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Lady Heather's Dominion

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What You Wish For

copyright 2004, by Hannah

Disclaimer:    CSI and it's characters were created by Anthony E. Zuiker.  They are used herein without permission, but in the spirit of admiration and respect.  No infringement of copyright is intended, and no profit, of any kind, is made by the creator, maintainer or contributors to this site.

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Author's Note: I know this is out of character for Grissom. I wrote it anyway. Apologies to William Petersen.


Gil Grissom is an observer. He takes a keen interest in patterns in the world around him - including those in human behavior. He is constantly bemused at his team’s belief that he is oblivious to human interaction, but makes no real effort to undermine that assumption. He has found over the years that it serves him well to be underestimated in this respect, and indeed even makes something of an effort to cultivate it these days. Heather commented more than once on the lengths to which he is willing to go to avoid anything beyond the most casual relationships.

He releases a long, weary sigh. Ironic that the one person he has no wish to avoid intimacy with is currently doing her best to avoid him entirely. She is merciless in her refusals to even so much as allow him to speak to her, but he is determined. He will win her forgiveness... eventually. He’s simply not sure how to go about it yet.

He tried to call her again this morning when he came off shift. She hung up on him. She has refused him every day for three weeks, and today is the beginning of the fourth. He is not in a good mood.

After staring at the ceiling for several hours, he admits that he cannot sleep. He showers and dresses, then drives to the Dominion. Once again, she refuses to see him. He is not surprised, but it worsens his mood, nonetheless.

He knows that he will need to be careful. He is prone to dark swings in his temprament, darker than he would like to admit. It’s a large part of his need for control, though Heather has managed to strip that control almost completely. He is dangerously close to that... shadow, and it frightens him. Perhaps that is what she requires.

He should go home, try again to get some sleep. He will not.
Instead, he goes back to the lab early. He might as well get a head start on those case reviews he’s been putting off. He will not admit to himself that he would like to run into Ecklie, perhaps have the chance to pick a fight with the day shift supervisor. He can’t afford to acknowledge how badly he needs an outlet for his building frustration.


Sara Sidle is having a bad night. She’s working a rape case, while Catherine has been assigned the lead position in a high-profile murder investigation. After last night’s announcement that Nick got the promotion they have been competing for, Catherine is the last thing she needs. Leave it to Catherine to snatch up the career case while she gets stuck with yet another rape. She’s tired of always drawing the rape cases, can’t remember the last time anybody else worked one.

She used to enjoy her work. She looked forward to coming in to the lab. Now she hates it. Catherine is constantly being shoved down her throat. Nick beat her out for the promotion she’d been sure she would get. Brass is convinced she’s an alcoholic, is probably watching her every move. Greg Sanders is actually getting to work more interesting cases than hers. And Grissom... well, Grissom barely speaks to her these days.

Grissom. It’s getting harder and harder to work with him every day. She’s tried to ignore her feelings for him, but after what she overheard in that interrogation room... She’d give anything if he would only drop his guard with her, even once. She wants him so badly it hurts.

She makes no effort to hide her displeasure with anything tonight. She knows she’s being a bitch, but simply doesn’t care. Why should she bother to play nice when it won’t change anything? Besides, everyone is tied up with Catherine’s case. She’s working this rape herself, no partner to try to get along with tonight. She’s used to being alone. It suits her. Maybe it suits her a little too well.

She could use someone to help her with these damn restraints, though. The victim was tied to her bed, but something about the bruising doesn’t make sense. Maybe...

The last time she saw Grissom, he was in his office under a pile of paperwork. Maybe she could convince him to get out of the lab for awhile, come with her to pay another visit to the scene. Who knows, maybe it will give them a chance to talk a little...


Grissom hears the knock and looks up to find Sara standing in the door of his office. He stifles the impulse to groan... barely. Sara Sidle is the last thing he needs right now. It’s just under an hour to the end of shift, and he was beginning to think he might make it through the night without being subjected to one of her moods. No such luck, it seems.

He has little patience for Sara these days. He had known she was interested in him when he asked her to come to Las Vegas. He’s even encouraged her infatuation from time to time as a motivational tool, but lately she’s become obsessive in her pursuit of him, and it is wearing on his already strained nerves. He can’t get within ten feet of the woman he wants, and can’t turn around without tripping over one he would just as soon be rid of.

Brass believes that Sara has started drinking. He is unsure some days if it would disappoint him to find that Brass is right. Her moods are extreme. She’s managed to alienate almost all of her co-workers in recent months. Perhaps a reason to get rid of her would not be such a bad thing. As shift supervisor he should address the issue of her recent behavior, but she is so focused on what did, or didn’t happen between them that he fears she would see it as unfair censure.

He is a creature of habit, and his strongest habit is avoidance. He sees no reason to change that here. His attempts to explore more direct coping strategies have proven spectacularly unsuccessful in other areas, and he has no reason to believe this would be any different.

“What is it, Sara?” He makes no attempt to mask the hint of irritation in his tone.

“Are you busy?” she asks. “I was hoping you could help me with something.”

He shrugs.

“What is it you need?”

“My victim was tied to her bed by her assailant, and I’d like to check something out. I need someone to come back to the crime scene with me.” She pauses, then fixes him with a stare that is much too direct. “I want you to tie me down.”

Lips pursed, he regards her for a long moment. It is a bad idea, given his present mood, but he finds himself nodding and rising from his chair.

What the fuck.


She is lying face down on the victim’s bed, spread-eagled, an extremity tied to each of the four bedposts with lengths of soft cotton.

“She struggled...” She mutters this almost to herself as she pitches her body up and off the mattress.

She feels his weight on the bed beside her.

“She wouldn’t have been able to get that kind of leverage,” he says. “He would have been on top of her.”

