A/N: Sorry for the longer than expected delay in updating. I wound up being without internet access while on vacation. Updates should come more regularly now that I'm at home again. Thanks so much to everyone who left feedback or emailed me privately. I really appreciate it.

------------------------------------- MARCH --------------------------------------------

"Sara, it's two o'clock in the morning. Forensic Files is not on."

"Tivo," she said simply, rolling her eyes as if it should have been self- explanatory.

They were in her apartment, lounging around, having just finished dinner. They'd managed an evening off together because Catherine had needed to switch shifts at the last minute. In the two weeks since he'd found himself standing on Sara's doorstep praying she still wanted him, they'd managed to nurture their new relationship with breakfasts and the occasional night together, but until tonight they'd yet to have a whole day together. They had gone to a movie together, then come back to her house for dinner. He was amazed at how natural it felt.

They settled onto the couch, and she leaned against the arm, casually laying her legs across his lap. He smiled and took the subtle hint, rubbing them lazily through the soft cotton of the lounging pants she'd changed into after dinner. With a couple of quick clicks of the remote, Sara had the program called up and they both focused on the television, watching as the case unfolded.

His mind would not focus on the case, though the story of the young mother's murder was compelling and the absence of evidence made the case interesting. Instead, he was riveted on the woman beside him. With every passing day he felt his love for her grow and he knew that his happiness was becoming more and more dependent on her presence in his life. The thought that she might someday realize that she could have any man she wanted terrified him. Though he didn't for a second regret the decision he'd made, it was impossible to turn of decades of insecurities with the flip of a switch.

He slipped his hand through the wide leg hole of the pants, caressing the soft skin of her calf. She hummed contentedly and snuggled against him, her eyes never leaving the screen.

He knew that she loved him. Not only did he believe her when she told him that, he could see it in her eyes. And he knew the misery he'd felt in the weeks between the first time they'd made love and the night he finally broke down and decided their relationship was worth the risk had not been one-sided. His fear was not that she was not really in love with him. His fear was that love was fickle. And eventually, probably sooner rather than later given his track record, she was going to realize that a relationship with him was more trouble than it was worth.

For once he did not have to worry that it was his job that would interfere with his personal life. If anyone understood the demands of his job, it was Sara. In fact, rather than being upset when he was inevitably called away from a date, she would probably be excited and ask to come along. Her workaholic tendencies definitely rivaled his own. And though their relationship was not totally wrapped up in their work, it was shared a passion important in both of their lives, and it was a big part of their relationship. No, work would not be a problem for the most part.

He was the problem. His inability to open up, his intense need for privacy, and his distrust of other people. Though Sara was a private person too, she was not nearly as jaded as he was. He was thankful for that, but also worried that she would eventually grow sick of his insecurities.

Distrust was second nature to him. From the time he was a young child, he had learned that it was important to be self-reliant. Abandoned by his father before he even started kindergarten, his earliest memories were of his mother struggling to create a happy home for the two of them. Though she had done her best, it had been painfully clear to him that their family was different than the other families he knew. His mother worked during the day, struggling to make ends meet. At night she was exhausted and spent most of her time studying sign language, which would quickly become the primary language of their household, effectively distancing them even farther from the outside world.

Once he started school, he became subject to the taunts of the other children who teased him about his hand-me-down clothes and his absentee father. School yard rumors about why his father left reflected the community gossip, and for the first time in his young life, he encountered words like, "criminal" and "jail". As his mother's hearing deteriorated, the cruelty of his classmates only increased. They laughed at the funny way he used his hands to speak and made rude comments when his mother's back was turned.

His first reaction had been to fight, to defend his mother. But when he'd come home with a black eye and a bloody lip, the tears in his mother's eyes had dissuaded him from that course. Instead he learned to tune them out. He turned to books, immersing himself in the stories that took him far from the miserable playground. His thirst for knowledge led him on adventures of his own making, exploring history, literature and science. Quickly his passion for science had led to his examination of the dead animals whose bodies he found on the beaches near his home. He was fascinated by what he learned with every amateur autopsy. But this passion was something else that would set him apart from his peers, and so in order to avoid their ridicule, he kept his beloved experiments a secret.

Not long ago, while his team had been investigating the death of a high school bully, the conversation had turned to their high school personas. When he'd answered that he'd been a ghost, they had been perplexed, moving on quickly to the next person. But it was really the only way to describe his presence during that time. He'd been a conscientious student doing well enough to avoid discipline, but not so well that he would draw accolades. His real learning had not happened in school, but in his home and in the labs of the local police station where he studied the bodies of animals that had died recently. He avoided social situations, but he was not awkward enough to draw the taunts that had plagued him as a small child.

