A/N: The song is "Hanging by a Moment" by Lifehouse

Part IV: The Next Day

Desperate for changing

Starving for truth

I'm closer to where I started

Chasing after you

I have no idea what the title of this song is, or who sings it, but it's blasting out of the muzak system at the airport and I'm forced to listen. It's strangely appropriate, given my current situation.

I'm back where I started, indeed. Chasing after Sara. Or being chased by her, perhaps; I'm not really sure. But I came when she called, all my better intentions be damned. I guess we're two of a kind – can't escape the pull no matter how much we hurt each other.

I don't know what she thinks anymore, but I've been realizing more and more lately that I want to give in to that pull. I don't want us to be yo-yoing closer together, then farther away.

I'm falling even more in love with you

Letting go of all I've held onto

I'm standing here until you make me move

I'm hanging by a moment here with you

So that's why I'm standing here at Miami International Airport, searching for her familiar face.

I've given up on my pride. Pride can go to hell for all I care, as long as I get Sara back. I was angry with her for a long time after she left Las Vegas, though I knew that I had no right to be, and I guess I must have had many of the same thoughts she had when I left her eleven years ago.

"Say it to my face," "That can't be true, she loves me!," "Fine, I don't need her anyway." Yeah, I think it's safe to assume she had the same thoughts as I had this past year, and that's part of the reason why I came here without any argument.

You see, I know that anger at being deserted is a big obstacle, but I keep reminding myself that Sara swallowed her pride and fought back her anger to come to me in Las Vegas. To give me another chance, maybe. A chance which I blew, of course, because we all know by this point that I'm a complete idiot, but a chance all the same.

Now it's my turn to give her a chance. Abandon the anger, shove the pride back into the little box I usually keep it locked in, and put myself on the block. I don't care about whatever case she wants me to look at; I'm here to see her, not bugs.

I've never actually told her how I feel, in all the years we've known each other, and now I need to talk to her and explain my reticence. I know she probably won't want to talk, and maybe she's still harboring her original anger at me, but I have to try.

In fact, I'm going to do more than try. I plan to stay here in Miami until she agrees to talk this out with me. I've come to terms with the fact that such a talk may not end in the result I want, and I'm willing to leave her alone forever if she can look me in the eye and tell me truthfully that she has no feelings for me. If things go as I expect – well, maybe "hope" is a better word than "expect" – though, I'll break through her walls and make her tell me what she's thinking.

But I'm not leaving her apartment until one of those two things happens.

Forgetting all I'm lacking

Completely and complete

I'll take your invitation

You take all of me

I know that I'm not exactly Mr. Perfect. I'm silent too often, I can be condescending, I have trouble recognizing what anyone wants from me . . . I sleep with other women when I know I'm in love with Sara. I admit all those things willingly. I know I'm inconsiderate to my friends, and I often trivialize Sara's problems until she wants to hit me. And I'm just overall oblivious, Catherine sometimes informs me.

I'm prepared to let Sara beat me over the head with those truths for as long as she wants, and when she tires of that, I'm going to tell her that for her, I'll try to change everything. I know I can't succeed in completely altering my personality, but I'll voluntarily submit to a Sara Sidle Training Program to improve what can be fixed.

She's given me the opening I need to do these things by inviting me to her new home, and I'm going to take shameless advantage of that.

So now I'm waiting to see her, and trying to anticipate what I'll see in her eyes when she appears. Joy? I'd like to think so. More likely apprehension, or even trepidation. But I'm hoping for joy.

I think I see a brown head above the crowd. Yes, that's her. Sara . . .

I'm living for the only thing I know

I'm running and not quite sure where to go

I don't know what I'm diving into

Just hanging by a moment here with you

Before I can think, I've scooped up my small suitcase and begun jogging toward her. I can tell the moment that she realizes that the man running like an idiot down the hallway toward her is me. An almost comical look of bewilderment appears on her face and I'd swear that I can tell what she's thinking:

"That's Grissom? Oh god, this is embarrassing. Is he going to try to hug me like nothing happened?"

I know I'm right when she slows her pace and smiles distractedly at me, trying to pretend that she's just meeting an acquaintance.

I reach her and stop short two feet in front of her, suddenly aware that I don't know whether to try to touch her or not. We look at each other, saying nothing, for a long moment.

I scan her face and form. She looks good; she's wearing a skimpy tank top and a healthy tan, neither of which I've ever seen on her before. I guess Miami has been good to her. She even looks like she may have gained a few pounds, bringing her closer to what someone her height ought to weigh.

Her posture tells me what her face does not: she's nervous too. She's standing a few feet away, arms wrapped across her stomach, and her left hip is cocked as she slouches and puts all her weight on that leg. He upper body is leaning slightly backwards, and thus away from mine.

