If the Fates Allow

by mossley

Life is a tapestry made from the threads of experience. Once woven, the past is unchanging, forming the patterns for the future. Snags happen, tarnishing the weave and occasionally unraveling the entire thing. AU GSR story.

If the Fates Allow
Summary: Life is a tapestry made from the threads of experience. Once woven, the past is unchanging, forming the patterns for the future. Snags happen, tarnishing the weave and occasionally unraveling the entire thing. A/U GSR story.
A/N: I'm blaming this one on the drugs. Yeah, this little bit of oddness definitely came from the meds.

Many thanks go out for this story. It's my first attempt in this genre, and I was lucky enough to get a lot of feedback from my update list and from Gibby. So a big thanks to all of you!
Rating: Let's go with a PG-13.
Disclaimer: You'll never see something like this from the folks that actually own the rights to the show. I'm sure there's probably a good reason, too!

---

Gentle breezes and soft sunshine; birdsong and laughter. Gil Grissom noted all the elements that heralded a perfect spring day, for he was a man who was constantly aware of his surroundings.

Noted, but not experienced, for he was also a man who lived life internally. Aware of others but never connecting, having dreams but no expectations. His isolation was the product of a brilliant mind and a scarred soul, a man who cared deeply but was unable to express it. He never meant to end up alone, having no one with whom to share his secrets, but the pattern started early.

As a child, the same genius that made his parents so proud marked him as an outcast among his peers. He started school enthusiastically, but in his naivety, he expressed surprise at his classmates' inability to read or do math. His eager attempts to draw others to his level, to show them how easy it was to impress the teachers, earned him further derision.

Home was a refuge, a place where his gifts were not only encouraged but also rewarded. His parents' love of each other and for him was unquestionable. Dinner conversations were engaging, even if silently signed between bites. Science and art; current events and family gossip; tales of his father's students and his mother's jokes; he joined in all, eager to please the two people who composed the center of his universe.

His father shared his passions with him, teaching him how to transplant, to graft and to root cuttings, taking him to baseball games and amusement parks. He indulged his son's interests, helping him plan more elaborate ant farms, going with him to hunt for new bugs or seashells, showing him how to build model rockets and volcanoes. Walking on the beach, they talked of the future, and they speculated on what the world would be like when he grew up.

No longer able to hear it herself, his mother instilled a lifelong love of music in him. Sitting on the couch, he listened to the old records as she wistfully explained melodies and harmonies. She taught him of prayer and faith and the importance of tradition. At times, he munched cookies while she worked in the makeshift studio that his father made from an old shed, watching as she turned lumps of clay into abstract shapes. Sometimes she set him on the bench in front of her, guiding his smaller hands, but despite both of their efforts, his clay always ended up as a lopsided flowerpot for one of his father's plants.

School turned out to be a burden, although his parents told him he'd enjoy it. He never complained, but they knew he wasn't happy. His father explained that his talents made others feel dumb, and he tried to teach him how not to intimidate others while never compromising himself. His mother comforted him in her own way; proud that her son shared his father's intellect, and she told him God had a special purpose for him.

Family life came to mean happiness, so it seemed natural to propose to one of his few friends at the age of eight. She happily accepted, but when he had to take the ring back, he learned that she was more interested in the diamond than in him. His mother's fury, the girl's crying and the laughter of his classmates left him exposed and hurt.

Later that night, his father came to his room and talked to him of vague things that he really didn't understand. Of changes in his body, of how to be a good partner and respect a woman, of gentleness and faithfulness. Seeing his son's confusion, he smiled and cuffed his shoulder playfully.

"You'll figure it out when you're older, Gil," he chuckled as he turned out the light. Grissom settled under his cowboy-covered sheets, and vowed that someday he would understand, and that he'd be as good of a man as his dad.

Trying to follow his advice, he stopped volunteering to answer all the teachers' questions. He started playing baseball and marbles at recess, even if he'd rather read. Seeing his classmates' troubles with fractions, he learned how to teach them without being condescending. School stopped being such a chore for him.

Then his father died.

In the space of a cartoon, his world became a tangled mess. The one person who truly understood him was gone, and for the first time in his life, young Grissom knew what it meant to be alone.

His mother never really recovered, seemingly unable to accept that her husband's life had been cut short, and that worsened the void. In his room, he cried for his father, for his fears, for the one person who completely accepted him. He cried until no more tears came, until his mother sent a neighbor to get the doctor. A curious and concerned crowd made its way to his room, and she made such a scene that it created a lifelong aversion to people fussing over him.

Shamed by his behavior, by the looks of sympathy and disapproval, Grissom hated his weakness. His father never cried, and neither would he. To keep his emotional control, he withdrew further into himself. It was a place that was safe, that he understood.

Combined with rumors of his mother's odd behavior and questions over his father's death, his self-imposed seclusion once again set him apart from his classmates. This time he didn't care. He had a goal; his father was a scientist, and he would be the same. His father was stoic, strong and capable, a man who never lost control, and those were all traits he set about to emulate.

His family noted his growing interest in death. At first, they shrugged it off as an understandable reaction to what happened, but they soon found it morbid. Grissom ignored their subtle hints that there were better things for him to do. He was a scientist; understanding life seemed a helpless cause, so he'd learn the mysteries of death.

His Uncle Herb started showing up on Saturday mornings to take him on plumbing calls. He patiently and simply explained the layout of pipes and fixtures, but he was shocked at his nephew's ability to figure things out on his own. Careful questioning found the boy to be inquisitive, and while his tastes were odd, he didn't appear to be in danger of becoming psychotic. The family accepted he was going to be eccentric and left him to his malodorous studies.

Once, his mother quizzed him on his growing obsession with observation and memorizing details. He answered simply that he hadn't heard anything when his father died. She collapsed to her knees, signing quickly that he was to never blame himself. She tried to hug him, but he patted her on the back in the best imitation of his father that his young body allowed. She left the room, but not before he realized he had made her cry. Unable to comprehend why, he returned to counting out the spare change he made from collecting soda bottles.

He'd been shocked and angered to hear his aunt and uncle complaining about his father. It turned out that he had little insurance, and his mother took him aside to explain bills and finances. She was going to start her own business, an art gallery, but it would take much of their savings. He stoically accepted the sacrifices needed, even if his mother insisted it was only temporary.

The disillusionment that his father failed them in some way stung deeply, and he dealt with it by assuming that it was his responsibility. He learned about compound interest and loans; he developed a budget and found ways to save money. Without prodding, Grissom started mowing the neighbors' lawns, watering gardens and weeding flowerbeds. He took a paper route, and he used his travels to map out the cheapest prices for different groceries. His mother wanted to complain, but his grades never suffered, and the extra money kept the utilities from being shut off more than once.

One thing about which his mother was adamant was that he spend some of his money at the movie theater. He reluctantly agreed, even though it was a favorite past time, and he planned his excursions carefully. Westerns were a given, comedies or science fiction acceptable, while romances were skipped totally. Whenever possible, he watched movies with giant bugs twice.

Once his refuge home became another empty place. His mother worked late, taking a second job cleaning offices until the gallery became profitable. Openings, art shows, fundraisers – all were mandatory to make the connections she needed, and all meant more time that he had to spend alone. He learned to fix his own meals, to do the laundry and clean the house. He listened to baseball games, fighting back tears as he remembered his father.

Always considered an oddity, his behavior amplified the perception. Resentment, ridicule and rejection were his childhood companions. He learned to ignore them as he grew older, to keep his abilities hidden. While his classmates struggled with the difference between adjectives and adverbs, he memorized Shakespeare and Byron and Keats. When teachers made mistakes, he kept quiet, having learned painfully that his corrections were unwelcome.

High school was worse, for by then puberty had hit full force. He wanted to date, to answer the urges his body was demanding, but he didn't. His differences set him apart from others, so he never truly connected with them. Without that interaction, he never learned the social skills needed to form attachments. Without those skills, he was always apart. It was a cycle as vicious as it was hopeless, for he had no idea how to break out of it, nor anyone to guide him.

Four years passed in silent study. Aware of what he missed, he preferred the security of his seclusion. Outside of school, his teachers didn't recall his name, although he had perfect grades. A part-time job unloading trucks at the produce market left him physically strong, so the bullies left him alone, if they were ever aware of his presence.

His mother's business picked up, but by then they'd drifted apart. He became self-reliant at an early age, but the cost was his ability to form social bonds easily. The love was still there, but they lived in different worlds. The one thing they had in common was the memory of his father, but her insistence on acting like he was going to come home again kept the wound raw.

College was better. There his intelligence was recognized and nurtured. He met others who were even smarter than he was, teaching him to be humble and to always set his goals higher.

And it was there that he had his first lessons in love.

It was still the time of free love, when casual encounters were the norm on campuses, years before the dangers of unprotected sex and multiple partners became known. What nature denied him in social skills it compensated him with physically. His good looks and physique attracted the attentions of women who didn't care about his lack of experience or social skills.

He approached lovemaking as he did everything else. It was a subject to master, and he dove into it enthusiastically. Through questioning and direct observation, he learned what pleased his partners, making him even more in demand. He gladly obliged, for once able to excel at a personal level.

Thinking that he finally had some understanding, he began to study people. Coupled with his skills of observation and ability to calculate odds, he soon became a master poker player. His luck with cards and women made him the envy of his peers, but he soon found that the more he learned about humanity, the less it interested him.

Grissom tried to remember what his father told him years ago. He took his dates to dinner, he talked of poets, but he slowly realized they weren't interested in lasting relationships. His offers of fidelity were more often than not met with scorn or laughter, and once again he retreated emotionally.

The sex satisfied his body, but it left his soul wanting more. Before then, he'd only imagined what it would be like to have a lover. Knowing what he was missing made the absence more profound. Memories of his childhood came back to him, reminding him of the happy times that he missed. Deep down, he also suspected that his father wouldn't approve.

