Chapter 2

Over the last thirty-three years, Gil Grissom had seen pretty much everything, but having a presumed corpse, one burned over virtually 100 of her body, open her eyes—well, that had definitely shaken him up. He knew as well as anyone what the mortality rate was for such severe burns, and how painful the treatment would be in the meantime. Not initially though—not with 3rd degree burns. They destroy the nerves. It was later—if she lived that long. Not that he'd let it interfere with doing his job, but getting back in the Denali, he paused and met Sara's gaze, allowing his professional mask to slip.

"God, Sara!"

She reached out and took his hand, squeezing tightly.

"I know, Gil. You okay?"

He shook his head silently and squeezed back.

"Come on, let's get out of here. We've got to come back in daylight as it is. No point in hanging around here now."

She put the car in gear and for the millionth time he thanked whatever gods had made this woman hang tough long enough for him to get his head out of his ass and see what was right in front of him. He'd been in love with Sara for seven years, and yet had only been willing to take the chance to even hold her privately in the last two months. Not that he hadn't been working on it. He'd been trying to repair their relationship for more than a year. He'd started working on it when he'd realized just how far he'd gone, when he realized that he'd let Catherine take over one of Sara's cases at least in part to push Sara away. His start had been a little rocky, but then he didn't have any experience in trying to apologize to women. He'd spent hours annotating the book he gave her that Christmas, hoping she'd recognize the "mea culpa"s in every comment. And maybe even the "I love you"s. And then he'd gotten scared after the Debbie Marlin case and recommended Nick for a job he KNEW Sara was more qualified for because, he told himself, he wanted to protect her from turning into him. Sara's DUI was a real wake-up call. Not that he thought she actually had a drinking problem. She'd been out with Nick and Warrick, and had had two beers. If the legal limit hadn't just been dropped, she wouldn't even have been over. But she'd seemed so shattered, and it felt so out of character to him for Sara to give up even a little control. And not that he hadn't wanted to KILL Nick and Warrick for allowing Sara to put herself even at that small amount of risk. But he had to admit, he wouldn't have thought twice if he'd been with them and Sara had had two beers. He would like to believe that if they'd been out together she wouldn't have been behind the wheel afterwards, but he was enough of a realist to recognize that that very well might not have been true. He hadn't earned the right yet to assume he'd be driving her home.

So at that point he started working full time on "Project Sidle". He'd started complimenting her again—it had been so hard to hold his tongue anyway! He started assigning her to work with him more. And he found joy returning to his life. He basked in the exhilaration of processing scenes and evidence side-by-side, of returning to the near-mindmeld he and Sara shared, the silent connection that had so stunned him the first time he'd laid eyes on her.

Sara had come back to him more slowly. Not that he blamed her for not trusting him initially. She'd trusted him before, and he'd hurt her, badly and repeatedly. And it wasn't as if he could or would explain his epiphany to her. Discussing his deepest wants and emotions was hardly Gilbert Grissom's strongest suit. But slowly she began hoping that she could in fact believe in the changes in Grissom and loosened the protective bulwark she'd raised about her heart. His own heart had soared the first time she met his eye with that lopsided smirk, silently sharing a humorous moment with him. It had been so very long… Working the bizarre suburban wife swapping Vanessa Keaton murder case together had been a real pleasure, from walking to the scene side by side, lifting the tape for her to pass under and later processing the Cunningham house together, in synch, without having to say a word (and to be perfectly honest, it's always a bonus when your professional life gives you the opportunity to discuss erotic Pompeii frescos, Prencipe Galeotto and the Kama Sutra with the woman you're pursuing, especially if you can get her smile at you about it) to her implicit agreement at the conclusion of the case that they needed to keep their own budding relationship a secret. "The kids must never know." Before following the body to the morgue, he'd watched and listened from the other side of the crime scene tape as Sara and Greg processed the fountain where the victim had been found. For years, Sara's tolerance of and patience with the young DNA tech-cum-investigator had amazed him, but Greg had grown on him, and he'd come to realize that Sara was a natural teacher. She'd been working with him on his own mentoring skills. In his relationship with Greg, at least, it was paying off. He'd even found himself exchanging a smile of shared humor with the young man as they began processing the Brady house, and again when he discovered a dishwasher full of vibrators, anal plugs and beads.

