Ever After
Summary: Life isn't a fairy tale, and happily isn't guaranteed.
A/N: Ah, so many options for what to do in this chapter. I tried at least a dozen versions, and I even considered doing a pregnancy storyline. But I ended up sticking with what Grissom and Sara do best (worst?) – not communicating well. Thanks to everyone who was kind enough to offer feedback. It's greatly appreciated.
Disclaimer: I'm out of them.

Part III – b

Letting out a sigh, Sara looked nervously over her shoulder toward the bathroom door. She had heard Grissom moving about earlier, but even after an exceptionally long shower she wasn't ready to face him yet. That she was stalling for time infuriated her, but she needed to gather her resolve, and it was proving harder to do than she imagined.

Opening up to Grissom about her childhood left her unsettled. The wounds were decades old, but addressing them dredged up new pain. She had spent years telling herself that she was beyond all that, but the truth was she could never completely escape it. Her near-burnout established that fact, and this latest reminder was unwelcome.

Early experiences influence everyone, laying the foundation of their outlooks and personalities. While the nightmares of her childhood fueled her drive and determination, they also left flaws. Some were obvious – she had no tolerance for abusive situations, and her temper often flared. Others ran deeper, touching her soul even if most people never realized they existed. She didn't trust easily, having been hurt too many times; she didn't form bonds, knowing it was only a matter of time before she was left alone again.

As a result, Sara spent her adulthood living a paradox: she wanted to be loved, but she refrained from exposing herself emotionally. She craved the very connection she knew was dangerous. To let someone in was to give them the power to hurt you. She'd taken occasional lovers, had treated them as affectionately as she was able, but she had never truly been in love.

Then she met Grissom.

She'd fallen for him totally, with a speed that still left her speechless. At first, she dismissed it for physical desire, but neither time nor distance diminished her feelings. When his invitation came to join him in Las Vegas, she had taken it without a second thought. As they settled into a comfortable working relationship, she ignored years of harsh lessons and began to hope for more. And every time something dashed those dreams, it uncovered some hidden scar. Even though that something was often Grissom himself, she hung around. Love was new, a powerful sensation that overwhelmed her logic and quashed her misgivings.

Eventually her endurance paid off, and they'd been happy together ever since that night he'd first taken her out to dinner. But for all that comfort they rarely talked, at least about emotionally charged issues. Part of it was her natural reservations, and part of it was due to Grissom's disdain for such matters. It wasn't that he didn't care – she was sure he did – but he didn't know how to handle emotional situations. He was a man used to being in charge of all aspects of his life, and that uncertainty always left him uneasy. Given the choice, he avoided embroiling himself with them, but last night she unloaded her deepest fears on him.

Pushing away from the sink, she finished her preparations quickly, ignoring the slight shaking in her hands. No one was likely to invent a time machine before shift started, so she couldn't take back the secrets she had revealed. She had to face the consequences.

Her counselor had insisted that sharing painful experiences was essential to the healing process, but in the aftermath she felt like it had added new chinks instead of helping. A wry expression formed as she finally walked to the door, wondering if he knew how monumental her conversation had been.

Must be a sign that I trust him. I never considered telling anyone else what I told him. Then why am I avoiding going out there? Guess it's still raw. Or I'm not used to exposing myself like that.

Better get this over with. I'm not helping anything by staying in here.

Heading into the bedroom, she found him sitting on the edge of the already made bed, holding his clothes in his lap. They stared at each other for a long moment before she looked away with an embarrassed flush.

"This isn't awkward at all," she said, trying to make it sound jovial.

Grissom tilted his head as he frowned. Getting off the bed, he set his clothes down on the dresser and stood in front of her. A flash of guilt washed over her as she saw him struggling to find words, and she quickly shrugged off his concern.

"Sorry about that," she said. "It's a touchy subject. Didn't mean to dump all of that on you yesterday."

"Sara," he exhaled softly. His hands flexed before capturing hers, holding them gingerly as he kept his eyes focused on the floor. When he looked up, he gave a gentle squeeze. "I may not know what to say, or what to do, but I can listen."