By the time he entered graduate school, he became more discriminating. He wasn't looking for purely sexual experiences, settling only for those women who showed an actual interest in him. Some developed into true relationships but none lasted very long. Eventually he stopped looking for a soul mate, deciding that poetry was beautifully lyrical but not a practical guide to life.

He'd found a true love in entomology, a place where his intelligence again singled him out, but this time in a positive way. Professors asked his opinions, honestly interested in his views, and he no longer hid his abilities. His studies provided more satisfaction than anything had since his father died, and he dedicated more time to it.

He became a forensic entomologist, a rare specialty, and he found no shortage of job offerings. His drive and determination moved him through the ranks, and professional accomplishments acted as a makeshift replacement for the family life he missed so acutely. Holidays became more bearable because he convinced himself he needed to work through them. He wasn't alone; he was busy.

It was a lie, but like all lies, if repeated often enough it becomes believable. And Grissom wanted to believe it, so he did. Through the years, the idea of a wife and children became distant memories. His career thrived, and professionally he was becoming a legend. The best publications sought his entries, labs clamored to attract him, and people paid him to lecture.

It was this last fact that brought him to campus that spring morning.

To the casual observer, he moved with a determined stride, knowing where he was headed and confident in his abilities. All of this was true, but it belied a deeper feeling, a sense of a life that had lost its way. A potential that existed but never reached fulfillment. No person watching him sensed that his life was astray, that it had never intertwined with others the way it should have.

Outwardly, he appeared calm, but in reality Grissom was aggravated. The sheriff was causing him grief, and his work was piling up back at the lab. But he had promised a colleague he'd give this seminar, so true to his word, he headed to the lecture hall, mentally reviewing the evidence for the court case awaiting him when he returned.

Always observant, he noted the flirting coeds, the workers painting the trim over the doorway, a woman standing at the top of the steps. It took a moment for his brain to register something was amiss. Turning his head, he continued up the stairs, watching the woman with a guarded expression.

He started to ask if she was all right, thinking her to be homeless by her age and the ragged conditions of the cloak draped over her shoulder. It fascinated him, for the pattern was complex and lacking at the same time. She focused on him, ignoring the jostling crowds as she worked a thread loose from the material. Fearing for her safety, he walked towards her, but bright lights exploded in his head and darkness followed.

---

"Get an ambulance!"

The words punctured the haze surrounding Grissom, and his hand came up to rub his cheek, surprised to find raw flesh. Opening his eyes, he realized he was lying on his back on the concrete and memories flooded his mind. He looked to his side, but there was no sign of the old woman.

"Don't try to move, sir," another woman said and hands gently tried to restrain him. The voice carried a unique lilt, and he found a stranger watching him. He flushed, unsettled by the unwanted attention.

Grissom's head ached, and he tried to piece together what had happened. A worker knelt beside him, apologizing profusely. He realized that he had walked into the ladder the other man still held. Something had distracted him, but the memory was already fading.

He sat up quickly, making his head ache more, but he scanned the area anxiously, trying desperately to remember. Nothing was out of place, and that confused him. Deciding it had to be a trick of the light, he was embarrassed.

The feeling escalated when he noticed that a crowd was forming, and he was the main event. As always, it was a situation guaranteed to bring out all his insecurities, setting him on edge. Hating to be the center of a scene, he started to stand.

"You shouldn't move, sir."

"Who are you?" he asked brusquely, shrugging off her hands when she tried to steady him.

Her head tilted at his outburst, but otherwise she seemed unfazed by his rudeness, a fact that only added to his shame. For the first time, his body noted she was young, her brown eyes showing concern. She didn't deserve to bear his temper, but he followed his normal routine of closing off the emotions drawn out by his humiliation.

"You shouldn't move. You hit your head," she said, ignoring his question.

Flustered by her attention, he turned to the anxious worker to tell him it was an accident, and assured him that there was no need to call an ambulance. The woman was harder to dissuade.

"I'm fine, miss," he said in dismissal. She trailed along behind him, and he avoided her as he entered the building.

Dashing into the men's room, he washed his face and straightened his clothes. His day was off to an unusual start, and he was perturbed. He no longer was certain if he was a loner by choice or nature, but he prided himself on his character. It wasn't like him to be distracted like that or to treat a stranger so rudely.

Moving to the front of the hall, he repressed a groan. Sitting in the center of the front row was his would-be heroine. Still shamed by his behavior, he reacted by ignoring her, deliberately looking elsewhere as he launched into his talk. Deep down he knew it was silly; while this was a three-day seminar, only the first day covered introductory information. She was likely one of the numerous students required to attend, with no real interest in the material, and she would be gone at the end of the day.

When the first morning break came, he rested his aching head in his hands. Seeing her approach, he abruptly left to talk to a vague acquaintance in the audience. His shame reached new levels when he returned and saw the paper cup of water and bottle of Tylenol on the lectern. Giving her a reluctant nod of thanks, he resumed the lecture.

Questions came at the end of the talk, and as usual, they mainly dealt with basic information that a careful student should have noted. He patiently answered them, keeping his irritation to himself.

Of course, she had to raise her hand just before he dismissed the group. Taking a deep breath, he called on her, and at that moment his world changed forever.

"Are you an entomologist?" he asked, overlooking her question for the moment.

"No."

"Why are you here?" His tone carried a genuine curiosity, but he detected the audience focusing its attention on her. Unflinching, she stared at him, and he uncomfortably came to the conclusion that she didn't like him.

"Because I find the material interesting."

He nodded, moving to lean against the blackboard. "What's your major?"

"Physics."

"Ah, you are a scientist!"

She blinked in confusion, nodding her head silently. He beamed proudly at her, his smile as real as it was surprising. Her answering blush pleased him in an odd way, and he shocked himself by winking at her. The resulting gape directed at him gradually faded to a wary grin.

Without further comment, he began to answer her question, making sure the rest of the crowd understood the significance of it. Gradually others slipped out of the auditorium as he began a complicated explanation, pleased to find that she easily followed him. His satisfaction continued to ratchet upwards as she relaxed, eventually gracing him with a true smile.

One explanation led to another question, and for the next ninety minutes, he gladly shared his love of bugs with her. She glanced at her watch, jumping up with a hurried apology. "I have to get to work. Thank you, Dr. Grissom!"

He waved happily, stopping with a sudden realization: they could have been friends under different circumstances. Knowing that he was unlikely to see her again, he watched her leave with an air of loss. Sighing, he gathered up his materials and headed to his hotel room. Rarely did he find someone so enthusiastic, let alone so gifted, and he felt especially bad that they'd gotten off to such a poor start.

The next morning he moved to the front of the hall, nearly stumbling when he found her in the same spot in the front row. After a moment's consideration, he took a seat next to her. He watched when first her eyes, then her entire head, turned to face him, and he greeted her shy expression with a smile; again her blush thrilled him.

"I never thanked you yesterday," he said kindly.

"It's okay," she said, and he sensed she really didn't mind his behavior. That bothered him deeply, for it implied she had expected it. Grissom knew that he had a reputation, that people attended his lectures with some preconceptions, but he never thought that it extended beyond professional considerations. He was the first to admit that his interpersonal skills were lacking, but he had a hard time believing that people thought that he was impolite.

"It had to be embarrassing. I know the feeling," she added when he remained silent.

"That's no excuse for rudeness."

She turned to him curiously, her head tilted as she examined him. "Well, I think you made up for it last night. I didn't mean to keep you so late."

"That's something I wanted to talk to you about," he said, raising an eyebrow at her inquiring expression. "Have you thought about changing majors to entomology? It wouldn't be hard to make up the classes. You're what? A junior?"

Her laughter caused an uncomfortable feeling, and it had nothing to do with embarrassment. He already knew she was intelligent, and his body was noticing how attractive she was. His mind was screaming that she was just a student, and his interest was troubling, for he strongly felt that some ethical lines weren't to be crossed.

"Sorry. I'm in grad school. A little late to change majors," she answered.

His mouth dropped in shock, amplified by the hints his body was sending to his brain. "Oh," he said. "Why are you here then?"

"To attend the rest of the seminar."

He gave her a mock-glare at her teasing, fighting down the urge to smile. She may be a graduate student, but she was still a student. His student. If nothing else, he had at least a decade on her. Someone so beautiful was bound to have plenty of suitors. Besides, he was only in town until tomorrow night.

"Not too many physicists end up in forensics. I'm curious why you're here."

"I'm considering becoming a criminalist," she said.

"Really?"

His enthusiastic response caused another grin, and he decided he liked it when she focused it on him.

"Yeah. The local crime lab asked my advisor for some help on a case. I was one of his assistants. I liked it."

The general milling in the audience indicated it was time to start, so he gave her a brief nod before starting the day's talks. He paused on occasion, and while he asked the room in general if they had questions, he always looked at her. His excitement grew when he noticed how easily she followed along. When he asked the audience for theories, she never failed to impress him.

Watching her organize her notes during the morning break of the last day, Grissom rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. She sat alone, away from the other attendees, never joining the pockets of conversation or flirting. Except for the copious notes she took, it was like seeing a much younger – and very definitely feminine – version of himself. He spotted another acquaintance in the crowd, and a quick plan formed as he started calling in favors.

At the lunch break, he asked her to join him, and she accepted with a flustered expression. Sitting in a shaded courtyard, he told her that there was a paid internship available in the San Francisco crime lab. If she were really interested in entering forensics, he'd give her a recommendation. Plainly shocked, she stared for a long moment before she stammered her thanks, asking if he felt she had a chance. He assured her without hesitation; after all, he had the job created for her, even if he'd never let her know that.

His chest swelled as she continued to express her gratitude, clearly pleased by his suggestion. Over the years, others had mentored him, but this was his first taste of having a protégée, and he enjoyed the satisfaction of having a student to guide. A nagging thought pointed out his interest was less than pure, but he ignored his qualms. He appreciated her beauty, but it was a harmless attraction.

A growing unease settled over him as he watched her. She was young, full of life and hope, and he was sending her into a type of hell.

