Disclaimers: see Part I

Again, many thanks to Nire the Evil, my editor. Any mistakes are mine.

The diner also exists, or did a few years ago, in another form and on the other side of the country. Thank you, all of you who have sent me such wonderful feedback! I'm so pleased that you're enjoying it.

III

Their suspect sat in the interrogation room, tidy as a small brown bird. Brass and Catherine sat opposite her; Sara took up a position near the door, leaning on the wall with her arms folded. She knew her theory seemed far-fetched, but while women abusing men was a rarity, it wasn't unheard of. The trouble would be not only proving it, but convincing a jury; all the more difficult given the difference in size between the victim and his wife.

"Thank you for coming in, Mrs. Torono," Catherine said politely. "We just have a few questions."

"Of course." Mrs. Torono had a handkerchief in one hand, and she sniffled delicately into it. "Anything, if it'll help catch the people who did that to George."

Brass rested his folded hands on the table. "I know we asked already, but can you think of anyone who might have had a grudge against your husband? Anyone who was angry enough to kill him?"

The diminutive woman shook her head. "No. No one. Everybody liked George."

"Do you know if he was involved in anything shady? Double-booking for one of the casinos, for instance."

Mrs. Torono sat up straighter and gave Brass a shocked look. "Of course not!"

Brass raised his hands in a conciliating gesture. "We have to ask," he said easily.

Their suspect sniffled again, her indignation fading. "I don't understand why someone did this to him."

"Mrs. Torono--" Catherine leaned forward a little. "I'm sorry to have to ask this, but was your husband involved with anyone else? A...guy, perhaps?"

Again, shock. "George would never cheat on me. We loved each other."

"Your husband had a lot of old injuries," Catherine pointed out neutrally. "Broken bones, hematomas. We've talked to his co-workers, his friends. You don't get those kinds of injuries from golf."

The slender shoulders stiffened, and Sara's eyes narrowed. She's going to start lying.

"George was...clumsy," Mrs. Torono said, her voice sad. "He was always tripping on things or falling down the stairs. Once he even fell out of bed."

Sara's gaze met Brass', and she could see her thoughts mirrored in his eyes. She pushed away from the wall and walked to the table. "Mrs. Torono, your husband was treated three times at Desert Palms last year for bruised ribs or other injuries. His dentist repaired his front teeth twice." She laid the medical reports out in front of the woman. "You, on the other hand, have been taking kickboxing classes at the local YMCA for six years." She put one hand on her hip. "Bet those teach you how to land a punch, huh?"

The woman's stare went icy. "What are you saying?"

"You beat your husband," Sara said, spinning her story with practiced care. "He didn't fight back, for whatever reason. And one day, you hit him too hard or too often, and he died."

"It must have been quite a job to get him into the car," Brass said, his voice almost admiring. "He was a big guy. But you managed it, and you dumped him in the desert."

"You must have figured that no one would suspect you," Catherine chimed in. "After all, who would think a little woman like you could kill someone like him?"

"You...you don't have any proof," Mrs. Torono said, gaining confidence as she spoke.

"Actually we do," Sara said, putting more papers on the table. "We found his blood in your kitchen and your car, and the tire tracks we found near the body match your vehicle. And your story...well, who goes to the store in their slippers?" Her last comment was weak, Sara knew, but with so fragile a foundation they needed anything they could throw at her.

"Not to mention the fact that you waited three days to call it in," Brass added. "Your husband goes out for milk one evening and doesn't come back? You should have been on the phone before midnight."

"I...I..." Mrs. Torono trailed off, looking from one person to the next. "I...want a lawyer."

"You'll get one." Brass swept the papers together as he and Catherine rose, and he nodded to the officer at the door. "In the meantime, you're under arrest."

********

Sara rapped lightly on the doorframe of Grissom's office. "You paged?" she said dryly.

"Yeah, come on in," Grissom said, signing one last paper before looking up at her with pleasure. "Have a seat."

She regarded him for a moment. "You want me to close the door?"

"Only if you think it's necessary." He folded his hands on his blotter.

She gave him one of her skeptical looks. "Since I don't know why I'm here..."

"Leave it open and have a seat. Please."

