(set after Butterflied)

She stared at him, sitting just behind the glass, weary and worn, and she thought twice about going into the room.

When she sat down, he finally looked up.

He put his head back down and rubbed his eyes.

"End of your third shift," she said calmly. "You must be wiped out."

Grissom nodded.

They sat in silence a minute longer, and then Gil rose to his feet.

"Why couldn't you do it?" Sara asked, turning to look at him.

He stopped walking and turned. "Do what?"

"I, uh…I heard what you said, about not being able to risk everything you've worked for…" She cleared her throat, "I was just wondering why you couldn't do it."

Gil sighed, raised his arms halfway, and shrugged. "Sara, I'm an old man." He shook his head. "All I have is my work."

Sara looked at him. He was tired and vulnerable, and although she'd hate herself for it later, she took advantage of it.

"What if you could have more than your work?" She swallowed. "What if you could have someone…to care about?"

Grissom stared at her, his blue eyes weary, his expression strained.

Sara put her head down then, fighting the urge to say what she'd really intended to.

It's me, isn't it? I'm the young, beautiful one you could really care about. Just say it, Grissom. Please.

"I care about my work," he said finally, and then he was gone.

Grissom saw her face in the mirror. In an instant he'd memorized every line of her face, every curve of her body, and he realized how stunning she was. He loved her---from almost that first day, so long ago, he'd loved her, but he refrained, pushed her away---he wanted nothing more than to hold her and tell her all the things he wanted to say, but still, he refrained. He ached each time he saw her, but just knowing that she was there was sufficient enough; it had been for years.

He saw her face in the mirror, in Debbie Marlin's place, and he shivered. My God, what would he do if he lost her? What would he do if he could no longer say the words to her, if only in his mind---in his heart?

He heard the knocking and woke up in a cold sweat. He stumbled out of bed and answered the door in a blur. When he opened it, clarity overwhelmed him.

"I know it's late, but---" Her voice trailed off when she looked at him. "Grissom, are you okay? You're drenched in sweat."

He opened the door wider and she stepped inside.

"Yeah…I, uh…bad dream," he managed finally, and sat down.

Sara blurted what had been on her mind before thinking it, and Grissom looked at her, a look of mixed surprise and relief on his face. Sara wondered which one was most viable.

He sat quiet a long time, and remembering the dream, finally said it.

"Yes."

Sara sighed. "But I don't understand," she said, sitting next to him, "why you won't let me in." She smoothed his wet hair back, her cool hand welcome on his hot forehead.

Grissom looked down. "You are in, Sara. Constantly." He sighed. "But I need to keep you just out of reach…" He glanced at her, "It's the only way I can have you without letting the fear---the consequences---consume me."

He thought a moment and then scoffed. "And yet they do consume me," he added, as if he were alone, free to speak his thoughts out loud, without anyone hearing them. "It's feeling the punishment without committing the sin."

Sara looked at him. She tried to steady her breathing, and finally, she shrugged. "Then commit the sin, Grissom."

"I can't," he said quickly.

"Why?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid of hurting you, of losing you…of losing myself. But most of all, of your judgment of me, Sara." He looked at her and continued, "You see me as more than what I am. You see me, not only as a Supervisor, but…" His voice trailed off.

"In your mind, you've built me up to be something that I could never be," he said then, and Sara put her head down.

"Grissom, I'm sorry you feel that way, but I think maybe it's you who's been judgmental here." She sighed. "I see you for what you are, the man that you are, and in truth, that's all I've ever wanted."

Sara stood up to leave and Grissom grabbed her wrist. When he saw that his hand had betrayed him, he gently let go. "I'm sorry…"

She knelt down beside him and took his face in her hands. Grissom saw the tears in her eyes, and then she kissed him.

He held her for a long time. He hadn't meant to be so rough with her---pinning her down and taking her quickly had been his most recurring fantasy, but not the one he'd wished to play out their first night together.

Sara was quiet, her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder as they sat on the floor together, and Grissom closed his eyes.

"Sara, I didn't mean for this to happen like this." He paused. "I don't know why I did---"

"Sssshhh," she whispered. She stood up and offered her hand to him. He took it and they walked into the bedroom.

It was cool in the room, almost sanitary cool, and Sara likened the temperature to that of a hospital ward. She tried to imagine what Grissom had been dreaming earlier, what would make him sweat so heavily here, but she stopped thinking it and pushed him lightly to lay on the bed.

Grissom stared at her as she climbed atop him, her pale skin smooth and porcelain-like, and he couldn't help but touch her. She kissed him softly and he felt that her lips were still swollen from the bites; he wished he'd been gentler.

Sara ran her neatly trimmed nails down Grissom's chest and he inhaled deeply; the things this woman could do to him came as little surprise: he'd dreamt of it for an eternity. He found himself completely and painfully erect again, and each movement of Sara's body atop his was almost too much. When she lowered herself onto him he cried out. "Saraaaaaa…"

She closed her eyes, relishing the sound of his voice as he called out her name, and moved slowly, steadily, until she, too, was at the point of release. She tried to slow down, to slow everything down---but when he said the words, she let go.

"God, how I love you, Sara…"

Sara stared at him, sitting just behind the glass, weary and worn, and she thought twice about going into the room. When Grissom stood, she decided against it and turned and walked away.

Grissom stepped out of the room, an image in his mind of Sara in Debbie's place. He stood in the doorway a moment, glanced down the hall, and saw Sara turn the corner.

He closed his eyes.