Notes and disclaimers in part one

Triptych

Part Two

Sara stands in front of the mirror in her bedroom - their bedroom, she reminds herself, immediately thereafter asking herself when did she ever need that reminder before? She and Warrick were all but living together by the time they made it to their two month anniversary; she was calling this place home long before they made it official during the summer. She'd never lived with a guy before, had never even come close, but with Warrick, it had been easy, natural. It hadn't been strange living with him and working with him, being around him all the time, it had been nice, and she remembers so clearly lying in bed with him that first day, thinking then that she could do this for the rest of her life.

He'd proposed a week later, and she hadn't hesitated.

So now she stands in their bedroom, in front of the mirror and she looks at herself. Not for vanity, because she's far from a vain person, but because she's wearing her wedding dress, and she wants to see if she still looks like a happy bride in it, because she's not so sure that she feels like one any more. Or maybe, a little voice in her head tells her, she wanted to try on the dress again in the hopes that it would banish any doubts that might be creeping in, any residual feelings that might have been stirred up by Grissom's arrival. Because if she stands in their bedroom, in this dress, she should remember Warrick and all that he means to her, all that they've been through to get here.

It should happen, she knows, but she still feels confused, torn.

Which is something she's never felt when standing here like this.

Usually, she finds herself blushing in embarrassment, because she, Sara Sidle, is not supposed to get all smiley and girly over a wedding, not even her own. She never thought of herself as the kind to get married, had never in her life, even as a little girl, imagined her wedding, much less the kind of dress she would have. So she'd done the sensible thing when she went looking for a dress; had enlisted Catherine to help her, and help her she had, bringing her to every dress shop in Vegas in search of the perfect dress. She'd found one too, not the flouncy, voluminous nightmare that she'd feared, but something simple, not white but cream, a long A-line skirt, no sleeves, with a neckline that skimmed her collarbone at the front, dipping to just below her shoulder blades at the back. She'd loved it the moment she'd tried it on, had known it was the perfect dress when Catherine got misty-eyed when she saw her in it. She'd bought it on sight, taking it home all wrapped up, and swearing bloody death on Warrick if he even thought of sneaking a peek. As far as she knows, he's been good so far, certainly if the amount of hints he's dropping about wanting to see her in it are anything to go by.

She loves this dress, and though she'd never admit it, every time she wears it, she imagines walking down the aisle, seeing Warrick waiting for her at the other end, and she can't stop smiling.

But she's not smiling now.

She left shift early, a first for her, pleading a headache as the reason, only partially a lie she tells herself. She tried to work, she did her best, but she couldn't concentrate, not when all she could feel was Warrick's eyes on her back in the present and Grissom's hands on her body in the past.

She hasn't thought about that night in a long time, and she thought that she was over it, that she'd forgotten all about it, all about him. But when she'd seen him in the break room, she'd instantly been transported two years and more back in time, back to the days when she was madly in love with Gil Grissom, and he didn't have the faintest interest in her. She'd longed for him from afar, she'd waited for him, once she'd even asked him out for dinner only to have her invitation rebuffed. And she'd told herself that nothing was ever going to happen, had thought she was resigned to that.

Then she'd stopped by his office on her way home one night, to fill him in on the latest details of her case and to say goodnight. He'd been finishing off some paperwork, had been quiet, even for him, but she'd put it down to Grissom being Grissom, and she'd shrugged inwardly, turning to leave. She'd turned back just as quickly when he called her name, and her breath had caught in her throat when she'd seen the way that he was looking at her. She'd prayed for him to look at her like that.

She'd barely breathed as he stood, coming around to the other side of the desk, but he stopped there, fingers tapping lightly on the wooden surface as he looked at her, then looked down. She'd frowned, wondering what was going through that mind of his, but she'd stopped wondering when he asked her if she'd like to get something to eat. She'd hesitated, because to say it was coming out of left field was to understate the matter somewhat, but then she'd smiled, and she'd said yes.

