Title: The Sandman Cometh

Summary: "He loved to introduce her at crime scenes…" [Another Post-Ep to Butterflied]

Pairings: Grissom/Sara [And again, most people really wish I wouldn't torture the poor characters]

Rating: G

Category: Drama/Romance

Archives/Links: Just ask. Oh, and if anyone knows any good CSI sites/forums, they'd be my bestest best friend if they'd ever-so-kindly direct me.

Author's Notes: "I Can't Sleep" by Clay Walker is completely responsible for this story. Seriously, sue him. You'll get more money that way.

Disclaimer: I am not making a profit off this. Just read the quality of it.

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Think about a woman. Doesn't know you're thinking about her. Doesn't care you're thinking about her. Makes you think about her even more.

Martin Sage and Sybil Adelman, Northern Exposure

~*+*~

Gil Grissom stared upwards, playing connect the dots with chips on his ceiling. It was high noon in Vegas, and by all rights he should be sleeping off a triple shift. But insomnia had reared its head, and he had yet to find a cure.

He had tried a hot shower - Arterial spray is neck high. Indicates she was standing when she was attacked. And the highest gush of blood has the most volume.

He had tried warmed milk – Sara was sitting on a stool in his kitchen, a mug in her hand and a telltale mustache on her face.

He had tried counting sheep – They had been on a case with sheep once. She had stood in the middle of a pasture, hair whipping in the wind, trying to see the scene as the victim would have.

There was no technique known to him he had not tried, and it was finally time to call a spade a spade. There could only be one explanation for his sleeplessness when by all rights he should have passed out through mere exhaustion.

Sara Sidle.

He loved to introduce her at crime scenes, relishing the way her name rolled off his tongue. And she would inevitably look at him and grin before attending to whatever witness needed her. Then she would be all business, warm enough to put others at ease without coming across as anything but an expert.

~*+*~

I've been up all night long
Just waitin' on the sun
I've given up,

Damn the dawn
It ain't never gonna come
Something's wrong, as long as you're gone

~*+*~

An hour passed, then two. His mind was elsewhere, dwelling on his redeemer.

It's sad, isn't it, doc? Guys like us.

Guys like them. How many were there? How many had thrown away a normal life in pursuit of a career? Quite a few, he was sure. And how many of them regretted it? Most, if not all. And how many, knowing that, would have passed up a second chance?

One.

The only time we ever touch other people is when we're wearing our latex gloves.

He missed warm human flesh, her warm flesh. Even if it was a brush as she passed him in the hall, he had felt something unfamiliar-always. Back before he knew that she wasn't just a bright CSI, back when she was merely the one he trusted to remain impartial to an investigation, even then he had felt a heightened awareness when she touched him.

He wouldn't embrace the clichéd lines about her touch making him feel alive. Because it was never about life. It was about a presence that saw him, understood him, was him. In a notably more attractive package, of course. It was about the shared triumph of finding the key evidence, the piece that hammered the final nail in the proverbial coffin. It was about the disappointment when a case made its way to the fish, halved by the knowledge they would go back.

He knew that sleep was wishful thinking at this point. He got up, making his way to the kitchen. He flicked the coffee on and grabbed a textbook off the living room table. He opened it, his eyes reading but his brain refusing to interpret the words.

He was aware that somewhere in the deep recess of his brilliant mind lay a man. This man would have slept peacefully. But that man would have been beside her, one arm around her waist even as they slept. This man could convince himself that the case had nothing to do with them. It wouldn't. Because that man could touch her, convince himself that she was alive.

But that man was held captive by years, and Grissom knew that sleep would not come for him.

~*+*~

I'm not gonna sleep 'til I touch your face
Baby not a wink I could go for days
If you ever needed to see me down on my knees
Take a look at me, baby I can't sleep

~*+*~

He went to work that night hoping to see her. He couldn't touch her, it was forbidden territory. But maybe he could bask in her presence long enough to forget Debbie Marlin.

He couldn't help but notice her eyes followed him from the moment he entered the room, probing and asking questions. Inquisitive eyes, the trait that had first drawn him to her.

She smiled when he handed over her assignment, and he was memorized for just a second. Then she stood, and things were normal again.

The case went well, but after a few hours of poring over the vic's clothes, she called him in.

"I'm missing something," she said, surveying what was laid out. "I just don't know what."

He stood beside her, noting stains as he went. He finally spotted it, and pointed. In the excitement of a breakthrough she leaned over, unaware that her arm rested on his. As she excitedly ran through the case, he focused on her.

Her head was bent, and her chestnut hair had fallen aside to reveal the nape of her neck. She smelled of lavender- not a scent he would have expected from her, but pleasing none the less. She looked refreshed somehow, less weary of the chase then she had been of late. She was smiling, and energy rolled off her in waves. He noticed foundation had been dabbed beneath her eyes, obscuring the last remnants of what had not so long ago been dark circles. She was sleeping again.

"Earth to Grissom. What are the chances he'd have this beetle squashed onto his T shirt?"

"Not likely. He was a city slicker, and that's a country insect if there ever was one."

"Well that just put our body outside of the city."

"Run with it," he told her.

~*+*~

Remember when you said you wouldn't last
I couldn't swallow my pride
Whoa it's sinkin' in, baby losin' you has
Finally opened my eyes
I'm wide awake, as long as it takes

~*+*~

"You look like Hell, Grissom," Catherine lectured. "Why'd you come in tonight?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"You need to sleep."

He sighed. "I know."

He moved folders around his desk. It wasn't productive, but it kept his mind distracted. A discreet cough at the door made him look up, and he could tell Sara wanted to talk speak with him. Catherine assessed the situation, made an omniscient face and left.

"The bug panned out."

"Good."

She stood awkwardly for a moment, then came all the way in. She shut the door behind her, and stood in front of him.

"Thank you."

"It's my job"

"That's not what I was talking about."

She planted a gentle kiss on his cheek then pulled back. She placed the reports she had brought on his desk and left. He didn't try to stop her. He knew that he would sleep. And that's all he could hope for.

 
~*+*~

I'm not gonna sleep 'til I touch your face
Baby not a wink I could go for days
If you ever needed to see me down on my knees
Take a look at me, baby I can't sleep

………

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