A/N: It's a little early still, but I don't think I'm going to have time to write much in the next few weeks – that said you know me and the bug might bite. So, have a merry Christmas everyone, those of you who celebrate!

Joyeux Noël à tous!

Seething with anger at her lack of trust and at the indignity of her accusations he climbed into his Mercedes, shoving the keys in the ignition, headed home. He was shattered and he'd had enough. But at the last moment he paused and didn't turn the key. He could feel the blood pulsing in his veins, his breaths coming thick and fast and he closed his eyes, dropping his forehead to the steering wheel as he attempted to calm his racing heart.

What the hell had just happened?

Sara's words still echoed in his mind, harsh and cold, her sad, broken face filling the space behind his eyelids. His heart broke at her pain but what else could he have done? He hated having walked out on her like that but had he not, he feared one of them would have said something they would have regretted and not been able to take back. Her wrongful accusations were borne out of her insecurities, he knew that, she'd been burned before, and bad but that knowledge didn't take away the hurt her words and beliefs caused.

She was angry and hurt, and judging by her words she felt threatened by Heather and his friendship with the Dominatrix. He could see that, and to a certain degree he understood that but she had been quick to condemn him, believing the lab's gossip without giving him the chance to explain and put across his side.

Surely she had to know that he would never, ever contemplate going with another woman when he was with her. Hadn't he made his commitment to her plain enough? How could she think he was having a relationship with Heather while they were seeing each other? When Heather had just lost her daughter? How could she believe he was capable of taking advantage of someone whilst at their lowest ebb?

But most importantly how could she believe after all that they'd been through together that he was capable of betraying her trust and act like all the other men that had hurt her in the past? Hadn't he proven to her recently that he was different?

He looked up toward the building and stared at her darkened window. His breathing gradually evened out, his anger slowly abating, making way to sorrow. Guilt followed. He wasn't all innocent in this; he knew that or the first words he'd have spoken to her wouldn't have been an apology. He wasn't sorry for going to Heather's help – if he had to do it again, he would, in the blink of an eye – but maybe he should have been upfront with Sara from the start and stopped to consider her feelings and how his actions would affect her and their relationship.

Not maybe, he thought with a long sigh and a heavy heart, definitely. His thoughtless actions had hurt Sara deeply and she was lashing out, protecting herself from further pain the only way she knew how and the last thing he wanted to do, consciously or not, was to be the cause of her misery. She's been through a lot in her life to be the person she was now and he admired for it, loved her for it.

And yet, he couldn't help wondering. Was she asking him to choose between his love for her and his friendship with Heather? Is that what the fight had been about? His eyes closed again, his head dropping forward, bouncing off the steering wheel a few times in frustration. Why was it all so damn difficult?

Heather was his friend. She was misunderstood, as he was. People only saw of her what she allowed them to see, a glimpse of the person underneath the Dominatrix's mask, the persona of Lady Heather. When he looked at her he saw the woman, with all her foibles and fears. He enjoyed her company, her intelligence and beautiful mind and over the last three years they had met socially a few times and had developed a relationship of sorts, a friendship based on deep respect and trust. She was the only woman who understood him without questions or explanations, or expectations. With her he felt no pressure to pretend or act, be someone he wasn't. He equated his relationship with Heather to that he had with Brass and Catherine, or even with Sara, before.

Maybe he was more suited to friendships, he reasoned. Romantic relationships were demanding, hard-work and truth be told they had always eluded him. Of course there had been women – special women – along the years but ultimately none that mattered enough for him to take the next step, for him to want to change his ways or make space in his life for another person. Not until Sara.

Sara. Smart, sharp, strong – headstrong some would say – beautiful, enchanting Sara. He let out a long breath. Infuriating too. Sara, with eyes so dark and expressive, in turn tender and loving or hard and hurt, hypnotising; her grin, a beautiful curve of her lips that entranced him and made him weak at the knees; her giggle, laughter that filled him with joy and warmth every single time. She was strong, yet fragile and vulnerable. A facet of her personality only he was privy to. She made his heart beat like no other woman could. She made him feel like no other woman could. Around her he felt young, alive, happy. Whole.

What a fool! he thought suddenly, laughing to himself in disbelief at what he'd just let happen. He had to go back to her and explain before it was too late, before he was too late. His eyes snapped open and his head lifting off the steering wheel he snatched the key out of the ignition. He had his hand on the door handle ready to pull it when the tapping of knuckles on the passenger window startled him. His head whipped round, dipping to see who was at the window and his heart leaped in his chest.

For there she stood, clutching her robe tightly around her, casting furtive looks around the car lot, his cell in her hand. He frowned, patting his jacket pocket with one hand, reaching across the car with the other to flick the lock. She opened the door, her expression shy and apologetic as she leaned in, and she held out his cell to him as she would an olive branch. Her shrug of the shoulder was uncertain and tentative, her smile even more so.

