Show Me, a csi fanfic

I feel like shit.

If I'm being honest and truthful here.. I really feel like complete shit. It has been a hell of a year. Between my DUI, my suspension and issues with Catherine, my PEAP counselling, telling Grissom about my family, not being able to sleep, and most recently the situation at the mental institution.. let's just say, I've had better years.

That night Grissom drove me home from the station was probably the most embarrassing moment of my life. To my surprise he was gracious and patient, and didn't make me feel bad or reprimand me.

I knew he was disappointed and concerned, but I expected him to be a supervisor and act in his usual cold, emotionless way. I couldn't have been more wrong.

In fact, he was more caring then I have ever seen him.

He held my hand.

Walked me to his car with his hand on the small of my back, and then held my hand over the center console on the drive to my apartment. I think he was even stroking my finger nails with his thumb at one point.

I told him he didn't need to, but he insisted on walking me up to my door. I told him I wasn't actually drunk, to which he replied "I know", but he still followed me to my door and inside my cold and dark apartment. He told me to go shower, and change, and that he would make me coffee. He did.

By the time I came out of the bedroom in sweat pants and braless with a tank top, he had poured me a cup of hot black coffee, and made me a slice of toast with butter. I didn't even realize I had bread in the apartment, but it was a sweet gesture nonetheless. I also didn't think twice about my modesty, because I was miserable and it was my apartment. He insisted on following me in, so I was going to wear what I wanted, and if he didn't like it he could leave. He was good at leaving.

He stood there and watched me with his hip on the kitchen counter while I ate my toast. I could sense his eyes on me. All over my body, trying to decipher my actions and I presumed, trying to think of what to say. I couldn't make eye contact with him. I ate with my face down in shame and embarrassment, but also out of anger.

Eventually he spoke. He told me that as my boss, he needed to recommend I take some time off and enroll in some PEAP counselling. I sighed and nodded, too tired and too angry to plead my case. I had fucked up and we both knew it. He then told me, and I quote: "As your friend though, I need you to take the counselling seriously and fight as hard for yourself as you do for your victims. I can't lose you Sara. In the lab, in my life. You need to figure this out, and you need to fight. I'll help you do it, but you need to want to.."

I looked up then, shocked at his uncharacteristic confession mostly, and saw the emotion in his eyes. It was hard to see, but it was there. His eyes were a little bluer, and a little wider than usual. He met my gaze without flinching. So I nodded and agreed that I would. I took three weeks vacation, I found a councillor, and started visiting her two times a week.

Grissom left that night, but not before he gave me an awkward hug, and then placed an even more awkward kiss on the top of my head. I literally froze. I think he did for a second too. If it wasn't so damned sudden it would have been almost hilarious. I don't think he even expected himself to do that. He backed away from me quickly, shoved his hands in his pockets and told me to call him if I needed anything.

Of course, I never did.

My counselling sessions were hard.. especially the first few. I was angry. Fucking pissed off. I'm not one to open up about my life, and I had been through my fair share of shrinks as a kid. I don't like being someone pay check. I don't like people who are paid to care about me, and then go home and forget all about the trauma I unloaded. Once the flood gates were opened, though, it's like I couldn't close them up again.

I told Nancy everything. About my parents. About my foster brother Mike, who introduced me to weed and beer when I was 14. I'm still in touch with him, he's thankfully turned out well. He's got a wife and a daughter named Meredith now, and he works as a firefighter in San Fransisco. I told her about San Fransisco. How I was a bit wild as a young adult.. got myself kicked out of a few bars, and even though I was highly motivated in school and always had excellent grades.. I didn't feel like I ever really fit in anywhere. I told her how my heart has always been there, and how much I miss it. The bay. The coast. The people. Even now as a vegetarian I still crave Paul's Fish and Chips.

Then she asked why I came to Vegas in the first place.. and why, if I miss the Bay so much, I am still here in the desert.

Shit, that was a fucked up session. I tried to beat around the bush, you know, second best lab in the country, great friends, fulfilling work, yada-yada.

By this point I had been seeing her for 3 weeks now, I was just about to go back to work, and she could see right through me. I always hated shrinks for that reason.I figured she already knew my one deep dark secret, she may as well know my second deeper and darker one.

So I told her.

I told her about how madly in love I am with my damned boss, my highly educated and esteemed boss who happens to be a doctor of entomology, top of his field, 15 years older than me and may have had feelings for me at one point, but decided I wasn't worth the risk to his career or whatever, so he shut me down and acted like nothing happened.

Oh, did I mention I also told her about how we had met?

Yeah. She got a kick out of that.

I told her about how I kissed him on the beach the day before he left San Fransisco. Admittedly, we had been getting together almost every day for the week he was in town after the Forensic Academy Conference. I was somewhat of a glorified tour guide, but I didn't mind because I thought he was just the best thing in the world, and he didn't seem to mind either. I had him on this pedestal the whole time. God, he was handsome. He still is. But his hair wasn't as grey and his waist was a little thinner (albeit so was mine) and his eyes were so blue reflected off the water. The salt air suited him. We flirted, a lot. There was an undeniable chemistry between us. You could cut the tension with a knife. He knew it, I knew it. The people who observed us knew it.

He would find random reasons to brush his fingers against mine or my back or my arms. We had a lot of inside jokes by the end of the week, and after a bunch of casual meals on the go - hotdogs at the pier, fish and chips, hamburgers, ice cream - he asked me to join him for a sit down dinner the night before he left. He had even picked an Italian place he said the hotel receptionist recommended.

He knew my age.

I was 26 at the the time, he was 41.

