A/N: Sorry, but the chapters seem to be getting longer and longer. I hope they don't drag. This one in particular.

Sara walked across the visitors' car lot with a heavy heart. Her rental was the last one left in the bay, and reaching for the key fob she unlocked the car and retrieved her purse from the trunk. It was stifling hot inside and quickly she turned on the engine to activate the air conditioning. The administration building stood ahead of her and behind it the main prison complex. With a sigh, she wondered where he was – how he was.

She was reaching for the seatbelt when tears welled in her eyes unexpectedly. She felt so tired all of a sudden, so drained and weary, that she didn't have the strength to fight them off. Pausing, she closed her eyes and let her tears fall. The visit hadn't been as light-hearted as she would have liked, Betty's illness and subsequent no-show understandably coming as a shock to Grissom.

But watching as he was forcefully turned and led away from her had wrenched her heart. He'd looked so sad and dejected, so beaten by his situation, that she wasn't sure how she could help him. She wished he'd told her earlier in the visit about Mr Martinez's letter and not just sprung it on her at the last minute. Maybe then she would have been better prepared to help him.

She remained like so, head bowed over the steering wheel, feeling sorry for herself, feeling sorry for her husband, until she remembered Betty and her promise to Grissom to email with news as soon as possible. Startling, she wiped at her tears, rummaged inside her purse for her cell and switched it back on. There was a missed call from Nick, a voice message probably from him too, and a text from Betty. Quickly she tapped on the icon and opened the text. Betty wanted to know how Gil was and how the visit had gone. If only she knew, Sara thought.

Visit good, she typed. Gil had some good news. Custody level downgraded. Transfer approved. She paused, then added a smiley face and pressed send. And then, as an afterthought, in a second text, How are you?

She hadn't been able to hide her disappointment but his being transferred to a low-security facility was good news. It would mean a fresh start, or at least the start of a new phase for him, without all the anxiety and distress associated with Beaumont med. It meant that he was one step closer to being a free man. It would be the place where he – they – could begin to prepare themselves for, and look forward to, a future without bars.

He had just under a year left of his sentence, but with time accrued through good conduct and the work he did, and parole, which if everything carried on as it was he should be granted, he should get out of prison much sooner than that. Thinking about their future afterwards was exciting, and this time she would be with him every step of the way.

She listened to Nick's voicemail where he told her he hadn't heard from Betty at all, and did she want him to go over and check on her anyway? He'd been about to hang up when he'd paused and asked how she was and to call him if she just wanted to talk or vent or whatever. Nick's solicitude brought more tears to her eyes but this time she kept them from spilling. If she called him now, she knew she'd cry and she didn't want him to worry. It was still early; he wouldn't be starting shift for a few more hours. She'd call him when she was back at the hotel and hopefully a little calmer.

Seatbelt fastened, she put the car in reverse, backed out of the spot and drove the thirty minutes or so back to the hotel on the outskirts of Beaumont. In her room, she checked her cell – still no reply from Betty – turned on the television with the sound low and got undressed, headed straight for the shower. She let the cool water wash away some of her stress and worry, for the time being at least, before she got out. Dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, she checked her cell again, then made herself comfortable on the bed in front of the television and called Nick.

"Hey," he greeted in his easy drawl, picking up. "You got my message."

"I did," she replied, laughing.

"So how did it go?" he asked, clearly eager to have news.

"It went well."

"The bug man's fully recovered?"

The old moniker brought a smile to her lips. "He has," she replied. "He's looking good." Well, that wasn't a lie, she thought, because until the very end he'd looked and sounded so much like his old self. Giving her head a shake, she went on to tell Nick about the transfer and how she couldn't wait for that to happen.

"Oh, that is good news," he said warmly. "Really good news. You must be so relieved."

"I am. We both are. We're just waiting on a date and a destination."

"Well, let's just hope they can find somewhere a little closer to home this time. Make it easier for you and his mother to visit. Did he ask for a hardship transfer?"

Sara was surprised that Nick knew what a hardship transfer was. One was usually considered only when a medical condition impacted the immediate family member's ability to travel to visit the offender. Grissom had mentioned his mother's deafness and old age when he'd made the request but maybe now he could add ill-health to the list. She made a mental note to bring it up the next day.

"He did," she replied. "But you know how the system works. There's no guarantees."