A weak, grateful smile formed as she leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "Thanks."

He nodded before quickly gathering his things and disappearing into the bathroom. She almost chuckled when she realized how long he'd been waiting to get in there. Once in the kitchen she found the coffee already made, and sipped a cup as she settled her nerves.

That went better than I expected. He's uncomfortable, but he didn't retreat. That's the way he always acted in the past.

Man, I can't believe I told him that shit. I try not to even think about it. I don't think I would have ever told him about it at all if he hadn't pressured me that day. I don't know why I even admitted it then. I was ready to be fired; I could have told him to butt out.

Maybe I wanted him to know, maybe I wanted to show him I knew about pain.

Or I had nothing left to lose. I think I was ready to bail on him then. Never thought he'd be so supportive at that point. He really surprised me.

Wonder what other surprises he has in store.

When he emerged later neither of them mentioned her childhood, but they stood close together as they ate a dinner of leftover Chinese carryout. They chatted casually, making tentative plans for a rare shared day off that was coming up. As she cleared away the remains, he rested a hand on her shoulder. After a beat, he kissed her before heading into work.

Everyone there was still on edge, worried about Greg in the aftermath of his attack. Besides dealing with his injuries, he had the added burden of knowing that he killed someone. Even if he didn't intend it, the fact had to bother him, and Sara tried her best to console him.

When he was able to come back to work, Grissom kept a circumspect eye on him, and told her outright to monitor his behavior. Greg was more subdued than normal, but otherwise he showed no outward signs of his ordeal. They maintained their watch, gradually relaxing when it seemed that he'd be all right.

Through it all, she realized that Grissom was also still observing her. Her leg was thoroughly healed, and he was letting her work more cases. Still, he almost always assigned her to his cases, and while she enjoyed the time together, his protectiveness chaffed at times. The obvious emotion behind his actions soothed her, though.

Hell, if I could put up with him all the times he ignored me I can handle his being a mother hen.

A new case reminded her how little they knew about each other in some ways. She honestly feared she had insulted him with her casual dismissal of religion. Even though he assured her otherwise, he seemed distracted. She chalked that up to the nature of the crime, suspecting that the desecration of a church bothered him, whether he was still a practicing Catholic or not.

It was the way he held her gaze when discussing the dead woman's pregnancy that truly confused her. It held an obvious intensity, but his meaning was lost on her. She wasn't sure if he was considering her becoming pregnant, if the idea appealed to or appalled him. For the next few days, she debated asking him outright.

It's the easiest way to find out. So, what if he says yes? Is that something I'm ready to do? God, I love him, but that is such a big deal. It's permanent. That's good on one hand; we'd always have that part of our love. But I don't know the first thing about being a parent. Well, a good one at least.

What if he says no, what then? I, I don't know. I've never had to think about it before. It's not been something that was likely to happen. Do I want a kid? Do I actually think I'd be a decent mother?

What if he thinks I want a kid if I ask him about it? He might say yes just to make me happy.

Oh, shit.

That's probably a discussion that should wait until I figure out what the hell I want.

While she didn't bring it up with him, she found her thoughts drifting to the idea at odd moments. She'd never given the matter much attention before, never picturing herself as the maternal type, but the draw was there. Obviously part of it was biological, she told herself, an ingrained desire to continue the genetic line. It was what ensured the survival of any species after all.

But there was an emotional appeal as well. She couldn't deny it, even if she wasn't sure it was strong enough to take the chance. A child wasn't something you discarded if the experience didn't match your expectations. Given her background, she wasn't sure she was the best-equipped person to be a mother, even if she decided that she wanted to be one.

A horrible crime pushed those thoughts away. She always found any type of sexual abuse disgusting, but working the case of a pedophile when two boys went missing brought those feelings to the forefront. She maintained her professionalism, even though she found the man repugnant. He destroyed the lives of his victims, yet he expected sympathy. She left the lab as soon as she wrapped up her evidence, wanting to distance herself as far from the encounter as possible.

