Banner by Kitty

Day Dawning
By Camilla Sandman



Disclaimer: I am not a large American TV channel, thus they do not belong to me. No money made, no offence meant.

Summary: “It is going to be another warm, sunlit day in Las Vegas. But for now, it is still morning and all dreams have not yet faded. Still time to rest - for a little while as the day dawns.” Two light vignettes. C/W, G/S.

Author's note: Rating due to hints of sex. Nothing too descriptive, but you're hereby warned.

*****

For still your face comes shining through
And all the morning glows anew
Still your mind
Still your soul
For still, the fire of love is true
And I am breathless without you
- Nick Cave, Breathless

*****

She awakens to his kisses; light touches of fire on her skin, tracing a path down her back. He has pushed her bed covers down to expose her skin, but the room is warm and she does not care. She feels almost exposed, naked under his touch even lying on her stomach, but strangely, she does not feel afraid. She trusts him.

It is morning; she can sense sunlight, but keeps her eyes closed. A few rays must be streaking into the room and falling across her bed, feeling warm against her eyelids. Her hair is tickling her shoulders, her sheets are soft against her breasts. She feels aware, but not awake. As if this is a living dream, not quite real, not quite a fantasy.

He slips a finger across the base of her back, a touch lighter than a feather. She can feel his gaze on her, touching her as surely as his hands, making a different kind of love to her. Last night was greed and need for both. Now he is slow; savouring, exploring, cherising.

It is an odd word in her mind, but she cannot think of another. There is cherish in his touches, his kisses, his looks. Cherish. So near love, but she dares not think of that. Not yet.

He leans down and she feels his breath across her cheek, smelling slightly of something she has not yet identified, but has learned is simply him. He tucks her hair away, but still she does not open her eyes, listening to his breath and her heartbeats. A strange rhythm, but it feels almost like a song in her blood.

"Good morning," he whispers, his thumb tracing her lower lip. She parts her lips slightly, pressing a kiss against his fingerprint. He makes a deep sound in his throat; a sound her body remembers and responds to.

She lifts herself up, her breasts pressing against his naked chest as she locks her mouth to his, kissing him deeply as the echo of the passion the night before becomes a roar in her mind. Her cheeks feel ablaze, almost sore as his unshaven skin scrapes her lightly. But the pleasure eats the pain away, until the pleasure becomes a pain, a deep ache within her. He wraps a leg around her, pushing her even closer, his fingers stroking her hair oddly gentle compared to the intensity of his kiss. This is him. Gentle and intense, dark and light, lover and colleague. He fits her, in all ways.

She arches against him, the sunlight now within her, burning her to a crisp. Every touch is a torture too much, a pleasure too little. She braids her fingers into his, not sure if it was his heartbeat or hers pounding faster and faster in her head until it becomes a surge of light and silence and she feels nothing and everything at once. She barely feels her body greet his release, but she hears the name he whispers. Her name.

And she feels his name echoing across her mind, beating with her heart. Warrick. Warrick, Warrick, Warrick.

'Warrick and Catherine,' she thinks and cherishes the thought.

She is not sure if she drifts off to sleep for a moment or not, but she suddenly realises he has tucked the covers back over them without her noticing. She rests her head on his chest, feeling his heartbeats against her cheek. He is soft beneath her and she wonders if she can rest in him forever, safe, embraced, cherished.

"Stay for breakfast?" she asks.

"Yes," he replies softly, tracing circles and patterns on her back. She lifts herself up and meets his gaze, knowing what she'll see.

It is going to be another warm, sunlit day in Las Vegas. But for now, it is still morning and all dreams have not yet faded. Still time to rest - for a little while as the day dawns.

"Good."

******

He awakens to feel cold. Not freezing, but cold, as if warmth has seeped out of him and only the faint memory of it lingers. The bed-covers feel cool against his skin and he shivers. Blindly, he seeks heat, but the bed is empty. There is just him.

He opens his eyes to the emptiness of his bedroom. The light feels muted, the sun still without the heat and radiance of day. A car in the distance hoots, shattering the illusion of silence. But he knows there is no true silence in Las Vegas. There is always a noise, always a roar, even if humans choose not to listen. People lose themselves in the sounds and think them silence.

And there is one sound he is missing. Her breath, mingling with his. Her heartbeats under his palm. Her sighs at his touch. He is missing her sound, the sound of Sara.

He dreamt of her in the night, he remembers. Dreamt that she left him, that he did finally chase her away as he wanted to, as he feared to. Dreamt that she tired of being two steps away every step she took forward.

Dreamt that he lost her.

He stares at his hands and feels old. So many regrets, so much lost. So much he would undo, but time knows only one direction.

“You better get up or we'll be late.”

It is shouted softly to him across rooms and without even thinking he follows the sound, the call of his mate drawing him in. All men are animals, even him.

She stands in the bathroom door, a towel around her head and body, water still glistening on her skin. Freshly out of the shower and more beautiful than in any gown of creation.

“I thought you had left,” he says, feeling stupid, feeling relieved. She smiles.

“I'm here.”

She did leave him. But he came after her and for all he had not said, she had still come back with him. Back to Las Vegas. And her she is, in his cold home, his fear realised, his dream come to life.

“You were asleep when I came home,” she continues and he nods. She still works too hard and too much. But he lures her home early sometimes now and so does she.

He walks over and embraces her, merely smiling at her protests. He does not care if she makes him wet, does not care if they'll be slightly late this morning. She is here.

He tastes soap on her skin as he kisses her neck, cherishing the warmth of her in his arms. She fits. In his arms, his life, his home.

“Grissom!” she laughs, the sound of her trickling against his skin. He kisses water from her lips, silencing her protests. Her towel is rough under his fingers compared to her skin and he loosens it. She lets it fall, merely sighing as he dries her with his body, his touches, his presence.

“Sara,” he whispers.

He is not letting her go again. He is the calm and she is the wind, sweeping through his life and changing all. But in the still of air it is hard to fly and he will dare the storm.

She clings to him as he lifts her up and kisses her deeply for the fears of the words he might utter. He will tell her one day soon. But not before the fear passes and he will not wake to think her gone in the morning. Not until his morning is not haunted by dreams he needs to kiss away.

“I'm here, Gil,” she whispers, her eyes dark as he sinks into her. And he reads in her eyes what he has known since he first turned to her voice on a Las Vegas street.

Maybe he will tell her soon.

Maybe he will tell her today.

And then he loses himself in her silence, the morning roaring ever on beyond her, loud and bright and day dawning.

*****

There I was on a July morning - I was looking for love.
With the strength of a new day dawning and the beautiful sun.
At the sound of the first bird singing I was leaving for home.
With the storm and the night behind me and a road of my own.
With the day
came the resolution
I'll be looking for you.
- Uriah Heep, July Morning

*****