Work Text:
Timeline: Early Season 12
A/N: I just finished all 15 seasons, the two part finale movie, and season 1 of CSI: Vegas and my heart just isn't done with GSR yet, so... I decided to play around a little.
Sara checked her watch again.
Twenty minutes late. He was supposed to be the boss – setting an example for the team.
Her foot drummed an impatient tempo, and with every late arrival, the staff lounge seemed to shrink, suffocating them with the mixtures of colognes and perfumes– and someone's poor hygiene, though she wasn't sure whom. It was bad enough she had to go to this thing – drawing one of the short straws – but she was also the only member of her team going stag. Even Greg had managed to rustle up a plus one– not that she could fault him. Playing 'party date' with your married best friend didn't really hold a candle to romancing a beautiful woman with potential for far more than she or Greg would ever consider with one another.
The rest of the team milled around, waiting on stragglers before the limos would be whisking them off to the Police Foundation's black‑tie gala. It was mandatory—every precinct sent a "volun‑told" squad to mix with high‑rollers, bid at the auction – or be an actual auctioned item, and toast the latest equipment upgrade fund.
"Without the generous benefactors of this great city, the work we do to keep Las Vegas safe would be impossible." It was the most repeated line she'd heard in the weeks leading up to this event, and it was clearly what the deep-pockets needed to hear. Pat themselves on the back and stroke a fat cheque for the lowly crime-fighters.
She reflexively crossed her arms exhaling with impatience—but the satin bodice of her dress squeezed too tightly, and she dropped her hands to her sides again, chancing a glare across the table without even having to check first.
"Stop staring." She'd warned Henry twice already when she'd caught his eyes on the cleavage her crossed arms kept pushing upward. He'd shifted his gaze—now studying the ceiling tiles with such interest that Sara was tempted to check if there really was something worth looking at up there.
"She'll beat ya up, man. Dress or no." Nick muttered under his breath to the younger man.
Sara rolled her eyes. It's not like she never wore dresses. She could be feminine– in fact, she enjoyed dressing up and going out for dinner and dancing. She and Gil did it often while living in France. She hadn't even needed to purchase a new dress for this shin-dig. She'd had Grissom send her a photo of their Paris closet and then ship the dress and shoes she wanted to their Vegas home.
She just… didn't really have a reason to dress up lately. Nor did this kind of dress really fit into her crime-scene wardrobe, so she supposed his fascination with the form fitting, floor-length number with a deep scooping neck was probably somewhat warranted. Grissom had stared at her the entire night too, the last time she wore this dress. He'd peeled her out of it at the end of the night and stopped her when she moved to step out of her heels.
"Leave them on." He'd whispered against the shell of her ear.
She heard Catherine's chuckle as she checked her watch again – annoyed that they were still sitting in the lounge 25 minutes after everyone was told to be ready to leave. "A watched pot never boils." Catherine teased, receiving chuckles from Nick and Greg.
"Team!" D.B. Russell, the new Night Supervisor at the lab heralded their attention as he entered the staff lounge dressed in a black tuxedo.
"Hey – are we about ready to get outta here?" Greg groaned, fidgeting with his bowtie. Sara elbowed him, standing up as she noticed the woman standing just off to the side of the doorway.
"I want to introduce you all to my beautiful wife, Barbara." D.B. continued, ignoring Greg's question, his hand on the small of the woman's back as he ushered her into the room. Like the other women in the room, she was in a floor length gown and her hair and makeup were done to the nines.
"This is your wife?" Sara asked, extending her hand to the other woman. She was beautiful, that much was clear, and her photos from D.B.'s desk did not do her justice – though they were all dressed to impress tonight, Barabar was clearly several years younger than her husband, and Sara smirked.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you all," Barbara said, shaking hands around the circle.
D.B. eyed Sara with amused curiosity. "What's that supposed to mean?" He asked with a raise of his brow. "You don't think an old dude with greyed-hair can bag a- uh, a– hot younger wife?" he asked, and Sara laughed, shaking her head.
Dare she comment? She considered it for a fleeting moment–
"Who's gonna tell him?" Nick asked with a laugh, receiving an exaggerated eye-roll from Sara and an exasperated head shake from Catherine as she gathered her clutch bag and shoulder wrap from the table. .
"Tell me what?" D.B. asked, clearly wanting in on the joke that the long-time colleagues already knew.
"I believe they're probably alluding to the fact that Sara is the hot younger wife of an old dude with greyed-hair."
With a gasp, Sara turned toward the familiar voice in the hallway. "You're here?" she said with surprise and question in her voice. Hiking the hem of her skirt up just enough that she could walk as quickly as her stilettos would allow to meet him where he stopped a few feet outside the lounge door. Without hesitation, Sara grabbed his lapels and pressed a flurry of kisses to his mouth. His hands found her waist, pulling her tight against him.
"I thought it was exam week." she asked breathlessly, each word punctuated by a kiss. Being in Paris had certainly made them less inhibited about public displays of affection, but mostly her desire to cling to him outweighed any after thought about where they were standing.
"Mmmf—" He mumbled as she planted another firm kiss against his mouth. Bringing her hands to the sides of his face and tilting only her face back enough to meet his eyes. "I got my T.A. to oversee the exam writing." he explained, his arms still circling her waist, holding body flush against his. "I'll just have to pull my own all-nighter to get them marked by the deadline." he added with a shrug.
"I've missed you." Sara whispered, pressing her forehead to Grissom's and closing her eyes. She breathed in his scent and the feel of his body close to her as his hand made slow, soothing strokes up and down her back.
It had been four months since either of them had been able to get away for a visit, and the weight of that time suddenly felt like a boulder on her chest. Without thought, her hands found the sides of his face and pulled him in toward her, her lips covering his, this time staying there, and her tongue invading his mouth. He quickly reciprocated, a dance they knew all too well that it was second nature.
A cacophony of whistles and cat-calls snapped her back to reality. She was not on a rainy street in Paris, three glasses of wine deep. Clearing her throat, she stepped gently out of Grissom's embrace, though his hand remained firmly on her lower back, refusing to let her move completely out of his orbit. Faces peered from the doorway, and she blushed as Greg lowered his camera. With an apologetic smirk, she gently used the pad of her thumb to wipe away the lipstick transfer from his mouth. There wasn't much, but she felt the need to look away and have something to occupy her while she drifted back down to Earth.
"Forgot we, uh, were at work." she stuttered, still feeling a little breathless from both the kiss and the embarrassment.
Judy poked her head around the frame. "Limos are waiting—what's the holdup?"
"I don't work here anymore." Grissom noted casually, offering her his arm as he nodded 'hello' to the approaching group. "And I'll take as many of those as you'll give me, Darlin'." he whispered against the shell of her ear, escorting her toward the door.