A/N: Thank you to all who are reading and a special thanks to those who review! Enjoy!

Lying Alone

Chapter 7

The Embraer regional jet banked low over the Pacific Ocean making another turn taking it east and then west over the city as it lined up with the runway of the San Diego airport. Under a cloudless dawn sky, Sara Sidle, in her window seat, could appreciate the beauty of lights spreading for miles to the north and the east with an abrupt end where the ocean met land. She could see the steady lights of ocean going ships waiting to enter the maritime docks as soon as the sun was up.

As Sara stared down at the quickly approaching illuminated tarmac, she wondered whether chasing to San Diego was a good idea. Her former husband had a chance to approach her and he had not done so; he'd simply disappeared as quickly as he had arrived.

As the tires screeched onto the runway, Sara thought about the tremendous support she had gotten from everyone—even Ecklie had agreed to her request for an indefinite leave. Catherine had called Nick Stokes who, in less than an hour, had found that Grissom had signed a release for his boat earlier in the day at the shore patrol headquarters; he had also provided Sara with an exact address and docking location. The boat was still docked. And, good friend he was, Nick had offered any assistance she needed; she'd promised to be in touch.

Greg—bless him, she thought—had taken charge of her house, her garden, and as her stand-in supervisor for a few days.

Best of all, none of them thought she was crazy.

She had her shoulder bag and one small roll-aboard case with clothes and toiletries. On the way to the airport, Greg had given her a roll of bills, saying "You never know when you might need cash."

The ride in the yellow cab was a blur; she had no idea how far the airport was from the dock. No idea if it had taken fifteen minutes or an hour, but she seemed to have missed the sun rise. When the taxi stopped and she stepped out of the car, the sun was pure white light, the water unable to absorb the intense brightness.

She asked if she could leave her suitcase in the taxi until she was sure she would stay—the driver's fingers taped the meter and he mumbled an agreeable sound. Handing him a couple of bills from the roll of cash, he put the car into 'park' as his voice brightened with a response of "Sure, lady!"

Sara said, "Fifteen minutes, I'll be back," and she opened the car door.

It had been much longer than fifteen minutes when she discovered her suitcase was sitting on the dock. She was fairly certain she and the man she loved had remained in a tight embrace for ten minutes—maybe it was fifteen minutes—or thirty minutes. Time has ceased to exist for some time.

The faint woody scent of his soap flooded her nose; the feel of his hair between her fingers, the prickly stubble of his beard on her cheek, his hands pressed against her back became a torrent of memories and suddenly, Sara knew she was where she belonged.

She would stay. And, finally, when he had found words, Grissom had said, "I've missed you every day."

Then there had been more whispered words of thoughts and feelings, faltering and uncertain, gradually becoming definite and eloquent, and he had wiped a tear track from her cheek, confirming what she had known from the moment he had taken her hand and helped her onto his boat. She was home.

It was later when she confronted him about his words to Heather Kessler. After giving her a tour of the boat, Grissom had placed a chair, a box and a small table on the boat's deck and provided cheese and bread, apples and grapes to eat. He sat on the box as he sliced cheese, indicating she was to take the chair. Sara could not remember the last time she'd eaten and in minutes she felt a surge of inner strength.

"Is this what you eat when you're out on the ocean?"

Grissom smiled, saying, "I add an occasional fish and ramen noodles to the plate." He picked a grape and tossed it into his mouth, chewed it before adding, "I'm not out many days in a row—four to six days—and I'm never far from the coast."

With a forced quietness in her voice that belied her nervousness, Sara, almost playfully, said, "We—we haven't talked in a long time—not—not in a long while." She paused, silently boosting her courage. "Why—why talk to Heather? About us?"

His eyes found hers and she held his gaze, willing for him to say the words to her.

Dropping his eyes, he said, "I'm a fool, Sara. A fool—please, forgive me for—for—I've loved you since the first time my eyes found you. So many years ago…" His hand reached for hers and, almost unconsciously, she took it. "Every day I've regretted leaving you. Every night, I've thought about—about us."

Pausing, wrapping his fingers with hers, he sighed before continuing, "When I got caught for trespassing, I thought I'd sit in a holding cell for a day and then they'd let me go. When Ecklie called—it—it wasn't Heather—she was an excuse—I went to Vegas see—I wanted to see you." He gave an imperceptible chuckle as he leaned to her and enclosed her hands in his. "You—seeing you again made me speechless. I—I saw this beautiful, confident woman standing in front of me—I—I was lost for words."

"Heather?" Sara asked, determined to hear his explanation.

He did not pull away as she expected but kept her hands between his. He said, "Heather…" He took a deep breath. "Heather makes a good therapist—even before she was professionally trained—she was a good listener—neutral about everything—and—and never responded with emotion. She has a poker face—no matter what she hears, she never shows emotion—never."

Sighing, he dropped his head for a full minute. Sara remained quiet.

He said, "Years ago, I realized Heather had no friends—she did not know how to be a friend or how to love anyone, even her daughter—she wanted control. I did not want to be that kind of person—lonely, without friends, never having loved anyone.

"When I located her granddaughter, she felt she owed me—something. I'd hear from her every six months with an update on the little girl—Allison. She got satisfaction—self-respect—from the normal life she was providing for her granddaughter." He removed one hand and wiped it across his face. "She stepped into the street in front of a car—died instantly. I didn't know until Heather called and I thought it was one of her regular updates on Allison but it was to tell me what had happened. There was nothing I could do except to listen—as she had listened when I thought I'd lost you.

