had left her too.
Every angry word she’d flung at him the night before rattled around his brain and the logical part of him told him to leave before she woke. They weren’t ready to have this conversation. They were both too tired, too angry, too raw. They were in that place when they’d say things they regretted and things that would linger and he needed to leave. They needed a break. It was in both of their best interests.
“Gil …” she said, her voice full of sleep. He sighed. Leave it to Miss Insomnia to have heard him come in. “Gil, go back to the couch and sleep. We’ll talk more later.”
At least she wasn’t kicking him out. He should leave, but she’d told him to stay. And even in her half-sedated state, it wasn’t a request. So he went. But he didn’t sleep. He waited for her to emerge and tried to convince his libido to take a back seat. She was in bed, a bed he’d spent time in, and he knew that if he walked back in, she wouldn’t deny him.
But what if she did? What if his confession had changed everything? His confession had changed everything. She held his heart in her hands. For all his terror that she’d go off and take away his happiness, now he’d given her the power to do so. Now she knew his fears. He’d spent years hiding behind the supervisor bullshit, but the truth was he didn’t know if he could handle her walking away. He loved sparingly and even if he never again kissed her, his feelings for her would never change.
Movement and he glanced over. She had walked into the kitchen and was puttering around, looking for her coffee. Still in her gray pj set, she’d thrown one of his sweaters on and the simple connection gave him hope.
“Sara?”
“Here’s my problem, Gil.” She turned and faced him. Her face was scrubbed clean of the small amount of makeup she did wear. Her hair was up in a high ponytail. Even in the dim light he could see the outline of the scar at her hairline. He’d never asked about its origin. “What happens when you change your mind? When suddenly you want to take a risk on me? I can’t keep doing this back and forth. I need to know what you want.”
He chewed his lip and stared at her. She stared back. “I don’t know, Sara.”
She turned away from him and he watched her shoulders set in that way of hers. She was broken, but she’d carry the whole world on her back to hide it. “Okay,” she said softly. “Then go home. Go home and we’ll try to fix ourselves at work before we even try … anything … ever again. That is,” she sighed and his heart broke, “if you ever want to.”
“Sara…”
“No.” She shook her head. “No.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Go home, Gil. Get some sleep in your own bed. And I’ll see you at work tonight. Whatever we have or don’t have right now stopped working and all we’ll be doing is talking at each other and not to each other. I get it. You’re sorry. So prove it by going home.”
She stared at him. He stared back. But she was right. Whatever they had or didn’t have didn’t exist in this moment and he needed to give her the respect she’d been demanding. Whoever he’d become in the last few years, the woman in front of him was the woman he’d fallen in love with in San Francisco - strong, capable of making her own decisions about work and life, and more than accepting that maybe her decisions might kill her. But they were her decisions to make. The Debbie Marlin case had only proved to him that whatever feelings he was repressing weren’t going to go away. But Sara was right.
He stood up and walked to the kitchen, picking up his clothes along the way. He lingered near the fridge, staring at her, and she stared back. Logic told him to leave but his heart overruled his head and he reached out, pulling her in for a hug. She clung to him, her face pressed into his shoulder, and he wondered if they’d ever figure this out. Maybe instead of begging her to leave San Francisco, he should have stayed with her. Maybe that was where all of this went wrong. He loved her, more than he’d loved anyone, but that didn’t change the reality of their situation and this whole case had only proved that he wasn’t ready to change.
Not yet, anyway.
So he kissed her temple and slipped out the door, pretending not to hear the beginning of her tears from inside the apartment.
Continued in Sea Foam and Starfish
Series: Sleeps with Butterflies
Author: vegawriters
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Grissom/Sara (angst)
Rating: PG-15. Some references to sex. Lots of language.
Timeframe: Just post Butterflied
A/N: This one is for elucreh and sand_mercury. Because they sat there with me and watched it while I cried. Thank you to kittyknighton for the beta.
