Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: So it's another excessively long chapter, which I'm sure you all don't mind. :) It was not my intention to re-do the entire chapter from Grissom's perspective, but it turned out it kind of needed to be done to really get his mindset at the end right. This is a big homework weekend for me, but I'm kind of on a roll (I whipped all of this out today over a couple hours interrupted by the new puppy's accidents... grr.) so there might be another update this weekend. ...Maybe.

I want to thank Pati yet again, because how this scene ends up playing out would have never gone so well if it hadn't been for her. She was an absolute lifesaver.

Also, JBCC, I think you requested this in your review to Chapter 8. :) I wonder if you think more highly of either Sara or Grissom now?

CSIfan3408, I'll keep that "treat" in mind for the next chapter... maybe.

Thanks to everyone else, even if I don't mention you specifically-I have absolutely the BEST readers in the world, and I want you to know that I know it. 3 Hope you enjoy.

Chapter Thirteen:

Walking up to the bar, my first impression was that I was going to be irritated—the swinging wooden sign and heavy doors hinted at a tourist trap, and I was cringing as I pulled one of those doors open, thinking that maybe I'd been rather foolish in coming here. Inside, however, I was pleasantly surprised. There were no waiters in period dress, alcohol was being served in either bottles or glasses, not tankards with questionable lead content, and there were several large televisions spread around the place. The only things in the large, open room—rather like a warehouse with low beams exposed—that matched the sign and door were the ancient brick wall to my right and the large, antique, hardwood bar in the center of the lower level, closest to the door.

I moved there first, because I had no idea where her section would be, and because I liked the bar itself… it had a certain charm that appealed to me. The man behind it seemed like he was probably a few years older than me—late thirties, maybe—but his hair was entirely salt and pepper gray. He had a white bar towel slung over a black t-shirt with an antique lantern on the front and the words, "One if by land, Two if by sea" on the back. His jeans were stained with drinks spilled on evenings past, but his black apron was clean around his waist, betraying how old the denim must have been. His face was lined—the face of a man who had been working and worrying since he wasn't really yet a man at all—but the lines around his mouth, emphasizing his smile and hinting at a large, booming laugh, were the most obvious. I immediately liked him, and felt myself quite at ease here as I took a stool and glanced around myself while he finished helping the three men across the bar from me.

I was on the main level, seated at the bar directly in the center, and there were tables all around me. Across the bar there was another expanse of tables before the brick wall with the fireplace. To my right was the door, my left more tables and, set into the wall, doors to the bathrooms and one labeled 'Staff Only'. Behind, tables and then a second level, upon which were a more tables and a row of booths against the far back wall. In the corner of this level, behind the booths and just up the stairs from the bathrooms, was a series of poorly-lit pool tables.

An eruption of laughter drew my attention back to the booths—one large, horseshoe shaped one in particular. It was a group of very young patrons, but I recognized intimately the back of one head, dark brown curls falling elegantly from a high ponytail as she elbowed a rather muscular boy who had his arm slung over her shoulders. I felt the beginnings of jealousy rising in me. He was probably her boyfriend. A young, smart, pretty girl like Sara wasn't going to be single. …And I had a girlfriend. I did. …A girlfriend I'd blown off in order to come here tonight. I felt a slight twinge of guilt, but it was interrupted when the bartender's slightly rough voice came from right in front of me. "Can I get you something, sir?"

There was a slight edge to his voice—a little more disapproving than rude—and I put two and two together. Hadn't Sara told me he didn't like when customers got… "handsy"? I cleared my throat a looked up at him. "Can I get a Jameson Whiskey, please? …A double, actually."

"Absolutely." He replied, a little more politely, and I watched his calloused hands move efficiently from glass to ice to bottle. "Can I see an ID? …Policy for anyone under 35." He added, as an afterthought. With a slight frown in the direction of Sara's group—who I knew for a fact was not 21—I nodded and retrieved my wallet, paying him for the drink and then showing him my driver's license. His scan was cursory, which made me wonder if he had surveillance cameras somewhere that he was performing for. I doubted very much that he'd actually seen my date of birth.

