A/N: Thanks so much for the incredible response to my first theory on Sara's homecoming! I hope you enjoy this one as much.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

I don't own CSI.

Theory Two: The Shock

It had been an awful day.

After spending four days searching for a missing toddler, Grissom had been the one to find her abused, broken body. Dumped in a riverbed, he knew that far more damage had been done to that little girl than the river could have hoped to cause. After the longest interrogation he had been a part of in years, he and Jim had managed to force a confession from the little girl's father.

Brass had been just as horrified as Grissom by the father's calm, detached description of the methodical way he had killed his daughter. It was, therefore, no surprise when the detective appeared in Grissom's office doorway holding a bottle of scotch and two glasses.

"I thought we should relax before we headed home," he said, walking into the dim room.

"Yeah," Grissom replied, sitting back in his chair and taking off his glasses, "good idea."

Jim sat down across from him and poured each of them a glass of scotch. "You know, there are days when I really hate this job."

"I know," Grissom said. "Me, too."

Jim raised his glass. "Here's to one less child abuser on the streets."

Grissom chinked his glass against Jim's. "I just wish we could have stopped him sooner."

"How were we to know?" Brass sighed. "Her mother was covering up for him. They hid the truth. They lied to doctors, who didn't have the proof to refute what they said. Callie was too little to speak for herself. She wasn't old enough to go to school, so there were no teachers to notice what was happening and report it." He sipped his drink. "The system can't save everyone."

Grissom shook his head. "Sometimes, I think we need a better system."

"We do," Jim agreed. "But, for now, we have to live with the imperfection. Think of where we'd be without it."

Grissom shivered. "It's so much harder with children," he said slowly. "They're so innocent. To have that innocence taken away like that …"

Brass nodded. "No one deserves to die the way she did, least of all a baby." He exhaled. "This is the sort of case that makes me question why I do this at all."

Grissom scrubbed his hands over his face. "A couple years ago, I gave a tour of the lab to a group of high school seniors. They were all planning to major in forensics in college. After spending a day here, particularly in the morgue, about half of them changed their minds."

Brass smiled. "I could see that."

Grissom gave him a faint smile. "At the end of the tour, one of them asked me why I do this." He shook his head. "On days like this, I think of that moment. Of that eighteen-year-old asking me why I'd dedicate my life to pulling apart dead bodies, picking up the tiniest of fibers and studying pictures of horrific events. And then, I remember what I told those kids: I do this because the dead can't speak for themselves. Callie couldn't speak for herself when she was alive, and even less so now that she's dead. She needed us to be her voice. She needed us to realize that her father didn't deserve to have children. She needed us … and, we were there for her."

Brass raised his glass in acknowledgement of Grissom's words and drained it. "It's what brings us back day after day."

"It is," Grissom agreed.

"So, we should be congratulating each other on a job well done?"

"Let's not go too far," Grissom said with a slight smile. "But, I suppose we should be glad that we were here when someone needed us."

"And, we'll be here tomorrow for the people that need us then," Brass said.

Grissom nodded. "Where else would we be?"

Jim stood up, collecting his scotch and glasses. "If we're going to do that, we'd better get home and get some rest."

"Yeah," Grissom acknowledged. "I could certainly do with the rest."

Brass nodded and looked down at his still-seated friend. "Don't dwell on this," he cautioned. "Let it go."

Grissom nodded, his eyes suddenly very tired. "You, too."

"I will," Brass promised. He smiled slightly. "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," Grissom echoed.

Jim left the office and Grissom sighed. He rubbed his eyes, allowing himself one last moment of weakness. Then, he methodically packed away his things. It was time to leave his office. It was time to go home.

His street looked quiet when Grissom arrived. It was late enough in the morning that his neighbors were either at work or taking their children to preschool. Thinking that the quiet provided the prefect backdrop for his rather introspective mood, he walked slowly to the front door and pushed it open.

As usual, Hank ran to meet him with a wagging tail and booming bark. However, for once, Grissom barely noticed him. He was far too distracted by the smell that clung to the air. He stood stock-still, breathing deeply.

"Sara's perfume," he whispered.

Because of their job, Sara rarely wore perfume. She only wore it when they were alone together, away from the lab and crime scenes and work. It was a smell that he associated with happiness, with calm, with … love. He hadn't smelled it since before she had left in November. Why, then, could he suddenly smell it in his house again, after the many long months of her absence?

"Hi."

Grissom's head snapped around and his mouth fell open. There she was. His Sara, standing in his living room, twisting her hands in front of her, smiling almost uncertainly, and looking more beautiful than he had ever seen her.

"Sara." The one word came out in a strangled whisper as he slowly came back to his senses.

"Gil," she whispered. Although she had been the one to come to him, she looked as though she had no idea what to do or what to say.

Unable to formulate simple words, let alone sentences, Grissom closed the distance between them and grabbed her into a bone-crushing hug. Sara hugged him back, clinging to him almost desperately.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry I didn't warn you that I'd be here. I wanted to call. I wanted to tell you that I was coming home. But …"

Grissom pulled back enough to look at her. After staring into her eyes for a long moment, he lowered his lips to hers in the gentlest, yet most sensuous kiss they had ever shared.

After breaking the kiss, Grissom looked deeply into her eyes again. Sara kept her eyes locked with his, watching confusion, shadows and fear cross his face.

"Gil?" she whispered, running her fingers over his cheek.

"You are … you're home, right?" he asked, his voice shaking slightly.

Sara smiled. "Yes," she said firmly. "I'm home."

Relief and happiness washed over him in a wave of dizzying love. Sighing with contentment, Grissom pulled her into another kiss.

It had been a wonderful day.