"Sara," he interrupted. "Lab work is very different from field work. You'll see to the worst of humanity. Every day, you'll see people whose lives were shattered. It's not pleasant."

"It sends scum to prison. That's all I care about."

The conviction with which she replied sent a chill down his spine, but she said it was time to get back to the lecture. He hesitated, briefly wondering what drove her determination, but he hurried to join up with her when Sara turned to give him a quizzical look.

The rest of the day passed without incident. As he gathered his notes, she approached, thanking him again. He told her to feel free to call on him if she had any questions, and they exchanged contact information.

Once back in Las Vegas, he immediately sent a formal letter of recommendation to his colleague in the San Francisco lab. It was strictly a formality, but he wanted her to have it in her record, aware of the influence it carried. He picked out a forensics textbook for her next, deciding not to sign it, as he'd only contributed to a few parts.

The following week a thank you card came for him. He smiled when he came to her question asking which sections he had written. They started an occasional correspondence, with him sending copies of interesting articles, and her responding, sometimes with comments, sometimes with questions, but always impressing him with her skills.

Things slowed down once she started the internship, but she did write to tell him that she found the work challenging but rewarding. She grudgingly admitted that she'd thrown up three times, but she was working on getting that under control. He told her to try ginger ale, adding a book on true crimes.

He ran into his colleague from San Francisco at that summer's roach race, and the glowing reviews he directed her way didn't surprise Grissom. She had to turn down a continued internship since her fall schedule was too hectic, but she had expressed an interest in a full-time position when she graduated in the spring.

Another thank you card arrived in September, and she let him know how much she appreciated his help. Delighted by her response, he sent her another stack of photocopied articles and looked at his calendar with a sly grin. This year's Entomological Review was in Palo Alto, and he hoped to visit her while he was there.

She stared at him when she opened her door, and he looked inside with a sudden sense of foreboding. Wanting to surprise her, he hadn't called in advance, but he belatedly remembered that surprises were often unpleasant. She was young and beautiful; the odds of a lover being there weren't slim, and he found himself strangely jealous.

Shocked by his emotional reaction, Grissom began to question the wisdom of his visit. She was no longer his student, so his ethical constraints were gone. But she was still far younger than he was, and they lived hundreds of miles apart. As much as she attracted him, she deserved better than to serve as a one-night stand.

Besides, it was foolish to think she'd have any romantic interest in a man fifteen years her senior.

Sara had been studying for a test when he arrived, and he insisted that she continue. He read the questions from the text. She answered confidently and grinned, challenging him to tell if she'd been correct. He only shrugged, expressing his confidence in her abilities. She blushed at the compliment, but he didn't allow himself to believe it meant anything personally.

After a while, he excused himself and drove back to his hotel in a melancholy mood. He didn't understand what he had expected. She was a friend, but that was a far as it went. As far as it would ever go. He categorized his reaction as a natural uneasiness at almost stumbling into an embarrassing situation, and he pushed any other thoughts on the matter away.

He headed back home the next day. Soon a new assistant DA started working in Las Vegas, and shortly afterwards she became Grissom's lover. It didn't last long, but he had no expectations that it would. He tried to remain friendly, but she had lost her patience with him, and she never returned his calls when she left to take a job with a private firm in Reno.

Grissom continued to have occasional dates, a few of which led to sex, all leading to eventual disappointment. A rookie CSI started at the lab, and recalling the satisfaction he derived from mentoring Sara, he took Warrick under his wing. Mainly he worked, taking refuge in the one constant in his life.

He didn't see Sara again for over a year, but a sporadic stream of e-mail continued. When a Fed Ex package labeled urgent arrived on his desk from San Francisco, he opened it immediately. An array of photos of bugs on a dead body drew his attention, and he was on the first flight out the next morning.

Sara met him at the reception desk, quickly briefing him on what they had. A series of grisly murders left the city on edge, putting extra pressure on the department, so they reacted with muted surprise when a forensic legend strolled into the conference room. Grissom soon isolated atypical bugs from each corpse, and working with Sara and the already collected evidence, they narrowed the possible murder scenes to a botanical zoo.

In all, he spent less than three days in San Francisco, but it was enough time to rejuvenate their friendship. She continued to impress him with her powers of deduction, and when he lost his way driving to a scene, he wryly commented that the student was now the teacher. She rewarded him with one of the smiles he liked so much.

They shared dinner at a restaurant near the airport, and Sara waited with him until the speakers announced his flight. She stood close; close enough for him to smell her perfume. It was heady, and he thought that it complimented the extra makeup and the flattering outfit she chose to wear. He told her she looked nice and bent to pick up his carryon luggage. Suddenly shy, she took a step back, expressing her gratitude and wishing him a pleasant flight.

A month later, he e-mailed her a copy of the article he was writing based on the case, flattering her by asking for her input. As he expected, her suggestions and contributions were excellent. When published, he sent her a subscription to the journal. She sent him a large box of candied ants.

Life continued on its same path. His new neighbor was an associate professor at Western Nevada, and they were in bed after their first date. He soon realized that she only wanted a physical relationship, and he was lonely enough to consent to it, spending his rare free time in her bed. When it unraveled a few weeks later, she ignored his greetings in the parking lot, and he stopped trying to keep up a charade of friendship.

A year later, he attended a conference in New Hampshire and smiled when he recognized a familiar face across the room during the opening reception. He stopped partway when he saw the short, younger man hovering around her, bringing her a drink and a plate of appetizers. Turning to fade back into the crowd, he stopped when she called his name.

Forcing a polite smile, he waited until she joined him. He gave the man trailing after her an irritated look but kept his main attention on Sara. Seeing his annoyance, she toned down her enthusiastic approach, settling for greeting him warmly but reservedly. He avoided her for most of the conference, but on the last night she dove into an empty seat beside him at the farewell dinner.

"Do you have any carrion beetles on you?" she asked under her breath.

"No. Why?" he asked, curious despite his unease. He knew she probably had lovers, but finding her with one left him uncharacteristically emotional, and that made him feel off balance.

"I could use some right about now," she muttered, scowling at the young man approaching them.

"Did you two have a fight?" he asked, both concerned and disturbingly hopeful.

"Fight? Oh, God," she said, her eyes opening in shock. "You think that he? That we? Hell, no!"

"He's been tagging along after you the whole conference," Grissom noted, trying not to sound too put out.

"And if you'd been paying attention, you'd know I've been trying to avoid him. Damn," she said, rolling her eyes. "Incoming."

"Sara, there you are, I've…"

"We're in the middle of a conversation. A private one," Grissom said in his most authoritative tone. The shorter man started to protest, but he stood up and gave him a glare that sent him away with an apologetic wave.

"Why couldn't you have done that days ago? I might have actually enjoyed this trip," she sighed, flashing him a thankful grin despite her complaints.

"Who is he? Why haven't you complained?"

"He's my boss's boss's grandson," she huffed. "Which pretty much answers both of your questions. He's not a bad guy, he's just … overenthusiastic."

Grissom gave her a contrite shrug, stopping a waiter to bring them both a drink. Making up for lost time, he quickly asked her about work. To his surprise, she seemed genuinely amused, happily talking with him. They chatted through dinner, moving to the bar when the workers started bussing the dishes and gathering the used linens.

By the time they reached the elevators, he had relaxed considerably. He insisted on escorting her to her room, whispering dramatically that he had to protect her from overenthusiastic munchkins. She tried to keep her laughter in check, playfully poking his ribs as she reminded him of the sleeping guests.

Leaning against her door, he stared deeply into her eyes. She held his gaze, but he noticed the nervous way her breath caught, the slight part to her lips. He knew then that she'd let him into her room, into her body, and the temptation was great. Both had enough drinks to lower their inhibitions but neither of them were that drunk.

Grissom thought of taking her to bed, of making love to her to the best of his ability. He began mapping out a course of action, one that would stimulate her thoroughly but quickly, allowing them to savor each other the longest. The idea alone aroused him, but it was the thought of the morning after that settled the matter.

Even his love affairs that lasted any length ended badly. He lacked some skill, some ability, to make a woman want to be with him. Sex was good, but he wanted a companion, and in the end, he ended up alone.

Sara was his friend, a very rare commodity in his life, and he valued that too much to throw it away on a single night of pleasure. Deep down, he suspected that women left him because he inadvertently hurt them, and that was something he didn't want her to experience.

He forced himself to pull back, vaguely aware that he was flushed. Reaching out with his hand, he brushed her cheek softly and gave her a kind smile. Her head dropped, but when she looked up again, she shrugged and returned the smile.

The next morning, they shared a casual breakfast, neither of them mentioning their near-encounter. He returned to Vegas to find that a new lab tech had started work. She was smart and funny, and she seemed to find his quirks amusing. After a few months of working together, he asked Charlotte over for dinner. Sex never became a question, as she left in obvious disappointment. Later she told him his idea of watching The Wizard of Oz while listening to The Dark Side of the Moon wasn't a suitable date.

He never had time to think about it, because Holly Gribbs died.

Once again, an unexpected death threw his life in disarray. Brass was demoted, and he was suddenly in charge at the lab; Warrick, his latest charge, failed him miserably, and Catherine was too emotionally involved to be an anchor.

Grissom never considered turning to anyone else. Sara came without hesitation, and just the sound of her voice reassured him. She moved quickly, cutting through the interoffice tension to get to the truth.

Her professionalism was exactly what he needed, and he asked her to join the lab without thinking beyond the job. In his mind, their near-encounter in New Hampshire was an alcohol-fueled mutual attraction, but he didn't allow himself to think of it beyond that. She brought out odd feelings in him, but he dismissed them as nothing more than being protective of a younger protégée.

They settled into an easy working relationship, and he enjoyed the teasing banter, freely adding his own playful entendres. It never distracted from their work, often breaking the monotony of hours of tedious evidence collection. The flirtations of a beautiful, younger woman stroked his male ego, even if he never considered it seriously.