He set the drink in front of me and gave me a total, which I paid with a tip, and he thanked me and then moved off to help someone else. I replaced my wallet and took a tentative sip—I wasn't really a big drinker—before turning back to glance at Sara. Her group seemed to be leaving the table in the direction of the pool tables and I sought out her boyfriend without even thinking. He was wearing a brown jacket around his massive shoulders, but beneath it he wore a bright pink shirt that looked like it was probably initially intended for a woman… and it read in large letters, "Don't Hate Me 'Cause I'm Beautiful, Hate Me 'Cause Your Boyfriend Thinks I Am." I blinked in surprise. That kind of thing wasn't so rare in LA, although I couldn't say it was all that common either… but I'd been in Minnesota for years. Even in Hennepin County, you seldom saw anyone so… blatant.

Maybe it's just the job I've been working, but my first instinct was to run over and suggest he button his coat… violence against homosexuals was nothing new, but with the panic surrounding HIV/AIDS, it seemed like the atmosphere in the country was that much more dire. Of course, my second thought was shame at my own thoughts… I'd spent so many years hiding myself—having always been the weird kid with the dead dad and the deaf mom who did weird things with cats—that it was my natural reaction to any danger I sensed. A second glance at the man who no longer seemed a threat told me that he looked really happy… and I hoped that he was.

My gaze turned back to Sara, who was speaking to a girl wearing a lot of make-up and whose black hair was tinted purple, telling me that it was not her natural color. I figured, a little belatedly, that this must be Anni… I'd been distracted letting my eyes skate over the back of her exposed neck. I didn't often get the chance to see her from behind as she was always in front of me in class, but that expanse of smooth skin looked almost creamy from here and when she tilted her head back to drink deeply from a bottle wet with condensation… I had a vivid, unsolicited mental image of wrapping my arms around her, my nose trailing over the skin at her nape, pressing into an ass that I had admired an awful lot for someone who never saw her from behind. Her hair always smelled so good, and if she shivered the way she had earlier today, by her car…

The man behind the bar—Eddie—was at their table now. I hadn't realized he'd even left the bar area, but after a few whispered words, both girls turned their gazes to me, and I realized that I'd been staring. I mean, sure, I'd been looking away every couple seconds to take a drink and look less like a creepy old man eyeing young girls… but anyone actually watching me would know that I'd been focused on that table. I looked away as soon as they glanced over, so I didn't catch Sara's expression, but when I glanced a second later… there were definite surprise mixed with the recognition… and a couple other emotions I wasn't so sure of. One was something like fear, which unsettled me… but the other was very close to being overwhelming excitement and happiness, which I preferred.

I felt my heart begin to speed up and took another drink to slow it down. I had been so caught up in looking at her that it hadn't even occurred to me how I would talk to her. …I'd expected to find her working. I'd expected to move into her section and playfully flirt with her, leave her a big tip, walk her to her car when she got off, maybe. Most of what I'd been thinking of had been the flirting. ...It had never occurred to me what I would do if I found her here but not working. I focused my gaze back on my glass and drank more deeply, trying to still the shaking in my hands.

Eddie—I was sure it was him now that the bar towel had hopped shoulders and no longer covered up his white-lettered nametag—returned and topped me off. We exchanged money again, in silence, and there was something in his eyes that made me wonder very much what she had said about me to him. I knew it was something… something had changed in his demeanor. It was still protective, but a little more subtle.

I glanced up at the football game, thinking that I should have seated myself near a baseball game but that I couldn't move now… it would seem like I'd done it because she'd seen me. It would look like I was trying to get closer or trying to avoid her and move further away. No, my only option was to sit tight. That, of course, shouldn't be a problem as I was frozen in my seat. It's a perpetual problem with me and quite probably the main reason I didn't have many girlfriends in college. Once I was away from my high school and among people with similar interests, I wasn't the weird kid anymore… but I had this terrible problem with inaction when I was nervous or uncertain. Not in all situations, of course… but when it came to women and we were not in a context I was particularly comfortable in…

Like in a study group, I could make a double entendre out of anything. I would go so far as to say that, by the end of my undergrad years, I might even be called smooth. …In that setting. But if I ran into the same girl in a bar, like this one… I was a fumbling idiot. And regardless of how unconventional Sara and I's teacher-student relationship was, it did always have that basic structure of teacher and student, in a school setting—extra lessons after class, a seminar, car help on campus simply because I was able… I would have done that for any stranded student, wouldn't I? But here, my palms were sweating, and I was grateful for the cool rush and sweet burn of my drink.

