Cigarettes and Apples

Author: Cappuccino Girl

Pairing: Grissom/Sara
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Notes: A tiny little post-ep for The Hunger Artist. I guess I'm on a roll. Temporary infatuation with the characters, or maybe more? I suppose time will tell. Inspiration comes in many forms. Rainy days, interesting people, and wonderful music. All deserve a 'thank you', but I wouldn't mind some sunshine.

Summary: Things might be sounding less than wonderful.




She sits on the front porch, cigarette between her fingers, and watches while a beetle tries to find out what lies beneath the cracks in the wood. The dog in her neighbor's yard barks its annoyance at being shut out again. Brad with the bad tatoo from five doors down drives by in his old truck, no doubt returning from a late night shift. There's a new beer bottle outside the house across the street. And then there's Grissom walking up her drive, hand near his gun because he can never understand why she likes living in this shitty neighborhood.

"Aren't you cold?" he asks.

Sara takes a drag of her cigarette, and the smoke forms tiny waves as it floats up into the dark blue sky. "No."

He takes a seat on the step beside her. Pulling off his jacket, he tells her, "I went to the doctor this afternoon."

"I told you, I'm not cold." She shoves the coat back at him and looks straight ahead. The pot hole near the sidewalk wasn't so big yesterday.

"You let the case get to you again, didn't you?"

"No. No," and she shakes her head for emphasis, because maybe that can convince her it's true.

"It's facts: gather, analyze, evaluate, conclude, discard." He counts them off on his fingers.

"God, you don't think I know?"

"Sure you do. We all know it, but every now and then you can't help it."

"It's stupid," she says, tossing the end of the cigarette under her foot and stubbing it out.

He doesn't say anything. She loves that about him, that he doesn't say something just to make her feel better.

"You think that woman will ever get out of her homeless rut?" she wonders aloud.

He studies the marks on her shoes, then looks up at her but there's no eye contact. "Remember the table? Conformity. Innovation. Ritualism. Retreatism. Rebellion."

"Some people will always try to escape from society," she recalls. " I can't understand that."

"Another culture, another world."

"You make it sound like a fancy vacation," she laughs.

"With a much lower budget."

"I like this concept better now."

He is visibly puzzled. "Vacations?"

"Oh, I'd kill for a vacation. Distant countries where I wouldn't speak the language. A road trip, or maybe scuba diving. I've always wanted to do that. All those funky blue and yellow fishes swimming around you," she says, her voice soft and wistful.

"A quiet week afloat in a sailboat with a ton of Graham Greene books."

"Sounds wonderful."

He pauses, traces her hand with his fingertips. "I went to the doctor this afternoon."

"I went to the doctor too. Had to go for a shot last week. I think it was a flu shot, but to be honest, I can't even-" The furrows in his brow cause her to stop.

"Things might be sounding less than wonderful," he tells her, and she watches his lips as they form words.

She stares blankly back at him.

"I have a thing, a… My ears."

"You need to have surgery?"

"No."

"Oh, what a relief," she sighs.

When he turns his head slightly, her eyes sparkle, and it just might be the most beautiful thing he's seen, so rather than spoil her smiling expression with details of the diagnosis, he leans towards her. Hands draw patterns on his back and slick lips touch his own. She tastes like cigarettes and apples.

His fingers slip under her black camisole, pulling it upwards. She scatters kisses along his neck, and they fall onto the wood of the porch together. Her breath is warm and uneven on his cheek.

He pauses for a moment, draws back a little and wonders if maybe this is all he'll ever need. Touch, taste and pseudo-telepathic communication. The sight of her, straps of her tank top fallen down to her upper arms, wide eyes gazing at him, leaves few doubts in his mind. He wraps his arms around her, lifts her up and carries her towards the screen door.

He brushes her hair out of her face. "So, this vacation you'd like. Talk to me."

He always listens.



~ the end ~

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