"Fair enough." Nick paused, hesitating. "How do you think he'd feel if I…oh, I don't know…wrote to him maybe? You know when he's settled into his new digs," he went on, uncertainty creeping into his voice.

Sara smiled. "I think he'd like that," she said, once again touched by Nick's thoughtfulness. "But I don't think he's ready for more yet."

"That's cool."

Being in contact with Nick, she thought, as easy going and non-judgemental as he was, would be a good first step toward telling the rest of their friends what had happened and mending a few fences too. How Grissom would react was a different matter, though, and an argument for another day.

"So, anyway," Nick went on cheerfully, drawing her back to the moment, "about Mrs G. What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing. I heard from her earlier and she said she was fine. I think I've got to trust she's telling the truth. I'm waiting on a reply to a text as we speak and I'll take it from there."

"Okay. Whatever you think is best. Just call if you need me to do anything. It's no problem."

"Thanks, Nick."

They talked for a while longer before she thanked him again and they hung up. He was being such a good friend to her; she didn't know how she'd cope without him on her side. She wished she could confide in Greg and the others too, but Greg especially. She'd wanted to discuss telling Greg with Grissom over the weekend but he had so much to deal with right then that she wasn't sure it was the right time. And yet she knew that the longer she perpetuated the lie the harder it would be to confess to it. She was dozing off in front of the TV when the beeping of an incoming text message roused her. Startling, she reached for her cell on her lap and opened the text.

Great news about Gil, Betty wrote. I'm so happy for him. Wish I was there with you. Give him my love, will you? Tell him I emailed. Oh, and I'm fine.

Fine, Sara thought and gave her head a shake, hardly believing it, and sent a quick Will do in reply. Wondering whether she herself would be as independent and stubborn as Grissom's mother when she was the same age, she connected to the hotel Wi-Fi and sent Grissom the promised email, passing on his mother's message and adding a few encouraging words of her own. She was sure hearing directly from Betty would be a huge boost to him. Afterwards, she and Betty texted back and forth for a little while until Sara's eyes grew heavy again and she fell asleep.

When she next woke up, it was dark. The television was playing to itself and, after switching on the bedside light, she turned it off. A look at her cell told her it was 10pm, and she sighed. Her sleep pattern was all over the place, and she knew she'd find it hard to fall asleep again for the night. Quickly, she checked if Grissom had replied to the email – he hadn't – and she couldn't even be sure that he'd read it, or his mother's for that matter. Her stomach gave a loud grumble, the lunchtime egg salad she'd eaten at the prison now but a distant memory, and getting up she swapped her shorts for jeans and grabbed her jacket and purse.

The hotel restaurant had closed for the night and the only food on offer came from a vending machine in the lobby. Balking at the sight, she took the car and drove into town. Beaumont was no Vegas as far as being open 24/7, and the only restaurants she encountered were fast food outlets of the meat variety. She was about to give up and turn around when she spotted the bright lights of Cheddar's Scratch Kitchen, a family-friendly chain serving American comfort food with a Texas twist, plus cocktails. She would dispense with the cocktails but the comfort food she could do with.

The restaurant had few diners in when she went in, but the waitress, whose nametag read Cherry, was welcoming and happy to serve her nonetheless. When given the choice she opted to eat in and, after being shown a table near the bar and given a menu, she quickly made her choice – Bourbon glazed grilled salmon with rice and two sides with a handcrafted raspberry lemonade. Cherry took her order, then came back from the kitchen wanting to chat. Feeling somewhat lonely, Sara was only too happy for the distraction and company.

When she got back to the hotel, it was past midnight. She put the television on, went through the channels until she found a film, and then because she was bored and restless began penning Grissom a letter. It was silly really, what could she tell him in the letter that she wouldn't be able to say in person the next day, but it soothed her anxious mind. And when finally she nodded off again, she slept soundly until the early hours of the morning.

She checked her cell as soon as she woke up. Neither Betty nor Grissom had made contact, and she told herself not to worry, that it was still early. She hoped both had had good nights, feared it wasn't the case, for Grissom anyway. Today, unlike the previous day when after a delayed flight she'd finally checked into the hotel at 2am, not going to bed until well after 3am and consequently oversleeping, she didn't need to rush her morning routine. Wanting to look nice for him, she took care choosing her clothes and doing her hair, opting to put on a little makeup and perfume.

