Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Sorry it took so long, and sorry it's a little short. I was going to post this and the next one together, but as it's nearing one in the morning, chances are I won't finish the next one before bed. We did Christmas with the fiance's family today, so I haven't had much opportunity to write. :)

Let me know what you think! I promise, the next chapter will have some good things in it! (And faster reviews mean faster good things!!)


Chapter Eleven:

I remained aloof through class on Monday, and she was agitated. She stuttered over her words, and for the first time since I'd met her, she failed to answer a question correctly… or at all, although I think it was a result of the situation she was in.

Half of the class—the declared Forensic Anthropology majors—had gone more or less on a field trip, to the New York Crime Lab, because it was one of the top ten in the country. However, the department couldn't afford to take everyone enrolled in a related course—so it was limited. Sara, who was still debating between physics and forensics, was there, along with roughly eight others. So I suggested we have class in the lounge… have a more relaxed kind of day.

As soon as she sat down on one of the couches, Ken was beside her, with Hank on the other side. I was never holding class in the lounge again.

The question was a fairly simple one… She had just answered something about intuition and reading a scene based on what we know about people and their norms. Hank shifted in his seat, bringing his left knee up on the couch so he could rest his notebook on it to write, and his knee brushed her thigh. She shifted slightly away from him, trying to focus on what I was saying—which was basically expounding on her answer to the question, to make certain the rest of the class was informed.

I don't know whether Ken saw Hank's action and sought to lay his claim on her, or whether he misinterpreted her movements away from other man as a movement towards himself, but he put his arm on the couch behind her. Seeking to prevent his action, I turned back to Sara.

"So, if we can analyze a scene based on what we know about people as a species, what is the value of experience… for a CSI?"

Her eyes widened at the word 'experience,' obviously bringing her back to our dinner conversation, and a split second later his arm slipped onto her shoulders and then she tensed, her shoulders bunching tight to her neck. "I… what?"

I can tell how uncomfortable she is… all I want to do is rescue her from her situation, trapped between two men who clearly desire her and under the gaze of a third man who is playing with her. …But to rescue her, I'd have to stop playing. Instead, I raise an eyebrow. "The value of experience, Miss Sidle."

Her mouth fell open—I had never called her 'Miss Sidle' in anything but a teasing tone. Even as her teacher, she was always Sara. She looked hurt at my use of a title, and then flinched when Ken's fingertips started to play over her neck. She sat forward abruptly, so that his arm fell off of her, and her body remained tensed. "I, uh… I don't know..."

His hand moved forward, brushing against the small of her back, and she flinched again. I had resolved myself to ignore it—as in front of other students, I didn't need to seem like there was any reason for me to be possessive—but as he slid those dirty, wandering fingers beneath the hem of her shirt to brush the skin of her lower back, and her face was both horrified and redder than I'd ever seen it, her body almost completely off the couch now… I decided I could intervene.

I cleared my throat. "Mr. Fuller. Perhaps you should be paying attention to my lecture about what we can determine from what people don't tell us. Miss Sidle, for example, isn't telling you that she's uncomfortable. However, as she's nearly crouching off the end of the couch trying to avoid you groping her in the middle of my class, my guess would be that she is." His face heated, and he snatched his hand away.

"For the record, copping a feel in school aside, you probably shouldn't touch women if they so obviously seek to avoid your grasping hands. That's how you incur rape charges. In this case, it would be statutory rape, as Miss Sidle is seventeen. Now, why don't you move to a couch across the room? …Unless, of course, Miss Sidle would like to press sexual harassment charges, in which case, you'll have to keep roughly a hundred feet from her..."

I glanced at Sara, who was staring at the floor, and yet somehow still knew I was looking to her for an answer. She shook her head, a minute gesture, and I raised an impatient eyebrow at Ken, who—bright red—let out a frustrated groan and moved across the room, not looking at me. I cleared my throat again.

"Just so everyone is aware, while I have little patience for PDA in my classroom, I have absolutely no patience with anyone forcing themselves on anyone else. I sincerely hope I won't encounter this problem again. Now, I believe we were discussing experience, which really comes down to intuition, in a sense. What does a typical B&E look like? The average person doesn't know this, but an experienced CSI will pick up on seemingly unimportant details…"

Ken was the first out of class. Sara lingered, uncomfortable and uncertain. I had stood up for her, yet I had been distant. She glanced up at me, wrung her fingers in agitation, and focused on a particularly boring area of the rug beneath her boots. I cleared my throat softly, and gestured with my head out the door—not telling her to leave, but asking if she was going to come down to my office with me again. She nodded, numbly, and we moved in silence.

