Heading Home

Rating: R
Pairing: Grissom/Sara
Category: General/Romance
Archive: FF.net and here. Anywhere else ask first, I might say yes.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Still. All that wishing and still nothing.

Author's Note: HAPPY THANKSGIVING fellow Americans! Why don't we all take a moment today to remember what we're grateful for and maybe give the people we love an extra hug? Oh, look at that-I've gone all mushy on you. Sorry. On with the fic...

Summary: Hm... for lack of a better summary, it's the Thanksgiving one.

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Chapter 3

Grissom finally emerged from his bedroom by mid morning. Sara had already showered and dressed and was glancing at the paper while drinking coffee with his mother in the dining room.

As soon as she noticed he was up, his mother slipped into 'mother' mode and insisted on fixing him breakfast. She disappeared into the kitchen. Grissom took a seat across from Sara at the table.

"Hey," Sara whispered, still forgetting she didn't have to speak softly. "I thought you told her I was a friend you haven't talked to in a long time?"

"I did. Why are you whispering?"

"I don't know," she deadpanned, after thinking a moment. "Well, she was a little 'surprised' that I was sleeping out here," she said, raising her eyebrows for effect.

"Really?" A tiny crease formed between his brows.

"Yes! I believe she is under the delusion that we are a couple."

Grissom's face relaxed immediately. "Oh, she is playing you like a fiddle," he laughed.

"What? You better set her straight."

He just stared at her. She was serious? "We don't talk about things like that! I don't care what she thinks."

"Grissom! She thinks we had some sort of fight!"

"I don't care. Let her think whatever she wants." He found her embarrassment quite amusing, shrugging at her and smirking. The playful gleam returned to his eyes. "I told you we should have shared the bed. You could have killed two birds with one stone-pacified her imagination AND gotten more sleep."

Sara glared at him as his mother returned to the table with a cup of coffee for him.

As if she would have gotten any sleep.

~*~

While Grissom showered, his mother told Sara about her art gallery, describing the more successful shows she had presented the past year. Sara was genuinely intrigued and pleased when she had several guidebooks for her to look at as well.

The current show was by a young artist from New York, presently receiving rave reviews for his dramatic work detailing the 'role of the brain vs. the heart in romantic love'. His mother pointed to a particular paragraph for Sara to read, describing the show as quite emotional and at times disturbing.

"Oh!" his mother blurted, taking the guidebook from her. She flipped a few pages and handed it back to her. "This should be right up your alley."

It was a photo of one of the pieces in the show, the caption underneath calling it, 'The Heart Of A Woman Scorned'. Sara nearly choked. What the? Apparently she didn't hide her anxiety because his mother looked at her, confusion and concern all over her face. She leaned over, making sure she had pointed to the correct picture.

"The blood," she explained, nodding to encourage Sara to read on.

Sara read further and almost laughed out loud. The sculpture had simulated blood oozing from the woman's heart. Oh my God. She was talking about the blood. She smiled broadly, knowing her face was bright pink.

"You should see it. At first glance, it's rather revolting-well, for people who don't see that sort of thing everyday. But once you see the pain behind it, it's really quite impressive, almost beautiful." Sara was fascinated, reading more of the guidebook as Grissom joined them.

"Why don't you take her to the gallery?" his mother suggested.

"It's closed."

Sara rolled her eyes, and then noticed his mother was doing the same thing.

"I know the owner. I bet I could get you the keys," his mother replied dryly. She reached across to the end table, picking up a set of keys and flinging them to him.

Pretending to scratch his beard, Grissom covered his mouth so his mother couldn't read his lips. "Did you want to go home today?" He locked eyes with Sara.

"Not unless you want to," she replied slowly.

He nodded, and for a second, Sara wasn't sure what he was going to do. Finally he raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Want to go to an art gallery?"

Sara's smile was answer enough. "Sure."

~*~

"You know, I don't think I've ever been in an art gallery," Sara commented while Grissom unlocked the doors.

"Then I guess this makes the whole trip worthwhile."

They entered the building, and Grissom started turning on the lights. It was eerily quiet as they made their way back to the displays.

"It's really quiet in here," she noted, walking down the hall.

"Oh, I might be able to fix that," Grissom said, heading back up front. Sara continued into the first room, finding several graphic paintings done by the artist. While observing them, soft jazz music suddenly piped into the room. Grissom reappeared a few seconds later.

"She usually has music playing in here."

"Really? That must be so strange-to turn music on everyday for other people to enjoy."

Grissom didn't respond, instead looking at the first painting with a puzzled expression.

"Weird, huh?" she said, smiling.

"I think I lack the patience for modern art."

She walked up next to him, standing a bit closer than necessary. "It's a nice use of color, wouldn't you say?"

"It's a painting of two people ripping each other's hearts out."

"Ah... but isn't that what people do?" she sighed. He gave her a mock glare, but placed his hand at her elbow to guide her to the next painting. They stopped in front of it, again standing closer than necessary, given the fact they had the entire gallery to themselves.

