Last Chance

Disclaimer: C.S.I. is not owned by me or mine. Not worth suing me, believe me.


Title: Last Chance


Author: hazeleyes57


Rating: R


Spoilers: Minor ones up to season 4


Note: Double sized thanks to all of you who have taken the trouble to review, I apologise for not saying it on chapter three. You are the guys that rock.

Last Chance (4)

"Do you?"

The words hung in the air long after they had been spoken.

Sara maintained eye contact with Grissom while she waited for his answer. The longer it took to arrive, the more difficult she found it to continue holding his gaze.

One of them was going to have to blink eventually, she thought.

In reality it could only have been a few seconds, but to Sara it seemed an age.

For her the question had been a flippant retort to Grissom's implication that she was in some way dragging her feet over her attempts to conceive. She certainly didn't think that he would take her seriously.

For Grissom it was a moment that gave him a shot of reality. This was IT, the reason that they were having this discussion at all. If he had any doubts, now would be a good time to voice them.

"You asked for my help, I agreed."

Grissom gestured toward the laptop on his dining table.

"We have all the information that we need right here. It seems to me all we're short of is a sterile specimen pot."

Sara blinked.

He'd done it again. Called her bluff. Note to self; never play poker with this man.

"Er...yeah. That would be what was missing. Because I didn't think that it would be needed yet."

Grissom looked at Sara quizzically.

"Why not?"

Sara stood up and moved a couple of paces away from the table, feeling a little uncomfortable. Grissom's gaze followed her, scanning up and down her body in the seconds that she had her back to him, before she turned back to face him.

"Because I thought you'd feel under pressure if I turned up with a pot today. Y'know, rushed into it."

One side of Grissom's mouth pulled upwards as he looked at Sara. He wasn't the one feeling the pressure. Knowing that she was stressed seemed to make him more relaxed for some reason.

"I appreciate the thought, but I'm okay with it. Do you have everything else that you need?"

Sara's eyes opened wide. Did he have to look so freaking relaxed about the whole damn thing? Not even a bit squicky about this?

"I...what?"

"Do you have everything else that you need? If I brought you over a sample today, would you have what you need to...make best use of it?"

Grissom's eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief but his face was straight except for the quirked eyebrow.

"After all, you're a vegetarian."

Sara gaped in confusion. What did that have to do with anything?

"What?"

Grissom almost felt sorry that it was so easy. Almost.

"You don't eat turkey. Or cook it."

The penny finally dropped with a clatter.

Although Sara went bright red, she managed a saccharin smile for Grissom.

"I wasn't always a vegetarian."

. . . . . . . . . . . .

Before Sara left Grissom's townhouse he gave her a copy of the information from the website that they had been reading.

It had been agreed that Sara would go home and do whatever she needed to do to get ready, and Grissom would be responsible for getting the requisite container and delivering pot and contents to Sara later.

Clutching her purse, the disks and what was left of her dignity, Sara walked to Grissom's front door. He went ahead of her to open it.

He paused with his hand on the lock when he saw the uneasiness flit over her face.

"Don't worry about this Sara, it will be all right. You need to try to relax."

Sara attempted a smile and nodded. Easy for him to say.

"I'll see you later."

It was Grissom's turn to nod. Sara left without looking back, her pace brisk.

He watched her until she was out of sight, then came back in to his hallway and shut the door behind him.

"Yes, indeed you will."

. . . . . . . . . . . .


Contrary to what she had said to Grissom, the idea of using a turkey baster exceeded Sara's 'eewww' factor by several points. Figuring that they probably would have to try more than once, she purchased four fifty-ml sterile plastic syringes from the pharmacy on the way back to her apartment.

Fifty-ml capacity ought to be enough.

Even for Grissom.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .


Grissom pulled his spare crime scene case from the bottom of his closet. He kept a complete and sterilised kit at home in case he was called in on a day off. He searched through the bottom section until he found a clear plastic specimen pot still in its plastic vacuum package. He'd have to remember to replace it later. He returned the case to its storage place.

Leaving the package on his nightstand, he went and had a shower.

Fifteen minutes later he returned to his living room wearing a robe and towelling his hair dry with the towel around his shoulders.

Grissom re-read the article on his laptop, paying particular attention the section on sample collection. He double-checked the recommended temperature - which was less than thirty-seven degrees - mindful of the fact that testis were kept outside the main part of the body in order to keep them cooler than the rest of the body.