She did come to me, after a while, and I realized she must have been on a break. She'd been eating, after all, and had looked far more relaxed than I'd ever really seen her. I got the strange sense that bar-Sara was more honest than school-Sara, though far more dangerous. She tied an apron around slender hips and stepped up to me, her voice coming a little more seductively than I was used to—or prepared for. "So… You come here often?" She teased, and I felt a grin flash over my face as tingles shot down my spine. God, I was lucky we had the bar between us, because that slinky, sexy phrase had shot me up to strain against my jeans. It was with effort that I removed the grin and regarded her more seriously, as if we were in a classroom.

I know that I offered some explanation as to my presence there, one I can't remember because she was leaning across the bar, invading my personal space, granting me a whiff of her hair and a peek at her cleavage. And then she began fiddling with the TV closest to me, despite my protests that it was unnecessary. …The Twins were playing the Cubs, and my inner loyalties were battling each other as I took in a quick sweep of the game details. Cubs were up a run, but they had two outs and the next hitter wasn't all that reliable…

I had to make myself focus—Sara was by far the more distracting of the two stimuli presenting themselves, but I'd missed this game and it was replaying and I had yet to catch the outcome and…

She reached a slender arm out to take my half-empty glass in hand and took a slow sip. I watched her to it, amazed at her daring, wondering what game she was playing and how much more serious this was than the idle flirting I had had in mind and thinking of what her mouth would taste like now. I know for a fact that she said something about the whiskey itself, but the only thing I really registered was that husky tone again and its effect on me. I stuttered out something to the effect of my concern that she was a minor, and she pursed her lips in a way that said she thought I was funny… and that she very much wanted to do a myriad of things to me, none of which she would let past those laughing lips, but all of which contributed to that smug and satisfied look.

I silently advised myself to stop drinking, and she offered me a refill, which I accepted mutely.

She hurried off then, back to work. They were extremely busy, but it was enough to keep her from me most of the night. Instead, I drank my whiskey and watched her and the game in turns, until the bar slowed even more and Eddie reappeared, replacing someone who had hardly spoken to me, but had kept my glass full. He made sure everyone was covered, and then popped a hip against the counter, just below the bar top, next to me. "Twins, cubs, yeah? I didn't catch this earlier… Do you know who wins?"

I took a sip and shook my head, watching the Twins' best hitter step up to the plate. "No… they're both my teams though, so I can't decide who to root for."

He chuckled at that, glancing at me when he did. "You think that's bad? I lived in New York until I was eighteen… and have lived in Boston ever since. Let me tell you, you can't be a fan of both the Yankees and the Red Sox."

Sara slipped up at that moment, calling out a rather large order that had Eddie occupied for a moment or so while she slipped away. When she returned, he was refilling my glass again, and I hoped it was the only one she'd seen—God, I didn't want her to think I was a creepy old drunk, coming and sitting alone in a bar and putting away a fifth of whiskey.

…Okay, that was an exaggeration, but the point remained that I was here alone. My options were that I was a drunk, a creep, or had come here to see her… which made me a creep and a stalker. I frowned at that and took a drink while Eddie launched into a detailed rendering of the first Sox/Yankees game he'd attended, when he was twenty. We got into quite the discussion, and I felt very much in control of myself until Sara appeared, clocked herself out, and tossed her apron into a bucket of dirty towels. Eddie had run into the back to get something and though I'd seen saw appear and disappear and move fluidly around me throughout the night, this was only the second time I'd been alone in her presence. I wasn't exactly sure what to do with it—If I left now, walking her to her car, then I revealed that I'd only come for her. …If I made no move to leave, then I was the old man drinking alone.

She slinked her way up to me again, hips swaying enticingly, and it occurred to me that I hadn't really eaten in hours. She had a bright smile on her face that threatened to reinitiate the… standing ovation… I'd been giving her earlier, but I was a little desensitized now, having watched her all night, and managed to control myself. She leaned against the bar again, elbows inches from mine, her face decidedly close. She wasn't just poking at my personal space this time, she was pressing through it, breathing in the same air that I was, slipping into all of my senses. I was on an overload. When she asked if I wanted to take a walk, I was slow to respond, her words reaching my ears several seconds after I watched her lips move, but I readily agreed. It wasn't even a matter of questioning right and wrong, just want.