Disclaimer: CSI, Sara Sidle, Gil Grissom, et al do not belong to me. But I have enjoyed watching them for the past 13 years and writing fic for the past 8. No, I don’t make any money from these endeavors.
Summary: “Debbie Marlin wasn’t your conscience, Gil. And I’m not here for you to use every time you need to work out your issues. I’m sorry that I’m fifteen years younger than you and that loving me might fuck with your hard won position here in Vegas, but I am who I am and you had absolutely no problem loving that person in San Francisco.”
He was standing against her apartment door when she walked up. Still dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing since his never ending shift began; even the forensics jacket was zipped up as it had been. Tired blue eyes watched her and for a moment, just a moment, she wanted to take him inside and put him in her bed and when he rose, they’d talk it out. But the longer they stared at each other, the more she remembered his confession to the doctor and what feelings of compassion she felt for him faded as quickly as they’d emerged.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Gil?”
He flinched and even she was surprised at the anger that dropped from her lips. Usually when she swore at him it was in bed, urging him on. But that hadn’t happened in over a year. Since her breakup with Hank. Since before she’d told him to man up and make a decision. He couldn’t comfort her and call her honey and then run from her in terror. She was tired of this, of this dance, of the look in his eyes when he pinned her against a bedsheet and the feel of his breath against her cheek when he violated her personal space to look over her shoulder at a collection of evidence. She was tired of everyone knowing about the feelings she couldn’t hide. She was tired of the whispers in the hallways and the pitying looks from Catherine and Nick. She was tired and done with all of it. What if anyone else had been watching that interview with the good doctor? Jim’s new understanding was enough to send her running back to San Francisco. Or maybe Russia. They needed forensic scientists in Siberia, right?
“I came to talk, Sara.”
Rolling her eyes at his exhausted tone, she reminded herself not to feel sorry for him. If he was going to show up after having worked four shifts straight, she had a right to yell at him. And oh, she wanted to. Shaking hands shoved her key into the lock and she stepped in and tossed them and her bag onto the cluttered table by the front door. He followed and closed the door behind him and she heard the click of the lock as he turned it. “I’m going to change,” her voice was still ice.
Inside her bedroom she shed her jeans and shirt for a pair of lounge pants and a favorite tank top. At the last minute she stopped and pulled one of his tshirts from his drawer. Yes, even all these tortured years later, he had a fucking drawer. Emerging from the bedroom, she tossed the garment at him. “Change,” she ordered. “I’m not having you sit in here smelling like you’ve been processing a scene for three days straight.” Normally she would have stuck around to watch, but today she turned and walked the three steps into her little kitchen and pulled a bitch beer out of the fridge. If he wanted something, he’d have to ask for it. She was giving him a shirt. That was it.
What would she do if he asked for her heart?
His words lingered, worming their way through her head like snakes after prey. Someone young and beautiful … someone we could care about …. I couldn’t do it. She hated him, absolutely hated him for every single thing he’d uttered. She’d given him more than a goddamned second chance at life. She’d given him herself and her heart and let him see her in the most vulnerable moments and he sat there, brushing off every damned emotion she’d ever let him see and all because he was too damned scared that everything he’d worked for would be swept away because he dared to let himself love. Fuck. Him. She was one of the best forensic physicists in the country and her reputation at the lab had been reduced to the Girl who loved Grissom. The reputation had even come up in court, on more than one occasion. Her world was not of her own making and she still walked into work every damned day and got the job done, no matter the whispers in the halls. And he couldn’t stomach it? He couldn’t stomach it? The fucking bastard.
Sara popped the top off the drink and turned, watching him from her place in the kitchen. He’d changed and folded his shirt and jacket neatly, leaving them on her cluttered table. Now he stood at the window, staring out at her less than appealing view. His shoulders were slumped with fatigue and his head bobbed a bit, but she wasn’t going to let him come here and just pass out. And he wasn’t getting into her bed. The couch would suit him just fine. She was tired of his coming and going and it didn’t matter how much she missed him, it didn’t matter how much she craved his touch and his kiss, this was the last straw. This moment.
