A/N: Thanks to all who are reading and reviewing! Taking off for a day at the beach, so enjoy this chapter! And YES, rating will change shortly!

I'll Take You Home Chapter 4

…Faint light filtered around room darkening blinds when Sara stirred and opened confused eyes. She wasn't in her bed was her first thought before she remembered in a sudden flash-everything. She turned her head for the source of warmth and found him—Grissom asleep beside her—feet touching but separated by covers, his hand rested on her abdomen, which was well covered and padded by four layers of fabric, his forehead touched her shoulder. She smiled a sleepy grin; he had not slept on the sofa after all and she dared not moved as long as he slept. She smiled again; he snored—lightly, reassuring little noises that she heard sometime during the night, but sleeping on his side, his breathing was quiet, deep, and restful.

Because she was warm, because with a turn of her head she could observe tiny details of his face and hair, because this would not happen again, she wanted time to stand still. She could carry this memory with her—the fragrance of his clothes, the smell of his hair so near her nose when she woke, the feel of the weight of his hand on her belly—when he insisted they remain "friends". She blinked rapidly, shutting back tears at the thought of being friends instead of lovers. She mentally recited "I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry," until her tears dried.

Turning her face so her nose lay in his hair, she closed her eyes…

In the first seconds of waking, Grissom remembered he was not alone. A firm body, warm and breathing, lay underneath his hand while her hand rested atop his. He felt her face against his hair, soft breaths moving across his head. His feet—his feet were separated from hers by bedcovers but their feet were nested together in a familiar, comforting way; his bent knee rested on her leg. And it all felt—not weird or odd at all, but right—as life should feel, as waking up in bed with a woman one loves is supposed to be.

Conflict and confusion collided with his senses and in his brain as he realized what he was thinking. He had a sudden vision of his future—a split screen of his life—one with Sara and one without her. One as her friend and supervisor; the other as his lover, his companion, and mate. His insides turned icy at the thought of eating alone, of watching a movie—alone, of waking every day for the rest of his life without her. And the other image was one of laughter and talking, eating and sharing everything with Sara. An epiphany, he thought, a leap from denial to one of acceptance. What he had been avoiding for months seemed to rise in front of his face in high definition—he could have one or the other—and without Sara in his life, in his home, it would be extremely bleak.

The truth of his situation came into focus as quickly as his wakeful state. He had always admitted an attraction to Sara—he admired her intelligence. He found conversation with her exciting, challenging, and intensely pleasurable—more than any person he was around. And her laugh—this was ridiculous, he thought. He was adding up the assets of this woman as a miserly accountant. For several minutes, he watched the play of light and shadows dance across the room as the sun brightened the room.

"You love her," he whispered the words quietly to himself so he could hear them. His life would never be the same after months—no, it had been years—of denying his feelings. He had attempted to cure himself of her by spending time with other women, by burying himself in work, by avoiding her, by working shift after shift with her, all for nothing.

He wanted her. The sharpness of his desire caused his breath to catch in his chest. Her presence in his house had given him a taste of what would happen every day—eating together, cleaning the kitchen, even in the bathroom. He grinned at the thought—the shower could get interesting.

For one of the few times in his life, Gilbert Grissom made a decision without long consideration and methodical planning. Later, he would realize his entire life had been arriving at this point—at least since a seminar in San Francisco—but this morning he really thought he made a quick decision. And without pause, he wiggled his feet against Sara's. He raised his head, bent his arm to rest his head in a hand, and began to move his thumb along his sleeping companion's abdomen. He wanted her to wake with a smile, to know his touch as a caress, as caring, as a new beginning. He was no longer satisfied with being her friend; that idea was one of the stupidest things he had done in years.

The response of his body surprised him—as a man he often woke with an erection, but this morning, something else was happening as his hand touched Sara. There was a new sensation which he quickly realized as desire. He rolled to his stomach—he did not want Sara to see his aroused body—not yet, not this morning. He might be making a quick decision, but he wanted to plan—he wanted the two of them to make plans—together.

Within minutes, Sara opened her eyes. Her head came off the pillow in sudden surprise as she realized the close proximity of Grissom's face, his hand moving gently along her abdomen.

"Is something wrong?" She whispered.

Grissom chuckled, "no."

Her forehead wrinkled, her hand touched his. "Oh."

He held his breath, wondering what she would do. Slowly, her mouth curved in a smile.

"You didn't sleep on the sofa."

Whatever he expected, it was not this comment. "No, no, I didn't. I slept with you."

He had to force himself to respond with a composed voice. Powerful desire threatened to consume every other sensation—he would control himself, he vowed. He knew he had flirted then ignored her, disregarded her emotions, pushed aside her invitations for years and he had no doubt she would think this sudden change on his part was—he didn't know what she would think.

"Sara, we need to talk."

She stirred, a frown puckering her face; the smile disappeared.

"Not about last night," he hurried to add. His hand caught hers before she could move it to her face. He laced fingers between hers and brought it to his lips, gently kissing a knuckle.

He kept his eyes on their intertwined hands. "I've been—I want us to start over, Sara." His eyes remained on their hands—her fingers, long, slim, delicate against his own. "I don't know what to do about this—us." He felt her body tense. Hurriedly, he added, "I mean—I don't want this to continue, not the way it's been—as friends."

"What?" She struggled to throw covers off her legs, but he kept her hand in his. "Let go, Grissom!"

A/N: Thanks so much-this one is 6-8 chapters.