A/N: This story is a short sequel to "Observing" (and like "Observing", has nothing to do with my other story - "Finding Me" - whatsoever). Big thanks to everyone who reviewed for "Observing". Reviews make my day and not one single person had an unkind word to say.

Huge thanks to Wishing on the Moon, who beta'd as well as creatively overhauled (I love that expression) this story.

Heather…you're not just a beta, more like a co-author Couldn't have done it without you and I hope we get to do this more often. I owe you a million thanks (and it'll still never be enough).

REFLECTING

Grissom

"Happy New Year!"

The gooseflesh prickled on Gil Grissom's arms as his lips moved softly over Sara Sidle's. He shivered beneath the heavy warmth of his tuxedo jacket and cotton shirt as pleasant chills tickled his spine.

Aside from a certain magical quality in the air, Gil wasn't aware of anything around him anymore. Not the cool breeze stirring his silvery hair or the rustling leaves of a potted ornamental tree standing nearby on the balcony. Not the voices in the ballroom, singing in unison or the possibility that someone might step outside for a breath of air and catch them at any moment. Not even of the fact that for the first time in his life, he was doing something without having thoroughly considered the consequences of it. That'd surely mortify him later but right at that moment, it didn't seem to matter at all.

Time seemed to stop completely as they stood there. Sara's hands slid up his arms, then shoulders, to caress the warm flesh at the back of his neck. Gil's free hand found its way to the small of her back; the other was cradling the back of her head, fingers loosening her upswept hair. He felt her twitch and he became very aware his facial hair was tickling her; he felt a small surge of secret pleasure knowing this.

My heart is going to explode, he thought, feeling the furious hammering in his chest.

The report of an explosion close by made him think, for one terrible moment, it might have done just that. Pulled back to reality far sooner that he'd have liked, his lips left Sara's. They both turned toward the source of the sound: celebratory fireworks of green and red chrysanthemums, white swirls and flickers, all dancing across the black sky before disappearing into wisps of smoke.

You kissed her, he suddenly thought to himself. You actually went ahead and kissed her, but you didn't even stop for a second to think about what would happen next, did you? Didn't consider what you'd do afterwards. Every special moment has to end some time; I guess ours just did. But what's next?

Gil felt compelled to say something, but had no idea what. That "magical air" was failing him. He swallowed nervously and felt his lips trembling ever so slightly.

Music from the ballroom caught his attention. On the other side of the French doors the party guests were singing together, glasses in their hands and smiles on their faces.

"Auld Lang Syne," he blurted out.

"Excuse me?" There was a sound of disbelief in Sara's voice.

"Auld Lang Syne…the song." He inclined his head toward the sound, no longer able to meet her eyes as the reality of what he'd just done began to sink in.

"Oh…" Sara replied. Her hands loosened on his neck; she was withdrawing from him and he felt himself doing the same. It hardly seemed appropriate now to have his hand in her hair and his arm around her.

Keep talking, Gil, it'll give you time to think about you're going to do, he thought.

Dropping his hands to his sides, he took a slow step away from her. He continued speaking, letting his brain take over and spouting whatever information it could summon on the subject.

"It was written in seventeen-eighty-eight by a Scots poet named Robert Burns. It's translated from the old Scottish dialect and means 'old long ago'," he explained, willing himself to speak in a calm, conversational tone. "This isn't the original melody. Burns thought that one was 'mediocre' and the poem was associated to this one in…"

Sara raised an eyebrow, her mouth dropping open just a little; there was a look of displeasure on her face.

Gil continued his recitation, unable to bring himself to look at Sara again. She's going to want to talk about this, he thought. I'm not ready to talk about this; I don't know what to make of it yet…

Sara

Sara was overwhelmed by the confusion, hurt and anger that followed after Gil had begun spilling out what she felt at that moment was useless information. It stunned her: how could he kiss her like that and then simply try to brush it off with words?

Great. He's regretting what he's done, and he's trying to act like it never happened. Going on about Scottish poetry, of all things. I'd rather he be speechless and bumbling like he usually is than have to listen to this.

Sara pursed her lips and bit back a few rather insulting names she wanted to call him at that moment. As tempting as it was, she thought it best to keep them to herself.

