WARNING: Character death. (It's me, hands up those who are surprised. That's what I thought)

WARNING NO.2: Tissue alert. (Again, hands up those surprised)

Dedicated to Laura, who's new reading my stuff, but she's always positive and can always make me laugh, and has been waiting for this fic from day one of my plotting. Dedicated also to Courtney, who I hear has been doing some plotting, and I for one am scared. Love you both!

-_-

He was too late. He couldn't save her.

She slipped away just as he reached her, cradling her head in his arms, telling her to hold on. He watched the life drain out of her eyes, but it didn't matter anymore. He could have arrived a minute late or an hour late with the same results. She was gone, and there was nothing left any more.

No-one said anything, watching the silent tears running down his face as he looked into her lifeless eyes, remembering all the things he should have said, but didn't. Stupid petty things like apologizing for leaving the toilet seat up, or the time he went out for milk and came back with eight racing cockroaches and nothing dairy whatsoever.

But also the important things like I love you.

The most important thing of all.

As he stood up, wincing as his joints protested, he felt the small box in his pocket digging into his hip.

Catherine's hand on his shoulder reminded him that she was there for him, they all were. She led him away to the waiting helicopter that Greg had been scanning the desert from and he sat on the edge; hand in his pocket, searching for the box. He brought it to the surface and, seeing it, Catherine gasped. 'Oh Gil, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.'

'I was going to ask her after shift, at a little diner she liked.' His voice barely more than a whisper, a fresh wave of tears fell as he thought of how her face would look- would have looked, he corrected himself, his heart breaking into a million irreparable pieces.

-_-

He was sitting in his apartment, a bottle of scotch open next to him as he looked listlessly at the wedding ring box and the photo that Nick had taken the last time they went out as a team, long before the miniature killings started. Sara wasn't looking at the camera; she was looking straight into his eyes, he could see the love, the devotion, as she fed him a chip.

He slammed the bottle on the table, slopping the amber liquid everywhere and left, grabbing his coat.

It was too stifling in here, there was too much that reminded him of Sara.

He got in his car and drove, just drove until he could find a place that didn't remind him of her. It was hard. Over there was her favourite casino, over there was the bar where they had gone last week, just the two of them, over there was the restaurant where they had gone on their first real date.

He drove until he reached a house, a large gothic mansion in the suburbs. Getting out of the car, he ignored the pouring rain as he rang the doorbell.

The door opened. 'Can we talk?' he said simply to the figure standing in the doorway.

'Always.' he said, moving aside to let him in.

-_-

A mojito to the first person who guesses who Grissom went to see.