Author's Note: Oh, my god. This episode. The one that we all rewatch twice a week because the tension is THIS thick and yummy. Yeah... Yeah. (I also had to comment on Sara's hair and clothes in this episode, because she looked sooo beautiful, and I thought Grissom might think so, too. Because his brain is basically my brain. Right?)

I'm handing out assignments, Sara. It's not a negotiation.

"Trying to punish me?" she asked snidely when he passed her on the way to the Trace Lab. He narrowed his eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"You called me. You spilled your secrets. Don't turn on me now because you're mad at yourself for the cracks in your façade. I didn't make you talk to me."

"I wasn't turning on you." He started to walk away.

"I'm not just going to disappear," she called after him. "Even if you want me to."

Pin me down.

Her hair was just the way he liked it—wavy and soft around her face. Her lips were dark, and the black of her clothes made her pale skin luminous. She was beautiful, and she was alone with him, and her words were familiar and completely out of context.

He stepped forward, smelling the latex of her gloves, the lavender of her hair, the coppery scent of the blood on the sheet behind her. She struggled in his grasp—a demonstration—and his body tightened; she looked deep into his eyes and said, "Yes," and he wanted it to be yes to a lot of different things, in a lot of different ways. When she said she needed to talk, he let himself hope what he would never say aloud; when she spoke of the promotion, he tried to hide his disappointment. But he could not hide his shock when she implied that their past might influence his decision. She should have known him better than that.

I just wanted to make sure that anything happened or didn't happen between us won't be a factor.

What didn't happen? he asked himself later. He was pretty sure his memory was still good, and he remembered a lot of happening, and very little not.

"What didn't happen?" He followed her out to the parking lot that night, after Warrick's testimony, after a small celebration at the lab. She had ducked out of the break room after only a small sip of the sparkling juice Catherine had provided, and spent the rest of the night closing out the homicide case he had put on hold for her. He had watched her, working alone while the others chatted happily, and wondered until it made his head hurt.

She arched an eyebrow at him, her face nearly hidden in the shadows. "What do you mean?"

"You said you wanted to make sure whatever happened or didn't happen between us wasn't a factor in the promotion. What didn't happen?"

He could swear she flushed then, but she stood her ground. "I told you, I over-talk around you. Forget I said anything."

"No, Sara," he said urgently, moving closer. "I remember a lot of things happening. I want to know what didn't."

"Oh, you remember, do you?" she asked in a low voice that made his mouth a little dry. "Funny. I remember too."

"How could I forget?" He took another step closer, until he could feel the heat of her body the way he had in the lab the day before.

"Someone could have taken your mind off things," she said, and Heather flashed through his brain. He winced a little.

"I didn't have the same luxury of ongoing distraction," he retorted, and it was her turn to flinch.

"That was a mistake," she said quietly. "Him, specifically, not what happened."

"Back to what didn't," he said, his voice purposeful. "Tell me, Sara."

"Oh, a lot didn't happen," she said lightly, and he knew he was never going to drag the real answer from her. "For instance, you've never kissed me since you got that beard."

He could not stop himself from stepping one step closer. He could kiss her now, if he wanted, but it was too dangerous. "There are a lot of things I haven't done to you since growing this beard," he said roughly, and watched something spark in her eyes. This was familiar ground, but he suspected that buried beneath the well-known landmarks were mines for which he had no preparation. He drew in a breath, exhaled.

"Going anywhere in particular?" he asked her casually.

She smiled, and it was full of promise. Her eyes tightened, and they were full of fear. "Your place?" she breathed.

He hesitated. It would not be so simple this time. Enough had transpired between them that neither could pretend that there was no emotion accompanying the sex, that no pain would accompany a separation. He had turned her down for a dinner date; how would she react if he immediately acquiesced to a proposition?

He shut his eyes tightly. "You know the way," he murmured.

They drove separately, arrived at a common destination. He started up the front walk, felt her hand slide in to his as she fell into step beside him. He squeezed it gently.

"I've missed you," he whispered, as they crossed the threshold into the cool darkness of his home. She laid a hand on his cheek, brushing her thumb over the unfamiliar beard.

"I've missed everything," she replied.