He was happy with the private world he'd created, and as an adult, he enjoyed his private life, resisting any attempts to break through his exterior. At forty-seven, he'd yet to have a serious romantic relationship. He'd had a number of casual relationship with the understanding that nothing more than companionship and physical intimacy were required. He'd gone on dates with any number of women, but there had never been a threat to his private world.

Only Sara. He'd known from the moment he met her that she was different. He'd been enchanted with her. He'd chalked it up to a silly crush at first. As such, he had allowed himself the luxury of flirting with her, though he'd known it was unprofessional given that she was a student in the seminar he was teaching. But as he got to know her, the crush had deepened and he'd grown to respect her and care about her. Even when they'd been separated by hundreds of miles, he'd thought about her far more often then he cared to admit, and he sought her company in a way that was totally new for him.

Bringing her to Las Vegas had been risky. She'd been a natural choice for the investigation, but he'd be lying if he denied the fact that he'd planned from the beginning to ask her to stay on permanently. What he hadn't counted on, though, was her acceptance of his offer. And her flirting and teasing continuously threw him off guard. She'd sneaked into his heart, slowly creating a home where no one else ever had. It terrified him as much as it thrilled him.

As much as he loved Sara and wanted to trust her, nothing in his life had ever been that easy. He had no doubt that eventually she would leave him and he would have to face the world without her. For a long time his defense to that had been to push her away. But he couldn't do that anymore. Now he was just going to enjoy this while it lasted be damned the consequences.

"See, this is exactly why there should be an international database of DNA. They had the information all along, but they had to wait twenty years for him to kill again. If they could have caught him back then, they wouldn't have had to wait for him to murder another innocent woman."

Sara's words jolted him from his reverie and he realized that he had missed the entire program. He hoped she wouldn't expect him to discuss it in any great detail.

"Sara, they didn't have DNA twenty years ago," he said, ignoring his urge to remind her yet again about the constitutional rights that she seemed so eager to trample.

"I know that, but if his first murder was now, and we had the database, we could catch him right away, rather than waiting until he murders someone else twenty years from now.

"Yeah, yeah. I know," she continued when he kept his silence. "Constitution. Blah blah blah."

He laughed and gave her leg and affectionate squeeze. "Now what? Is there some other fascinating program you have saved for us."

"Hmm, I don't think so. Actually, I was thinking about reading, if you don't mind. I mean, if you want to talk or something we can. But I'm in the middle of a book and I kinda wanted to read it for awhile. You can watch TV if you want, or I have tons of things to read. I might even have one or two things you've never read," she teased.

He rolled his eyes at her and gently shoved her legs off of his, freeing himself to stand. He wandered over to her bookshelves and began examining the contents.

"I suppose I shouldn't be at all surprised that you're a huge Patricia Cornwell fan," he teased, taking in row after row of crime novels starring the fictional Medical Examiner Kay Scarpetta.

"Have you ever actually read any of them?" Sara's tone was confrontational, but she was smiling, and he knew she was only pretending to be offended by his dismissal of her collection. "They're incredibly well researched. The cases she deals with might be a bit outrageous, but the methods she uses to solve them are totally legitimate."

Grissom chuckled. "I'll take your word for it."

His gaze drifted from her collection of crime novels to the shelf of forensic textbooks below them and suddenly he was reminded of a long-ago conversation.

"What?" Sara asked suspiciously as he smiled. She stood and began to approach him, obviously curious about what he found so amusing.

"I forgot about the novels," he said cryptically.

"Excuse me?"

"You max out on overtime every month. You go home and listen to your police scanner. You read forensic text books.... I forgot about the crime novels."

Sara rolled her eyes and moved closer until she was standing directly in front of him. He slid his arms around her waist, drawing her even closer. His voice was low and intimate as he recited his admonition. "You have to have a diversion."

"I found one," she whispered breathlessly.

"Yeah, you did. And it's a lot better than riding roller coasters."

Her face lit up in a smile that set loose a flurry of butterflies in his stomach no matter how many times he saw it. His lips sought hers, tasting her contagious smile. They traded sweet kisses for a few moments, then he held her and stroked her back as she nuzzled against his neck.

She pulled away finally and retrieved the novel that was laying open on the kitchen counter. She settled into the middle of the couch as he continued to peruse her bookshelves, his gaze leaving the textbooks to survey her collection of magazines.

