A/N: Another chapter for this week! As busy as our lives are, we managed the unthinkable-now it is your turn. We want reviews from the hundreds who are reading this story...don't be a free-reader. You can write 2,3,4 words, an entire paragraph!- takes 2 minutes out of your busy life.

Shopping for Sara

Chapter 10

Prelude to implosion

Sara said "yes", enthusiastically, without hesitation. Her face, shielded by the netting, changed with her smile. He had thought for months how to approach the topic so, while not without previous thought, it sounded spontaneous. When she pulled the glove off, he knew it was the right moment—she had always hated bees but trust superseded her hate! Her response was another indication of their life together returning to its magical state. Natalie, the kidnapping, the hours spent in the desert, the days of recovery were behind them.

Happily, he searched the Internet for how to buy a ring. By the time he had read two paragraphs, he knew he needed to learn the difference in a fifty dollar ring and a one selling for thousands. Neither wore rings but he knew they would wear wedding bands. He was so engrossed in his search, Catherine's arrival at his door went unnoticed until she spoke.

Later, as he ate with Sara, he said, "We should tell our mother's first." He reached across and covered her hand with his. Her fingers laced with his.

"My mother is barely holding on, Gil. She won't remember—she won't know what I'm talking about."

"Sara," he sighed. "She might—she's going through a bad time right now. In a few weeks, she'll be better."

Sara's sigh was longer, poignant, as she said, "And your mother isn't going to be thrilled."

"She likes you!"

Sara smirked, one side of her mouth pulled downward, and then she laughed. "Maybe she will tolerate me—that's more than my own mother feels."

He changed the subject. "Wedding thoughts?"

Her eyebrows lifted an inch. "No wedding—we'll get married." She tightened her grip on his hand. "You know how I feel about weddings. Let's just get married."

She picked up her fork and pushed food around her plate. He brought her hand, still wearing a soft cast, to his lips and kissed her fingers. Her appetite had yet to return.

"We will do it the way you want—Elvis Chapel or courthouse?" He grinned, held up a spoon and asked, "Ice cream?"

"No to ice cream. Yes to courthouse." She smiled again yet fatigue she could not brush away clouded her eyes and ached her bones.

Grissom read her emotions. "Come on—you are going to bed." He pulled her to her feet and held her tightly against his chest.

A soft shaking sob broke from her lips. "I'm so tired, Gil."

"I know you are, honey." He half-walked, half carried her to the bedroom where, within minutes, she pretended to sleep while he drifted off, softly snoring.

…A serial killer, a cold case abduction and the FBI pulled him to New York City.

Sara could not sleep. Grissom had been gone for three days and she had worked steadily until she had maxed out on hours for the week. She wandered in the direction of the bed, rubbed her eyes and picked up the letter Grissom had given her before he left. She managed a smile. He always wrote such beautiful letters.

She looked at the letter, "Dear Sara," it said. He had written "I'll be back quickly—before you miss me. Eat, sleep, play with Hank." He had written a short sonnet across the bottom of the page. She stretched out on the bed, holding the letter. She needed sleep—just one night of sleep. Her finger traced his "Peace" signature; amazed after all this time the two of them still wrote notes, letters, to each other. She brought the letter to her nose and inhaled hoping to smell his fragrance, hoping it would help her sleep.

Sleep did not come. She turned on the television and stared at the ceiling until her body was numb. Her mind raced, exploded in one direction only to have another thought burst onto another before either could take form. The process was constant, and all about death—the ghosts of darkness pulled, sucked, dragged her into a yawning black hole.

She clawed back to light; safety, rescue came from one hand. She rolled in bed and reached for safety but the bed was empty. She groaned, struggled to get up, and to her feet. Hank watched as she pulled on shoes. She thought she might go crazy if she stayed inside.

"Let's go for a walk, buddy."

Hours later, Grissom found her on a park bench, the dog asleep at her feet. The sun was a slender dome on the eastern horizon. He had arrived from the airport to an empty house, Sara's phone ringing in the empty bedroom; panic drove him from room to room, and then, somewhat relieved, found the dog was missing. When he touched her shoulder, he realized from dew dampness on her shirt she had been outside for some time.

When she smiled at him, a tentative, confused expression seeking his approval, he felt an odd sensation in his chest. For the first time in years he thought a part of Sara might be slipping away from him. He patted Hank who had opened puzzled eyes, unsure of why he was not at home but suddenly happy to have his ears scratched.

Grissom sat down and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"You found me," Sara whispered.

"Yes, I did."

"Out there," her head lifted. "You didn't give up."

He realized what she meant. "No, I didn't give up. None of us did." He pulled her closer. "Nick actually found you. You were smart to take the mirror." A reiteration of what she already knew.

Air expelled from her lungs in a long, slow breath. "I don't remember Nick."

"He was there first."