She sat, and Grissom took a few seconds to just look at her. Still bone-thin, but some of the deep weariness had faded from her eyes, and the lines of her face were not so taut. Grissom didn't know if he had anything to do with that, but he could hope.

"So...why am I here?"

Grissom smiled. "First of all, I want to compliment you on your handling of the Torono case. Brass said your work was first-class."

She shrugged, but he was pleased to see her face lighten a little. "It wasn't just me."

"True. But you're the one here, now." He bit his tongue as she looked puzzled. "I'll give Catherine my compliments later."

"Well. Thanks," she said awkwardly, and he winced internally. Had it been so long since he'd told her what a good job she did?

He unfolded his hands and sat back. "Second, it has been brought to my attention that some of my CSIs are a little overworked." He snorted mentally at Catherine's memory and chose his words carefully to avoid setting off Sara's temper again. "I know you love your work, Sara, but is there anything I, as your supervisor, can do to make your job easier?"

Her mouth fell open a little and she stared at him. He kept his expression calm and stared back. Finally she gave herself a little shake. "No, not that I can think of. Not right now, anyway."

"You sure?"

She pursed her lips the way she did when she was trying to hide a smile. "Not unless you want to get me one of those electronic noses that Warrick keeps raving about."

He grinned, relieved that she felt relaxed enough to joke. "I'll take it under advisement."

********

Brass stuck his head into the layout room. "Sara. Got a minute?"

She straightened and gave him a deadly look. "That depends. Are you going to run to Grissom after this conversation too?"

The detective looked embarrassed, and after glancing around to make sure she was the only person in the room, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. "Look, Sara...I just..."

She was prepared to yell at him, but he looked worried. Not about her, but for her. And somewhere inside, it felt very good to have somebody care.

"Forget it," she said brusquely. "What's up?"

He shot her a skeptical glance, and then apparently decided that she wasn't going to tear into him after all. "Mrs. Torono made a deal."

"Really?" Sara felt her brows go up.

"Yup. She really should have hired a lawyer who wasn't just out of law school. I spun him the same cock-and-bull story we gave her, and he never even thought to question the implication that we had more evidence."

"Huh." The satisfaction that welled up in her had long been missing from her work. "Sweet!"

Brass gave her a grin that bordered on evil. "You said it. This one's going in my weird file, though. Domestic abuse we see all the time, men on women, guys on guys, adults on kids, but a wife beating on her husband..."

Sara shrugged. "It happens. Nobody talks about it, but it happens."

"I guess not. Definitely not something a guy mentions to his buddies."

"Testosterone," Sara said a bit smugly. Brass clapped his hand to his chest, feigning hurt, and winked.

"See you around," he said, and turned to walk out, almost bumping into Grissom. "Man! You have got to get rid of that habit of sneaking up on people."

"I don't sneak," Grissom said. "Glad I caught you. Sara, do you realize that it is ten minutes past the end of shift?"

Sara glanced down at her array of photos, then back up. "If you two are going to get on my case again..."

Grissom raised one hand. "Not at all. I merely wished to inform you both that the night shift is going out for breakfast, and you're invited. My treat."

"Free food? Count me in," Brass said, and reached up to unclip his tie. "I'll ride with you."

Grissom cocked a brow at Sara, waiting.

She felt a slow smile growing. It had been a long time since they'd all gone out together. "Okay. Just let me put these away."

*

"Just like old times, eh, partner?" muttered Brass around a mouthful of hash browns. Grissom laughed a little, letting his coffee cup warm his hands as the two men listened to Sara and Nick bickering cheerfully with Greg.

The seven of them had crammed themselves around an inadequate table, stealing chairs from another, and were now immersed in pancakes, bacon, and arguments. Warrick was working his way through an omelet the likes of which were unknown elsewhere; Grissom reflected that the Russians who ran the diner seemed to think that regular-sized breakfasts were for wimps. Catherine cut into the conversation in support of whatever point Greg was trying to make, earning a one-armed hug from the lab tech.

Greg had been amazed to be asked along, Grissom recalled, despite the fact that he was basically an unofficial intern at this point. Sara's not the only one I need to reconnect with.