We went for dinner, and enjoyed an expensive, delicious bottle of red wine. Conversation was easy. I dressed up a little with a dress and a little extra eye makeup and he wore his button up shirt with the top two buttons undone. We ended up walking along the beach quietly afterwards, as if we were delaying the inevitable. Neither of us looking forward to saying our final "goodbyes" - it was like this impending, looming sense of doom.

We exchanged contact info so we could keep in touch. He told me he had a wonderful week, and that he felt honoured to spend time with me. And that's when I did it. Maybe it was the red wine, or the immense sadness I felt, but I stopped him in his tracks, grabbed his shirt in my left hand and leaned up and kissed him as my right hand found the curls on the nape of his neck.

He was stiff in my arms, I remember, but he relaxed and sighed into me as he returned the kiss... it was perfect, but only for a moment. I can still hear that sigh if I close my eyes, or when I look at him.

When he pulled away I knew I had fucked up. He looked terrified. And he was. He admitted as much. He said he wasn't an impulsive person, and that he couldn't get involved in something he couldn't continue, even if he wanted to. And that was that. He took me home in his rental, kissed me on my cheek and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear before I got out of his rental, squeezed my hand with a sad smile and then drove away and hopped on a flight back to Vegas the next morning.

I cried myself to sleep that night.

And I've cried myself to sleep many more nights, well, mornings.. ever since. It's probably one of my biggest regrets. I don't regret kissing him. It's probably the only memory I will ever have of his lips on mine.. but I do regret acting so impulsively and pressuring him. I knew even back then that he was a guarded man. An honourable man. A good man. Not the kind of guy to just make out with a friend on a beach, take her home and fuck her, and then hop on a plane the next day. I don't know what I expected of him. Not a one night stand. But also not a real relationship at the time, because how could that have lasted in different states?

It wasn't the right time.

And I feel like with Grissom, you get one shot. I messed up my one shot.

I told Nancy all of it. Including the fact that I still think about how his soft his lips were, and how I catch myself staring at them from across the layout table at work. I told her about his quirks. About how he gets these wrinkles in the corners of his eyes when he squints at evidence or when he is confused, and how often I think about smoothing them out with the pad of my thumb. I told her about how he gets migraines, and how sometimes I wish I could just follow him home and rub his temples for him and wrap my limbs around him in his soft sheets until we fell asleep. I told her how he smells of lemons and books, and how sometimes I sleep with my entomology textbook because it was his for several years before he gifted it to me, and it still kind of smells like him. At least in my head it does. I literally told her: "I'm in love with him."

She didn't laugh that time, she just nodded.

I told her how I packed up my life, not that there was much to pack up anyways, the second he called me to come help the lab. And how I agreed to join the team before he was even finished his sentence. She did laughed at me then. I laughed at myself too, honestly. I must have seemed desperate. I suppose I was.

I guess I had hoped that if I were closer to him, I may get a second shot at a first kiss down the line.. but then he was promoted to shift supervisor right after I came to town. As if shit couldn't be any worse, now he was my fucking boss. It was like his eyes glazed over, and every shred of flirtation or attraction or joy went down the drain. All of a sudden he was buried in politics and paperwork. We weren't even really friends anymore. We were boss and employee.

He only ever showed me his true self on rare occasions, and when no one else was around. The Grissom I knew in San Fransisco. The Grissom I fell in love with, those 6 days we spent together. The rest of the time he was this complete ass that I actually physically resented, and damn it was confusing. He'd overlook me. Brush me, and my emotions, aside. As if that kiss had never happened. As if we had no history whatsoever. I guess we really didn't, 6 days isn't a history.. but it was the best 6 days of my life. I thought it had meant something to him too.

I told her about the time I overheard his backwards confession to that doctor. We were both quiet for a few minutes after that.

Finally, Nancy told me that while she understands his motives and his fears, it wasn't fair of him to lead me on like that when he had no intention of reciprocating my feelings. It wasn't my fault he was emotionally unavailable.

She told me I was looking for validation from him, which in any other situation may not be a bad thing. Most women hope to gain the approval and love from the man they love. But in my case, it was inappropriate not only because he was my boss, but because he had already turned me down and made his feelings known. I also filled her in on the Sophia shit.

Man that was a hard pill to swallow.

She suggested I come clean with him, and tell him how I have felt, and why I came to Las Vegas. And she suggested I tell him about my family. I remember almost spitting out my tea, and saying "Absolutely not, fuck no."

She said it would help him better understand my trauma responses and it would be good for me to have someone in my corner when things got hard. I obviously felt an attachment to him, and trusted him.

She said to focus on my friendship with Grissom, instead of my attraction. He had shown he was willing and ready to be friends with me lately. She said to acknowledge the deep affection I had for him, and channel it in a new way. Basically, to give up, in not so harsh a terms.

So, that's what I did.

It was hard.

Hard as fuck.

How do you just stop loving someone over night? Someone you never even got the chance to truly love, but you love nonetheless? Someone you see every day? Drive alone with in a car on a regular basis, and someone you can't stop thinking about? I guess you don't. I guess I still haven't, really. But she was right, I knew that deep down. I need to compartmentalize my feelings for him, and respect him and his feelings and decisions.

No matter how deeply I loved him, that wouldn't make him love me.

In his office that night, I tried to tell him how I felt. I told him he had always been more than a boss to me, and in an abbreviated way, that I came to Las Vegas for him. He actually looked genuinely shocked.. as if he didn't know. He must have known, right?

When he showed up that evening that I told him about my parents, I tried so hard to keep it together. I really did. I try not to be a crier.. especially not around him. But the second he looked at me with those blue eyes, and finally saw me for me, and understood why I am the way I am, my walls broke.

