DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters used within this story. They are the property of Anthony Zucker, Jerry Bruckheimer, and the CBS Studios. I am only borrowing them for use in this piece of fiction. I hope they would all approve.

DEDICATION: I dedicate this work to all who have encouraged my writing and to those beautiful, beloved characters that entertain and move us every Thursday evening. Thank you to you all!

A Cure for Headaches

By: Hope Elizabeth

Sara coughed. Leaning her body foreword, eyes closed, her fingertips moved upward, rolling slowly, deeply over the thin, hot skin, just below her hairline. It had started as a mild gnawing, a dull ache behind her eyes that she noticed offhand as she sipped her evening coffee. But now, as her shift was coming to a close, she sat quietly on the couch in the crime lab's break room, nursing a half-full bottle of spring water and lamenting a headache that threatened to rip her skull asunder. This pain, however, was something Sara was sadly, becoming used too.

It had been several months since she and Grissom had officially entertained the idea of becoming a couple. She still remembered that first time he'd held her hand, the first time he'd pulled her into an ungainly embrace and that awkward, yet exceptionally sweet first kiss. But for as much as Sara realized that Grissom wanted her closer to him and despite his baby steps in that general direction, he was still caught within the clumsy waltz that drew her close with one breath then with the next, pushed her even further away. Something, or someone, was holding Grissom back, keeping him from giving himself completely to their relationship and ultimately, her love. And the stress of loving that which she had come so close to obtaining but still did not possess, now pounded relentlessly inside the walls of her head, manifesting itself within her current cranial dilemma.

Even now, with Grissom already having been gone three and a half weeks on his sabbatical, the headaches continued to plague Sara. She thought that somehow, with Grissom gone, she would be able take a break from the constant wondering, the constant sense of teetering precariously on an unstable edge and consequently, could obtain just one decent night's sleep. But even as she lay underneath the cool, satin sheets of her bed, the questions and uneasiness consumed her.

Now, with a sigh and a quiet grunt, Sara drew her legs beneath her and rose to her feet, dragging herself painfully towards the locker room, yearning for the solitude her small apartment offered.

"Ms. Sidle!" Sara turned, forcing her eyes open from their awkward squinted position. It was the secretary at the front desk. Sara moved forward towards the smiling woman, whose name she could never seem to remember, and tried her best to smile in return.

"What's up…Cindy," She asked, gathering the woman's name from her fashionably positioned nametag and placing her hands on the cool slate of the front desk. The lovely young woman, seemingly in her early twenties, bright green eyes twinkling, parted her glossy lips in a grin and handed Sara a square box wrapped in brown paper and twine.

"This came for you in this morning's mail." Without another word, just another grin, she flipped her hair over her left shoulder and lowered her eyes back to her blinking computer screen. Sara had just begun to walk away when that same irritating voice called out to her once more. "And Ms. Sidle, would you please tell your friends and family to send all personal mail to your home address and not to the lab? Thanks a bunch." Sara fumed and sparks of anger flew from her now wide-open eyes. Demonstrating incredible restraint, head shaking and free hand balled into a fist, she turned away from the desk and quietly took her leave.

It only took one quick glance for Sara to see that the mysterious box was from Grissom. Without warning, she felt her heart flip and the pain in her temples lessened a bit. Making her way through the lab to the safety of the locker room was a bit of a trial by fire. Colleagues surrounded her, each possessing some reason to detain her for a moment. However, after dodging questions, all the time managing to keep her box safely hidden behind her back, Sarah finally found herself seated on a stiff wooden bench, the cool air of the locker room caressing the tendrils near her face, her hands clasping the box with surprising tenderness. With a deep breath, Sara tugged the paper free from the package, pulled the tape, and extracted the top layer of crumpled brown packing paper. With gentle fingers, she reached inside and removed the fragile branch holding up the ethereal white cocoon. The fingers of her free hand lightly touched the cocoon, her mind thinking back to the moments she and Grissom had shared, pouring over his books on entomology.

