“Sara,
talk
to me.”
“Ow,
ow,
ow, ow, ow, I’m
awake, I’m awake—Oh God. Are we--?”
“Buried.
It
seems that last
temblor brought the whole place down around us. On the bright side,
we’re not
dead.”
“We’re
not off scott-free
either, Gris. Nothing personal, but you weigh a TON and what are you
doing on
me anyway?”
“Misguided
chivalry, and
I’d hold off on the weight cracks since I’ve got
what feels
like a four by
twenty seven beam resting across my back. I thought you were about to
be concussed
so I—“
“—Jumped
on me. Thanks.”
“You’re
welcome. How are
you, really?”
“Let
me
check—back’s sore,
one of my knees and the back of my head are both going to need an
icepack and
something’s jabbing my---oh my God—“
“Ignore
that. And don’t
wiggle.”
“You
LIKE
me.”
“Sara—“
“REALLY
like me.”
“It’s
a perfectly natural
response to stress for males. Part of the adrenalin reaction to a life
of death
situation. And friction.”
“Friction?”
“I
repeat,
stop wiggling.”
“I
will if
you will. You
have dirt on your face.”
“I
never
wiggle and so do
you. Look up—can you see any light at all?”
“Over
your
shoulder, yeah
there’s a volleyball sized hole. Looks to be about ten feet
up or
so but
sunset’s going to be in an hour, isn’t
it?”
“Yes.
Cell
phone?”
“Uh,
I left
mine in the
Tahoe.”
“Mine’s
in my right front
pocket. If I can fish it out—“
“Hey!”
“Sorry,
bad
move there.
It’s just dust and dirt, nothing fatal.”
“YET.
God!
We’re stuck
here, buried under who KNOWS how many feet of debris and all the while
you’re
acting like lying on top of me in the dark is some sort of NORM for
us.”
“Sara—“
“Stop
it.
And make that
damn thing go down while you’re at it, Gris.”
“Yeah,
Fette
wahrscheinlichkeit.”
“What?”
“A
little
appropriate
German. Listen, if you get your left hand along my hip you should be
able to
reach my pocket. We need to let someone know we’re
alive.”
“Okay.
I
just need my eyes
to focus—“
“Did
you
hit your head?”
“Yeah
I
did. Got a good
knot coming up on the back of my skull.”
“AND
you
were unconscious a
while. You know what that means.”
“Yeah
yeah,
possible
concussion. Nothing serious.”
“Serious
enough. Phone
please.”
“Um—If
I do that, I think
we might get into some Bad Touches here, Gris—“
“Funny,
Sara. I’d laugh a
lot more if I weren’t pinned here by about fifteen cubic feet
of
dirt and rock.
Entombment tends to dampen my sense of humor. Okay, that’s
good,
that’s my
hip—“
“Can
we
bill the Crime lab
for dry cleaning?”
“Focus—ah—pocket,
and-“
“—Keys,
is that your
wallet?”
“No.”
“Oh!
Okay,
Um—are you sure
your phone’s in this pocket?”
“Gahhh!
No,
okay STOP! No
phone. Must have fallen out when we got buried.”
“Grrreat.”
“It
was a
small quake, and
Catherine knows we’re here—she’ll send
some one or
check herself and find the
car. After that, they’ll dig us out. All we have to do it
wait.”
“Goodie.
And now it’s YOUR
turn to stop breathing in my EAR, Grissom.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s
THAT supposed to
mean?”
“Oh
nothing. I’m holding
still, trying not to aggravate your—situation—and
now
you’re breathing in my
ear. It’s like one of those bizarre dreams I have about you,
except there
aren’t any singing penguins or marzipan cookies
around.”
“Excuse
me?”
“Never
mind. It wouldn’t
make sense to you anyway. I bet you never have weird dreams. I bet all
YOUR
dreams make perfect sense in some Jungian bug-related context,
right?”
“Frankly
I
don’t know where
the hell this is all coming from, but I sense some hostility here, Ms.
Sidle. Just for the record, I did NOT cause the
earthquake.”