She arrived at the prison complex with plenty of time to spare and joined the line of cars waiting to be searched for drugs and weapons. When her turn came, she presented her driving licence and rental car papers, opened the trunk and engine hood and let the officers carry out their checks. They cleared her for entry and she drove straight to the administration building, pulling into the same spot as the previous day. Before getting out, she checked her cell one last time and found a text from Betty. It brought good news and a wide smile to her lips. She switched off her cell and returned it to her purse, took out the clear plastic bag of change and her ID, and stowed her purse in the trunk of the car.

Cell phones were strictly forbidden inside the visitation building and without her purse she'd move through the security line much faster. Inside the building she joined the line of people already there and when it moved forward, just like at an airport, took off her shoes and placed her car keys, bag and ID in a container, which was sent through the x-ray machine. She walked through the metal detectors, was pat-searched by a female officer and then retrieved her belongings. The mood was quiet, the small crowd orderly and compliant. She joined yet another line and eventually handed in her ID to the duty officer who gave her a slip of paper with the number of the table where she'd meet Grissom.

As she sat in the waiting room and then later at her table in the visitation room, she felt both nervous and excited. When Grissom finally came in, he was looking as rough as she'd imagined he would, and she marvelled at the difference twenty-four hours made. It was clear that he'd had a bad night, and she knew it wasn't solely because he was worried about his mother. She plastered on her brightest, most cheerful smile, a smile he returned when their eyes met, but his lacked the intensity and sparkle of the previous day.

As he covered the distance to her, he scanned his eyes around the room, then looked over his shoulder, as if searching for someone. He looked restless and guarded now, watchful, and she wondered if something had happened behind the scenes. Like the previous day, she stood when he reached her side and sneaked in a kiss before she wrapped her arms tightly around him. He returned the embrace with as much intensity, but she could feel how tense he was.

When they pulled apart, Grissom moved to sit down, but not before he'd glanced over his right shoulder again. Frowning, Sara looked over in that direction but, apart from visitors and inmates greeting each other and then the vending machines further back, she couldn't see anything of particular interest. Giving her head a shake, she refocused and gave him another bright smile.

"I got some good news," she said without preamble, sitting down across from him. "I got a long text from Betty this morning and she says she's over the worst of it now. Still feeling a little weak and achy, but she's up and about and her appetite's back."

"Oh, that's good news," he said, brightening up suddenly, his relief evident.

"Didn't you…didn't you get an email from her last night?"

"I—I didn't have time to check. I'm sorry."

Sara didn't quite manage to hide her surprise at the comment, but when he failed to elaborate she opted not to ask why. She imagined it had to do with Mr Martinez's letter, and she wondered whether he'd read it. "We texted back and forth for a long while last night," she said instead, keeping her tone light and cheery. "She sends her love and wishes she could be here. Says she'll arrange to see you when you're at your new facility."

He smiled. "You told her then."

She laughed. "Of course I did. How could I not tell her! I don't get to spread all that much joy around normally."

"Oh, you do," Grissom remarked quietly, his stare intent and loving, wistful. "More than you realise."

Sara's expression softened with tenderness. She reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze, but wished for more contact. She wished they didn't have to sit across from each other like that; he was so near and yet almost out of reach. "She was so happy – your mom," she said, trying to keep the mood upbeat. "Texted a load of smiley faces."

Grissom smiled again, but his expression was still subdued. He was about to respond when a man's laughter echoed loudly, intrusively, around the room. He froze and they lapsed into silence. She was trying to think of something to say when he glanced over his shoulder again and with growing puzzlement Sara followed his eye line. An African-American man, dressed in a prison-issued uniform just like Grissom, was looking straight at them. He smiled when he saw Sara looking his way, a slow smile that spread wide, revealing a set of perfect teeth. Feeling uncomfortable at the scrutiny, Sara casually looked away and back toward Grissom, her brow rising questioningly.

"Who is he?" she asked.

"Who's who?" Grissom countered, feigning ignorance but not fooling anyone.

She held his eyes steadily. "The man over there. The one you keep looking at." Feeling the man's intent gaze on them, she gave a fake laugh. "The one who's staring at us as we speak."

"It's no one," he said in a sigh that belied his words.

"No one, huh?" She paused, waited for him to take the bait and when he didn't, "Gil?"

Again, Grissom sighed. "It's Armstrong."