But most of all he loved talking with Sara, again giving himself permission to bring her coffee, to take thirty seconds to listen to her thoughts. So much of their discussion about life and relationships took place in the context of talking about cases. "Everyone has a jealousy gene," Sara told him. He flashed back to that comment now, wishing not for the first time that he'd kept it in mind three month later when he'd asked Sofia out for a "good bye and thanks for backing me at the expense of your career, are you sure you want to leave?" dinner. Sara, thankfully, had accepted his explanation, but it had been the topic of lab gossip and he'd not missed the hint of betrayal in her gaze. Sofia had been a bit of a mixed blessing from the start. Appearing on his radar screen two weeks after the Vanessa Keaton murder and but a few short months into Project Sidle, her interest and attention did provide a bit of a beard and distracted Catherine in particular, and he'd come to appreciate Sofia's friendship, but he knew Sara didn't feel entirely secure about it. Perhaps he should have been glad that the busybodies were speculating on his relationship with Sofia and not where his heart really lived, but there was a part of him that still wanted to stand on the top of the tallest building at sunrise and proclaim to the world that he loved Sara Sidle. Still, six weeks had passed since that ill-advised dinner, six weeks during which he'd worked almost every case with Sara, and for the last month he'd had breakfast with her after shift or dinner before, and had spent at least one of their two days off each "weekend" with her.

Sitting on a PD hallway bench during the Keaton case, holding steaming paper cups of coffee, Grissom had watched Sara studying the embracing Bradys, a couple who reveled in having sex with other people and yet were free to exhibit the kind of open display of affection that she could—well, Grissom wasn't sure what kind of stressor it would take for Sara to share herself so publicly, but he knew intuitively that he hoped not to find out, as he was convinced some major personal trauma would be involved. Sara was smart, and courageous and loving, but she was also intensely private. Regardless of what happened with their relationship, he was unlikely ever to receive a passionate kiss in public corridor. He'd swept his gaze over her beautiful face, leaned in, and his voice had softened as he stole a moment of intimacy in the busy police station, in the busy day.

"You think it was a crime of passion?" he'd asked.

"Yeah. When you have to go outside marriage for passion, you're in trouble. And you're asking for trouble."

He'd heard the note of wistfulness enter his own voice as he answered her.

"Well, they say that they're happily married."

"Do you think they're happy?"

He glanced away, processing the question then held her gaze—and then Hodges' phone call ended the conversation and pulled him back out into the late afternoon sun.

And that was just the beginning. As the weeks went on, Sara had started laughing again, and smiling, and occasionally singing to herself when working alone. He came to realize that not only was Sara happier, she was, for the first time since he'd met her, actually content. And then Ecklie had split the team, and he and Sara had gone head-to-head, a confrontation which nearly cost her her job, and…

"Gris?" Sara's query pulled him out of his reverie, and he realized they'd made it all the way back to the crime lab. They were sitting, parked in the lot. He flashed her a wry half-smile, apologizing for disappearing into his head for the duration of the drive. She quirked her lip in acknowledgement and acceptance. It had been a long time since she'd had any illusions regarding Grissom's strengths and weaknesses. He'd already made more changes than she'd ever imagined he would—she had no expectations of perfection. Silent drives were par for the course; the loquacious companion who sometimes emerged when they were alone together was always serendipitous. Sara supposed it was the random reinforcement which had kept her so tightly bound to this complicated and difficult man for so long.

Grissom sighed deeply and then spoke.

"Have Greg meet the second vic at Desert Palms. He needs to process her for evidence." Heavily, he climbed out of the car.