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This is set post season 3. No direct mention is made of Grissom's surgery, although it is assumed that he recovered from it without incident (because really, what would they do with a deaf Grissom for another 2 seasons?). To the best of my ability, I've tried to keep characterizations and events in the universe of "this could actually happen." (Albiet never in any episode we'd ever see).

No infringement is intended, I'm just borrowing the characters because they're so much fun to write.

This is Part Two. More will eventually follow.

Thanks for all the wonderful feedback on part one guys!!

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Mornings washed Las Vegas in hues of orange and yellows. Reflected off tall buildings and haze, the light chased away the shadows of the city's seething night-time underworld. Driving home with the rising sun always made Sara feel refreshed; it banished some of the shadows that permeated her work, too.

This morning was different though. A reminder of the horrors of the job was sitting right next her in the form of a drunk Gil Grissom. They hadn't said anything to each other since pulling out of CSI, but now that Sara was on the highway where traffic was less heavy, she was able to sneak occasional glances over in his direction. He had turned away from her, his face pressed against the headrest and the window. She wondered if he was sleeping.

A truck pulled in front and Sara slowed down to accommodate it, resisting the urge to honk and curse the driver. Another glance in Grissom's direction and her eyes were drawn to his hands in his lap, idly toying with his glasses; he was still awake.

Sara wanted to say something, but couldn't think of anything to break the silence. And then she realized that she didn't exactly know the way to his townhouse. She couldn't remember the last time she had been there.

"Grissom... how do I get to your place?"

He answered without turning. "Next exit. Right at the lights, 5th down on the left."

Ten minutes later Sara pulled in front of the building and shut off the engine. She watched as Grissom unfastened his seatbelt and unsteadily got out of the car. There was a war going on inside her head. Part of her wanted to follow him out and up to his door, the other part kept her frozen to her seat, convinced that he would just want her to go. Their earlier conversation not withstanding, she was so unsure of where she stood with him these days. He had let her drive him home, but that was a concession to necessity. She thought that he might have accepted the same offer from Catherine, or Warrick, or even Nick.

His voice interrupted her inner conflict and she looked up to see him peering back inside the car. "Uh..Sara? You want to come in...? I uh... think I need some coffee. I can make for two."

The invitation was a surprising turnaround from his earlier despondency, but then, he had been surprising her a lot this morning. It was just coffee though, she told herself. Someone drives you home and you invite them in for some coffee; it's polite. But all the rationalizing in the world couldn't stop the small flip her stomach did, or the patented Sara Grin that split her face as she nodded a yes.

Once inside, Grissom dropped the keys and briefcase on a table and turned on a light to illuminate his living room. Sara stood behind him beside the door, watching him and adjusting to the fact that she was here with him, in his house. Her eyes stayed trained on him as he started to move off towards the kitchen. Halfway there he paused and turned around, with an afterthought said, "Um ... Make yourself at home," and then disappeared around the corner.

Left to herself, Sara couldn't help but look over his living room with open curiosity. Like any house, Grissom's was a reflection of it's inhabitant. In many ways it was like his office, filled with clutter that somehow managed to appear meticulously organized, books and strange objects. But absent were the sometimes gruesome displays of preserved animals and insects that adorned the shelves in his office.

Sara wandered over to a butterfly collection that decorated one wall and studied the wings on them, a jumble of colors, all still and perfectly mounted. A stack of books on a coffee table caught her eye and she fingered through them, considering the titles and wondering if he had read them yet. She studied his bookshelf, running her fingers over the stereo that sat there and a line of books, as if she could absorb some new understanding of him through her fingertips.

Sara stopped her perusal of the room when she heard a curse from the kitchen. She peered around the corner to see him struggling with the coffee machine and its filter; it was clearly not designed for use by the clumsy fingers of inebriated men.

"Here, Gris, why don't you let me get that?"

"You're my hero," he said with a lopsided grin, and stepped back to lean on the counter while she took his place.

As she busied herself making coffee she could feel his eyes burning into her back. She wondered what he was thinking.

"I don't do this often," he said finally, as she was starting the machine.

Sara turned around to look at him with a grin, "Do what? Invite women in for coffee?" It was a joke, but she couldn't help the slight undercurrent of emotion in her voice. A part of her hoped he wouldn't notice; an even smaller part hoped he would.

Grissom raised his eyebrow at her but ignored the bait, "No, camp out on the floor of my office and get blown three sheets to the wind."

"Ahhh," Sara said with an exaggerated nod, "Well, you don't have to worry about it Gris, nobody will hear anything about it from me."

"That's not what I was thinking," he said, and then softer with an almost imperceptible change in tone, "I know you'd never say anything."

Sara quickly averted her eyes; she never knew quite how to respond to his seemingly offhand comments like that, so she did what she always did and redirected the conversation. "So what were you thinking then?"

A corner of his mouth quirked up, "That since you found me, I can't chastise you for getting too emotionally involved in cases anymore."

It was dark humor, but Sara couldn't help the small laugh that erupted. As quickly as it came, though, it was gone, the gravity of the past few days coming back to her.

She moved to stand next him against the counter, both of them watching the coffee maker drip with slow regularity.

"What was it about this case?" Moments of silence stretched out, but Sara could almost hear Grissom's mind working as she peered over at him. He finally answered her.

"Children are a little like scientists. They come into this world with no preconceived notions of things, but questions about everything. It's all fresh and new to them; they possess this... this incredible sense of awe and wonder about the world around them. We lose most of that somewhere alone the way, even scientists and artists, and we keep more than most." He paused for a heart beat, "But .. there's a kind of benign innocence in that...and to abuse a child like that, to steal that innocence?" Grissom trailed off and shrugged, "We should have gotten that guy for what he did."

Sara had expected him to talk about unsolved puzzles or a criminal mind he couldn't beat, things she knew the scientist and CSI in him would find intolerable. But this was an emotional response, a quiet, contained outrage that had nothing to do with science and everything to do with being human. It was one that she clearly understood and related to. Without thinking, Sara ran her hand down the arm next to her, landing on his hand and giving it light squeeze. It was an natural gesture of comfort, but once done she didn't know what to do with her hand, and so she left it on top of his. She expected him to pull away, but he hadn't moved, and after a few moments she felt his thumb burning across her skin in a gentle caress against the edge of a finger. Sara's head jerked up to look at his face, but Grissom's eyes were unfocused, still staring across at the coffee machine; he was off in Grissomland. She wondered if he was aware of what he was doing, of how he could make her feel, even reeling from a bad case.

The buzz of the coffee pot broke the moment. Grissom shook himself slightly and hauled himself up and away from her. Sara was still standing there, watching him as he carefully reached for two mugs out of cabinet.

"Can you get the cream? In the fridge." He asked her without looking around.

TBC