Still, he felt oddly disturbed when he quickly realized that a number of men from the lab vied for her affections. He understood the driving force, he felt it himself, but it was irksome to think of other men regarding her that way. She wasn't some plaything for their base intentions, and he made no attempt to hide his displeasure when someone else turned his attention to her. The ease with which she deflected their efforts pleased him. She never encouraged them, nor did she insult them, always keeping a friendly rapport.

Proud that he had the foresight to bring such a valuable addition to the lab, he began to settle as things once again fell into a relatively organized routine. When faced with a skeleton buried in a wall, he contacted Terri Miller, thrilled at the chance to work with another forensic legend.

His pleasure took on a new meaning when they finally met, and he realized the attraction was mutual. For once, he had some expectations from their dinner date. She worked in the same field; she understood the hours involved, the unpleasantness they often encountered. His disappointment when the dinner ended terribly left him especially confused, and he returned to the safety of his job.

Sara continued to impress him with her skills and dedication to the job. She dazed him when she admitted to having had sex in an airplane bathroom. He listened to her recollection with a sense of numbness. Grissom left her to complete processing the bathroom, trying to reign in his conflicting emotions. Logically, he knew she wasn't a virgin, and he never actually actively thought of her as pure, but it still stunned him that she'd do something so shocking. His own exploits in college were equally as diverse, but he expected better of her, and he realized there was a lot he didn't know about her.

Later, that feeling escalated when they worked the case of a murdered woman. Her obviously abusive husband brought out an intense rage in Sara, something that surprised him. He tried to calm her down, but she turned the tables by asking if he wanted to sleep with her. To his horror, he actually started to harden at the suggestion. He stammered as he fought his body down, stunned by his inappropriate response. Listening to her explain, seeing her wipe her tears away, he realized he wanted to hold her, to comfort her, to kiss away the tears. He wanted to take her to his bed, to make her feel safe within his arms.

He sat silently after she left, unable to rise without considerable embarrassment. His mind raced as he ordered his body to stand down, struggling to understand the origins of his feelings. A rhetorical question from a crying woman wasn't an aphrodisiac. He was old enough that his hormones stopped surprising him in humiliating ways.

In some ancient crevice of his soul, he found the answer: this was what it felt like to be in love.

That left him in a hopeless situation. The obstacles were too obvious. He was her supervisor, too old, unable to make a relationship work. Grissom had long ago lost any illusions about settling down, of a lifetime of happiness. He carried some deep-seated flaw that drove women away. He may love Sara, but he never dared to hope to enjoy it.

He kept his emotions to himself, a task made easier by decades of practice, but he still went out of his way to help her. If he couldn't comfort her the way his heart wanted, he'd do so the way his intellect provided. She joined him as he documented the bugs devouring the wrapped pig, and they sat through the night, sometimes talking of inconsequential things, sometimes sharing coffee silently.

Another victimized woman showed her to be almost obsessive in her drive, and his love came out professionally. She worked too hard on the case, practically living on overly-sweetened coffee. He tried to tell her to find outside interests, but she brushed aside his concerns. Unable to guide her himself, he withdrew, silently hoping that she wasn't on a crash course.

His apprehension gradually faded as other crimes came and went. Sara remained professional, working diligently, giving him no reason to complain. Then their victim was deaf, and the way she and Warrick approached the school's dean dredged up old insecurities. Memories of snide comments made about his mother, of speculations on her mental abilities. He'd been brusque, but she never called him on his behavior. Her act of acceptance only confirmed his own conviction that he was wrong for her, and he returned to the cold embrace of his career.

For the first time in his adult life, Grissom knew deep fear. Sara volunteered to be a decoy for a vicious rapist and killer. He forbid her from doing it, unwilling to even consider letting her do something so dangerous. Love was too new, too precious, and he'd never risk it by putting her in harm's way.

And she did it anyway.

It hurt, and it scared him. He frantically watched on the security camera, desperate to spot any suspicious activity before a maniac snatched her away from him. Nothing came from it, but it didn't stop the nightmares.

She was dead, lifeless eyes staring at him, posed in some crude manner. Blood drenched the sheets from the sadistic abuse she suffered. He always woke covered in sweat, his heart racing and on the verge of tears.

After the fourth one, he sat in his living room listening to Mozart and drinking bourbon. The status quo was unbearable, but he didn't know how to proceed. He had no idea if she was even remotely interested in him. The problem was there was no way to find out without ruining what they had. Unable to reach a decision, he ignored his feelings. Ironically, the action only increased his pain.

They continued to work cases on occasion, and she eventually surprised him by caressing his cheek. The touch was electrifying, and he began to wonder again if there were a chance she'd be interested in dating. Then she explained that there was chalk on his cheek, and he was glad that he hadn't made a fool of himself. Later, he caught himself when she made potentially flirtatious comments as they investigated the murder of two women found in a highway culvert; he decided he was distilling her words through his own hopeful filters, and he didn't say anything inappropriate in response.

Then she confused him, suddenly angry with him. He had no idea what prompted her outburst. She was emotional by nature, and he presumed that he'd caught the fallout from something else, and he didn't take it too seriously.

Until she threatened to leave.

That cut him to the core of his heart, and he nearly panicked. The thought of losing her scared him; he had few friends, and no others who he loved. Luckily, Catherine caught wind of the situation and gave him some advice.

She didn't leave, but things weren't better. He knew enough to sense that she wasn't happy with him, but he still didn't understand what he'd done. Sitting on the bleachers, he finally gave some hint of how he felt, letting her know, albeit indirectly, that she was beautiful. Even that bare glimmer of emotional honesty left him exposed, and he retreated into the case immediately.

That seemed satisfactory to obtain her forgiveness, because she was friendlier afterwards. She even engaged in some playful banter, but her stated interest in sex bothered him. The woman under investigation slept with several men, something that Grissom didn't find admirable. But Sara joked about joining a hockey team so she could experience the same, and it disturbed him to think that she was so base.

He spent the next several weeks debating if he was rationalizing. If he convinced himself that she wasn't the woman he thought she was, then it made their separation more bearable. Eventually, he concluded that was exactly what he had done, and it shamed him deeply. She wasn't a slut, and it spoke poorly of him that he ever considered it.

Grissom spent more time working alone, not trusting himself to spend too much time around Sara. He would love her forever, and he could never love her. The dichotomy seemed like some great cosmic joke, only no one bothered to share the punch line with him.

Privately, he suspected that he was the punch line.

He lived a torn existence. Unable to move forward, unable to retreat. Lacking any practical experience in love, he didn't know what to do, so he stopped trying to figure it out. He'd come to a reluctant acceptance of their relationship, and he tried to make the most of it.

Then a paramedic started asking about her at crime scenes, and Gerard was the one to plunge the figurative dagger in his heart. Sara had taken a lover. She tried to deny it, but he was too angry, too hurt, to listen. Alone in his home, he bitterly laughed at the irony as he slipped into a drunken temper. He'd pined away for her all this time, and she was sleeping with some Hank.

Wounded by her actions, he openly showed his displeasure. He ignored her hurt looks, since they paled in comparison to his injured heart. Lost in his private hell, Grissom was never aware of the whispered comments or the curious looks directed their way. Instead, he distanced himself from her as much as possible, even taking an occasional date. The rare resulting sex left him physically sated, but it only aggravated his emotional state.

With time, he brought his emotions under some control, for a larger problem was getting worse: he was losing his hearing. Being near Sara no longer provoked crushing feelings, but he limited his time with her. The sense of loss was too much to bear. He finally accepted that he should have taken a chance with her, but it did little to ease his pain.

Lady Heather fascinated him, and on their second meeting, she easily detected his hearing troubles. He didn't have to hide from her, to pretend that his whole career wasn't threatened. He'd already lost Sara, so he took the refuge Heather offered. It was sex, but it wasn't the same as his other casual encounters. She stimulated him on several levels, and he regretted how their brief affair ended.

He drifted through life, unsettled but trying to keep his control. His hearing continued to plague him, his bouts of deafness becoming more frequent and longer. He didn't want to face the prospect of going deaf. He'd lose his job if that happened, and it was all he had. Instead of treating his condition, he ignored it, unwilling to face the emotional onslaught it entailed.

A moment of clarity came in the form of a lab explosion. Greg was hurt badly, and Grissom watched helplessly as the paramedics loaded his body into the ambulance. The boy irked him, but his brilliance was undeniable. If he settled down, his future was promising. If he recovered.

Dwelling on those morbid thoughts, he saw Sara sitting alone on the sidewalk. He came closer, his alarm growing when she didn't move. All thoughts of betrayal, of anger and disappointment vanished when he realized she was hurt, and his overpowering love came to the forefront. The endearment came without thought, and he directed her to medical care.

It wasn't until she asked him out to dinner that he realized the folly of calling her 'honey.' She was obviously in shock from the explosion, as her earlier behavior indicated. She'd mistaken his concern for encouragement. He didn't want to lower himself to being a bounce-back fling, no matter how much he physically wanted her. On top of that, he had to see his doctor. The lab was in chaos, he was nearly terrified at the thought of losing his hearing, and he was in no condition to discuss it with her while she was on an adrenaline high.

But she was interested in him.

That one thought nagged him. He tried to dismiss it, to dismiss her, but Sara was adamant. Grissom finally admitted he had no idea what to do, but her calm statement that she did flustered him. Sensing his hesitation, she left with a warning, one that haunted his dreams for weeks to come.

He finally had the surgery to correct his hearing, and the success seemed anticlimactic compared to the angst he felt in the previous year. Returning from his medical leave, the team greeted him warmly, even Sara. But she never repeated her dinner invitation, convincing him that the explosion had spurred her interest.

For the first time in a long time, she concerned him. A home invasion and the death of the young rape victim left her in tears. She sat in the SUV until she brought herself under control, but it pained him to see her unable to separate herself from a case. Grissom even questioned if he'd been mistaken to encourage her interest in forensics. It was a harsh career, rewarding but with serious demands. She was too empathic for it, and he suspected it was going to take too much out of her. He kept his concerns to himself, believing his comments would be unwelcome.

