Disclaimer: I do not own.

A/N: So, I decided to have some Sara. Her POV will be few and far between, but I think as she comes to think for herself and question the relationship more, she'll have more of a voice. :)

Enjoy!

Chapter Thirty-Five:

Sara:

I told him I loved him.

I told him, and he pretended he was asleep so he wouldn't have to answer me.

We both laid awake, all night, silent and awake, and the loneliness was palpable in the air… for me, anyway. …Probably not for him.

Because he thought I was asleep.

We've been sleeping in the same bed, off and on, since before the summer apart. For over three months, we've haven't spent a single night apart. …and he still can't tell when I'm actually sleeping.

I admit it—I read too many god damned romance novels, and I'm sure that my expectation of a relationship is warped by it.

Assuming we're in a relationship… neither of us has used any sort of word to describe our situation—not girlfriend or boyfriend, not affair, not fuck buddy, not commitment or fling or casual dating.

No, that's not true—he used the word lover, that first night.

...Which isn't much of a consolation, since he seems entirely alarmed at the idea of making love to me.

But I reiterate, I don't exactly have the best concept of how a relationship works.

If it's not a fairy tale romance, an asshole groping me on a date I don't even want to be on, or my father backhanding my mother and bending her over the kitchen counter… well, I have no frame of reference.

It's entirely possible that it's normal to wait this long.

It's entirely possible that it's just… too soon to say something so serious.

It's possible that Grissom has his own hang ups. Insecurities. Secrets.

But then… I don't have any of those things that he doesn't know about. …Only because I've chosen to tell him, of course.

Maybe he needs… time.

Maybe he needs someone better in bed.

No, no, no. Stop thinking that way. He… he seems to enjoy everything I do. …He finishes every time.

…and, maybe he doesn't want to decide to make love. Maybe he just wants it to happen.

…We've gotten close, on occasion.

But every time it feels like it's almost happening, and he presses against me accidentally—I get so afraid that it will happen and he'll be mad at me for not stopping it or preventing it.

He'll be mad that I pushed the issue or welcomed the accident or…

…He never gets mad at me. I don't know why I worry so much about making him angry…

Maybe I don't worry about anger so much as disappointment. I fear his dissatisfaction in me. I fear his… dismissal. His boredom.

I'm afraid that he really doesn't love me, even though I try to tell myself that in real life, it's hard for some people to say… and no matter how fast I read, I can't rush him through that kind of insecurity. There's no guarantee that by the end of the book he'll have figured out his issues and confessed his love for me.

But that's okay too.

He's accepted me, bent and broken and inexperienced though I am, and I can accept it if he can never tell me that he loves me.

…If only he would show me that.

I want to share the act of love with him… look up and see more than gentleness and a desire to please me in his eyes.

That would be enough.

That would make me feel like I deserved his love, even though I probably don't.

I think I'm going to stop dropping hints. Maybe he thinks I'm only interested in sex, and he wants me to want it for the right reasons.

…And I can't tell him my reasons—he pretends not to hear that I love him.

…Maybe he was sleeping. I can't be a hundred percent sure.

Maybe he never relaxed because his dreams were stressful. Maybe he had a big, romantic plan to tell me how he felt… with roses, and candlelight, and champagne, and I ruined it.

Me and my big mouth. I'm always over-talking with him.

Maybe he was pretending he hadn't heard it, so that when he does his plan… it'll still be romantic, not too little too late.

Doesn't he know that, for me… nothing he could do would be too little too late?

…Still, I was feeling disenchanted. I didn't want to keep doing half-acts of love that please but don't satisfy.

No.

That isn't fair of me.

Who am I to dictate in which way he ought to show his affections for me?

He's taking a huge risk just to be with me… in whatever capacity we're together, that is… and that should tell me something.

He needs to do things in his own time.

He's given me all the time in the world to… to adjust and to learn and to… become comfortable with our intimacy.

I can give him time if, in fact, he needs it to deal with the non-physical aspects of intimacy.

And if not—if this is all he can give me, ever… Well, then it's still the best I've ever had from the only man I think I could ever want and love the way I want and love Grissom.

…Sara Grissom.

It has a nice ring to it.

Maybe someday… when I'm out of school and there isn't so much risk involved in a public relationship.

Maybe he'll go back to the lab and we could work together… or he could teach and I could work at the lab.

Maybe we could be travelling consultants or he could consult and I could work at the FBI or… or maybe I'd stay home with our babies.

Maybe he would stay home with them.

Maybe we could be a family… and I could have a real family, for the first time.

If all of that—my hopes for a life and a family and every dream I've ever had—rested on my tacit acceptance of whatever it was that kept him from me… then tacit acceptance would be very, very easy.

If it gave me his love… I could do anything.