A/N: A short story adding a new ending to the recent "Girls 2" episode in season 15. No spoilers for those who have not seen it.

Chapter 1

Hours after the shooting, after the confrontation with a mad man, and after talking with Morgan in the locker room, Sara sat in the middle of her bed. Soft music played as her finger ran over a framed photograph that usually sat beside her bed.

She was tired, but not sleepy, not yet. She had changed her mind after Greg had met them in the hallway. He was cheerful yet asking sincerely how they were doing at the same time voicing satisfaction in the closure of the day's events. After Greg asked where they were going, Sara realized she had little interest in drinking tequila—or in returning to the hotel for the night.

And, it was obvious Morgan would enjoy Greg's company.

Sara, making a quick decision, reached into her bag and pulled out complimentary tickets—one to a concert and one to a party—from one of the conference venders. "Here," she said as she handed the tickets to Greg, "take these. Morgan already has hers and I just want to sleep—at home—my head on my pillow." Digging around in her purse again, she handed her hotel room key card to Greg. "Sleep in my room. Don't drink and drive. I'll come by tomorrow and pick up my things."

When both Morgan and Greg protested, Sara chuckled. "You two have more energy than I do right now—go—have fun." She made a twisted smile, saying, "How many times will you get to see Tom Jones?"

Greg laughed as he mimicked moves and sang a few lines from an old Tom Jones song, "It's not unusual to be loved by anyone…"

Morgan and Sara batted his shoulders before he could continue. For another minute, Greg protested taking the key card.

"Don't use my toothbrush, Greg. Sleep in the room. I'll see you both tomorrow." Sara left them standing in the hallway, making quick plans; two excited friends who needed a nudge, she thought. Maybe dancing to Tom Jones and drinking free tequila would turn the nudge into a push.

She had called D.B. telling him she wasn't staying at the conference hotel, but Greg was taking her room—and going with Morgan. A soft chuckle met her ears before he asked, "Playing at match-making, Sara?" She laughed. His voice echoed with fatigue, edged with weariness that had not been there months ago. Not for the first time, the idea flamed in her mind that D.B. was burning out.

After a long shower, Sara had crawled into her bed hoping music would relax her enough to sleep. Leaning back against several stacked pillows, keeping the framed photograph in her hand, Sara closed her eyes. It was unlikely she would sleep for hours so she let her thoughts drift back to the day's events.

Of all the things that had happened that day, her thoughts returned to the conversation at poolside. She could not believe she had actually said the words—"be with somebody who really gets you, who loves you for who you are"—to Morgan and Finn. She had responded to Finn's casual attitude about relationships with her own beliefs. It wasn't something she meant to say to anyone—ever—but early morning champagne and sunshine had loosened her tongue as well as thoughts that were never far below the surface even when she was working.

Her finger traced the two smiling faces in the photograph. There had always been a connection between them; the thought made her smile.

The first day she had met Dr. Gil Grissom, she had known there was something different about him. A quiet giggle escaped as she remembered his polite answer to her question while, at the same time, lifting one eyebrow. His blue shirt was open at the throat revealing triangle of his chest. His curling going-to-gray hair was stylishly combed yet gave an appearance of being fashionably disheveled. And as he had answered her second question, she realized he was—not movie star handsome—but an attractive man in surprising ways. Glancing around the room for the first time, she noticed most of the audience was female.

As she asked more questions, she realized the man was not only comfortable in his position as a speaker, he was almost flirting with her—in a room filled with one hundred people watching. A few others had asked questions, but his gaze kept returning to her and as the question-answer session closed, he had slowly disconnected from a dozen others and made his way to her.

"You have more questions," he had said as simply as one asks about weather. There was a glint of amusement in eyes that were as azure blue as the San Francisco sky on a cloudless day.

For the rest of the conference, they had found an amazing number of times to be in the same room, at the same table, crossed paths while visiting exhibits, and shared several meals; she had given him the "super-deluxe" tour of the bay area on his last day in the city. From that meeting, she knew she had made a friend, found a mentor, and had developed a slightly embarrassing crush on a man she had known for three days.

For two years, they had emailed each other, talked on the phone, and on two occasions had met face-to-face when he came to San Francisco. On one of those occasions, they had almost—almost moved their building friendship to romance.

She curled her legs and pulled bedcovers up to her chest; her eyes studied the photograph.

Their connection—that soul satisfying desire to be with each other—had been built from their first hour together. Her lips pressed in a tight line that gradually lifted at each corner of her mouth as she thought about their past.

Scrunching down in bed, pulling only one pillow from the stack for her head, she placed the photograph on another pillow so she could see it in the dim light of the bedroom.

Months ago, one night when she and D.B. had been working together, her supervisor had gently suggested she "do something" about the state of her marriage. When she made no response, he had continued:

"I've promised my wife we will move back to Seattle—not right now, but in the future—buy us a house overlooking the water in a neighborhood we've always loved. She—she's okay with that for now—and she flies up there once a month to play with our granddaughter."

Sara had kept working when he stopped talking until the silence grew uncomfortable. He said, "It won't go away, Sara. If you love him—and I believe you do—and, from the few times I've been around Grissom, I think he loves you. It's—it's something you need to do before it's too late."

At that point, she had stopped working and looked at him. "I don't know what to do," she whispered.

"Call him, Sara. Talk things out," her supervisor had gently said.

She smiled as her hand reached for the photo and brought it to her chest; she had taken his advice. Her eyes closed; she sighed and minutes later, she was asleep.

A/N: This one is short-your comments and reviews will bring the next chapter! Thanks so much!