They'd gone to a small restaurant that Grissom knew, and since it was early in the morning for the rest of the world, the place had been all but deserted. They'd sat and talked for what seemed like hours, no awkward silences, no in-depth discussions about where they were going or what they were doing. They were just Sara and Grissom, enjoying one another's company.

When he'd walked her to her car, it had seemed natural to linger there a moment, to turn to him with a smile and say she'd see him later.

It had even seemed natural when he'd taken her by the elbow, stopping her from opening the door.

And when he'd leaned forward and kissed her, it had just felt right.

She'd said two words to him, only two words, when they separated. "My place?" He'd nodded, had followed her there, and once there, no words had been exchanged. Lips on lips, on skin, hands roaming freely had said all that needed to be said, and when she'd drifted off to sleep in his arms, she'd dreamed of all that lay in store for them.

Waking up alone had been a surprise.

Walking into the lab and finding that Grissom had left, resigned, without telling anyone had been one hell of a shock.

They'd all been stunned by Grissom's action, and she remembers Warrick talking about something Grissom had once told him; that when he left CSI, there would be no cake in the break room. He'd said at the time that he'd never expected Grissom to be so literal, and everyone in the vicinity had agreed.

She remembers that because it's one of the few things that she does remember clearly about that time. The rest - cases, conversations, everything - is one big blur, as if she was sleepwalking through her life. Work was everything to her, because it reminded her of him, and she kept hoping that one day she'd lift her head from the microscope, would look around, and he'd be there. After a while, she'd noticed that people seemed to be taking an extra interest in her welfare, were hovering around her a lot more, and it had confused her, because they'd never done that before. It was only after the Christmas party, the one that Warrick had all but had to lift her up and carry her to, that she realised why.

She remembers fighting with Warrick on the way there, unable to comprehend why he was so stubborn all of a sudden, reasoning with herself that she could steal away from him after a few minutes, lose herself in the crowd and go home. She'd reckoned without Greg dragging her on to the dance floor, teaching her how to Macarena, and she can still see him there beside her, shouting out the names of the movements, smiling, laughing, having a great time.

Realising near the end of the song - and she's pretty sure that someone played it more than once; otherwise it was the hyper-extended remix version - that she was too laughing, smiling, having a great time, was a hell of a shock.

Meeting Warrick's gaze across the room, seeing a smile on his face and relief in his eyes, was an even bigger one.

It had struck her then, with force, that she couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed. That had frightened her, because not even in the first days of her time in Vegas, pre-Hank, pre getting a life, had that happened to her. And when she'd gone home, she'd taken a good look at herself in the mirror, had seen the dark circles under her eyes, the pallor of her cheeks, the way her clothes hung from her body.

She looked like the walking dead, and she knew right then and there that she couldn't go on like that any more.

Luckily for her, Warrick seemed to have come to the same conclusion, and after the success of the Christmas party, he began to seek her out more and more, bringing her to dinner, going to the movies with her, showing her the sights of Vegas, which he was scandalised to learn she'd never seen after so many years there.

Then one day, they'd gone to breakfast after the shift, not for the first time. He'd driven her home, she doesn't remember why, but she does remember him leaning down to kiss her cheek. It hadn't struck her as unusual, because she'd become used to him doing that. Warrick was a tactile person, and in the few months since Christmas, she'd become comfortable with hugs from him, with kisses on the cheek.

But that day, he'd turned to leave, and it had seemed natural to reach out, touch his elbow. And when he'd looked at her, his concern written all over his face, it had seemed natural to kiss him.

It had seemed right.

She'd led him into her apartment, and she hadn't thought of Grissom once, though in later days, she would begin to develop a preference for Warrick's place rather than hers. It was larger, roomier, felt more like a home, courtesy of Grams, and most importantly, she never thought of Grissom there.

Not that she thought of Grissom much, and as time went on, as she and Warrick became more and more serious, Grissom and the night they'd spent together had faded into memory.

Until today, when she walked into the break room, and, just like she'd hoped for, prayed for on so many occasions, she'd seen him there.

She'd thought she'd be happy the day he came back. Sometimes, she'd thought that she'd be angry. She never expected to feel numb, never expected Warrick's ring to burn against her chest, reminding her that Grissom was the past, that Warrick was her present, her future, her everything.