When she woke the next morning, she frowned to find Grissom absent. They both were making an effort to spend more time together away from work, but there were still nights when they had to work double shifts. Normally he let her know in advance, and, as far as she knew, he didn't have any pressing cases. After a quick shower and meal, she drove to the lab, but stopped in front of his empty office.

"He left hours ago," a swing shift CSI told her as he walked by.

"Thanks," she answered, her eyebrow going up as she headed to the break room. She took a soda from the refrigerator before sitting at the table. Opening her notebook, her eyes ran over the shorthand without actually reading it.

They had a simple routine – whoever left the lab first went to their respective home, and the other showed up when they got off work. She briefly wondered if she had insulted him when she chided him for snapping at Greg, but she dismissed the idea quickly. He hadn't been upset with her at the time.

Griss was testy all day. Big surprise. He hates any type of case that involves kids. Working with that freak all night had to bug him. No wonder he wanted some downtime.

He greeted her kindly when he showed up for shift a few hours later, and they talked about upcoming court cases until it was time to hand out assignments. To her surprise, he stayed in his office, sending her out with Catherine and Greg.

For the next few days, Grissom caught up on paperwork, but he went out to the murder of an older woman. The scene was grizzly enough, but when the package containing the miniature version of the crime scene turned up, they both realized they were dealing with someone out of the ordinary. They worked the case thoroughly, but – as with the Izzy Delancy murder – they soon ran out of suspects.

The case continued to intrigue Sara, even when they went to his townhouse for breakfast. Afterwards, he sat on the couch watching a poker match, and she leaned against his side as she tried to read a magazine. Finally tossing it aside, she shifted position so her head rested on his thigh.

"How long do you think it takes to make the clothes for one of those miniatures?" she asked.

Grissom's brow furrowed, and after a beat he shrugged. "They weren't perfect down to the last stitch, but they were close approximations. I don't know, but it had to take a fair amount of time."

"That's what I was thinking."

He reached down to brush a lock of hair from her face. "And why do I think there's something more to your question?"

"Because you taught me," she answered with an affectionate grin. It faded as she sat up and turned to face him. "Griss, how did the killer know what they were going to wear?"

He set down his beer and let out a small huff of air. "I don't know."

"I mean, what's the probability that both of the victims wore the same clothes all the time? They had a closet – well, closets in Izzy's case – full of outfits that they could have been wearing when he went to kill them. He had to dress the dolls after the fact. Did our killer carry around a miniature Sears with him?"

"The smaller side of life," Grissom mused.

"And what are the odds he had all the materials necessary to make a matching outfit with him? Did he go through their closets and make a copy of every outfit they wore?"

"He had minute details of those two rooms. Who knows what else he learned about the victims before killing them?"

"This guy is freaky," Sara said. "What drives someone to obsess like that, to go into that much detail to kill someone?"

"I wish I knew," he said, and the pang of sadness caused Sara to cock her head in concern.

"We'll catch him," she offered reassuringly.

He gave his head a slight bob and drained the last of his beer. She tried to talk him into turning in, but he said he wasn't tired and for her to go ahead without him.

When he crawled into bed later she stirred groggily, and he kissed her forehead before urging her to go back to sleep. She woke later with the weight of his arm and leg draped on top of her, and she snuggled closer to his body.

He hates loose ends, and this isn't an ordinary case. The guy's terrifying, and who knows if he's going to kill again. I hope he doesn't obsess too much over it.

Yeah, right. Griss not obsess. It's his nature. He's not going to let this case go until we solve it. Great. We have almost nothing to work with. This is going to keep eating at him.

He never did take any time off. I think that's a losing cause. He's not going to do it, even if a break would help him.

"Hey," she said softly when he slowly roused from his slumber.

He answered with a contented grin, and they leisurely stayed in bed until they had to get ready for work, having to settle for a quick dinner from a drive-thru. They reviewed the evidence from both the Penny Garden and Izzy Delancy murders, but they failed to find any more clues. Grissom scowled as she put the evidence away, but there was nothing left for them to do.

