A/N: A new chapter! Thank you so much for your support and encouragement!

Sara Sidle's Spring

Chapter 2

May, 2005

Gil Grissom held his breath as he used small tongs to carefully grasp and remove the tiny specimen from the padded container. Only when the insect was placed on its appropriate display board did he allow himself to exhale. His patience had paid off as he moved the well-preserved bug with a pin and attached it to the board.

Taking several minutes to appreciate the arrangement of his collection with the addition of the Euspinolia militaris, he placed the glass cover over the case and hung it on the wall. He stepped away, opened the refrigerator and removed his dinner; a sandwich he'd purchased on his way home from the lab.

As he ate, he listened to music, hoping it would spread as a soothing balm over his weariness. Instead of the calm he desired, the music snapped his mind back to the events that had occurred in previous days.

The scene returned in vivid color, in rising panic, his pulse filling his ears as he had watched a mad man's attack. Somehow, the door opened, the man turned and loosened his grip. Sara had escaped; flying like a wounded bird passed him. And he was powerless; she had saved herself. He had left the door open, left her alone, talked with Lieutenant Owen, taking his time returning.

Sara's pale face, her wide eyes as she started to talk about her parents, her mother, the smells she remembered. Sounds surrounded them as he had quietly asked if she was okay, if he should get someone else. Sara had continued with the case, calm, confident, undeterred by the attack. In the end, he'd left her in the observation room as Brass had arrested Joanne McKay.

He would never be able to pinpoint the moment or the force that propelled him from his meal, but he had picked up his jacket and keys. Moments later he was in his vehicle, driving the few miles to Sara's apartment building.

Out of the car, he stood for several minutes, trying to isolate a time when love had entered his methodical life. The kind of love that he thought he'd successfully packed away; the love a man could have for a woman. Taking a deep breath, he crossed the white gravel where the complex management was attempting to change landscaping to low water use and found better footing on paved squares.

He knew her apartment—third floor on the end; a small efficiency where everything was basically one room. He slowed as he approached the building. No denying the truth; he wanted to see her but he also feared what would happen. One moment, he could imagine the pleasure, the happiness that he would enjoy being in her company. The next, when the reality of the situation asserted itself, he knew regret would follow whatever enjoyment they would find. His thoughts and desires had been making his quiet life intolerable for some time; the attack had shattered his resolve, had blown any principles associated with age difference or supervisor away.

Seeing her captured, held as a victim by a mad man, had pushed him from the long-held denial of his feelings. He wanted to protect her, to comfort her. To see her and to know her as a lover.

"Grissom?"

Startled by hearing his name, he turned.

Quickly, she said, "I—I went out for a run—a walk."

She was sweaty, wearing an old tee-shirt and shorts; her hair had been pulled back in a pony tail but now strands fell in tangles around her face. As she got closer to Grissom, she lifted the edge of her shirt and wiped her face.

All Grissom saw was the pale skin across her belly; he was breathless.

Sara, taking his quietness as a common occurrence, went on. "Do you want to come up? I can be dressed as soon as I have a quick shower."

He must have managed a nod because he followed her up the stairs and tried to think of what to say now that he was with her.

She was fast, ahead of him by several steps, talking about sleep and work. She said, "I slept for a couple of hours then got up and decided I needed some fresh air. What's going on? I'd have met you—I didn't hear my phone." Her hand touched the pocket on the backside of her shorts and she laughed. "Well, I didn't hear it because I had plugged it to recharge…duh!"

Reaching a landing, she waited for him to catch up. He said nothing as she headed up the last flight. Keys jangled on her wrist as she unlocked the door.

"Come in," she said as she pushed on the door. "It won't take long and I'll be ready." She indicated her small sofa, "You want something to drink? I…" laughing, "I have water."

As she turned, their eyes met.

And something in his gaze made her stop talking, stop moving. "Grissom?" Her brow arched in a way that muddled his thoughts even more.

Suddenly, in the way he glanced away, Sara seemed to realize his visit was not about work. She asked, "What's happened? Why are you here?"

Grissom's head could not clear. Nothing had been clear since he'd left his table and he was back in the quagmire of doubt and indecision that had plagued him for months. When he looked at her, he saw beauty, intelligence, a voice that soothed him, compassion that was genuine. Her messy hair, her faded shirt, her mouth quirked in a way he realized he adored. He opened his mouth but her eyes, her dark magnificent eyes, caused him to inhale to the point he nearly choked. Taking several backward steps into her apartment, her eyes followed him.

For the first time in his life, he felt his heart was in his throat. With a sudden inexplicable rush, he said, "This week—since Thursday—I—I thought I was going to lose you." His hand brushed across his face.

"Griss." Sara stepped closer. Her hand reached to touch his cheek in a gentle stroke evoking a memory of another touch.

As if Grissom's hand had a mind of its own, it covered Sara's, holding her hand against his cheek. His arm reached out until his fingers touched the warm skin of her neck. Admitting now, silently, he had physically wanted her from the time of their first kiss—a laughing, playful kiss in San Francisco in the shadow of the Golden Gate bridge. Lust, he'd thought, of an older man for a beautiful and intelligent young woman.

In this moment, looking into her dark eyes, he saw only passion, love that he'd ignored, tried to find in others, and found nothing but disappointment. At the same time, he knew he should leave but her touch seemed to detonate a passionate chaos in his body.

Her arms slid around his neck, his circled her back, and when his mouth found hers, he knew he could not let her go. She fit into him, moving lightly and gracefully into his body, as if each had been made for the other.

Someway, they managed to find her bed, her skin under his hands as time ceased and moments of a new era flowed over them. He had denied her for years and yet she was part of him as no one else had ever been. He watched with his arms around her as her eyes lit with an amber fire, watched as her mouth dropped open in astonished pleasure. Her arms and legs wound round him, bound him to her, sleek and silkily. His chin was nestled between her shoulder and cheek when the blinding light of ecstasy carried him into the sun.

…Sara did not need much sleep in the usual way of others. After a couple of hours, she had gotten up, dressed, and gone for a run. Not a run as runners would describe; she was more of a sprinter, moving fast for two or three minutes, slowing to a fast walk, running again along the neighborhood streets of Vegas. And she did not go far distances, staying within a mile of her apartment as she circled city blocks in a figure eight pattern.

She'd seen Gil Grissom getting out of his vehicle as she'd entered the parking lot; quickly recognizable yet oddly hesitant as he made his way toward her building. Calling his name, he had looked at her, waited for her. Arriving unannounced at her apartment probably meant she was in trouble. Any other time, he would call her if he wanted to pick her up for work. As her mind tried to track back for three, four days, she almost missed the strange look when she called his name.

Her nervousness has kept her talking until they were inside her apartment. Only then did she realize he had not come because of work. There was a hesitation, a softness in his eyes—and suddenly, she knew why he'd come. At last, he loved her, at last had given in—all she had ever wanted and it had arrived at her door. He had whispered her name, had kissed her, had taken her to bed showing her love-making as a gentle body poem. All she wanted to do was smile. Today…on a Sunday.

A/N: Hope everyone is healthy! Thank you for reading, thank you for your kind words! More to come!