Disclaimer: Don't own 'em.

Spoilers: 7x23

Rating: K+

Summary: Post 7x23. This is depressing.

A/N: Thanks to SBT for the beta.

Ode to Hope

And the waves tell the firm coast;

'Everything will be fulfilled'

--Pablo Neruda, "Ode to Hope"

He found her at the diner across from the police station, staring at her coffee. Her hands cupped the white ceramic mug, cradling it.

"This seat taken?" he asked, his voice barely carrying over the breakfast din.

She looked up, her brown eyes glassy and lifeless, like a doll's. She nodded.

Brass took his seat and motioned for the waitress. "I'll have two eggs over easy, whole wheat toast, and a side of Canadian bacon."

The waitress smacked her gum. "To drink?"

"Coffee, thanks." He turned to Sara. "Why don't you eat something?" She started to shake her head, but he held up his hand. "The same for her -- but no bacon." When the waitress left, he sat back against the cushiony booth and sighed.

"I'm really not hungry."

"Humor me. Keep me company. I don't like to eat alone."

Sara took a sip of her coffee. "Neither do I," she said under her breath.

"So…how have you been?"

She pursed her lips, the life coming back in her eyes for the first time since he took his seat. "Look, I'm not drinking a beer. This is coffee. Decaf coffee. I don't--"

He waved his hand, dismissing her worries. "No, I don't mean…I mean, how are you? It's been a while since we've…caught up."

"Have we ever caught up?"

"We're doing it now. How are you?" he repeated.

She sighed, about to make up some lie to placate him, when she noticed the look of pity in his eyes, the sad grimace of his mouth. Sara stiffened. "You know," she said simply.

"I --"

He was interrupted by the waitress as she set a large oval plate of food in front of each of them.

"Thank you," Sara murmured to the waitress, though her eyes never left Brass.

"A couple of months ago, I saw Grissom driving your Prius. I think he had just left the barber."

She looked at her plate, recalling the Saturday morning she had tossed Grissom her car keys clear across the room so he could go get his hair cut. "His car had a flat tire."

He nodded. "Have you…been together long?"

"Two years."

Brass coughed. A handful of months, he had expected. Six would've been pushing it. He had figured they began seeing each other after Grissom got back from Massachusetts. There was something in his demeanor that suggested he had…a life. Despite Keppler dying, despite the resurgence of the miniature killer and the continuation of Greg's ordeal, there was a bounce in Grissom's step that was entirely new. Brass had just assumed a new relationship had put the twinkle in his eye. "Two years?"

Sara nodded and took a sip of her coffee.

Two years. That they were able to keep their romance quiet for so long was surprising, but even more surprising was that they were able to keep their romance going for so long. They were past affair and into a full-blown relationship. Grissom, the brainy introvert, had been getting laid these past two years. "That's a long time," he remarked, still getting over the shock.

"I suppose so," she said blankly.

He watched her as she picked at her breakfast, moving the food around the plate with a fork, but never really eating any of it. She looked completely defeated.

"Do you want me to drive you home?"

"No. I might go back to the lab."

He furrowed his brows. "But…your case is finished, isn't it?"

Her lower lip twitched, forming a pout for a microsecond before it resumed its set, grim line. She said nothing and he suddenly recalled his last conversation with Grissom: "I'm going to go see Heather's ex-husband," he had said. "Let's hope he's a little more willing to compromise than she is." With that, the entomologist had left the police station. And his girlfriend.

Brass knew why Sara didn't want to go home. "You two live together, don't you?"

"Yep," she said, raising her eyebrows, as if she couldn't believe it herself.

Brass wiped his mouth with a napkin, not sure of what to say next.

"He didn't come home yesterday. I waited, thinking something had happened to him. I kept calling his cell," she explained, "but I'd just get his voicemail. He finally texted me that he was working. This morning he called me and told me he'd be late. I guess I should consider that an improvement ."

"Sara, he's with--"

She shook her head, stopping him mid-sentence. "I don't want to hear it. I really don't."

"He's with Heather Kessler's ex-husband. He's trying to convince him to let Heather see her granddaughter. That's it," Brass assured her.

"Jim," she sighed, shaking her head and smiling bitterly. "That's not it. That's…"

"What, Sara?" he asked, leaning forward.

The smile faded from her lips. "I don't think he loves me."

"Sara…"

"No, Jim--"

"Two years," he said. "You think Grissom would spend two years with someone he didn't love? This is Grissom we're talking about."

"I know. Believe me, I know. I thought he loved me. I did for a while. A long while," she said wistfully. "He never said anything about it. He occasionally talked about love in general. He liked to quote stuff."

"I can imagine."

"I think I always just thought, 'Well, that's his way. He's not very emotive. He doesn't easily share his feelings. He's built up so many walls over the years…' One excuse after the other to rationalize the fact that he's never told me he loves me. But apparently he's capable of being a fully-functioning human being, of considering the feelings of others. Just not with me."

"Sara…"

She dropped her fork and all pretense of eating, leaning an elbow on the tabletop and rubbing her temple with her fingers.

"…talk to him."

"I've got nothing to say."

"You've got plenty to say," Brass corrected.

Sara met his eyes and gave him a small smile. "I love him," she shrugged. "So much. Sometimes I wish I didn't." Slowly, she extracted herself from the booth and stood.

Brass looked up at her towering form. "Where are you going?"

"Home," she said simply.

"You're going to wait for him?"

"It's my way."

Without another word, Sara left Brass alone to contemplate his eggs.

THE END