Sara started to wonder what was happening. Was this a date, and she just hadn't noticed? Talk about a lack of patience. She was tempted to flat out ask him what was going on, but she chickened out again. If he wanted more than friendship, he would tell her. Or show her. Wouldn't he?

Every painting was an odd, often violent expression of physical heartbreak due to emotional, romantic love. The artist was clearly talented as far as conveying his ideas, but the ideas themselves were so unusual. Sara and Grissom were quiet for a while, meandering together in front of the canvasses.

They entered the next room, containing more paintings and a few sculpture-like pieces displayed in the middle of the room. Sure enough, Sara recognized the piece from the guidebook, Heart of a Woman Scorned. Grissom noticed it as well, reading the name.

"Well, hell hath no fury."

"Very funny," Sara said, moving closer to the piece. "How close can I get to this thing? I'm not going to set off any alarms, am I?"

"No, they're all off."

She stuck her finger in the simulated blood trickle, examining it closely. "Completely wrong consistency. Way too thin. And too maroon."

"I don't think he was concerned with the accuracy of blood consistency and color."

"This guy really has issues. Although I'll give him credit for mocking the whole 'breaking heart' idea."

"Why?"

"I think he's right to examine the heart versus the brain in sexual attraction and love. I mean, if feelings of lost love manifested themselves in the heart-this is what we would see. But we don't see this, because it's all in the brain."

Grissom nodded, though he feared Sara was losing her mind. He moved to get a closer look at the artwork, inadvertently brushing against her.

"Your heart does nothing but pump blood through your body," she continued, wondering why he was standing so close to her. "The brain is the only reason we feel emotions at all."

Grissom gazed at her briefly, before turning his attention back to the art. "The ancient Egyptians believed the heart was the center of intelligence and emotion. They also thought so little of the brain that during mummification, they removed the brain entirely from the bodies."

"Huh," Sara replied, stepping away toward the next piece and appearing unimpressed by his ramblings.

The next piece was very odd indeed, causing Sara to stare at it in wonder. Grissom stood next to her, deciding rather quickly that the sculpture was hideous. A male and female figure embraced erotically, while each holding the graphically exposed brain of the other.

"I don't know that your theory of symmetry in nature would fly with this particular artist."

Grissom furrowed his brow.

"Didn't you say that animals, including humans, find their mates based on symmetry-that that's what they find beautiful?"

"Mm."

"See? That's why this is interesting. I think he's saying humans base their attraction on intellect, seeking to find someone on the same... intellectual... level... " She drifted off, feeling very uncomfortable.

Grissom leaned a little closer to her, and said softly, "I think he's trying to shock his audience into thinking he's deeper than he is." She laughed and lightly smacked him in the stomach. He grabbed her hand before she could pull it away, linking his fingers with hers and gently tugging her toward the next piece. Sara's pulse steadily increased as she came to grips with the fact they were actually holding hands. She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from asking him what the hell he was doing.

They looked at a few more pieces and sauntered into the next room, still holding hands. Other than a few shy glances, they didn't really act any differently around each other. Sara wanted to laugh out loud, just thinking about what they were doing. It was kind of like the giant elephant in the corner. They both knew what was happening here, but they just chose not to acknowledge it. As if it were normal for them to walk around holding hands.

They stood in front of the only painting in the room, a very busy, Picasso-ish painting.

"So why is this one all by itself?"

"Presentation maybe? It is rather... dramatic."

Sara continued to stare at it, convinced she was missing something.

"I get this one," Grissom announced suddenly, startling her.

"What's to get?" she asked sarcastically. "It's an anatomical disaster."

"No it isn't. Look." He released her hand and touched her shoulders, moving her in front of him, facing the painting.

"You see the heart, here," he said, pointing from behind her.

She watched his hand and felt his warmth along her back. Finding it difficult to speak, she swallowed hard and just nodded.

"And I think all these color flecks are the blood." His hand went up and down, still pointing, as if she were interested in the painting at all at this point.

"Uh huh," she muttered.

"So where's it all leading?" he asked, tilting his head closer to her.

"Mm. To the brain," she replied softly.

"So, the heart's pumping blood to the brain, making the heart just as responsible." Sara turned her head, momentarily surprised by his proximity. "It's a joint effort," he said, practically whispering. She turned her body just slightly, leaning into him. Feeling his hand on her waist, she didn't know how much more of this she could take. This little mating ritual was lost on her. She wanted to kiss him, and frankly, she was not willing to wait any longer.

She turned even more so they were facing, and after silently checking with his eyes, she leaned in to kiss him. He leaned in as well, but he pulled his head back one second before their lips touched. He closed his eyes a second and exhaled. "I knew this would happen if I brought you here," he said rather forlornly.

Sara refused to move back, piercing him with her gaze. "Then I guess the big question of the day is why did you bring me here? Why did you bring me with you to California at all?"

He didn't answer, just stared back at her. Right now he couldn't make any sense of why he had done or not done anything concerning her. His silence seemed to awaken her confidence. She let it rip.