Sara's ears pricked up as her expression hardened. Feeling anger rise inside her, she took a deep breath then eased a discreet look toward Armstrong. He was looking away now, busy talking and laughing with his female visitor. He was so tall and broad that he dwarfed the table; even if he'd tried Grissom would have been no match.

"I can't believe it," she said, through gritted teeth.

"Leave it, Sara, will you?"

"Did he say anything to you while you were waiting?" she asked, leaning forward closer to Grissom. "Is that why you're so tense?"

Grissom took in a long breath he let out even more slowly. "He didn't need to."

"But he can't hurt you anymore, right?" she went on, her anger growing.

Looking down, Grissom shook his head.

She kept her voice low, but her tone was urgent. "I can't believe you've still got to live with the guy after what he did to you. I'm going to put in a complaint."

Grissom's gaze shot up. "I'm leaving soon. What does it matter?"

She stared at him with disbelief. "Of course, it matters. The guy shouldn't be allowed to walk around the place like he owns it. "

"Please, can we not—"

"I called your attorney again on Monday."

"Sara—"

"He said he was on the case."

"Badgering him isn't going to make the system work any faster, you know that."

"Maybe not." Full of conviction when she spoke, she flicked her eyes toward Armstrong. "But he's got to be punished for what he did to you, Gil, for what I'm sure he's still doing."

"It's fine, Sara. Leave it," he said more curtly, it seemed, than he intended to, for he glanced around them uncomfortably. He was growing agitated and she took a deep breath, willing herself to reign in her indignation, her emotion. It wasn't like she could confront Armstrong now anyway. Making a scene would only result in her being kicked out and denied future visiting.

"Sorry," she said, mustering a smile. "Sorry. I didn't mean to get carried away. It's just so…" She made a frustrating sound. "You know how I get."

His expression softened with a smile. "That I do." He reached for her hand. "As I said it's not for much longer. And I promise I stay out of his way. In fact this is only the second or third time I've come across him since I got moved." He gave her fingers a strong squeeze. "So, huh, please, let's not spoil what little time we have together talking about him, all right?"

Reaching forward to cover their joined hands with her free one, she gave him a grudging smile. "All right."

He lowered his gaze briefly before he brought it back up decisively. "I read the letter," he blurted suddenly. "Last night, I—" He shrugged, and she smiled at him encouragingly. "I made myself do it."

"And what does it say?" she asked softly, when he faltered.

Grissom's shoulder rose again. "That Mr Martinez isn't doing so well – health-wise, I mean."

Sara gave a nod. "I gathered as much when I went to see him. I got a feeling that his health issues have been going on for some time, though, and are unrelated to the crash."

Her words gave him pause. "That may be the case," he said in a sigh, "but his wife's death can't have helped. I don't know why he'd bother, you know? Writing to me, I mean – twice." He kept his voice low, his words calm and measured. "The first time he thanked me for paying for the funeral. That made me feel so wretched, Sara, so much worse than I was already feeling. Didn't he know that I was the reason he had to pay for his wife's funeral in the first place?"

Sara opened her mouth, but could find no words, so she just held his hand and listened while finally he opened up to her.

Grissom chuckled uncomfortably before his eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. "This time he said I should forgive myself. That it's what Paula – that's his wife – would have wanted."

A soft smile on her lips, Sara nodded her head. "He's a good man."

He pulled his hand away and wiped a knuckle to the underside of his left eye. "He is," he said, choked up. "Certainly a better man than I could ever be if the roles were reversed."

"I know," she said, growing emotional too. She'd asked herself the question many times, but like Grissom she didn't think she would be able to forgive either if she found herself in the same situation. "And…what have you decided?" she asked, clearing her throat after a moment in silence. "Are you going to write back to him?"

Grissom paused. "Do you think I should?"

"Yes, definitely," she replied with conviction. "He reached out to you – twice; now it's your turn."

Grissom gave a long sigh.

"I think it's important that you do it," she went on cautiously. "For him, but for you too. For your peace of mind."

He pricked up his ears, and she made herself continue and say things he might not be all that comfortable hearing but that needed to be said. She'd thought about it at length the previous night, had put order to her thoughts when she'd written him the letter she wouldn't now need to mail.