I notice that she's giving me a similar examination, and I have to laugh and ask, "See anything you like?"

There's nothing left to lose

Nothing left to find

There is nothing in the world that can change my mind

There is nothing else

There is nothing else.

I can't believe I just said that out loud. It's very . . . un-Grissom-like. But then again, it got the reaction I wanted: her eyes go wide and she cracks a reluctant smile.

"Yeah," she says, either joking with me or trying to fake disinterest again. "I like the suitcase. Is it new?"

I can't help it; I laugh again. A deep, real laugh this time, and it seems to break the ice the tiniest bit. I finally control my laughing and say, "No, Sara, it's not new. You just never had an occasion to see it before . . ." I cut myself off quickly before I can say what's on the tip of my tongue, "Because I had it stored in my bedroom in Vegas." Thank god I managed to control my vocal chords on that one!

She raises a curious eyebrow, noticing my sudden stop. "And . . .?"

I think for a second. It's not like I have anything to lose right now, anyway. I'm here in Miami for the final showdown, and the worst that can happen if I finish my thought is that she'll pull away from me, which I expect anyway.

"And . . . the reason you've never seen it is because I never invited you into my bedroom when you were in Las Vegas."

Her mouth forms a perfect "o" of surprise and her eyebrows shoot up, the way they did the day I met her and said something similarly provocative. "Grissom!"

For a minute, it's like the old Grissom and Sara. We smile at each other, but then quickly douse the happiness on our faces. "Well," I tell her defensively, still telling myself that I have nothing to lose, "it was only my idiocy that kept me from inviting you to that particular place."

Her face falls. "That's not funny, Grissom. Let's go; do you have everything?"

Oops.

Desperate for changing

Starving for truth

Closer where I started

Chasing after you

And so here I am, chasing after her again to the tune of this never-ending song. Only this time the chasing is literal; Sara is speed walking toward the baggage claim twenty feet ahead of me.

I take the time her distance offers to reflect on our conversation in the terminal. Though I shocked her, she didn't react as badly as she could have. She didn't hit me, nor did she turn and walk away. And she said, "That's not funny," which tells me that the suggestion still plays on her emotions. I need to know what's going on in her head.

When I realize that I won't get the truth from her while she's so far ahead of me, I relax and content myself with watching her body move as she walks. Still as beautiful and tempting as ever. She still has what Catherine laughingly calls the "CSI ass," the gravity-defying look gained from continuously squatting, leaning, and lunging over evidence at scenes.

That's all nice, but I have to admit that right now I'm much more interested in what she's thinking than in how she got such a beautiful posterior.

Do you think they'll take away my "man" card for thinking this way?

I'm falling even more in love with you

Letting go of all I've held onto

I'm standing here until you make me move

I'm hanging by a moment here with you

We reach the baggage claim and she finally stops walking, letting me catch up with her. I reach up to wipe imaginary sweat from my brow and offer her a smile. "Phew, I'd forgotten how fast you walk."

She says nothing, only nod and walks toward the slow-moving carousel that will deliver my larger suitcase to us. I follow closely behind her, deliberately crowding her.

The ploy works and she turns around, quickly finding herself nose-to-nose with me. "Do you mind, Grissom?"

I quirk a smile and say obtusely, "No, not at all."

She growls something and pushes past me to snatch my suitcase off the belt. I'm surprised that she's able to guess which is mine, but set my surprise aside when I hear her grunt. She's struggling with the suitcase, which must weigh nearly as much as she does because of all my bug books and equipment.

I move to help her, taking hold of the other handle. "I can get this, Sara," I tell her gently. "You can just go wait back there if you want."

She allows me to take possession of the heavy suitcase, but doesn't move away. I think that her body and mind are warring right now. She wants to stay close to me, but knows that it's the worst possible course of action.

I'm certainly not going to offer any help to her mind when her body is in my corner. "Or you can stay," I offer with a wink.

She stares at me.

I'm living for the only thing I know

I'm running and not quite sure where to go

I don't know what I'm diving into

Just hanging by a moment here with you

I know that I'm going to be hearing about this once she gets me alone. All the better for me, since she's emotional enough to blurt out something revealing while she's yelling at me.

I decide that a strategic retreat is in order. "Sorry," I mutter in a voice that probably tells her that I'm not sorry at all. I take a firm hold on the suitcase, which is apparently reluctant to move from where I placed it, and start pulling. It's Sara's turn to follow me as I stride outside.

I step to the curb to signal for a taxi, but her hand on my arms stops my movement and nearly stops my heart. "I've got a car, Grissom," she says, gently mocking me. "I'll drive, as long as you promise not to start up with the jokes again.

I only nod and smile. I'm careful to promise nothing, because once I have her alone, I'll say whatever it takes to get her to open up.