"I was never her lover. I was never her client or her patient—probably the only person she considered a friend. And it was true—what I said—I had a shell around my heart—my life. When I got to know Heather, I knew I did not want to live like that."

His hand came back to hers. He said, "You are the one woman I'll always love. I—I…" He seemed to search for words. "I left you because of my own self-centered arrogance—stupidity. It was my inexcusable behavior—I was ashamed—humiliated—to—afraid of what might happen to us. You are a young woman—a beautiful, desirable woman—after all you had done, after all those injections and appointments. Never complaining—and I—I couldn't…"

He turned away; a slight shake of his head as if he could say no more.

Sara had managed to hold still, processing what he had said, what it meant. Moving with infinite clarity, she closed the space between them; her heart beat seem to drive the air from her lungs as she stood and stepped around the small table. He rose to meet her.

One of his hands settled between her tense shoulder blades, touching her with gentle care, bringing her body against his.

His low voice was at her ear. He murmured, "I've always loved you." His head dropped to her shoulder and she knew his breath was not quite steady. He was silent for a few seconds before he brought his mouth to hers.

His hands moved to cradle her head and he kissed her with an impatient simplicity. With familiar and remembered moves, their bodies instinctively aligned and Sara felt an ache between her thighs that had almost been forgotten.

As the kiss continued, holding her tightly, his mouth seemed to devour hers with a sensuality that caused her to lose her breath.

When Grissom released her, he said, "Stay—I want you here—we can…"

She cut his words off by placing her mouth over his; her tongue touched his teeth, the dampness of the inside of his lips. She muttered against his lips, "I'm here to stay—I will always love you—I want—all of you." A slight giggle escaped her lips as she whispered, "Dear Gil, can't we get to your bed."

Suddenly, his kissing ended, tearing his mouth away, breathing raggedly. He said, "The bed—yes—the bed." His hand raked through the white curls on his head. For a moment he appeared to be confused as a blush came to his face and then he laughed. "The bed—I sleep in a sleeping bag—I have no sheets. It's—it isn't what I have imagined."

Sara stepped several inches away from him, keeping her hand on his face. She bit her bottom lip before she smiled. "So you've imagined us…" Her finger wagged back and forth several times. Her smile burst into a full-face-changing laugh. She said, "I think we can manage with a sleeping bag!"

She was first into the cabin and seemed to slide down the ladder to the sleeping berth.

…For the first time in what felt like decades devoid of laughter, Gil Grissom was laughing. He had been stunned to look up to find the woman he loved walking toward him. That she agreed to stay had caused a lifting of darkness that had dwelled in his mind for months. She loved him—she had never stopped loving him. He could laugh again—they both laughed.

She giggled as she flipped his sleeping bag across the mattress. She lovingly fussed over a bruise on his shoulder as she pulled the clothes from his body. The chortling chuckle she made as she stripped her clothes off nearly drove him mad—in a good way.

Nuzzling the soft curve of her neck, he remembered the way she responded to him, feasting on him with a passion that equaled his own. Her limbs wrapped around him, her hands roaming impatiently over his back. And he was aroused with an intensity that he could not remember; every cell in his body pervaded with heat. He had to feel, kiss, caress, taste every inch of her; he had to get inside of her.

He could not kiss her deeply enough—needing more. More of her skin, her smell, her pulse under his tongue. He needed the flex and arch of her body under his, the shudder of her climax as she clenched around him…fast, slow, in infinite ways.

The weight of his sex brushed against the inside of her leg; the touch against the springy curls caused his to gasp. He would go slow, gently teasing her into a passionate fever.

When his tongue touched her nipple, she pushed up to meet him, groaning with pleasure. He slid lower, tasting, nipping until his hands pushed her thighs wide and placed his tongue into the warm dampness of her curls. He felt the arch of her hips against his mouth as the tip of his tongue circled and sucked on the tiny peak of her sex.

Memories flooded his brain of all the times he had made love to her; of her response to his touch. His name...he heard his name being whispered again and again as if his name were an erotic incantation as his tongue worked rhythmically, probing, sucking, entering her until a tide of ecstasy swept over her body, causing her breath to come hard and fast.

In the midst of her rising passion, she tugged, pulled, saying, "Now, now—I want you." Reaching down, her warm hand circled his erection and guided him between her thighs.

"Sara."

"Now. Inside me. Now."

With a sudden thrust, as she rocked upward, he was inside her.

Gasping at the sensation, his flesh throbbed yet he managed to hold still for a long moment. Long enough that she opened her eyes, tender, dark, loving eyes held his.

With an indiscernible agreement, he began slow stroking movements which lasted for a minute before he was caught in the same erotic tide of ecstasy that brought the woman he loved to climax. He knew she clenched around him in throbbing contractions, milking a climax from him until her name came as a hoarse whisper on his breath.

Afterwards, the afternoon sun changing the light and shadows in the berth, Grissom said, "Will you marry me?"

Her response was a giggle.

"I'm serious, dear. I want you with me always—every minute of the day. I've realized that I can never live without you—I find happiness in being with you."

Sara snuggled against him wrapped in a thread-bare towel he had pulled from a cabinet. "I'll stay." She giggled again, saying, "Yes, I'll marry you, Gilbert Grissom. I'll follow you to the ends of the earth—and beyond."

Grissom breathed a sigh as relief flooded his body. "Wait until you see the sunset over the ocean…" He didn't finish because her mouth covered his.

A/N: Thank you...enjoy the upcoming holiday! Probably one or two more chapters to this story!