I stood and laid down a decent tip for Eddie, who had thoroughly entertained me this evening and probably served to help me avoid that "creep" mystique. I slid into my jacket where it had been resting on the back of the stool—I really appreciated bar stools with backs—and then she was stuttering, clearing her throat, heading back to get her coat, and it occurred to me that it was possible that she was as affected by me and I was by her. …That was a heady realization, but once it occurred to me, it was so obvious… it existed as the only fact in the world. Standing up, surprisingly, was helping me feel a little more focused. Or maybe it was just the distance from her… she had been affecting me more than I liked to admit. I blinked several times and took a handful of the peanuts that were resting on the bar top, thinking that any amount of food in my stomach would help. I wasn't drunk… but I could feel it.

I glanced up at the game, which had ended with the Cubs making a double play just as the Twins were poised to tie them in the tenth inning. It had been a really good game to watch, and there was a part of me that was glad she'd worked long enough for me to see who'd won—it would have driven me crazy not to know. They were already replaying it, from the beginning, and I knew that I could happily watch it again, but that Sara was absolutely the greater pull… even if I hadn't seen the last half of it.

I know we made small talk… and that in some way relating to the conversation, she admitted to being an insomniac, which both intrigued and concerned me, neither of which I had any idea how to express. I do know that I took great joy in touching her—in a gentlemanly fashion, of course—guiding her by the small of her back, opening the door for her and letting her slip past, walking close to her. I know that she suggested a park and that I agreed and that we attempted the awkward small talk again, until she asked me if I'd come out tonight to see her. That was a dangerously loaded question if I ever heard one, though she had asked it in as innocuous a way as possible, and yet I couldn't seem to muster the right amount of concern over it. Sure, I blushed a little, but mostly I was amused and gave her a rather flippant non-answer that told her the truth anyway.

Despite this being my first clue that I might be closer to drunk than to feeling it, I delighted in the blush creeping over her cheeks, making her seem so very innocent and sweet. It was quiet as the park we'd made our destination came closer, the sounds of crickets overtaking me. Call me weird—you wouldn't be the first—but I find being out at night, especially under a sky full of stars, surrounded by the gentle sounds of insects… unbelievably romantic. Not that all of my girlfriends have appreciated this, but especially cricket mating calls… they're the love sonnets of the insect world, and it sets such a gentle scene. I looked up, hoping for stars in the multitudes and finding myself disappointed that they were hidden by the light pollution of the city. "I miss seeing stars." I heard myself murmur softly, and became aware that I was quite close to her.

"…Are you going blind?" She teased me, but the quaver in her voice gave her away… She didn't know what we were doing exactly either, and it gave me an extra level of confidence that I certainly didn't need, what with the alcoholic kind already slipping through my veins. I conceded that for a city this was decent, but told her about the way I always liked to think of stars, the way I'd seen them in the rainforest, miles and miles from people and cities. They were so overpowering… so entrancing… it made you feel like you were part of a deeper, more ancient race of people. More closely connected to the earth and the universe and to your own body.

Come to think of it, that was how Sara made me feel. …How she was making me feel right now.

I just didn't know what to do about that. Didn't I say that I'm useless when I'm out of my element? The alcohol had, to this point… eased my inadequacies. Lubricated the interaction, for lack of a better turn of phrase. I found myself smirking just a little at that at the same time as I was resigning myself to the inevitability—and practicality—of this walk being rather uneventful. I would call myself a cab, go home, and likely jack off thinking of the sway of her hips under my palm, but until then…

But Sara was watching me the way she did in class. She hardly waited a moment after I'd spoken to jump in with her own set of questions about the rainforest, and everything changed. This was a Sara I knew… the Sara who was the student, over whom I had power, whose innate curiosity was something I absolutely understood. My relationship with her was easy, because it was clearly defined, and I had always worked better with guidelines. I tried to stave off my reaction… I warred with myself that she was a student and that it wasn't fair to her and couldn't truly be consensual and that she was so young and so impressionable and so beautiful that it hurt to look at her. But the truth was that none of these arguments seemed to do more than slide off me. The moonlight, however, lingered in her dark curls like silver and lighted her features like she was some angelic figure placed before mere mortals so that they might worship her. Her eyes were dark, her lips sensual and pink, and the scarf she had wound around her neck had me thinking of winding it around her wrists and teasing her body to an orgasm so immaculate that it would live up to the halo of light she was being bathed in.