She turned her face away from his. "I had not thought about my father in years, Gil. Until that night—Natalie's dad did not love her." A sob caused her to clench her fist against her mouth.

Grissom waited.

Choking back tears, she said, "He told me I was smart."

He pulled her head to his shoulder, keeping his hand on her hair. "I know he did."

Another sob came. "He left me, Gil. Just like Natalie until she found Ernie Dell. Just like me until I found you."

"Honey…" He wasn't sure how her thought processes were working.

She wiped her face. "I would kill anyone who took you from me."

"Sara…"

"I would. And that troubles me." Another deep sigh. "I've always blamed my crazy mother—but maybe there is more to it than that."

"What do you mean?"

Suddenly she shook her head, and in doing so, seemed to wake from a miasma wrapped dream. "I'm sorry, Gil." She smiled. "I've been here too long. Are you hungry? How was your trip? I'm sorry we were not at home." She kissed his cheek. "I've missed you." She kissed him again. "Was it all work?" Her voice lifted, brightened as she asked about his trip.

Grissom tried to hide his concern. She had been this way for days—her mood clouded in confusion, uncertainty, and tears, and suddenly changing to her normal state but, listening closely, he detected a hint of atypical euphoria. He knew it signaled an underlying problem, but it was not a crisis. He hoped; she was getting better.

Quickly, he grinned. "Mostly work. However, I managed one stop." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small box.

Sara's breathing stopped. Everyone would recognize the small blue box with the embossed name across its center.

"Gil, we never talked about this."

"Yes we did—open it!" He smiled so intensely his face hurt before she lifted the top.

"Oh," a quiet breath of air formed the word. "Gilbert."

Two richly hued gold bands rested in a velvet ring slot. She lifted one and turned it between finger and thumb.

"It's beautiful." She said, letting the sun reflect on its surface before pushing it back into the box. Tears glittered her eyes. "You know I love you."

"Yes, I do."

She closed the box, put it in his hand and placed her head back on his shoulder. "I'm so mixed up, Gil."

"No, you are not." He took her hand, placed the box in her palm and folded her fingers over it. "You are going through a rough time, Sara. Give it time—it will pass. For now, you keep these and whenever you are ready—I'll be there—courthouse, Elvis chapel, church, or—or Doc Robbins' back yard." He said this as playfully as he could. "With barbeque."

He felt a small ripple that almost became a laugh. "Maybe—maybe that's a plan."

Later in the day, he watched as she examined both rings. "Your fingers are longer," he explained as she held the rings side by side, a puzzled look on her face. He added "The width—that's why your ring is wider."

A ghost of a smile played around her mouth. "You really are a wonderful man."

He gave her a playful smirk. "You just now figured that out?"

With that she laughed, softly, almost her old giggle. Placing the rings and box back into the drawer of the bedside table, she came to him. Long fingers slid along his chest until her palms flattened against his shirt.

"I love you, Gil Grissom," she whispered as her mouth met his. She sensed his hands hovering on her back before he moved them lower, pressing their bodies together.

Her hands moved to unfasten his shirt; she drew her fingertips down his bare chest, fascinated by the feel of his smooth skin, comforted by the warmth of his flesh. She kissed his throat and then his shoulder as she glided her hands down his chest until she was stopped by the waistband of his trousers.

"Sara, Sara," he whispered as he propelled both toward the bed. He wished he could make her happy—he could make her happy, he thought, as they tumbled into bed. He laughed, the sound low, husky and warm. "You are beautiful, Sara."

He rolled onto his back and pulled her down onto his chest; she kissed with an unusual urgency that made him groan. She could feel him pressed against her thigh, heavy and rigid with desire. She kissed his chin, the small space behind his ear, slipping lower, touching him with her lips and tongue, wanting to give him pleasure.

Tugging her upright, he positioned her so she straddled his thighs. He stroked her, watching her face. She moved against his hand, twisting and clenching, until she pulled his erection inside her.

"Let me go first," she whispered, a silky, persuasive sound giving him all the stimulation he needed to please her. She moved above his body as waves of pleasure rippled through her. Her eyes closed as a delicious aching sensation built.

Watching her sent him to the limits of his control; as her body tensed, her hands twisted in his; as her impending climax grew into a crescendo, he pulled her close to his chest and rolled, clamping legs around hers, keeping them together. Her orgasm burst upon her like a storm, and seconds later, she gasped and gave a choked cry as her muscles rippled and pulled him deeper inside her.

She gripped his shoulders. The feel of her fingers sent shock waves to his feet, rolling through him with the force of lightning and he began to move, aware of pleasure, desire, and ultimate satisfaction. Sara was still convulsing around him, tiny spasms kneading his flesh in a warm, welcoming way as he floated down into a world of spent passion.

A while later Sara went to work and left Grissom sleeping. Exhaustion lingered, pressing against her sternum, simmering in her bloodstream. The balance had gone from her life, she thought, as she pushed open the locker room door.

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