Eph's Pond

PART ONE

You don't judge the people you love. You love them. Period.

"Do you love me?"

"I don't know."

The worst possible answer Grissom could have given Sara was 'no'. This was the second worst, which meant that her heart hadn't completely shattered. Yet. But the pain in her chest was near unbearable anyway.

Sara hadn't jumped into a romance with Grissom with her eyes closed. Whatever had finally brought him to her a year ago remained a mystery. They'd never done the post-mortem on their relationship leading up to the moment they became involved, the way old friends, or in their case, old colleagues, tended to do. 'Remember when you tied me up with duct tape? You were so playful and sweet and sexy, and the way you were looking at me! made me want to pull you into that truck and have my way with you.' No. They had never lain into each other's arms and gone down memory lane together. But they had shared some of their hopes and dreams, and information about their past. They had discovered each other's bodies, learned each other's pleasure points, and spent entire evenings talking, sometimes about their work, sometimes about their family, sometimes about a movie or a play, or a controversial book. They had learned each other's likes and dislikes, and supported each other through tough cases. They had even mixed their laundry, and shared their toothpaste and soap.

And for the past six months, they had shared a bed every single day.

During that time, Sara had come to know Grissom well enough to realize that he had never completely opened up to her.

Nor had she to him.

They had never discussed the future, or what they expected from each other, but she had been sensing for weeks now that a discussion was imminent, so when he called yesterday suggesting that she go home because he was meeting Brass for drinks and then wanted an early night, she knew that their relationship was about to change.

For six months Grissom had been the one pursuing her, making plans, ensuring they'd end each day together. They spent most of their time at his townhouse, but occasionally, when she needed to be home for some mundane chore, such as cleaning her apartment or doing laundry, he came to her. He brought her dinner and bought her jewelry, trinkets mostly, but things he knew she'd like, always, it seemed, thinking about ways to please her. He played seduction like a maestro, as he did most everything else in his life. And she followed his lead, giving as much as she received, but never more.

Recently, he started spending more time at the office, often not coming home until she was asleep. Their relationship was changing, but the changes were subtle, and normal, she thought. She hadn't expected the first rush of excitement to last indefinitely. And, truth be told, a truth she had forbidden herself to dwell on, she hadn't expected him to last this long.

His phone call yesterday brought that truth to the forefront, and she made herself ask what was going on.

After a long silence during which she held her breath, he replied, "I don't want to get into it now, but we should talk. Would you come by in the morning?"

And within minutes of her arrival at his townhouse, she knew her instincts had been on the mark. He greeted her—not coldly exactly, more…uncomfortably. She kissed him as she always did, but his response was lukewarm at best and he quickly disengaged from her. She had barely crossed the threshold into his living room when he made his stunning announcement.

"I'm going away for a while."

"Away? Where? Why?"

"To clear my head."

"Is this about the miniature killer case? I know it's been getting to you."

He gave her a tentative nod, and then went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water. He kept his back to her as he slowly twisted off the cap and took a long swallow. After recapping it, he laid it on the counter and sighed. "Partly."

"The other part being us?"

Slowly he turned to face her, and when he did, she had her answer in his eyes. "A break might do us both some good," he said softly.

There it was, the moment playing out very much as she had anticipated it. She hadn't known when it would come, only that some day Grissom would realize he had made a huge mistake and end it with her.

"Okay," she returned, keeping her voice steady, though inside, she was anything but. "This is sudden. What's going on, Gil?"

He lifted a shoulder in a shrug and came around the breakfast bar to her. "I just need a break, Sara. Is that so difficult to understand? I've been doing this all my life and instead of it getting easier, it's getting harder."

"But it's not only about the job."

"I don't know."

"Do you love me?" Sara didn't draw a breath before asking the one question she had hoped never having to ask. Yet her lungs felt full, the air trapped in them. They had never voiced their feelings for each other, but until recently she hadn't had a reason to believe Grissom wasn't as crazy about her as she was about him.

His eyes bore into hers for an interminable moment. That question shouldn't take this long to answer. Finally, he said, "I don't know."

