Summary: Sara searches for a little divine intervention. PostSpellbound-SaraGreg-OneShot-fluff.
A/N: Greg a possible psychic? Like that's not a fanfic screaming to be written. BTW, this story is un-beta-ed, so forgive me for the errors that I could not catch. Still looking for one (no, I'm serious) and emails would be much appreciated :grins:. I don't get review alerts so anyone who is kind enough to ask me through there will probably get a much delayed reply- sorry.
Spoilers: None really.
Disclaimer: Don't own CSI, heck I don't even own the font in which my story has been typed with.
: Dedicated to darling Sarah Yong: A very happy five days into this world. :
It was one thing being stuck in the middle of nowhere for eight hours.
It was another thing when you're stuck in the middle of nowhere thinking the dead body you found in the desert was a murder.
Then it was even worse when you find out it wasn't a murder but a freak accident and that God was playing tricks on you all evening through night.
But the final straw came when you come back after eight hours in the desert, searching through dust and sand, with a dead body that you discover died by accident and not by the hands of murder, only to find that the lab has a new joke to play with and you weren't there to be a part of.
And that final straw broke when you learn that that new joke is none other than your friendly ex-lab rat, Greg Sanders.
Exhaling out slowly, Sara ran her fingers through her wet, but now clean, hair as she ambled along through the corridors. So far, she had already checked the break room, passed Grissom's office, Wendy's lab, dropped in on Archie and even Hodges. The latter was saying something since that was the last place she expected Greg to be at the end of his shift. Warrick had long retreated to the comforts of his married life and so thinking Greg had gone out to celebrate with him would be a rather farfetched idea.
Then where the hell is he?
Giving her hair one last comb through with her fingers, Sara stuffed her hands into her jeans' pockets and cursed before admitting defeat. If she was going to rib him about it, she would have to do it tomorrow or maybe the day after, depending on when their schedules and cases clashed again. By that time, the joke would be as cold as Hodges' love for all things unrelated to him.
Continuing her now aimless stroll through the lab, Sara contemplated upon the events on the last case as well as the packed salad she left in the refrigerator. Or had she? She recalled packing it but whether or not she brought it to work was a blur. Shaking her head, the brunette rolled her eyes and mumbled a complaint to the almighty.
But just as God deals the worse set of cards, He can sometimes give you a winning hand. Her eyes caught the quick retreat of a familiar shadow escape into the dark corners of the locker room.
A grin graced her lips as Sara realised her right for a little fun had not prematurely ended.
Tailing behind, her wet threads of hair stuck to her face as she tilted her head over, trying to peak in without him realising. Putting him in her view, she discovered her precautions were in vain as his back was turned towards her and ears plugged with the phones from his iPod. Still, her cautious side was always the stronger part, forcibly had her tiptoeing into the room and settling herself on the bench, right behind him.
Many ideas of how she could signal him to her company flitted by, but before she could settle with any of them, her mind had wandered to the man by her side. Observing him from afar was something but to be this close… so close that she could catch a scent of his cologne despite his full shift at the lab. Traces of it lingered on his jacket's collar, just right where the sandy blonde curls touched the edge. She followed his features and noticed his eyes were closed, not firmly but just enough to block out the reality and enjoy the music realm he dwelled in.
He didn't have a clue she was at such close proximities to him, or if he did, he wasn't showing any signs of it. All that he seemed preoccupied with was bobbing his head to the music and re-tying the shoelaces of his Converses, double knotting it as he went along.
Without even straining her ears, Sara could pick up pieces and beats from the music that was streaming into his ears. First she counted the time and realised it wasn't the extreme rock she was expecting. Actually, she couldn't really tell what it was at all, but it didn't have the harsh tones like most rock music Greg loved. Somehow her curiosity had taken a priority seat as she leaned in closer to the miniature speakers; her ear closer to his, hoping to catch a bar or a lyric she might recognise.
