So Good in Love
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Warrick/Sara, Sara/Grissom
Word Count: 1,363
Notes: For the LiveJournal warricksara “third
party” challenge. Title comes from the song “You Look So Good in Love” by
Something was different about Sara.
Grissom knew it, even if he wasn’t quite sure what the something was. He was sure, though, when he realised that something was different; not five minutes ago, when she crossed the finish line at the Annual Desert Relay, passing the baton to Greg. There was a huge smile on her face as she ran towards him, baton outstretched, and even he was off and running, when she was bent over, hands on her knees, gulping in air, she was looking after him, still smiling, even as her eyes were narrowed in concentration, almost willing him forward.
She didn’t see Grissom looking at her, and she didn’t see him realise that he couldn’t remember the last time he saw her smile like that.
He thought that she might look over at him, but instead, Travis came to her side, clapped her on the shoulder, a grin on his face as he said, “Good job!” He handed her a cup of water, adding on, “Drink it slowly,” and Sara straightened up, accepting the drink with a nod.
Her lips formed the words, “Thank you,” before she raised the cup to her lips, tilting her head back as she took a long swallow. Then she shook her head, letting out a puff of breath that dislodged the lock of hair that had somehow stuck itself to the corner of her mouth. “Every year,” she told Travis, long pauses between words, “I swear… I’m never doing this again.”
In reaction, Travis laughed, reached out to tug at her ponytail. “You love it,” he accused as she swatted his hand away, and Grissom watched the interplay with interest, wondered quite when the two of them had become so friendly, had never been so glad of his ability to read lips.
“Maybe,” was all Sara would allow, taking another long swallow of water, reaching up to her ponytail, pulling the grip loose with a grimace. Her hair instantly fell around her cheeks in soft waves, and she pushed as much as she could back behind her ears, making another face as she did so.
It was the first time in a long time, Grissom realised, that her hair was curly. Of course, thinking back over the last few days and weeks, the cases they had worked, he realised that her hair had been curly a lot of the time; he just hadn’t noticed. When, he asked himself, had he stopped taking note of her, of how she was, of what she looked like? He used to catalogue these things all the time as a matter of course, but those days were long ago.
That, after all, was why he’d never noticed how quiet she’d become, how reserved, how aloof. He’d never noticed until he’d held her hand in the police station, offered to take her home, had taken her home, all without her ever uttering a word.
She’d taken her vacation days soon after, without ever talking about that night, about what she’d done, and when she’d returned, they still hadn’t spoken about it, not really. She’d tried, but he’d shut her down, and eventually, she’d stopped trying, and he hadn’t even noticed.
Just like he hadn’t noticed that he’d stopped talking to him about a lot of things.
Just like he hadn’t noticed that she was looking different.
It was more, he realised now, than just the hair. It was the smile on her face, the smile that went all the way to her eyes, literally lighting up her face. (“You do know how to light up a room,” – hadn’t he told her that once?) Her smile grew bigger as he watched, a flush appearing on her cheeks that couldn’t be explained by just the physical exertion of the race, and for no reason that he could articulate, the hairs on the back of Grissom’s neck stood up one by one.
As he watched, Warrick and Nick arrived over, Nick enveloping Sara in a hug, water and all, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around, inadvertently splashing Warrick and Travis with the water that remained in the cup. They howled their protest, and Sara at least had the grace to look abashed as her feet returned to the ground, Nick not even trying. He was too busy praising Sara for her run, telling her that all their hard training hadn’t been in vain, and she glared at him through her grin, telling him that she still hadn’t quite forgiven him for all the, in her words, “inhuman torture,” he’d put her through.
Warrick and Travis laughed that, and Nick’s hand rose to cover his heart, his smirk telling Grissom, and anyone else with eyes, that he wasn’t sorry at all, but was doing his best to get back into Sara’s good graces. “Breakfast after the race?” he offered, and Sara grinned again.
“It’s a start,” she told him, and he laughed, his hand finding her shoulder briefly before he wandered off, Travis following behind him.
Which left Warrick and Sara standing alone, facing one another, Grissom standing in the shadows, looking at them, and even though he’d been watching Sara since she finished the race, he suddenly felt very much on the outside.
Because Sara’s smile, though it didn’t diminish in wattage, took on a slightly different tone, or maybe it was the way she stood, the tilt of her head, the thrust of her hips. Or maybe it was the way that Warrick looked down at her, a tender – there was no other word for it – smile playing around his lips, his gaze at Sara more friendly, and frankly more admiring, than Grissom had ever seen it.
From this distance, at this angle, Grissom had to work hard to be able to read their lips, but he managed it somehow, interest making the job all the easier, though not more pleasant when Warrick told Sara, “You looked good out there.”
Sara laughed, and Grissom could only imagine what that sounded like, and did so. From the look on her face, it was throaty, lewd with promise, and his stomach twisted painfully, all the more so when she asked him, “What? You were checking out my form?”
Warrick’s eyes raked her slender frame, not even trying to disguise his intentions, lips forming one word, “Always.”
It was a word that had Sara looking down to the right, had Warrick chuckling as he stepped past her.
And as he stepped past her, his hand reached down, brushed over hers.
Her fingers moved quickly, closing over his, lingering for the briefest of seconds before contact was broken and he moved away from her.
The touch was so quick that Grissom could be forgiven for thinking that he only imagined it, but the lingering look that Sara sent after Warrick removed any doubt.
And once again, the hairs on the back of Grissom’s neck rose, because he remembered – or was it only wishful thinking? – that once upon a time, she had looked at him that way.
How long, he wondered, had this been going on?
And how the hell hadn’t he noticed it sooner?
Because thinking about it now, it was all very obvious. Sara was looking different because she was happy, and she was happy because she was in love. But not with Grissom, not any more.
It was for the best, he told himself. There was too much baggage between them for things to ever work out; he could never make her happy, could make her eyes sparkle like stars, not like Warrick did. Besides which, he’d had his chances – a dinner invitation, a conversation against a bloody sheet, a drive home from the police station – to tell her how he felt about her.
He’d had his chances, and if she’d moved on with her life, then he should be happy for her.
He knew that.
If she was happy, then he was happy for her, and it was clear that she was happy, clear that she wanted Warrick.
If there was a part of Grissom that wished that she still wanted him, then he’d just have to live with that.