We had stopped walking, feet from a large oak tree, and without thinking I had moved to her, grasped her arms just above her elbows, and pressed her back into it, reveling it the look of desire that stole over her face, making her appear more woman in that moment than she had ever seemed. Woman, yes, and undeniably dark and beautiful in the shadows and the night, but still the holy creature I had seen draped in silver just moments before… My hands moved in the only way they could move over such a creature, reverently from elbows to shoulders, fingertips sliding over her neck and palms catching her cheeks, tilting her face to me. I studied her gaze, questioning both her and myself… whether she truly wanted it and whether I would truly allow it. There were so many, many reasons not to…

I moved closer, testing, and her eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted… she was the picture of want. Entirely open and receptive and just waiting for me. I descended, close enough to taste her breath, and lingered… but the haze of the alcohol was not so strong that not thinking was still easier than thinking. With every insistent pound of my heart, the word 'student' reverberated in my brain, and it was so wrong… I honestly tried to force myself to kiss her. To give in and not think and taste—Oh, God, to taste her—my sweet Sara.

But I couldn't. I waited a moment longer, engaging all of my self-control to keep me there, hoping she would take the step that I couldn't and help me overthrow my damned conscience, but she didn't, and then I couldn't hold out anymore. My conscience, which seemed to always have my mother's voice, was demanding I back away, and I did. I could see the disappointment and found myself ashamed that I had mislead her… that I'd put her in this position at all… that I had ruined what had been such a fulfilling teacher-student relationship prior to this. I found myself explaining, hoping for her forgiveness… her understanding. I did not hope for her to argue with me and I certainly didn't expect it, but she did.

"Sara, I… I'm really sorry. I don't… I don't know what came over me. I… You're… I'm sorry. I know you're a student and that this is… so inappropriate. I…"

She sighed. "It isn't inappropriate."

"I… what?" I blinked in confusion, and she shook her head, moving close to me again.

"…If you'd just met me in the bar a few weeks ago, instead of in your class… would you still have wanted to kiss me?"

I had no real answer to that, except an emphatic yes, which I didn't think would be the right choice just now. "I… Well, I—It's completely different. You're a student and you're… you're young and—"

I lost my train of thought as she came close enough for me to feel the tease of her young body just barely brushing me, lips achingly close. "I'm not so young. I'm… old enough to be legal." That sent a throb through me and I shivered, hoping she was not so close that she could feel it. She moved again, closer still, and I fisted my hands to keep them from clinging to her hips and dragging them closer to me. Her breath feel against my ear when she spoke again. "And it's a valid point. …A kiss would only be… inappropriate… if the basis of my appeal is that I'm your student. If it's about me… then I don't see the problem. I would never expect my grades to change… never expect special treatment. …If it's just about me, then this is all just… biology."

I shuddered again. The word biology implied lack of emotion and regardless of that not being true—not true at all—the picture it put in my head was one of wild, abandoned, best-sex-of-my-life with the hottest young thing I had ever seen. The vision was raw and animalistic and I shook my head to clear it, thinking that maybe I was not coming back to myself as much as I had thought. A statistic ran through my head at the rate at which alcohol enters the blood stream, even after one has stopped drinking, and I wondered if I were more or less drunk now than when I'd left the bar. I tried to count drinks in my head and place times to them, but found it impossible. I tried to argue with her instead, but really only because the drink-counting had failed. God, she was close to me.

"I… No, it's not just… biology. It's… nothing is that simple…"

I felt the wet swipe of her tongue against the lobe of my ear and I was falling and failing and so fucking willing to let myself have her even before her teeth captured that same tingly spot and sent a delicious shiver of pain through the delirium of pleasure. I groaned aloud, unable to even feel embarrassed of that fact, and her hands moving over me, into my curls, turning me to kiss her. I caught her hips, ready to grind my absolutely painful erection into her soft, supple, receptive little frame and make her scream my name… when my mom's voice—my conscience—came again, more forcefully.