While Grissom enjoyed such topics as the mating habits of Madagascar hissing cockroaches and the life cycle of the common tarantula, Sara preferred to discuss a more artistic species, Lepidoptera Papillonoidea, the butterfly. Sara didn't know why butterflies had always fascinated her. Perhaps it was the way they could transform, bundling themselves up in their protective cocoons only to emerge more beautiful, stronger, ready to take on life with new wings. Or perhaps it was just the female in her, reacting to the stark beauty of the winged splendor, comparing it to the inherent repulsiveness of Grissom's preferred species. Whatever the reason, Sara marveled at the gift; her heart touched by Grissom's thoughtfulness, surprised by the tenderness, the intimacy of the gift. With hope, she pulled away the second layer of crumpled brown paper. What she was hoping for, she wasn't sure. A note perhaps, a love letter, a photograph, something to bring this gift into focus. But as her hand touched the empty bottom of the small box, she let out a sigh. Her heart dropped down from the cloud from which it previously had risen. And Sara realized that even in this gift, even with this step of tenderness, Grissom would always be Grissom, and nothing would ever really change.

On the day that Grissom was to arrive home, Sara found herself incredibly nervous. With all the doubts and fears that had been racing around inside her aching skull these past few weeks, she wasn't sure she was ready to face him. At one time, Sara possessed no doubt of her feelings for Grissom. But, as the days of their agonizingly slow relationship had passed, she began to wonder if her feelings had been accurate. Perhaps their personalities were just too different. Perhaps he was too old for her, too eccentric, too withdrawn. Perhaps even she could not succeed in bringing him out of his shell. And if this latter fact was true, if he would not, could not get close to her of all people, then perhaps their relationship was nothing more than wishful thinking.

As Sara sat in her bathroom an hour before her shift, pulling a large toothed comb through her newly showered hair, she found herself unable to stop the tears that spilled from already reddened lids. She knew that sometimes, the hardest part of love was letting go. And while every pulse of her heart begged for her to hold on, her head was beginning to chant a different tune. Perhaps letting Grissom go was the only way she'd ever truly be happy. Perhaps…

Sara was not granted much more time for introspection, for as soon as her tears had been wiped away, her cell phone began to ring.

"Sidle," she answered, coughing once to clear her throat of any post-tear phlegm.

"Hey Sara, its Catherine," Sara took a seat on the side of the tub, one hand holding the phone, the other plugging in her hair dryer.

"Hi Catherine, what's up?" Catherine began filling Sara in on a new case, one involving the death of a prostitute in a back alley on Fremont Street.

"Her body was found sans one hand, a foot and her clothing. Brass was interviewing some kid who told us he'd seen the crime, said he witnessed someone dumping a duffel bag into a nearby dumpster. When you get in, I'd like you to head out to the site, see what you can find." Sara tapped her foot on the floor, hairdryer in hand.

"Sure Cath, I'll be in in about twenty minutes or so. Then I'll head right out." Catherine gave the obligatory thank you and the call ended without a goodbye. Sara was thankful that fashion was never a high priority for her as she pulled her still damp hair into the hole of her CSI ball cap. The debutantes of old Las Vegas would sneer if they saw her in faded blue jeans and a discolored black t-shirt. Even her tennis shoes were scuffed. But the knowledge that she'd be foraging through a smelly and quite likely sticky pile of garbage hardly inspired her to pull out the Dolce and Gabbana. With a quick dusting of makeup and an even quicker look in the mirror, Sara pulled out her car keys and made a dash to her car.

The lab was already a clamor of activity as she entered and she quickly found an industrious Catherine standing intently at Keppler's side. Neither turned in her direction as she approached, so Sara gave a compulsory cough, instantly getting their attention.

"Oh, Sara. Hi." Catherine seemed preoccupied, but Sara was used to this side of her colleague. With a half smile, Sara returned the greeting. The conversation quickly turned to the case at hand and after a quick run down and some vague directions, Sara found herself once again on the highway. Normally, she'd have music playing or the window down, but tonight, she was content with silence. Besides, it didn't take her very long to find the place that Catherine had specified. While the blinking red and blue lights might have instantly blended in with the flashing lights of the Vegas strip, Sara recognized the familiar formation of cars and the unyielding shadowed form of Detective Jim Brass. As Sara turned off the ignition and exited the car, he was the first to greet her with melancholy smile and tired eyes.