“I’m
sorry, I know that. I
know if you weren’t holding that beam off of us
we’d be
squashed flat. I KNOW
that—I’m just a little—“
“—Scared?”
“I
was
going to say
aroused, but yeah, scared is definitely in the mix at the moment. That
and
dizzy.”
“The
dizziness is the
concussion. Don’t close your eyes, Sara, stay awake. Talk to
me—does anything
else hurt?”
“My
butt’s numb.”
“Not
really
in a position
to do much about that at the moment.”
“Gris—not
to get all overly
personal here, but um—why isn’t it—going
down?”
“I’m
going to pretend you
didn’t ask that. Let’s talk about something ELSE,
shall we?
How about the uh,
texture of the dirt? Coarse grade, high sand content-- Most people
assume this
area’s played out for gold and other valuable minerals, but
it’s possible that
there could be a few—“
“Gris?”
“—Veins
still—yeah?”
“It’s—bigger.”
“Noit’snot.”
“I’m
the one in the
position to KNOW, and it’s
definitely—bigger.”
“Sara.
It’s friction.
Nothing more than pressure in the wrong place at the wrong time. I
shouldn’t
have to explain this.”
“Uh
huh.”
“It’s—nothing.”
“All
right.
I can certainly
understand I guess. Adrenaline, friction, physiological response,
reflex—all of
them reasonable, rational reasons for having an amazingly BIG hard-on
jabbing
my stomach.”
“I
don’t have to listen to
this.”
“What
are
you going to do?
Get up and walk away? Why not just admit the truth, Grissom.
You’re as turned
on as I am to be lying here in the dark with only a few layers of cloth
between
us. God! What’s wrong with admitting you might actually LIKE
to
lie on top of
me?”
“Everything.
More than you
KNOW. So let’s not talk about it.”
“Fine.
I
can just start wriggling then—“
“NO!
Don’t. DO. THAT!”
“THAT
sounded a little
desperate—but actually, wiggling feels pretty good from MY
side,
Gris. A little
rolllll of the hips—“
“Sara,
for
the love of GOD,
stop MOVING.”
“So
talk to
me. Tell me you
LIKE it.”
“FineILIKEITSTOP.”
“All
right
then. I’ll stop
rubbing all over your massive prick now and stay still. Stop panting in
my
ear.”
“Damn
it!
Sara, you are the
most AGGRAVATING woman and if we weren’t facing eminent
suffocation at the
moment I’d take you over my knee for this.
“Got
your
attention now?
Good. Shut up and listen for a moment—I like it too. The
difference between us
is I like it enough to DO something about it. I am SO tired of
pretending and
waiting, so it’s time for you to get an earful, Gil
Grissom.”
“Do
I have
a choice?”
“No.”
“Fine
then.
Speak your
piece and then let me have equal time, because you’re not the
only one who’s
got a few things to say around here.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Okay
then.
I want to sleep
with you. Surprised? Embarrassed yet?”
“Flattered.
And a
little—anxiously confused. Why me? You’ve got
Warrick and
Nick and Greg and God
knows how many other law enforcement types circling in orbit around you
waiting
for approval—“
“Do
I hear
a note of
censure in the voice of the man with the big boner?”
“Sara—I’m
no hunk. There
are choicer selections of beefcake around, and don’t say you
haven’t noticed. I
have a paunch, grey hair and no social life—what’s
the
attraction?”
“The
attraction is that
they’re a part of YOU. Jesus, Gris—you look in a
mirror but
you don’t really
SEE what I see, do you? Great eyes, compelling,
soulful—you’ve got one of the
cutest smirks I’ve ever seen, and sometimes when I watch you
reading a crime
scene, taking everything in with that intense gaze of yours I go dizzy
inside.
I want your hands on me with the same exquisite care you give to
evidence. It’s
a LUST thing that’s getting out of control because
it’s
filtered through the
fact that I want more than just your body.”
“I—don’t
know what to say.”
“Say
you
want to sleep with
me too. Just ADMITTING it would mean a lot to me.”