Another encounter left him breathless. He helped Sara recreate a scene, mock-pinning her to a bloody sheet. There was no doubt of their mutual attraction, even in the morbid setting. His breathing came faster as he moved his hands above her body, his mind readily supplying additional details.

Then she abruptly changed the subject, asking if he was able to be impartial. The question caught him off guard, and he had no ready response for her. She departed quickly, and he realized he had no answer for her. No matter how he approached the promotion, he lost. If he gave it to Nick, she'd be hurt. If he gave it to her, there were those who'd assumed he did so for inappropriate reasons.

It proved to be a source of contention between them over the coming months. They worked together, sometimes well, sometimes not, but always with the promotion on the horizon. He never noticed her continued withdrawal, never noticed the amount of cough drops she consumed.

When faced with her dead doppelganger, Grissom's love turned into a type of obsession. He knew it wasn't Sara, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the case represented their relationship. That he identified with the killer only added to his unease. Driven by physical and emotional exhaustion, he finally broke down and confessed his love, his hopes and fears. He admitted things that he never dare tell her, unaware that she was listening.

A phone call a few months later shattered his world. He knew Sara was having trouble with their latest case, but when he saw her sitting in the police station, defeated and ashamed, his heart broke. Taking her hand in his, he drove her home. She sat silently in his car, looking out the side window and wiping her tears away. He followed her upstairs, entering without waiting for an invitation.

Grissom wanted to hold her, to stroke her back as he drew out her pain, to ask her what brought her to this, but he resisted. She was sobering up, but the chance of their ending in bed was too real. He'd never take advantage of her, even if it were what she wanted then. Instead, he wiped her tears away gently, told her she was taking at least three weeks vacation, and she had to see a department counselor. She nodded her acquiescence, never saying a word until he was partway out the door. Her painful "I'm sorry" almost shattered his control, and he left with a heavy heart.

When the envelope arrived on his desk ten days later, he eyed it apprehensively. She had left without a word, filling out the leave request while he was in a meeting with the sheriff. Opening it, the card immediately reminded him of the thank you notes she'd sent him a lifetime ago. He read her note carefully, her self-reproach reaching through the lines. She accepted full responsibility for her actions, asked for his forgiveness, and offered to leave the lab if he wished.

That made his eyes water.

Closing his office door, he took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He collapsed into his chair, lost, unable to comprehend how things reached this state. In truth, he still loved her deeply, and she thought he wanted to get rid of her. That hurt him, more than any of their other spats, as much as his father's death.

Sitting alone in his office, he recalled the lively free spirit he met years ago, wondering when she changed. He thought carefully, and while unable to pinpoint when the transformation occurred, he knew it was after she came to Las Vegas. Immediately, he feared he had some part in it. Grissom never meant to hurt her, but if life had taught him anything, it was that his personal skills were dubious. He said one thing, but people heard another. It was especially frustrating for a man gifted with the ability to make puns and entendres.

He worked through the rest of the shift in a bad mood, and even Catherine left him to stew. He went home and braced himself with a stiff drink. Thinking over all their encounters, he grudgingly admitted to himself that his behavior was less than admirable at times, but he also realized that nothing he did accounted for Sara's behavior. He probably contributed somewhat, but there was something else behind her meltdown.

Lying on his couch, he recalled the cases that bothered her. His mind offered terrible theories that chilled his soul. Lacking hard evidence, and hoping to never find it, he dismissed the idea, refusing to pay attention to the evidence that some thread of tragedy was intrinsically woven into her life.

When she returned from her forced vacation, she seemed in a better place. She greeted him directly, but he sensed the underlying embarrassment behind her tense posture. He smiled sweetly, the first one he'd directed to her in a long time. She blinked several times before grinning at him briefly. He asked if she had started counseling, and she quietly said yes. Telling her his door was always open, he gave her an assignment and watched her leave.

In his heart, he wanted to broach the subject of a relationship, but she needed time to center herself again, and he wouldn't interfere with that. He owed her that much, and no matter how much else he wanted to offer, he kept his distance. His detachment didn't last long, for she soon engaged in a dangerous evidence recovery. Her reaction to his disapproval was to laugh it off, calmly telling him that she wasn't a drunk and didn't have a death wish. He wanted to take comfort in her words, but she'd scared him too deeply, and he discreetly kept a close watch over her.

One day, she strolled into his office, and with a few short sentences unbalanced his world again. The casual way she talked of emotionally unavailable men and inappropriate validation shook him deeply, but it was her admission that she moved to Las Vegas for him that left him speechless.

That divulgence by itself was overwhelming, but the implications rocked him to his core. He was a man gifted with powers of observation, a talent honed by decades of practice. But he'd been completely blind where she was concerned. He recalled the way she was dressed their last night in San Francisco, the obvious invitation in New Hampshire. He'd mistaken her interest for harmless flirtation. He had been oblivious the signs of her near-breakdown.

His head started to ache as he began to question how many other things he'd missed or misread between them. A spark formed in his mind, and he wondered if this was his fatal flaw, the reason why none of his relationships ever worked. He observed things but never their meanings. Lost in his thoughts, it was nearly an hour after she left before he realized that she also effectively admitted that she was over him.

He got drunk when he reached home.

It wasn't long after that when he learned the first of her secrets. He went to her apartment, angry at the lab for threatening to fire her, angry at Catherine for not standing up for her, angry at Sara for letting things reach this stage, for not coming to him.

He ignored her pleas to leave her alone, demanding answers. And he immediately regretted his harsh tone as she broke down and told him of her childhood. He listened in silent horror, only able to imagine the pain she had suffered. His hand grasped hers, and he closed his eyes when she clasped it tightly, hanging on to him as if he was her anchor.

After an indeterminate time, she wiped her tears away and excused herself. He sat on her couch as he heard the shower start, absentmindedly playing solitaire. When she came out, she avoided looking at him, and he recognized the embarrassment. He walked to her, gently resting a hand on her shoulder, slowly pulling her into an embrace.

"I won't let them fire you," he whispered in her ear before he left.

From then on, his protective streak grew stronger. He wanted to help, to do anything to ease her hidden pain. Never good with personal matters, he battled with the mixed signals. She had said she was over him, but she allowed him to hold her. If she was willing, then he'd do anything in his power for her. But he knew if she wasn't interested, that if he had misread her, then any offer he made was potentially disastrous. Not wanting to further complicate things, he kept a discreet distance, but he also tried to be available to her if she wanted to talk again.

Watching a sexual psychopath threaten her, Grissom forced himself to remain calm, terrified of escalating the situation. He wanted to kill the animal attacking her, to burst down the door and strangle him for daring to hurt her. Escaping from the inmate, Sara darted by him, and he started to reach for her, pulling back when he saw she wanted space. He stood hopelessly as she tried to compose herself.

Memories of Holly's death filtered back, of the dangers present in their jobs. Nightmares greeted him when he eventually fell asleep, and he watched her assaulted and killed, unable to reach her. He barely made it to the bathroom before his stomach revolted, spewing out its contents. Sitting on the cold tile floor, he sat helplessly.

A real nightmare unfolded a few days later when a madman abducted Nick from a crime scene. The team raced around the clock to find him, and listening to Nick's taped confession, Grissom's sadness reached new levels. After rescuing him, the team waited around his hospital room until the doctors assured them that he just needed a few days rest to recover. As the others started to leave, Catherine offered him a ride, but he only shook his head.

Standing in the hallway, he kept a silent vigil over Nick, all the while lost in thought. Emotional control had been a hallmark of his, an essential survival skill growing up, but now Grissom considered the consequences of it. Nick had thought that he considered him a disappointment, and nothing was farther from the truth.

After a long while, he let out a sigh and started walking towards the elevators. If Nick felt that way, he had no idea what the others thought. It bothered him, but he wasn't entirely sure how to address it. He needed to find a way to let the others know what they meant to him, but he didn't know how to begin.

His mind drifted towards Sara, and he literally did a double take when she exited the bathroom as he passed by it.

"Sara," he said, surprised by how softly he spoke. The tale-tell streaks on her cheeks revealed that she'd been crying alone in the restroom, and he tilted his head in sympathy. She had no family left, and he suspected the team was a makeshift substitution. He knew she and Nick were close, so he imagined what this ordeal did to her.

"Hey, Grissom," she said, clearing her throat and trying to appear collected. "I didn't know you were still here."

"I don't have a ride," he said, bobbing his head in her direction.

It really wasn't an answer, but she accepted it. "I guess that's a hint. Come on."

She stopped in her tracks when his hand wrapped around hers, and Grissom had to tug to get her walking again. Getting in the elevator, she turned her attention to him, her frown morphing as she noticed how ragged he looked.

"I'll give you a ride home," she offered immediately. The softness of her voice, the unmistakable care ignited a fire of hope. Physically drained and emotionally vulnerable, he gazed at her intently.

"I'd rather not."

"You're not in any condition to work."

"I … I don't want to be alone," he said quietly, unable to stop the tremble in his voice. This was the moment of truth. He was going to tell her everything. Recent events reminded him of the frailty of life, the speed with which death removed all last chances of understanding. The thought of one of them dying before he cleared the air was too much to bear, and he'd deal with the emotional consequences later.

"I, uh, see," Sara answered. Her look was kind, if somewhat wary, but she gave him a sad smile. "I'm not a great cook, but I can order takeout like no one else."

"Good," he answered, giving her a feeble smile. Still holding her hand, he let her guide him to her car. Once she started driving, he kept silent, afraid of losing his nerve before he started. Sara occasionally darted her eyes in his direction, but she accepted his silence without comment.

She placed their order as soon as they arrived at her apartment. Taking out her wallet, she left some money on the counter. Sara told him that she needed a shower and to help himself to anything in the kitchen before disappearing into the bathroom.

