Handing the young man his ticket, Grissom claimed his preferred seat at the back of the roller coaster. Tonight he traveled to the Stratosphere Hotel, hoping the famous High Roller would provide him with his much needed respite from the lab. As the world's highest roller coaster at 909 feet, the High Roller promised exhilaration, amusement, and a false sense of danger. For Grissom, it promised much more.

As the cushioned metal descended on his chest, he felt comforted by the clasping noise that signaled the safety device was secure. Grissom closed his eyes as the ride began its ascent, each click of the track increasing the anticipation of the drop that was to come. Grissom enjoyed this feeling, experiencing anxiety and fear without all of the circumstances that warranted these feelings. Here he could feel without consequences.

As the ride neared the top of its first peak, Grissom allowed emotions to take him over: anger, guilt, shame, love, fear –everything that he couldn't feel or express anywhere else.

Nick had been kidnapped, trapped in a box, thinking he would die. Everything had changed. He had changed. After years of calm reserve and avoiding all emotional attachment to his team, he had cracked. A case had affected him.

Anger. Nick could have been killed, and Grissom didn't know who else was responsible for his kidnapping. He was at a dead end.

Guilt. He could have prevented this. He didn't try hard enough; he didn't work hard enough. Nick could have died.

Shame. He was a seasoned CSI, trained to separate his emotions from the job. Grissom was a rock; he couldn't be affected. Or, at least, he thought so.

Love. When did he begin thinking of Nicky as a son? How could he be so unprofessional?

Fear. The team -his family-they were all afraid. Grissom was supposed to support them, and be the one who held them all together. But he had been afraid as well. What good was he if he couldn't hold his team together?

Just as he felt as though he would be overwhelmed by these emotions the coaster made its rapid descent, his body trying to make a getaway from his feelings in a metal cart traveling 35mph. It was only these times, in the air, that Grissom allowed himself the luxury of uncontrolled feeling.

"I wish I was like you, Grissom. I wish I didn't feel anything."

The words replayed themselves over and over in his head, and Grissom couldn't help wondering how a statement could be so true and yet so false at the same time.

Tonight was different. Normally Grissom could come here and rebalance himself. Normally this ritual rejuvenated him. Tonight, however, he could not find refuge in his normal hiding place; he could not erase the emotions that had plagued him over the last few days. He left the hotel feeling unsettled and dissatisfied. What do you do when your distractions fail you?

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Knocking lightly on the door, Grissom felt as though he was again at the apogee of the roller coaster, only now without a safety net. He took in a quick breath and wiped the sweat from his brow, knowing unconsciously that anything he did would be unlikely to disguise his nervousness.

The door opened, exposing a concerned Sara Sidle, holding a magazine in one hand and a TV remote in the other.

"Griss, what's wrong? Is Nick ok?"

Grissom immediately felt guilty. "Oh, sorry, yes, Nick is fine. I . ." his words trailed off. Grissom stood in her doorway, the heat rising in his neck and face as the silence became more awkward and pronounced.

"Are you all right?" Sara opened the door and gestured for him to come inside, her fear turning to curiosity.

He walked into her apartment cautiously. "I don't know." He stood with his back to her, afraid of what the look on his face might betray. He could feel her stare, could picture her look of concern as she tried to figure out what might bring him to her apartment at such a late hour.

Sara approached him, touched his arm lightly, and led him to her couch. She sat beside him and waited patiently as Grissom collected his thoughts. He appeared disoriented and unsure of himself, a state she rarely saw him in. His eyes looked tired, his hair disheveled, and although it was barely perceptible, he was shaking. He did not meet her gaze as he spoke, just looked at his hands as if they contained the words he was desperately searching for.

"Forensics is my life, Sara. Has always been my life. The decisions I made, the path that I chose, everything has been about the job. I dedicated close to thirty years of my life to my work. It defines me. I thought that it was enough – it has been enough. But now . . ." Grissom stopped abruptly, mustering the courage to look at her. "I don't know what to do, Sara. I feel like I don't have control of my life anymore."