"Well, well, Ms. Sidle. Always a pleasure." Sara couldn't help but offer up a half smile as she stood by Brass's side.

"Hey Jim. How's it going?" Brass offered a quick shake of his head and a playful wink.

"Could be better. Course, I don't have to rummage through a heap of garbage." Sara rolled her eyes and smiled, her feet moving almost automatically towards the bright green dumpster.

"Yeah, well, I suppose it could be worse. Anything I should know before I get started?" Brass shook his head.

"The witness spoke of a duffel bag. Other than that, you're on your own. Good luck." With a "right" poised to spring from her lips, Sara simply turned away from the detective and approached the trash. Carefully, Sara pulled out a pair of gloves from the pocket of her blue cloth jumpsuit, a wardrobe change she'd made prior to exiting the Vegas lab. As the cold latex embraced each finger, Sara's mind flickered momentarily with thoughts of Grissom's arrival. But as her hands came in contact with the putrid stickiness of the garbage heap, Sara turned her thoughts to thoughts of evidence, a place where she felt very much at home.

Sara felt the cool air conditioned breeze on her face as she walked through the automatic doors into the lab. With her bag full of samples, including but not limited to a pungent severed hand and a blood-covered blouse, Sara wanted nothing more than to hit the showers. Her aroma was anything but pleasant and the stickiness of her jumpsuit was repulsive, even to her seasoned skin. But her desire for cleanliness was outweighed by her innate sense of duty to her case and her evidence. With a heave, she lifted her black shoulder bag onto one of the empty steel tables. Unzipping quickly, she extracted her oddly shaped bags of evidence and started on her way to the storage freezer, a place she knew her precious evidence would be safe while she removed the dirt and grime from her flesh. But, as Sara turned the corner of the hallway closest to Grissom's office, her mind quite evidently on other things, she soon found herself face to face with the one person she'd least expected to see. There, coming towards her at full force from the door to his office, was none other than Grissom himself. With a soft breath he said her name.

"Sara". Her breath caught in her throat. Suddenly she was very aware of her appearance and her throat seemed very tight.

"Hey. You're back." She winced inwardly. What a stupid thing to say! And yet something in Grissom's eyes had caught her completely off guard. She found herself walking backwards as he came towards her.

"Yeah." Well, so much for a deep conversation. But somehow, Sara didn't think Grissom wanted to talk. That look, his eyes, his body language. Sara felt confused, suddenly awkward, unsure. She held up her hands, evidence bags and all, and went for the most logical excuse.

"Uh, I've…I've been out at a, um…I've been at…" Her mouth refused to connect with her brain as she continued to back away from the advancing Grissom. He smiled at her and she furrowed her brow.

"A garbage dump?" He responded, eyebrow raised, grin tugging at his lips. Sara's mouth refused to open, so she nodded, like an idiot. Grissom wasn't retreating. Here, in the office, amongst their colleagues, amongst prying eyes, he wasn't retreating. He just kept coming closer and closer. Sara felt her brain scream in confusion.

"Yeah. It's obvious, isn't it? Nice, um…you look good." Finally, her mouth opened to speak. But her sense of articulation wasn't improving. Grissom did look good. Incredibly good. His eyes, his hair, his beard, his lips… Sara found herself swallowing…hard.

"Did you, uh, put the cocoon in my office?" Grissom slowed his advance but still continued forward, a questioning look on his face. As he slowed, Sara finally began to feel her senses returning. She stopped retreating quite so quickly and felt her lexicon restore itself.

"Cool, dry, not a lot of light. It seemed the right place for it."

"I think you'll be surprised when it hatches." Sara saw his boyish excitement and her heart beat more quickly. Something was different about Grissom. Something had changed. And Sara, for as much as she desired to find out what that something was, continued to guard her heart.

"I have no doubt." Sara replied and she felt the shield rise, not only over a pounding heart but over a hopeful spirit as well. Sara knew that the veil this shield produced was immediately visible behind her eyes and she knew the exact moment when Grissom sensed this, for he stopped dead in his tracks, a strange sadness passing over his countenance. "I'm gonna…go clean up now." Sara turned, her only thought, escape. She needed to think, to ponder what she'd just seen and felt. She needed time.