A clump of emotions burned in Sara's throat. It was all she could do to hold back tears, though holding back made her chest ache unbearably.

It was over.

This was the moment she had been expecting, yet dreading.

"I don't even know what it's supposed to feel like," Grissom suddenly spit out making her flinch. "Forgive me if this is not what you want to hear, Sara. It wasn't my intention to... I'm not sure what my intentions were but I know that I can't—" He threw his arms up and turned away from her, raking his hands through his hair before spinning to face her again. "I can't do this. I wasn't cut out to be with someone every minute of every day. I need space to breathe."

"Okay."

He gave her a stunned look. "Okay?"

She managed a small smile, but as much as she tried, and as much as she thought it important to hide how utterly devastated she felt, she couldn't sustain it. Shrugging, she said, "I'm surprised you lasted this long."

"You knew it would come to this?"

"I suspected."

"Then why—" He shook his head, and if her heart hadn't been hurting so much, the bewildered look in his eyes might have been amusing.

But this was no laughing matter. This man she adored with every breath in her body, and with whom she had dreamed of spending the rest of her life, was telling her that he didn't feel that way about her. And she had promised herself that when this moment came, she would take it on the chin like a big girl.

"Why did I get involved with you?" His nod was barely discernable. She debated whether to tell him, and then decided that whatever decisions he made for his future, he should come at them with all the facts. "Because I love you. I always have."

"Sara—" he choked out, his eyes suddenly flooding with emotion, and he took a step toward her, but she stopped him with a warding hand.

"Don't. It's okay. Really." It wasn't, so she made herself look away, at her books laying around his living room, the bottle of nail polish she had left on his coffee table yesterday, her favorite sweatshirt draped over the arm of a wingchair he never used and which didn't go with the rest of his furniture, but was his mother's favorite when she visited. Her shampoo, conditioner, and robe were in his bathroom. A couple of his dresser drawers were filled with her clothes. She hadn't moved in, officially, but over time things were conveniently left behind.

She hoped the duffle bag she kept in his front hall closet would fit them all.

Sara drew a deep, soothing breath. "I'll get my things," she said, and then finding a real smile amid her heartbreak, added, "I'll make it quick."

Gil took another step forward. "You don't have to do this now."

"Yes. I do."

She retrieved the duffle bag from his hall closet and started in the living room, packed her books before heading down the hall to the bedroom. He didn't immediately follow, but minutes later she sensed him at the door as she emptied dresser drawers of her things. She looked up. "My white shirt is in your laundry. Would you mind getting it for me?"

He hesitated, looking as though he wanted to say something, but then he left the room without a word. When he returned, she was in the master bathroom stuffing her toiletries in what little space was left in the bag. She smiled her thanks as he handed her the shirt, and then quickly shoved it into a side pocket. Zipping up the bag, she rose from her crouched position and glanced at him. "That's it."

Grissom stepped back to let her out of the bathroom, then followed her out to the living room. Sara couldn't decide whether his silence was irritating or a relief. A part of her wanted him to tell her this was a big mistake, yet another just wanted to escape, to lick her wounds in private.

She quickly removed his house key from her key chain and set it on the hall table. Only then did she allow herself to look at him. He was standing in the middle of his living room, his arms folded tightly over his chest, a thumb nail scratching nervously at the shoulder seam of the blue Oxford shirt he was wearing, and he was looking back at her with such sorrow in his eyes that it took everything in her not to fling herself into his arms and beg him to give them a chance.

But pride, and the inevitability of their parting, if not today, then at some other time in the future, made her reach for the door knob instead.

"I'll call you," she heard him say and she swiftly shook her head.

"Please don't. I can't do this halfway anymore, Gris." She stepped out, and then stopped. Looking back at him, she said, "I don't want to be with you every minute of every day either, you know. That's not what love is about."

And with one last look at him, Sara quietly closed the door behind her. "Goodbye, Grissom," she whispered, and only then did it occur to her that he hadn't told her where he was going.