Ever After
Summary:
Life isn't a fairy tale, and happily isn't guaranteed. A dose of G/S angst for your pleasure.
A/N: All for Niff and Niff for all! Uh, okay, so that's not going to become a great rallying cry anytime soon. This is for Niff, who seems to be able to blackmail me effectively. ;-)

This starts immediately after "Way to Go", but the story will veer into vague spoiler territory by Part III. Gibby was nice enough to look over this for me, but I'm not going to share the typos.

Rating: This is probably PG-13. If you want something higher, insert the appropriate parts (pun intended) with whatever floats your boat.
Disclaimer: I don't own the show, the characters or even a single, lousy casino, so don't come looking for me if you want the rights.


Part I

Turning off the bedside lamp, Sara pulled on a robe, the pale silk shimmering in the dim light coming from the bathroom. Moving like a specter, she sank onto the edge of the bed, her eyes fixated on the nude figure there. For a long time she watched mutely, her troubled conscience at odds with the delight still tingling through her.

After a while, her hands reached out to roam his body. Sensitive fingers ran over his chest and shoulders, finding his muscles relaxed under the soft skin. A light sheen of sweat still lingered, evidence of their earlier exertions.

When Grissom stirred, muttering something into the pillow, she smiled and stopped her exploration. Leaning forward to kiss him lightly, she pulled the covers up slowly, lest she wake him. She had no doubts that her current examination would upset him if he were awake.

Since getting together, he had regularly used his eyes, fingers and mouth to memorize, and mesmerize, every inch of her body, slowly and methodically unveiling all she was. His inquisitive touches were passionate in lovemaking, reverent at other times. But he seemed unable to believe that she had the same interest in him, and Sara had quickly realized her fascination made him self-conscious. In rare stolen moments, she satisfied her curiosity while he slept; when her dreams haunted her, she took comfort in his solid presence.

Tonight was different, though, as his welfare directed her actions. Sleep stole the tension from his body, but the underlying stress took refuge in his subconscious. It wasn't like him to just roll over and fall asleep after lovemaking, and his behavior added to Sara's concern. The shooting left everyone shaken, and he was no exception.

Jim was one of his oldest, and one of the few, friends he had. Making life and death decisions for him had to have been rough. The wrong choice and Brass died. It didn't matter that he didn't shoot him, that he wasn't the one to operate – Griss made the call, and the weight of that responsibility bore heavily on him.

To the casual observer, Grissom handled the pressure well, but there was nothing casual about her observation. He'd slowly allowed her into his world, showing her glimmers of his soul, and while there was a lot about him that remained hidden, she knew enough to be worried. One key element she had learned was that the stoic front he presented to the world was often a façade hiding his true feelings. What she didn't know was how strong it was or how deep it ran.

With a soft sigh, she rubbed his shoulder before heading toward the bathroom. Her mood became more pensive as he muttered again in his sleep, an arm flailing under the sheets. Pausing in the doorway, she waited until he settled once more. The display heightened her fears; he normally slept as soundly as the dead.

Sara knew the stress was bothering him. He knew she was aware of it. Still, when she had asked how he was back in his office, Grissom had lied was too strong of a word. He could have shrugged off her question, or said that he didn't want to talk about it, but instead he told her he was okay when they both knew he wasn't. She had allowed him his denial; after all, work was the last place where he'd talk about his troubles, but now her doubts came to a head.

"Did I do the right thing?" she asked her reflection rhetorically, making a face before starting the water in the shower.

He's private, she thought, chuckling softly at the understatement. Okay, very private. But did I let that slide too easily?

She didn't know what events shaped his personality, and that lack of information gnawed at her. It wasn't a desire to expose all his secrets, or to deny him his privacy, but to understand him better. For all her years as an investigator, aspects of Grissom eluded her ability to comprehend, his motivations appearing outwardly as capricious as a zephyr. They were trying to make a life together, and she didn't want to make any mistakes.

Stepping into the shower, she fretted that she'd made a huge mistake.

Over time, she'd caught glimpses of his self-doubts. An undercurrent of hesitancy ran through him when it came to personal matters, like he still doubted that she was interested in what he had to say. She recognized the feeling.

As a child, she craved the love of her parents, but experience taught her not to draw their attention to herself. Growing up in foster care, she rarely had a confidant, and quickly learned to identify the impatient looks when she tried to broach things that concerned her. It left an ingrained sense of introversion that she'd never completely shaken.

Nurture or nature, he's the same way.

In the past, she'd offered subtle encouragement whenever she sensed that hesitancy, but she never pushed the issue. If he talked to her, it had to be because he wanted to share with her, not because she pressured him.

The problem was telling when he wanted that reassurance and when he wanted to be left alone. Jim's shooting was the most stressful thing they'd faced together, so she had nothing against which to gauge his mood.

Closing her eyes, she tilted her face into the spray of water, hoping to wash away her own tension. I wish he trusted me enough to talk about this.

Immediately, she dismissed that idea as she grabbed the washcloth. It wasn't a matter of trust; it was Grissom being himself. A smile formed as she soaped over still-tingling areas. Even tonight, he didn't say that he loved her. The implication was clear, and he enthusiastically confirmed it, but he never actually said the words.

Sara valued her privacy as deeply as he did, and she better understood the pain of exposing wounds. He was never going to be a man who vocalized every emotion, and she didn't want him to change. She fell in love with a quiet, quirky scientist who kept his emotional side in check. The downside was that there were times when she had to rely on her judgment to figure out what was going on in his mind.

Even now, she was unable to pinpoint exactly when he decided to pursue the relationship. True, things changed after her DUI, but that only ended his active distance and brought out more of a protective side to him rather than an actual romantic interest.