I've never really felt that before, being seen.

He didn't look at me with pity like all of the other people who know have. Like all of the foster parents, who either looked at me like I was a psychopath or a lost cause. No, he looked at me with what I can only describe as tenderness. He held my hand again. Rubbed the pad of his thumb against my fingerprints. Once I had stopped crying, he squeezed my hand and stood up. I thought he was leaving, but instead he went to my kitchen and made me coffee and toast again. This time he had a cup with me. We sat in silence for a while before he told me he was sorry he didn't know, and that he would do better to be more aware. He said: 'I haven't been a good friend to you, Sara. I'm sorry.'

I snapped at him and told him I'm not fragile, and I don't need to be protected. I reminded him that I am an adult, and I've been managing just fine on my own. The tone of my voice must have come out harsher than I had anticipated because he looked dumbstruck. He apologized again and nodded.

Then he said the weirdest fucking thing.

"You know, Sara," he cleared his throat nervously, "You once said to me that you wish you were like me, having no feelings."

"I didn't really mean that, I know you have a good heart Grissom." I replied softly, regretting my words from a few years before. I gave his hand a squeeze to reiterate my point.

"Well, I do have feelings, Sara." He nodded, and looked me in the eye, "Strong ones."

He left that night, and told me to enjoy my week off. I didn't hear from him at all that whole week. I thought about calling him to grill him on what he may or may not have just confessed to me, but then I remembered Nancy's words. Leave it alone. Don't push it.

Fucking Nancy.

So I returned to work, business as usual the next Monday, and we carried on.

I actually did feel a lot lighter, now that Grissom knew. Sophia was still being her usual self, fawning over him, sprawling herself on his desk, tossing her perfect blonde hair back, joking around with him. Apparently he even took her to dinner. I was hurt, don't get me wrong, but I kept reminding myself to focus on the friendship.

Grissom was far too important to me to toss aside just because seeing him happy with someone other than me made me sad. I was better then that. I had to be.

Ultimately if I had to accept he wasn't going to be with me, I had to also accept that he would probably end up with someone one day, and I had to learn to be okay with that. I won't lie, it stung a bit. Especially because Sophia worked with us.. but I had to try.

Then, on Friday Grissom and I had this case at the mental hospital. Fuck. I don't really want to even get into it, really. Let's just say I ended up in the arms of a convicted murderer and rapist, with a piece of pottery against my jugular.

It's probably my trauma response acting up again, but I truthfully don't remember much of what happened. I do remember the look. I always remember the looks. I remember the look on his face.

I remember Grissom standing there, his palm pressed hard against the glass, his finger tips white from the pressure. His eyes fixated right on mine. His eyes never left mine. I can't read lips, but I knew he was saying "please open the door" to the poor kid next to him.

If I didn't know any better, that look would have screamed love to me. It was the same exact look he gave me after I kissed him that night. Fear. Uncertainty. Love. Longing. Heartbreak. It was the same look.

His eyes were so fucking dark and intense from fear, but still so calm and tender. I briefly wondered if his eyes would be dark like that in the throes of passionate love making. It was like he was trying to reassure me through his eyes that he was there, with me, no matter what happened. I could tell he was scared. I've never seen Grissom like that before and that haunting look is the one I haven't been able to get out of my head since.

He was terrified. For me? Of losing me? Of watching me die? Terrified of how he felt? Terrified of himself? I don't know. I'll probably never know. But that look has kept me up since Friday, and here I am, staring at myself in my bathroom mirror on a Sunday morning haunted by it. My eyes are puffy and tired, my bags are darker than usual. My hair is a frizzy, curly, damp mess from my shower, I don't have the energy to brush it. Honestly, I look like my mother.

I should probably unload all of this on Nancy, if I'm honest. This will all be a lot to unpack. She will probably want to talk it all out with me, you know, near death experience and everything. Especially since the hospital was a little triggering for me already, considering my mother's history. But for now, I just feel too shitty to bother calling her. Or anyone else for that matter.

We worked the case well into yesterday afternoon. I declined a breakfast invite from Greg and Nick.. came home, showered, surprisingly slept for almost 10 hours, and then woke up and showered again.. bringing me to now.

I don't even know what the hell I'm supposed to do with myself today. I usually go for a run, clean and read on my days off... go get some groceries.. if I'm not stalking the police scanner so I can go back into work.. but today, I just don't want to do any of that.

I walk into my kitchen with my towel tied around my chest, and glance at the clock on my microwave and it's just past 8am.

I think about my mom.

I wonder how she is.

Maybe it was coming face to face with my own mortality and seeing her face reflected in my mirror, but I have this grim thought that I could have died and never have really gotten to tell her that I do actually love her. Despite how fucked up I am, and how much I resent her for the things she did, I do love her. I know she did her best.

I think about Mike and Mer. I've never really been close with Mike's wife Vanessa, I mean I guess it's weird when your sister isn't really your sister. I think she found me a threat for a few years. But I actually do think about them often, and this morning I think about calling them. They'd be home, on a Sunday morning. Meredith doesn't know me very well. I send her a Christmas and birthday gift every year, but I see them so rarely. I don't think I've even seen Meredith since she was 4. I have the phone in my hand, about to dial Mike's number, when I change my mind. I don't really have a valid reason to call them. It's not like I ever just call them out of the blue for no reason. I'm not that good of a sister or an aunt. In fact, I'm a pretty shitty one, if I'm being honest. They're the only family I actually have and I have declined the Christmas dinner invite every year since I moved here so that I can work Christmas Eve with Grissom. How ironic is that? I don't spend Christmas with the only people I can technically call family so that I can waste it working with a man who barely give me the time of day.