He suspected she was trying to figure out his motivations, so he put the money back in her wallet and hesitantly entered her kitchen. He'd rifled through numerous unfamiliar cabinets over the years, but even with her permission, he felt intrusive. Within a few minutes, the smell of coffee started to fill the air, and he waited on her couch.

Her shower seemed to take an inordinately long time, and it strengthened his suspicions that she was avoiding him. When she did appear, her hair still slightly damp, his smile formed automatically. She was beautiful even without her makeup, dressed in an old t-shirt and jeans.

"I made coffee," he said.

"Good."

She poured them both a mug, and they sipped it standing around her counter. By silent agreement, they waited for the food to arrive before broaching any conversation. When the knock came, Sara went to grab the money. Unable to find it, she turned to Grissom, but he shook his head and took out his wallet. She smirked at him as he carried the packages into the kitchen, and he merely shrugged.

Sara cleared off the coffee table, setting up the cardboard cartons of Chinese food in a buffet style. Both of them sat sideways on the couch, facing each other, but on the far ends. Grissom picked at his meal, not really hungry but going through the motions for her sake.

Finally, he set the plate down and stared at his lap. He wanted to do this, but he was nervous at the prospect of an open discussion of his emotions. Upset at his weakness, he took a deep breath and dove headfirst into the raging whirlpool.

"I love you."

He started to smile at how easy the admission was, but her sputtering caused him to look up in panic. He'd managed to say it while she was trying to drink her coffee, and she alternated glares at him with wiping up the spill.

"I do," he whispered, causing her to stop and stare at him. He saw the moisture gathering in her eyes. "I have for the longest time."

Not able to look at her, he told her of his life, of his loss and his resulting isolation. Told her how every relationship he started ended in disaster. Of how he wanted to be with her and of how he feared the consequences. Once he started, Grissom found himself unable to stop. Some dam burst within his soul, and for the first time in his life he revealed himself completely to another person.

As he concluded, he felt his face redden in shame. He never meant to lose control like that, and he hated his weakness. His simple declaration of love turned into a torrent that left him sounding like some emotional weakling.

"I'm sorry," he said, rubbing his hand through his hair. He planned to leave then, but Sara stopped him with a single question.

"That you told me, or that you feel that way?"

Looking up, he found that sometime during his rant she'd moved closer to him, one arm resting on the couch near his shoulder. Certain that his confession shocked her, he admired the way she handled it. He held her gaze, steady and strong, and briefly wondered if there was a chance of rescuing their relationship.

"That I never told you when I should have," he answered after a long time.

She gave a nod of acceptance but remained silent. She broke eye contact and went into the kitchen to retrieve the coffee pot. She topped off their drinks and settled back into the couch. Grissom's eyes sparkled when she resumed her position near him.

"I guess the only question left is if you're still afraid," she said, blowing on her coffee in a distracted manner.

"Why?" he stammered, hoping that she meant what he thought.

"Because you know how I feel."

"I know how you felt."

"Same difference," she said, giving him a rueful smile. "Can't help who I fell in love with. But are you able to act on it?"

Grissom opened his mouth, but he ended up shutting it almost immediately. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "I want to, but…"

"I know." Sara smiled at him, reaching over to brush his beard fondly. "It's your choice, you know. Whatever happens now, it's your decision. I'll give you time, but," she stopped, getting off the couch to cross the room. She pulled a drape aside to stare out the window. "But I don't want to be alone. I, I can't do that. I'll give you time, but I can't wait forever."

"I understand," he said, swallowing at the lump in his throat. "How long?" he asked weakly.

"I don't know," she told him bluntly. Dropping the curtain, she turned back to him and shook her head. "You're exhausted."

"Tell me about it," he muttered. Almost losing Nick, the emotional intensity of the conversation, Sara's frank warning – it all took more out of him than he imagined.

She left the room, and he frowned until she returned with a pillow and a blanket. "I'll put fresh towels in the bathroom. You can take a shower if you want. I'll give you a lift back to the lab after we've rested."

Grissom eyed the narrow couch with some distrust, and Sara chuckled. "Don't even suggest it, buddy. You can sleep with me if you decide to give this a try."

He must have grumbled something, because she tossed the pillow at him with somewhat excessive force. "And don't even suggest a test drive."

"I'd never treat you that way," he said, holding out his hand for the blanket.

He frowned as she didn't pass it to him, instead closing the distance until she was directly in front of him. Caressing his cheek again, she leaned forward to kiss him softly. When she backed off, she spoke openly. "I am in love with you. I'd never hurt you, never intentionally. Please believe that."

"I do," Grissom said, wishing her a goodnight after taking the blanket.

In spite of his exhaustion, he slept poorly, with vague disconcerting dreams haunting him. Giving up any hope of rest, he showered quickly, surprised to find Sara dressed for work when he was done.

They stood facing one another, each waiting for the other to break the silence. He detected her unease, fearing that she thought his confession was a result of stress and not an honest admission. While true, his admission had also been extremely difficult for a man used to control, and the idea of reliving it was unsettling. But he'd already exposed himself as deeply as possible, and the only thing worse was rejection. That was a possibility if he retreated.

"I meant it. All of it," he said hoarsely.

She sniffed lightly, struggling to keep her voice level. "So did I."

"I understand." She had offered him salvation if he was willing to take the risk, but damnation was a possibility regardless of which path he picked.

"You don't have to decide now."

He glanced at her, and she smiled understandingly albeit sadly. They stopped at the diner for sandwiches and coffee, neither really hungry but not wanting to part company yet. They had reach a turning point, each understanding that any decision he made wove their futures together.

Neither talked openly of the situation again, but that summer was more relaxed than any time they'd spent in years. He considered her words carefully, and he approached the situation cautiously. At some fundamental level, he understood that she was an essential part of the fabric of his being, that he was nothing if he lost her. Even though he was ready, and she was willing, his track record bothered him.

When he saw a young detective flirting with her at a scene, he recalled her warning with a sense of urgency. She wasn't going to wait on him forever. After shift, he asked her to his home for breakfast, and she accepted with a curious expression.

"I don't want to lose you," he said without preamble.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"No, I'm serious. Things have always ended badly for me. I, I don't want to lose you," he said more adamantly.

"Listen to me, Griss. I'm not going anywhere. I've stuck around this long. Give me a reason to stay, and I will."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It's not," she stated firmly. "We'll have to work at it. But I know you're not…"

"'Great in social situations' is the phrase typically used," he supplied without rancor.

"Right. I know that. Neither am I. I know what kind of hours you work. Mine are worse. I know what it's like to come home still smelling like a decomp. Are you sensing a pattern here? I won't leave. You can drive me away, but I won't leave."

"What's the difference?" he asked nervously.

"You can treat me like shit. You can lie to me, cheat on me, push me away. Do any of those, and I'm gone. Forget my birthday, turn my blender into a lab experiment, well, I'll be pissed, but you'll just have to make those up to me," Sara replied, nervously shifting her position.

"Okay."

"Really?" she asked, grinning broadly.

"Really," he answered in all seriousness. Moving to her, he took her in his arms, running his hands tenderly over her back. Once she rested her arms on his shoulders, he bent forward, first brushing his lips lightly against hers, and then capturing them in a long kiss. One kiss merged into a second and a third. They came up for air, and he quickly dipped in again, this time using his tongue to part her lips.

He groaned in response when she drew his head closer, her tongue eagerly fencing with his own. Hands roamed freely, exploring, teasing and arousing. Years of longing finally found a release, and they both relished the chance to resolve their desires.

When they parted again, he stepped back, taking her hand in his and heading to his bedroom. He let go as they crossed the threshold, moving to the window to arrange the blinds so a bit of natural light bathed the room. Stopping by the bed, he pulled back the covers, kicking off his shoes and removing his watch.

Leading her back to his bed, they proceeded to make love at a pace that started slowly but quickly became frantic.

"I love you," he said, laying on top of her and kissing her face gently. "God, I love you."

He continued his gentle ministrations, trying to make up for years of silence all at once. Eventually he rolled to his side, shifting their bodies under the covers. Sara's contented smile as he held her close touched him more than he ever imagined, and he gladly fell asleep using her chest as a pillow.

The feel of her fingers playing with the curls at his neck greeted him when he woke, and he smiled contently. Levering himself up, he began nuzzling her neck and re-avowing his love. Until it was time to head into work, they snuggled together, savoring the simple delight of holding each other.

The transition from colleagues to lovers happened smoother than he hoped. Each went out of their way to accommodate the other, both relishing what they had but still fearing for its stability. So used to being alone, Grissom flourished under her care. She never pushed, letting him grow accustomed to the changes at his own pace.

They ran into some bumps. He wasn't comfortable working the same cases at first, stating a need to separate their work and personal lives until he knew his limits. Sara refused to eat anything that came out of his refrigerator, noting that his experiments in it were disgusting.

He was stunned to learn she ardently disliked Westerns, and he found the pop movies she watched to be pablum. They had some overlap in their tastes in music, but eventually earphones made an appearance. Always cognizant of their age difference, he found it unnerving, but Sara shrugged it off as nothing important, assuring him physically when she felt her words weren't enough.

They settled into a routine, usually staying at her apartment until Sara presented him with a mini-fridge just for his experiments. He asked her to move in, but she declined. Her reason was that there was no way to keep that information hidden at the lab and discretion was necessary. He suspected her hesitation ran deeper, but he didn't want to pry. Secretly, he was unsure if he wanted to know her reasons.

Grissom focused his considerable attentions on her, vowing that this relationship would work. He learned of her various preferences, making conscious decisions to please her. Wanting to make up for the years that she spent neglected, he routinely bought her presents. When she finally told him that he didn't have to buy her affections, it left him stunned. He insisted that he liked to do it, that he wanted to show his love, and she relented.

In turn, Sara started doing little things for him, making sure there was always a stock of his favorite chocolate-covered grasshoppers, watching poker games with him and wearing the silk lingerie that drove him wild.