His behavior changed again when she told him of her childhood, but in many ways that wasn't an improvement. He often acted uncomfortable, like he'd rather be at an emotionally safe distance, but he felt obligated to be there for her. Sara now knew why he kept away, and she also suspected he was embarrassed by his prior behavior at that point

In the immediate aftermath of Nick's kidnapping, he'd been a bit more open to everyone, joining the team on several consecutive days for breakfast and visiting Nick in the hospital. That change was short-lived, and Grissom retreated deeper into himself for nearly two weeks, seldom leaving his office. More than once, she caught him watching her as she worked, standing silently in a doorway for a long moment before entering to ask a question about her case.

After he returned to the field, he often teamed up with her. At first, he kept to himself, but he gradually began to subject her to his puns. On a few occasions he surprised her by bringing her a cup of tea or a slice of pie when he returned from the diner, but that was always when they were working on a tough case together and she skipped meals. It was a pleasant change, but she never considered it as anything other than returning to their old friendship.

Then there was the Gloersen case.

The landlord found the nude body of the recently murdered man when he came to collect the rent. Sara was dusting for prints, Brass was questioning the landlord, and Grissom and David were examining the victim.

"Dude!" the landlord said after the body was turned over. "The guy's hung smaller than a squirrel!"

"I do not want to know how you know that," Brass said in deadly seriousness, raising an eyebrow dramatically when he glanced at the corpse's nether regions.

"They say size doesn't matter," David said sympathetically, "but I wouldn't want to be him."

"Yeah, well, who would? He's dead," Grissom noted, sitting back on his haunches as he scanned the room. "He drove a Ferrari, wore expensive clothes and lots of jewelry, drank expensive liquor. Compensation, perhaps?"

"Ah, human nature," Brass added, flashing a grin towards Sara. She shook her head, feeling the running commentary on their victim's unfortunate anatomy to be a bit disrespectful.

"Not entirely human. Dung beetles with the most impressive horns actually have the smallest testicles," Grissom said, grimacing as he knees cracked when he stood. "Outward lures for mates don't necessarily imply the best equipped males for reproduction. Sometimes it's all show."

Sara was going to make a quip about people getting paid to study such things when Brass chuckled, saying, "This from the guy who drives the sports car."

She continued working while the others laughed, knowing Grissom didn't appreciate being the butt of jokes, but he still shot her a look. She cocked her head in confusion, unable to understand why he singled her out when she wasn't involved. He didn't say anything but returned to work with a brusque demeanor.

Later back in the lab, she was examining evidence under the microscope when she felt him standing behind her.

"I don't drive a sports car."

"Okay," she said distractedly, trying to identify some unusual fibers recovered from the scene.

"It's a classic car."

"Okay," she repeated, pausing in her work to turn towards him. For someone who was so impatient earlier, his current tangent was odd.

"There is a distinction."

Unable to hide her amusement, she grinned wickedly. "Are you worried that I think you're compensating?"

He left without another word.

Shaking her head, she returned to the microscope, but she froze in the process of adjusting the focus. There was only one reason why he'd single her out for an explanation, and it meant he was worried. Unless it was some sort of general male insecurity, the only reason he had to be worried was if he thought it was going to be an issue. The only way it could be an issue was if something developed between them.

Something physical.

"Oh, shit," she muttered under her breath.

Taking an early lunch, she sat in the break room chewing thoughtfully as she tried to make sense of the encounter. She couldn't think of another reason for his explanation, but it was too hard to accept. After years of a non-relationship, her mind just couldn't wrap itself around the idea that he was suddenly interested. Some other explanation existed, even if it eluded her. This was Grissom after all; there was no saying what motivated his outburst.

Greg and Warrick joined her in the break room, effectively ending her musing, but it left a nagging question in the back of her mind. If nothing else, she feared that she might have inadvertently insulted him. While she wasn't an expert on men, she knew enough to know that guys were generally sensitive in that regard. If she could have thought of a way to ask him about it that wouldn't have added to the discomfort, she would have.

When he didn't bring it up again, she dismissed the conversation, rolling her eyes at the silliness of her concerns. Mentally, she berated herself for her wishful thinking.

The next month she worked a case centered on a therapist sexually involved with his patients. She was waiting with Greg in Trace as Hodges finished with Grissom's samples. To kill the time, they talked about the ethics involved when Grissom surprised them by joining in the conversation.

"Ethics aside, it was a horrible idea."

"Why?" she asked. While she had her own opinions, she was genuinely curious on his take on the subject, and it was rare for him to volunteer personal outlooks.

"They were in therapy for a reason."

"That's usually the case," Greg added, grinning when Grissom turned to him shortly.

"These women all were trying to work through difficult problems. Not only did he violate their trust, they weren't in a position to be starting a relationship. Some underlying problem needed to be addressed before he added more complication to their lives."

"So, you think a person in therapy shouldn't get involved with anyone else," Sara said, leaning against the workbench. Recognizing the defensive posture, she kept her tone causal. "Someone in therapy is automatically fragile or something?"

"No," he said lowly, his eyes focusing on hers. "But there are times you have to keep your distance. No matter how much you want to help, you have to let that person come to grips with whatever is bothering them. There's the chance that you may not be what they need, and you'll end up impeding their progress. Or you may not be what that person wants when they've worked through their issues, and you'll be heartbroken. The number of things that can go wrong it's too dangerous."

He held her gaze for a long moment before gathering his report and exiting, leaving Hodges in mid-brag.

"Grissom's working that psychedelic mushroom case, right?" Greg asked.

"What?" she replied, feeling strangely off-balance from the conversation. "I think so. Why?"

"Ah. I think he's been tasting the evidence again. Just saying," Greg quipped. "That's probably the most I've ever heard him say at one time."

"Yeah." The conversation left her feeling odd. Forcing her attention back on Hodges's long-winded commentary, she refused to spend any time contemplating Grissom's opinions on relationships.

