Disclaimer: I don't own.

A/N: I want to thank everyone for the amazing reviews. As always, you guys overwhelm me.

I also want to apologize for the delay in this-I ended up rewriting it, because I wasn't getting the office scene quite right. Thanks again to Pati for giving me some much-needed guidance. She was a life saver.

Hope you guys enjoy! Happy Halloween!

Chapter Fifteen:

"We need to talk."

I drew in a deep breath, taking in her appearance with a bit of relief. She did not, in fact, look like she was falling apart or like she was afraid of me… which I was perhaps more afraid of; I had been inexcusably forward the week before. I had spent innumerable hours in the time that had passed between then and now, worried over what had happened. …Worried, perhaps, all the more because when I replayed the event in my mind, my impulse was not to correct the actions that had led up to… it. No, my gut reaction was to berate myself for not tasting the lips that had been so tantalizingly close to mine when I'd had the chance.

But, it was better this way. I repeated that to myself, seeing that she seemed largely unaffected, despite her absence in class all week. She tossed her head of silky, sinfully dark curls and fixed me with a defiant gaze and made her demand… and the only thing to do was to nod. "Come in."

She stepped forward before I had stepped back, putting her in much too close a proximity. And this was, perhaps, the first moment I realized she was angry. When I'd opened my office door, she'd turned an appraising gaze on me… but the stern look in her eyes and the arrogance in her posture spoke to finely suppressed rage. And when she invaded my space, it was not like in The Lantern a week before—welcome and sensual, if disconcerting—but confrontational. She was here to accuse me of something… and I had a pretty good idea what I was guilty of.

I stepped back decisively and waited for her to shut the door firmly behind her to address it. "Sara, about last Friday…"

"Don't."

I blinked in surprise, watching her gather herself, fists clenching and unclenching at her sides as if she were fighting for control. She tossed her chocolate mane again and sighed out loud. "I just… I'm trying to understand what on earth would possess you to try to sabotage me, academically."

I opened my mouth to protest, but she raised her eyebrows indignantly, silencing me despite myself. "…Let me just be candid about last Friday for a moment here. Because, for some reason—concern or some twisted sense of morality or, worse, guilt—you seem to feel like you are responsible for me, and you're not. Talking to Dr. Anderson doesn't help me—in fact, it puts my academic reputation into doubt, both as the student who skips classes and as the student who gets propositioned by her teacher. …Because that's how Dr. Anderson sees this. You do understand that, don't you? He all but asked me if you'd offered to sell me an A for the use of my body."

Heat swept over my face and my stomach rolled in discomfort. Oh, god. I hadn't anticipated that Tony would read my concern that way. I grit my teeth, feeling upset and defensive despite myself. Of course Sara had the right to be mad and I deserved every bit of it—I had crossed a line—but it was just a gut reaction to feeling attacked. She had to know that my intention had not been to cast doubt upon her or us. And something else was nagging at me, even though it shouldn't be. I didn't like her telling me that I was not, in fact, responsible for her. The extent of my concern for her this week… my attempts to ascertain her well-being through Tony without seeking her out and misleading her again… all of it centered around protecting her. I had been trying to minimize the fallout of my indiscretions.

I cleared my throat, uncomfortable, but she did not seem to share my discomfort—a fact that put me on edge. Her darkly colored lips spread into a smile that was not happy nor kind and I felt a jolt in my stomach like I'd just seen something raw and private and… dirty. I frowned at the feeling, despite the deep throb it sent through areas of my self that I would rather didn't react to Sara at all, much less to a smile like that. I set my own shoulders back in an attempt to appear as confident and as unaffected as she seemed. Something about her posture—about the way her eyes challenged mine and about the way her fists kept moving, trying to retain her calm… I was angry. I couldn't exactly explain why, but I was angry and I was… aroused. I didn't like the combination of the emotions—they had me reeling, and when she began speaking again, it took me several moments to catch up to what she was saying.

"…The fact of the matter, Dr. Grissom, is that you want me. We both know it. You've wanted me since the moment you met me, and I've watched your eyes watch me. And because you feel guilty for that—because you're too fucking noble to admit it—you think that getting Dr. Anderson to babysit me absolves you. It doesn't."

She handed me my condemnation with the grace and poise of a gothic heroine pronouncing some tragedy… some inevitability. And I railed against the inevitability. I felt my own shoulders set in response to her words. Monster or mistress or master seductress, it didn't matter, I did want her. But the confrontation raised my hackles, set me on edge, made my heart beat just a bit more rapidly. Whether she was right or not, she had no right to force me to address it. She had no right to make accusations. Who was she, with her sensuous curls and dangerous eyes and predatory smile?

It came again—the smile—and I throbbed in reaction to it. Had I know that Sara had this dark side all along? My body responded to her like an old friend and I found myself intensely curious and so fucking angry. I wanted to wipe the smirk off her face with some well-chosen comment, though none popped to mind immediately. She seemed to sense my rage; the smirk grew, both in size and contempt, and then she shook her head.

"…Let me just make something unquestionably clear between us, Dr. Grissom..."

