Work Text:
"Straight up away from this road,
Away from the fitted particles of frost
Coating the hull of each chick pea
...
And when you speak to me like this,
I try to remember that the wood and cement walls
Of this room are being swept away now
Molecule by molecule, in a slow and steady wind,
And nothing at all separates our bodies
From the vast emptiness expanding"
ACHIEVING PERSPECTIVE by Pattiann Rogers
---
Sara had been standing in the corner looking at something on the outside wall of the crime scene for at least ten minutes. At her umpteenth unintelligible mumble, Grissom walked over to see what the problem was.
"I can't get this," Sara protested. It was a small piece of fabric.
In the light of the flashlight, Grissom saw that the hand with which Sara was holding the tweezers was shaking. It was only then that he noticed Sara's posture: her head was hunched into her shoulders, her arms were attached to her body and her legs were slightly bent, as if she were about to curl up.
That night was cold, but in that area the desert cold was biting in an unexpected way. Grissom remembered that Sara had made a comment about it as soon as they got out of the car.
He told her to take off her gloves and at her attempted protest he took his own off. When she too had taken hers off, he took her hands between his.
"You have...warm hands, for an iceman ," Sara commented. The tone palely ironic, but a little uncertain; the gaze low on their hands.
Grissom moved his mouth closer to their hands, until his lips almost touched them, and blew warm air into them.
"I'm not very sensitive to the cold," he murmured. His tone softly cheerful, a little cautious; his gaze low on their hands as well.
He rubbed her hands together and blew warm air on them again.
"Go warm up in the car," he told her then. Sara tried to protest. "When you're warmed up, you'll be back."