A student could not be consensual. Non-consensual meant rape. How many sobbing rape victims had I seen? Worse than that… I had actually had to process one a few months before I came to Boston, as we didn't have a female CSI coming on duty for several days. We'd had her pick among us who she found the least threatening and I'd tried to move slowly and speak softly and only look at the specific area of her body I was taking evidence from… but she still shook in fear the entire time, tears coursing silently down her cheeks as she closed her eyes and tried to separate mind from body. Her eyes were filling my thoughts then, wide and frightened, and my hands were flexing—grasping and releasing—Sara's hips as my own mind and body fought it out.

Mind conceded, briefly, that I had already tried to argue… that Sara wanted this… that telling her she was a student would do me no good and I was fighting a losing battle anyway. I throbbed again, in victory, bending closer, and the eyes in my head changed from blue to Sara's deep, rich, gold-flecked brown, and I blurted out the only other excuse I could think of… the only thing I thought gave me a chance in hell of her backing off. The only thing that would make her stop tempting me… because it was a losing battle and I would give in. I knew that.

"I have a girlfriend."

Her immediate reaction was exactly as I expected: her eyes widened in surprise and betrayal and she moved her head further from me, finally taking a full step back from me, her face scrunched in confusion. She looked hurt and uncertain and I wanted to draw her into my arms and take it back, but I couldn't. Distantly, I felt a bit of guilt over Allison, but it was muted and easily pushed aside. Sara, on the other hand, had crossed her arms in front of her and was eyeing me with a depth of perusal I wasn't sure I'd seen from her before, which was certainly saying something.

It was a long, painful moment before she spoke.

"…Are you in love with her?"

I blinked. "…What?" It wasn't that I was unwilling to tell her that I wasn't—it was just that I didn't understand how my answer would impact our situation at all.

"…Do you love her? If I weren't a student and we were standing here, side by side, would you choose her?"

I frowned. …Was she saying she didn't care? No. No, she was telling me that I should break up with Allison and be with her. Understanding dawned, and I spoke the words I knew I had to to send her away. "I'm not breaking up with her."

"…But do you tell her that you love her?" Her voice was lower now, holding in it something I didn't want to examine straight on.

I scowled impatiently at my body's continued reaction to her and finally let a little bit of my pent up emotion and pent frustration leak out. "No. No, I don't love her, Sara, but I told you that—" She had already bridged the gap between us and clung to the collar of my jacket, fingernails pressing into the leather, looking up at me earnestly.

"Then I don't care. …Kiss me, please?"

And I wanted to, absolutely, but… but…

Why on earth would a nineteen year old girl choose to be the "other woman" to her professor? …I mean, school-girl crushes or even genuine affection for a teacher, maybe… but weren't young girls supposed to be full of principles? All the girls I'd known in college had high and mighty ideas about relationships and sex that more often than not weren't remotely realistic. Every casual date had to be a prince charming, sweeping her off her feet. Nothing in the world—not academics nor fetal pigs nor trips to body farms—could come before them. …Why didn't Sara hold those same foolish notions about love?

I couldn't fully flush out the concept—analyze her reasons—in the moment. I was admittedly foggy with alcohol and confusion and my own lust. …I just knew that it didn't sit right, and I shook my head, disentangling her from my jacket and taking a step back.

"I, ah… I'm really sorry Sara. It was never my intention to mislead you. …But this isn't what I want." She blinked in confusion, her head shaking slowly, and I could see that her eyes were glassy with the beginnings of tears.

She shook her head again, more a chosen action than an unconscious display of disbelief. "No. …You want me. I know you want me. I… I don't understand." She said, her face puckered and her voice breaking. "I know you want me." She repeated, more insistently.

I did want her, and my heart was breaking watching her, but I couldn't shake the feeling of something being so wrong here. And so I shook my head too, gently, and gave her a sad smile. "No, honey. I don't. ...Let me walk you to your car."

Her eyes narrowed, and the tears brimmed and threatened to overflow, but her shoulders straightened and her chin lifted, her jaw set and strong. "No… I'm pretty sure I can find it all by myself. …Goodnight, Dr. Grissom." And she swept away from me, her walk haughty and brisk, never looking back.