A/N Short chapter but it worked for what I was trying to do. Won’t be so long between chaps next time. Life gets in the way sometimes.
What in God’s name was he doing? Gil Grissom was trying to pluck the white whiskers from his beard. The task was impossible, irritating, and hurt like hell. And what about the grey at his temples? What, he going to pluck those too? He had started coloring it three years before when even the barest remnants of black had receded. He had found a colorist that would make the dye job less noticeable. No shoe polish black for him but the fact remained that he still colored it and Sara knew it. How couldn’t she? Thankfully no one had called him on his first bid to turn back the hands of time.
He put the tweezers away on the second shelf of the old fashioned medicine cabinet he’d bought at a flea market. He caught the reflection in the bedroom’s antique clock. Sara would be here in fifty minutes. He could feel the blood coursing through his body.
He was the master and the master was expected to be a number of things. Sara was a strong woman and the master of a strong woman needed to exert a particular kind of control. The master needed to have command of the situation, needed to know the dance inside out so that he could lead. He had, on occasion, felt like the master with other women. He enjoyed conquests. Enjoyed the control the game offered. Only Sara was not a conquest. She was his. She was his equal. She submitted because she wanted to, not because it was the natural order of things. Or maybe it was the natural order between them. She gave herself over to him, well-because she loved him.
There was that again. Sara loved him and God help him, he loved her. This wasn’t what had propelled them into master and servant. No, that had been symbiotic understanding only enhanced by love.
He thought about pouring himself another drink but he wasn’t a young man and alcohol might subdue his performance. Wouldn’t that be great? Unable to get it up with this beautiful younger woman. Fuck.
He was actually going to have to do it. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He couldn’t tease and torture. Oh how he’d enjoyed the impatient fretful Sara as she struggled to reign her anger as she served him. She’d fed him and rubbed his back. When he’d finally sent her home, the rage in her eyes flared like embers not quite vanquished.
He knew what he was doing though it didn’t make it easy. He needed Sara on the crest of her desire. He wanted her in full bloom. He tried not to contemplate other men who’d made love to her. Men who had not cared for her nearly enough.
There was the paramedic. Not a surprise but certainly ridiculous to think he could satisfy Sara. Despite his age, his chronicle age, he wasn’t a man. A boy with charm and good looks but a boy nonetheless.
He knew for certain of one other fellow. A grad student she had been seeing when they first met. Peter. He was more suited to Sara. The tall, swarthy Russian worked on various genetic projects. There was talk that some day he would one day solve the genetic code. Gil was not as bothered by Peter as he was by the other men that pursued her over the years. At first he had been pleased until an incident had caused him to rethink Peter.
Sara’s mother, giving a talk at a local church on battered women; had been attacked by an irate member, who was certain his wife would leave him because of Laura.
Grissom had arrived at Lake View Memorial, content to watch over her from several chairs away while Peter rubbed her back. When the doctor came to speak with them he seemed confused by Grissom’s presence. Grissom gave him a blank stare and deferred to the younger man. He was the coach and Peter was in line to be the star player. He put Peter in and the young man failed miserably.
“Miss Sidle.” The short African American said quietly, her cheerful mouth was pulled with seriousness. Her nearly black eyes darted over Sara’s blotchy, tear-streaked face. Eventually they flitted past Peter and landed on Grissom’s strong shoulders and sober carriage. For the briefest of moments he felt sorry Peter. It was not an unusual feeling. He’s often felt like he was the only one that got it. The only guy in the room who had a clue as to what was going on.
Men had very little over women. Women were smarter, more agile of mind and slower to anger. They hardly ever got caught doing anything unless they wanted to get caught. He was of the mind that the only reason their had never been a woman president was because all those who could actually win the office preferred to control men from backstage. They were also much more honest than men which was probably another reason they hadn’t been elected US president by now. The only thing that men had was physical strength. That wasn’t very much but it was all they had. Occasionally physical strength as actual fortitude in the event the women in charge were at a lost.
Sara sniffed and looked at the surgeon.
“Miss Sidle, I just need to be sure about your mother’s wishes in case we have to resuscitate. Also does she have aversion to accepting blood products?”
Sara’s agile mind floundered. Blood products. Resuscitation. They’d said she was hurt. That they were trying to stabilize her in order to repair a head wound. Sara could only think of her mother’s vanity. She would be so pissed to have her white blond locks shorn.
“I…” She said. Grissom waited a full thirty seconds for the boy to do something.
Quietly he walked to where Sara sat. He took a space next to Sara. He took both hands in his and pulled himself closer to her even though the hospital chairs were connected.
“Honey, they need to know if it’s okay to give your mom a blood transfusion. Is she a Jehovah’s Witness or something else?”
“She’s Episcopalian.” Sara replied quickly.