Alone in the locker room, she fiddled with packing her bag. On the surface, Grissom's statement had been general and impersonal, but it resonated within her. It wasn't so much what he said, but the way he held her eyes when he said it, like it held some sort of special meaning.

He made it seem personal. Was he talking about me? Us? Oh, no way.

She grabbed her bag and started to leave, but found herself putting her things away and stopping in front of his office. Classical music played softly in the background as he sat reading a form with a befuddled expression.

But what if he was interested?

If so, it needed to be addressed, but she wasn't willing to expose herself again. She'd put herself out there one too many times, but she had to know what he meant. Standing outside his office, she chewed her lip before knocking on his door and leaning against the frame.

"Hey," she said, smiling nervously as she wrapped her arms around her waist.

"Sara," he replied evenly. When she stood there shifting her weight, he stopped his paperwork, eventually leaning back in his chair. "Do you need something?" he asked, his confusion clear.

"I, uhm, I just wanted to let you know that if you ever want to tell me something, well, just, you know, tell me."

Grissom's eyebrow went up, and he watched her with a strange expression as he took off his glasses.

"I don't bite," she added quickly.

His eyebrow went up further, and he set his glasses on his desk. "Ooo-kay," he drew out slowly. Folding his hands on a stack of paperwork, he stared at her in mild puzzlement. "Anything else?"

"No. Bye." Heading back to the locker room, she resisted the urge to bang her head against the walls. Feeling like a fool for misinterpreting his comments, she gathered her things quickly and exited from a side door to avoid passing his office again, even though it meant a longer walk to her car.

The next day at work she kept to herself, still stung by embarrassment. She headed straight home to change for court where she was to testify against a man accused of killing his wife while in a drunken rage. It wasn't a case she wanted to relive, but the evidence was overwhelming, and she wanted him off the streets.

She calmly recited the facts, about the scars and old bone fractures attesting to years of abuse. The man squirmed in his chair, shooting her evil looks, but when she came to the evidence of sexual assault, he finally snapped. Screaming threats, he crossed half the distance to the witness stand before the bailiffs restrained him. Eventually order was restored, and she kept the quiver in her voice under control as she finished her testimony.

Once home, Sara took a long draw from the bottle of beer before kicking off her shoes and collapsing on her couch. Simply put, every aspect of that case sucked. The husband was a loser with an excuse for everything. His wife was also a drunk who reveled in causing trouble. They were constantly broke, resorting to assorted minor crimes to pay for their drug habit, and occasionally things like rent and food. She supposed it was only a matter of time before one of them ended up dead, but it was the images of their twin daughters that tormented her. Malnourished and battered, their eyes showed more suffering than any six-year-old should ever know.

For the countless time, Sara had wondered why she did this to herself. She never developed the callousness other CSIs had. Every case like this took a little out of her, leaving her wondering how long it would be until there was nothing left worth saving. Older memories pushed to the forefront of her mind, reminding her of why she picked this career, and she renewed her vow to continue for as long as possible.

When the knocking started, she briefly considered ignoring it. Missionaries and door-to-door salesmen had learned to avoid this floor long ago, and it was too late in the day for one of the guys to see if she wanted to go out for something to eat. Eventually curiosity won out, but Sara hesitated again when she looked through the peephole.

"Grissom," she said after opening the door, her calm voice betraying none of her questions at his unexpected arrival. He returned her greeting pleasantly, adding to her confusion, so she ran through a mental checklist: She hadn't decked the father in court, even after his threats. Her occasional drinking was restricted to home. She hadn't blown up the lab, kicked Ecklie or done anything else to jeopardize her career.

But this was Grissom; he didn't do social visits. Unable to resist the mystery, she smiled as she stepped aside. "Come in. Can I get you something?"

"No thanks."

She shrugged but waved him towards the couch as she took the seat. Her eyebrow climbed upward when he passed the neutral center of the couch and sat on the end closest to her chair.

"Something come up at the lab?" she asked.

"No."

Sipping her beer, she waited patiently. Unlike his previous visit to her apartment, he seemed calmer, but she still picked up on a sense of unease. Of course he's uneasy. If this isn't work-related, it has to be personal. Yeah, right. It's work.

"So, what's up?"

Grissom's response was tight. "You testified at the Santo trial today."

So that's why he's here. Repressing a groan, she was suddenly very cognizant of the glass beer bottle in her hands. Not trusting her voice, she settled on a simple nod.

"I also heard he threatened you. The bailiffs had to restrain him."

"Yeah. He didn't get very far. No big deal," she insisted. She was tired, upset and really not in the mood to go over this with Grissom. All she wanted was to finish her beer, take a hot bath and try to get some rest.

"He cleared the table, broke his own attorney's nose, threatened to r…"

"I'm fine," she stated, a forced levity in her voice as she raised the bottle. "Do you want to run a blood-alcohol test?"

"No," he stated, tilting his head curiously when she started to laugh.

"If there was ever a sentence with an unspoken but, that was it," she explained. "I'll admit the case was rough, but I'm okay. Really."

"I know. You did a good job with this."

"Oh." Startled by his response, she gave her head a short shake. "No offense, but then why are you here? 'Cause you never come by to say hi or talk about a case. The only time you come here is when you're wondering if I'm going gonzo."

To her surprise, he gave a brief nod of acknowledgement. "Certain cases do bother you."

"I'm great."

Grissom shot her a mildly incredulous glare. "We all have our own triggers. No matter how long you work this field, there are still cases that stand out. This was one of them for you."

Pleasure over his consideration and aggravation that he thought it was necessary battled for Sara's attention. Unable to settle for one, she went with both emotions. "Thanks for checking up on me. I mean that. But it's not necessary. No breakdown scheduled for this week, and I'm not a drunk."

"I never thought you were."

"That but is there again," she chuckled humorlessly, turning away from his intense gaze.

"It was a serious situation."

