Feedback!
Author: VegaWriters
Pairing: GSR
Rating: M
Spoiler Warning: If it’s shown in the US, it’s fair game.
Disclaimer: Right now, the producers aren’t making much more money off of these guys than I am. But, when (or if) the strike ends and things pick up again, unless CBS hires me, I still won’t be making money off of these characters.
A/N: I’m baaaacccckkkk ……
Summary: Sighing, he closed it before finishing it. He couldn’t reply to this one. It was her most honest and open letter since leaving, but he couldn’t hit reply. He couldn’t tell her that he would forever feel guilty for breaking her heart over and over again. And now, he felt guilty that he couldn’t reply to the email.
A year ago at this time, he’d walked into the house to find her dancing around to the Barenaked Ladies while she decorated the tree. This year, he walked in to find a Price curled up on the couch, staring forlornly at the small tree he’d set up in hopes of her return home.
Habit dictated his actions. He slipped off his shoes, hung up his jacket, and padded down the hall to set his briefcase in his office. Once back through the kitchen, he set the water to boil for a cup of peppermint tea and grabbed and apple and cheese to slice.
The house remained silent. No Barenaked Ladies, no TV. Nothing that might dare to remind him that his fiancé was out in the world discovering herself while he sat at home, trying to come to terms with his abandonment issues and his own anger at her.
It’s okay to be mad, Gil. I’d be if I were you … her words echoed in his head, but he still felt guilty being angry at her for needing to save herself before she self destructed. And it wasn’t like he was the King of being open and honest with feelings. He’d just thought he’d be able to do better by her.
Apple and cheese arranged on the plate, mug of tea in his hand, he padded back to his office and settled at his computer. One last email check before reading exactly one chapter in the book she’d given him for his birthday. Then, a brief shower and he’d crawl into their cold, empty bed for a few hours sleep before his next double shift began. Price would curl up at the foot of her side and drool onto his blanket.
His inbox was a plethora of unsurprising subject lines and email addresses: emails from colleagues, a couple of merry Christmas e-cards from his few friends. A sweet note from Sofia wishing him luck in the New Year actually made him smile, but the feeling was short lived.
Finally, he clicked on the familiar address to re-read the last email from Sara.
Gil,
I’m here in San Francisco, still crashing on Brian’s couch. We go over to Mom’s every day to talk. It’s still hard, to see her and see what prison did to her. There’s still such a part of me who thinks that she deserved every day she had in that prison, but maybe I’m being too hard on her. Her father hit her, my father hit her. She went crazy and hit her kids. Maybe if someone had actually looked at her instead of through her, she wouldn’t be in this situation. I haven’t told her about what happened to me in foster care yet, but Brian knows. Telling him was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Even harder than leaving you – because I promise you, I will come home. I know that now, more than ever. But I have to cleanse myself of these ghosts.
I told Brian. He feels so guilty that he never came for me. I wish I could take that guilt away. I don’t want people feeling guilty over me …
Sighing, he closed it before finishing it. He couldn’t reply to this one. It was her most honest and open letter since leaving, but he couldn’t hit reply. He couldn’t tell her that he would forever feel guilty for breaking her heart over and over again. And now, he felt guilty that he couldn’t reply to the email.
But, she should be here. She should be here, poking at the presents he’d already wrapped for her.
Unable, now, to read, he moved back to the living room and stared at the packages wrapped in plain blue paper, tied with silver bows. One was the now-traditional etymology textbook. The others were simple – a new satin pajama set, the entire collection of Silk Stalkings, a new jewelry set – one meant only for his enjoyment. He’d bought all of them before her disappearance in the desert and now it seemed silly to hope she’d ever unwrap them, but he couldn’t help but hope. It was all he had left.
Finally, he collapsed onto the couch, a tumbler of scotch in his hand, and stared at the tree.
Price hoped up onto the couch next to him and nosed at his hand. Reluctantly, Grissom stroked the animal’s head and realized how good it was to have the companion here. If he’d been alone, he might have completely shaken apart.
“Sara …?”
He stopped cold and almost dropped the glass he was holding. Stretched out under the tree, completely unwrapped for him was the best present a man could have. His eyes locked with hers but out of his peripheral vision he could see her hands tracing down her body, her long fingers sliding between her thighs. Still staring, growing harder by the minute, the moments ticked by as she teased herself for him, coaxing herself to the bring of climax and then coming back again.