She wasn’t good enough for him.
The realization hit her so hard she almost spilled her drink. She wasn’t good enough for him. She never would be. She had been once, back in San Francisco, back when what? Back before she’d made her own choices and not left with him? Because she’d needed to make the choice on her own, she was no longer good enough? No longer right for him? Was that what all of this boiled down to?
Okay. Well then.
Now all she had to do was kick him out and let her broken heart heal. She could even keep working with him, but there was also that offer from the lab out in Los Angeles. They needed a team lead for the swing shift. Better money, better hours, sand and surf and no Gilbert Fucking Grissom and his sulking judgment of her.
Never in a million years would she take it.
“What are you doing here, Gil?” She asked again. Gil. She wasn’t asking him as his subordinate. She was asking her lover.
“Apologizing.” The word was quiet. Sara leaned against the counter and watched his back, waiting for him to turn around. She wanted him to say it to her face, to tell her he was sorry for everything. She didn’t even want him to tell her he’d fix it and that they’d run off into the sunset together. She wanted him to apologize for toying with her heart. It wasn’t a heart she gave freely and she was tired of having it held up for the world to pity.
“For what, exactly?” Her tone was still icy. Two years ago, he’d have pinned her to the wall and fucked the apology into her. She’d have scratched her nails down his back until he threw her onto the bed and held her down and ravaged her, his cock searing his apology into her body. His whore, in every sense of the word. And after she’d come, screaming his name, he’d tie her to her bed and hold her still while teasing her to the brink over and over again. She’d have been a good little sub, giving her Dominant everything he needed. But even then, they wouldn’t have talked about what was really going on. Just how broken were they? “Are you apologizing for losing your cool on this case? For leading me on? For bringing me to Vegas? What are you sorry for, Gil? Because right now, there’s a lot you should be sorry for.”
He turned and stared at her and again, for just a moment, her heart softened. There were tears in his eyes. “The last thing I said to you before I left San Francisco was how worried I was that Dan would kill you.”
His words stopped her internal rantings. She stared down at the sweating bottle in her hand, remembering the weight of the cast and how she’d told him that if Dan killed her, he killed her, and there was nothing either of them could do about it. Years later, Gil had walked into a house and found his worst nightmare staring up at him from a shower floor. “I’m alive, Gil,” she said. “Dan didn’t kill me. And I wasn’t the one in that house.”
“Sara …”
“I’m alive, Gil. I survived everything he put me through. I survived what I put myself through. And have you ever stopped to think that I might be perfectly capable of handling myself and my choices?”
He glanced up at the ceiling. “I know you are, Sara.”
Moments ticked by on the clock before she spoke again. Everything hurt. Everything. He knew she was capable of handling herself but he still treated her like some damned trainee. Some student with a crush on her teacher. “How dare you? How dare you? Come here and stand there, after what you said to Dr. Laurie about us? Oh, I’m sorry, about the someone young and beautiful who offered you a new chance on life.”
He paled. “You heard that?”
“Every. Damned. Word.” She shook her head. “Debbie Marlin wasn’t your conscience, Gil. And I’m not here for you to use every time you need to work out your issues. I’m sorry that I’m fifteen years younger than you and that loving me might fuck with your hard won position here in Vegas, but I am who I am and you had absolutely no problem loving that person in San Francisco. So, I am left wondering who I really fell in love with back then. Was it this guy who is here right now or the guy who I knew then? Because I tell you, they’re different men. Funny thing is, I still love both of them.”
“Sara …”
“I risked it, Gil. I risked everything! I have a reputation and what has it brought me here? Meanwhile you’re …” she sighed and started to deflate. “What the hell do you want? Why did you come here?” He stared at her and she stared back and the bottle in her hand grew warmer and warmer.
“What if she was my conscience, Sara?”