She never expected Grissom to look at her like that, like he had on that last night, and she certainly never expected a few sentences to turn her life upside down.

She jumps when she hears the front door opening, hears Warrick calling her name. "I'm in the bedroom," she calls back, hurriedly reaching for the zipper at the back of the dress. "But you can't come in."

She hears him chuckle. "Ain't nothing I haven't seen before," he replies, but she knows him well enough to hear something simmering underneath the surface of his voice, and she knows just what it is.

"I'm trying on the dress," she says, and that's the end of that.

"Say no more," is his reply, his voice just down the hall, and she hears him turn and walk away.

Changing quickly, she runs her hands over her hair to smooth it down, before reaching up to the clasp of her necklace, sliding the ring free of the chain with practised ease and putting it on her finger. The chain then goes back around her neck, kept safe for the start of the shift, and she goes to find Warrick.

He's in the kitchen, standing at the counter, staring at the kettle as if the sheer intensity of his gaze will make the water boil faster. A quip about a watched kettle never boiling passes through her mind, but when he turns his head slightly, when his green gaze meets hers, all words freeze in her throat. The only thing she can manage is a whispered, "Hey," but it's enough to make his shoulders relax, enough to have him walking towards her.

"Hey," he replies, stopping just short of her, and the space between them is like a physical ache in her stomach. It's in no way assuaged when he reaches out with one hand, laying it on her shoulder, so gently that she almost thinks he's afraid of breaking her. His question is just as gentle, like the touch on her neck from the crime scene. "You ok?" It's enough to let her know that he's there if she needs to talk, but also enough to tell her that he's not going to push her. He's letting her call the shots on this one.

She doesn't know what he expects, but it's clearly not for her to close the distance between them, sliding her arms around his waist, pressing her head into his shoulder so that her lips are millimetres away from his neck. She can feel the surprise course through his body, but his arms close around her back, his chin resting against her head. He doesn't say anything, nor does she, and they cling to one another in the silence for a long time.

Eventually, with a sigh heaved from the tips of her toes, she pulls away from him, bringing her arms from his back up to his chest, resting her hands flat there. She can feel the heat of his skin through his shirt, feel the beating of his heart, strong and steady. When she meets his gaze, it's easier than she would have thought possible to give him a small smile and mean it, to whisper the words, "I'm sorry."

He returns the smile, moving his own hands up to rub her shoulders. "I know," he breathes, and at any other time, she'd bristle at that comment, but now, she just sighs, especially as his right hand travels down to catch hold of her left, fingering her engagement ring. "It's not your fault." His tone is quite tart when he says those words, leaving her in no doubt as to whose feet he's laying the blame at, and she looks down, at his fingers on her hand, not able to take her eyes off them.

"Isn't it?" she asks, but he's not going to let her away with that, bringing his other hand to her chin, tilting it up so that she can look at him.

"No," he says firmly, and she thinks for an instant that he's going to kiss her, but he doesn't. "He's the one who thinks he can just waltz back in here after two years and everything's going to be the same."

She can definitely hear anger and indignation seeping into his voice, and she steps into his body, resting her head on his shoulder again. "You know I love you, right?" she asks, and his palm is warm against her back when he answers.

"Yeah," he whispers. "I know that." There's another pause during which she doesn't straighten up, and she can practically feel the question bubbling up in Warrick. "What did he say to you?"

"Not much." She's still talking into his shoulder, because it's easier, and because he's letting her. "Didn't say where he was. Why he was back. What he's doing. He asked me to have dinner with him and I told him about us… that's when Greg called." She's leaving out some of the details, but they're not important she tells herself, and she waits for his reaction.

When it comes, it makes her pull out of his embrace sharply. "Maybe you should go." Her eyes are wide as she stares at him, while his are sober and serious. "Sara, I know what went down between the two of you. And I saw what you were like when he left." He shrugs, and she's got a funny feeling that he can't believe he's saying this either. "Maybe you need to hear why… for closure."