Anyways, I can't just call them and say "Hey! I almost got my jugular sliced open by a rapist last night at work, so I thought I'd call you up and see how you were doing!"

I throw my cell phone back down on the kitchen counter and glance around. I sigh as I head back to my bedroom and throw on a pair of Harvard sweat pants and a baggy tshirt. My hair is still damp, and curling around my face, but I don't bother to try and tame it.

Just as I'm walking back into the kitchen to make myself a pot of coffee, I hear it. A knock at my door.

Who the fuck makes house calls at 8am on a Sunday morning?

I quietly walk over to the door and look through the peep hole to see Grissom, standing awkwardly outside my door with two bags in his hands.

I shove aside all reason and emotion, and open the door quickly, I'm pretty sure I shocked him.

"Hi." He shrugs.

"Hey." I reply, with a sad smile. "Are you - is everything ok?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I came to check on you. Make sure you're ok." He spoke quickly, nervously, his eyes flick down to my neck briefly. "I brought us breakfast. Incase you were out of bread."

I watched him as he lifted his hands to reveal the takeout bags, and saw a small blush creep up his neck. Was this actually happening?? He brought us breakfast?

"Oh!" I hear myself exclaim, sounding more shocked then I mean to, "Well come in! I was just about to start some coffee."

He nodded and walked past me gingerly as I stepped out of the door way, allowing him access. I closed the door behind me, and watched him in awe as he confidently made his way to my counter top, as if he had done so a million times before, and started to unpack the bags.

He grabbed two plates and opened the styrofoam containers and plated both servings of pancakes with care. When he opened up the maple syrup packet it snapped me out of my trance, and I remembered my job of starting the coffee. I came to stand beside him silently, and filled the canister.

We worked silently, side by side, for a few more moments before he suddenly flattened his hands on my counter top and let out a sigh. His head bowed, and I could see him shaking it.

"Sara." He huffed.

I didn't know what to say. He was making me nervous, and I had never seen him like this before.

"Sara," he started again, this time raising his head to meet my gaze, his eyes were dark again. "I'm very glad you are okay."

"I'm fine." I nod reassuring him. I'm not really sure what I'm feeling in this moment.

"I.." he shakes his head again, this time gesturing between our bodies with his hand, "Sara, I'm not good at this."

I chuckle, a little sarcastically, but I don't mean to.

"I do care. Sara. Very deeply." He says quietly, as he returns to his work of the pancakes, topping them with banana and blueberries. A moment later he continues but doesn't look at me, "I care very deeply for you."

That's when it hits me, like a fucking transport truck. I realize why he's here. I can literally hear the breath hitch in my chest at his admission. I think he hears it too, because he looks up at me with fearful eyes, and red cheeks. As if he were a kid who was just caught stealing candy.

I'm at a loss, honestly. I usually over talk around him but right now, in this moment, I have nothing. I hate myself for it too, because I can see the insecurity creeping up in his eyes, and maybe even a hint of regret.

I manage to muster out a few words, and reply.

"I care very deeply for you too, Grissom."

He nods with a sad smile, "I know."

"I have since the day I met you." I shrug, as I pour two cups of black coffee, too afraid to look at him.

Again, he nods and repeats with a sigh, "I know."

He walks the plates over to my coffee table, and sets them down. I join him a moment later with the two cups of hot coffee and place them by their respective plates. When I look up, he's still standing there, but he's looking at my bookshelf. The one beside my desk. I can tell he's found the photo of me and my dad, when I was a kid. The only one I have.

He walks over to the shelf, and using his gentle investigator fingers, picks up the photo and turns to me with a boyish smile.

"I was 10. It was just after Easter, my Dad got my Mom a camera for Christmas but she broke it one night when she threw it at him, so he got her a new one at Easter, and she took this photo of us. It was actually a really good couple of months, that spring. Dad was working again, mom didn't cry as much. I remember one night we had hamburgers for dinner instead of toast or cereal.. we all laughed when dad used a slice of cheese as a moustache.." I chuckled and trailed off sadly.

He nods again.

"You look like your dad."

"A lot of people said that when I was a kid. Although if you ever met my mom, you'd think otherwise. We have a lot of similar features, especially when we're over tired and traumatized." I try to joke.

"I'd like to." Grissom looks up at me, "Meet her one day."

"My mom?" I say, shocked.

"Yeah."

"Why?" I laugh, not meaning to sound sarcastic again or make light of the conversation, because this is very obviously an important moment in out history together.

He shrugs, "I'd like to thank her, I suppose. For protecting you. For doing the best she could with what she had. For bringing you into the world. I know what she did is inexcusable.. but I'm haunted by the idea of what might have happened to you if she didn't."

"She's an alcoholic and she has schizophrenia." I confess with a shrug, and he just nods. "I have her in a care facility in San Fransisco. I, ah, I send her money every couple of weeks for necessities.."

"I'd love to take a trip with you to meet her sometime."

Now I'm truly dumbfounded and have no words. I've never seen Grissom like this before, this open. I can feel myself blinking several times, and watch as he puts the photo back in its place gently, and then he turns back to me, and takes a step closer.

"My father died when I was nine." He explains, as he puts his hands in the pockets of his sweater and stands in front of me. "Heart attack, one summer afternoon. I was sitting right in front of him on the floor watching a ball game, he had his hand on my shoulder and I didn't even realize it until Mom came in with lemonade. It was a hot day. I remember he said he had a headache, and he needed to nap."