"He knows what you're going through," she said, and shrugged when his gaze narrowed quizzically. "He told me so himself. He goes to a support group, Gil. He feels guilty too, for what happened. He believes that, somehow, he could have done something differently. Even prevented the crash." Grissom's gaze had taken a distant turn, but knowing he was listening she carried on. "He's reaching out to you because he knows how sorry you are for what happened. He knows you didn't mean for Paula to die. He believes, even if you don't, that it was a tragic accident."

Grissom refocused his attention on her suddenly, before he finally nodded his head.

"I think in the long term," she went on, holding his gaze steadily, "if anything were to happen to Mr Martinez and you hadn't replied, you'd find it even harder to forgive yourself."

"You're right I would." Grissom seemed to think things over for a moment. "But finding the words is not going to be easy."

"It won't. But you can do it; I know you can." She smiled encouragingly. "You'll find the words."

His expression became wistful. "I could never with you."

Her smile widened. "Maybe once, but you've made up for it since."

A smile forming on his lips, he reached for her hand again. "I love you."

Laughing, she gave her head a shake at how obvious he was being. Her laughter faded and they stared at each other solemnly for a while. She was glad he'd begun to open up and she hoped that talking through his anguish over the letter with her had helped put Mr Martinez's words into context. He'd need more time, but she knew that eventually he'd do the right thing as far as Mr Martinez was concerned. "You're going to be okay?" she then asked.

He gave her a nod. "Thank you."

Her smile returned, and she laughed. "Talking of love," she said, dipping her voice to a whisper. "I had a dream the other night."

His gaze narrowed. "A dream?"

She raised her brow suggestively.

His eyes widened as a faint flush crept into his cheeks. "Oh, that kind of dream."

Her smile broadened pleasurably. "Yes, that kind of dream." And as she told him about it, she found she was able to relax and forget about Armstrong being in the room. All noise and chatter receded into the background, and it was just them talking. She kept her voice low, her words clean, her gaze steadfast on his, and judging by the changing emotion on his face he momentarily forgot about his worries and surroundings too. Clearly he was lost for words, which didn't surprise her. Maybe he was even a little shocked by her candour and openness.

She was going into detail she wouldn't normally be comfortable speaking out loud, even with him, in the dark, or even write in a letter, but it didn't matter. They couldn't be together, not physically at least, but she wanted him to know that in her head they still shared those moments. It was suddenly important to her he knew how much love and pleasure he still gave her, even when they were hundreds of miles apart. Maybe if they had done so in the past when they lived in different places, they'd have felt closer to each other and not drifted apart as they had done. When she finished he had tears in his eyes.

"Hey," she said softly. "I'm sorry. Did I go too far? Make you feel uncomfortable?"

"No," he replied in a quiet chuckle. "I'm just…being silly." He flashed a quick smile before raising his shoulder in a shrug. "It's just that…sometimes, like now, or when I read your letters, I forget where I am, I forget what I've done, and it's just you and me again. Knowing I'm in your dreams just like you are in mine, well…well—" He laughed and shook his head all at once. "There you have it." His expression sobering, he lowered his gaze and patted her hand before looking back up. "The proof that I can never find the words."

"Oh, I think you just did." Her smile trembling, she wiped at her eyes. "You're going to be fine, Gil. We're going to be fine. I know you don't think so at the moment but the light at the end of the tunnel's growing bigger as we speak."

Smiling, he gave her a nod.

She shrugged. "I don't know about you but all that…activity's made me thirsty." She jerked her head toward the vending machines. From the corner of her eye, she saw that Armstrong was still there, involved in a heated discussion. "Same as yesterday?"

Glancing behind him, Grissom nodded his head.

"Don't worry," she said in a whisper, pushing to her feet. "I won't make a scene."

He smiled. "Actually," he called, as she walked away, "can I you get me a Hershey's chocolate milk and one of those cinnamon rolls you had yesterday?"

"Chocolate milk?"

He lifted a sheepish shoulder. "I doubt the coffee machine's been fixed, and I didn't go to breakfast this morning."

"I did." Sara gave him a wink and wide smile. "Stay put. I'll be right back."

As she headed to the vending machines, she walked past Armstrong's table. He and his visitor were arguing. She knew he was watching her from the corner of his eyes, but she kept her gaze forward and made herself stand up straight and proud. She trusted the system she'd worked for all her life. She trusted Grissom too and knew, even if he doubted it, that whatever little skin cells he had managed to scrape off Armstrong would yield enough DNA to convict him and have him sent back to maximum security. She was just frustrated that it was taking so long.