Their next few cases were mundane, and she was stuck in court all day when the next interesting one turned up. Hearing about it from the guys, she stopped by Grissom's office to talk to him before heading home. When he read her the quote about preferring his lonely pumpkin, she had to grin, knowing he hadn't considered the implication of his statement. She spotted the unfinished crossword puzzle, and immediately teased him about being a misanthrope.

Once home, she grinned wickedly as she prepared for his return, barely turning off the lights and diving under the covers before he let himself in. Pretending to be asleep, she forced herself to be still when he sat on the edge of the bed. For a long time he didn't move, and she started to worry that she had hurt his feelings.

Rolling over, she smiled into his barely visible face. "Wouldn't your pumpkin put out?"

He answered with a kiss, and her eyes opened in surprise as he deepened it, pushing her over so he could lie on top of her. His ardor was short-lived as his hands ran into the wood resting against his pillow.

"Just a little present," she said, sliding up to turn on the bedside lamp. Her lips curled as he rolled over to read the quotation she printed out and stuck in a frame that held an old photograph until a few minutes ago.

"'You can't stay in your corner of the Forest waiting for others to come to you. You have to go to them sometimes.'" Letting out a sigh, he set it on the bedside table and stared at the ceiling. "Point taken."

"Hey, you know I was joking, right?" she asked softly. When he didn't respond, she leaned over to kiss him reassuringly, her fingers stroking his face lovingly. "You're not a misanthrope. At least not all the time."

He gave her a mock-scowl, wrapping an arm around her to draw her against his chest. "That wasn't from Thoreau," he said after kissing her.

"No. Winnie the Pooh," she answered, grinning at his expression.

"He always was a silly old bear."

"I don't know about that. His companions were more fun than a vegetable."

"Well, I'm came out of the woods for you," Grissom said before rolling them over and capturing her mouth in another passionate kiss as his hands slid under her pajama top.

The next week passed in a pleased fog for Sara as he worked to recover from his verbal faux pas. They spent as much time together as possible, so she was confused when she found him irately paying his bills one morning after shift.

"You okay?" she asked as she handed him a glass of iced tea.

"Those disguises were so obvious," he sneered self-deprecatingly. "I can't believe I didn't notice it immediately."

"Hey, don't be too hard on yourself. None of us caught it," she said, pausing to give his shoulder a nudge and smiling warmly. "Not that we're in your league."

"Yes, you are," he answered, his cheerless tone causing her to cock her head questioningly. "You know everything I have to offer. I can't teach you anything else."

Sara wrapped her arms around her waist and leaned against his desk. The mobster's disguises had been amateurish, but they weren't expecting a 'ghost' to be their killer. In hindsight, a lot of their cases seemed obvious, and it wasn't something that normally bothered him.

"I don't know if I'd go that far," she replied honestly. "No one at the lab can identify bugs like you can."

"You know the ones that are likely to show up at a crime scene. The rest is entomology, not criminalistics."

"Don't discount experience. That counts for a lot in our field," she told him, but he tore off another check with a sharp snap of his wrist. Her lips pursed as she debated how to reach him.

His head jerked with an upset expression as she rolled his chair away from the desk, but it quickly morphed as she sat on his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"You know," she purred as she ran a finger along his earlobe, "I think there are still some things you can teach me. Or that we can teach each other. Want to find out?"

His jaw dropped for a moment before he propelled the chair across the room to the couch. Eventually they reached the bedroom, and afterwards she watched him contently as he lay sleeping on the rumpled bed.

Days later, for a belated Thanksgiving dinner they made a return visit to the vegetarian restaurant where they had their first date. Grissom politely, but firmly, refused the special of tofu turkey, settling for another omelet.

As Christmas approached, Sara focused on the work schedule. She and Grissom routinely covered the holidays so those with families could spend the time with them. In the past, they never took the same days off when the others returned, but she wondered if she could talk him into it. It would be a pleasant holiday, and – more importantly – it would give him the break she still felt would benefit him.