I blink again, my heart breaking for the nine year old little Grissom I can see in my mind's eye. I can picture his little blue eyes behind thick small glasses, curly dark brown hair. I'm about to open my mouth to offer condolences when he continues,

"He was a very smart man. He taught botany at the university, and he loved bugs and books. He always had his head in a book." Grissom grinned boyishly, proudly, "He was socially awkward. Never really said much. But he loved very deeply. He loved my mother very much. I remember to this day, they would dance in the living room after supper every Sunday night. My mother is deaf, so he never played any music. He would just dance with her."

My jaw must be on the floor by now. I shocked. My eyes are beginning to fill with tears, and I can sense this is difficult for him to share, but he is being so open and willing. His mother is deaf? That explains so much. So fucking much.

"He would always tell me, 'Gilbert Arthur Grissom, one day you will meet a beautiful young woman and fall in love with her, and I want you to dance together every Sunday. Even if she can't hear the music or doesn't want to hear it because she's stubborn. Even if you're upset with each-other or hurting, you always dance.'" He cleared his throat, ridding his voice of the emotion that she heard building. "After he died, it was even quieter at home. There was no talking, only signing. I found mom in the living-room one Sunday dancing on her own. So I joined her."

Now the tears were definitely flowing from my eyes. Just a few, but damn it, Grissom. Why are you doing this to me? I am trying to not be in love with you.

"I danced with her every Sunday evening until I went off to college." He shrugged.

"You are a good man." I whisper, softly. "Thankyou for telling me that.. I'm so sorry about your dad. I didn't know."

He shrugged again. "It was a very long time ago."

"Is your mother still...?" I ask apprehensively.

He chuckles, "Oh yes. She's well. She still lives in California. She's a small little thing.. but she's a tough woman... she's very sharp, very witty. She's elderly now, she's almost 80. She is a fantastic signer and she still teaches art history on occasion at the university, she's on the board of education there, and is very present at her galleries."

"Art history?" I ask, amazed. I'm loving this small glimpse into Grissom's life.. and I want to savour each moment and detail I can before he realizes he has been too open, and crawls back into his hole.

"Yes. She's a very passionate woman, very spirited. Very strong willed and stubborn but full of empathy. She has an odd sense of style. I think you would like her." He laughs, and I chuckle.

"I'm sure I would. She must be special, if she raised you."

He blushes, and meets my eyes for a long, silent moment. The air is thick, and heavy with tension.

"I'd like you to meet her sometime." He finally spoke, his eyes still glued to mine.

"Y-your mother?" I asked, and he nodded.

"Betty. She comes to visit once or twice a year, when she can."

"Well, that would be lovely Grissom. I would love to meet her one day." I smiled back, trying to be friendly, not really knowing where this conversation came from or where it's supposed to go. I suddenly felt awkward and unnatural in my own home. I wanted to tell him so much. Unload so much. But I couldn't. This was Grissom. My boss. My friend. Not my lover. "We should, ah, eat breakfast before it gets too much colder.."

So we did. We sat on my couch, side by side, eating our cold, soggy, syrup soaked pancakes and drinking our lukewarm coffees in an uncomfortable silence. The air was thick. Tense.

"Do you remember that case, Debbie Marlin? Throat slit in her bathroom, her boyfriend in the garbage cans.." Grissom suddenly speaks.

I look up at him, stunned, and he's already looking at me. Of course I do.

"Yes."

He nods, and raises and eyebrow.

"She looked a lot like you." He speaks softly.

Now it's my turn to nod, "That's what Catherine said."

I couldn't tell him that I had seen her face in person in the morgue, and it haunted me for months afterwards. The resemblance had been uncanny... not to mention her affair with her older boss. A little too close to home.

"That case... it's stuck with me for a long time. Haunted me, I suppose." His voice is shallow, vulnerable, and then he continues. "When Adam had that... that's what I saw. I've seen that crime scene every time I try to sleep ever since that.. it was like my worst nightmare was coming true, Sara. Happening right in-front of me. And all I could do was watch." He closed his eyes tightly, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I was glad you were there." I have no idea what else to say, so I stick with the truth.

"Sara.." he begins, and then to my surprise, he reaches to take my hand and gives it a squeeze, "I don't want to lose you."

"I'm not going anywhere." I chuckle softly, and give his hand a little reassuring squeeze. "I'm tough, Grissom. You know that. I'd never go down without a fight or a bullet."

"I could have been too late." Grissom blinks.

I look at him, I can't even think. What the fuck is happening right now?

"Am I? Too late?" He asks apprehensively.

We both understand his reference.

I clear my throat. I look into his blue eyes. They are full of emotion. His walls are down, like they were in San Fransisco. He is finally the Grissom I know. The man I fucking love more than life itself. I should lead him on a bit, give him a taste of his own medicine, but now that he's here in front of me I just can't. So I shake my head.

"You could never be too late, Grissom." I hear myself whisper. He squeezes my hand again, and looks down at our entwined fingers.

"When - ah," he began to stutter, "When you kissed me in San Fransisco.."

I laughed nervously as my cheeks began to blush, my stomach begins to churn nervously, "I can't tell you how badly I felt for that.. I still feel bad."

"Why?"

"I took you by surprise, caught you off guard. It wasn't fair of me to assume.."

"You did surprise me, but not in a bad way. You had assumed correctly." Grissom nodded, "I wanted that kiss very much Sara. I should have been the one to initiate it.. I-I just didn't want to kiss you and.. continue whatever was going to happen next and then have to leave the next morning. I'm not that kind of man."

I understood exactly what he was saying.

"Then you came to Vegas and I was suddenly your boss.. and the reality of our age difference slapped me in the face.. by the time I knew it Sara, 7 years had gone by and I was watching you in-front of me in that office.. just... wishing we could be back on that beach."