Greg Sanders chose that moment to interrupt, drunkenly staggering onto the balcony, an empty shot glass dangling from his fingers.

"I found you!" Greg exclaimed with delight, raising his hand to gesture in her direction.

Sara grimaced. "Yes you did."

Greg moved to stand beside Sara. "Happy New Year!" He held his arms open to her, puckering his lips like a five year old child might do rather than a man about to kiss a woman.

"Uh, it's past midnight Greg." Sara dodged him, stepping back with a nervous laugh. "We're both pretty much doomed to that bad luck, now," she lied. She doubted if kissing Grissom meant that now she wouldn't be having any bad luck. Somehow, she was sure kissing him would only lead to bad things.

"Oh…" Greg said, looking slightly confused and abashed.

"No point in trying to ward it off after the fact." She smiled in an attempt to not hurt his feelings too much, although she was pretty sure she had.

"Yeah," Greg replied, crestfallen. He brought his wrist close to his face, and then extended it, adjusting the distance between several times as he blinked, trying to bring the numbers on his watch into focus. "Two minutes past midnight. Time flies when you're having fun." He shrugged it off and suddenly brightened. "So, you guys want drinks? I can totally go get some more."

"I think you should stay away from the bar," Grissom responded coolly.

"I've just gotten started," Greg laughed. He swayed and nearly toppled, catching himself just in time by grabbing out for the balustrade, but the shot glass dropped onto the balcony floor, sending tiny shards dancing across the tiles. "Damn. Hope I don't have to pay for that." He gave a high-pitched laugh.

Grissom cleared his throat. "Greg, how much have you had to drink?" he queried, Sara hearing concern in his voice.

"I dunno," Greg shrugged. "Lost count."

"So did I," Grissom remarked, although it seemed to Sara from the way he said it under his breath that he hadn't meant to say it at all. Greg didn't seem to notice this or if he did, he didn't question it.

"You guys sure you don't want drinks?" Greg asked.

Sara found herself almost cursing Greg for being so drunk. She could have used the excuse of wanting a drink from the bar to get him to leave so that she could press the matter of the kiss with Grissom. It was unlikely that Greg would be served at the bar now, judging from the condition he was in.

Grissom spoke again, this time in his most businesslike, supervisory tone. "I think it's time you switched to black coffee, Greg."

"I'm fine..." Greg objected.

"No, you're not."

"C'mon, I'll buy you a drink," Greg offered, smiling brightly.

"I don't want a drink," Grissom responded.

"Don't you ever lighten up and have fun, Griss?" Greg asked, his smile vanishing. He pointed a finger in Grissom's face. "Every year you come to this party and stand against the wall like you have a—"

Sara put her hand on Greg's arm. "Don't, Greg," she warned.

"—giant stick up your ass," Greg continued. Grissom merely stared at the pointed finger, a very calm yet unreadable expression on his face.

Sara gripped Greg's arm harder. "Greg…stop."

Greg was about to say something else but he put his hand to his mouth, eyes wide, his color seeming to fade almost instantly. He yanked his other arm free of Sara's grip, and then took off towards the ballroom in a lurching run, disappearing in the crowd of party guests.

"Looks like he's gonna throw up." Sara chewed her lip. She felt torn between wanting to bring up the kiss, now that they were alone again, and her concern for Greg's condition.

Grissom gave a deep sigh, shaking his head sadly. "I'd better go make sure he's all right."

Sara looked out into the distance. "Okay," she answered. She realized there'd be no point in following. More than likely Greg had headed straight for the men's restroom, and while she wasn't shy, she didn't exactly have a pressing need to go along.

Grissom will handle it. Unfortunately, that means I have to let him go and forfeit the chance to ever speak about this kiss. He won't even admit it ever happened after tonight. Just like he never acknowledges any of the other things that have happened between us, Sara thought miserably.

Grissom didn't utter another word; he turned to follow Greg into the ballroom.

"Grissom…" Sara called out to him as he reached the French doors.

Grissom paused, glancing over his shoulder at her. "Hmm?"

"He didn't mean what he said."

"What?" Grissom asked, his mouth hung open a little and he stared at her almost vacantly.

