Author: Lithium Shamrock

Spoilers: Not really.

Paring: Grissom & Sara

Authors note: This idea came into my head late night, I have no idea why. I just guess it shows no-ones perfect.

Dedication: All the wonderful guys on UtB.

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[ Grissom's POV ]

It was about an hour before I heard the door open; I'd been lying in bed thinking about her. Thinking about all the idiotic things I said.

The slight movement of brushed my face as the draft moved across my face.

I lay still, hoping she didn't realise I was still awake. I just wanted to share my warmth with her, but I realised that this was probably beyond that.

This was far beyond trying to comfort her physically.

There was a great feel of gratification; she was in my presence, she looked like she was probably going to stay in the same bed as me.

That gave me hope.

I probably didn't deserve that hope, but I was glad I had it.

I could barely see her form in the darkness, but I knew she was there, I could see her outline.

I could hear her breathing.

It was slightly laboured; probably from the yelling.

Possibly from crying.

I noted how she turned away from me before she removed her top – she'd never done that before.

I guess that's because she's ashamed of me.

…Knowing Sara, she was probably ashamed of herself for trusting me.

I would be too.

I hoped she had it in her heart to forgive me.

I wondered if what I did was forgivable in her eyes.

Her body remained facing away from me even when she slipped on her pyjamas; she hadn't worn them in awhile. I guess she wanted a barrier between us for a while.

I knew it wasn't the only barrier in the room.

Then I heard it. I heard her sigh.

And it broke my heart, because I knew she was viewing this as a task; as something that had to be done.

She didn't was to be here with me. I bet she'd prefer to be a thousand other places.

I used to be her refugee from work – I used to be someone she'd enjoy coming home to.

But now…I guess she'd prefer to be amongst dead bodies.

DB's hold evidence, and never bare false witness. The don't deceive people.

She told me to think about what I'd done earlier; well, after the yelling had subsided, and she'd calmed down.

It was probably the only statement that made sense in the whole argument.

But I can't think about what I've done.

Not until I know she's ok.

One of the main reasons I gave into my urges, and indulged myself in her was because I thought it would make her happy.

I'd do anything to make her happy. To see her smile.

And I know I'm over possessive; I wont share her with anyone. But I know, emotionally, she's fragile. Like a butterfly.

If I hold her to close; I'll crush her.

I'd hate to crush her spirit.

But secretly, I think I'm too late.

I have dust from butterfly wings on my hands; I held too tightly.

And I should have been holding onto myself. I spent too much time dictating her behaviour, without applying the same results to myself.

She's getting into bed now; I can feel the cool air on my skin as she lifts the sheets.

She's facing away from me. I guess she can't even stand to look at me now.

I expected her to be different. I think I could have coped better if we'd had a more heated argument – I could have strived to defend my intent, and try to disregard my actions.

But we didn't. We yelled; but there was no thought behind each argument, no structure.

Just words.

I expected her to at least look mad, but she didn't really. She looked more hurt, more disappointed than anything.

I can only hope she's not blaming herself.

I can feel her shifting around, she's not comfortable.

We usually sleep in each other's arms; a tight embrace.

And even though I miss the feel of her skin; I don't feel like I really deserve it.

Not now.

Maybe not ever.

It had taken a few months to get over the fact that I was with her. That maybe she was right, we would 'be good together.'

She'd told me to stop blaming myself for all the times I rejected her; but now I'm thinking maybe I was right to.

If I carried on rejecting her, she wouldn't be hurting now.

I can feel my mind arguing; not deliberating if it was worth it or not, but if I had any right to want her now.

After what I did.

I was slightly shocked when she turned. I could see her face.

The face which was not only a friends, or colleague…

It was the face of my lover.

It took a while for my eyes to become readjusted to her closeness.

Then I saw how mottled her face was, reddened from crying, and mottled with tears.

She looked empty; even though I knew that she was probably full of scorn, anger, fear and disappointed.

At least, I hoped she had some emotion in her.

Because if she didn't, if she had become indifferent to the situation, it meant she probably didn't care anymore.

I couldn't restrain myself, I gingerly moved my hand up to her face, and slowly moved it over her cheek to remove the tears.

I know I should have stopped there; just left it as a simply gesture, to show that I still cared.

But then I spoke.

"I'm so sorry Sara," I whispered.

Her eyes closed tightly, and she was making sounds, the sounds that she always made before she cried.

She jerked herself away from me, and got out of bed; she walked hurriedly across the floor, opened the door, and slammed it.

And that's when I knew.

This was more than serious.

Whatever I did next would influence the rest of our lives.

And even though I knew she could no-longer hear me, I uttered some words, probably more out of frustration than anything.

"I didn't mean to lie to you."