"Don't tell me about that," she snapped, holding out her hand as she calmed herself. "Don't. I'm not making excuses for what I did. I screwed up. No one knows that better than me. If I had hurt anyone…"

She stopped to gather her composure, not wanting to fall apart in front of him again, but her eyes snapped open when his hand covered hers.

"What happened that night?" he asked softly, slowly moving his thumb against her fingers.

She stared at their joined hands, her mouth open slightly as he kept up his ministrations. "Nothing."

"Which one of us are you trying to convince?"

Sara gave his hand a brief squeeze before pulling it free, rising to pace to her window. So he finally broached the subject. She always wondered if he would, or if it was to join the long list of topics they tiptoed around. After showing up at the station that night, he had driven her home, asked her if she needed anything and left when she shook her head. The next day he left a message to let her know that he'd scheduled her an appointment with a PEAP counselor. Besides asking her about the sessions a few times, he'd never mentioned the subject again.

Why the interest now? God, did Brass talk to him? No, if he were going to say anything it would have been after I was picked up. I haven't screwed up at work, haven't lost my temper in ages. He has no reason to ask about it now, but here he is.


This is Grissom. The guy eats bugs on his eggs. Who knows why he does anything?

Turning around, she took a quick step back when she found him standing right there. His openly worried look added to her already considerable bewilderment.

"Grissom," she said, exhaling slowly. Giving him a sad look, she shrugged. "I admit it was a bad time for me. Things were, uh, bothering me. That was an even worse day, a bad case. We went out for some beers, "

"We? Who else was there?"

The coolness of his tone underscored his ire, and she blinked at the unexpected display. She never considered that he'd blame the others for what happened that night, but there was an iciness in his eyes that was unsettling.

"It doesn't matter. I'm responsible for my own behavior." She stared him down until he gave another conceding nod.

"It's not like I was falling down drunk. You know the blood alcohol formulas. For someone my size, what's the difference between being under the limit and being just over it? One beer? Half a beer?"

He held her gaze, his expression indecipherable. Unable to face the intensity, she dropped her head and sighed. "Trust me, I'm not rationalizing what happened. I know what I did, and it was stupid. But it was a mistake. Not a lifestyle. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Oh, God," she moaned.

"But," he started.

"I so knew that was coming."

He surprised her again with a soft laugh. "The next time"

"There won't be a next time." She sank into the couch, her eyes darting to the side when he sat beside her. His acceptance sounded real, but she considered that he was just letting the matter drop. For now. She had the sinking feeling he never forgot anything – if it had the potential to come back and bite her in the ass. "I drank on an empty stomach. I'd have been fine if I had eaten something."

Mentally willing him to drop the subject, she didn't relax until he shrugged. The atmosphere remained tense until he gave her a lopsided smirk.

"Funny you should mention food," he said, fumbling in his jacket pocket for a moment. Pulling out a folded up piece of paper, he passed it to her. "The incident in court was a diversion. This is the real reason I came over. I got that in the mail."

Instantly curious, Sara set down her beer bottle, unfolded the flyer and frowned. "A vegetarian restaurant?"

"It opened near my house. For some reason, vegetarian brought your name to mind. I thought you might like it."

"Thanks," she said, giving him a quick grin before looking over the menu. The little gesture touched her, but it also left her cautious. It was an unexpected thing for him to do.

He's being nice, she told herself, glad that their friendship was back on track

If he's just being friendly, then why didn't he give it to me at work?

She paused in opening the flyer, staring at it silently.

Don't read anything into it. Grissom, remember? He does things differently.

"The menu's broken down into type of vegetarianism," he said enthusiastically. "The first page includes dishes with dairy and eggs. The next section only has dairy, followed by only eggs. The last page is all vegan."

"That makes it easy," she said, glancing sideways at him.

"They don't have any fish dishes; guess they ran out of room, but I was surprised at the variety they offer. The lentil loaf doesn't sound promising, but that three-cheese and mushroom omelet sounds really good. With bread and the salad, it's a full meal."

"So, you do have an interest in mushrooms."

"I guess so," he said, his lips pursing at her grin.

"Greg thought you did." She resisted the urge to laugh when she watched him try to process her statement, seeing him finally shrug. "You'd eat at a vegetarian restaurant?" she asked jokingly, starting to unwind with the lighter mood.

"It depends on the company," he said, giving her what she thought was a hopeful look.

She hated how eagerly she wished it were true. Every time she thought she'd moved on, something happened that revived her baseless hopes. Sara forced her eyes towards the coffee table, picking up and draining the last of her beer. Heading into the kitchen, she opened the fridge and stared inside while she fought for control.

He did not just say that. Okay, he did, but it doesn't mean anything. It's one of those lines he likes to pull. Picked a hell of day to start again. She let out a ragged breath. This is Grissom. It's his idea of being nice. Just humor him. He'll go home soon and I can crash.

"Sure you don't want something?" she asked, stalling for time.

"I'm fine."

Grabbing a bottle of water, she fiddled with the cap as she debated her next move. As much as she cared for him, she didn't want to set herself up to get hurt again. It had taken this long for him to feel comfortable enough to show her a menu to a place he thought she'd like. I already screwed things up between us once. I'm not making that mistake twice. Take it for what it is – a peace offering.

Sara smiled as she walked back towards the couch, making it halfway before he said, "We're both off tonight."

She spun around quickly, once again taking refuge in the kitchen. She couldn't believe how much she wanted to believe he was finally making a move. It had taken time, but she'd finally come to terms with the fact that he was never going to act on his feelings.

And you think he's the one in denial. You're hiding in your own home!

"This is insane," she muttered to herself, indicating both of their behaviors.

"Is everything all right?"

She marched back to the living room, finding him leaning forward on the sofa. She started to say everything was fine, but she knew there was no way she could pull off that lie.

"No."

Grissom winced slightly, but she watched as he gathered his composure. "Is this a bad time? Should I leave? You're probably upset over what happened in court."