"I know you were making the effort tonight, not to be like that…like he said you were." Sara said. "You were trying…"

Grissom gave a nod, but it seemed more like he was merely acknowledging he understood what she was saying; he didn't seem to be agreeing that he had been trying at all.

A silent moment passed. Sara sighed, accepting the fact she'd get no further response. "You better go make sure he's all right."

He turned and went through the doors without another word.

Grissom

I handled that situation very badly, he thought.Still, he felt oddly, and somewhat inappropriately, grateful to the young man for giving him a way out of an uncomfortable situation. Greg's trail led through the party guests, down a small separate hallway from the ballroom and into the men's restroom. The investigator in Gil found it unusual that the men's room wasn't packed as it always seemed to be at these occasions. When the smell hit him, he felt the little remaining magic he'd been clinging to quickly disappear.

No wonder the room is empty, he thought as he made his way between the two rows of stalls. Not many people can stand the smell of vomit.

Greg Sanders feet were sticking out under a toilet stall door, and Gil could hear the young man retching.

"Greg?" Gil asked as he approached. He pushed the door open and looked down to see Greg leaning over the toilet. It wasn't a pretty sight. In a way, it was fortunate that years of cadavers, and the various other grotesque sights and smells Gil had encountered in his work, had given him the ability to tolerate this situation.

Greg managed to stop long enough to croak "What?" before the next wave hit him.

Grissom didn't have an answer; he didn't know what to say to him. He supposed in some way his position as Greg's boss left him with some responsibility for making sure Greg was all right. He had seen enough accidental death through binge drinking to know the precautions to take. All he could do was wait for the vomiting stage to pass and be there in case the young man became unconscious or choked. From the sounds still coming from the stall, he thought he might be there quite a while.

He grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser on the wall and soaked them with cold water. Greg would need them eventually. As he wrung out the excess water, he looked up to see his own reflection in the mirror. Gil was disappointed by the man he saw there. He closed his eyes and dropped his head, unable to look at himself.

Catherine's words came back to him. "The policy of being too cautious is the greatest risk of all."

Maybe some of the night is still salvageable, he thought. Once he was sure Greg was okay, he could return to Sara. But you still haven't got a clue what to say when you see her. You already made a big enough mess of things talking about Robert Burns instead of just admitting how you felt. He looked back up at himself in the mirror as he realized he did know what to do. Just admit how you felt.

"Whoa, someone puke in here?"

Gil turned to see Warrick Brown had entered, his nose wrinkled in disgust. "Greg has," he answered.

"Man, that stinks." Warrick approached and knocked on the door of the stall. "You okay, my man?"

Greg mumbled incoherently.

"He'll be fine," Warrick remarked as Gil turned to him, seeing a way he might be able to salvage things with Sara.

"Do you think you could take over here? Look after him?" Gil asked.

Warrick made a face. "Man, I have a date out there…" he gestured towards the door and gave a sigh.

"I know." Gil tried to look as apologetic as he could.

"Have you SEEN my date?" Warrick asked pointedly.

"Yes, she's very beautiful," Gil answered as he tried to remember what the woman looked like. "And if she's as interested in you as you are in her, I'm sure she won't mind waiting for you, especially if it's for a good cause, like showing compassion for a sick co-worker."

"Man…" Warrick groaned.

"Warrick, I'm asking for a favor here," Gil replied. "I have something important to take care of," he added quietly.

"Work?" Warrick raised an eyebrow and pressed his tongue to his cheek.

Gil cocked his head and looked thoughtful. "Kind of." He supposed if he wanted to give it a name, he could refer to it as work. After all, he did work with Sara. Besides, leaving this unresolved could mean an awkward future for all of them at the workplace.

But you knew that before you kissed her, he reminded himself.

"Warrick, please." Gil asked, hating the need to beg his friend and colleague for this one favor, especially since the matter was personal. Asking for favors on a case was a completely different matter. "I need someone to make sure he gets home okay, without being mugged or passing out on some street corner."

Greg, who'd gotten the gist of the conversation in spite of his condition, made another retching sound, then uttered, "I'm fine, just leave me alone."