"I think about that kiss all the time." I close my eyes to take a deep breath. My eyes are filling with hot tears, threatening to fall. I need to calm the hell down.

"So do I." He admits, quietly. I almost didn't hear him. His voice was shaky.

"Grissom... I.." I warn him, I can't just let this conversation happen and give him full access to my heart just for him to break it. "Look.. you're not too late, but I-I can't.."

"I know." he lets out a long sigh.

"I've... Gris. I've chased you for years. I can't keep doing this back and forth with you. I just can't. It's breaking me." My voice is full of insecurity, but I continue. "I.. have loved you in secret for years, and I've spent so many nights just wishing you'd show up and take me in your arms and reciprocate it, but it hasn't happened.. and I have to start putting myself first. I have to protect myself because you consume me. You have the power to crush me Grissom and... I just can't let you this time. I can't let you. I've been working really hard to let you go."

"I know I have hurt you." He nods, and removes his glasses and places them on the coffee table. He is silent for what feels like forever, rolling his tongue around in his mouth, trying to find the right words to say. I can almost see him replaying what I just said in his head.

"I want to do this right." He finally speaks.

Again another pause, this one not as long. I decide I'm going to stay quiet, and let him figure it out. I have a tendency to over talk around him and interrupt him, I know that. But this time, tonight, this is all on him. He knows what I want, I need to know what the hell he wants.

"Sara," he looks up at me, almost pleading. He's struggling. My heart breaks for him. I squeeze his hand in reassurance and give him a soft smile. "Sara you.. you paralyze me. You always have. You are just so beautiful and.. I'm.. I know I'm a smart man. But when it comes to you.. it's like my brain just decides to sabotage me, and I end up saying the wrong thing or nothing at all.. and I hurt you. I know I have hurt you. Please, Sara, forgive me."

I nod, as I blink away tears.

"I want to do this right." He repeats. "I want to spend time with you. Outside of work. I-I want to hold your hand. I want to hear you laugh, and sometimes maybe be the reason why you laugh. I want... Sara.. I want so much more."

"Grissom.." I whisper, as his left hand finds my cheek, and his thumb slowly caresses its way down to the small purple bruise ok my neck. I can barely breathe, and my skin is on fire.

"I finally know what I want, Sara. I want to give this a try, if you'll let me." His lips are dry, and he glances back up to my eyes, "I'm going to say idiotic things and it will take me a while to learn what you need outside of the lab.. but Sara.. I would never intentionally hurt you."

"What if we see each other at work tomorrow night and reality hits us again and you change your mind, Gris? You can't just promise me this imperfect romance and then take it away if you chicken out. I really have been trying so hard to come to terms with not being with you.." I speak quickly and he shakes his head.

"Sara, I don't take matters of the heart lightly. That's why this has taken me so long... We'd have to figure out how to... keep things just between us, for the time being. I'm.. ah, my feelings for you scare me." He nods, "But they're not as terrifying as the thought of spending one more day without at least giving this a try. I won't back out. Sara, my heart.. you're..." He lets out a pained sigh, and drops his head.

"Grissom.." I whisper again, as a tear falls from my eyes and lands on his hand. "My therapist is going to slap my face, you know that right?"

He lets out a laugh, and I feel his anxiety lift a bit. We share a smile and chuckle together for a moment.

"I've been.. I told her, about you.. us. My.. feelings. And she told me to let you go. That's what I've been trying to do. I've been trying to let you go." I hear myself say, unsure.

"Don't let go just yet." He smiles boyishly.

"Where do we go from here?" I return the smile.

"Where would you like to go?"

I blush, and look away from his eyes. There are so many things I want to say, but I don't know where to begin. I want to kiss him, so fucking badly. I want to make love to him. Instead I shake my head and smile.

"How about this..." he looks down at his hands and then reaches for one of mine. He plays with my fingers nervously. "How about we take it slow, and see if..."

"I want you to kiss me." I hear myself speak suddenly, stopping him in his tracks. "I think we've taken this plenty slow already, don't you?"

Grissom looks at me with wide eyes, and I can tell I've freaked him out, but I can't stop myself now that I've started. I always, always over talk around him.

"I want you to kiss me so passionately we are both left breathless. I want you to run your fingers through my hair and I want to feel your curls in mine, and I want us to just fall into my bed together and hold each other and just explore each other's bodies with our lips and our hands and learn each others warmth and then fall asleep together, finally, after all these years and just forget about all of the time we've wasted in between. That's all I've ever wanted."

Without warning he let's go of my hand and stands up, turning away from me and taking a few steps towards my window and just can see him battling himself. He's trembling ever so slightly. Great. I've fucked it up. Again. But I've shown my truth. I was honest. He said he wanted to give this a try, so I needed to be honest and tell him exactly what I want out of this. I'm pretty sure Nancy would be proud. I stand up behind him and continue with shaky breath because it can't possibly get any worse.

"I want a relationship with you, Grissom. I want to be intimate with you. I want to touch you and be touched by you. I want to be near you, closer to you than anyone else is. I want... I want to show you just how much my body aches for you. And I want you to show me how much you ache for me, if you do."

"I do." He speaks deeply, his face still turned from mine.

"Then show me." I whisper, almost into his neck, I'm standing so close behind him. "Show me. Please."

I snake my hands around his waste, and feel his warmth. He is soft and solid under my fingertips. I gently begin to turn his body with my hands and he doesn't fight it, he willingly turns to me.

I'm met with dark, midnight sky eyes. Still blue, but no longer the gentle or pensive blue I'm used to. No, this is a shade of blue I've never seen his eyes wear before and it's equal parts terrifying and arousing. I've never seen this look on him before but I know instantly what it is. What it means.

