Then
In a darkened stairwell somewhere between here and there, Sara stumbled across a tear-stained and shaking semblance of her boss.
Elbow to elbow, hip to hip with his biggest regret, Grissom wept. Wept for the way things were, the way things could be, the way things might never be again. For gun shot wounds, for his best friend, for his father, for his loneliness, and for the love of his life whose fingers twined with his and whose eyes reflected his own sorrow.
He hung his head as she squeezed his hand and offered to take him home.
Now
His lips were on her neck before her tired shoulders had time to hit the hard wood of his front door.
She let her head fall back with a soft thud as his hot tongue traced its way slowly up the column of her throat, across her jaw and deep into her mouth. It was a licking, sucking, biting race to get closer, closer, closer, until they could envelop each other.
And in that moment, mumblings of explanation weren't necessary as Grissom held her close and kissed his way to redemption right there on the front stoop with all of Las Vegas as his witness.
Eventually
She takes a moment, a pause amongst so much chaos, to run her fingers across the ever-growing wrinkles under his eyes and remind him that itsokayitsokayitsokay before taking all of him inside her.
She rises up again, but the way his hands grab her ass tells her that he needs her closer – on him, in him, engulfing him.
The air is thick with whispered breaths of regret. Of forgiveness. Of harder, deeper, more. Just a few more thrusts, and she stills atop him, muscles clenching around him, and it's, oh god all too possible that she's in love with him.