She looked in on him from the doorway. The muscles of his neck were drawn tight, his head tilted as he stared at his desk. Rarely was it anyone saw that look on his face.

Grissom was pissed off.

But she didn't hesitate; she knocked twice, lightly on the doorframe.

He looked up and his face softened somewhat.

"You stormed out of there…" She said, taking a seat in front of his desk.

He leaned back and sighed but said nothing, just stared at her. She looked down before she spoke again, trying to avoid the anger in his eyes she was not used to.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

When she looked up again he still hadn't said a word, still hadn't relaxed the muscles in his face.

Finally, he parted his lips and drew in a short breath, "I didn't hear a word you just said."

She sat back and looked at him, a little confused, a little hurt.

He sat forward and pulled off his glasses before he buried his face in his palms. "All through his speech of the good husband, I barely heard a word he said," he paused, face still hidden in his hands, "not like we haven't heard it before, though."

She looked at him, confused, "Grissom…what?"

Looking up, he leaned his chin on his clasped fists. He talked softly. "All the times I've pushed you away, pushed Catherine and Nick and Warrick away. I guess I'm getting what I've wanted."

A realization born of worried memory dawned on her. "How long has this been going on, Gris?"

He shrugged and looked down, "a while. Like an idiot I…I thought it would go away, even as it was getting worse."

Speechless, she could only look at him. The one moment where he confides in her and she can't even find a word of comfort.

He turned slightly and leaned an elbow on the corner of his desk before he looked at her again, straight in the eye. "I've been…thinking of the words for years. First I thought about how…irrational I was being. Then about all the possibility. And then about what I should say to you.

I've changed, Sara," he said, shaking his head but still holding her gaze. "I've had to look at all I've lived for and reevaluate my life. When it came to thinking about you…I realized all the planning might be for not…if I can't even hear myself say it to you…or hear you say anything back."

He watched pain and longing flicker through her eyes. "Gissom, I…I don't even-."

He tilted his head slightly, "Sara…Sara," he said it twice, the second time almost a whisper as if enjoying her name for what might be the last time. "Would you just talk to me? I know I've got no right but…just say anything."

So what she said was this, "…why?"

He looked down again and smiled before he looked back up. "Because my hearing might go and…never come back and…all I want to do is hear your voice."

She was half stunned, half full of heartache looking at this man now. So she looked over her shoulder to see that the doorway was free of eavesdroppers before she turned back to his sad, blue eyes.

She swallowed. "I…I think you're the most beautiful person I've ever seen." She watched him as she spoke slowly and softly, not knowing quite what the hell it was she was doing. "There's sadness in you and…and passion that…moves me and I don't even know…I don't even know…" She looked at the floor, feeling her heart beat against her chest. "You amaze me, Grissom." She was looking at him when she said it and got up as she finished.

He looked up at her, no hint of anger. Just captivating blue eyes. And he watched her leave his office.

I'd been sleeping way to long
Searched for the answers but
Couldn't find one
Thought I had it under control
Yeah I was dying and I didn't even know

Alright, I love my Beard of Justice (That'd be Grissom) and I needed to write more of him. I have a thing over his and Sara's relationship so this is where the story comes from. The character of Grissom, played wonderfully by William Peterson, inspired me to write Sara's last little spiel about how amazing he is.

The lyrics are By Jonny Lang from the song 'To Love Again.' Props go to Jonny for his inspiration. His latest cd may as well just be about these two.

I may write more, I may not, my muse is a fickle creature.