They both started to speak at once, immediately lapsing into silence to let the other one talk. Sara's eyes flicked downward bashfully.

"I was on my way back up," Grissom said quietly, breaking the awkwardness.

She glanced up at him, replying with a small lift of her shoulder, "And I came down."

They watched each other for a moment, smiling uneasily at the situation and he took in a deep breath, making the first move. "Listen, Sara, I'm sorry."

She looked down to her hand, lifting the cell to him. "I found it on the couch," she said in a small voice. "She called. I thought it might be important. I didn't listen to the message." She shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes.

A brow rising, he nodded and reached for the phone, keeping his eyes on her face as he did so. Her pain was still raw and visible and he realised that if he wanted to save his relationship with her he'd have to be honest and open about his relationship with Heather. His fingers brushed over her hand, slowly, lovingly, and she looked up, shyly meeting his gaze, and he smiled tenderly at her. He just wanted to make everything okay again, see the sparkle in her eyes and hear her laughter, hold her in his arms. Make love to her.

She tried to pull her hand away but he held on to it, briefly averting his eyes to their joined hands. He made no attempt at taking the cell off her. He just turned both her hand and the phone over, squeezing warmly before looking up as he said, "I want you to."

She frowned in confusion and he lifted his shoulder in a shrug. "I want you to listen to the message."

Her brow furrowed deeper. "But you don't know what it says."

"It doesn't matter, Sara. It won't say anything that you can't hear. I've nothing to hide, not from you."

She stared at him for a moment searching his eyes. Seeing nothing but truth and love there she shook her head, quickly removing her hand so he was left holding the phone. "I don't want to. I don't need to. I trust you," she said, in a low whisper. She held his gaze, her lips curling into a small embarrassed smile. "Or at least I want to. I really do."

Relief washed over his face. "You do?" he asked. There was no antagonism in his tone, just surprise and he smiled, watching her tenderly, simply desperate to believe her words.

She nodded softly, and her gaze flicking to a car pulling into the car lot pulled the lapels of her robe closer to her neck. She frowned. "It's just…"

Dropping the phone on the dashboard he leaned across to push the door open wider. "Get in," he said, "before someone sees you and calls the police."

With one last furtive look around the lot she slipped inside the car, pulling the door shut after her. Only then did he notice that the robe she'd hastily donned over her pyjama shorts and tank top was the one he'd given her as a gift for her last birthday, the first one as a couple. He'd spent ages choosing it, wondering whether it was appropriate, whether she'd like it, eventually putting his faith in the shop assistant when she'd categorically said, "Your lady friend will absolutely love it." She had been right, of course. His eyes skimmed down her bare legs to the work boots she'd put on over her bare feet, and a grin he tried really hard to keep in broke across his face.

Catching his eye Sara pursed her face, saying, "I kind of was in a hurry so this was the best I could do."

His heart filled with unconditional love for her. "Oh, sweetheart, you don't have to compete with Heather. I love you. I love you just the way you are. Works boots and all."

"You do?"

His face fell at the quiver in her voice and he made to reach out to her but she turned her face away from him and he didn't, snatching his hand back hesitantly instead. "Of course I do. Oh, Sara," he began earnestly, "I behaved like a single man. Like a jerk." He let out a small breath. "When I realised what Heather was doing I didn't stop to think. I acted on instinct and my instinct told me that I had to go and stop her, above everything else. There was no time and everything else faded in the background." He looked at her beseechingly. "I'm sorry I didn't-"

She leaned across, placing two slender fingers over his lips, stopping his apology. "No. I'm sorry. You acted with…" she swallowed, "Lady -"

"Heather," he amended softly. "She's just a normal person, Sara, like you and me. She's not this effigy, this-"

"Heather," she corrected with a conciliatory nod, cutting in when the words failed him. She dropped her hand to his chest. "You acted with her the way I would have acted with any of my friends. Had it been Nick or Warrick or Greg in her situation, I'd have done the same thing." She averted her gaze to his lap. "I get that but-"

He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Thank you."

"But," she let out a short breath, stopping short, meeting his eyes with anxious ones of her own, "you should have been upfront about it. Not make it a secret, make it dirty the way you did."

He pinched his lips together, shifting on the seat until he faced her before finally nodding at her with a sigh. "You're right I should have. I should have let you know. You shouldn't have to have heard it from Jim. And for that I am truly sorry." He raised her hand to his mouth again and pressed a soft kiss to it. "I'm only just getting used to thinking in terms of us and…Sara, up to now, up to a few months ago, it was just me. My decisions were mine and mine alone, and so were the consequences."

"And now?" she prompted quietly.

He shrugged. "Now, I've let you into my life, into my heart. It's not just me anymore and last night I forgot that." He paused and watched her intently, wanting her to see the sincerity of his words in his eyes. "But Sara, honey, you have nothing to fear. I-I'm with you. I chose you, not Heather. It's you I come home to every day." He shrugged at the plainness of his words. "In my heart, I've been yours since we met." His lips pursed into a small awkward smile, unused as he was to such bare declaration of love.