"I'll see you later." She heard Grissom's voice echo after her, a hint of anxiety and more than a hint of expectation in his voice. She turned one last time to meet his eyes and found herself saying:

"Yeah, you will."

The next few hours passed without incident. Sara went home after her shift without stopping to talk with Grissom. She knew that there were things she needed to think about, words she needed to form and the timing just wasn't right. She'd expected Grissom to come back, same as he ever was, but something had changed. And honestly, Sara wasn't sure how to handle the change, whatever it happened to be. After shift ended, she had received a call from Grissom, asking her to meet him for dinner that weekend, a weekend they both had free. Sara agreed and while she had the feeling that Grissom would have liked to have talked more with her, she knew he sensed her fatigue and apprehension, and willingly let her go.

As days turned into nights, Sara and Grissom met within the confines of their shift, him offering up expectant glances, her offering hesitant half smiles. Finally, after days of anxious anticipation, the night of their meeting arrived. Sara felt like she was fifteen again, going out on her very first date. She rifled through her closet, taking out then rejecting outfit upon outfit. She sat down hard on the edge of her bed, a huff of air coming from an open mouth. It was then that a little voice inside her head began to chide her for her trepidation.

"Come on now Sara girl," the voice rebuked, "this is Grissom we're talking about. He won't notice what you're wearing." With a sigh and a push, Sara stood. Choosing a pair of her favorite jeans and a black tank that she felt fit her nicely, she dressed then ran a brush through her hair. Finally, she chose a simple gold necklace, a pair of earrings, and brushed her teeth, just in case. Forcing herself to breath, she grabbed her keys and cell phone and headed to her car.

The restaurant that Grissom had chosen was much fancier than she was used to. The violin music, silk linens, and maître d's made her feel suddenly very underdressed. Grissom had not arrived yet and she had arrived a bit early, so she kept herself occupied by watching the patrons partake of their meals. The music was pleasant, romantic and sensual, and the dance floor was filled with couples locked in a dreamy embrace. Sara rested her head on her hands and watched the couples dance. As comfortable as she was with the scientific and the logical, she still possessed a romantic longing, and watching the couples dance, the couples laughing and touching at their tables, she felt her heart begin to ache a little. Grissom would never dance this way, nor would he be this comfortable laughing and talking over linen napkins and white wine. For one split second Sara was afraid. Why would Grissom bring her to a place like this? It wasn't like him, not like him at all. Perhaps, perhaps he was bringing her here to end it. After all, he did seem like some strange weight had been lifted off his shoulders. Perhaps that weight was their relationship and all that stood between him and true happiness was getting her out of the way. Sara's head began to ache.

Before Sara could truly sink into the depths of despair, however, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"You're early." Grissom's voice was smooth and deep, causing a wave of warm fuzzy shivers to course through Sara's body. She turned and looked up into his eyes. They sparkled and Sara couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah, well it's been a while." Grissom smiled back and nodded.

"I was thinking the same thing." At just that moment, a new song began to play, something slow, sensual, something that echoed within Sara's heart. And at that moment, Sara saw a hand extend towards her. She looked at the hand and then once again into Grissom's eyes. "May I?" She smiled, fought back the urge to giggle, and took his hand. Mmmm, she'd forgotten how warm his hands could be. Sara could barely feel her feet as she followed Grissom to the dance floor. But when his hands took up their resting place upon her waist and pulled her close; when his breath caressed her ear as he whispered "You look beautiful" into her hair; as his beard lightly scratched at the delicate skin of her cheek, she was suddenly very aware of herself. Every touch burned itself into her flesh and as she swayed gently to the wistful rhythm of the music, she found herself completely lost in the moment.