"No," she answered somewhat truthfully. Despite her own unease, she pressed forward. She didn't want to jump to any conclusions. The last time that happened it took years for the consequences to go away. "I'd really like to know what's going on."

"I want to know if you'd like to have dinner with me."

Her mouth dropped open, and it was a moment before she spoke. "You have to be shitting me."

"No."

It was his small smile that truly aggravated her. "Now?"

"It's a little early," Grissom said frivolously, stopping at her frustrated growl. "Unless that's your stomach."

Sara stood there, crossing her arms over her midsection and staring at him disbelievingly. She only had one beer, wasn't on any drugs, and as far as she knew, she didn't have a concussion. That made the odds of the conversation being a hallucination pretty slim, but his overly casual manner seemed surreal.

Maybe he was trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn't working. Memories of a rumor at the lab made her cock her head. "Is this dinner between two colleagues?"

"Technically, that is one way it could be classified."

Again, his playful tone rubbed her the wrong way. This wasn't a laughing matter. He knew how she felt about him. If this was a joke, it was cruel.

No. He can be a jerk, but he's not cruel. Not usually; not lately. I can't believe he'd toy with me. Not now. So what's going on?

"Screw technical. How would you classify it?" she asked.

He held her gaze, swallowing slightly before continuing. "I'd like it to be a date, but I'd settle for dinner between two old friends."

Looking over her shoulder, she quickly rejected another retreat into the kitchen. Instead, she dropped down on the couch and stared at her fingers as they worked along a seam in the leather.

"It doesn't have to be tonight," Grissom offered when she didn't speak.

"Why? And no smart ass comments about my mood."

His expression softened, and again he took her hand in his. She didn't resist, but she also didn't relent. "What part don't you understand?" he asked earnestly. "Why I'd want to have dinner with you?"

"Why now? You weren't interested before."

"That's not true."

She turned to him with a scathing glare that actually made him shift uncomfortably.

"It was physically impossible for you to have picked a worse day to ask me out. I guess I didn't explain it at the time," he offered.

"You think?"

He ignored the sarcastic look she gave him, but he did take a long break before continuing. "The timing wasn't right."

Chewing the inside of her lip, she considered his statement carefully. After a beat, she gave her head a slight nod. "Okay. Okay, I can buy that I asked you at a bad time. But that was years ago. The timing hasn't been right since then?"

"No."

Her eyebrows shot up quickly. "Not a single day?"

"You had other things on your mind. You didn't need the distraction while you worked through things," he said with an amazing amount of tact.

Sara fixed him with a sharp glare. Maybe he was right about that, but he was also conveniently ignoring his frosty behavior prior to her situation. "Honestly, I think a distraction would have helped a hell of a lot."

"It wouldn't have been advisable," he said in a tone that seemed to confirm her suspicions. His comments in the lab had been personal. Or not; it was so hard to get a handle on him, and his relying on implication rather than direct conversation wasn't making her feel more secure. Any chance they had to make this work required communication, and she wasn't sure what he meant when he did talk. That couldn't be a positive sign.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," she finally replied. "I like you. I do. That's never changed. It's, " Sara paused, turning to stare towards her window. How could she explain it to him when she wasn't sure how to explain it to herself?

What do I tell him? 'Hey, I love you so much it scares me.' That I've jumped through hoops for him, and I'm afraid he'll keep me jumping through them? That if things don't work out, I don't know how long I'd stay just to spare his feelings? Yeah, he'd love to hear that.

"What is it? I'm interested. And you're still interested," he said hesitantly.

"I don't think that's enough."

Grissom stared at her, his head tilting as if trying to understand what she was saying. "What else do you need?"

Despite her own unease, his reaction touched her. He'd taken her hand again, apparently unaware of the sweat on his palms. For someone uncomfortable with personal interactions, he was making an effort. "Not much, really. I, uh, I'm not as needy as I probably seem."

"I never thought that."

His half-offended tone almost amused her. Almost. The basic facts were still the same. "It's, damn. This isn't right. You decided when the time was wrong for you. Fine, but you decided when it was wrong for me."

He averted his eyes, and she saw his shoulders tensing. "I was trying to be considerate," he said sorrowfully.

The emotional honesty was touching, especially from him. She knew of his qualms, that he worried she'd leave him, but if her near-breakdown had one definitive result, it was leaving Sara questioning her ability to deal with emotional setbacks.

"That's, that's sweet. It is. But you're acting exactly like my dad. Everything was his decision."

Immediately, she regretted her words as Grissom flinched. "No," she said quickly. "If I thought this was anything like my parents, you'd have never made it through the front door."

He sat there, his mouth opening but he was unable to form a response, leaving her wondering if she sounded convincing. If there was one thing that she knew for certain, it was that he'd never physically injure her. But he had hurt her in other ways, and invisible wounds ached just as deeply. Worse, she didn't know what motivated his behavior before, so she had no way of knowing if he'd revert back. The uncertainty was too much for her.

"I don't want to get hurt. I don't want to go through another mess like before. What happened then, I don't blame you," she said reassuringly. "Don't ever get that idea, but it's just, well, I think if we learned anything from my 'incident', it's that I'm not as strong as I thought I was."

"You're stronger than you think you are," he countered firmly.

That brought a sad smile to her lips, but she shrugged wryly. "Let's face it. I have issues. I don't think I can be in a, a, whatever this is if I don't have any say in it."

"The way I see it, you do," he said as if it was obvious.

"Explain it to me, 'cause I don't get it."

"If you want to give this a try, say so. If you want more time, that's your choice. If you never want me to bring this up again, I'll leave."

Sara pulled her hand free and walked to the window, resting against the frame as she thought over his words. It was so easy for him to act so nonchalant. Her eyes opened widely at the realization, and she stood up straight. He was acting.