"Show me." I whisper again, my voice shaky and vulnerable. I wonder if my own eyes are reflecting the same lust and love his are.

"Sara." He warns, his voice raspy and low.

"Please, Gil."

I use his first name for the first time and I watch his eyes darken even further if that's even possible.

I hate myself for begging. I really do. I hate myself for sounding so damned desperate, but I am. I'm so desperate for him. My body is so miserably hungry for his that I cannot do anything but stand in front of him and beg him to love me. We've already dug ourselves so deep into this hole this morning that it cannot possibly get any worse.

He's made it clear how he feels and I can see it in his eyes, it's just a matter of acting on it. Acting on it is the hardest part, I know that, I do. Especially for someone like Grissom... someone who has spent years exercising self discipline and control. Someone who has denied himself for so long. Someone who likes order and control.

He will either kiss me and confirm his feelings and take me to my bed to make love to me and promise me the world or he will get spooked and leave and then so will I. I'll leave Vegas. I'll leave with my head high and my heart broken, but I won't force him to face me again.

I watch as he lifts his right hand to my temple and his finger tips lightly feather against my skin and tuck a curl behind my ear. He lets out a shaky breath, and opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out. He tries again, his lips dry,

"I don't want.. I can't wreck this. I don't want to ruin this." He speaks quietly.

"You won't." I smile as my opposite hand lifts up to cup his cheek in a similar fashion. "You can't."

"I want you." He says softly, but confidently. "I need you. I've always needed you."

I let out a sigh of relief I didn't know I was holding in as the tears return to my eyes and a smile spreads across my face, "Finally."

His face mirrors my smile as he snakes his hand around to the base of my neck and pulls my head up to his and presses his dry lips to mine ravenously.

I don't know who, it's probably me, but one of us emits a barely audible whimper of relief at the contact and it's as if that was all the permission he needed to deepen the kiss. His mouth opens to mine and he consumes me.

His left hand finds its way to my hip, his fingers tracing the sliver of skin between my track pants and tshirt. I moan into his lips involuntarily and he pulls me closer to his body with a gentle, strong force.

It is everything I've dreamed of since that beach in San Fransisco when our moment wasn't right, when our moment was cut short.

My lungs are screaming for air and revolting but I can't let him go. I can't break this moment, I can't end this kiss because I'm still so scared it's all I will get. That he will wake up any moment and let me go and run away.

As if he could read my mind his lips release mine and he places his forehead against mine, and we inhale and exhale heavily catching our breath.

"How's that for breathless?" He chuckles quietly, his voice honeyed with lust, and I can feel his warm, sweet breath on my skin. As if he senses my worry, he continues, "I'm not going to run away, Sara."

I laugh and shake my head in disbelief and look into his eyes. They're still as dark but now their laced with affection and tenderness.

"Are we really going to do this?" I whisper.

"Yes." He smiles tenderly and brings his fingers to my chin and rubs his thumb along my lips as he searches my face with his eyes. After studying me for a moment he lifts my lips to his again.

This time the kiss is soft. Slow. Full of unspoken heartache and love. The hand on my hip gently massages my side, and sneaks under my shirt, just a little bit. When he feels my skin on his palm he lets out a deep moan into our kiss and I swallow it gratefully.

Suddenly, as if a dam breaks within me I begin to sob. Our lips still dance slowly, and I begin to taste my own salty tears on his mouth. He must taste them too because he lets go and looks at me with eyes full of worry.

"I'm ok." I cry and laugh through my tears.

"Sara.." he speaks, obviously concerned, as he wipes tears from my cheeks and kisses my forehead.

"It's ok." I shake my head, and try to bring his lips back down to mine but he holds himself back.

"Sara." He says my name with more seriousness this time.

"I love you. I just needed to tell you I love you." I whisper, my eyes shut tight, barely audible, but I know he hears me because as soon as the words leave my lips he presses his to mine again with such emotion I'm not sure I'll ever breathe again.

His hands are everywhere. He consumes me. He devours me. He drinks me in and takes every ounce of love I have to offer him and I give it to him willingly.

I start to pull us in the direction of my bedroom, lips never leaving his for more than a millisecond to catch a breath. I feel his fingertips trace my hemline again and without a second thought I remove my hands from his body and swiftly pull my shirt over my head and throw it to the ground just as we subconsciously pass through my bedroom doorway.

He breaks contact and pales. He glances at my face and then lets his eyes travel to my chest, realizing I'm wearing no bra. His hands rest on the curves between my rib cage and my hips and he inhaled a shaky breath. He licks his lips like a hungry animal and then his ferocious eyes meet mine again and I giggle. He blushes.

"Beautiful." He says as his gaze softens, "Sara, you are beautiful."

"More beautiful than baseball?" I tease him.

"A hundred times over." He quirks his lips into a lopsided grin.

I smile and bring my fingers up to his collar and begin to work at his buttons slowly. Agonizingly slow. I can feel his desire for me pressing against my leg and hear his ragged breath and my stomach flips in anticipation and nervousness.

As I undo the last button my fingers rest on his belt buckle nervously, and I look back up at his face for permission. He returns a hand to my cheek and brings his lips down to mine once again.

He kisses me slowly, as my hands make work of his belt, button and zipper. As he pushes his slacks off of his hips and lets them fall to the ground he backs us up to my bed, and then turns us around. He sits down on the edge of my bed, kicks off his shoes and pants in one swift move and brings me down with him. Before I know it I'm comfortably straddling Gil Grissom's tented boxer clad lap in my purple and orange bedroom.

