Giving In

Title- Giving In
Author- jrh927
Rating- NC-17

Disclaimer- I don't own any of these characters, nor any rights to CSI or anything that has to do with the show. I'm but a lowly fan who wants to see Grissom and Sara finally get together. Is that so wrong?

This story is written from Sara's point of view. I realize that writing in the first person isn't the best way, but I felt it the best way to tell this story.

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I could hear my shoes clicking on the hardwood floor as I paced back and forth in my apartment, waiting for his knock on my door. I’d pace, stop and pick imaginary lint off my pants, pace some more, fuss with my hair, and pace. Every time I heard footsteps in the hall I’d stop and listen, trying to pick out the sound of his step; I didn’t want him to know I was wearing out my living room floor fretting about the evening. My heart leapt when he finally knocked, and I had to force myself to walk slowly and calmly to the door, repeating to myself, ‘be cool, be cool, calm down. Just because we’re calling it a date doesn’t make it any different than all the dinners we’ve eaten together before. It’s Grissom, not a stranger.’ It was working. I was feeling serene and comfortable until I opened the door.

He stood in the doorway, an odd little smile I didn’t recognize on his bearded face. Maybe he was nervous, too. He was wearing neatly pressed and tailored khakis, a white dress shirt, and dress shoes. If he’d been wearing a Forensics windbreaker, he would have looked just like he was going to a scene. Fortunately, he wasn’t. He was so lovely standing there that I couldn’t think to invite him in for a minute, and he eventually walked through the door on his own. Before I could open my mouth to say anything, he softly spoke. “Hi, Sara…these are for you,” then held out a simple bouquet of white daisies wrapped and tied with a blue gingham ribbon.

“I heard you say once that you liked daisies,” he mumbled, with a little boy look on his face. I was so surprised as I took them from him—I certainly didn’t expect him to be bringing me flowers.

“Thank you. No one has brought me flowers in a long, long time. You didn’t need to do this.”

“Well, they’re just daisies. It’s no big deal.”

“It’s a big deal to me - they’re special. Besides, I’d rather have a bunch of daisies than a whole roomful of roses. I just can’t believe you remembered that I like them. I couldn’t have mentioned it more than once.”

I had embarrassed him by going on like that, and his face reddened a little. “Well, you have daisies embroidered on the towels in your bathroom.”

I didn’t realize he was so observant, as he had only been in my restroom once, the night he listened to my sad sob story about growing up, and it made me realize that he probably had been interested in me for a while, too. Trying to lighten the mood as I looked for a vase to put the flowers in water, I teased. “Not a lot of men I know notice things like that. At least, not the ones who date women.”

“Well, I noticed.” he said, a smile crossing his perfect lips.

“And I’m impressed,” I answered as I put the vase on the kitchen table. “So, would you like a drink, or are you ready to go?”

He seemed to think for a moment, then answered, “No, let’s just go. I made reservations at Fellini’s over on West Charleston. We need to be there by eight.”

At the mention of Italian food, I was suddenly starving. Maybe I’d make it through the evening after all. Besides, I was afraid that if we had drinks and got comfortable in my apartment I’d never want to leave. “Oh, that’s great. Let me grab my jacket.”

He took the jacket and walked behind me to the jacket up my arms, and when his fingers grazed the skin at the back of my neck, under my hair, I lost my breath for just a moment. He lightly rested his hands on my shoulders before whispering, “ready?” and opening the front door. As we turned into the stairwell, he put his hand on my lower back and left it there down the steps. Just before he pushed open the exterior door, he paused and turned to face me. “Before we go, I just need to tell you one thing.”

Oh, no. He looked so serious, I was afraid to hear it, but just said, “okay.”

“I need you to know that I am really nervous. Seriously, severely nervous.”

We both laughed after I rolled my eyes and answered, “Oh, thank God, so am I!” We continued outside and across the street to his car, a little more relaxed after confessing our nerves. Although, his hand still burned through my clothes and onto the small of my back.

About five feet from the car, he spoke again. “There’s one more thing I need to make sure you know. Whatever is going to happen between us, we don’t have to figure it out tonight. So let’s both just take a deep breath and relax, okay?”

He hit me with his dazzling grin, and I responded with a nod and by dramatically inhaling through my nose, thinking to myself, we’re going to be fine. When we reached the passenger side door, we laughed again, as we both reached for the handle at the same time.

“Grissom, really, you don’t have to open my car door. I’m quite capable of that.”

“I know that. But hey, newsflash, this is a date, and you’re a lady.” He pulled the door open as I stepped aside, laughing. “Get in the damned car, would you?”

“Okay, you win.”

I watched as he rounded the front of the car and pulled his door open and climbed into the driver's seat. “Oh, and Sara, you know, you can call me Gil.”

He waited while I laughed again, then, looking straight ahead, he half mumbled under his breath. "Okay, okay. This is now officially a real date.” I wasn’t sure who exactly he was trying to convince, so I just sat quietly as he pulled into traffic. The silence was getting awkward, so I waited until we pulled up at the next stoplight and half-turned to face him.

“So, this is a date, right?”

He nodded, and I tried to stop myself, but couldn’t. I reached over and grazed his hand. He didn’t pull away. It felt so good to have permission to touch him after so many months of wanting to. I caught him smile slightly to himself when he felt my hand tighten, and he covered it with his, softly stroking the skin on the back of my hand with his thumb. After listening to him chuckling to himself for a minute, I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Just what the hell is so funny?”

“Not so much funny as odd, I guess.” He caught my eye in the dark and squeezed my hand. “I just can’t believe how good something so simple can feel.”