Grissom frowned and raised and eyebrow.
“Even hippies get old and stodgy.” Sara half laughed.
“So it’s okay to resuscitate your mom.” He nodded to the doctor. “They are going to bring you some papers I am sure. “
“Our admissions staff will do that.” The surgeon replied.
Grissom stood still, holding Sara’ right hand with his left. Peter, embarrassed, pulled his arm from around Sara.
“So how is she? What’s the surgery for?” Grissom asked.
“Miss Hancock was hit with from behind with a golf club. We need to repair the fracture. There appears to be no brain damage. Once she was on the ground he hit her several more times breaking several ribs. Her wrist is fractured, probably due to the fall. She was conscious until she went into shock.” Fingering his white coat the doctor looked at Sara. “Your mom is a tough lady.”
“She was giving at talk on domestic violence.” Sara managed.
“That explains it.” The doctor replied.
“What?” Grissom asked.
“She did everything in her power to get as much of his DNA and fibers before he fled. She bit him and I don’t mean a little bite. She bit him and broke through his sock and his skin. CSI has fibers and DNA. She wouldn‘t open her mouth until they got here.”
Sara offered a week smile. “She’s very tough.”
After the doctor had gone and Grissom had dispatched Peter for coffee, he sat next to her.
“She’s a fighter and I promise you she will be okay. She’s tough as nails, Sara. You know that and I know that.”
“It’s so stupid after all that shit with my father some nutcase finally kills her.”
“She is going to be okay. She’ll be calling you every Saturday morning harassing you about dating and babies and all the things you complain about on Monday morning.”
“And sending those damn cheesy cards.”
“You have every one of them don’t you?”
Sara nodded and sniffed back tears.
Men did not understand women like Sara or Catherine or even Heather. They looked tough for whatever reasons and many men retreated. He advanced.
His back door made a sound. If he hadn’t been so prickly he might not have heard the sound. Keiko was early. She would need to be punished. He stood and went to find her.
OOOOOOOO
She was jumpy. Too much caffeine. Too many fantasies. No release. Otto had told her that she was not allowed to “pleasure herself.” She had thought it would be easy until she realized just how much she did it. Now she was in this-this weird shop, this tiny shop at his command. There was nothing new about it really.
Her left hand worked a free curl. Her right hand disturbed a wind chime just above the register. There was a sign next to it.
Without preamble, a woman appeared, an antiqued jeweler’s loop hanging around her neck and can of Diet Pepsi cooling her fingers.
“Yes?”
“I’m Sara Sidle.”
“Pleased to meetcha, Sara. I’m Ruby. What can I do you for?”
“Um, someone had something made for me.” Sara pointed to the display case.
“No, I don’t think so.”
Sara sighed. “That can’t be. I-he said to come here.”
“Well it’s just me and my husband and he’s in Antwerp right now, has been for a week. I’ve only made one piece this week and none last week.”
“Uh, well.” Sara fingered her cell phone.
The woman was oblivious to Sara’s quandary. “Lovely piece really, a ring. Platinum with seven diamonds flush. Lovely gentleman had it made for a Japanese girlfriend.”
“That’s me!” Sara was relieved.
“Come again?”
“I am Keiko. Was the man about 5 foot 10 with grey at the temples and a beard? Probably never got his name.”
Ruby nodded. “Well exactly. Let me get it out the safe. So your name is Sara and Keiko?”
She was pressing something below the register.
“Yes,” was all Sara said.
Ruby smiled as she pulled out a crimson red box and a polishing cloth. She put the loop up to one hazel eye as she ran the cloth over the ring. Sara strained to see.
The woman replaced the ring and handed the open box to Sara. Sara held up the ring and stared. Ultra smooth finish, but substantial diamonds.”
“He was very clear about the right ring finger. Said it must be worn on the right finger.”
Sara slipped the ring on hurriedly and flexed her hand. Perfect.
Ruby, used to this kind of reaction, put a tissue in Sara’s hand.
“He kept saying it was very important and you were very special and that he wouldn’t have you wearing anything cheap or common.”
Sara looked at the cool metal from the woman. It fit perfectly on her left hand.
OOOOOOOO
Sara had never felt so vulnerable in her life.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered into her left ear.
“Why?”
His warm bearish hands made their way under her robe sliding over fragrant warm skin. “You have much to learn. What have I told you about questioning me?”
“Sorry.” Sara mumbled as his finger dug into her skin. He needed to leave a mark.
“How do you like your ring?”
“I like it very much.” His lips were touching hers now as she spoke the words. He closed his eyes and pulled her close. The suddenness of the movement caught Sara off guard and she swayed for an instant.
“Be careful, wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”
Sara lifted her head and found his eyes. “No, that’s your job.”
TBC