If in some remote monastery, there was a Zen master of emotional control, Grissom was his role model. But asking her out to dinner had him disconcerted, and he had to pretend to be calm.

He's this worked up, and I haven't even done anything to him yet.

Sara shook her head after stumbling over the double and triple entendres in that thought. Staring outside, she tried to grasp the implications. She knew he cared. His conversation with Lurie settled any questions she had about that. But he'd also made it clear that he wasn't ready to take that risk.

But he's here now. Something's changed. He's still nervous, though. I can hear him breathing back there. I wonder what worries him more – that I'll agree or turn him down. There's going to be consequences no matter what I say. He knows that, but he's here.

This was a major step for him. Not just career wise – he feared she'd reject or leave him, but he was willing to risk that pain. The question was whether she was willing to take the chance.

What's the alternative? Never knowing if it would have worked? Always second-guessing my decision – that's not what I want. But I don't want to get burned again. Damn. No matter what I decide there's a risk.

Isn't that what life's all about?

"I, I don't know what to say, Griss."

"Personally, I'd recommend yes. But I might be biased."

"Possibly," she agreed calmly.

"I'm not asking you to marry me and run away to Tahiti to have a dozen children," he said, his nervousness starting to show. "Let me take you out to dinner."

She watched him silently, trying to decipher his motives. He'd been so adamant that the risk was too high, and that obstacle hadn't gone away. "What about the fact you're my supervisor?"

"I think that makes it all the more appropriate."

Sara blinked. "Huh?"

"You came to Vegas at my request. You were new to the town. A good boss would have taken you out to dinner and shown you around."

"I already know my way around town."

"After five years, I'd hope so," he deadpanned, but his smile was forced. "I owe you this much at least."

"You know, obligation isn't exactly a romantic persuasion technique." She dropped her shoulders when he developed a facial tic. "Just dinner – no expectations?"

He took a long time to answer, but he nodded vigorously before stopping suddenly. "I mean, no. No expectations. Dinner, that's all."

Sara watched him carefully as she considered the offer. She'd turned her entire world upside down to be with him. But they had gone through rough patches, and while she accepted her share of blame for it, she couldn't ignore that Grissom's behavior toward her bordered on cruel more than once.

But he'd been there when her personal life and career were in shambles, when he had legitimate reasons to get rid of her. He didn't, even risking his own job standing up to Ecklie and jeopardizing his long friendship with Catherine to protect her. That had to count for something.

Oh, hell. I left San Francisco without giving two weeks notice. I may as well get a dinner for screwing up my references.

"Okay," she huffed out.

For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her as he jumped off the sofa, but he kept a polite distance as they finalized their plans. After escorting him out, she leaned against the door.

"What have I gotten myself into?" she had sighed before heading for a restless nap.

Sara was ready when Grissom came to pick her up that evening, following his recommendation to dress casually. Although he acted restrained, his eyes ran down her body appreciatively. The action brought an unexpected flush to her cheeks, a response that didn't go unnoticed. She cleared her throat, causing him to bob his head and stop his inspection.

Resting his hand possessively on the small of her back, he escorted her to his car with a pleased expression. Sara stole occasional glances at him, half-smirking at his reaction. His attention was flattering, but she didn't want him to get his hopes up; they'd been dancing around each other for years, and she wasn't going to rush into anything.

Driving through the city, she took the time to study his profile. At traffic stops, he'd dart his eyes to the side, never commenting but his hands flexed around the steering wheel. Grissom was openly anxious, and her presence caused it.

Overhearing his talk with Lurie had hurt; he readily told a cold-blooded killer about the feelings that he hid from her. But thinking back on what he said, she realized how much power she had. That he feared she'd grow bored, move on, leave him, break his heart. She had the ability to shatter him. By pursuing this, he faced his fears; how he weathered it depended entirely on how she responded.

The knowledge was intoxicating. For most of her youth, she never felt in control of her own life, let alone ever having any domination over another. But she had no interest in domination – she wanted an equal partnership. That meant an active participation from him, a sharing that she wasn't yet sure he was capable of.

"The restaurant is just a few miles ahead," Grissom said eventually, darting his eyes to her again. "It won't be long until we're there."

"It's okay. I don't mind the ride. Nice car. I hear it's a classic," she said with a wicked grin. It morphed into a friendly smile when he snapped his head around. Taking pity on him, she chatted casually for the rest of the drive. She nodded her approval at the few cars in the restaurant's parking lot, certain they'd have plenty of privacy.

Grissom raised an eyebrow at Sara's amused look as the waiter showed them to a cushion-strewn bench, leaving a veritable wake of sandalwood when he left to bring their drinks.

"Not too many places use a tie-dye color scheme on their flyers, or name their dishes after sixties rock bands. This doesn't come as a surprise," he said, holding out his hands to indicate the beaded dividers between the tables and the black lights shining on velvet posters. He examined the room more carefully, his head turning as he scanned the immediate area around them. "Does it remind you of San Francisco?"

She mimicked his action, finally shaking her head and chuckling. "I don't think I ever saw anything this over-the-top there."

They exchanged a fleeting smile and settled into silence again. After a few minutes, the waiter took their orders, and Grissom turned to her with a thoughtful expression when they were alone. "Do you know what the trouble is living in the desert?"

She tilted her head before answering wistfully. "No rain?"

"Rain messes up crime scenes," he pointed out with a curious tone of voice. "Why would you miss it?"

"I like to listen to it. Always have. I never realized how much until I moved out here," she said, pausing thoughtfully. "Of course, it seems to rain an awful lot for a desert, especially when we have a big crime scene."

"That's true."

"So," Sara said, twisting her napkin distractedly under the table. "What is wrong with living in the desert?"

"You lose one of the great opening lines for conversation. 'How's the weather?' doesn't work too well here. There's not enough variety."