Gradually, he grew confident enough to openly work cases with her, but it wasn't possible to disguise the newfound ease with which they worked. The teasing and playful banter present in her first years in Vegas returned, this time heightened by private innuendos. Quietly, their friends speculated on the changes, but they never said anything openly.

The happiness he found surpassed anything he expected. For the first time as an adult, he had someone with whom to share his secrets. Sara held him closely, stroking his back as he told her of whatever was bothering him. Some things he kept to himself, and she never pressed him, allowing him his privacy but there when he wanted to share.

The longer they spent together, the deeper their bond became. He grew more confident in his ability to please her outside the bedroom, slowly opening up more to her. She never judged, never scolded, but she was always there to comfort him.

As content as he was, Grissom eventually realized that Sara held back. She let him into her home and body, but she never shared her innermost thoughts. He knew that her childhood had been traumatic, and he imagined the scars ran deeper than she'd shown. One day while they got ready for bed, he mentioned that if she wanted to talk, he was there. She smiled and thanked him, but he saw the tension in her body. When she got in bed, he wrapped a protective arm around her, kissing her softly until she drifted off to sleep.

He tried to bring the subject up on different occasions, but she usually deflected his efforts, once resorting to mind boggling oral sex. Taking the hint, he left her to her secrets. For once being the more open of the two, he again found himself lost, unsure of how to proceed. He finally accepted that she'd share when she was ready, never mentioning it again until the nightmare sent her scrambling to the bathroom.

The sound of her sobbing was enough to send him inside, and he winced when he found her in the corner of the shower, curled into a ball as she wept bitterly. Sitting beside her, he slowly inched her into his arms, cradling her body as she cried into his shoulder. He held her tightly, whispering soothing words until she sniffed and started to apologize.

"Don't," he said softly but firmly, brushing stray hair from her face. Stroking her back, he felt her trembling despite her best attempts to appear calm. The strength of her reaction rekindled long-smoldering fears. It angered him, and she sensed it, for she tried to pull away with an apologetic smile.

He drew her back gently, kissing the top of her head and whispering softly, "I don't know who or what hurt you, sweetheart, but you're safe with me. I'll never let anyone hurt you again. I promise."

He repeated his vow as he helped her up, encouraging her to stay close. She sniffled, leaning against him as he rubbed his hands over her back. Stepping out of the shower, he held a washcloth under the faucet and gently washed her tears away.

"Do you want to go back to bed?" When she shook her head, he led her into the living room. He sat on the chair and pulled her into his lap. Slowly, he coaxed the story from her. As he feared, what she had endured was worse than he thought. The abuses she suffered, the humiliations inflicted on her made his heart rage. He fought to keep his demeanor calm as she broke down again, burying her head into his neck as fresh tears stung his flesh.

He stayed there while she cried, comforting her to the best of his ability. When he realized she'd collapsed back into sleep, he sat quietly, not willing to risk disturbing her sleep. When she woke later, his arms and legs were numb, but he made no complaint.

She kissed him quickly but avoided his eyes. He cupped her chin, softly lifting her head and whispered a fresh declaration of love.

"Out there, I'll do what I can," he said, nodding his head in the direction of the door. "But in here, with me, you'll always be safe. I'll never let anyone hurt you again. I promise."

Despite her current state, he knew that she was strong and capable, and his vows were probably unnecessary. They were definitely chauvinistic, but he didn't care. He meant every word of it, and he'd tell her as often as necessary for her to believe it.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, telling him how much she loved him. In a few minutes, she stood up and held her hands out to him. He let her pull him up, but he couldn't disguise his sleeping limbs as he stumbled. She shook her head, slowly leading him to the bedroom. He moaned as she massaged the feeling back into his legs, groaning when she straddled him. When she started to undress, he caught her hands.

"You don't have to," he said.

"I want to."

She removed her pajamas, blushing at the loving way he admired her body. He let his hands roam over her as she undid his top and scooted his bottoms and boxers down. Her kisses were loving and gentle, and he replied in kind, yielding complete control to her. His hands covered her breasts as she moved on him, squeezing and stroking her in time to her motions.

Afterwards, he held her with one hand while he reached for the phone. It was her day off, and he refused to let her go to work. He called in sick himself, and he never let her out of his sight for the rest of the day. They cuddled on the couch watching old movies, shared a lunch of leftovers and made love again in the shower.

It marked a change in their relationship, and Sara was the one to open up more. She'd shared bits and pieces of her childhood, and he'd told her about his father, about his mother's reaction to his death. They held each other, drawing comfort from their mutual love.

He started to filter the cases, deliberately keeping her away from scenes he felt were likely to bother her. She didn't reacted the first few times it happened, but when he assigned her to a minor robbery while the rest of the team worked the murder of a girl in foster care, she stayed behind after the others left the break room. Once alone, she shot him a look that alternated between an impatient glower and disappointment. When she finished her robbery, he brought her into the murder investigation without comment.

"I should be pissed," she told him later at home, halfway to that point as she started a pot of coffee.

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" she repeated, stopping to give him a disbelieving look. "That's all you have to say?"

Grissom shrugged as he broke eggs for omelets. "I made a mistake, but I'm never going to apologize for loving you."

Tears in her eyes, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Thoughts of breakfast faded as they made love, each trying to maximize the others pleasure. Afterwards, she rested her head on his chest, telling him that she'd never ask for special treatment at work, and asking that he never treat her differently than the other CSIs.

"I'm not bedding Greg," he deadpanned, huffing out a breath when she slapped his belly playfully. After driving him to the brink of madness by unhurriedly kissing around the red mark she had left, she moved lower, getting him ready for another bout of lovemaking.

Hesitantly at first, she started talking to him when a case bothered her. He listened without judgment, focusing on channeling her dredged up pain in other directions. While he served to help balance her emotions, she enabled him to express his better.

Both were still dedicated to their jobs, but they took extra efforts to spend more time together. The change came easily enough; each now a reason to stay home. Neither immediately rushed off when a call came, making an effort to create a life outside of work.

They were always discreet, but eventually people began to notice their undeniable attraction. Some were harmless, such as the man who created fantasies for a fee. His ability to read them made Grissom uneasy, but Sara shrugged it off. The next week, he surprised her with a present of a silk kimono, and the significance wasn't lost on her.

Others began to talk, but without proof, they had no grounds to complain. He was willing to leave the lab for her, and he let her know. She turned down his offer, smiling as she explained that things were good as they were. The strength of their love created a united front, and they weathered all storms together.

He thought of proposing but hesitated. She apparently had opinions on marriage, although she once tried to convince him otherwise in a near-panic. Still, he knew she claimed to be uncomfortable with children, and given her family background he understood the idea was a sensitive issue.

The notion of marriage still appealed to him, even if they never had children. Regardless, he was happy, even if she didn't want to make a formal commitment. Besides, they still had time to think of such things, so he decided to show her how dedicated he was before broaching the subject. Thoughts of a child of their own stayed with him, though, and he often watched her, easily imagining her carrying a baby.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked once, catching his wistful smile.

"The future," was all he answered.

Small changes started in both of them. She never asked him to stop eating meat, but he never did so in her presence. He began to eat better, her smile when he picked a healthier option the only incentive he needed. His weight started to drop, and Sara slipped her arms around his waist one day while he held out a pair of baggy pants.

"I really let myself go," he admitted, looking over his shoulder at her. "I can't believe you picked me."

"I never cared what you looked like," she said, kissing the nape of neck. "Besides, you were always hot. I'm just glad you lost the weight for health reasons. I want you around as long as possible."

He turned in her arms, pulling her closer. This was still a sensitive subject for him, even if she accepted their age difference with no noticeable hesitation. "I'll never understand why you picked me when you had a bunch of younger men interested."

"You accept me the way I am," she answered easily.

"What do you mean?" he asked in obvious confusion. "You're one of the most desirable women I've ever met."

She chuckled. "Right, this is Vegas. Not like there are drop dead gorgeous showgirls on every corner."

"I never said you were beautiful."

She made a face as she leaned back. "Glad my ego is healthy."

He shook his head at her grin, pressing her body to his. "You are beautiful. I said you were desirable. Beauty is external and fleeting. Desire is deeper, lasting. You're passionate about your convictions, intelligent, willing to stand up for yourself."

"A lot of guys don't like those," she said, smiling at his compliments.

"I do," he shrugged.

"Good. I like you, too."

"I noticed." Happy, he gave her a kiss before heading into the bathroom. When he came out, he sneaked up behind Sara, and rubbed his cheek against hers before kissing her.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, laughing as she ran her hands over the smooth skin. "What happened to the scruff?"

"Delayed baldness," he deadpanned, pinning her against the fridge and rubbing his face over her until she was laughing hard. "Do you want me to grow it back?"

"It's your face. Do what you want."

He rolled his shoulders, distracted by the way he'd disheveled her shirt, exposing a bit of cleavage. The beard had been an act of vanity, a poor attempt to cover the obvious weight gain in his face. "It sounds like you liked scruffy."

"It had its advantages," she purred. "But I missed this."

His breath hissed as she leaned forward, running her tongue along the cleft in his chin. They made love on the kitchen counter, much to Sara's later dismay. Grissom promised to buy extra bleach on the way home from work, and she chuckled as he rubbed his smooth cheeks between her breasts.

Other assorted problems greeted them as they progressed. They had disagreements and differences of opinion, arguments over small things, but it was always short-lived and easily settled.

That's probably why their first true fight was so bad. Both were tired and stressed from a horrible case, both of their tempers primed. He knew he didn't start it, and he tried to diffuse it at least twice, but when it finally erupted, it rapidly grew out of control. They bickered for a long time, neither willing to back off from the rising anger.

Maybe it was his distress that his idealized notion of their relationship wasn't as realistic as he dreamed. Or maybe it was his self-loathing for fighting over something so inconsequential. Whatever the reason, Grissom's next words came out cruelly, and Sara's head snapped back as if he'd hit her.