"Let's just put it out on the table, Grissom. I mean, if you don't want to be with me, and I'm coming on to you-that's a problem. That's a serious problem. Not being attracted to me and not returning my affections is one thing. It's another thing entirely to feel the same way I do, but not do anything about it because of external forces that we can't control."

"I already told you I'm attracted to you," he interrupted.

"Right, so wanting to be with me and me wanting that-that's not a problem." She was becoming more animated as she continued.

Grissom took a step away from her. "It's not that simple."

"Of course it's not," she supplied immediately. "You're not a simple man, and I'm not a simple woman. But for the purposes of our conversation, can't we make it simple? What really matters, Grissom? Does it matter that every time you touch me my heart rate speeds up? Does it matter that the sound of your voice excites me? Does it matter that I've been wondering what it would feel like to kiss you for as long as I've known you?"

His eyes flew to hers, and she watched as he tried to comprehend how long she had been thinking about this.

"Or does it matter that a couple higher-ups, who don't give a rat's ass about us personally I might add, will get peeved if they find out we're seeing each other outside of work? Does it matter that--"

He shocked her by closing the gap between them and gently taking her face in his hands. He stared at her a moment, holding her face with his fingers, letting his thumbs caress her cheeks. Looking deep into his eyes, Sara tried to show him how much she wanted this. She was silently pleading for him to kiss her. He finally tipped his head, moving ever so slowly toward her, and very hesitantly pressed his lips to hers. They were practically still, both too shocked to move their mouths on the other. It barely qualified as a kiss, except for the absolute electric charge that passed through them.

He pulled away first, apprehension coloring his face.

"Sorry," he breathed out. His hands still held her face tenderly.

"It's ok."

"You were giving me a headache."

"Oh." At long last, she smiled.

He studied her intently, his own face relaxing slightly. "You do that sometimes." Sara pursed her lips, eventually smirking at him. Grissom sighed, moving his hands down her face a bit to her neck. "I want this. I want... to be with you, but I don't know how to do it."

"I think you're doing just fine," she replied, blushing slightly.

"That's not what I mean. I mean I don't know how to do it and keep everybody happy." He pulled his hands down and stepped away from her, clearly troubled by the situation. "Sara, what happens the next time I send you out solo?" he challenged. "What if the others accuse us of special treatment? What if your record is called into question or... " he trailed off, gazing at her with a guilty, remorseful expression. "It's too complicated. I don't want to have to think about how every tiny professional decision I make will affect my personal life."

"Then separate it!"

"How do I do that?" he asked, raising his voice as she had.

"I don't know! But I want you to try." She could feel herself become emotional. "I'm willing to try."

His eyes were fixed on her. Was she really willing to deal with the consequences of a relationship with him?

"Grissom, everything in life worth getting involves a risk." She stepped idly toward the exit, suddenly feeling trapped by the circumstances and the room. "You're the only one who can decide if I'm worth it," she said, her voice softening considerably with a hint of sadness.



He sighed again and moved toward her. "Sara, I know you're worth the risk, but that doesn't make it any less risky. Don't you see? That's the problem. I'm not stupid-I can see how right we are for each other, how easy it would be to get close to you, but it's just not that simple. We can't go back to Las Vegas and just start dating. It wouldn't be a typical relationship," he warned.

"Maybe I don't want a typical relationship," she said adamantly. "Every typical relationship I've had ends like that... bleeding thing in the next room." She couldn't stop her lips from turning up just slightly. At least she could laugh about it now.

Grissom didn't find her very amusing. "You deserve more."

"I don't want more. I want you." She bravely met his gaze. "Does that even matter to you?" They were speaking so softly, their genuine concern unmistakable. The tenderness seemed to make their bodies gravitate toward each other, both of them slowly moving closer, their eyes locked.

"Yes, it matters to me." He was directly in front of her now, running his hand down her arm.

"Then stop fighting it." She reached up and placed her hand on his face. "Please... "

They kissed again, and though this one qualified as more of a kiss, Grissom was still very reserved. Sara was the one to finally open her mouth and gently touch her tongue to his lips. That was enough to shock Grissom into pulling back just slightly.

"You make it so I can't think straight," he whispered, wrapping his hand behind her neck.

"Maybe that's not a bad thing," she smiled.

He glared at her while he shook his head. He reached for her hand and led her out of the room. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"Where are we going?"

He shrugged. "Do you want to go out to lunch?"

A slow smile spread across her face, as she let out a tiny laugh. He cocked his head and realized why she was laughing. "Don't say it," he warned.

"I wasn't going to say it!" she laughed. He did not seem to find the situation humorous. "Oh, come on Grissom. You have to admit it's funny."

"It is not." Her smile was infectious. He narrowed his eyes at her a moment. "Maybe you should say it. Maybe it'll make me feel better," he suggested.

"Okay. NO!" Putting on her most anxious face, she sighed and continued dramatically, "Grissom, I... I don't know what to do about this." He chuckled quietly, more at his own stupidity than her version of his stupidity. He turned off the stereo and the lights, locking the doors to the gallery behind them.

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