All too soon, however, the musician's reached that final note and the couples around them stopped their swaying to applaud softly. Sara felt herself clinging to Grissom, unwilling, or unable to pull away. The softness of his cotton shirt, the steadiness of his heartbeat, the faintest smell of…what was that…aftershave? Sara smiled, allowing herself to believe, if only for one moment, that everything would be ok. And to Grissom's credit, he stood there, holding her, allowing her to rest in his embrace. It wasn't until the next song began that Sara felt Grissom's stomach rumble. She chuckled as her own growled in reply.

"I, um, I guess I'm a little hungry." She slowly raised her eyes and saw the sparkle still present in Grissom's gaze. He was grinning like a schoolboy.

"Me too." He replied, taking her hand and leading her back to their table. Sara knew that they needed to talk but as the hours passed, she allowed herself the enjoyment that pleasant conversation could bring. Grissom shared story after story with Sara of his time in New England. They chuckled over squeamish students and remembered the beautiful scenery, a topic Sara reveled in. She had such fond memories of New England and she delighted in sharing some of those memories with Grissom. Together they laughed and talked as they rarely had before. Grissom had taken Sara's hand over the course of their meal, somewhere between her salad and her spinach fettuccini, and he hadn't let go even as he finished his meal. And before both of them knew it, the restaurant had begun to empty. Grissom let go of Sara's hand to check his watch.

"It's almost three in the morning," Grissom said, taking Sara's hand again as he laid his arm back on the table. Sara smiled wistfully and turned to look out the window.

"I suppose we'd better get going." She felt Grissom's hand tighten on her own.

"I had…a really nice time tonight Sara, "he said, his eyes and voice deep and low. He leaned in closer and whispered, "Especially our dance." Sara smiled and raised an eyebrow.

"It was… nice." Her grin widened. "But I'm not too sure about that beard." Grissom smiled and stood, pulling Sara with him.

"Come home with me?" His question was tender and yet contained remnants of a young schoolboy asking a girl to their first dance. It touched her that he was anxious and to her surprise, she found she couldn't speak. So she nodded and smiled as he led her from the restaurant.

It had been a month since Sara had been in Grissom's apartment, but suddenly, it seemed like years. Her feet, now free of her sandals, sunk deep into the plush carpet that covered his hardwood floors. Grissom hung his jacket over the back of a dining room chair and then turned to Sara.

"I'll be right back." Sara nodded and Grissom exited to the bathroom. Sara walked slowly through Grissom's living room, taking everything in that she'd missed so much. Her fingers traced over the leather bound edges of his novels, her eyes embraced the familiar cases with preserved butterflies, and her nose inhaled the sweet scent of leather mixed with the faintest hint of formaldehyde. She was almost completely lost in the moment when she heard her name being called. "Sara." Turning she approached Grissom's bathroom and knocked tentatively on the door.

"Come in." There Grissom sat, on the edge of his tub, his cotton dress shirt replaced with a grey t-shirt, a towel draped over his shoulder, his face lathered with a thick layer of shaving cream. Sara noticed the sharpened razor lying beside the sink. With a straight face she walked towards the sink, picked up the razor and looked into the mirror, catching Grissom's gaze.

"Do you trust me?" She meant it half-jokingly, never expecting Grissom to take such a question seriously. After all, he never had before. Turning to face him, she took several steps forward until she was so close she could feel his breath on her face and inhale the warm scent of peppermint scented shaving cream. Grissom looked at her, his eyes soft yet so very full of passion, as his lips parted.

"Intimately." The words were said without hesitation and pronounced with a conviction Sara was surprised to hear. With a smile tugging on the edges of her lips, she placed a hand tenderly on the side of Grissom's face, resting her fingertips in the soft curls just above his ear and began to shave him. She was so careful, perhaps too careful, but she didn't want to risk causing him any pain. After several long minutes, Grissom stood before her as smooth and soft as her razor strokes could make him. Sara took the towel and gently rubbed the remaining cream from his face. When his skin was finally dry, she took her right hand and gently stroked the now smooth skin of his cheek, running her fingers down over his chin, and finally, absentmindedly, allowing her thumb to run lightly across his lips. As her hand lingered affectionately on Grissom's face, she noticed the minute tremors that echoed softly over her fingers. Embarrassed by this sudden show of weakness, Sara began to remove her hand from its resting place on Grissom's cheek. But before she could pull away, a warm hand enveloped her wrist and warmly placed a kiss in the center of her palm. Sara felt her blood pressure rise and her cheeks flush as Grissom continued to kiss her hand, moving slowly to her wrist and up the underside of her arm. But as much as Sara desired nothing more than to fall into this man's embrace, all the fears and questions that had been stewing in the copper pot of her psyche suddenly erupted and gave her the strength to finally pull away.