Truth be told, I was a little concerned—my head of department wouldn't be happy I had humiliated the boy in front of his peers—but I did not think I had acted brashly, nor been nearly as harsh as I might have been. And though it affected me more personally than if it had been another young, female student, I knew for a fact that I would have said something regardless of who the girl was that was being harassed. I had seen too many peeping toms escalate… too many rape victims… to take something like that lightly.

I unlocked it and moved inside, and she followed me silently—almost meekly—and closed the door behind herself, sitting in her chair. I sighed and threw my reference book angrily to my desk and sighed. Away from the moment—able to feel relief that Sara was away from him and that I no longer had to so carefully conceal my concern for her—I felt exhausted. "…Are you okay?"

She looks up at me, startled, and a shaky smile crosses her lips. "Yeah… yeah, I'm fine."

She's relieved that I'm being kind to her. I smile too, although it's a shallow thing. "I, uh… You seemed like you needed some help."

She bites her bottom lip and then stands abruptly, moving over to my desk and wrapping her arms around me tightly, taking me by surprise. I stand, uncertain, my arms outstretched while she held me tightly… and after a moment, I let them fall around her, gently, giving a gentle squeeze to reassure.

"Thank you." She whispered, her mouth pressed against the shoulder of my shirt, and it took all my strength not to react openly to the gentle caress of her lips through the thin layer of cotton. Despite this effort, when she let the weight of her head go, her lips pressed solidly against my shoulder, I tightened my hold on her, breathing in the scent of her hair.

After a moment, I forced myself to pull gently from her and look in her eyes. "Are you really okay?"

She nodded, a little shakiness still present in her movements, and I gave a half-smile, disbelieving. "You have any more classes today?"

I know the answer to my question—I have memorized her class schedule, simply from her mentioning her class in passing—she's free until three. I don't know what she'll say, however. She hesitates. "I… why?" I smile.

"I was thinking maybe we should get away from here… a change of location might help put it out of your mind."

She looks up at me, directly into my eyes, seemingly unaware of the closeness between us. "I… I can skip it, today. Let's… Can we go to your place?" There's a hint of vulnerability in her voice, and I nod.

"Of course, Sara." I picked my coat up from the back of my chair. "Let's go."

She tilted her head. "…Really? Just… like that?"

I narrowed my eyes in confusion, pausing half-way to my door. "I, uh… yeah. Why…? What were you expecting?"

"I just… well, I've always gone to your house under… special circumstances. I told you about my horrible roommate, and it was during break, so it wasn't crossing limits as much, for me to come get coffee. And then, her friend trying to… and me showing up." She looks down, trying to hide the fear still in her eyes from the event. "And then, I came for a purpose—a Christmas present. I didn't think I could just… be at your house… for no reason."

I give her a strange sort of smile. "Well, don't worry about that so much. As long as I want you there, you can be there."

This wasn't as reassuring as I could have been, but then, I didn't want her feeling like she could come and go as she pleased, either. Being invited into my home should be a privilege, in her mind, even if it happened every day. She gave a hesitant nod, and we moved out in silence, hardly speaking until we were moving through my front door, sliding off our coats in the process.

She took in a deep, calming breath as soon as the door was closed, and at my questioning glance, she blushed and explained hesitantly. "I, uh… I haven't really felt… safe… like I could relax… anywhere in Boston… except here."

I give her an affectionate smile. "You can come here any time, Sara."

Her eyes were wide. "…Really? I mean… you don't have to say that. I know that… having me here… puts you at risk."

I shake my head. "I don't care. It's not illegal to have a minor in my home… Everyone needs a place to feel safe. You're more than welcome any time."

Tears filled her eyes, and she hugged me tightly again—this time I did not hesitate to hold her closely. …It made me wonder, briefly, if I ought not simply pursue her as a man, rather than as a possessor. Certainly, it would be more fulfilling… but I disregarded this thought. The risk was too great—having someone so young and beautiful—how on earth could I function when she left me?

Not if—when.

But if I owned her—controlled her, rather than loved her—she would never leave. She could never leave. And that was the commitment I needed.