She shakes her head, feeling as if there's some piece of the puzzle that she's not aware of. "I don't want closure," she counters, but he interrupts her with a few quiet words.

"Sometimes, it's not what we want," he tells her. "It's what we need."

***

Warrick sees her ponder his words, letting them run through her mind, and for an insane moment, he wishes that he could take them back. That he could tell her to stay as far away from Grissom as humanly possible, that they could run away together and never have to mention the man's name again.

But he knows they can't do that. Whether he likes it or not, and the answer is most definitely not, Gil Grissom has been in the background of their relationship from the get-go, and with his sudden reappearance, they can't avoid him any longer.

No matter what that means for the two of them.

"Maybe you're right," she says finally, putting her head back down on his shoulder, her arms once more sliding around his waist. Closing his eyes, Warrick presses a kiss to the top of her head, resting his cheek against his hair, thinking about all the times in the last few months that they've stood here like this. He's never quite been able to believe it, that the two of them, with all their history, have ended up together and happy, would never have thought that Sara would end up being The One.

He knows she's harboured the same thoughts about him.

His breath catches when she turns her head slightly, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck as she tightens her grip on his waist. This is the kind of gesture that usually leads somewhere with the two of them, and when she kisses his neck again, moving up towards his jaw, he's pretty sure that that's what she has in mind. He wants to step away, to tell her that he's not sure that this is the way to deal with their problems, but when she lifts her head, when he sees the look in her eyes, the words escape him.

And when she kisses his lips, winding her arms around his neck and pressing her body flush against him, all thought swiftly follows.

He's dimly aware of the two of them moving towards the bedroom, of the familiar sensations of her hands on his skin, her skin under his hands, the taste and the sound and the feel of her in his arms. It's familiar, and it's good, and it's everything that's right about their relationship, but at the same time, he knows there's something there that he's never felt before. The first time he and Sara made love, it was tentative, almost as if both were afraid that the other was going to change their mind. Other times, it's been slow and languid, fast and passionate, and there's an urban legend going around the lab involving them, a supply closet and a red-faced Greg Sanders, but it's never felt like this.

The only word that comes to mind is elegiac - it feels like goodbye.

And later, much later, when they're getting ready to face into another shift and he hears her cell phone ring, hears her say Grissom's name when she answers it, sees the look in her eyes, he's very afraid that that's what it is.

***

When he leaves Warrick, Grissom knows just where he's going next, and he follows the familiar path to his old office, not in the least bit surprised to find her there, drowning under mountains of paperwork. He stands in the doorway, observing her for a long moment, waiting for her to look up, and when she doesn't, he finally speaks. "There are some parts of my old job I don't miss," he says, and her head whips up, a huge smile spreading across her face.

"I heard you were back in town," she says, standing up and going to him, pulling him into a hug. He returns the gesture, not the least bit surprised at it, while at the same time wishing that Sara had given him that kind of reception. His comparisons are cut short when she steps back from him, looking at him for a second before hitting him, hard, on the shoulder.

"Ow!" he says, the reaction partly borne of surprise, but mostly born out of the fact that Catherine's got one hell of a punch. "What was that for?"

"What was that for, he asks me," Catherine scoffs. "Walking out of here without so much as a 'see you 'round'?" Another punch. "Recommending me for this job, making sure I'd get it, and making sure that I didn't have a clue what I was doing?" Two more punches in the middle of that speech, and Grissom's got a clue now, is trying to move away from her. She seems to have punched herself out though, and she's standing in front of him, hands on her hips. "So?" she demands.

He blinks. "What?"

Catherine rolls her eyes. "Where have you been? What brings you back? And why now?" She throws her hands up, shaking her head. "God Gil, I have so many questions for you… not least of which is, do you want this job back, because I've got to tell you, after the day I've had… "

He holds up a hand. "I don't want my job back," he assures her. "I'm going to teach," he adds. "UNLV, criminology and forensic science."

Catherine's eyes widen, and she looks impressed. "Professor Grissom," she teases, and he shrugs. They regard one another in silence, Catherine looking him up and down before asking, "Look, let's get out of here. You want to come to my place? I'll cook breakfast."

