Grissom set Sara away from him, trying to hide the incredulous look on his face. "You did what?"
"I gave up my apartment." She froze, suddenly apprehensive. "Did you not want me to? Do you not want, uh . . ."
"No! No, no, no, Sara this is great. You just took me by surprise. I wasn't expecting you to take this step considering how much we've been fighting lately." He bit his tongue, realizing that that sounded horrible. "I mean I'm just, uh, pleased that you trust me enough to do that."
Sara crossed her arms in front of her and looked at him curiously. "It was never an issue of trusting you, Gris. I've always trusted you. I guess it was a matter of trusting me. You know, trusting my ability to pick a winner this time," she said with a grin.
She sighed. "Fighting happens. Especially considering who we're talking about. If you really want to know what decided me, I guess it was actually the fighting itself. I've never had a relationship before where we fight like cats and dogs, then we make up, and we still love each other as much as we did before the fight. And you fight fair, Gil, unlike some others."
Wordlessly, he pulled her into a hug and kissed her hair. "Thank you."
Sara relaxed against him, smiling into his shoulder. What she was feeling right now was the closest to heaven she'd ever expected to get. "Grissom?"
"Yeah," he said, then kissed her ear.
"Two things. One, we're going to have to move the rest of my stuff into your house today."
"Our house," he mumbled, correcting her.
Sara giggled. "Yeah, I guess it is our house now. But, uh, Gris. Second?"
"Mmm."
"We're at work. And Brass is staring at us through the window and he looks like he's taking notes."
Grissom's head shot up and he turned around to see if Sara was telling the truth. Jim Brass was, indeed, standing outside the window, smiling widely and waving with one hand, holding a notebook with the other. "Jim!" he yelled, trying to sound threatening.
Brass pushed open the door, laughing so hard he could barely stand up. "Sor . . . sorry guys. You're just so cute, I thought I'd take notes so I could tell the guys tomorrow." He grabbed his stomach and howled with laughter at the looks on the two faces in front of him. "What? You are!"
Sra couldn't help but smile back. "Yeah, well, I'll take that as a compliment. And you know what your reward is for saying it?"
Brass started backing away, a nervous look on his face. "Uh . . . I don't need a reward." Another giggle escaped. "Nope, I do this just for the pleasure of it." He made for the door with the sound of Grissom's laughter following him.
Sara caught him just outside the doorway. "Nothing bad, Brass, geez. I was just gonna ask you if you want to help me move the rest of my stuff into Grissom's house this afternoon."
Brass stopped laughing and gave her an appraising look. "The rest, huh? You two finally stopped fighting it?" Sara nodded and he gave her shoulder a paternal squeeze. "So when's the wedding?"
"Brass!"
"Kidding, at least for now. What time do you want me? And I'll need directions to your apartment."
Sara nodded and scribbled them down on a piece of paper. "Meet us there around noon, ok?" She gave Brass a big, gap-toothed grin, and went back into the evidence room.
"So," Grissom said when they were alone again. "Can I go home now? This beautiful woman I'm living with has been cracking the whip all day, she's completely tired me out . . ."
"If this room had blinds, Gil Grissom," she smirked, "I'd show you what 'tired out' really means." She flicked an imaginary piece of dust from her blouse and walked out. Grissom was a step behind her, admiring her rear.
He moaned loudly about his old bones – all of them, one-by-one – all the way back to the entrance of the building, but when they reached the parking lot, his face took on a sober look. He began scanning the surrounding area, on the lookout for any dangerous characters.
"Chill, Gris. I told you, he's scared of me now, he won't come back."
He turned to her, all seriousness now. "Don't, Sara. I'm just incredibly glad that you're living with me, because if you weren't I'd be terrified that he'd come after you in your apartment. He's an anger-retaliation rapist, you know, and that means he feels like he needs to prove he's better than you." He nodded firmly. "I'm not letting go of you while we sleep – or any other time – until this guy is caught."
"I won't argue," she said in an attempt at humor. "Feel free to keep your hands on me at all times. But Grissom, I do know how to . . ."
". . . defend yourself, I know, I know. Let me pretend to wear the pants in this relationship occasionally, huh? I like to think I can protect the fair damsel."
Sara grinned. "You can wear whatever you want, as long as I can take it off you."
"Just get in the car, Sidle," he said sternly. "Hey, do you want to invite the rest of the team over to help again today? How much stuff do you have?"
Sara shrugged. "Not too much. The furniture, basically, and all my kitchen appliances . . . bathroom fixtures . . . the rest of my clothes . . . all my journals."
Grissom gaped. "In other words, everything you own."
"Well, no. I can give away the rugs. And, um . . . a few of my knickknacks."
He slumped back against his seat. "Sara, the house isn't that big – how much stuff do you have? I mean, furniture? I have furniture."
"No way, bugman. I want my recliner." She thought for a second. "Gris?" she asked as he swung the car into the driveway.
Uh-oh. He unbuckled his seatbelt, ready to bolt. "What now?"
"How would you feel about getting a dog?"
He only looked at her. "Inside, Sidle. We're not discussing a pet on the front lawn."
Sara shrugged and followed him inside. "I'm serious. Do you like dogs?"
"Can we please worry about fitting all your stuff into my house before we start adding other living things to the mix?"
"I guess," she said. "It's just that, you know, Susan has a dog she was telling me about, and I kind of miss having pets. I haven't had anything bigger than a goldfish since I went away to college."
Grissom ignored her blatant reference to a victim. "I don't think so, Sara. We both work long hours, and I don't think we'd really have time to train a dog. They need a lot of attention, and I just don't think . . ."
He was silenced when Sara kissed him gently. She smiled against his lips, then whispered, "I'll trade you the furniture for the dog."
Grissom harrumphed.