She is surprised to feel his weight on her, pressing her back down into the mattress. She feels a shiver of fear and struggles to buck him off of her, but he only chuckles and presses into her more firmly.

“Grissom...” she begins.


He makes no move to let her up. Her struggles increase, and she becomes aware of a stiffening against her buttocks. Is it possible that he has an erection? She is unsure for a moment whether to be pleased or distressed at the prospect.

“Grissom, you’re scaring me.”

“Am I?” His voice, cold and completely alien to her, carries a taunting lilt. “Are you sure I’m not exciting you?”

“I don’t...”

“Don’t play dumb, Sara. I’m not in the mood.” He shifts against her, and his erection is unmistakable. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

She has no idea what to say to that. She wants him, of course. But this...

He moves his mouth to her ear, his voice a rough whisper.

“Tell me, Sara, if I were to unfasten your jeans and slip my hand inside your panties, would I find you wet?” He shifts again, rubbing himself against her ass, and she realizes with rising panic that she is unable to speak. She tries to turn her head to look at him, but her position will not allow it. “Let’s find out.” His hands move to her waist, one lifting her slightly as the other finds the zipper of her levis and tugs it down. She manages to produce a soft whimper as his hand slips inside her panties, and then she feels his fingers slide over her. “I thought so.” The fingers of one hand settle into a steady rhythm, tracing lazy circles over her clit, while the other moves up to find a breast. He’s still rubbing himself against her ass, the pressure increasing with the growing urgency of his movement, and it suddenly registers that he means to use her to get off. Finally, she manages to find her voice.

“Grissom!” It is one word, harsh and urgent, and the tone is enough to make him pause, though his fingers continue to flutter over her.

“Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind?” He increases the pressure of his fingers on her, viciously pinches a nipple through the fabric of her shirt. She is unable to speak again in the face of such a taunt, and with no response, he continues to stimulate her. His fingers move over her with increasing speed and she finds herself disturbingly close to a climax. She does not want to come for him here, like this, but it seems she is powerless to stop it. For his part, he appears to have lost interest in her. She can still feel his weight, but he no longer moves against her. She feels his breath hot on her neck as the sound of his harsh whisper reaches her ear. “This is what you want, isn’t it?” And the pressure increases yet again as his fingers move faster. “Isn’t it?”

The word screaming in her head is ‘No!’ but it is “Oh God!” that bursts out of her as the climax takes her. He withdraws his hand the instant he feels her stiffen, and she feels the weight of him lift even as she continues to shudder. He unties her, but she makes no move to get up for several long minutes after her bonds are removed. When she does turn over and sit up, fastening her jeans and swiping at her eyes with the back of a hand, she finds him standing by the foot of the bed. He is watching her with a detachment that causes her stomach to lurch wildly.

“What was that?” She controls the tremor in her voice admirably.

“You’ve made it very clear that you wanted to fuck me, Sara... You just never bothered to ask how I fuck.”

Her voice is hard when she is steady enough to respond.

“That wasn’t exactly fucking.”

He barks out a harsh laugh.

“Well, fucking wasn’t exactly what I wanted from you.”

Anger finally flashes through her eyes.

“And what about what I wanted?”

“You got what you wanted.”

“You can’t possibly think...” she begins, but he interrupts her.

“You wanted me, yes?”

“Not like that.”

He stares at her, blue eyes cold, jaw clenched tight.

“Then you should be more aware of what you’re asking for from now on.”

He turns and, without another word, leaves her alone in the early morning shadows of the bedroom.


Sara sits alone in the middle of a strange woman’s bed and hugs herself tighly.
She is cold, but it has little to do with the temperature of the room.

What just happened?
Did she ask for this? She does not believe so, but she cannot be entirely sure.

She does not feel violated so much as betrayed... betrayed by Grissom and by herself. She is horrified when it occurs to her that a part of her is perversely pleased. She is actually encouraged that she could somehow cause him to lose control, though she understands in some vague way that this ultimately had very little to do with her.

She wants so much to hate him, but she can’t.

She stares off into a corner of the room and allows long minutes to pass before finally drawing herself up and climbing off the bed. She moves to stand before the dressing table mirror, smoothing her hair and straightening her clothes. She meets her own shaky gaze but quickly looks away, unwilling to consider the emptiness she finds there. She turns and begins to gather her things.

He is waiting.


He sits in the Tahoe, staring through the windshield at nothing in particular, and waits.

She didn’t deserve that, though her distress has managed to placate him somewhat.
He will regret this lapse, but cannot seem to call up any measure of remorse just yet.
He needs to end this, get control of himself again.

He is brooding on how best to go about this when she finally comes out of the house and climbs into the seat next to him. He knows that she is waiting for some sign from him, almost hopeful in her tentative expectation, but he offers her nothing. He reaches to turn the key in the ignition without so much as a glance in her direction, and feels her slump beside him, drawing into herself.

The drive passes in silence, her eyes shifting from her lap to his rigid profile and back again, his fixed firmly ahead. When he reaches the lab, he pulls up in front of the door, engine running, and waits for her to get out.

“Grissom...” Her voice is small and sharp as broken glass.

“Go home, Sara.”

She sits perfectly still for a moment. He can feel her gaze begging him to look at her, to say something, and still he stares straight ahead, jaw locked, totally closed.

In the end, she says nothing more, simply lowers her head and slips quietly from the car, closing the door gently behind her. She stands beside the Tahoe and he feels her eyes on him once more. He does not look at her, but he knows that her eyes do not leave him as he puts the car in gear and moves away. He knows also that she will continue to stand just where she is, staring after him for long moments after he is gone.

What would she think, he wonders, if she knew where he is going?


copyright 2004, by Hannah

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