Again – as always – many thanks for all the kind reviews! They make all the effort worth it…

And a huge veggie burger to sweet-surrender5, my long suffering beta!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Icy Control

Jim Brass was nobody's fool. At the first available opportunity, when the initial hubbub that followed the shooting had died down, he had taken a moment to make two calls.

The first one was a relatively easy one to Conrad Ecklie, and after just a few minutes, he had snapped his phone shut, thankful for once that Ecklie was such (Brass had grimaced at the thought) an "officious" man, for he knew he could trust the Assistant Lab Director to take care of all the additional arrangements that now needed to be made.

That – at least – was one less thing for the detective to worry about.

The second call was much harder to make. Not least of all because Brass wasn't quite sure what the correct social protocol was under these circumstances.

For years, he – like everyone at the lab – had watched this strange tango between Grissom and Sara. One would advance, the other would retreat, there would be an apparent deadlock for a few weeks or months and then the resolve of one would crack, before the whole endless loop started all over again. Like binary stars, they circled but never touched and Brass had all but given up on them a long time ago.

Had reconciled himself to the fact that these were two people who probably weren't destined to ever find each other. And it had saddened him immensely, because he was intimately acquainted with that particular little thorn that life had to offer.

But slowly the winds shifted and at first he'd hardly even noticed it. Everyone was on an emotional high after Nick got pulled out of the box, and for weeks afterwards, they all seemed to be almost deliriously happy. Happy that they were one team again, happy that they got to Nick in time – just happy to be alive. And Brass had naturally ascribed the resumption of the dance between them to that delirium.

Bitter experience had taught him it wouldn't last.

So he'd waited, resigned to the fact that after a few weeks, or - at the utmost – a few months, one (or both) would get cold feet and rebuild that invisible wall between them again. That the new found comfort and ease around each other would eventually shatter and fragment like fragile glass - the way it had every single time before.

He'd waited and waited and waited.

He was still waiting.

Now – after the better part of a year – he had become cautiously optimistic that this time, maybe the change was permanent. When he'd quietly asked Catherine about it one day, he was relieved to find that he wasn't the only one who had seen the writing on the wall.

"They haven't told me bubcus Jim, but I have eyes in my head and let me tell you something - those two aren't nearly as clever as they would like us all to believe. They can try and hide it as much as they like, but I'm not blind…"

Catherine's assessment was the reason why Brass had decided to make that second call. After a couple of minutes, Sara had finally answered, her voice groggy and lacklustre and for a moment the detective was slightly taken aback – somehow it had never occurred to him that Sara might have the night off. But he'd pressed on, and tried to explain the situation as quickly and simply as possible. She'd listened quietly, saying nothing save for a terse I'll meet you at the station when he had finally finished.

And that – as they say – had been that.

By the time Brass and Grissom got to the Police Station nearly an hour later, Sara was already in the waiting room, pacing around anxiously, a cup of coffee clutched in her hand.

Grissom had been silent the entire ride back, staring out of his window with unseeing eyes, not acknowledging Brass's half hearted attempts at conversation in the car and mutely following the detective inside once they'd arrived at the Police Station. It was disconcerting – Grissom was always the one with all the answers, the one who kept it together under any circumstances and to see him this withdrawn was – quite frankly – freaking his friend out a little.

Spying Sara through the glass walls of the waiting room, Brass came to a stop and snuck a look at Grissom. The CSI had his hands shoved in the pockets of his trousers and was chewing on the inside of his mouth while staring intently at the form moving back and forth on the other side of the panes of glass. It took Sara only a couple of seconds before she seemed to sense he was there – she stopped pacing, her back still turned to the men in the hall and then slowly swivelled around. Her dark eyes locked with his blue ones and a silent moment passed between them before Grissom felt a gentle touch on his elbow.

"We've got to get your statement first…"

Brass's voice was apologetic and the CSI sighed audibly before allowing the detective to lead him away to the interrogation room. He could feel Sara's eyes burning a hole in his back all the way down the corridor and for one appalling moment he almost wished she wasn't there. It was hard enough keeping it together in front of Brass – but seeing Sara's compassionate face shot a shaft of pain from his gut straight through his heart and from there to his head, leaving him with a strange burning sensation somewhere behind his eyelids – a feeling he hadn't felt since he was nine years old, and one he didn't welcome back now.

Damn it.

Damn her.

And yet - he was unimaginably relieved to know that she had come, that she was only a few yards away and that she would still be there waiting for him when he was finally done.

Thankfully, it all took less time than he feared. Detective Vartann took his statement, asked a few additional questions and then snapped the cassette recorder off. Apparently that was Ecklie's cue to enter and Grissom quietly steeled himself for the fire and brimstone that was undoubtedly about to be unleashed on his head, but Ecklie was in a rare mood and surprisingly supportive.

"By all accounts it was a clean shoot, Gil – there shouldn't be any problems with the I.A. investigation. Catherine's at Desert Palms, she doing fine, but she's under sedation at the moment, so don't bother stopping by there tonight. Go home, take a few days off – until all the paper work's done, you're on Administrative Leave anyway. I've got everything around here covered."

Grissom simply nodded mutely as Ecklie stood in the doorway of the interrogation room, looking as if he had something more to say. But after a moment the Assistant Lab Director seemed to think better of it and simply gave Grissom a small nod before turning on his heel and brushing past Brass who was waiting just outside.

"I told Sara to wait in my office. Fewer prying eyes in there," the detective said as he watched Grissom wearily rise from his chair. The CSI looked tired – his face drawn and the lines round his eyes seemingly deeper that normal – all of which was to be expected, Brass realised. But it was the haunted, empty look that had settled in those blue orbs that had the detective rattled.

"Look, Gil – it was a clean shoot, OK? It was either Catherine or him, so try not to feel—"

"I killed a boy, Brass, so don't tell me how I'm supposed to feel."

Brass regarded the man before him with sympathy. He had some understanding of the demons that Grissom was struggling with, and knew that there was very little anyone could do or say at the moment that would be of any practical help.

"OK."

Stepping aside, he watched worriedly as Grissom strode to his office and lingered in front of the closed door for a long minute. He heaved a sigh of relief when the CSI finally turned the knob and entered. Maybe Sara will fare better.

One look at the lanky brunette waiting for him was all it took for Grissom's thin veneer of icy control to finally slip. He could feel the telltale prickling behind his eyes return as his emotions betrayed him at last and he found himself unable to move; forcing Sara to close the gap between them. When she slipped her arms around his waist, he hugged her fiercely to him, grateful that he could bury his face in the hair at her neck.

Grateful that she wouldn't be able to see the tears he could no longer hold back.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: See, I warned you. Angst, angst, angst. But at least Sara's in the picture now, so maybe it will all be OK? (Author grins evilly...)