Open Road
Chapter 5
Sara couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this warm.
There'd been scorching days working in the desert, picking through sand and squinting in the harsh sun - days when the sweat pouring out of her had made her think of a squeezed sponge. There'd been her fourth floor dorm room at Harvard, where air conditioners were prohibited even in August, and where the humidity made the air too thick to breathe.
That was heat. This, this was warmth.
She was nestled under his chin, the crown of her head fitting perfectly in the nook of his neck. His arms had kept a firm hold on her all night, his large hands spanning her lower back. The combination of their close bodies and the thick blanket might have added up to an uncomfortable heat, but every time Grissom exhaled, he blew a faint breeze through her hair.
Time didn't exist in their little room, but the world outside took no notice. When she heard several car doors slam, with engines roaring to life, she realized she had to wake him.
"Grissom."
"M-mm." He held her tighter.
"Griss, you need to wake up."
"Nodon't."
"That's not even a word."
"Don't wanna." His thumbs traced lazy patterns on her back.
She smiled into his chest. "We're supposed to check out by ten. What time is it?"
He groaned, the sound vibrating against her. Finally he turned toward the alarm clock, cracking one eye open. "S'ten."
"Ten?"
"Mm." He kept one arm around her and reached for the motel phone with the other, managing to hit zero with his pinky finger.
"Who're you calling?"
He grunted, closing his eyes again. After two rings, the front desk picked up.
"Alamotel, can I help you?"
"Uh, yeah, we have a room here, and we'd like to extend our stay by another day. Name's Grissom."
"4-B," Sara whispered.
"4-B," he added dutifully.
After some faint typing noises, the clerk's voice came back. "Okay, you're all set, Mr. Grissom. Will you be requiring maid service?"
"No," he said firmly. "No interruptions."
"I understand. Enjoy your stay with us, sir."
Grissom hung up the phone and wrapped Sara up tight in his embrace again drowsily.
"You planning to spend all day in bed?" she murmured.
"Maybe."
"Doing what, might I ask?"
He chuckled deeply. "If all we do is this, all day."
"Yes?"
The sigh seemed to come all the way from his toes. "Perfect day."
Warmth was spreading in her chest, too. Was this what happiness felt like? She couldn't quite remember.
Suddenly he froze, his body tensing. "Sara?"
"Yeah?"
"Are we really staying at a motel in Missouri called the Alamotel?"
She laughed. "Yeah."
"That's historically inaccurate. The Alamo's in Texas."
"I think the motel is somehow connected with Alamo Rent-a-Car. They had a deal at the front desk, where you could get a combo thing. a car and a room."
"But. why would anyone go to a motel if they didn't have a car?"
"I don't know."
"Would they take a taxi to the motel, and then get a car? Why not just get a car first, and-"
"You've got me in bed, and this is how you want to spend the time?"
His only response was to place a soft kiss on the top of her head. They both fell back to sleep.
Grissom dreamt of the institution. Adam Trent had locked the door to the nurses' station, and was once again waving the shard of pottery and threatening Sara's life. "How can you say you'll kill her," Grissom asked with amusement, "when she's out here with me?" And indeed she was, wrapped securely in his arms. Adam howled in fury, realizing that he'd locked himself in and couldn't escape. Grissom looked down into Sara's beaming face and sighed.
Sara dreamt of lying in bed with Grissom.
By late afternoon, they were both up and showered, though in no condition to leave the motel room. Sara was wearing an old tank top and pajama pants, while Grissom wore boxers and a tee shirt that said 'Don't Worry, Bee Happy.'
"How many entomology shirts do you own?" she asked him, rolling her eyes.
"A few. They're always a big hit at the conventions. Last year's said 'Lightning Bugs Never Strike Twice.' And, of course, 'Entomologists Bug Me' the year before that."
"Boring," she yawned. "Very run-of-the-millipede."
He grinned broadly, accepting the challenge. "Watch it. you don't want to tick off an entomologist."
"I know, my great- ant was an entomologist."
"Did she do the jitterbug?"
"No," she smirked, lying down and leaning her head against his thigh. "But she did play cricket."
He stroked her cheek gently. "I play the French hornet, myself."
"Classical music? I prefer rap. My favorite artist is Fifty Centipede."
"I like Gnat King Cole."
"You're such a WASP."
"Blame my moth-er."
"Did bees give her hives?
"Oh, what a tangled web we weave."
The game continued. They managed to avoid using the word cockroach, considering where Sara's head was. When night fell, Grissom picked up the phone and ordered them dinner. A steaming hot pineapple pizza was delivered, and they snuggled together on a bed while they ate and watched television.
"Hey Sara?"
"Mm?"
He fidgeted, inwardly cursing himself for not just enjoying the moment. "Where, uh. where will we go from here?"
"I guess we'll check out of the motel tomorrow morning and get back on the road," she shrugged. "See where the wind takes us."
"Oh. Yeah, okay." That hadn't been what he meant, but he didn't push it. Maybe she wasn't looking for anything beyond this trip. Some physical closeness, then back to the status quo when they returned home.
"Wait, did you mean. where will we go from here?"
She always was a sharp one.
"Yeah," he said, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.
"Where do you want to go?" she asked carefully.
"It's supposed to be about the journey, not the destination," Grissom said wryly. "Or so I've been told."
"Okay, then, how do you want to journey?"
"With you," he said simply.
She flashed a tentative smile. "You sure? I might make you want to flea."
He leaned in to kiss her temple. "The game's over, Sara."
"Actually, I think the game's just beginning."