“I
don’t even admit it to
myself, Sara. It’s a road I can’t choose.”
“Why?”
“Because
it’s
inappropriate. I’m fifteen years older than you are for
starters.
We’re from
two different generations; you were in diapers when I was first
dating.”
“It
would
have made a
difference then, but not now, Grissom. We’re both adults. I
wear
thongs these
days.”
“Don’t
TELL me things like
that. I don’t NEED to know—“
“Sure
you
do. I’m wearing one right now—“
“Damn
it,
that’s not
exactly the most helpful thing you could have said.”
“Newsflash,
Gris—I don’t
want to be helpful. Been doing that far too long in this pseudo
relationship
and it’s not getting us anywhere. Don’t get me
wrong, I can
still be a great
CSI, but don’t count on having a comfort zone around me
personally anymore.”
“Like
I
ever did. I know
your shampoo and deodorant brands, your mouthwash, Sara. I know what
you weigh,
I know when you’re having your
period—it’s all in the
observation of the little
things. And the only way that happens is by an acuity to an individual
that
goes far beyond professional boundaries, and frankly, it hangs on my
conscience
because I shouldn’t KNOW those things without your permission
to
know them.”
“You
KNOW
when I’m having my period?”
“Yes.
It’s due in four days
or so—your breath changes slightly, you tend to drag a bit on
the
first day,
and you eat a lot of pineapple, even though what you WANT to eat are
corn
chips.”
“Okaaaaay,
that’s getting
into stalker territory—but sort of flattering too.”
“Eidetic
memory can be a
harsh mistress. The more I try to forget things, the sharper focus they
maintain.”
“So
putting
a positive spin
on this, I’m getting to you.”
“Yes.”
“Ah!
Finally, a little
breakthrough accompanied by some—throbbing—if
I’m
feeling that right.”
“Will
you
STOP coming back
to that, please?”
“Not
much
light now but
you’re blushing. God, that’s ADORABLE.”
“And
you DO
realize I’m an
experienced CSI. If I commit murder I may be one of the few people who
might
get away with it?”
“Never—they
could match up
the massive dent in my stomach to your boner—you’d
be
ID’ed pretty quick.”
“Funny
Sara—hysterical.”
“Just
whistling in the
dark. I’d give anything for a Tylenol right now.”
“Keep
talking, don’t close
your eyes. Talk to me.”
“Uh,
okay.
I’ve got
something I’ve been dying to ask you, and the moment seems
sort
of right for
it—are you kinky, Gris?”
“I
beg your
pardon?”
“Are.
You.
Kinky?”
“Define
your terms.”
“Let’s
see—interested or
participating in sexual activities beyond the standard vanilla
positions and
concepts of intimate relations.”
“--Why
are
you asking?”
“Inquiring
minds—and it
seems to fit with some other points of your personality.”
“In
what
way?”
“Your
intense need for
privacy for one. Your reluctance to carry a weapon, even though
you’re
qualified. Your familiarity with arcane practices like leeching and
bastinado.
I’d think those might indicate that the usual Ken and Barbie
boinking might not
flip your flapjacks all the time. That and the spanking
comment.”
“THAT
came
out of a sense
of irritation, not erotic interest.”
“Ah.
I
don’t know, Gris—I
might LIKE being spanked.”
“Why
do I
suddenly feel
like I’M the one with the concussion? Look, Sara,
existentially
bizarre as this
conversation’s getting, I’m not going to discuss my
sexual
preferences with
you. Not now.”
“Hey!
YOU’RE the one who
asked me to talk to you, so don’t give me the freedom to ask
if
you’re not
going to answer, Grissom. I’d rather risk the concussion if
it
comes to that!”
“Sara,
yes,
I’m kinky. Will
that give you some sense of perverse accomplishment? I’m
particularly fond of
tying my lovers down because it caters to my need to control the
encounter and
allows me to set the pace. Since it’s difficult to find
partners
willing to
agree to those terms without paying for them, my sex life has been
somewhat—lacking for the last decade. I wallow in my own
passive
aggressiveness
because it’s symptomatic of my ongoing frustration and NOT a
reaction to you.”
