Unbearable: Epilogue

"The first way to lose your state is to neglect the art of war; the first way to win a state is to be skilled in the art of war." Machiavelli, The Prince

The air in the break room was arctic. If Grissom hadn't known better, he'd have sworn someone left the cap off the liquid nitrogen. The look in Sara's eyes was that cold.

Clearly, she'd heard about his dinner with Sofia.

It was inevitable, he knew, and her reaction had been anticipated when he'd first issued the invitation. Well, perhaps not the true depth of her reaction. If her rigid posture was any indication she'd bypassed anger and elevated herself onto another plane of emotional existence. One that most likely included his eviscerated body and a bathtub full of acid.

"Hello," he offered in a normal tone as he blithely wandered over to the counter. He didn't dare make eye contact again. Instead, he busied himself with the business of pouring coffee. When the mug was in his hand he turned and faced her.

She was seated on the sofa, holding her own mug to her lips with both hands. Her skin positively glowed. Heightened emotion always had that effect on her, he mused. There was a fine line between fury and arousal and she walked it well. Too well, if his rapid heartbeat was any indication.

Even as he'd known this conversation was inevitable, he still dreaded it. The only saving grace was that they were alone. And at the office, which meant she couldn't go too ballistic. Then again, this was Sara, and location had never been a deterrent to her outbursts before. He eyed her warily.

"How was your dinner" She finally offered, her voice surprisingly mellow.

He wondered absently if she was drinking something other than coffee, then immediately disregarded the thought. That wasn't her problem. "Fine. Yours?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I take it we aren't going to talk about this?"

"Talk about what?"

"Don't be deliberately obtuse. It's insulting."

He sighed. "No, Sara, we aren't. Not yet." She took a deep breath, the kind that always preceded some form of rant. He raised his hand like a traffic officer at an intersection and cut her off. "I need to ask you a favor."

Irritation morphed into intrigue. "Really?" Her head tilted to one side and she regarded him curiously.

"Really."

She set her cup on the table in front of her, leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. Her gaze was direct, fearless and mildly contemptuous. "Well, ask away. You've got my full attention."

He peered down the hall to make sure that no one was within earshot. Then he turned his full attention back to Sara. "I need you… to trust me."

It was a simple statement, but a monumental request. Especially for someone like Sara who had been burned by him both personally and professionally in the past. As he watched her assimilate his words, he could only hope that the bond they'd forged during her suspension would be strong enough to sustain the request. She could not know just how much was riding on her response.

Sara leaned forward, grabbed her mug off the table, and swirled the contents. She was clearly lost in her own thoughts – and content to ignore Grissom for the moment.

He could only watch, and wait. Sara was a variable that could not be predicted and most definitely could not be controlled.

Silence stretched between them. The air seemed heavy, claustrophobic, potent.

After several minutes her restless hands released the coffee mug and put it back on the table. She looked up and gave him the kind of hyper-intelligent scrutiny that she usually reserved for evidence. Her eyes squinted slightly. Her lips compressed.

She stood and calmly walked over to stand in front of him. Brown eyes met blue, each searching, contemplating. He wondered what she was looking for, and if she would find it in him. He prayed that she would.

Her hand reached out and firmly clasped his. At first he was shocked by the contact, but soon he found himself compelled to squeeze back. Energy pulsed between them. Breathing became erratic, shallow. His pulse jumped, his blood tingled. He could feel his pupils dilate. Still, he held her gaze. He could not look away. He was falling, falling, and he just didn't care.

She watched his reaction, smiled, and then she acquiesced. "Okay."

Grissom closed his eyes in relief. He leaned back against the counter for support, still squeezing the hand that held his. Could it really be this simple?

"Thank you," he offered quietly.

"You've earned it." The shock he was feeling must have registered on his face, because she offered an explanation. "Do you remember when you came to pick me up after the DUI?"

"Of course."

"You held my hand. I think it was the first time you'd ever reached out… " her voice trailed off a bit, then strengthened "…Your touch was so tentative, you were like a blind man familiarizing yourself with a new room…"

Her analogy was so accurate he couldn't help but smile.

"…And then last week, at my apartment, you held my hand again." Her voice gained confidence as she continued. "It was different. You were different." She looked down at their joined hands, and then back up to his face. "Now…Today… We are different."

He burned. It was the only word to describe the raw emotion pulsing through him at that moment. What he felt for her. What she appeared to feel for him. It burned white hot. But it was too soon to act. Too soon to yield. There was still too much at stake.

"Sara…"

"Shhhhh. I told you before… It's okay. I don't pretend to know what is going on with you right now, but I'm content to wait until you can tell me."

The sigh that escaped him was audible. If they'd been anywhere other than the office he'd have taken her hand and gently bussed it. Then he'd have turned it over and given the same treatment to her palm and the quiet pulse at her wrist. Instead he contented himself with a soul kiss. His eyes traced her face, lingering on her generous lips, her defiant chin, the smooth planes of her forehead. And finally, on her rich chocolate eyes.

His CSI shivered under his measured perusal. "Understand something. If you betray me. If you betray…" her free hand gestured between them "…this, then whatever we are is finished." The new and improved Sara was talking. "If you yank my chain again I will leave Las Vegas."

"Understood."

At the sound of footsteps their hands snapped apart. Sara stepped back. Grissom pivoted and dropped his cup in the sink.

"There you are." Sofia breezed into the room, oblivious to the tension.

Well, perhaps not totally oblivious, Grissom thought. He couldn't help but notice that the blonde's gaze lingered longer than usual on Sara. An unspoken question hung in the air.

Sara smiled sweetly. "Well, I guess that's my cue to leave." She turned toward Grissom. "If you need me, I'll be in Trace."

He nodded.

"I hope you're not leaving on my account." Sofia offered innocently.

Sara ignored her and kept moving. Grissom's hearing still gave him trouble from time to time, but be could have sworn she muttered "Don't flatter yourself" as she exited the room. He suppressed a grin and turned toward the newest member of his team.

Fin