She mumbled a hurried apology and grabbed her purse to leave, but he was already begging her to stay, painfully aware that what he said sounded like a calculated attack. It wasn't; he meant it another way, but he couldn't deny that it sounded like something else, something vicious.

As she headed to the door, he repeatedly told her that he was sorry, but he knew it was too late. On several occasions, he'd promised to never hurt her. He'd carefully drawn out her deepest terrors, and now it looked like he had tossed them back in her face with apparent ease. By all appearances, he'd deliberately hurt her.

He went to her apartment in a near-panic, letting himself in with the key she had given him earlier. She held her arms tightly around her waist, and listened as he told her how much he loved her, how much he regretted his words, that he hadn't meant it the way it sounded. He promised to do anything to make it up to her, swearing his undying love.

After a lifetime, she accepted his apology, and he made love to her as tenderly as he knew, gently whispering endearments and promises.

But things had changed.

He knew he had inadvertently betrayed her trust, the dark secrets that scarred her self-worth. She let him into her home, let him make love to her, but a wall was between them. It was subtle and invisible, but that didn't detract from its strength. They strained with conversation, for Grissom said nothing without mentally reviewing it obsessively.

They worked stiffly, and everyone knew something happened, but they were smart enough to not mention it publicly. Catherine tried to approach him once, but she had as little luck as Brass had with Sara.

As days turned into weeks, Grissom continued to apologize. Always attentive, his behavior began to border on the obsessive, and his constant trailing of her made things worse.

"Just back off!" she finally begged, giving him a heart-wrenching look.

Still plagued by guilt, his mind insisted on torturing him with thoughts that she learned the look from her mother.

With a resigned air, he stayed away. For the next week, he went home to an empty bed, scarcely able to sleep. He hated himself for what he did; unable to figure out what drove him to saying something so stupid. It hadn't been deliberate; he refused to even consider that he was capable of something so hideous.

Any feelings of loneliness, any sense of isolation he experienced before paled in comparison to the way he now felt. Slowly, he began to wonder if it was his destiny; his relationships always ended badly, always because of some inability on his part, implying that he was incapable of love. But he did love Sara; loved her deeply, more than he had loved anything in his life. More than life itself. And despite of all of that, in spite of all the effort he put into their relationship, he drove her away in a moment of carelessness.

Alone in his room, he cried for the first time since the night his father died.

The next day, he parked outside her apartment building, needing to be close but unable to face her until he knew how to apologize. She'd forgiven him the years he wasted, for his past carelessness, but he didn't know how to take back his words. Suddenly afraid of her seeing him, he left for the lab, not wanting her to think he was stalking her.

When he arrived at the office, he stared at the stacks of paper. He was behind in his work, even by his standards, and he knew he needed to catch up before it raised suspicions. That was a complication he didn't need. As he picked up his pen, his hand froze for a long time.

He then quickly rifled through his desk, pulling out a request for a leave of absence. He didn't know exactly what he would do to win back Sara's trust, but it was more important than filling out paperwork, more important than his career. For the next six months, starting the next week, she was his only concern. He'd dedicated himself solely to winning back her trust, to making her happy, to proving that he deserved her love.

He took the form to Ecklie, calmly informing him that he would quit if he refused to sign, smiling at the irony of the comment. The shocked look on his face as he approved the request lifted Grissom's spirits, and he drove to the abandoned warehouse where Sara was working a possible meth lab.

Nodding his greeting to the officer at the door, he called her name into the cavernous space. She stuck her head around a piece of rusty machinery, her confusion clear. He'd given her all the space she needed, even avoiding her as much as possible at work. Unable to contain himself, he grinned and waved as he approached. A slow and cautious spark of hope formed as he saw her moving around the equipment to wait for him.

His heart lightened as her smirk deepened. She was going to give him a chance; she understood his words were a mistake. He dug the leave of absence from his back pocket, hardly able to contain his excitement. Nothing was going to stop him from regaining her complete trust. He'd take her anywhere in the world she wanted, do anything she wanted, for as long as she wanted.

Looking up, his smile turned to a mask of horror as he saw the disheveled figure slink out of the shadows to Sara's right. Grissom was running as his scream of warning started, but he watched helplessly as the axe connected with her head.

She never reacted, never had time to react as she dropped to the floor, lifeless. Seeing his future gone, all reason left him.

He tackled the man, obviously a junkie, ignoring the pain as the axe sliced into his shoulder. Screaming his rage, he ruthlessly pounded the savage's head into the concrete floor. He heard the officers approaching, but he never let up, no longer caring if he lived or died. Tears ran down his face as he tried to strangle the junkie, hating him for taking the one thing in his life that mattered.

Grissom never saw the axe moving until the flat side of the blade smashed into his head.

Staggering backwards, he saw Sara's body, and he cried her name. Desperately, he tried to reach her hand, to beg a final pardon for failing to protect her. No longer fearing for his safety, not wanting to live without her, he ignored the axe coming; bright lights exploded in his head and darkness followed.

---

"Get an ambulance!"

The words punctured the haze surrounding Grissom, and his hand came up to rub his cheek, surprised to find a raw wound on smooth flesh. Opening his eyes, he realized he was lying on his back on the concrete and his memories flooded his mind. He looked to his side, but there was no sign of Sara's body.

"Don't try to move, sir," another woman said and hands gently tried to restrain him. The voice carried a familiar lilt, and he found an oddly recognizable stranger watching him. He flushed, moved by her attention.

Grissom's head ached, and he tried to piece together what had happened. A worker knelt beside him, apologizing profusely. He realized that he had walked into the ladder the other man still held. Something had distracted him, but the memory was already fading.

He sat up quickly, making his head ache more, but he scanned the area anxiously, trying desperately to remember. There was a bright light, sometimes one woman, sometimes three. She was young, they were old; beautiful and hags all at once. As he stared, they gathered loose threads and faded from sight. Deciding it had to be a hallucination, he was embarrassed.

The feeling escalated when he realized that a crowd was forming, and he was the main event. Hating to be the center of a scene, he rubbed his cheek and started to stand.

"Do I know you?" he asked eagerly, allowing her touch as she helped to steady him.

Her head tilted at his questioning, adding to his curiosity. For the first time, his body noted she was beautiful, her brown eyes showing wisdom belying her age. She didn't deserve his questioning, but he followed an unusual course of examining the emotions draw out by his accident and her care.

"You shouldn't move. You hit your head," she said, ignoring his question.

Flustered by her attention, he turned to the anxious worker to tell him it was an accident, and assured him that there was no need to call an ambulance. The woman was impossible to dismiss.

"I'm fine, Miss?" he asked in opening. They walked slowly, and he held the door open as they entered the hall.

"Sara Sidle," she answered with a kind smile. "Are you sure you don't want to see the doctor? The campus clinic isn't too far away."

"I'm more embarrassed than anything," he admitted, surprising himself with the ease he made the confession. He found her easy to talk to, feeling as if he'd known her for years. It was impossible; she was barely an adult. "And you never answered me. Do I know you? You look so familiar."

"I don't think so," she answered with a slight grin. "And this isn't convincing me that you don't need a doctor."

He ran his hand over his chin, wondering why he thought of a beard. Why he was thinking of numerous things, of people he didn't know, of death. Of this young woman in particular. She was beautiful and kind, and it surprised him to find his attraction to a coed wasn't appalling.

"I'm sorry. You just remind me of someone. I can't place it," he said, shaking his head as images of making love to her flowed easily into his mind, more like memories than fantasies. "Are you missing class?"

"I'm heading to a lecture. I'll slip into the back."

"With the rest of the freshmen?" he asked, convinced and anxious that she'd confirm that she was far too young to be interested in him.

Her laughter caused an uncomfortable feeling, and it had nothing to do with embarrassment. He already knew she was beautiful, and some vague notion was insisting she was intelligent. His mind was screaming that she wasn't just a student, and his interest was puzzling, for he strongly felt logic determined his actions.

Watching her smile, he decided logic was overrated in this case.

"Sorry. I'm in grad school. A little old to be hanging out with the freshmen," she answered, blushing under the intense stare her comments provoked.

He relented, not wanting to scare her. She brought out a protective feeling in him, a sense of wanting to protect her, comfort her. Giving his head a shake, his eyes snapping open at the pain, he drifted to the side, smiling as she followed along with a supportive hand on his back.

"What is it?" she asked as he bent to pick something up.

He held a length of thread in his hands, turning it over slowly. It was old and obviously flawed. He quickly discarded it, wiping his hands on his pants as fleeting memories tickled his conscious. Something had changed; he wanted to change. He wanted Sara.

Seeing her confused look, he cleared his throat, trying to understand his emotional response. Understand, not ignore.

"You were heading to a lecture?" he asked with a forced casualness.

"Yeah, it's in here," she said.

He looked in the direction she had indicated and smiled. "You won't miss anything. They can't start the lecture without the speaker."

"You really are Dr. Grissom?"

Her question was so surprised that he raised a inquiring eyebrow at her, smiling when she blushed again.

"You're not what I expected, Dr. Grissom," she mumbled.

"Just Grissom."

"Okay, you're not what I expected, Just Grissom."

He laughed at her joke, escorting her into the building. Dashing into the men's room, he washed his face and straightened his clothes. His day was off to an unusual start, and he was perplexed. He no longer knew if he was a loner by choice or nature, but he wanted to change. Strangely, he felt Sara Sidle was the answer to all his questions. Never in his life had it felt so natural to talk with someone.

Finding her waiting there for him, he gazed intently at her, waiting until a group of noisy students entered the hall. "Can I buy you lunch? I owe you that much for making sure I didn't crack my skull."

"I'd like that," she answered.

Walking into the lecture hall, Grissom smiled contently. For the first time in ages, he finally felt like his life was back on track.

Finis

---

A/N II: There's an NC-17 version of this story that I'll post to my web site later if anyone is interested.