“You’re the only one who can determine that.” She rubbed her eyes. “I should kick you out but see, if I do, we won’t actually talk like we need to and you know it too. That’s why you’re here.” He bit his lip. She looked down at the countertop. There was a warp in the formica and a chip along the edge. The silence stretched out, making the room bigger and bigger until she was sure he’d disappeared into some void that took him directly back to his condo. Maybe that would be better. Maybe they weren’t ready for this. Maybe what they really needed was a break because they were just so tired of talking about it, of working their way across bridges they kept burning. Maybe talking about it would just make it worse. The thing was, words had consequences and words spoken aloud meant something and now they had to face those words. All of them. From the first hello to this moment, when they both had no choice but to acknowledge everything he’d ever said about them.
When she looked up again, there he stood, still at her window. “You know, until today, I still didn’t understand why you pushed me away. I mean, I figured it was your usual excuse - supervisor/subordinate and you’re under the close watch of the Sheriff so you have no choice. It was stupid, but I understood it. And then I hear that it’s all about the fact that you’re too scared to actually have the life that we talked about back in San Francisco. The life we outlined together. The house, the dog, the research we’d do together. Back when you wanted to spend your life with me. You’re scared, Gil.”
“I am.”
She stared at him, glad at least for his honesty. The exhaustion stripped down his defenses and she could see past the walls he’d put up, walls that had been building for eight years now, since the first time he’d seen Dan. “Why are you so scared of me? I’m your partner, Gil. I have been since that conference and I’ll be six years from now. So why are you so scared of us?” His shrug pissed her off. Not because it was a shrug of uncertainty but a shrug that told her she already knew his reasons. She’d watched the interrogation. She’d stood there and listened to a confession never meant for her ears. She wanted to tell him to go home, but she was terrified he’d crash his car and she knew he’d never allow her to call him a cab. Was this how it was going to be for the rest of their relationship? Her caring for him in between his emotional confessions? His concept of self-awareness tinged with an ego he’d never admit to having all unraveling from time to time in a way that put him at her doorstep, hat in hand, begging for a forgiveness he didn’t deserve?
Fucking Catholic.
He took two steps toward her but altered his plan and collapsed onto her couch. She cringed. If he slept, they risked this moment, this honesty. But he was utterly unable to function and driving to her place must have been the last thing he was truly capable of. How long had they been staring at each other? Ten minutes? An hour? It didn’t matter. He was all but unconscious and she could fling anger at him for the rest of the day and he’d only have to sit there and take it. No, they were done. For now. And maybe a break was good. Maybe it was best if they let this fester. She didn’t see a resolution on the horizon any time soon.
“Gil …” she bit her lip, willing away the tears. She couldn’t cry in front of him. The bastard had even taken away that ability. But he was going to sleep on her couch and she’d lock herself in her bathroom and cry in the shower. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Without saying another word, she went to the closet and pulled out a spare pillow and blanket. He’d toed off his shoes and she helped him settle, letting her fingers linger on his cheek before she tucked him in, turned off the light, and slipped into her bathroom. The rush of the water hid the sound of her tears.
***
He came to in a cocoon of warmth and her smell, the soft scent of lavender and musk and that hint of cinnamon she liked to dab between her breasts from time to time. His body ached from having slept on a couch, but at least he’d finally slept, nightmares about finding her dead body aside. The weight of the case still made his chest ache, the breaths came easier. And he was at Sara’s. She was alive. She was okay. Angry, but okay.
God.
She’d heard him. Heard his fatigued ramblings to a man they’d never be able to convict. His confession of love made not to her but a stranger and in the presence of a man he could consider a best friend. Words he’d never been able to say to her.
His thoughts were haunted by the faint sound of her tears that the water hadn’t completely masked.
Groaning, he sat up, taking the time to get his legs under him. Once steady, he rose and walked to her bedroom. The door was closed but not locked and when he turned the knob, he saw her in the shadows of the blackout curtains. Asleep, curled into her blankets like they were a cocoon. What creature would emerge? The angry ex from the night before or someone a little calmer? He deserved her anger. Her anger was easier to deal with than her pain.