Her voice was soft, almost gentle, and yet the hairs on my arms stood up. I was being threatened. She hadn't gotten that far yet, but I knew. I raised an eyebrow in question, no longer attempting to force speech that would not come and which she would not allow anyway, letting her finish her tirade while I regulated my breathing. In and out, calm and slow.

"…If you ever try to come between Dr. Anderson and I… diminish his opinion of me… damage my relationship with… with the only man I've ever known who doesn't want something from me… I promise you, you will regret it." I trembled with her threat—not from fear, but disbelieving anger. Young, innocent, little Sara Sidle thought she could storm into my office and issue commands like she had any right—any power—over me? I wanted to shake her. Shake some of that confidence from her. Feel soft, warm skin held firm beneath my palms and watch the haughtiness melt from her gaze. …I missed the Sara who watched me like she was memorizing everything I said. Missed the Sara who was desperate for my approval, not Tony's.

"…Please don't mistake me or think I'm speaking in hyperbole—I will tell everyone everything you have or haven't done with me, I will embellish and lie and fabricate… and by the time I'm done with you, you will have nothing."

Silence loomed between us and I felt a desire rising in me to strike the girl before me. Not a desire I would ever act on, but it was present and alarming to even me. I was fully erect and pounding in my slacks and my fists were clenched white and I couldn't hear anything through the blood rushing in my ears. I was breathing heavily, trembling slightly—not from fear or nerves, but anger. And then I found myself to her, catching her by the shoulders. I slammed my lips down onto hers with a force I was unaccustomed to, backing her into my filing cabinet hard enough to cause her to whimper in pain. My tongue forced entry when her lips parted in protest, though she tried to deny it.

…By the time I was coming to my senses, in frightened disbelief of the gravity of my actions, she was responding. Fingers curled into the hair at my nape and red nails digging into the skin of my neck beneath it. Body—young, dangerous, sexy-as-hell body—pressed to mine and moving in ways that were anything but innocent. Tongue teasing mine expertly, quiet, silky moan sliding from her mouth to mine. I wanted to give in to it. To devour her and be devoured. I wanted to stop thinking and surrender… but I didn't. I pulled back after a long moment under the onslaught, dazed and uncertain… and met deep, dark, lust-filled eyes. Her mouth was open in surprise, her breathing rapid, and I watched her expression change from disbelief to satisfaction.

She smiled again—and though it was still not kind or happy, it held a wistful kind of hopefulness that only served to confuse me more. Completely at odds with the soft nature of her expression, she chuckled softly, disdainfully, shaking her head. She licked her lips slowly before reaching out and wiping at mine… ostensibly to remove the lipstick that was smeared around her lips and probably mine, red and accusing. "I, uh… I'll see you in class, Dr. Grissom." She murmured under her breath, in that deep, husky way she has, lips pursing seductively… and then she sauntered out, looking every bit as if she had gotten exactly what she wanted from me.

I watched her retreat, watched my door swing closed behind her, and yet couldn't move… couldn't slow my breathing… couldn't fully grasp what exactly had just happened between us. I moved, slow and deliberately, behind my desk to sink into my chair and let my head sink into my hands. Whatever line I had been so concerned about crossing a week previous, I had left far behind me. That line was inconsequential now and I…

I was absolutely fucked.

And I had started out doing so well. I mean, not that Friday was one of my most positive moments—in fact, I don't know if I've ever had a moment of so much weakness, at least in my adult life. But the fact of the matter had been that despite how very much I had wanted her, I had not kissed her. I had told her that I wasn't interested. I had let her walk away. I had resisted all urges to find her, whether by showing up at her apartment or The Lantern.

And it was not as though the urges were minor. I had had vivid dreams about the different scenarios in which I might find her again. Her answering her apartment door in the matching underwear set I'd accidentally glimpsed through her window, or, better yet, in a flimsy, filmy little nightgown that obscured only just enough to tease the imagination. I imagined taking her up against the wall in the alley behind the bar or having her sit on the bar, a leg on either side of me as I sat in a bar stool and buried my face between her legs. I thought about bending her over a table or laying her across a pool table or simply falling into her bed with her, soft and slow. And I tried to stop these… I took Nyquil by the fourth night it happened, trying to quash the dreams. The result was not, as I had hoped, sleeping too deeply to dream. No, it just meant that I didn't wake up until… completion. And then not only was I ashamed, but messy.

But even so… even if I could not quite justify my reaction to her… I had been beyond proud that I did not, in fact, seek her out. Even when she wasn't in class on Monday. I had sat in the classroom, watching the minutes tick down until class would start, rationalizing that of course she would not come early anymore. And that it was a good thing that she wouldn't—because despite how very much I was looking forward to seeing her after the weekend from hell, it would be awkward and uncomfortable and it was probably better if we just avoided each other outside of class entirely.

She didn't come, and I purchased the Nyquil, knowing that my mind would be in overdrive that night.

