Lip Service
He leans back against the Denali, feeling the hot surface of the metal under his fingertips. All he wants to do is open up the trunk, take out the tire iron, and walk the thirty paces to bash that man's skull in.
But he won't, he can't. He's not that kind of guy, he's not, so instead he stands and watches, seething with fury as Sara's old boyfriend presses his lips to hers again.
Gil Grissom isn't a jealous man, not normally.
He's spent a lifetime watching lesser scientists scurry past him up the corporate ladder. He's walked through mansions and estates worth more than he could hope to earn in fifty years on the job. He's gone to Grissom family reunions and noted that the rest of his relatives still haven't gone gray.
But this is different, this is. different, and she promised him.
o-o-o-o-o
It was when they were lounging in bed late one morning, too tired to sleep. He nestled his head under the crook of her chin, kissing her collarbone out of habit.
"What's the worst thing I could possibly do?" she mumbled.
"Hmm?"
"I mean. what could I do that would make you just. just hate me?"
"I could never hate you," he sighed.
"Okay, maybe not hate. But what would hurt you the most?"
He raised his head to look at her sleepily. "You planning something for my birthday?"
"I'm serious, sweetie. Would it be me killing someone out of anger? Getting pregnant and having an abortion without telling you? Taking a-"
"Kissing Hank."
She laughed, a huff of surprise that tickled his temple. "What?"
"If you kissed Hank, then-"
"Hank Peddigrew?"
"Yes, if you-"
He couldn't get another word out, as she rolled onto her back and laughed, long and loud and hard.
"It's not funny, Sara."
"You have got to be kidding me."
"You asked," he said shortly.
"So me kissing Hank. that is the worst thing I could possibly do. That's worse than if I. clubbed baby seals, or-"
"Yes."
"Worse than anything."
"Yes."
She turned her head back to the side. "Worse than if I slept with him?"
"Yes."
"Grissom!"
He shrugged, staring up at the ceiling.
"How is kissing worse than sex?"
"Sex is sex, Sara. I mean. dogs have sex. Turtles have sex. Kissing implies. fondness, emotion. love, I don't know."
"You think I love Hank?"
"No, I-"
"You think my feelings for him were ever anywhere near what I felt, what I feel for you?"
"I don't-"
"Tell you what," she said finally, rolling over to drape her body across his. "If I ever kiss Hank again, you have my permission to hate me."
He let out a breath of frustration. "That's not what I'm after, honey."
"Then what are you after?"
"Just promise me," he whispered, running his fingers through her hair gently. "Promise me you won't ever kiss him again, not ever. Promise that your lips will never-"
"I promise."
"Promise that you won't ever-"
"Gil." Her voice was warm and thick. "I won't ever, ever, ever kiss Hank again."
o-o-o-o-o
He watches as Hank's lips seek out Sara's again without hesitation, the familiarity of the motion undeniable. He watches as Hank's palm slides up to Sara's chest. He watches, and he watches, and he can't move, but he watches.
He's close enough to hear the soft words that Hank is murmuring.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight." Thirty chest compressions in all, followed by two deep breaths with his lips pressed against hers. Then it's back to: "One, two, three, four."
Brass comes to stand beside Grissom, snapping his cell phone shut. "Ambulance is two minutes away," he mutters. "We're lucky this paramedic lives nearby, his unit called him to the scene."
"Lucky," Grissom replies in a monotone, holding his breath as Hank leans toward Sara's face again.
"They'll save her, Gil. You did the hard part, you found her."
"Yeah."
"This is Sara we're talking about. She's a fighter."
"Yeah."
"They'll be here. Two minutes."
Hank presses his lips against hers again and again and again, but Grissom won't make a move to stop it. Because it's finally occurred to him that kissing Hank Peddigrew isn't the worst thing Sara could do to him.