"Do you think you need a line with me?" Her voice was soft, but the question conveyed a sense of sadness.

Grissom ran a finger along the rim of his glass before shrugging noncommittally. "It's an easy transition into a safe conversation. I already know what you do for a living. I know where you went to school. I know why you moved to Vegas. And I don't think this is the right time for more questions about your family."

"Not really," she agreed. Leaning back in her chair, she decided to take a gamble. "You could tell me about yourself."

"There's not much to tell."

"Come on. You're a prominent criminalist and forensic entomologist. I don't think I know anyone else as well-read as you are," she said gently.

His response was slow in coming. "You already know all that. I'm not that interesting of a person."

"I think you are."

His facial muscles received a thorough workout as various emotions played over his features. After taking a sip of water, he changed the subject. "Do you really miss the rain?"

Sara nodded, remembering the relaxing sound of water on the garage roof. There had been a loft there, too small to be of much practical use, but the perfect spot to hide when storms threatened inside the house. "Yeah."

"Why have you stayed?"

She didn't answer at first, unsure of the answer herself. Despite her friends, Vegas never really felt like home, and while her personal life had never been great, it certainly had been better in San Francisco. Well, adequate at least. She didn't want to admit that she'd hung around for a chance to work things out. It sounded too desperate.

But there was some truth to it; at some level she recognized that they had the potential to have a wonderful relationship – if they could make it work.

"I'm not sure," she said honestly, softening her response with a toothy grin. "It's a pain in the ass to pack?"

She waited silently as he weighed her words, glad when he quietly dropped the subject. Instead, he quizzed her on her dinner order, wanting to know what attracted her to that particular dish, and then asking if she'd like certain variations.

"I don't know about that," she answered at one suggestion. "It's something I'd have to try first."

"Fair enough."

"What, you're going to cook it?"

"I will if it's something you'd want to try," he said.

"Griss, I," she sighed. "No strings, remember. I meant it. Let's, let's just enjoy this for what it is, okay?"

He nodded but remained silent, and Sara wondered if he had run out of 'safe' conversation topics. Nibbling on a piece of flatbread, she tried to reconcile the confident criminalist with the shy man sitting opposite of her.

I can't believe I make him this uncomfortable. He's out of his element. This is one situation where he doesn't know what to do. Did someone hurt him, or is he just that socially unskilled?

When he glanced at her, she smiled kindly. She debated asking him something about himself, but he'd already deflected that. Instead, she settled on turning the tables on him, asking him about his dinner choice. Keeping her voice light, she gradually got Grissom to relax, and she laughed after he told her of mistaking a piece of hot pepper for candy when he was five.

"It was bright red," he noted with a mock-scowl.

"Aren't bright colors usually a warning sign in nature?" she teased back.

"I didn't know it then." He paused to sip some water, taking a deep breath as he set his glass down. "I'm glad you decided to come."

"I didn't have an escape plan. You're lucky I'm already maxed out on overtime," she said jokingly. Her mood switched to surprise when a brief guilty look crossed his face, and she realized how thoroughly he'd planned this.

It was a given that she'd max out on her hours, so he tended to modify the schedule to account for the fact she wouldn't be able to work overtime by the end of the month. Usually that meant he limited his extra shifts early on so he'd be free once she reached her limit. But thinking back on it, she realized he hadn't done that in the last few months. They both were maxed out; there'd be no calls from the office for either of them.

"Yeah, real lucky," Sara said, raising her eyebrow pointedly.

Grissom's shrug was nonchalant, but his eyes betrayed his self-satisfaction. He sat back as the waiter approached with their food. Sara smiled once more, and this time he returned it.

"How's your meal?" he asked, tentatively testing the conversation waters again.

"Nice. The tofu is good."

"I had it once," he said, visibly relaxing as he dug into his omelet. "It's like brains."

"Brains?" she repeated, staring at the quivering mass on the end of her fork. Setting it down, she shot him an incredulous look. "You're telling me one of my vegetarian staples is like brains."

"In texture," he said, nodding his head as he reached for another piece of bread.

"Animal brains?"

Grissom finally registered his gaffe. "Not in taste," he added with a weak, apologetic smile. "I'm sure the tofu is healthier."

"Not too many people get BSE from tofu," she mumbled softly, shifting the suspect curds on her plate. "You really ate brains?"

"Not lately. In some parts of the world, it's considered a delicacy. When I was in the rainforest," he said, pausing when she shook her head.

"That's okay. I really don't need to know what type of brains you ate." She gave him an amused look to let him know she wasn't upset.

"I'm curious," he offered in explanation.

"You certainly are." Sara watched as he sat back and considered her statement, silently accepting the entendre with a shrug. Picking up her tea, she took a drink as she watched him. "Is there anything you won't taste?"

"Do you have something in particular in mind?"

She felt the blush climbing up her cheeks, and gave him a warning look as she set her glass down. "Just dinner."

"I know. What were you thinking of?"

It was Sara's turn to be speechless as he watched her with an innocent expression. Swearing she saw a twinkle in his eye before he shifted his attention back to the plate, she smirked. "Raw earthworms."

His eyes lifted upward mischievously. "They're not too bad. Grubs make better grub, though."

"You need to get on Fear Factor," she chuckled.

"What's that?"

"TV show. They like to challenge people to eat weird stuff like that, get in containers with lots of bugs."

Grissom set down his fork and cocked his head. "So, what's the fear factor?"

Giving him a shrug, she grinned broadly and steeled herself to resume her meal. Despite his unfortunate comparison of tofu to brains, she found the dinner going better than she thought it would. She'd forgotten his quirky sense of humor, and she didn't realize how much she had missed it.

"This is nice," she told him, her heart melting at his unrestrained look of relief.

After they finished, Grissom paid the bill and escorted Sara to this car. She had to take a quick step back when he suddenly paused in opening the door, swinging his head to look up and down the road.