The point she had been waiting for arrived, that one beat that finished the puzzle and she instantly knew which version, which singer and of course, which song. The only problem was putting a name to the singer's face. The thought of it bugged as she tried desperately to recall. Something along the lines of Millard… Mitchell… Champagne.
She jumped two feet into the air, and she meant every centimetre of that 24 inches. If it wasn't for the fact that she had bitten on her tongue she might've screamed at the shock. Good for her embarrassment but not so for her tongue.
Recalling back her balance, the CSI gingerly settled on the edge of the bench while her partner took deep breaths in. Between him and her, Sara was pretty certain she had the better shock since she was still trying to figure out how to breathe again.
"You scared the begeezers out of me!"
The air came back to her and it allowed only a small space for a breathy reply, "The feeling is mutual."
Pulling out the earphones, Greg shifted his position and sat directly opposite from her and shook his head, "Just what the hell were you trying to do?"
She would be lying if she told him she was only trying to eavesdrop on his music- so, Sara lied, "Testing to see if there's a really a psychic in the house."
He laughed, the low rumble kind, but apparently he was lying too when she discovered it was sarcastic amusement he was showing, "Funny, Sara," he pressed his lips together and continued, "So, who was it who told you? Grissom?"
"You think Grissom would tell?"
She laughed, and this time it was genuine, "So you really are a psychic."
Rolling his eyes, Greg slouched his shoulders as if the field coroner's name had deflated all the air from him, "Did he print it on a newsletter and instant mailed it to everyone?"
"Something like that." Playfully smiling, Sara thought of the one thing she had come for and here she was. "So…" she held out her palm to him and left the smile on her lips.
Not saying a word, she merely motioned at her palm.
"Oh no…" he groaned as he realised what her intentions were about. "Sara, I'm not a palm reader."
"But you're a psychic." She retorted and closed her palm softly.
"I never said I was a psychic," He answered, a slight tinge of exasperation laced his voice, "It was my Nana Olaf and my family only thinks I inherited her gift not me- my family thinks!"
"You believe your Nana Olaf was the real deal?"
"As far as I can tell." He exhaled and shifted himself to a more comfortable sitting position.
She never noticed earlier, but he was wearing worn out light blue jeans that were fraying slightly at the knee patch and then just little at the hems. "So if you believe it, then maybe you do have the gift."
Throwing up his hands into the air, Greg sighed, "Fine. So let's pretend that I am a psychic, as remote as that possibility maybe." He paused, as if giving himself time for a better excuse than that, "I don't read palms."
Frowning, she tapped the side of her leg impatiently, "Same difference." She opened up her palm to him again, "Now, do your mojo thing."
"I- ." His attempts of objecting went down the drain as Sara shot him a look, a look that told him to do as he was told or suffer the consequences. "All right, all right…" Rubbing his hands together, he gently held her hand and brought it closer to him.
Sitting up slightly, she pushed herself forward to be comfortable instead of having to stretch her hand out so much. Her palm now safely nestled in both his hands; Sara felt his cool skin against hers and fought the urge to giggle like a school girl. Instead, she chewed on her bottom lip to suppress it. "So, oh-great-one, what do you see?"
"I see…," he raised both his eyebrows without taking his eyes off her palm, "I see lines, Sara… lots of lines."
"It's amazing how your power of perception never ceases to surprise me."
"Do I sense scepticism in your voice, child?"
"No, not really," she replied, "Only boredom that's edging on irritation."
He nodded back and smiled, "Fair enough. So…" his spread out her fingers and studied the palm, "Lines, lines, lines and look- lines."
Sara allowed herself a chuckle and watched on with amusement. Now, she could go forth and tell Warrick and Nick just how wonderful Greg's readings are. Should give them enough material to tease the younger CSI for a lifetime or two.