“Wow.”
“Happy
now?”
“Um,
impressed. So having
me trapped like this under you is—“
“---A
fantasy come true,
yeah, pretty much.”
“Whoah—“
“Don’t
worry. I was and am
perfectly happy to ignore the entire situation. You’re not
here
by choice
anyway, so it’s moot.”
“Sooo—You’d
want me to
volunteer to get tied up before it would turn you on?”
“No.
In
your case, standing
around and existing is the only qualification you need to pique my
sexual
interest, Sara. But in a bedroom, in a relationship I need your
submission.
Your—trust. That’s what would—“
“—Give
you your jollies?”
“--Insure
my gratification.
Anything else is just sex.”
“Sex
is
still pretty good.”
“Sex
is
biological. I want
a relationship on a deeper, richer level than that, something to quench
desires
more intense than those generated by restless loins.”
“You
know
you’re turning me
on something FIERCE here, don’t you, Gris? Nobody’s
ever
required much more of
me than a few good moans and a blowjob.”
“Which
makes no sense.
You’ve got a lot of potential in so many ways, Sara.
Brilliance,
talent, focus,
quirky sensuality—I don’t understand why you
aren’t
involved with someone
worthy of all that.”
“Hey
Gris,
maybe I already
am.”
“Meaning?”
“I
already
take orders from
you on a nightly basis, boss. I spend more time with you than I do
anyone else
and I have your number on my speed dial—any of this sounding
incriminating?”
“The
evidence is weak. All
of those could apply to Catherine or Warrick too, neither of whom
I’d want to—“
“—Tie
down and ruthlessly
screw through the mattress?”
“Not
particularly, no. I’m
jaded, not masochistic or gay.”
“Mmmmm.
So
what you’re
saying is you want someone to trust you in bed. Someone
like—me.”
“Sara—that’s
presuming a
LOT.”
“So
what
MORE would I need
to make the presumption a fact? All the evidence I need is right here
pressing
on my stomach, and if you know anything about me, Gris, it’s
that
I don’t do
ANYTHING halfway. You want to tie me up to make love to me, you got
it.”
“Don’t
go there, Sara.”
“I
trust
you, but it’s a
two-way street, Gris. If you’ve been holding back because you
didn’t think I’d
accept what you need, you’re wrong. I’m fine with
it. MORE
than fine. We can do
our jobs like two dedicated professionals, and then go back to your
place and
have a few nicely sweaty marathons of whatever scenario you need.
Because I
WANT you, any way I can get you.”
“You
don’t know what you’re
getting into, honey. If we do this, it’s a commitment. This
isn’t a one night
stand we’re discussing, not a casual affair, and I
don’t
know if it’s
reasonable to drag you into that sort of obligation. We have to WORK
together.”
“And
we’d have to work at
this too, so why is it any different? Look Grissom, it’s so
damn
obvious.
Neither of us is happy right now; at most we’re tolerant of
our
situation.
Nothing we do outside of work is going to change the fact that I
respect you,
that I feel lucky to have you as a professional mentor and teacher. But
I can’t
ignore my desire for you either. I want to make love to you, want to
tap into
the passion I KNOW is there. Is that so wrong?”
“It’s
not WRONG, it’s just
not—safe. Not safe at all.”
“Because
with trust comes
vulnerability, yes, I know. And yet in all the time you’ve
known
me, Gris, I’ve
let myself be vulnerable to you more times than I can count. Now I just
want
the chance to take it into that darker sweeter level.
Please—“
“I—I’m
tempted.”
“And
I’m patient. And tired.
I want to sleep, Gris---“
“No,
Sara,
not yet. Don’t
sleep. Have to stay awake a little longer, honey. I think I hear
voices—“
“Mmm?
Really? So we’ll be
out soon?”
“Yes.
And
we’ll go home. MY
home. That I CAN promise.”
“Sara?
Sara, TALK to me---“
END