He calculated how many minutes it would take him to get to Sara's apartment and realised that the sample would probably get too cold on the way over. He looked around the room as if for inspiration while he thought of his options.

Borrowing an incubator from the lab. wasn't feasible even if Greg failed to notice that it was missing. There was nowhere to plug it in.

Grissom's eyes lit upon his kitchen area and he smiled. Yes, that would do.

He returned to his bedroom and sat down on the side of his turned down bed.

He unpacked the pot, loosened the lid and replaced it back on the nightstand within easy reach.

Grissom checked that his clean clothes were ready to step straight in to, then lay down on his bed.

He closed his eyes to shut out his own bedroom and cast his mind back to Sara's room the other night. He sought out the memory of her lying against him; her hand on his chest as it had been when he first woke up.

Using the reality as a basis for his fantasy, Grissom allowed himself the luxury of imagining what could have happened if he had stayed with Sara.

That night would have been very different ifhad had had the freedom to do as he had wanted to. He pulsed under his own hand at the thought of Sara's hand on him again.

She would have been awake as he carried her to the bedroom. Awake and aware as she licked and nipped at his neck on the way to her bed.

"Mmm...don't...stop!"

He was so distracted by the feel of Sara's mouth on his flesh that he nearly dropped her.

She lifted her lips just clear of him and giggled softly as her arms tightened around his shoulders.

"Don't and stop? Or don't stop?"

Grissom huffed with amusement as he dropped her to her feet beside the bed.

"Oh, the latter, definitely."

He looked at her face, so close to his, in the little light available from the other room. She smiled back at him, sure and confident.

"Okay. I won't stop until you beg for mercy."

Grissom ran both hands up Sara's arms until his warm hands rested gently under her ears, around her neck. He pulled her close and whispered in her ear, his breath making her shiver with excitement.

"Don't hold your breath."

His arms slid down her back and around her, his lips descending on hers in a full-bodied assault on her senses. His lips took her over, mind and body.

Sara's arms lifted without conscious thought and encircled his neck and shoulders again. He could feel one of her hands in his hair massaging the back of his head.

Grissom indulged his craving for her touch, her kiss, tightening his hold on her, eliminating any space between them. He pulled her against him, allowing her to feel the effect that she had on him, had always had on him. He deepened the kiss, parting her lips and plunging into her depths, stroking, tasting, giving and taking.

When they finally broke apart for air, Grissom was shuddering with arousal. His right hand trembled as he placed his fingertips on Sara's cheek. His gaze went from her swollen lips to her eyes and he whispered hoarsely,

"I want you so much. Have done since the moment we met."

Her beautiful smile broke out and bathed him in its warmth.

"Then take me, I'm yours."

For once he didn't need telling twice. His only difficulty was in deciding where to start, there was so much he wanted to do for her. Sara backed towards the bed, stopping only when the backs of her legs touched the mattress.

Her hands went to the remaining buttons on her shirt that he had not undone earlier.

Sara paused and lifted one eyebrow in query.

Grissom licked his lips and nodded for her to continue.

She slowly undid the buttons, one by one, revealing a little more pale flesh each time, until the shirt parted completely, allowing him a glimpse of lacy bra.

He watched her, his attention riveted.

Sara popped the top button on her pants and slid the zipper down. Its rasp seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet room.

She hooked her thumbs in the sides of the pants and shimmied them down over her hips and legs until she could step out of them. She kicked them aside, leaving herself standing in a black lace bra and matching panties.

Grissom was painfully aroused, his length confined in his clothing. He pressed his hand on the outside of his chinos to attempt to quell some of the fire.

Sara noticed and skipped her strip tease. She stepped close to Grissom and replaced his right hand with hers, rubbing him through his pants.

She unzipped him carefully and lifted him free of the confines of his boxers. He shuddered with desire, on the brink of climax, barely able to keep control of himself.

"God, no, I'm too close."

Sara's warm hand encircled him as she looked into his face. She kissed his bearded cheek as she moved to stand on his right side, her left arm going around his waist. He braced his legs and Sara straddled his right leg, feeling his muscular thigh press against her, his arms circling her.

"Let me do this for you, there's plenty of time for everything else later."

She pumped with her right hand as she kissed and bit Grissom's neck.