Slowly her mind wandered off again as she looked forward, gazed at Greg who was bent over and studying the lines of her palm so carefully. So much so that his nose was only a couple of inches from touching her open palm and here she sat, having a great view of his sandy blonde curls. Those exact curls that once again framed his ears perfectly where she then followed to the messiness of his hair. This time, she couldn't catch his cologne but only the shampoo's fruity scent from his hair. He must've taken a shower earlier on, which explains why she couldn't locate him then. He was busy cleaning up and blow drying.
She chuckled again, knowing very well that most guys would be caught dead with a hair dryer in their hands and rather walk out in a wet mess, which was what Sara had grown a habit to. She sniffed the aroma again and waited it for it to dissipate into the air.
"Greg?" He wasn't mumbling the words 'lines' over and over anymore but on the contrary, had gone silent.
"Err... found something?"
There was no reply from him, and Sara was left to wonder about what his 'mmhmmm' meant. "Is it a bad 'mmhmmm' or a good 'mmhmmm'?" she repeated her question in a different context.
"Found your love line," His face was still downwards, affecting the sounds of his voice and causing it to sound badly muffled. "Looks interesting."
"Do you say that to all of the girls you meet?"
"Most girls don't make me read their palms." He mumbled an answer back.
Her grin had returned to her lips once more as she laughed, "Good point." The fingers of her free hand rhythmically brushed against her hips, the feel of her soft jeans right under them. "Now, read me my love…"
Sara thought she had heard a weary sigh from him, but she wasn't sure. The only thing she could think about was playing with the sandy curls that were teasing her, just taking one and looping it around her finger. All she needed to do was to slowly lift her unoccupied hand and softly run through them, so simple yet she was afraid to bring herself to do that.
Trying hard to concentrate on Greg's mumbling, Sara only found herself overanalysing everything else about the man. From his clothes, the colour of his cotton jacket, the bits of lint that stuck to it, the way his facial muscles tensed when he spoke and just about everything else.
A shiver shot through her spine and she inhaled sharply, but not noticeably, as she felt his strong finger trace over her palm, following every line on it. Her hand still firmly grasped by his, and tracing over every groove and etching of life oh so tenderly. Sara fought the urge to snatch her hand back and scratch the tickling away, but the ache of her heart and the blush on her cheeks prevented her from doing so.
"Right here," the light tracing come to a close and was now pressing his thumb against her palm as he spoke to her.
Shutting her eyes to block out mental and vivid imaginations from dancing in front of her, Sara turned her focus somewhere else, anything to keep her mind off it. "Where?" she voiced herself suddenly and loudly to drown out her thoughts, and her body involuntarily dragged her down to look closer as well.
It was bad timing- or was it?
The moment she had taken the act of moving in closer was the exact time he looked up, and suddenly she was out of breath again. The world had collapsed upon them as they look at each other face to face, only hair widths between their noses and nothing more. They locked on each other's eyes and Sara learned that his brown eyes were like pools of emotion that she found herself drowning in.
"Found that…," he whispered now, with his face only centimetres away, it was muffled no more but clearer than ever, "…that, it sort of… crosses… with." He never finished what he was about to say and he left it hanging. He was moving his lips, but nothing was coming out as he sat there looking up and her while she was looking down.
Deep within, Sara pulled up as much strength as she could to answer him but only a murmur escaped, "I thought, you didn't read palms?"
The corners of his mouth upturned into a slight smile, "Maybe Nana Olaf did teach me something."
"Uh huh…," Was she imagining it? Or had he moved closer still? "Nana would be… an interesting… person to meet."
Sara could hear, feel, his warm breath on her now, and was only seeing him through half opened eyes, "You'll meet her someday," he said.
Her mind whirled for a comeback, but the high she was feeling was so strong she couldn't think clearly enough. She didn't dare move, for fear of breaking the closeness they held, like a fragile thread holding the weight of their porcelain hearts.
And then the world came crashing down.
