A/N: Special thanks to smacky30, phdelicious, brandie, and csishewolf, who are my constant support. Written for the BestKeptPrivate Lyric Wheel Fic Challenge. This story is based on the song "I Do" by Jude. FFnet rules prevent me from displaying the copyrighted lyrics at the end of the story, however, a google search with the song title and artist, plus the word lyrics will bring up pages where you may read them. Contains dialogue references to CSI Season 4: Bloodlines, although obliquely. This is certainly from another planet if not frankly AU. Friendly warning…there be angst ahead. Aaaaaaannnnnngggggggst. No foolin'

Song/Artist: I Do by Jude

Summary: Wishful Thinking gone horribly wrong. For everyone.

Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. No silver has crossed my palm, either.

Never share your secrets with anybody. It will destroy you.
Chanakya

xxx

San Francisco – 1996

I'm not sure why I sent him the invitation. It was mistake. We were a mistake.

Sometimes I wish I'd never signed up for that seminar. Then I never would have had to move from my spot in the back to sit down front or been so foolish as to stay behind to ask questions...every day for three days.

He was something, though. I didn't see him set up the first day because I was a little late, but my friend Molly did. When I slid into my seat she whispered that his notes had slipped off the podium, flying all over the stage, and when he tested the projector some of his slides were upside down...she thought the whole thing was going to be a drag. And it was slow at first. But not for long. I'd never seen anyone with such passion for forensics as Gil Grissom. Or knowledge.

There were a couple of other geeks at the seminar...Barry Esterhaus and Sid Levine. They'd hung out afterwards all three days just like I had. It was their idea to invite him out for a beer on the final day. Since I was there they invited me, too, and I went. Another mistake.

How did it happen that I ended up sitting in the booth next to him? Well, it doesn't matter now; I just did. And then serendipity took over. Barry got beeped and Sid couldn't stay because he had a date (his first in a while...there was no way he was going to blow that off), so it was just him and me.

I think that was when I gave him my number. He hadn't asked for it but he put it in his wallet and I know I wasn't imagining that smile.

All we shared that night were some significant looks. He did kiss my cheek when he dropped me at my apartment. I invited him in – there was...something...in his eyes – but he didn't take me up on it. It could have ended right there, but no...

He called me. You can guess how that went...we talked for hours. There was a little flirting, but mostly we liked talking to each other. Well, we already knew that. And there was this hunger in him...like he didn't get to just talk that often.

We exchanged email addresses in that first call. I'm not that much for email; I see everybody I need to communicate with. But he was an emailing fool. I'd hear from him at least once a day...references to journal articles we'd talked about, interesting cases he'd worked on...that kind of thing. How did I get the idea that his notes were more than that?

Probably when he started to fly to San Francisco once a month to see me. That was a little odd. At first it was sort of coincidental...he had to come to San Francisco on a consult or there was some museum exhibit he wanted to see. He'd call me when he was in town and we'd have dinner or he'd drag me to that museum. Eventually he took me up on my invitation to come in and well...he dropped the pretense pretty quickly after that.

Do you know what it's like for the man you love to fly into town just to see you? Oops. I used the L-word. Yeah, I'd fallen pretty hard by then. I was in love with him. I really, really wanted him to be in love with me.

There's this game women play sometimes (and I know it's not just me because I've seen enough of my friends do it). It's called Wishful Thinking. See, what happens is you meet someone who is just right...he makes you feel good in all the right places...and you start having these thoughts. Thoughts about the future. And then you start playing the other game: Tell Him What He Wants to Hear. It's that last one that did me in...did us in. But who am I kidding? It would never have worked anyway.

He never lied to me. He told me from the beginning that he wasn't interested in a long term relationship. He was married to his work...he didn't exactly say that last part; he didn't have to...it was obvious. But he liked me...he really enjoyed being with me...we could do this once a month thing and everything would be great. Some girls would have jumped all over that, but unfortunately, not me.

When we were friends or, geez, whatever we were before we started sleeping together, it wasn't a problem. He was just Grissom, this really intense, interesting guy in my field. But once that line was crossed...there was no going back, at least not for me.

He'd progressed from chaste kisses on the cheek to actual kisses on the lips. That lasted for...oh...the first few 'coincidental' trips to San Francisco. The next time he was in town there was no mistaking his passion...he backed me up against the wall outside my apartment and I thought he was going to take me right there. I'm not so sure I would have stopped him. He stopped himself, though.