Warrick turned towards the door as if he could look through it and see his date standing on the other side. "You sure know how to pick your moments to ask for favors, Grissom."

"I know. I apologize." Gil looked at Warrick hopefully. "Will you do this for me?"

Warrick stood as straight as he could and held his head high in order to emphasize the slight height advantage he had over his boss.

"You owe me. BIG time," he warned.

Gil gave him a genuine smile. "I do. Thanks, Warrick."

Sara

Alone on the balcony, Sara could feel her hairdo had loosened beyond her ability to fix it without a mirror; she pulled out the pins that held it, dropped them in her purse and combed through her hair with her fingers. Going to the ladies room wasn't an option at the moment, since it might mean running into Grissom in the corridor. Nope, not ready for that. Not yet, she thought.

Sara returned to the table she and her colleagues had shared only half an hour ago. She felt like drowning her sorrows and had stopped at the bar for a new glass of wine on the way.

Why am I even still here? It's not like Grissom is going to come back. He's probably high tailed it out of here already, taking Greg home, she thought dejectedly. Greg gave him an excuse to get away and he took it. I guess that shouldn't surprise me. Grissom never stays still long enough to let anyone get close to him; why did I think it would be any different with me?

Sara raised her glass to her lips and swallowed a good quarter of the contents. Her head buzzed, and she would have found the sensation pleasant, but all of the unhappiness she'd felt all evening overwhelmed her, taking any enjoyment out of intoxication. She was quickly sobering her up despite her efforts.

Five years I've waited for that kiss, she thought dully, and it didn't seem to mean anything to him whatsoever.

Sara glanced forlornly at the place Grissom had been standing most of the evening, and found herself wishing she'd never approached him in the first place. If she hadn't, all of this could have been avoided, the kiss would have never happened, and she'd be able to go back to work without feeling ashamed.

She could already picture exactly how Grissom would behave when they were back at work. Professional, emotionless, completely aloof, acting as if there hadn't been a kiss at all. He'd immerse himself in his work, and there would be nothing said about it.

"Hey, Sara."

The familiar voice broke her out of her reverie, and she looked up to see Catherine Willows smiling brightly. "Hey," she responded, lacking the enthusiasm to smile back.

"Happy New Year," Catherine said. There was warmth in Catherine's voice that wasn't usually present in comments directed to her, which gave Sara a slightly uneasy feeling.

"Yeah, Happy New Year."

"Where's Grissom? Last I saw of him, he was heading out on to the balcony for some fresh air." She paused then went on. "Hey, you were out there, weren't you? Did you happen to see him?" Something in her tone seemed to suggest to Sara that Catherine knew about the kiss. This made her even uneasier.

Did Catherine push him into it? Had it been some kind of dare? No. Grissom isn't the kind of guy who could be intimidated into doing something he didn't want to do.

"He uh…went after Greg. He'd had waaay too much to drink and was about to throw up, I think," Sara dropped her eyes to the tablecloth.

"Oh. Well, he certainly wouldn't want to leave him alone, then." Catherine nodded.

"There a reason you're looking for him?" Sara asked.

"No, just wanted to wish him a Happy New Year," Catherine answered. "You look a little, uh…ticked off," Catherine observed. "Something wrong?"

"No, not at all," Sara declared. She picked up her glass, took one last drink, leaving nothing but dregs in the bottom, then stood up, grabbing her purse from under the table. "I think I've had enough party for one night."

"You're leaving?" Catherine seemed surprised.

"Yeah. See you." Sara turned, and without giving Catherine any opportunity to say goodbye, she was gone.

Grissom

When Gil returned to the party, he couldn't find Sara anywhere. The first place he checked was the balcony: no sign of her there, and even the glass that Greg had dropped had been cleared away.

Sara must have informed someone about the broken glass, Gil thought as he stared down to the clean tiles.

He stepped back into the ballroom and wandered around for a several minutes, trying to locate Sara but still not finding her. His heart sank lower the longer his search continued.

He ran into Catherine and her date – literally, nearly knocking Catherine over in the process. He instinctively grabbed for her arm and was just able to stop her from falling on her backside.

"Sorry."