Before she had a chance to mention her plan to him, the miniature killer struck again. This time he made a mistake, as his latest victim gave them a connection back to the first murder. It didn't take long to learn that Ernie Dell had created some of the items found in the miniatures, or to link his credit card to the cell phone number each victim had contacted.

She went to Grissom's office excitedly to share the news with him, but she immediately realized something was wrong. His dejected expression was enough of a clue without his uncharacteristic statements. She turned to Catherine, but she seemed in almost a good-humored mood. Unsure what was going on, and unable to ask him at the time, she stuck with the facts. Catherine made no sign of leaving, so Sara decided to talk to him later.

A shooting on the Strip sent her into the field for a while, so when she returned she was surprised to find Grissom sitting in his darkened office.

"Hey," she called out happily as she entered the room. "Did you get a chance to ask Dell about the clothing?"

Before he answered, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she paused in mid-step. Superstition held no sway over her, but a flicker of panic started as she stared at him sitting mutely.

"Griss?" she asked softly.

"Ernie Dell is dead," he stated flatly.

Forcing herself to move closer, she saw his face for the first time, and the flicker grew stronger. Even accounting for the pale light from the monitor, he looked eerily white. "What? How?"

"At precisely 12:34 this morning, he put a gun in his mouth and blew his brains out." He turned to face her directly, and she saw the strain. "I watched him do it."

A thousand questions formed and died in an instant, and she crossed the room rapidly. "I'm driving you home," she said resolutely, hoping he wouldn't resist. To her relief, he followed silently, staring out the front window as she drove to his townhouse. She suspected he'd grab a glass of bourbon, but he only collapsed on the sofa. Tentatively she approached him, slowly easing her arms around his tense form. He allowed the touch, but she didn't know if he drew any comfort from it.

Eventually she coaxed him into the bedroom, talking to him gently as he mechanically changed into his pajamas. It wasn't until she settled beside him hesitantly that he wrapped his arm around her, holding onto her tightly. He never said another word about the suicide, and eventually they fell into a troubled sleep.

She tried to talk him into taking the next day off, but he insisted on going in. He spent the shift in his office, and whenever she stopped by to check on him he was always sorting through documents. She wanted to talk to him, but everyone in the lab had heard what had happened. Every time she turned around, someone was peering into his office to see how he was doing.

At the end of shift, he told her to head to his townhouse, saying he needed to speak to Ecklie for a moment. She agreed and had his breakfast favorites ready when he came in. She greeted him with a hug, taking his hand and leading him to the breakfast bar. Once he sat down, she poured him a mug of coffee.

"How are you doing?" she asked, not entirely expecting an answer. If her cooking hadn't drawn a response, she doubted anything would.

"I've put in for a four-week sabbatical," he told her before reaching for a slice of whole-wheat toast, and she immediately let out a relieved sigh.

Thank God! He needs this break. I wish he took it before things reached this point, but the time off will still help him. This shook him so badly. He's trying to hide it, but I can tell.

I'm going to do everything I can to help him with this. I don't know yet what he needs, or how much he'll let me help, but I'll do whatever I can.

I'll see how much vacation time I can swing while he's off. Maybe we can go into the mountains, somewhere away from the city.

"I'm leaving Las Vegas on January fourth," he said, not noticing the way she snapped her head around. "I need to get away from everything."

"What?" she stammered, unable to keep her voice from shaking.

He looked up with suddenly, offering a consolatory nod as he smiled. "Not from you."

"Where, where are you going?" she asked, forcing away the quaver in her voice.

"Williams. I'll be teaching part of a graduate seminar on Walden."

"This just came up?" She turned so she faced the coffee maker, pouring herself a cup as she told herself it was just a coincidence that he'd read the book earlier.

"Not really. The invitation came a while back."

"Nice of you to tell me," she said, immediately wincing as the words came out sharply.

