Disclaimer: I don't own CSI. Just a humble fan and writer.

A/N: This is the first "fic" I wrote for the CSI fandom. Lady Heather/Grissom. If you don't like this coupling you probably shouldn't read it. This is just a quick story presumably set after Lady Heather's Box when their relationship was still fragile.

Ficlet 01: Reconnecting

After many weeks, even months, he willed himself to go see her. He had so much he wanted to tell her. But as he stood at her door, he found himself at a loss for words. He couldn't back out, she already opened the door.

"Good afternoon." She answered with a politeness that seemed almost forced.
"Heather... I need to..." he was unsure of what to say.
What could he say? He was never at a loss for words around her before. But that was prior to the 'incident' where he ultimately accused her of murder, and lost her trust.
"Would you like to come in?" She spared him the difficulty of asking to be let in.

"I'm sorry... about everything -- your daughter," it was the first thing that he could think of, and he cursed himself for it.
"You told me that before. It's alright," she answered in an almost emotion-less tone. Grissom couldn't help but wince.

Lady Heather led him into the dining area, he noted the different artifacts that once fascinated him; now they seemed to make a mockery out of the serious, tense moment he was sure would last forever.
She motioned for him to sit down, and brought out some tea.
'That was quick.' he thought. Was she expecting someone? Was she expecting him? He tried to think of what to say, and looked around. His eyes landing on a small, ceramic pot.
"Hmm... Ming dynasty?" Grissom was not good at confronting things head on.
"Xian dynasty," she corrected him, "you can tell by the glaze. But you're not here to talk about pottery. Why are you here?"

It was now or never.

He cleared his throat, and spoke as honestly as he could; "I wanted to tell you that I... enjoyed your company. And we had something... something I didn't want to lose. I don't want anything between us to be ruined because of me."
She nodded at him; her eyes seemed to pierce his very soul. He waited as she took a sip of her tea. She seemed to weigh what he said, verifying his sincerity.
"I understand."
Grissom let out a small breath he didn't know he was holding.
"But I want you to know," she spoke in a calm, quiet voice. Almost a whisper. "I'm not ready for any kind of relationship--"
Grissom tried to reassure her, "Of course, neither am I."
She gave him a look as she continued, "--yet. I am not ready, yet. My heart won't let me... but someday, I may want something more than your friendship."
Grissom gave her a rare smile, one of promise and understanding, "I know. I stand by what I said. I'll wait for you."

She smiled, it was brief, and he almost thought he imagined it. Perhaps there was hope for the two after all. They, drank their tea in silence, just enjoying each other's company.

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