The mid morning sun filters through my white curtains and the open window lets in the freshest air Las Vegas has to offer.

My topless self continues to assault his mouth, tasting him, exploring him with my tongue, feeling the obvious arousal in his lap against my core when I decide to be brave and move my lips to his ear.

I gently kiss and suck each earlobe tenderly, and hear the deep groans in his chest as I do.

"I can't believe this is actually happening." I whisper into his ear, and then sink my lips lower and lower to his neck, gently sucking and licking. I feel him laugh under my lips.

"I can." He nods, and I look up at him with a questioning eyebrow, "Why do you think I came here this morning?"

I laugh into his shoulder, burying my head. "You came here to get lucky?"

"No." He raises an eyebrow in defence but softens his face and kisses my lips quickly as his hands find the waist line of my sweat pants, "I came here to finally give us what we've both wanted for seven years. Intimacy is a part of that, but was not necessarily expected immediately."

"Did you expect me to be a lady and wait until the third date or something?" I giggle as I stand slightly to allow him to push my sweat pants over my bottom and down my legs, leaving me in a pair of blue boy short underwear.

"I don't know what I expected." He shrugged as I sit back into his lap and his warm, weathered hands roam my lower back and the curves of my butt, "But reality is always better than the fantasy."

"Mm." I nodded as I returned my lips to his neck and gently pushed his open shirt down and off of his arms leaving us both topless and in nothing but the undergarments covering our most intimate anatomy.

Our flesh meets for the first time and its earth shattering. I press my chest to his and both of us let out incomprehensible sounds of relief and pleasure, and that's when everything shifts.

I watch as his eyes turn into that dark shade of midnight blue once again, and I can see the lust clouding his senses.

He swiftly yet gently flips us over and lays me down on my bed, and I can feel my hair spread out against my mattress. I feel like a movie star from a film, and he looks at me like I am one. He looks me up and down, painfully slow. He takes in my form, and his fingers trace the freckles on my arms, the freckle on my breast. His lips come to my neck where Adam Trent had pressed the shard of pottery two days before and he kisses my tender flesh. I moan loudly as his kisses trail along my neckline, behind my ears and down to my collarbone. I feel his lips turn into a devilish smile against the thin skin of my neck when he hears my groans of approval.

His fingertips find the scar on my stomach from my 5th grade appendicitis surgery, and the scar on my left thigh from a wild night after a high school football game involving way too much vodka and iced tea under the bleachers. He feels the scar from a knee surgery I had when I was 9 because I 'accidentally' fell down the stairs one night when my dad was angry and my mom was drunk and I got in the way. His fingers come back up to trace across to my hips, and find my birthmark, a small pinkish brown port wine stain above my right hip in the shape of Australia and he lets out a chuckle before he leans down to kiss it. His fingers finally land on the soft elastic of my underwear and he looks up at me with emotion filled eyes.

"Sara." He speaks softly, his eyes locked on mine.

"Gil." I reply, a small smile playing at the edges of my mouth, my heart racing faster than it ever has. God I love him.

He grins at my use of his first name, and I feel powerful as I involuntary raise my hips to his hand.

"I love you too." His voice low and clear, as he reaches his left hand up to tuck a rogue strand of hair behind my ears. His eyes never leave mine and his right hand never leaves my underwear.

My breath hitches in my chest and I take a struggled, staggered breath, eye contact becoming more and more intense.

"Show me." I whisper again, for the fourth time that morning, as the heat from my core raises to my chest and consumes me. He simply nods.

His eyes stay fixed on mine as he hooks his fingers in my underwear and gently pulls them down. My eyes fill with tears again, and one escapes my left eye. This is everything I've ever wanted, and it's finally happening.

Gil quickly leans up to catch the tear with a kiss before it hits the bed, and then returns his lips to mine.

My hands find their way to his boxers and follow suit and begin to pull them down, until I can't reach any further and he pulls himself away from me to finish the job.

I finally see all of him.

Every last inch of his flesh, and fuck, was it worth the wait.

My mind and my eyes and my skin are on fire as the anticipation and arousal and love overtake me. With my left hand I pull his lips forcefully back down to mine and with my right I dig my nails into his ass cheek and pull his body to mine so that his hardness presses into my lower stomach.

Our tongues duel and our lips soak up one another's love for several moments until he finally releases me, and timidly asks,

"I hate to think of this now, but.."

"It's ok." I nod, reassuring him, "I'm on the pill."

He returns the nod and positions himself above me, his body trembling.

"Sara," he shakes his head in happy disbelief as he smiles down at me, "Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle's compass come; love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd."

I let out a gasp as he enters me.

As we lay together, entwined in sticky sheets, the breeze dries my forehead and brings goosebumps to my shoulders.

Grissom's fingers are playing on my skin gently, as if I were an instrument or an old book. My head rests on his chest, and I can feel his heart rate begin to steady as his breathing deepens.

The room smells of us. Musky, lemony, sweaty us. I can smell myself on his chin, and I'm certain I smell of him too.

My hands finally come to rest in the middle of his chest, just below his collar bones, and my cool fingers find warmth in his flushed skin.

"I love you." He whispers again, his voice heavy with exhaustion and emotion.

"I love you." I repeat, as a smile forms across my face.

"I'm falling asleep. May I stay?" Grissom asks in a low, sleepy voice.

"Yes." I whisper in reply as I squeeze myself closer into him, "Forever."

Nancy is going to have a field day with this one.

But I feel wonderful.

If I'm being honest and truthful, I feel completely and utterly wonderful.

I hope you enjoyed!

I don't own Sonnet 116, but I wish someone would whisper poetry like that to me, haha!

Please rate and review!