Open Road
Chapter 4
Grissom awoke early, stretching and cracking his back so loudly he winced, glancing over at Sara's sleeping form. He quickly threw on clothes and stepped outside with his cell phone.
"Ryan Fleming."
"Dr. Fleming," Grissom said hesitantly. "It's Gil Grissom. I hope I didn't wake you."
"Not at all, Gil, I just got in from my morning run. How's the trip going?"
He glanced around him. "It's. I don't know. It's a road trip."
The doctor laughed softly. "Can't stand to relax, can you?"
"Yeah, well, you know me."
"Any nightmares?"
Grissom drew in a breath. "Every night."
"Did you try what we talked about?"
"Yes, actually. Not the first couple of nights, but then last night I tried it, and it really worked."
"Gil, that's terrific," said Dr. Fleming warmly. "Tell me about it."
"Well, you know, it started like it always does. he's locked himself in the room with Sara, and I'm outside the door, and he's threatening to kill her." The memory made Grissom wipe sweat from his brow.
"Then what?"
"Then I did what you suggested. I stretched my arms through the wall, took her out of his grasp, and pulled her to safety."
"And it worked."
"It did," Grissom admitted. "I just let myself hold her tight in the dream, and eventually everything went dark, and I was fine."
"Excellent, Gil. You're made a huge breakthrough here. I know you had some hesitations about sharing a room with Sara, but do you think perhaps her nearness made it easier to reach out to her in the nightmare?"
"I think it might have," Grissom said thoughtfully. "Because the dream was so vivid. I could even smell her hair. Must have been my unconscious, picking up her scent from the next bed."
"Possibly," Dr. Fleming agreed. "I suppose you don't want to talk about trying to reach out to her when you're conscious."
Grissom snorted.
"I thought not. Well, thanks for calling, Gil. Keep me updated."
"Sure thing."
"And Gil?"
"Yeah?"
"Be glad you don't talk in your sleep."
Grissom chuckled as he hung up the phone. The nightmares had plagued him for weeks before he'd had the courage to see a psychiatrist. Dr. Fleming was highly regarded in the field. An academic, like Grissom. They'd sparred back and forth for the first two sessions, a battle of wits that ended in a stalemate and grudging respect.
"Morning."
He turned to see Sara standing in the motel room doorway, peering out at him from under a mass of tangled curls.
"Good morning," he replied cheerfully. "How'd you sleep?"
"Okay." Her voice and expression were cautious, appraising.
"What's wrong?"
She stared a moment longer, then shook her head. "Nothing. Okay if I take the first shower?"
Grissom nodded, sighing as she disappeared back into the room. He'd hoped she would have forgotten about his comment on their age difference. But judging by her reaction, she was still upset.
She stood under the stream of hot water, staring at the tiled wall. After spending ten minutes in bed, steeling herself for his inevitable rejection, she'd opened the motel room door to a bright and chipper Grissom. He didn't remember.
Strangely, it wasn't so upsetting. A part of her was even relieved. She wouldn't have to deal with his flat voice, his blank face. They could be friendly during the day, and she could hold him at night. Hell, it was the closest thing to a relationship that she'd had in years.
The car's vibrations had become familiar, even soothing, and they both relaxed as the motel disappeared behind them. Halfway through Missouri, they noticed a sign advertising a traveling carnival. Sara started salivating, thinking about cotton candy, and Grissom stepped on the gas pedal harder, wondering if there were roller coasters. When a spinning Ferris wheel appeared on the horizon, they both grinned in anticipation.
"Okay," Grissom said, rubbing his hands together as they walked through the entrance. "What do you want to-" He glanced at Sara, who had somehow already gotten her hands on a huge cone of cotton candy.
"Oh yeah," she muttered, taking giant bites with her eyes closed. "So good."
He swallowed, trying to ignore her faint moans of pleasure. "Um. What do you want to do first?"
Her grin was pink and sticky. "Ring toss!"
The trip to the ring toss booth ended in bitter disappointment, as did the softball and the penny bounce booths. Grissom started mumbling words like "rigged" and "stupid," and Sara knew it was time to find some rides.
"Step right up, little lady," called a balding man in a striped uniform. "Few are brave enough to try The Whirlagig. do you dare?"