"You're still here," Catherine said. She made no attempt to introduce Gil to her date, not that Gil minded a bit.

"Have you seen Sara?"

"Yeah, about ten minutes ago," Catherine nodded.

"Where is she?"

"She left, Grissom."

No, no, no. How could she leave? Didn't she understand she should have stayed until I had a chance to talk to her? he thought. Then he mentally kicked himself, realizing that he perhaps should have advised her to wait for him. No, not advised; asked. All it would have taken was just to say 'I'll be back' and she probably would have stayed.

Catherine raised an eyebrow, noting his expression, but said nothing.

"I have to go," Gil said quickly. He left Catherine without so much as a 'goodbye' and moments later he was in the elevator on his way down to the ground floor, praying that he'd find her on the street, trying to hail a taxi.

It's New Year's, there's no way she's going to easily hail a taxi tonight, Gil thought. It was the only shred of hope he had to hold on to.

He stared at his distorted reflection on the coppery doors of the elevator as it traveled downwards. He felt the lurch in his stomach and was unsure if it was the momentum of the elevator, or simply nerves.

What are you going to do if she is there, Gil? he asked himself. What are you going to say to her?

Gil cursed himself. He wanted to stop analyzing the situation and just say the first thing that came to his mind when he saw her, but the last time he'd done so, he'd started going on about Scottish poetry instead of telling her he was confused about his feelings for her.

I should have been honest with her. God knows she deserves that at least.

Memories of another time he'd tried to be honest with her came flooding back, and with them, fresh humiliation. Waves of embarrassment caused the blood to rush straight to his cheeks when he remembered distinctly saying to her, 'I don't know what to do about this.' He hadn't known how to respond then, and he had only the slightest idea of how he was going to now.

The elevator doors opened, and he stepped out in the casino. He was sure she wouldn't have stopped there; a quick circuit around the lobby and atrium showed no sign of her. Sure she'd left the hotel, Gil headed toward the exit.

Sara

Intent on leaving as quickly as possible, she walked right past the hotel doorman; it didn't occur to her to just stop and have him get her a cab. As she approached the sidewalk at the end of the long hotel driveway, the heel of her left shoe caught in a crack in the brickwork and she stumbled. She swore aloud: at herself for having worn new shoes, for even coming tonight, and especially for letting Grissom kiss her.

She lifted the hem of her skirt and toed off her shoes. She'd rather walk in her bare feet than suffer the pinching at the toes and the grinding at the heels any longer. She'd been tripping over her skirt all evening; when she let go of it she realized she'd have it even worse without the slight lift of her heels. Tucking her purse securely under one arm, she leaned down to retrieve the offending footwear and slowly made her way down the to the street.

Trying to hail a cab at New Year's is going to be murder, Sara thought as she walked along the street past the hotel's beautifully lit fountain.

At the next street corner, she stood and watched as a small fleet of already occupied cabs whizzed by. A sense of hopelessness overcame her, as did a sudden chill. On the balcony, the crisp air had been a refreshing change from the heat of the ballroom but down here she was just cold. She hugged herself against it as best she could, trying to keep a firm grasp on both shoes and purse.

I should have brought a jacket or some kind of wrap, she thought, shivering.

It would be a long walk back to her apartment, but it looked like she had very little choice in the matter tonight. She tried a couple more times to hail a cab, but having no luck, she finally gave in and began to walk, wincing at the feel of sand and tiny pebbles on the sidewalk beneath her bare feet.

Great start to the New Year, she chided herself. Kissed, ditched and now can't find a cab. Freezing your ass off, walking bare foot…could it get any better?

It was then it occurred to her that she had her cellular phone with her; she could always call a cab. Sure, all the cab services would be busy tonight, but she knew there was a 24-hour coffee shop in the next block she could duck into. Waiting there for an hour would be better than walking for an hour to get home.

After a minute of trying to figure out how to coordinate shoes, purse and phone, she gave in and dropped the shoes to the sidewalk. She slipped the phone out of her purse and flipped it open, only to find the battery had died. It hadn't occurred to her to charge it during the day.

"Dead battery. Great. Juuuust great," she said angrily to herself. Verbalizing her frustration made her feel slightly better but didn't take away the urge to smash the phone against a nearby wall for its defiance in an emergency.

