Reunion
He sleeps on the plane ride home, hoping to get his system prepared for the graveyard shift. There's a crying baby two rows up, and an arguing couple behind him, but still, he sleeps.
The same dream graces the backs of his eyelids. Thirty nights, one dream.
He walks through the small apartment, searching for her, and finds her asleep on the bed. Her hair is curly, the way he likes it, and she's wearing the negligee he got her for Valentine's Day last year. There's a slight smile on her face, and he's so enthralled that he almost doesn't notice the half-naked man lying beside her.
Her eyelids flutter open, and she grins widely when she catches sight of him. "You're back."
He stands trembling, almost unable to speak. The pang of betrayal is more visceral than anything he's ever felt. "Sara... don't you love me anymore?"
She chuckles low in her throat, stretching her long form and snuggling into the pillow as the other man wraps an arm across her middle. "Oh, Grissom," she purrs, "I never loved you."
The stewardess tries to wake him for the on-flight movie, but the one he's watching in his mind proves too compelling to leave.
o-o-o-o-o
She volunteers for dump-diving duty, much to Catherine's surprise. It's the only job that promises to keep her out of the lab for most of shift, and that alone is reason enough to endure the smell.
He's supposed to come home today. She's working on third-hand information, but still. He's supposed to come home.
It occurs to her, as she sifts through other people's garbage, that he would have told her if he'd wanted her to know. He would have called while he was gone, or emailed her. He would have done more than send a cocoon nestled in a slingshot.
She can think of one or two things she'd like to slingshot at him. A few of them are in this very dump, come to think of it.
She tells herself that the worst thing that could possibly happen would be to run into him at work - to have that awkward exchange, to see his eyes darken with pity.
She won't admit that the worst thing would be being told third-hand he was staying in Massachusetts for good.
o-o-o-o-o
He's at work for hours before he sees her.
Being back in his office brings an unexpected wave of nostalgia. It's where they danced around each other for years, until he stopped her one morning on her way out the door, muttering and stuttering and staring at his feet (until she took pity on him and told him she'd meet him at the diner in twenty minutes). It's where they sneaked affectionate glances amidst stacks of paperwork and, on one memorable night, necked in the corner behind the bookcases.
The cocoon is in one of his terrariums. It reminds him of the cold nights at Williams, piling blankets on top of himself as if that were the heat his body craved.
It's late in the morning when he catches sight of her through the glass wall of his office. He's out the door in mere seconds.
She looks amazing, absolutely amazing. Dressed in coveralls, like she is in at least half of his fantasies. Her hair looks so soft, and her eyes are even softer, and he finds himself stalking her down the hallway. He could kiss her, stench and all, but she darts away before he gets the chance.
He wonders what's making her run.
o-o-o-o-o
She gets back to her apartment just before noon. Normally, she'd be heading to his place to bring in the mail and feed the bugs, but now he's home to do that. She throws her keys on the counter and notices how much louder the silence sounds today.
There's some leftover lentil soup sitting in her refrigerator, but she's not hungry. Anything but hungry.
Turning the shower's hot water knob all the way up, she lets the swirling clouds of steam fill the bathroom.
He's back. He's back in Vegas, and he looked happy to see her. Her eyelashes are wet, and she tells herself it's condensation from the steam.
She takes a long shower. Scrubs away at least two layers of skin, and thinks about his new beard.
o-o-o-o-o
He walks through the small apartment, searching for her, and finds her asleep on the bed. Her still-damp hair is curly, the way he likes it. She's wearing one of his old Cubs shirts. There's a slight frown on her face, and he's so enthralled that he almost doesn't notice her looking back at him.
"So you're back."
He nods, and when she doesn't speak, he feels his heart begin to tremble. "Sara... don't you love me anymore?"
She sighs, pulling back the covers and shifting over to make room for him. Settling back into the pillow, she whispers, "That's probably the only thing I haven't questioned over the past month."
He kicks off his shoes, then climbs into bed. His arms reach out for her, fitting her neatly into his embrace. They're both tense, as if waiting for the other to make the first blow.
"What do I do to fix this?" he asks finally.
Wrapping an arm around his middle, she breathes in the scent of him. Allows herself a moment, then responds. "You hold me while we get some rest, and tomorrow you decide whether you want to fix this. Whether it's worth it to you."
"I don't need time to think about that," he protests. "You're... you're my-"
She lifts her head, looking into his eyes. "I'm your what?"
"You're my favorite person," he says, and she tells herself the moisture on his lashes is from the remnants of steam.