Feeling mischievous, he picked up his fork from his empty plate, and leaned over to snag a chunk of pineapple from Sara's bowl of fruit while she was distracted by the ongoing debate. Warrick's sudden splutter made her look around, but by that time Grissom had stuffed the pineapple in his mouth and assumed an innocent expression. Sara glanced at her plate, but apparently saw nothing amiss, and returned to the conversation.

So of course he had to do it again.

However, as soon as his arm reached its full extension, Sara's hand slammed down onto his wrist, pinning his hand to the table. "Touch my breakfast again and die, boss," she said, cheerfully menacing.

The table erupted in laughter. Grissom merely gave her a superior look, suppressing his own smile. "Have you forgotten I'm paying for breakfast? Technically, this all belongs to me."

Her expression didn't change. "My fork's been in that. You'll get my germs."

Tempted as he was to take the fruit anyway, Grissom decided that doing so would be pushing things too far. I'm trying to make her more comfortable, not less. He gave an exaggerated sigh. "Have it your own way, Sidle."

She snorted and let his arm go. On impulse, he ran his knuckle up the underside of her arm as he pulled away, a hidden caress. He'd made similar moves before, but this time when her startled eyes met his, he didn't look away, instead holding her gaze.

"That is still such bullshit, Greg," Nick exclaimed. "Sara, back me up on this."

She turned her head, breaking the connection. "You should know better, Greg," she said, and the argument was off and running again. Grissom sat back, satisfied.

*

The ride back to the lab was silent at first. Finally, Grissom glanced over at the passenger seat. "Spill it," he ordered.

Brass raised his brows and looked innocent. "What?"

"Whatever it is you're not saying," Grissom returned dryly. "You're not saying it so loud that I can almost hear it."

The detective laughed, a soft sound. "You may be fooling everybody else, but you're not fooling me, and you're sure not fooling her."

"I don't want to fool her." Grissom braked for a yellow light.

"Yeah? Then what the heck have you been doing all these years?"

Grissom smiled grimly. "Acting like an idiot."

"You got that right, brother." Brass shifted in his seat and sighed. "Dr. Lurie changed your mind for you?"

Grissom shrugged. Normally the conversation would make him uncomfortable, but he felt as though the morning's events had given him a sort of insane confidence. "Something like that."

His friend was silent for a while. "You know I'm all for it," he said at last. "And most of the night shift would love to see you two quit picking at each other. But Gil, are you sure? 'Cause if you screw this up, you will lose her."

Grissom swallowed, and put the car in motion as the light changed. "I'm terrified," he admitted. "But..."

He trailed off. Brass glanced over at him. "But?"

"I have this image in my head. I've had it for a long time." His eyes narrowed. "It's the two of us, sitting somewhere. Outside, I think. She's sitting a little higher than me, maybe on a curb. I'm leaning back against her, and she has her arms wrapped around my shoulders." He lifted one hand and touched the base of his throat, as though to close his fingers over the wrist that wasn't there. "She's laughing," he added wistfully.

"Huh." Brass raised his brows, then nodded, a thoughtful gesture. "Yeah, that'll do."

********

Sara was bored out of her mind. She folded her arms and listened to the defense attorney droning on, and wished that the seats in the courtroom were better padded. I love my job, but testifying in court can be such a pain in the ass. Literally.

She'd spent her first fifteen minutes of waiting going over the testimony she would...eventually...be called to give. She'd spent the next forty-five thinking about the attempted casino theft case that languished at the lab, waiting for her to return from court, and it was about forty minutes too much. Big deal. Two idiots, one bad plan, and sloppy security. Waste of time.

Eventually, inevitably, her thoughts had drifted to her supervisor, but nothing productive had come of them. The puzzle of Grissom, combined with the heat of the room, a double shift, and an acute lack of coffee, were conspiring to give her a headache.

Sara frowned and rubbed her temple, then fished in her purse for some analgesics and swallowed them dry. I just don't get him. He'd spent months pushing her away, and now all of a sudden she was the focus of his attention, and it was making her uncomfortable. It didn't make sense.

He said he couldn't do it. I heard him. So what's with the flirting? The friendliness she could handle, even if it puzzled her. Anything more just hurt. If that's all I'm gonna get, I'd really rather he didn't.