"Would you like to use mine?"

Sara froze, hearing Grissom's voice above the drone of traffic. She was filled with a strange mix of happiness and misery as she turned slowly to see him standing only a few feet away.

Grissom

Gil stood staring at her for the longest time after she'd turned to see him. He had his cellular phone in his hand, but he somehow couldn't command himself to step close enough to hand it to her.

Do I make the first move or does she? he wondered, his eyes locked on hers.Sara finally broke the gaze; she stared down at her bare feet, as if she were examining her burgundy painted toenails.

God, Sara, at least meet me halfway here, he pleaded with her in his mind. He wished she were still looking at him, that she might somehow read what he wanted to say from his expression alone; that if they kept looking into each other's eyes, they'd be able to see into each other's souls, eliminating the need to speak at all.

"How's Greg?"

Gil felt a silent sigh of relief pass his lips. Okay. She's spoken, given me something to respond to. "Warrick is taking care of him."

"That's good," was all Sara could seem to manage, still staring at her feet. A brand new awkward silence was already beginning.

What do you do when you can't say how you really feel? Gil wondered, and spent a few moments pondering this. Then he said the first thing that came to mind.

"Every man should be born again on the first day of January. Start with a fresh page…" he quoted.

Sara raised her head and looked at him curiously.

Come on, Sara. I'm really trying…

"What do you mean?" she asked as she raised her eyes to his.

Isn't it obvious? he thought. Taking a deep breath, he stepped towards her tentatively. "Would you like me to call you a cab?"

"Uh, sure…" Sara replied, looking quite bewildered.

Gil flipped his phone open, but stopped before dialing. "Wait," he said with a sigh. "I need to say something."

Are you crazy! You don't have anything to say!

"Okay." Sara gave a tentative nod. She seemed terribly uncertain of anything he might have to say, and he didn't blame her.

"I…um…" Gil began uncertainly; he chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment and looked from her, trying to find the words.

"Yes?" Sara queried.

"I'm sorry. I get…uncharacteristically…inarticulate…whenever I'm with you." He drew his breath sharply, unsure of the wisdom of admitting this.

Sara laughed under her breath. "I kind of noticed."

"Sorry."

"It's fine," Sara shrugged. "It happens."

There was a tremor in Sara's voice when she spoke again. "So…is there…uh…some reason you're out here?"

Gil tried to force back the waves of embarrassment that were threatening to pull him under at any moment. "Yes."

"Which is?"

"Sara, you left…without even giving me a chance…"

It seemed to have struck a nerve within her when he said this; her response was quick and lacking any compassion. "I've given you plenty of chances."

Gil closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath then exhaling, his shoulders rising and falling in the effort. "I know."

"So…?"

"So…why'd you leave?"

"I don't get why you're even asking." Sara retorted. "When we're both back at work on Monday you're going to pretend none of this ever happened anyway."

Gil blinked. "You think that?"

"I'm certain of it."

"The only certain thing in life is that eventually we all die," Gil responded. He waited for her to say something.

Sara turned her head to look away from him; she didn't have a response for him.

"Maybe you want me to pretend none of it ever happened," Gil suggested.

"No," Sara suddenly shot back, looking at him again.

"Then what do you want?" Gil asked, and he hoped she had a better idea of what she wanted than he did.

Sara took a moment to think about this. "For you to know what you want."

Ouch. That's a tough one.

Gil gave an ironic laugh. "If only I knew."

Sara

Sara shivered again, not sure if it was the cold that made her flesh tingle or Grissom's admission that he didn't know what he wanted.

He looked back at her with those deep blue eyes of his, as if searching her face for an answer he realized she didn't have. He pocketed his cell phone and slipped his tuxedo jacket off. He took another step towards her, holding it out, offering it to her.

Sara shook her head. "I'm okay."

"You're freezing," he replied back.

"No, I'm fine."

Grissom gave a sigh that suggested he thought she was being stubborn. Still facing her, he slipped it around her shoulders. She felt the immediate comfort of its weight, and the warmth of it that had come from his body. She shivered once more, this time knowing for certain it wasn't the cold that made her do so.