Sara looked at him blankly as the third graders in front of her filed into the ride.
It was a circular room with seatbelts hanging from the walls. They buckled themselves in securely, then braced against the wall as the room began to rotate. Faster and faster it spun, till she couldn't even lift her arm off the wall. The floor dropped away, and only her beloved physics kept them aloft.
"That was cool," Grissom admitted as the floor came back up and the spinning slowed. "Now let's try a real ride."
She looked at him dubiously. "At a traveling carnival? Aren't we just asking for the cars to fly off the tracks?"
He laughed. "They won't have real roller coasters. Just the little ones on the ground that whip you around until you're dizzy and want to puke."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
He dragged her on three different rides, each more jarring than the last, until she managed to get him onto the sturdy-looking Ferris wheel. The cars moved slowly and easily, and her stomach began to settle.
They sat in silence for a minute or so before she groaned loudly. "Oh, just say it."
"What?"
"I know you're dying to say it."
"Say what?"
"The history of Ferris wheels."
He clenched his teeth together and tried to scowl, but the mischievous smile shone through anyway. "The first Ferris wheel appeared at the World's Fair, in 1893. See, there was this Pennsylvania bridge builder named George Ferris."
Motel rooms all look the same, essentially. Two beds, a table with a couple of chairs, a television set, and a bathroom. They dragged their bags in, clicking on Jeopardy and lying on their respective beds, calling out the answers.
"God," Sara groaned, after Grissom answered the Final Jeopardy question - the atomic weight of scandium - correctly. "You need to be on this show. Why are you not on this show?"
"Because I'm here with you," he said simply.
She was quiet after that.
He had a gun tonight. The shard of broken pottery wasn't enough, and Adam Trent had grabbed a pistol off the nurse's counter. "Stay back, or I'll kill her!" he yelled to Grissom, shoving the muzzle roughly against Sara's temple.
It was a nightmare, he was sure of it. There wouldn't be a gun lying on the counter in an unlocked nurse's station. And Sara didn't investigate crime scenes wearing a nightie. Though, by the looks of it, she should really start.
"Grissom, help me!" she cried. He pulled on the door, but it wouldn't budge.
"Try this," said an orderly, handing him a chair. He threw the chair against the window, screaming for Sara, but it disappeared before it hit the glass.
"You're a fool," jeered Trent. "Only your blood can save her." He cocked back the safety, and Sara's eyes grew wild with fright. Grissom began beating on the door, smashing his fists into the glass until blood ran down his knuckles. Eventually the door softened, until it was as soft as fabric, falling away as he pulled Sara out of the room and threw his arms around her.
"It's okay," she whispered into his ear. "I'm fine."
He breathed heavily, filling his nostrils with her comforting scent, clutching her desperately. "Sara." The calmer he got, the darker the scene became, until he could barely see her.
"I know," she said, rubbing his back. "It's okay."
This was a good dream. She was so soft, and when he cupped her head gently and kissed her, he could almost feel her moan vibrate on his lips. He claimed her mouth greedily, hungrily, and when he tasted her tongue he moaned back.
God, she was warm. Her lips were like silk. He could do it, he reckoned, if reality were like this. He could risk everything, on the off chance that she could really want him forever. Could she, though? He supposed it wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility.
"Termites," he whispered, licking her bottom lip.
"What?"
"Termites, and Passalid beetles. And Dendroctonus beetles."
She laughed, kissing the tip of his nose. "You thinking about mating for life, Griss?"
Blinking slowly, he took in the sight of her. Tousled hair, swollen lips, dancing eyes. Sitting on his lap. In a motel room. "Sara?"
"Yeah?" Her smile faded as she realized he had awoken. "Oh, god. I'm. you. you were having a nightmare." She felt the hot rush of embarrassment, and tried to scramble off his lap, but he held her in place tightly.
They met each other's gaze apprehensively, seeing a reflection of fear and longing. Grissom leaned forward and kissed her so gently her head spun, then lay her down beside him. They pulled the covers up, and she snuggled her head under his chin, sighing as his strong arms pulled her in tight. As hard as they both tried to stay awake and savor the closeness, sleep came quickly.
-