Tears filled Sara's eyes and she bit her bottom lip, blinking them away. She squeezed his hands tight. "I know. I know that. It's just that she…" she shrugged helplessly the rest of her sentence off, her feelings of inadequacies and intimidation toward the Dominatrix plain to see. A feeling he could only equate to shame flashed in her eyes and she looked away.

He sighed and lifted gentle fingers to her cheek, turning her face toward him until his eyes bore into hers earnestly. "She doesn't have my heart, Sara. She's just my friend, nothing more. Like Jim or Catherine is. You see the Dominatrix and I see the woman." She dropped her eyes from his and he sighed. How could he make her see past her insecurities? "There is nothing sordid going on between us, Sara. There's never been and there will never be either."

She met his gaze steadily. "But you slept with her."

He swallowed. Trust her and she will trust you, a little voice whispered behind his ear. "Not last night, no," he replied levelly.

"But you have in the past."

He dropped his gaze to the steering wheel, nodding. "Once, three years ago," he sighed before lifting his eyes back up to her face. "But it was before you and me, Sara. You were with that…EMT guy and," he let out another short breath, "it happened once and it didn't mean anything. She's no threat to you, to us, I swear."

Calm, Sara stared into his eyes for a long time before giving a slow accepting nod of the head. She lifted her hand to his face and brushed her fingers gently down his bearded cheek. "It's okay, Gil," she said in a murmur keeping her hand on his cheek and he closed his eyes leaning into her touch. "It's okay to tell me. It means a lot to me that you trust me enough to share that with me. Trust works both ways."

He blinked suddenly and wiped at the corner of his right eye. "I know."

"You know about my past, and I want to know about yours," she continued in a soft voice.

"I get that now."

"And honestly I would rather know than wonder or hear it second-hand. The gossip I can deal with as long as I know in my heart it's not true."

Grissom's cell suddenly beeped with a text message and he glanced at the lit-up display. "Heather," he said, looking at Sara before turning the phone off. "Honey, when I disappear, when I need a breather I don't go to Heather's or to anyone else's for that matter." He smiled, shrugging. "I ride coasters. I go play cards. You know that; that's what I do, that's who I am."

A soft smile touched her lips and she nodded. "I know and I don't want you to change."

He leaned over and cupped her face, brushing his lips to the corner of her mouth. "I can cope with Brass's snide looks and remarks. I can cope with everybody else's innuendos, I just shut them out, but Sara I can't cope with us fighting like that – and I don't want to have to either." He stared at her for a long time before adding, "I made a commitment to you, Sara and no one else, and that's not going to change. You know I'm no good at all that romantic stuff and that I'm better at being a friend than a lover but with you I want both. I have both."

"We do."

His face suddenly lit up with a revelation and he grinned at her with renewed fervour.

"What?" she drew out, her face pursing in mock-distrust.

"Move in with me," he said with a twist of his lips.

This time, a short, stunned, "What?"

He shrugged, the smug grin playing on his lips giddy with uncontained delight. "Move in with me."

"I don't know," she replied, looking away.

"I do," he said simply, watching her expectantly. He took both her hands in his, waiting until she returned his gaze to continue. "Sara," his mouth stayed open while he searched for the right words, "I'm a man. I'm not perfect. Far from it. I'm no good at a lot of things but I want to make this work. I want to make us work. Please, at least think about it."

Sara watched him intently for a long time, visibly debating with herself. Eventually a wide smile broke across her face and she nodded her acceptance, slowly at first and then more vigorously. Laughing, she shuffled on the seat and over the middle console while he shifted toward her until they were only a breath apart from each other. She took his face in her hands, leaning across to kiss him softly on the lips.

"Yes," she whispered, "I'd love to."

Her lips parted, pressing harder onto his mouth, her kiss becoming more urgent and Grissom's eyes closed at the rush of relief and love suddenly surging through him. The feel of her tongue caressing his lips soon awoke his senses and his mouth yielded, a soft moan of pleasure escaping at her onslaught. His hands came up to her face, to the back of her head, to her throat and he returned the kiss with passion, his tongue darting out seeking and meeting hers ardently.

Panting, he pulled back from her. Her eyes were shining, her face glowing with happiness and he pressed a quick kiss to her mouth. "Now, can we go to bed?" he laughed. "I'm beat."

Sara's cocked eyebrow was teasing, her ensuing giggle warm and loving. "Yours or mine?"

"Does it matter?"

The End.

A/N: I've just realised, of all the stories I've written about these two, even the angsty ones, this is the first one I write where they have a fight, if you can call the end of the last chapter that. I hope Grissom made up for his insensitivity and lack of communication toward Sara in this chapter. That said, we all know he will do it again, don't we?