Her lips tasted his own and everything around them ceased to exist. Finally, she found the courage to run her hands through his curls and there were as soft as she imagined it to be but will never be as sweet as his lips. At that moment, she understood why he found the need to close his eyes to enjoy the music because now, as she closed her own, she could feel every drop of emotion and passion more than ever. It was never too late to learn something new.
Oxygen filled her lungs once again as they broke off their intimacy, leaving only two breathless people who now have no idea where they stand.
"Wow…" Greg trailed off; his voice was still stuck in a whisper.
Turning away and smiling, Sara was afraid of looking at him again, not wanting to be pulled in by the magic of his brown eyes. "I…," she laughed and shook her head. "So much for being psychic," she lifted her eyes to him, this time from the safety of further distance.
"I wouldn't say that," He leaned in closer again, eyeing her.
Breaking that safety net, she followed suit, "Oh?"
"I did transfer all the way from San Francisco P.D. knowing two years later you'd join me here in Las Vegas."
Giving him a mock look of shock, she replied in a sarcastic tone, "Is that right?"
Closer than ever, Greg leaned his forehead against hers and gave Sara a huge serving of his trademark grin, "Still a sceptic?" She had completely forgotten that her palm still laid in his hand as Greg held it tightly, closing his fingers around it and giving a firm squeeze.
She laughed again, enjoying the simply physical touch they shared, "All right then, all-seeing-eye, what am I thinking? Right. Now."
"That if we're going to have breakfast together, we need to leave now."
"You mean like a date?"
He looked up, as if pondering the thought, "If you'd like dates for breakfast, I could handle that." If there was any hint of seriousness to his words, it quickly dissipated with the appearance of yet another grin.
"Yeah… funny," Sara punched him lightly in the arm.
Moving closer, Sara allowed her lips to graze his slightly before pulling back and breaking apart from him. As she stood up, she pushed strands of her hair behind her ear and glanced at the former lab tech seated before her. Raising an eyebrow, she walked out of the room, looking from the corner of her eyes at a very puzzled Greg.
Though she tried hard to walk nonchalantly as possible, somehow it felt to her that she was moving too fast or showing her eagerness. Stepping out, she ducked against the outside walls of the locker room and rubbed her palms together, laughing and allowing a slight giggle. A day shift lab technician had sauntered by, throwing a suspicious glance at Sara. The poor guy was probably wondering why a senior CSI would be doing, laughing at herself and staring at her palm. Clearing her throat, she casually smiled at him and waved, hoping that he would just go on walking by and not straight into a wall.
That's right; Sara remembered the guy's name as Jennings, a tech at toxicology.
Slowly, and eventually, Jennings took his gaze off Sara and resumed whatever he was doing, much to Sara's relief. Controlling her laughter, she leaned back against the wall and breathed calmly.
It was funny, how the day had started off with a joke, a prank and a motive. Now, it ended with a possibility, a future and an emotion.
Taking in another deep breath, she whirled around, standing at the front door of the locker room yet again. If she could smile wider than she was already doing- she would've.
When she had left him, he was sitting up like a normal adult but now, he lay on the bench, arms spread out and a silly smile etched on his face. Not knowing any other way to alert him of her presence, she did what any person would've done- she spoke out, "I'll meet you outside."
He jerked and straightened himself in surprise, but switched from a shock look to a completely satisfied one, complete with his wry grin.
"About five minutes," she continued and took a step back.
Nodding excitedly like a goofy five-year old, "Sure… five minutes."
Backing out, Sara pulled her hair into a temporary ponytail and released it, letting her semi-wet hair fall back again. Her eyes gazed upwards as she thought of the man above; He was still playing tricks on her after all.
Only this time, she liked what she saw.
"I get so
breathless, when you call my name,
I've often wondered, do you feel the same?
There's a chemistry, energy, synchronicity
When we're all alone,
So don't tell me,
You can't see,
What I'm thinking of."
- Breathless, Corinne Bailey Rae -
Thanks to everyone for reading.