"Are you in a hurry to get home?" he asked.

"No," she said, frowning as his tongue peeked between his lips. She waited silently as he drove in the opposite direction from Vegas, turning onto consecutively smaller back roads until he reached the crest of a hill.

"Wow," Sara said when he led her around a large rock outcropping. Light from the full moon shone down into the small valley below, reflective minerals in the loose gravel turning the ground into a sparkling sea. "This is beautiful."

Wrapping her arms around herself in the chill wind, she started when his jacket draped over her. Looking back, she didn't object when he left his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. Standing quietly, he gazed into the valley below. He was close enough to be personal, but not so close for her to be uncomfortable.

I've never heard of this place before. I wonder how he found it. Probably was a crime scene. The ground is rough around here, but he knew his way around in the dark. He must come here sometimes. But he's never mentioned this, even when the others were talking about places to go hiking or climbing. Did he bring me here to share this with me?

Either that, or there's some weird, nocturnal bug that lives here, and he wants to catch one while we're in the area.

You know what's sad? I was joking, but that might really be why we're here.

How can I love someone so much when I don't know him? What is going on in that mind of yours? Only one way to find out.

He dropped his arms as she turned around, but she was glad he didn't back away. "Griss, why are we here?"

"Viewing the scenery," he responded slowly, pointing to his left. Grabbing her elbow, he led her to a long, flattish rock, helping her up to the high seat.

"I wasn't joking earlier when I said to just talk to me," she said after a long silence.

He turned to give her a pensive stare, his hand scratching at his beard. "I have been."

She started to quip that he needed to do it in a language she understood, but she held back. At some level, she sensed they were at a crossroads; he was making tentative outreaches, but a wrong word would send him retreating. There was no question in her mind that this was a one-time venture. If she turned him down, he'd never broach the subject again.

"I guess I don't always understand you," she said softly.

He made a face that indicated the response wasn't unexpected and rested his head in his hands as he stared into the desert.

"Why are you hesitant now?" he finally asked.

"I don't know if this can work between us."

"Why not?"

"We have a history. And it wasn't always good," she said. "I don't want to rehash old problems. It won't solve anything, just drag up bad memories. But I can't ignore that they existed."

"And ignoring these 'problems' is a better strategy?"

He did not just go there. He's treating this like it's something trivial. I'm not blaming him, but there's no way he can pretend that we didn't have problems.

Unless he's really that clueless when it comes to relationships.

"I'm a fan of Einstein," she said, glancing sideways to eye him. "'People like us, who believe in physics, know that the distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.'"

"I don't get it."

"Grissom, I'm not asking for an explanation or an apology, but please tell me you realize that there were times you treated me like shit. You cannot be that unaware."

Unable to hold her gaze, he returned to staring over the landscape.

"I know I'm not a saint. I accept that I created a lot of that mess. But there's no way I can forgive, or forget, what you did if you don't know it was wrong," she said earnestly.

"'No man is rich enough to buy back his past.'"

"I really doubt that Oscar Wilde is the right guy to be quoting now."

Grissom shrugged. "It fit the occasion."

She let out a ragged breath, shaking her head as she turned away from him. She was serious; he didn't have to apologize, just recognize it was wrong. If he knew that, then there she'd be able to believe that he'd never repeat his behavior. She needed that reassurance.

When he hopped down from their perch, she followed suit, figuring he was ready to leave. Accepting that he wasn't willing or able to make that concession, she forced herself to remain calm. It wasn't his fault; she needed more than he could provide.

Instead of leaving, he stepped closer and put his hands on the rock on either side of her head.

"Does it matter if I quoted someone?" he asked hoarsely. "Is there anything I could say that would take away your anger?"

"I told you don't have to apologize," she said. "Just tell me that it wouldn't happen in the future. Tell me I can trust you not to hurt me. Can you do that?"

Her hand started to reach up wipe at her eyes, but he was faster. Moving with a tenderness that stirred her, he used his thumb to brush away the stray tears. "So soft," he whispered as his fingers moved into her hair. When she didn't object, he captured her mouth in a series of kisses.

For a long time, they stood there, Grissom resting his forehead against hers. He softly caressed her face and neck, moving like a man who hardly dared to believe she allowed his touches. Another wind had buffeted them, and he finally pulled back.

"It's getting cold. Let me take you home," he had told her. They had barely spent a day apart since then.

"He never did answer me," Sara muttered softly to herself as she finished drying her hair. As she brushed out a few persistent tangles, she smiled at the memories since that night. He might never have answered her vocally, but he'd never once as much as raised his voice to her. Even at work, any critiques on her work were offered as suggestions rather than criticisms.

But that's his way. He's more likely to tell me through his actions than with a direct response.

So what does that mean now? He says he's okay, but he is so tense. That much stress can't be healthy. Maybe I can talk him into taking a few days off once things settle down some. He mentioned something about a new roller coaster. Damn, where was it? I'll research it tomorrow. The rest will do him good.

Turning off the bathroom light, she headed towards her bed. Sliding under the covers, she was surprised when Grissom wrapped himself around her.

"Hey," she said softly. "You should be asleep."

"You weren't here," he murmured groggily.

"I'm here now. I'm not going anywhere."

"Uh, huh."

"Go back to sleep. You need to rest," she whispered.

"I'm okay," he mumbled between yawns, quickly falling back to sleep.

Too worried to sleep, Sara shifted slightly so she held him close to her, stroking his face with her fingers. He'd never allow her to comfort him so directly if he was awake, but the action helped to calm her. Laying in the dark, she listened to his breathing, gradually starting to drift off herself when he became restless again. Letting out a sad sigh, she kissed his ruffled mop of curls.

"You wouldn't tell me if something was wrong, would you?"

A/N II: The tofu-brains conversation is loosely based on a cut scene from Season Six that someone in the know was kind enough to share with me.

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