Tuesday night my goal was simply to stay awake as long as humanly possible—sure, I would be exhausted the next day, but I would probably sleep dreamlessly. The result, of course, was that I was awake when Allison called… and, having nothing to do, decided it was high time I stopped avoiding her and faced my indiscretions. I could hardly stay with her when my mind was full of Sara, even if I couldn't have Sara either. It did not go… as I expected. She made it far easier (and perhaps far harder) than I had imagined. After the initial how-are-you's and her inquiring over how I was feeling, as Friday I had lied and said I was sick to avoid her, there had been a slight pause.

At my soft sigh of "…Allison…" she had chuckled.

"You met someone."

I cleared my throat. "I, uh… I'm not… …Yes."

She chuckled again. "You're not very sneaky, Gil."

I frowned and tapped my foot impatiently, uncertainly. "I, I… I'm sorry, Allison."

"Oh, don't be. I mean, am I a little disappointed? Of course. But… we were in a tough situation and we both knew something like this could happen. So, no hard feelings."

"…Really?"

She laughed openly, a reassuring sound. "Really, Gil. …So, are you going to tell me about this woman who has stolen your away from me?"

"Oh, no. It's not… We haven't… I wouldn't…"

She laughed again. "Calm down. I'm not accusing you of cheating. Just curious, that's all."

"I, uh…" I contemplating telling the truth for only a moment and only then because I felt so guilty and I still hadn't quite broken the habit of confessing when I felt guilty. "I don't think anything will happen between us. She's a… fellow teacher and dating is… frowned upon."

She laughed again, and I could see her shaking her head. "That's silly, Gil. She clearly means a great deal to you—I can hear it in your voice. Don't let rules stand in your way…"

I ended the phone call shortly after, telling myself repeatedly that her response would have been dramatically different had she know the truth. Rules, in this situation, were there for a reason.

Despite the slight ease to my conscience this detail gave me, I still felt overwhelmingly guilty on Wednesday and found myself hoping that she wouldn't show up—exhausting myself the night before had served to make the dreams less clear, but they were still clear enough to haunt me. …But when I got my wish and she did not show up, I started worrying. Missing one class due to an encounter like the one we had seemed natural—expected, almost—but two for Sara Sidle was… extremely out of character. I worried that something had happened to her. …I worried that she was so angry with me that she would never come to class again. I was worried that my harmful actions, even incomplete, had so severally damaged her that she was, indeed, the shuddering mass of insecurity and fear that I had imagined that night when I likened her to a rape victim. It gnawed at me, all consuming, which, at the very least, stopped the sex dreams.

No, I spent Wednesday night imagining my young, prodigious co-ed sobbing and trembling and cowering away from even the most innocuous of touches. I hardly slept but when I did, the images only became more vivid—Sara afraid and uncertain, her sweet, innocent features contorted and accusing.

I snorted to myself, now, at the thought. I wasn't sure exactly what to think of Sara after the encounter in my office… but I did know that she was not as innocent as I'd imagined. Although, I also had to admit that she had not necessarily purported herself to be—I had assumed that because I had been relatively innocent at her age, then she must be as well. And I also had to admit, after said encounter, that I had known she was not so innocent—had I really been all that surprised at her words? At the dark side that she allowed me glimpse, hand-in-hand with those tiny shreds of vulnerability. …What had she said about Tony? The only man who doesn't want something from her. I wanted to argue that I didn't either, but that was an absolute lie and I knew it.

A glance at the clock told me I needed to gather my things and head to class, and that she would hopefully be there. I wished I could find some way—some way that did not imply that I wanted to repeat our foray against my filing cabinet—that I had not intended to harm her in any way when I'd talked to Tony. It had not occurred to me that he would read so much into it, nor that his opinion was so important to her that a couple missed classes would be the end of the world to her. I had been genuinely concerned, thinking I had harmed her beyond all repair. Despite her overwhelming anger and the fire of her response less than an hour before, I had to confess that my primary emotion—behind shame for what I'd done—was relief. Angry and indignant and accusing though she might have been, she had looked… healthy. Strong, confident, beautiful. Nothing like my imaginings.

I trudged to class, stopping in a bathroom to be certain there was no lipstick on my face to give me away, and thankfully Sara did not appear until about a minute before class began. We had a test on Monday which meant that class went by pretty easily. I had handed out study guides on Wednesday and, other than handing Sara one without meeting her eyes, no real interaction was necessary. I asked people if there was anything on the guide they wanted me to explain and told them what the format of the test would be, and otherwise just fielded questions. Sara sat silent, reading over her study guide while I answered her classmates' questions—questions she could have answered in her sleep. And when the hour it up, I turned my back to the class to pack up my things, fully expecting her to take the opportunity to slip out and let today become something we just didn't talk about—awkward and inappropriate and harmful to both of us if word should ever get out.

I didn't have to turn around, once the last voices faded away, to know that she was still behind me. …I should have known I would not be so lucky. She had seemed more than pleased with herself when she'd left my office, and I supposed that couldn't be avoided forever. I finally turned around—she was grinning broadly, but again it lacked something. Warmth, I decided, with a pang of sadness. I sighed. "…We can't talk about this here."

She raised a delicate eyebrow and slid to her feet, swinging her backpack up onto her shoulder. "Then… I guess you'll have to take me to your place..."

I cringed—at this moment, I longed for the lonely existence I'd left behind in Minnesota.