“Let go …” he murmured, realizing how close she was and that she’d been waiting for his permission. The ecstasy on her face as she screamed his name almost reduced him to a fit of nothingness. His pants were far too tight.
The glass he was holding found its way to an end table while he moved across the living room. She smiled up at him, one hand resting on her stomach, the other on her breast. She was still catching her breath. Ignoring the stiffness in his knees, he dropped to the floor beside her and captured her in a kiss, his hand joining hers between her thighs. Jesus, she was so wet.
He moaned, softly, and Price understood his cue. Grissom almost laughed when the huge dog flopped off the couch and wandered away, giving him some privacy. Again, Grissom shifted, the memory of his fingers tracing through Sara’s folds too much to bear. It had been far too long.
His hand moved across his crotch, stroking once, and he gave in, putting his head back. She wasn’t here to see what he’d been reduced to in her absence.
“Harder, Gil …God … right there …” she wrapped her endless legs around him, drawing him closer, gasping as he pounded into her. Her snort nails dug into his back, clutching for anything as he pushed them both to the limit. He hit first and collapsed into her, hearing her groan of frustration. Not to worry, he thought, grabbing her hand and moving their entwined fingers down her body.
“Touch yourself, Sara,” he whispered. “Come while I’m still inside of you. Get me hard again.” She whimpered at his words but her fingers found her clit and within seconds she was panting his name. The tremors of her body sucked him in, harder, pulling at him, and he kept her legs wrapped around his hips. Slowly they moved together again, his body responding to the stimulation. His lips teased at her nipple rings, biting and playing, and suddenly she was screaming his name all over again. He moved, filling her again, and again, pounding into her with even more intensity than before …
His cock was throbbing in his hand and he stroked, slowly, remembering her mouth on him. How long had it been since he’d spread her legs and sunk into those depths?
The release came too quickly and he caught his breath, blinking back tears of loneliness. How sad a picture, to be sitting on his couch, jacking off to old memories of his lover at Christmas. Where had it gone wrong? Where had he lost that connection to her? Had she ever really meant it when she said she loved him?
Feeling silly, he shoved himself back into his jeans and got up from the couch to get another drink. But instead of pouring, he stood at the cabinet, staring at the amber bottles, imagining her sliding up behind him.
Two strong arms slipped around him from behind.
He closed his eyes, willing away the fantasy.
The arms didn’t go away, and he started to cry. How dare his mind torment him?
“Gil …”
The voice, whispering in his ear … he started to cry, cursing his memory.
“Gil, honey, please …”
So close, so real. He turned, blinking.
There she was.
Tears streaming down her face.
“Gil …” she whispered again, reaching up to wipe a tear away from his cheek. “I’m right here.”
A shaking hand came to her delicate cheek. She looked so tired, so drawn. She’d lost so much weight. But still, there was a light in her eyes he hadn’t seen in a long time. “For how long?” He whispered, still not quite believing his senses.
“Don’t ask that question right now.”
“Sara …” What could he do to convince her to stay?
“I couldn’t live through Christmas without you.” She leaned up on tiptoe, her lips hovering just inches from his. “I love you.”
“Sara, I’m sorry I couldn’t … be enough, do enough …”
“It’s not you, Gil. Please … we’ll talk later. Please.”
Sobbing, he crushed his lips to hers. It wasn’t fixed, not be a long shot, but this at least was real. More than a fantasy, more than anything he could hope for. She was home for Christmas. No matter where she went tomorrow, she was home now.
“Sara …” he whispered when their lips parted.
“I’m sorry, Gil. I know it doesn’t make up for me leaving, but I’m sorry. I just couldn’t stay and know that the eventual pain I would cause you would happen.”
“We’ll talk about it later,” he echoed her words. “Right now, you’re home and I’ve missed you.” His lips crushed back to hers again and he forgot about drinking or past Christmases or anything else but her scent and the feel of her in his arms. His anger, his grief, his insecurities flew out the window. She was home, at least for a few moments and it wasn’t just a fantasy.
“I love you,” he murmured when he broke for air.
Their lips met again. In the morning, he had a feeling he would wake up to the bare remembrances of dream and fantasy, but for right now, she was as real as she had ever been.
Price stayed in the other room for the rest of the night.