He couldn't focus enough to reply, feeling the rush of sensation that started deep in his belly, gathering momentum as it rushed outward to every part of his body and then snapped back through him, channelling its energy into one brilliant coalescence that was too bright to contain.

"Sara!"

"Yeah, I know...come for me, baby!"

Baby!

Grissom's eyes snapped open.

Fuck! Where was the blasted thing?

He managed to grab the pot, knocking the lid flying across the room.

Just as he exploded into one of the most incredible climaxes he had ever experienced.

It seemed to go on for an age until he finally collapsed, breathing heavily, clutching the pot in a trembling hand. He had the presence of mind not to tip it up, but only just. He turned to lie on his back.

Grissom raised his right arm to wipe his forehead with his forearm, and whistled soundlessly, blowing air from his lungs.

"Hell, you nearly killed me, Ms. Sidle."

He grinned.

"Better luck next time."

He suddenly remembered his time/temperature constraints and got off the bed, looking the the lid. He found it and quickly screwed it on. He hurried through to the kitchen and wrapped the pot in a couple of layers of kitchen paper towel and a sheet of aluminium foil, then stuffed it into one of his oven mitts. Designed to keep heat out, they were equally good at keeping heat in.

A lightening wash and one of the quickest dressing sessions in his history found Grissom beside his front door in less than five minutes.

He got his cell out and dialled Sara's number from memory as he strode out to his Denali.

Sara answered on the second ring, sounding a little wary.

"Sidle."

"I'm on my way."

Grissom shut the cell without waiting for a reply.

Which was just as well, because she hadn't got one.

Sara replaced her phone with a hand that had started to tremble. He was on his way now.

It was real, she really was going to do this.

By the time she went to work tonight she could already be pregnant.

It was an awesome thought and it shook her. This wasn't some five minute game, this was 'the rest of her life' stuff. If it worked.

She looked at her watch and estimated how long it would take him to get to her apartment.

An age and yet no time at all.

Sara looked down at herself, smoothing her shirt and skirt in a nervous gesture. She had the urge to comb her hair again to make sure that she looked her best, then felt silly because this wasn't a date and Grissom wouldn't care how she looked.

But she would care.

She wandered restlessly around her apartment, looking at it with new eyes, wondering how it looked to other people, what it revealed about herself.

Her bathroom was the most like her view of herself. Stark and uncompromising in white and silver, with the lightest of marble patterned tiles. It was saved from visual frostbite by the addition of rich royal purple towels, mats and accessories.

Hard at first glance but with an unexpected warmth and softness inside.

Sara sighed and returned to the kitchenette. She poured the coffee that she had made this morning away but didn't make any fresh. She felt wired enough already and Grissom wouldn't be staying.

Grissom. An enigma wrapped up in a puzzle.

She had always loved puzzles.

Sara turned and looked at Grissom's plant on the windowsill. Some puzzles were more difficult than others to solve.

But so much more rewarding in the end.

Not for the first time recently she wondered if she was working on the principle of half a loaf being better than none. From there it wasn't a huge leap to think that maybe she wanted Grissom's child so that she could keep him close. She knew him well enough to know that he would never willingly abandon his child. Had she unconsciously used that information when she had said to him, 'you or no one'?

Sara looked at her watch again, unhappy with the direction of her thoughts. She didn't really take in the time, too distracted by her thoughts.

He should be here soon.

Sara went back to her bedroom and checked that she had everything ready.

The protocol suggested that - afterwards - she should remain lying down for at least ten minutes.

She had a couple of magazines to read and some bottled water to drink. She was going to stay flat for at least half an hour to give it her best shot.

Sara paced back to the living room. Jeez, where was he?

Relax Sara, relax, and relax. She clasped her hands to her opposite elbows and walked around the couch. She passed her new dried flower arrangement, which would always remind her of Grissom now.

Where was he?

Less than half a mile away Grissom was caught up in the traffic behind an accident. It was only a fender bender and all that needed sorting was the exchange of details, but the number of cars stuck behind it were proving difficult to clear.

He kept glancing at the oven mitt as if to check that its contents were still okay.

Grissom looked up ahead in time to see the two cars in front of him waved forward by the traffic cop. He was grateful when the cop waved him forward too and a minute later he was past the obstruction and on his way.

Five minutes later he pulled up outside Sara's appartment. And swore.

