Live Laugh Love

Sara stared at the picture above Grissom's toilet and read the words that were carved into the frame and accented with silver paint. The picture itself wasn't anything particularly interesting or unique. It was a simple shot of a butterfly resting on a blade of grass. The insect's wings were spread wide to expose a long shape and vivid blue markings. Her sort-of boyfriend's house was adorned by images of that particular species. However, the frame, well that was something new.

She wondered if he had received it as a gift, perhaps from some unknowing person who had picked the frame blindly, unaware of Dr. Gil Grissom's taste in decor.

Live. Laugh. Love. She read the words again and considered them in the context of her... Whatever Grissom was to her.

Grissom was definitely alive, but it could definitely be debated how much he truly lived. That argument could be made for anyone who worked the grave shift at LVPD. Long and strange hours definitely had an impact on their social lives... But that didn't mean they didn't enjoy themselves, did it?

They all managed to find some pleasure in their work, their friends (who were mostly made through work), and their hobbies that sometimes overlapped with a case: card games and tricks for Warrick, history and insects- her eyes flicked to the butterfly again - for Grissom, gossip and attractive men for Catherine... And they had fun as a team. They were a close team. Her mind drifted to Grissom again and wondered if he realized that. If he felt connected to them the sane way that they did to each other. A smile flitted across her face when she though of Grissom's laughter which usually consisted of a silent tiny smirk and a twinkle in his blue eyes.

Love... He definitely loved his work and his bugs... She looked at the framed butterfly again and crinkled her brow, wondering why the image kept drawing her attention. It wasn't unique by any standards... There were dozens of images of butterflies- Sara paused. Maybe that was just it. It wasn't drawing her attention because it was different, but rather because she had seen it so often. This particular butterfly had been popping up with growing frequency: framed on an end table underneath a stainless lamp, as the wallpaper on Grissom's laptop- her eyes drifted away from the frame and upwards to the to stare at the ceiling corner as she recounted how many times she had seen that particular species. Over a dozen, she concluded as her eyes drifted back to the picture. Filing away her current thoughts for later exploration she went back to studying the last word on the frame. Grissom loved his mother- a tap on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"Sara? Are you alright?" The man who had been occupying her thoughts spoke through the heavy oak door. "Dinner is getting cold."

"I'm fine…" her words faltered as she looked at the frame again briefly before looking down at her yoga pants and tank top piled on top of the closed toilet lid. "Just… getting changed…" She told him distantly. How long had she been standing there?

"Can I come in?"

Sighing, Sara crossed the large bathroom and wrapped her fingers around the handle before tugging the door open.

Grissom quirked an eyebrow as his blue eyes travelled over her body, still fully clothed in the outfit she had worn to work, minus one sock. "Making progress I see," he commented dryly, his eyes drifting back up to meet her brown ones.

Rolling her eyes Sara shrugged and headed back over to her clothes, removing her shirt as she went.

"What's got you so distracted in here?" Grissom looked around the room curiously.

"I was just thinking," Sara explained vaguely through the thin cotton fabric of her tank top as she pulled it over her head.

Grissom's watched appreciatively as she abandoned the task without tugging the hem down, leaving a large portion of her milky back and smooth stomach exposed. He couldn't control the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth when she unbuttoned her pants and pushed them down over her hips, revealing a chocolate coloured pair of panties that cut high on her hips revealing a fair amount of her derriere. "About what?" He tore his eyes away and forced them north up over the shape of her spine to her face as she peered at him over her shoulder, her cheeks framed by chestnut hair; she had left it curly today. He swallowed hard right before his tongue swept over his lips to moisten them.

"About…" She shrugged her thin slender shoulder and looked away from him towards the wall.

Moving forward Grissom reached out and made contact with her back gently, careful not to startle her. Sweeping his hands over the still exposed skin on her back he wrapped his arms around her a closed her into a firm hug. She came to him easily and she molded her body to his chest. Resting his cheek against hers, he waited.

"It's really stupid, Grissom. I'm just tired I guess… I don't know," she stammered, raising her hands, emphasizing her flustered state.

Silence stretched out as the man wrapped around her waited.

Taking a deep breath she shrugged, "I'm not sure…" she paused for a brief second. "I'm not sure if you love me," she whispered feeling equal parts of insecurity and humiliation for expressing it. Biting down hard on her tongue she moved to step out of his embrace, her eyes darting around the room for the easiest way to escape.

As she made a move to step away, Grissom used the momentum of her body to spin her around to face him, his hands locking around her waist, securing her against him. "Where is that coming from?" he asked, using his thumbs to stoke the soft, smooth skin of her back soothingly.

Unable to meet his eyes, Sara looked at the picture on the wall. "I don't know," she shrugged again.

"Sara…"

"I just- I got a little bit carried away with my thoughts," she rationalized. "Can we drop it?"

"Sure," he agreed, his hands drifting up her back. The look of relief on her face was brief when he continued, "After you tell me what's bothering you."

This time, when her eyes flicked over to the frame on the wall his followed. Together they looked at the artwork, her face tinged red with shame, his perplexed as he tried to figure out how this clue fit into the puzzle. Finally he settled on the small silver words carved into the frame.

"Was it a gift?" Sara asked softly, still avoiding him.

"It was… yes. From you."

"I didn't give that to you," finally she turned her face to look at him.

"Not the frame, but the sentiment. You reminded me, Sara. When I saw it I was reminded of you and everything you have brought into my life, everything that I was from life," leaning in he captured her lips with his briefly. "You brought with you a reminder to live; you taught me how to do that. And to laugh, you bring so much joy into my life. And to love…" Slowly he breathed in as he prepared to say the words that had remained unspoken between them, and then faltered.

"It's okay," Sara whispered, looking down. "I know."

"That's a… Have you ever heard of a Heliconius sara?"

"A Heliconius?" She asked, her brain trying to figure out the sudden topic change.

"No, a Heliconius sara," he clarified, his eyes were laughing again.

"That's what I said," his silent laughter was infectious and she felt her mood lighten a little.

Shaking his head he kissed her on the cheek. "The Henlinonius sara butterfly is a neotropical species. They can be found in Mexico, Brazil, the Amazon… Sometimes when I don't know how to express my feelings to you I…" His cheeks suddenly tinged red to match hers as he trailed off.

"You what?" She asked, wrapping her arms around his shoulder and settling into his chest, her cheek resting on his shoulder.

"I… go online and track down an auction, or a collector and purchase a Sara Longwing butterfly" Sheepishly, the usually cool and collected Entomologist shrugged his shoulders.

"You must think about telling me a lot…" She mused, thinking about the all of the places she had spotted the species.

Grissom cleared his throat. "Let's just say I have a pretty substantial collection," he smiled softly. "I'll show it to you sometime."

"I've seen it," Sara nodded, tucking her face further into his neck. "In your office, here at the townhouse… the one in your kit."

"Sara, dear," Gil sighed, resting his cheek against her hair. "I ran out of room. You should see my mother's basement…"