She wondered when, exactly, her feelings for him had gone from "let's see what happens" to the terrifying depth that now plagued her. And whether rebuilding a friendship--no matter how much she wanted it--was really possible.

Her tangled thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her name as she was called to the stand. "Finally," she muttered under her breath, and stood.

Giving testimony was usually routine; Grissom had trained his people well, and there were rarely holes for attorneys to exploit. Nevertheless, Sara paid attention. There was no point in giving the defense any opportunities.

Especially this guy. The attorney was really starting to piss her off--asking stupid questions and then interrupting her halfway through her answers. She kept an iron grip on her temper, remaining outwardly cool and professional, but her fingers were itching to grab his ugly tie and use it to gag him. Her only consolation was that he seemed to be irritating the judge almost as much.

The process seemed endless. At some point, though, her gaze caught on a familiar figure in the back of the courtroom. Grissom was sitting in the last row, watching her calmly. She let her stare flow over him and away, lest the defense attorney think she wasn't paying attention, but she was puzzled. He wasn't dressed for court, and he wasn't even supposed to work that evening. He had the night off.

By the time she was dismissed, Sara felt like her temper was hanging by a thread. Her head was pounding, her blood sugar was low, and all she wanted to do was go home and collapse into cool sheets.

Grissom stood as she neared the back of the courtroom, and held the door open for her to exit. "You look nice," he said quietly, nodding towards her suit as she passed. "Very professional."

She suddenly wasn't in the mood for company, his or anyone else's. "It's my job, Grissom."

If her annoyance affected him, he didn't show it. "And you do it well." He matched her strides as she headed towards the exit. "Have you eaten?"

Sara sped up a little so as to reach the door first. "No. And I'm not going to, either." She stepped out into the shade of the courthouse's portico, the midmorning sunlight beyond making her squint. "Why are you here, Grissom?"

"I wanted to watch you." He took his sunglasses out of his jacket pocket, but didn't put them on, instead cocking his head to regard her.

"Watch me? What for?" Sara folded her arms again. "I've been doing this for years now."

"I know." Grissom still showed no reaction to her less-than-polite tone. He reached out and put a hand lightly under her elbow, guiding her away from the traffic through the door. "I just wanted to see you."

"You see me every day." Sara echoed her earlier words to him, frowning, and he smiled.

"Technically, not quite every day," he corrected. When he didn't go on, Sara sighed.

"Grissom. What are you doing here?"

He looked up at the building, then back to her. "Courting you."

She was so tired that the pun took seconds to register. "What?"

"Courting you." His expression was still calm, but his eyes had gone wary.

Sara closed her eyes briefly and frowned again, trying to assimilate his words. She knew what he meant, but it didn't make sense. "I don't get it."

"Remember when you asked me out to dinner?"

She stared at him, taken aback. "I'm not likely to forget it," she said at last.

Grissom bit his lip, and shrugged. "I'm trying to see what will happen."

But...but... She couldn't verbalize her confusion. He'd already admitted that such a thing was beyond him.

"I was going to ask you if it was too late, but I decided not to," he added.

Baffled, she finally managed to speak. "Decided not to?"

He cocked a brow at her, faint humor. "You might say yes."

"What if it is yes?"

"Don't tell me."

"Don't tell you? Why not?" He was getting more confusing by the minute.

"Well...if I don't know the answer, then maybe I can still change your mind." He lifted one hand--one of those wide-palmed, astonishingly deft hands that she'd dreamed about so often--and tucked her hair behind her ear. Their eyes were almost on a level, and as his warm fingers brushed her cheekbone, she was caught. An incredible sense of possibility made her dizzy; then reason reasserted itself.

"I...I can't deal with this right now, Grissom," she said. She couldn't process it. He dropped his arm, and the pain on his face was so swiftly concealed that she almost missed it. "No--I'm not--" She bit her lip, trying to marshal her thoughts. "I'm not...turning you down. I just need time to think. I'm exhausted."

He let out a breath. "Okay."

Sara nodded slowly. The number of chemicals running through her system right then should be illegal, she thought fleetingly. "I'll...see you tomorrow," she said, and turned to leave.

She got about five feet. "Sara."

She turned back around. "What?"

"I'm not giving up." He slid on his sunglasses, gave her a smile, and walked away.

TBC