* * * * *

I loved the restaurant on sight. It was homey and unassuming, candle-lit and romantic, but not overly so—I could still see across the room without squinting. I leaned into him as we waited to be seated and whispered “I love it here,” knowing he’d smile and wink at me. The manager greeted him and shook his hand, then led us to a tiny table at the back corner of the room, pulling out my chair and making sure we had menus before leaving to get us a bottle of wine. We talked more easily once we settled at the table, first about what to order, then about the restaurant, and finally about just about everything else except “us.” Except for our feet and knees bumping under the table, we didn’t touch again. I was careful to limit the amount of wine I had and noticed that he seemed to be, too, as we sampled each other’s dinners and kept talking throughout.

We agreed to share a dessert, then argued good-naturedly over the dessert cart until the waiter rolled his eyes and offered to serve us half portions on one plate. We sat with the plate between us, eating our own selections quietly until he said, “God, this is so good. You have to taste this, you have no idea what you’re missing,” and held out a bite on his fork to me.

The image and his voice struck me as so sexy I had to close my eyes as I leaned forward and let him feed me, but even without seeing him I could hear him shift in his chair when my mouth closed around the fork, and I let myself smile slightly before I opened my eyes. We sat for a moment, just looking at each other with our knees touching under the table, before the waiter brought the check. He smiled at me as he dealt with the bill, then walked me back out the front door, taking my hand in his as we stepped out into the brisk evening air. "How about a walk? I don’t know about you, but I ate entirely too much. And I forgot to wear my eating pants.”

I laughed at the idea of Gil Grissom needing ‘eating pants.’ “That sounds great", I said, leaning my head onto his shoulder momentarily, "I’m too lazy to spend the weekend at the gym. There’s no extra room in my pants, either.”

Without looking my way, he quickly answered under his breath, “yeah, I noticed that,” and I could feel my face flush. I had carefully selected my clothes, though, and purposely wore what I called my ‘make-my-ass-look-amazing’ black pants with a cropped sweater. It was nice to know he had been looking. We didn’t talk as much as we had during dinner, just commenting on things in the shop windows we passed, squeezing and rearranging our fingers from time to time. A few times he’d squeezed my hand as it rested in his as we walked, and when he lifted it to his mouth, kissing the delicate skin on the top of my hand, I shivered. He removed his hand from mine, snaking his arm around my waist. “Are you cold?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m not cold at all.” I glanced at his face, looking so concerned about me. “But you don’t have to let go.”

“Good, I don‘t want to.” His hand tightened on my waist as we crossed the street, and we stopped on the corner to look into an antique shop window. I turned my head to point out something inside the store to him, but as I started to speak, he covered my mouth with his in an amazing, soft kiss while still touching me only at the side of the waist.

He laughed at the look of surprise on my face as he pulled away. "Well, I think this is going well, don’t you?” Still speechless and more than a little breathless, I nodded. Again. I felt like a dope, but he could so easily strike me dumb

“It's going very well," he said to himself in a mock feminine voice, "Even if you do taste like garlic.”

I elbowed him in the ribs, and finally found my voice again. “Yeah, well so do you. That’s why both people on a date have to eat it, or neither one can.” We stood still for a minute, and I added, “Oh my God, Griss…I mean, Gil… we’re on a date.” He laughed out loud at that, so I went on. “And to answer your question, yes, it went very well.”

“’Went’ well? It’s over?”

“I mean that only in the sense that tonight is about over. I’d love to do this again.” I could see relief in his eyes. “What, didn’t you have a good time? And don’t you think I did?”

“I had a fantastic time. Best first date ever. I just thought maybe you wouldn’t want to do this again. I don’t know why.”

“Oh, you thought I was going to hold you to that whole ‘we don’t have to do this again if you don’t like me’ thing? I never wanted to actually follow through with that, Gil.”

“Well, I meant every word, but I’m so glad.” He ran his hand through his hair before asking, “so, when do you want to do it again? Is Sunday too soon? Am I being a pain in the ass?”

“No, you’re always a pain in the ass, but tonight, you’re being sweet, and I like it. I like it a lot. And I happen to be available on Sunday.” He blew out a breath like he’d been holding it, waiting for me to answer. “Gil…relax. This is me.”

“Yeah, I know it’s you. That’s why I’m nervous—I feel like I’m fifteen years old.”

“Please don’t be nervous, you’re making me nervous all over again.” I took his hand and tugged him back in the direction of his car. “Take me home, and we’ll talk about Sunday on the way.”

We settled into the car, and it only took about fifteen minutes to get to my apartment in the late night traffic. We had just enough time to decide on brunch for Sunday and a long drive before we pulled up to the building, and I suggested he park in the garage so his car would be safer. I would feel terrible if anything happened to his "baby"- he‘d only bought the Mercedes a few weeks earlier. I directed him to my second garage space, and he devoted most of the time it took to walk up to my place to describing the restaurant he had in mind. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, and I knew he was nervous about what would happen when we got to my door. He finally gave me a chance to talk when he took my keys and fiddled with the locks on the door before finding the correct one and unlatching the deadbolt.

I walked through the door and kicked off my shoes, then looked over my shoulder at him still standing at the threshold. “Aren’t you coming in?”

“No, I’d better not,” he said, his eyes shining bright blue from behind his glasses. “But, Sara…I did have a great time tonight. Better than great, wonderful.”

“Me, too,” I added, watching as he began to fidget, his hands not knowing what to do. It was kind of nice seeing the stoic, always in control Gil Grissom on the hot seat for once. After letting him stew for a few moments, I finally decided to put him out of his misery, taking his fidgety hands in mine and pulling him to me in a hug. His arms felt good wrapped around me, and as I looked up at him, his lips met mine in another soft, yet powerful kiss.

“Sunday,” he said, pulling away from me, almost reluctant to let go.

“Sunday,” I said, watching as he started down the hallway.