So there we were, panting in my hallway. My mouth was swollen from the force of his lips and his eyes...the fire I saw there...I'd have followed him if he'd pulled the keys from my hand and opened the door. Then the fire went out. It was like the shutters came down. He backed away from me and apologized, still breathing hard, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean...I should go..."

It would have been over then, I think, but I had to go and grab his arm. I said, "It's OK. Really...it's OK." And somehow, that stopped him. He looked at me for a minute, then looked at the floor while he rubbed his jaw, then he checked his watch. Trying to lighten the mood, I said, "The bus won't be along for at least another hour." It kind of worked, because he laughed. Then he said, "Sara...we should talk." I just nodded stupidly.

We went to a coffee shop near my place. Once hot cups were in front of us, the conversation went like this:

"We've been seeing a lot of each other..." he started.

I took a sip of tea. "Uh huh."

He looked me right in the throat and said, "I never intended for this to happen."

"Define 'this.'" I said and smiled a bit. I'd meant that to come out a little harsher...after all, he'd flown from Las Fucking Vegas to see me...what was I supposed to think?

It took him awhile to look at me. "What just happened upstairs."

If I hadn't had an instant flutter of excitement in my gut, I probably wouldn't have said, "Was that so bad?"

He exhaled, exasperated, I thought. "I think the world of you Sara, but I can't do this."

I could feel him sliding away and like a dummy, I went all out to keep him. "What exactly is 'this,' Grissom?"

He paused for so long that I didn't think he was going to answer. "Love."

I know my mouth dropped open then. Lust...I was thinking lust...so when he said love, I was stunned. I managed to close my mouth and then I nodded slowly, trying to think of the right words...the words that would keep him there in the cafe. I'd think of the words to get him back to San Francisco later. "I'm not looking for love, Grissom," I said. And I wasn't...not yet.

He studied me with an intensity I suspected he reserved for questioning suspects. "You're not."

Not a question...a statement. I looked him in the eye and said, "No, I'm not." It was true then. I hadn't started playing Wishful Thinking quite yet, but I'd already thrown the dice in Tell Him What He Wants to Hear.

There was a flicker in those blue eyes...that fire I'd seen before. He didn't know it but my belly turned over...lust answering lust. He said, "I can't offer you that, Sara." Simple...bare...no justifications...a statement of fact.

Why was I thinking of angels dancing on the head of a pin? I don't know, but I managed to weave just the right words together. "Look, Grissom. We really enjoy one another. Our lives are complicated and our jobs make relationships almost impossible. But this is easy. It feels good. If we go back upstairs right now that won't change."

If he'd been thinking with the brain between his ears he never would have bought that…or taken me back upstairs. Perhaps he was playing Wishful Thinking, too.

I was right about that fire. All the passion he'd shown for forensics and bugs and every other damn thing we ever talked about couldn't hold a candle to the flames he blew across my skin that night. I'd been with a few boys but never with a man...an experienced man. He did things to me I didn't even know were possible.

That was a Friday. He went back to his hotel that night but he stayed over Saturday. We didn't leave the bed until it was time for him to catch his flight back to Las Vegas.

And so it went for about another eight months. Grissom would fly in on Friday. I would meet him at his hotel or we'd meet at my place, depending on the state of my refrigerator or whether we were in the mood for room service. We went out some, talked a lot and made love 117 times.

In between, he was still emailing me daily and calling several times a week. It was very much like it had been before we were intimate, with one big difference: I fell in love with him. It is never a good idea to keep secrets from people who are important to you…but keeping a secret like that was a disaster.

Wishful Thinking took over my free time when he was in Las Vegas. Something would remind me of his voice or that quirky smile or his eyes as he watched me come, and I was in the land of white picket fences and vine covered cottages. I didn't even want to be married, much less a mother…but I found myself doodling Sara Sidle Grissom and imagining children with my chin and his eyes.

When we were together, I kept learning bits about him…about his character, how tender he could be, the depth of his intellect…that told me he was 'the one.' I kept hoping he would change. What woman hasn't molded herself into what a man wants hoping he'll change? Maybe it's wired up in us some way, to hold him long enough to get his prime genetic material…I don't know.