A smart comment comes to mind, but he bites it back, saying instead, "That sounds great."

On their way out to the parking lot, he asks about Lindsey, Catherine filling him in on how she's getting on at school, the classes and activities she's taking. He follows her home, as if he could have forgotten the way, and while she said that she would cook, he ends up helping her, the two of them working together as well as they ever had, and it's almost as if they were never been away from one another.

Catherine waits until after they've eaten to ask the hard questions, and they're sitting on the couch in her living room, cups of coffee in hand when she wrinkles her nose the way she always does when she wants to ask a tricky question. "So," she says, pausing for a second, and that's when he knows what's coming next. "Was it your hearing?"

He nods, but it's not as hard to talk about as it could have been. "The first operation from 2003 worked for a while," he tells her. "But not permanently. My hearing started degrading again… that's why I knew I had to leave."

It's the truth, but Catherine's looking at him curiously, head slightly tilted, eyes narrowed. "But you can hear now, right? I mean, you're not… "

"No," he acknowledges. "It just goes to show Catherine… you should never underestimate the advances of medical science. New procedures, new therapies… I had another operation a couple of months ago, and it looks as if this one will stick."

Catherine smiles brightly. "I'm so happy for you," she tells him, and he hears the sincerity loud and clear in her voice.

"So I came back," he continues simply, answering one of her questions from earlier in the evening.

"I'm glad." Catherine takes a sip of her coffee, then chuckles as if something has just occurred to her. "Lots of changes around here."

"True. Nick got married?"

Catherine nods. "Diana… she's great. And their daughter, Sophie… she is the sweetest thing. And you've heard about Warrick and Sara."

Grissom nods, taking a careful sip of his coffee. "Sara told me," he says simply. "I can't say it didn't surprise me."

Catherine snorts. "You and them both," she says, and off his surprised look adds, "We all saw it coming long before they did." Grissom lifts an eyebrow in silent question, and she shrugs, continuing. "They were spending a lot of time together," she says. "And it was crystal clear that they were crazy about one another… I don't know why they waited so long."

"I never knew they were that close." Grissom knows he's fishing for information, but he can't help it. Catherine, fortunately, doesn't seem to notice.

She does sigh however, choosing her words carefully before she speaks. "A lot changed after you left Grissom," she says. "We were shocked - all of us were shocked. But Sara… she took it hard. And I don't think any of us knew how hard for a long time… of course, when we finally noticed, she didn't make it easy for us to help her… Warrick was the only one who could get through to her."

"Hard?" Grissom asks, not sure what she means, a stab of guilt running through him all the same.

"Working all the time… even harder than usual. Not sleeping, not eating… barely talking," Catherine explains, and he suddenly finds his cup of coffee very interesting, because he can't look at Catherine, not when she's got that look on her face. It's a look that's somewhere between sympathy and remembered pain, and it tells Grissom all he needs to know about what it was like for Sara after he left. "Look Gil, it's not my place to pry, and I don't need to know what happened between the two of you but you should know-"

"We slept together."

He didn't mean to tell her that, was hardly aware that he'd spoken aloud until she stopped talking. When he looks up at her, he sees her staring at him with a perfectly frozen expression, as if she's not sure that she believes what she's just heard, her coffee cup halfway to her lips. Then she blinks, lowers the cup carefully and places it on the table, adjusting her position so that she's sitting upright on the edge of the couch. Only then does she turn to look at him again, turns slowly and deliberately, the same way she speaks when she says, "Excuse me?"

It's a neutral tone of voice; too neutral he knows at once. He's gone too far to turn back now though, so he repeats himself. "We slept together." He remembers it clearly, every moment, from when he was finalising his paperwork, making sure his desk was clear for whoever would take over his job, looking up to find her there, right up to lying propped up on one elbow, looking at her sleeping, wishing with all his heart that things could be different. He certainly hadn't planned on being here, hadn't planned on asking her out to dinner, but then he'd been looking at her, and in a moment of weakness, knowing that this could be the last time that he'd ever see her, he'd asked her to have dinner with him. Why he'd let it progress so much further, he'd never be able to say, but he does know that those memories have sustained him through many a long and lonely day. He regrets leaving her, regrets hurting her, but he doesn't regret that night.

