A/N: As you'll see with this chapter, I'm not going in chronological order according to the show, but, rather in order of the lyrics. I had a huge mental debate over this, but decided to be true to the song in terms of order, but the show in terms of everything else. I hope you'll like it.

Oh, and I'm sorry for the lag time…my computer was attacked by a killer virus. It's all better now, thank goodness!

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

I don't own CSI. Some inspiration and dialogue are borrowed from episode 215, "Burden of Proof."

Sent some flowers to your work in hopes that I'd have you in my arms again

To say this case is difficult is an understatement. A twelve-year-old suffering from long-term sexual abuse, a man killed by a bullet made of frozen meat, a home burned to the ground … The sheer amount of crimes associated with the discovery of one body is astounding. The depth and horror of them is enough to make me question my career choice.

I walk into my office and sit down at my desk. I just need five minutes of peace. I wonder if my team will let me have it.

Glancing down at my desk, I notice a paper that wasn't there before. I pick it up and attempt to read it without my glasses. No … I think I need my glasses.

I put them on and look at it more closely. No, it is exactly as I saw it without my glasses, just in sharper focus. Sara is requesting a leave of absence … a lengthy leave of absence.

I'm just starting to read it through for the third time – second with reading glasses – when she appears in my doorway. I look at her in shock.

"What is this?" I ask, waving the form at her.

"It's … uh … just what is says. It's a request for a leave of absence," she says, trying to appear casual. "Six months … a year, maybe."

"Why?" I'm completely blindsided, and can't even begin to try to hide it.

"I was thinking of checking out the federal government system – FBI …"

I chuckle. I can't help it. The idea of a scientist of Sara's caliber working for the FBI is laughable. "We have the best lab in the country," I say dismissively.

Any attempt to be casual slides off her face as she stiffens. "I need a different work environment."

I turn just as serious as she is. "What does that mean?"

"One with … um … communication," she says. "Respect."

"Everybody here respects you," I say. It's true. As much as the guys tease her, I know they have immense respect for her as a scientist and a CSI.

"You don't," she says simply. Sorrow and, worse, disappointment shine in her eyes.

I'm stunned. How can she still be upset about …? "Is this about that hamburger thing?"

"No, Grissom! This is not about that hamburger thing! I-I-I don't believe you! How can you reduce everything I've said to some kind of single quirk? Do you think the problem here is just about me?"

I stare at her, truly bewildered.

"If you don't sign my leave, I'm going to have to quit."

She's serious. I watch as she turns to leave, knowing that I have to stop her, that I can't let her walk out of my life this easily …

"Hey, Sara?"

She stops and turns around.

I need you. It's so simple. I just have to tell her the truth, and she'll stay. I can see it in her eyes.

I can't do it. "The lab needs you."

She forces a smile. "Great."

She leaves. I stare after her, wondering how things could have gone so wrong so quickly.

How can I make this right?

I spend the rest of the night avoiding Sara. I do observe her, though, and, after a few hours, I see her talking and joking with Nick and Warrick like she always does. I breathe a sigh of relief. If she's acting like herself again, everything in surely fine.

She won't leave the lab. She won't leave us.

She won't leave me.

It's been awhile since a case has been disturbing enough that it merits drinking with Catherine at the conclusion of shift. But, as we clocked out at the end of our double, she grabbed my arm. I look down at her.

"I'll bring the vodka."

I smile slightly. "I've got plenty of orange juice."

She winks at me, and we part ways. As I walk to my car, I'm already thinking of what to make for our dinner.

Catherine arrives about half an hour after I get home. I've already got chicken in the oven, and am starting to chop vegetables for a salad when she knocks on my door.

"Hi," I say, leading her to the kitchen.

"Hi," she replies.

As soon as we reach the kitchen, she retrieves two glasses from my cupboard, and pours us each a screwdriver.

"Tough case, huh?" I ask, sipping my drink and putting it down to resume cutting the tomato on my cutting board.

"Just give me a straight-ahead murder any day."

"Well, you wouldn't be human if it didn't affect you," I reply.

She watches me chop the tomato for a moment. "I heard about you and … Sara," she says.

I shake my head, smiling slightly. "Sara … you know … She gets very emotional."

Catherine shakes her head, staring at me in disbelief. "Are you in denial? No, that's … no, no, way too analytical. Wow, you got burned bad, huh? Welcome to the club. I got third-degree burns from my marriage. Happens to everybody. Everybody just moves on."

I look at her as though she's lost her mind … which, given her bizarre train of conversation, doesn't seem that far off the mark. "Good. Let's move on."

"But you have to deal with it!" she exclaims. "You have to deal with it first! You've got to deal with it before it goes away!" She pauses. "You are the supervisor. You have responsibilities, and people are making a family around you whether you like it or not, whether you give them permission or not." She smiles slightly. "We don't have to go to the Grand Tetons together, just … every now and then, you've got to lift your head up out of that microscope."

I nod slowly, turning over her words in my head. She has a point … we have become a family. And, as much as she fills the "mom" role to my "dad" when it comes to the team, there's something about Sara that is very different from Nick and Warrick. She doesn't fit into that "junior CSI" category the way they do. She doesn't …

She doesn't fit into any of the neat categories I have for the people in my life. She's more than a coworker … but, there's something about her that's not just a friend, either …

I need to make this right …

As much as she might try to hide it, there is an undeniably girly side to her. And, that is the side that needs to be placated right now.

"Yeah," I say absently.

Catherine smiles as though she already knows what I'm thinking. She walks away, sitting down on my couch while I flip through my address book until I find the number of a local florist. I've called them for consults before … but, this time, I need to call for an entirely different reason.

"Martin's Flowers," the young woman answering the phones says cheerfully. "How can I help you?"

"Yeah, hi," I say, suddenly feeling foolish. "I-I-I'd like to get some flowers for a girl. No, no. Not flowers. A plant. A living plant. She likes vegetation."

"Okay," the girl says. "Would you like a flowering plant? We just got some peace lilies that are really pretty."

"Yeah, that'd be fine." Perfectly appropriate, actually. "To a Sara Sidle. Deliver it at the CSI division, Las Vegas Police Department – the one out on North Trop Boulevard."

"North Trop," she repeats.

"Yeah. You can bill me at the same place."

"Your name?"

"Gil Grissom."

"And, the sentiment?"

"The sentiment?" I'm shocked by her forwardness.

"On the card, sir. What would you like it to say?"

"Oh … oh, on the card. Yeah. Um … uh … have it say …" I'm at a loss. There's no way to possibly encompass all the swirling emotions I've had about her over the years in one small card. "Have it say … uh …" I give up. "'From Grissom.'"

"Okay, sir, I've got it. We'll deliver it tomorrow."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir. Have a nice day."

"You, too."

I hang up the phone and look at Catherine. She's smiling.

"She'll love it."

"You don't even know what it is."

"It doesn't matter. She'll love that you're going to all this trouble for her."

I exhale slowly. "Cath … you don't really think she'll leave, do you?"

She smiles again, her eyes twinkling. "Not anymore."