Sara had finally just managed to sit down on the couch when the doorbell rang twice in quick succession. She leapt up as if she'd been shot and hurried over to the door.

She checked the spy hole and saw the distorted features of Grissom.

Relieved, she opened the door and tried for a grin, but before she could say anything, he stepped forward into her apartment and quickly closed the door behind him. He looked like he had been hurrying.

Sara opened her mouth to ask what the hell was going on when Grissom surprised her by placing a finger on her lips for silence, his blue eyes vivid.

Trusting him as always, she remained silent as she took in his tense stance and the somewhat incongruous presence of an oven mitt in the crook of his left arm.

Less than thirty seconds later her doorbell rang again.

Grissom made no attempt to move from the door so Sara made no effort to answer it. She gave him a puzzled look with a 'what's up' shrug.

Grissom's lips moved silently.

Warrick.

Sara looked surprised. Her eyebrows went up.

What?

The doorbell went again, a longer ring this time.

Part of Grissom felt annoyed that Warrick wouldn't just give up and leave. This was probably something to do with their conversation in the locker room. He had obviously come to find out what - if anything - was 'up' with Sara.

Another part of Grissom was enjoying the whole 'touching Sara's lips' thing that was going on. That was very nice, thank you.

It also suddenly reminded him why he was here. He carefully - and reluctantly - removed his finger from Sara's lips and took hold of the oven mitt. He put it into her hands, silently gesturing to his watch.

Time was running out. He pointed to her bedroom and made a ' scoot ' motion with his hands.

Sara's mouth opened for a silently horrified 'no' and she shook her head.

She couldn't do this with him here.

The doorbell rang again, followed by knocking, and it made both of them jump.

"Sara? It's me, Warrick. You home, girl?"

Grissom glared at Sara and repeated his 'scoot' motion.

She rolled her eyes heavenwards and glared back. She pointed at him and to the floor at his feet.

Don't move.

He put one hand up.

I promise.

Sara turned and stalked to her bedroom, remembering at the last minute not to slam the door.

Grissom didn't relax until he heard footsteps on the other side of the door fading as they moved away. He waited a full minute before he slumped against the door and wiped his face with both hands. Jeez, he'd aged another year.

But he couldn't remember the last time that he'd felt this alive.

He straightened up and looked at the closed door of Sara's bedroom. No, he promised. He tried not to think about what was going on in there.

Failed miserably.

Sara knew that Grissom was right in telling her to get on with this and not waste the sample, but it was still freaking her out that he was here, only a few feet away on the other side of the door. Fortunately, with speed being of the essence, she didn't allow herself to dwell on it and unwrapped the contents of the oven glove. She held the pot up.

Wow.

She was glad she'd opted for the bigger syringe.

. . . . . . . . . . .

Grissom looked at his watch. Ten minutes had passed, surely she must be done by now.

He tried to look at this situation from her point of view and realised that she probably wouldn't want to see him before work tonight. He grinned. And probably not then either.

He didn't want to leave without a word, so he searched his pockets for a piece of paper and his pen.

Pen, but no paper.

Grissom looked over to the kitchenette and spied a notepad. He moved quietly over to it and lifted up the first page of shopping items to tear a sheet from underneath.

What to say? Hope it works? Good luck? Bye?

He scribbled quickly and left the note pinned under the jar of filter coffee on the counter.

He let himself out of the front door and pulled it hard behind him so that Sara would know that he had left.

It was the only thing he could do to help.

Sara lay on her bed, a pillow under her bottom. She heard the door slam and assumed rightly that Grissom had left. She sent him silent thanks that he understood her well enough now to go without waiting to see her or to talk to her through the bedroom door.

She went back to her magazine but put it back down almost immediately. She couldn't think about anything else than what she had just done. Grissom's seed inside her.

Sara was content that she had made the right decision and the only thing she regretted was that she didn't receive it the old fashioned way.

But she had never felt more alone.

Grissom unlocked his car and climbed in, putting the keys in the ignition and starting the vehicle up. He looked up to the windows on Sara's floor and the temptation to go back to her was strong.

He pressed his lips together firmly as he checked his mirrors and started to pull out.

He had done what was asked of him, given as much of him that he was capable of giving.

He put his foot down and kept going.

It was harder than he thought it would be.

.
.
.
TBC