Doorstep

By Jane Moss

"We took the prints," Brass glanced at his notepad, "Husband and wife: Elaine and Richard Stevens, found by passers-by."

Sara pushed aside the thought of her comfy bed, as she crouched down at the woman's body.

"There are some restraint marks around her wrists," she said, taking a few snapshots, "and the ankles."

She looked over at Grissom and wondered if he heard her at all.

"I think based on the small scratches on the man's fists, I'd make a bet at who was dominative in this relationship."

They spent just a moment longer than necessary in each other's eyes. Back to work. "I think there's no such thing as a dominative/submissive relationship. It's either equal and respectful or it's slavery. I hate control freaks." She didn't know why she was sharing.

"Most people are responsible for what happens to them," Grissom looked over the man's ripped pocket, "we don't judge - we just analyse the evidence"

Sara couldn't help smiling briefly, even with a dead body in front of her. "With you around, I doubt anyone needs to waste paper on the job description!"

He didn't react for a moment and she scolded herself for such a bad joke. It wasn't her fault she didn't get her 8 hours of sleep. He turned to her and smiled very slightly. "Why, thank you, Miss Sidle."

She shook her head, getting back to the work. Somehow, working with him was still close. It was the kind of closeness most couples never achieve. Couples? That's what they were? She let out a breath. Don't go so fast, Sidle. If you expect too much, you'll only be disappointed with what you do get.

* * *

Grissom shut his eyes for a moment. The bright glow of the computer screen, made them sting under his lids. He went over records for the couple in the last month. A few hotel reservations. Were they trying to rekindle their marriage? When you're out of love, you know it and there's nothing you can do about it. Just like when you are in love. His mind drifted. You just know it.

What's this? Lady Heather was involved? The bank transactions suggested as much. He sat back and exhaled. May be he could just send Brass to interrogate her. Brass may not pick everything up. A cop could overlook incriminating evidence. He remembered the last time and how the rumours had spread. Didn't people have anything better to do than speculate something so improbable. He hoped the people he worked with, knew him well enough not to think twice about it. He wondered if Sara heard as well. Did she trust him? What had he done lately to show her trust?

Suddenly his eyes got drawn to a moving shape. A fairly large butterfly was free in his office. He blinked and briefly wondered if some of his specimens could have come back to life and taken the pin out of itself. It looked almost clashing against the mechanical background of the lab. He stood up and came closer, but before he could examine it, the elusive beauty fluttered out of the room and left him pursuing its natural red and black wings down the hall. He didn't see where he was going. All he knew was that the curiosity inside him had to be satisfied.

He half-ran before stopping sharply at the doorway to the lab. Sara was bent over the microscope and the red butterfly was perched on her back, fluttering it's wings lazily, almost teasing him. He swallowed at the thought of touching Sara. This wasn't why he was going ahead with this, was it? Slowly he came forward, as not to startle Sara or the butterfly. His hand came closer to her back, when he heard faint humming coming from the brunette. He could do this. He could. He hovered his hand close to her skin. Her attention was diverted from the microscope. Somehow she knew it was him, but kept herself still, curious at to what he would do.

His slow heat seeped through the thin fabric of her shirt and they both caught their breath at the physical contact. He forced himself to focus on the butterfly, easily identifying it and smiling at his own skill. He inched his hand closer to it, running it slowly up her back, but before he came within an inch of it, the butterfly left off and disappeared down the hallway. He let it go. May be it would find its freedom for at least a few more days.

When Sara moved slightly, to look at him over her shoulder, he realised his hand had not left her back. Reluctantly he pulled away and tried to think of something to say quickly, before his cheeks would have time to blush. How would she look at him if he told her there was a butterfly on her back? He saw a mental picture of her sceptical raised eyebrow and resisted smiling.

"Sorry," he mumbled. His voice sounded rough and he cleared his throat, "some dust on your back." He touched her again, as if wiping it away, as casually as he could under the circumstances. May be he touched her just longer than necessary. Then she turned, her back straight and her small breasts very prominent in the tight shirt.

"Any more dust… anywhere?" Her deep gaze bore right through him.

"Uh…" He shifted uncomfortably. "Uh, no. No. That's it, I guess…" Sara couldn't help the small grin from spreading across her face. He looked so nervous. They were at work after all. Just some casual flirting. He could still feel his hand burning from the touch of her soft skin, even through a layer of fabric.

"So, what did you find?" she decided to change the subject.

He took a moment before he could respond.

"Well," he started walking back towards his office, beckoning her to follow him, "It turns out both Mr and Mrs Stevens were clients of Lady Heather-" Sara looked up at him sharply. "I pulled up the bank records and it shows three transactions in the last month."

Sara was silent, no longer meeting his gaze. He knew what he was about to suggest could turn out very good or very bad. It was a risk. A risk of hurting Sara again… But if she stayed here to speculate, wouldn't the chances be worse?

"I'd like you to come with me…" She caught his gaze.

"I don't think that'll be a good idea."

So she did actually suspect? The prospect hurt him somewhat and he wished she had seen it in his eyes at that moment.

"There's no one else who can do it. Brass went home two hours ago."

She let out an exasperated breath. "Fine." Why had she agreed to this? She didn't want to see the – "Meet me at the car."

*        *         *         *         *

Okay, I know I'm going around in circles and playing with the sexual tension, but bear with me! I want to resolve that LH once and for all! Thanks again for the lovely reviews!  – JM:)