Grissom focused his attention on fixing the collar, reminding Sara of the kind of gesture a father might make towards a son, smoothing down the collar of the young man's first tuxedo rental for his first prom.

It was strange how this thought made her wonder if Grissom had any paternal longings. It was something she'd never really thought about before. She'd never tried to picture it, but now she found herself doing so. She couldn't come up with a vision of Grissom holding a baby with an adoring expression. Somehow, the closest thing Sara could picture was he holding a fetal pig in a jar, smiling in wonderment. She could even imagine him saying "They're the most like humans."

What kind of father would he be? she asked herself. She wanted to shake her head at this and laugh at the absurdity of her thoughts.

Sara found herself looking at him again. She wanted to try and meet his eyes, but he was still staring at the collar, lost in his own thoughts for that moment.

He was close enough to kiss, Sara realized. It would only take one step forward and a tilt of her head to do so. Then she could feel the same bliss she'd felt on the balcony before he'd pulled away.

No. Don't you dare. Whenever you make a move, he backs away. If he wants something to happen now, he's going to have to be the one to make the move. He did it once; that proves he's capable.

Grissom glanced towards her eyes for a split second, and then turned his attention to the shoulder of the jacket, picking up a piece of lint as delicately as if it had been evidence.

C'mon, Griss. Be a man. Do something besides standing here, being awkward. Do something.

Grissom

Nervousness had Gil's stomach alternately churning and flipping like pancakes. All this came from standing there, close to Sara once again. Sara, who was now wearing his jacket, almost drowning in it.

He let go of the tiny piece of lint he'd picked up from her shoulder, and he watched as the breeze caught it and carried it away. The breeze also caught Sara's scent, a lime and ginger onslaught on his senses. He breathed it in as the question, What now? ran through his mind.

He'd never been particularly good at this sort of thing. He wanted her to tell him what was supposed to come next, to be the one to step forward and make the first move. He wanted her arms around him, her body against his, her fingers tangling in his hair, her lips hard against his in the kind of kiss that was supposed to make the toes curl.

That's not going to happen, Gil thought. He lowered his head and inhaled the scent of her perfume once again, letting the breath out slowly. She's waiting. She's looking at me like she's waiting for me to make the first move, only I don't think I can.

He finally raised his eyes to look at her, trying to drink in every single feature of her face. He wanted it burned into his memory so he would always remember how beautiful she looked at this particular moment, under the glaring lights from a nearby casino.

Why would she ever want me? he found himself wondering, standing perfectly still, and drinking in the image of her. He raised his head a little, and again stared into her eyes.

He was reminded of a quote, and somehow, he found the courage to speak it, although somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered if he'd meant to say it at all.

"A man has only one escape from his old self: to see a different self in the mirror of some woman's eyes."

Sara seemed surprised. Pleasantly or unpleasantly, Gil couldn't tell, but she reacted and that had to be a good sign.

There, I've said something. I've made a move. It's your turn now, Sara. Come on. Do something, say something…just don't leave me hanging here, feeling like an idiot.

Sara spoke after a moment's thought. "When you look into my eyes, what do you see reflected there?" she asked softly.

Gil choked back the strange build up of emotion that had stuck itself in his throat. He spent a few more moments looking into those brown eyes of hers, losing himself there before being able to reply. "The man I want to be."

Sara again seemed surprised but very pleased by his words. She looked down, smiling as she absently nudged her shoes across sidewalk with her bare toes.

"What now?" Gil asked after a moment. He thought this decision ought to be a mutual one. "I mean…uh…where do we go from here?"

She reached into the pocket of his jacket and brought out his cell phone. "Let's call that cab," she suggested.

"Then?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he took it from her.

Sara leaned down to pick up her shoes, and then stood, her head tilted to one side as she considered the question.

"Then…we take this one step at a time."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Yes," Sara agreed. "Yes, it does."

End

There, now I can say I've written 2 stories that don't qualify as angst ridden "fanfiction to slit your wrists by".

Big shout out to everyone at YTDAW. Especially Kristy87, who hit the big 1-8 yesterday ;)

More huge thanks to Wishing on the Moon