Even if he knows he probably should.

Now confident that she heard him right, Catherine asks, "You and Sara?" He nods. "You slept together?" Another nod. "When?"

"The night before I left."

She blinks, then her eyes grow wide as she processes that information, her jaw dropping. "Tell me," she says slowly, ominously, "That you told her you were leaving. That you told her why." Grissom says nothing, and Catherine's tone grows more strident. "Tell me that she didn't wake up the next morning and find you gone." Grissom's silence speaks far more eloquently on the matter than words, and Catherine emits a sound that can only indicate disgust. "I can't believe you."

"Catherine-" he begins, but she cuts him off, standing, pacing the room like a caged animal.

"Just give me a minute," she commands, in a tone that's not to be trifled with. After a couple of lengths of the coffee table, she looks down at him, pure disdain etched on her face. "You know Grissom," she says coldly, and the use of his surname leaves him in no doubt as to the depths of her displeasure. "Eddie wouldn't even have done that." It's the worst insult that she could have paid him, and they both know it.

"You just left?" she asks, as if she's hoping that he's going to change his story, tell her that it's not true. But when he doesn't, when he nods, she stares at him helplessly. "But why? You had to know she was in love with you, everyone knew that… "

"I did."

His quiet acceptance stuns her. "Then why… "

"Because I love her too."

The tense doesn't go unnoticed by her; he hadn't expected to. But she still tries to deny it, treat it like just a slip of the tongue. "You mean loved," she challenges, and her tone is dangerous.

Dangerous, but he won't lie to her. "No."

If he thought his initial bombshell shocked her, that was nothing compared to his. Not only does her jaw drop, her hands rise and fall, landing on her thighs with a slapping sound, and he's pretty sure that that's what she'd like to do to him. "You can't be serious."

But he is, and he says it again, just to make it clear. "I love her Catherine."

"No," she says, with a vehement shake of the head. "No, no, no, no, no… you can't do this Gil. You can't!"

"Catherine-"

"Gil!" Her eyes are wide, panicked even, and she's not going to let him away with this. "You can't do this to that girl… you have no idea what it was like when you left, you have no clue what it did to her… you can't just waltz back into her life and pull the rug out from under her like this."

He sighs, meets her gaze. "Is she happy Catherine?" he asks, and she regards him with frank and open amazement.

"Happy? Gil, I've never seen Sara happier," she tells him. "The way they are together, the way they look at one another… Warrick worships her." She shakes her head, a wide smile forming on her face as she looks over his shoulder, focussing on something that only she can see. "I was with her when she bought her wedding dress… we must've gone to a dozen stores, tried on about fifty dresses… then she came out and she was radiant… you could have powered the Strip for a month, just from her smile." Grissom's staring at Catherine, and doesn't miss the slight tinge of tears in her eyes, but it doesn't change how he feels. "You can't do this," she says again.

"I want to tell her the truth," he argues stubbornly. "She deserves that."

"She deserves happiness," Catherine counters. "It took her a long time to get over you, but now she has. The past is the past… leave it there."

He holds her gaze for a long moment. "It's not the past Catherine," he says. "Not for me."

She absorbs that, and after a long silence, she runs a hand through her hair. "You're an ass," she says flatly. "For leaving like you did… for doing what you did to her in the first place… for even thinking about doing this." She shakes her head. "You're going to do what you want to do, I know that. But know this Gil… if you hurt her… if I hear of her crying the slightest glimmer of a tear over you… I'll never forgive you."

Catherine's words settle in his heart, in his soul, ring in his ears, but he doesn't back down, and she changes the subject then, moving on to other, safer, matters. But the words linger in his head, circling around, but they're not enough to stop him picking up the phone later on, calling Sara's number, asking her if they can meet after the shift.

And they're not enough to stop him smiling when she says yes.

tbc