Oh my gosh, I first have to say THANK YOU to all of the positive reviews that I have gotten, since you all see to have wanted more, I decided to write more…. Originally, I just wanted to get this out because this is the way that I'm praying the writers at CSI are leaning….And I wanted to stay true to the characters….so thank you again and I really hope that you enjoy this!!!

Second, I own no part of these characters….blah blah blah, you know the drill….

Also, this a picture from 'Invisible Evidence' that I saw and used as a bit of inspiration to write this, just because I could see them standing in such close proximity, not knowing what to do….so here is the site that I must give credit here is the 2: Pretzels, Peanuts, Pineapple, and Malibu

A little more than an hour after Gil had pulled a u-turn on the road, Sara found herself climbing out of the Denali at his townhouse. She grabbed her duffel bag out of the back seat and slammed the door shut, making her way up the drive where he had stopped walking to wait for her. When she got close enough, he reached under the shoulder strap and lifted it off of her.

He had expected to hear some sort of argument, the only thing she said was a quiet, "Thank you."

He smiled at the sound of her voice, which hadn't been heard since she told him that she didn't want him to think badly of her. They walked toward the front door, Gil fumbling with his keys to find the right one, and Sara following so closely behind that she seemed to be afraid that he might disappear. As he unlocked the door, she reached under the strap and reclaimed her bag, making him smile candidly at her stubbornness.

He held the door open so that she could walk in first, then he shut it behind them. She took a few steps, not knowing where exactly to put down her stuff, deciding a second later that the floor next to one of the grey columns looked like a great place.

"You eat anything yet?" He passed her, walking into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door when he got to it, then looking back at her to watch her shake her head no. She walked toward the kitchen peninsula, pulling out on of the stools set next to it and sitting down.

She stared at the counter when she spoke, just in case her smart-aleck reply didn't go over well, "I don't really think pretzels count as a meal."

He pulled a carton of eggs out of the fridge and set the carton onto the counter, leaning back down for something else, "Mixed with enough, technically it can be."

She watched him pull a few more items out—cheese, a green pepper, a red pepper and a carton of mushrooms—which went next to the carton of eggs on the counter, then she said, "Well then technically I think I hit all the food groups. Pretzels, peanuts, pineapple, and Malibu."

He smiled at her wittiness, "Fiber, Protein, Fruit, and well we'll file the last on at the top of the pyramid."

"Can I help with anything?" She balanced her head on her wrist.

"No." He said very quickly. "My treat."

He looked up at her and watched her nod in acceptance, her eyes examining the objects that he had in his kitchen, stopping when they spotted the couple bottles of alcohol that he had set under the cabinet next to the fridge.

"Wanna make me something to drink?" He asked, not break the rhythm that he seemed to be in.

She jumped off of the stool, "Whatcha want?"

"OJ and Vodka." He didn't miss a beat. "Glasses are in the cabinet next to the fridge."

She reached into the shelf and grabbed two glasses, flipping them over as she brought them out. Vodka was poured into his glass, and the Malibu that had been right next to it went into hers. She pulled the orange juice out of the fridge and filled the both glasses the rest of the way, setting his down on the counter next to him when she sat back down.

"Thanks." He continued to make omelets, knowing that if she had any complaints she wouldn't hold back telling him that she didn't like something. The screwdriver that she had made him was really a test of the waters for what he was going to ask next. "Um, can I ask you something?"
Taking a gulp of her drink, she looked back at the counter, "Depends on what."

"You know what."

Another gulp, "What do you want to know?"

He noticed that the sarcasm in her voice was gone, now replaced by a seriousness.

"Why'd you do it?" He handed her a plate and a fork as he went back to making one huge omelet. He finally took a drink of the orange juice and couldn't help but notice the large amount of vodka that seemed to be in there.

"I think I'm burning out." Her drink was half gone.

"Why don't you take some of that vacation time?" He took another small sip of his drink.

"I'm not burning out from work." Another gulp, then, "I'm burning out from my entire life."

She didn't have to look at him to know that she had caught him off guard. "It's not like I don't have control over it Gil, it's just that the alcohol makes it all disappear."

Another gulp, which the effects of were starting to become obvious as soon as it cleared her throat, "You know it's funny, it I'd known this was all I had to do to get you to notice me, I would have done it a while ago."

He had just finished making the large vegetarian omelet which he slid onto her plate, "Sara, I notice you."

She looked at him, "Do you really?"

He put the pan into the sink, then, "Honey, I notice you everyday.....especially the ones where you think that you're 'overtalking' around me."

This comment made her smile a tiny bit, "Don't do that to me.... You can't do that to me.....It's not fair!"

"What?!"

"You can't call me Honey, and tell me that I have to stay at your house, and do this to me....."

"Why can't I?"

"Because......"A pause to push her drink away from her, she couldn't have him think that the alcohol was any part of what she was about to say, "God, I've been in love with you since those seminars when I was a student, and you were a professor, and we flirt and lead each other on, and I can't take it.... I just don't know what to do any--"

She couldn't get the rest of the word out before his mouth was covering hers, not a huge passionate kiss, but it didn't matter to her, the important thing was that his lips were touching hers. He had grabbed her face and pulled it close to her, he couldn't deny himself anymore, she was in love with him, and he was finally ready to admit how much in love he was with her.