The man who loved her wanted to crawl into bed and hold her close. The man who had lost those privileges when he had forgotten how to be a man stood in the doorway. His confession had not been something to bring them closer together. In truth, it ended everything. She knew now why he hesitated and she had no reason at all to turn around and allow him back into her life. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to even try. Maybe Sara would be off finding someone else. And this time, he’d have to let her. He’d have to back off. He’d have to allow for the possibility that she might love again. Images of Doug flashed across his mind. Doug, who had been there when it all went to hell. But Doug had left her too.
Every angry word she’d flung at him the night before rattled around his brain and the logical part of him told him to leave before she woke. They weren’t ready to have this conversation. They were both too tired, too angry, too raw. They were in that place when they’d say things they regretted and things that would linger and he needed to leave. They needed a break. It was in both of their best interests.
“Gil …” she said, her voice full of sleep. He sighed. Leave it to Miss Insomnia to have heard him come in. “Gil, go back to the couch and sleep. We’ll talk more later.”
At least she wasn’t kicking him out. He should leave, but she’d told him to stay. And even in her half-sedated state, it wasn’t a request. So he went. But he didn’t sleep. He waited for her to emerge and tried to convince his libido to take a back seat. She was in bed, a bed he’d spent time in, and he knew that if he walked back in, she wouldn’t deny him.
But what if she did? What if his confession had changed everything? His confession had changed everything. She held his heart in her hands. For all his terror that she’d go off and take away his happiness, now he’d given her the power to do so. Now she knew his fears. He’d spent years hiding behind the supervisor bullshit, but the truth was he didn’t know if he could handle her walking away. He loved sparingly and even if he never again kissed her, his feelings for her would never change.
Movement and he glanced over. She had walked into the kitchen and was puttering around, looking for her coffee. Still in her gray pj set, she’d thrown one of his sweaters on and the simple connection gave him hope.
“Sara?”
“Here’s my problem, Gil.” She turned and faced him. Her face was scrubbed clean of the small amount of makeup she did wear. Her hair was up in a high ponytail. Even in the dim light he could see the outline of the scar at her hairline. He’d never asked about its origin. “What happens when you change your mind? When suddenly you want to take a risk on me? I can’t keep doing this back and forth. I need to know what you want.”
He chewed his lip and stared at her. She stared back. “I don’t know, Sara.”
She turned away from him and he watched her shoulders set in that way of hers. She was broken, but she’d carry the whole world on her back to hide it. “Okay,” she said softly. “Then go home. Go home and we’ll try to fix ourselves at work before we even try … anything … ever again. That is,” she sighed and his heart broke, “if you ever want to.”
“Sara…”
“No.” She shook her head. “No.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Go home, Gil. Get some sleep in your own bed. And I’ll see you at work tonight. Whatever we have or don’t have right now stopped working and all we’ll be doing is talking at each other and not to each other. I get it. You’re sorry. So prove it by going home.”
She stared at him. He stared back. But she was right. Whatever they had or didn’t have didn’t exist in this moment and he needed to give her the respect she’d been demanding. Whoever he’d become in the last few years, the woman in front of him was the woman he’d fallen in love with in San Francisco - strong, capable of making her own decisions about work and life, and more than accepting that maybe her decisions might kill her. But they were her decisions to make. The Debbie Marlin case had only proved to him that whatever feelings he was repressing weren’t going to go away. But Sara was right.
He stood up and walked to the kitchen, picking up his clothes along the way. He lingered near the fridge, staring at her, and she stared back. Logic told him to leave but his heart overruled his head and he reached out, pulling her in for a hug. She clung to him, her face pressed into his shoulder, and he wondered if they’d ever figure this out. Maybe instead of begging her to leave San Francisco, he should have stayed with her. Maybe that was where all of this went wrong. He loved her, more than he’d loved anyone, but that didn’t change the reality of their situation and this whole case had only proved that he wasn’t ready to change.
Not yet, anyway.
So he kissed her temple and slipped out the door, pretending not to hear the beginning of her tears from inside the apartment.
Continued in Sea Foam and Starfish