| Title: Falling Stars By: OmegaWolf Series: CSI Warnings: kind of PWP, lemon, tad angst, language Pairings: past GrissomxSara, GrissomxNatasha, implied CathrinexGrissom "Hn," I say to myself and turn off the tv. The great Gil Grissom had solved another crime and had earned the adoration of the city of Las Vegas yet again. But they don't know you. The real Gil Grissom I mean. And neither do I. Sighing, I stood, stretching and tossing the remote on the sofa. My new apartment was comfortable, typical organized student, everything in its place. Neat freak? Maybe. My feet barely make a sound on the hardwood floor as I pad to the refridgerator. It was morning, winter in Sin City with no classes and it made my life all the better. Being a student at LVU was tiring, being a science major was even more tiring. And having a certain Head of the Las Vegas Crime Lab stuck in your head doesn't let you have much more rest. I pulled the milk out of the fridge, pouring a glass before placing the carton back, the cold licking my bare skin that wasn't covered by a sports bra. Maybe I had brought this on myself. If I hadn't of flirted, he wouldn't have responded and I would be fine. Always wondering what if. Hn. You know, you're so methodical. So gaurded. You attract women and don't realize it or don't care. Did someone before the brunette break your heart? Or you simply won't let anyone get that close to find out? Your work is your life. Your girlfriend. I've seen the determination in your eyes, the color of Lake Meade on a stormy day, as you focus. Nothing can stop you, sway you. Least of all me. I sent you back to her. I could have had you. But I doubt my grandmother would have taken a liking to me having a boyfriend who was closer to her age than mine. And that I could compete. With your job, I mean. That was the main reason. So I let you go. Drowning the glass, I set it in the sink, running water and cleaning it instantly. I hated dirty dishes. The best way to deal with them is to kill them before they grew. Newly cleaned, the glass found its place in the pantry and I leaned against the counter, frowning. How many times have I considered walking down to the Crime Lab, demanding to know did that night mean anything to you? 'I'm still so young,' I thought, closing my eyes. 'Too young for this. Maybe I need to ask for a transfer...the University of Miami might be taking phyics students running from a broken--' The mail door opened and letters filtered to the floor silently, breaking my train of thought. Walking over, I knelt, baggy surfer shorts slung so low they were threatening to fall off and picked up the pieces of mail. Another credit card. Bill. Bill. Bill. Oil change. What the hell? I fingered the envelope with just my address on the front, no return address. 'There's no postage,' I considered, throwing the other mail on the counter and returning to my couch, wondering if I should open it. Making a choice and sliding a thumb under the flap, I break the self adhesive seal and pull out a white piece of paper. Unfolding I began to read. Steward, It has been quite sometime since we have spoken. I wish to change that. My place, Saturday at 7pm. Address enclosed. ~Grissom I read it twice before I actually registered what had been written in his slightly irregular handwriting. "He wants...to see me?" I said outloud as I took the card with his address on it and read. He didn't live more than ten minutes away. And today was Saturday... I shook my head. I could just chuck it in the trash, forget about it. It never happened. It was lost in the mail...But I knew damn well I couldn't. "Aw shit." How the hell did you get under my skin? Next |