He felt helpless. What was he hoping for? What did he want her to say? He couldn't remember why he had come here, but it suddenly seemed like a very bad idea. He got up to leave.

"I'm sorry, Sara. I shouldn't have come here and intruded. I'll . . ."

Sara reached for his hand, and pulled him gently back down to the couch. "Griss, you have been a good friend to me over the last few months. You have helped me start to come to terms with my past. You have let me confide in you and trust you with things I never thought I would share with anyone. Please, let me return the favor. Please trust me. I want to be there for you."

Grissom couldn't help but warm to Sara's touch. He felt awkward and unsure of himself, but suddenly much more comfortable. Grissom had never thought of himself as someone who needed reassurance, but Sara's words had made him more confident, and he felt as though he could trust her with anything.

"Okay, Sara." He rubbed his left palm against his beard unconsciously, while his right hand remained in Sara's grasp. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I . . . I feel like I can't do my job anymore." There. He had said it.

She looked at him questioningly. "How so?"

"I can't separate my feelings from the work. I have lost my objectivity." He looked into her brown eyes nervously, searching for signs of disappointment. Would she think less of him? Would she be disappointed that he wasn't the man she thought he was? Unable to read her facial expression, he continued. "Nick was taken, and all I could think about was if I would ever see him alive again. I thought about what it would mean for all of us if we didn't find him in time. I wasn't thinking about the evidence, Sara! I was thinking about the loss, the consequences if we didn't find him in time. I couldn't separate my emotions from the case, and Nick could have died because of it! I put him in unnecessary danger." Grissom slid his hand out of Sara's grasp and began massaging his temples with his fingers.

"Grissom, you're forgetting something."

"What?"

"You're human. You're allowed to feel – you're supposed to feel. There's nothing wrong with that." Sara took a deep breath. "You don't have to bury your feelings to be a good CSI or a supervisor. Nick's alive, Grissom. We found him. We were all scared, we were all thinking about what would happen if we didn't get him back. Even with all of this fear we did our jobs and we brought him home."

"Sara, I . . ."

Sara interrupted. "You're not upset just because you think you can't do your job. There's more to it than that."

Grissom was startled. "Excuse me?"

"You're upset because you have feelings about the people around you, and you are angry at yourself for letting it happen."

Grissom was silent as he took in her words. He was angry. She was right. He had let his guard down. He had let this happen. He hadn't been strong enough to keep his feelings at bay. Coming to her apartment tonight was further evidence of that fact. What was he doing here? He shouldn't have become attached to his team, and he certainly should not be in Sara's apartment.

He knew he was attracted to her, but he could rationalize that as simple biology. But being in her apartment, confiding in her, being comforted by her, that was filling an emotional need, not a biological one. He had feelings for her, and yet instead of keeping his distance like usual, he was in her apartment holding her hand. He needed to get out of there.

"I've got to go, Sara."

"Grissom wait . . ."

He ignored her plea and strode across the apartment quickly, reaching for the door handle.

"Griss, why did you come here?"

He stopped. Sara took this opportunity to approach him. She took his hand and turned him around to face her.

"Why did you come here?" She looked deep into his blue eyes, noting her determined reflection.

Standing so close to her, inhaling her perfume, Grissom didn't know what to say. Instead he just stared at her, his eyes memorizing every part of her face. The natural blush of her cheeks, the softness of her skin, the fullness of her lips: they all mesmerized him. He had been feeling on edge the whole evening, knowing he wasn't fully in control of himself. Now was no exception. Almost unconsciously Grissom brought his hand to Sara's face and began tracing her lips with his index finger.

"Griss . . ."

He continued his explorations. He cupped her face in his hand, and gently stroked her cheek with his thumb, enjoying the satin feel of her flesh under his fingers.

"Sara, your skin is so soft." He leaned his face in closer to hers. As he approached her lips with his own, he felt her hand on his chest.

"Grissom, I don't want to do this."

TBC