He needs the break. This is important to him. Remember that.

And ignore the fact that he didn't tell me about it? That he didn't warn me?

It's not personal.

The hell it isn't. He really is just like my father – he makes the all decisions. My opinion doesn't matter. I thought he was over that, that he was going to give this a chance. God, was I ever wrong.

Don't. He just watched a man blow his brains out. It has him rattled. He's not thinking clearly.

He was thinking clearly when he got that letter. He never mentioned it to me. What am I supposed to think? He obviously didn't turn down the offer then, so he's been considering it for months.

"You're upset." His words cut through her musing and into her soul. He was actually confused by her reaction. Biting her lip, she counted to ten before turning to face him.

She wanted to be there for him, to help him, but he never considered how she'd take the news. Love for him and anger with him vied for domination. Not trusting herself to handle either, she pushed down all emotion, unconsciously starting construction on an inner wall.

"You saw something bad enough to make you want to leave for a month," she replied evenly, forcing herself to keep "me" from the sentence. "Do you think there's any way that I wouldn't be upset?"

"I'll be fine," he insisted, waving towards her empty plate as he started discussing the seminar.

She ignored his droning, resting her hands on the sink edge as her thoughts raced.

I was afraid all along he was heading for this. I'm the one who told him he needed the vacation. Yeah, he'll be gone for a month, but is it a big deal?

It's not the sabbatical. I could deal with him being gone. I wouldn't like it, but I could handle it. But he never trusted me enough to tell me about it. He never considered what this would mean to me.

Remember how he was when I was going through my shit. He thought it was best that I work through it alone.

Yeah, but we weren't together at the time. And I never agreed with his rationale.

What the hell is going on?

He's leaving me, and he thinks it's fine. Griss knows he's the only person I've ever counted on being there for me. And I don't even warrant a warning that he's going across the country.

Maybe I'm being too harsh. He just watched someone commit suicide. It's screwing with him.

And what about the next time something gets to him? Is he going to leave me again? He's running away, just like he always did. I can't believe that I ever thought he had changed. The only difference is he's pausing long enough for some sex.

That's not true. No, I can't believe that. It meant more than that. He was too caring, too attentive. And the fact that I'm using past tense isn't telling?

"Sara?" He watched her with a curious expression, setting down his fork when she remained silent. "Were you listening to what I said about the course? I think the change of pace is just what I need."

Taking a deep breath, she drew on years of experience and faced him steadily. She wanted to be someone who loved unconditionally, and she thought she had for the past months. But everyone she ever grew attached to eventually left her – her parents in a bloody fight, all the faceless foster parents she barely had time to know, the lovers that left her for someone younger, more sociable.

Abandonment was her darkest fear and her deepest flaw. Despite her efforts, questions rose in her mind unbidden: Didn't he trust her to help? Did he want out of the relationship? She tried to fight back the pain, but she lacked both the skill and knowledge to deal with his sudden need to go. Sara knew her past colored her reaction, but life had taught her to be cautious.

My past left scars. He has to know that.

I don't know. Maybe I'm the one that's screwed up. I want to be there for him, but I can't do this. I can't. It hurts too much, and I don't know how to deal with it. I don't know how to make this work.

Maybe it'll blow over. He knows that I'm not happy. Maybe he'll figure it out.

Right. He has months of vacation time. If all he needed was a break from work, he could have stayed here. He's getting away from me, too.

Then tell him to stay. Tell him how much this hurts.

No. I can't do that. If he needs to get away, then I won't stand in his way. He has to figure this out himself. If he can't, then there's no way this will ever work.

Come on, this is Grissom. He's not exactly a role model for social skills.

No. I'm tired of making excuses for him. He's a fucking genius. Even with his skills he would have known what he was doing sucked. If cared enough to think about it.

That's the crux of it, isn't it?

Willing back her tears, she leaned against the counter and wrapped her arms around her midsection protectively. She kept all trace of irony from her voice when she finally answered him.

"You have to do what's best for you."

The End