It was getting harder and harder to keep my games straight. Wishful Thinking seemed more and more possible and I wasn't careful with Telling Him What He Wants to Hear. When you spend a month dreaming about the man you love, it's hard to keep it casual once you're finally in his arms…when he opens his hotel room door and picks you up and swings you around, laughing and kissing you because he's so happy to see you…when he makes love to you with the most tender attention, whispering your name over and over…fantasy and reality starts to merge.

I had too many secrets to keep track of them all.

We'd just made love and I was curled against his chest; my favorite spot. I thought the worst problems in the world wouldn't seem so bad if I could just see them from that spot. Both of us were sort of dozing when I sighed and said, "I'm going to stay right here forever." He rumbled deep in his chest…not words, just a breath. And I told him I loved him.

At the time I thought it had slipped out because I was half asleep, but looking back, I'm not so sure. I think I was testing the water…Wishful Thinking meets reality.

I felt him stiffen beneath me and his heart rate jumped up. It took a few moments for him to say anything. "What did you say?"

Caught. I knew I was caught. For a second I thought it would be OK, but when I rolled onto my side, he sat up and looked down at me…after I saw his face, I knew it was over. Another girl might have been able to backpedal or cry prettily or, Christ, I don't know…salvage it somehow. I'm not that girl. Confront me and I will stand toe to toe with you, even if my heart is in my throat.

I sat up and said, "I said that I love you."

Those same shutters that hid the fire in his eyes that first time…they were back. "Sara…"

I had one question…and I had to hear the answer. "Is that so bad?"

He looked at me for a really long time and I swear, my heart believed he'd changed his mind…even now, it's hard for me to believe I was that wrong about him.

But he said, "Have I ever lied to you or misled you?"

I had to look away then. He'd never lied to me…but he was guilty…he was guilty of making me play those stupid games.

Well, no. That's wrong. I did that. It was a mistake…we were a mistake.

After he left I cried. I've heard a lot of descriptions of people in extremis…all I can say is that when he left, I saw my future evaporate dream by dream.

To say there was a hole in my life after we broke up is such an understatement. My life was like a pea rolling around in that void. In a way, the sporadic nature of our relationship made it possible for me to slide back into my routine. We'd only seen each other once a month, so my life didn't change that much day to day. I didn't have my fantasies anymore and I soon learned that remembering hurt so much I couldn't breathe. So I went to work and came home and went back to work…putting one foot in front of the other.

Sid Levine was a Godsend. We both worked for San Francisco PD…me as a CSI and him as a coroner. We'd been friends in grad school and he knew all about Grissom; it was kind of natural that I leaned on him. He'd recently broken up with a girlfriend – we spent a lot of time licking our wounds together.

I don't know how it happened exactly, but comfort turned into something else over the next few months. We decided it was love. The hole of my life tightened up and I started to see a future again. When he asked me to marry him, I said yes. Sid is as stable and dependable as the sunrise…he is kind, gentle…I'd name his other Boy Scout qualities, but you get the idea.

I've done some soul searching in the past few days. True, what I feel for Sid is not what I felt for Grissom, but how many magnificent obsessions does one get in this life? I figured I had mine and it's time to come back down to earth.

How does Sid feel about all this? Well, like I said, he knows all about Grissom. He loves me…he asked me to marry him…and if he's playing a little Wishful Thinking of his own, well, if anyone understands that game, it's me. We're good together…we'll be good together. I'll have children with my chin and his eyes…if we decide to have kids.

That sound you hear is not me whistling in the dark.

xxx

Las Vegas – 1996

Jim Brass was sitting in his office finishing up some paperwork when the phone rang. He let it go while he completed a sentence, then picked up.

"Brass." After listening a moment he said, "Yes."

A moment or two later, frowning, he said, "Is he all right? OK, I'll be right down."

Standing, he added a few more words to the paper in front of him. Checking his watch, he sighed and put on his jacket, then left the office.

Officer Hanover met him as he left the elevator. "He was lucky he wasn't on the strip. That's highway patrol's jurisdiction. Technically, he's over, but they just lowered the limit, so we cut him a break and didn't book him. But we did have to call the supervisor."

Their short walk led them to a waiting room. Brass said, "Well, thank you. I appreciate the courtesy."

Hanover paused slightly before nodding, then moved off down the hall. Brass watched his wayward CSI for a moment before entering the room and sitting next to the man. Gil Grissom sat elbows on knees, staring straight ahead.

They sat like that for awhile before Brass said, "Come on. I'll take you home."

xxx

If we knew each other's secrets, what comforts we should find.
John Churton Collins

FIN