"Grissom…I…"Words failed her and she wrestled deep within herself, desperately trying to pull the illusive words from a clouded mind, words she needed to express but couldn't seem to find. Grissom, his eyes flickering with a mixture of hurt and defeat, released her from his grasp and took a step back. Sara sat tentatively on the closed toilet seat, avoiding Grissom's gaze. Her head began to ache, her temples pounding slowly with each beat of her anxious heart. Without thinking she closed her eyes and began to rub her temples, desperate to massage away the throbbing. Outside of her field of vision, Grissom moved quietly behind her, straddling the lowered toilet seat, and in one gentle motion, placed his hands over her own. The sensation made Sara jump. Grissom let his hands rest softly on her shoulders.

"Sara…"Grissom's voice choked as a wave of emotion swept gently over him. Sara shivered, her nerves taut, so on edge that she found that she could not vocally reply. So instead of speaking, she listened, eyes closed, quietly leaning her body back so that it rested comfortably on Grissom's chest. Grissom took a deep breath, tenderly rocking Sara forward then backwards, like a child on her father's knee. "Sara," he began again, his voice audibly unstable. "These past few weeks have been nostalgic for me. I think I took the time to teach in Boston to...relive a moment of times past, to capture something illusive that I thought I'd missed. I'm not sure what I expected to feel. Perhaps exhilaration, perhaps independence" As this point, Grissom stood and stepped in front of Sara's field of vision, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that almost made her blush. "But in the end…in the end, all I ended up feeling was very, very much alone." Sara's heart beat wildly in her chest, her silence and her unwavering gaze urging him to continue.

"I guess what I'm trying to say, Sara, is that before you came into my life, I didn't know what I was missing. I was happy with my work, content in be alone, satisfied with the lifestyle I'd created for myself." At this moment, Grissom kneeled in front of Sara, taking her chin in his hand and staring intensely into her eyes. "But now, now that I've held you, touched you; now that I've discovered, if only in part, the you beneath the pretense, I," he stopped, as if searching for the right words, "…I can't imagine this life, my life, any other way." Standing and seating himself on the bathtub's edge once more, his face still mere inches from Sara's he spoke with passion, his eye brimming with stagnate streams. "Sara, what I'm trying to say is...I know I haven't made things easy for you. I haven't made them easy for myself. But...I need you. And if you're willing, I'd like to give this… us...a sincere effort."

Sara stood, quietly and slowly. Leaning forward, she placed her hands on the cool edges of Grissom's sink. All the questions she had wanted to ask, all the things she had wanted to say, now seemed superfluous in light of Grissom's words. Her mind, however, was still not completely able to wrap itself around the thought of an emotionally, or romantically, open Grissom. How could she possibly know, believe, trust that her heart would not be broken once more? How could she possibly know that everything would, indeed, be alright? The inward struggle forced warm tears to flow from the lids of her tightly closed eyes.

Delicately, as if in answer to her struggle, Grissom stood, crossed the short distance to where Sara stood and with hands placed gently on her waist, turned her round and pulled her close. His hands were warm and soft as they moved upward, cupping her face, his fingers gently playing with the fragile tendrils of hair that rested near her cheek. With amazing tenderness, he placed his lips against those same cheeks, kissing each runaway tear as it fell from her eyes. Then, as his thumb played lovingly with the lobe of her left ear, he placed his right hand on the small of her back, pulling her into a tight, secure embrace.

"Sara…darling." He whispered into her awaiting ears. "I'm here to stay." And in those words and the ardent kisses that followed, Sara felt the aching in her temples finally fade to passionate quiet release. Her fear and anxiety melting away as she rested in Grissom's fierce embrace. And for the first time in a very long time, Sara felt truly at peace.