"Applied Psychodynamics in Forensic Science?"

Her eyes remained focused on her book, but the corners of her mouth quirked up. "You told me you would get me a subscription, but you never did. I had to get it on my own."

He shook his head in amusement, unable to keep the smile from his face as he remembered the conversation that had led to that promise.

"Funny though," she continued, her voice blasé as she kept her gaze trained on her book, "I searched all the back issues and couldn't find any article about the mile high club."

"That's because I didn't read it there," he said, turning back to the bookshelf to hide his grin. "I read it in Maxim."

She burst out laughing, the melodic noise soothing his soul. He turned and smiled at her over his shoulder, then chose a random magazine from the shelf and returned to the couch. They read in silence for a few minutes, her knee brushing his leg occasionally. Then she stopped reading, and he watched out of the corner of his eye as she scooted down the couch and slipped into a reclining position, resting her head on his leg, her hair fanning out across his lap. She wiggled a little until she was comfortable, then raised her eyes to his. "Is this okay?" she asked softly.

He smiled and stroked her hair. "Of course."

Her eyes closed for a minute and a contented smile played across her lips. Then her eyes opened again and she focused on her book once more. He watched her surreptitiously, continuing to stroke her hair as he pretended to read an article about advances in fingerprint matching.

Eventually his hand stilled, and he rested it on her stomach, his thumb making tiny stroking motions. She shifted, causing her shirt to rise up, exposing a narrow strip of pale skin. His fingers reached for the uncovered skin, tracing the hem of her shirt with a feather-light touch. He smiled as he felt her muscles contract automatically. He worked his fingers under her shirt, spreading his hand until it spanned her taut stomach, her heat seeping into his hand and warming his heart.

He returned his attention to his magazine, moving on to a new article. He was only a few paragraphs in when he felt her hand cover his, her fingers stroking his gently. After another minute he gave up the pretense of reading and put his magazine aside. He turned to look at their hands, where they lay intertwined on her stomach, then turned his gaze to smile at her, expecting to see her still focused on her book. Instead he found her staring at him, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

"Hey," he said softly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said quickly, blinking back the tears and averting her eyes.

"Sara...." His heart ached as he watched her pull away.

She stood and walked to the kitchen, retrieving a bottle of water from the refrigerator, her hand smoothing over her stomach. Whatever it was, she obviously didn't want to talk about it. He grudgingly gave her the space she obviously needed, pretending to focus on his magazine again. When she returned to the couch, she sat next to him, rather than returning to her original position. He snaked his arm around her shoulders, and was encouraged when she cuddled against him and rested her head on his shoulder. She seemed more relaxed, but she was still quiet, and he couldn't help wondering if he had somehow missed something important.

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----------------------------------------- JANUARY --------------------------------------

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He lay on top of her, raining kisses over her body. She grasped his face firmly with her hands and he gave into her silent demand, bringing his lips of to meet hers. Her mouth covered his, her tongue thrusting into his mouth repeatedly, and his body clenched in anticipation.

He felt her raise her knees around him, trapping him in the sweet cradle of her hips. He allowed himself to give into the pleasure of the position, continuing the deep kisses and he pressed against her. Then suddenly he found himself being rolled over as she threw her weight to the side, landing him on his back.

He gasped as her body landed on his, her legs straddling his waist. The wetness between her legs seeped through his cotton boxers and he thrust up instinctively. Her eyes met his, and he saw she was deeply aroused, but also slightly amused.

"Oh, I don't think so. Not yet," she said breathlessly, her mouth seeking out the juncture of his throat and chest. "It's my turn now."

She scooted slowly down the length of his body, layering kisses everywhere she could, taking time to linger anywhere that seemed particularly sensitive. He lay back, relaxing and giving her free reign, reveling in her touch. But as she began feathering kisses over his soft stomach, fear began to prick through his haze of arousal.

"Sara," he said softly, reaching for her in an attempt to distract her from the part of his body that made him the most self-conscious. Suddenly he was reminded he was nearly fifteen years older than her, his body softened slightly with age while hers was still at the height of perfection, taut and smooth, carrying not one extra ounce of fat. Feeling inadequate and terrified she would suddenly see him as he was and regret her decision to make love to him, he tried again to distract her. "Sara, honey. Come here."

She swatted the hand that tugged at her arm, and growled a deep, rumbling sound of arousal before resuming her ministration. He couldn't help but grin, confident once again in her attraction to him. He didn't understand it, but he wasn't going to try to dissuade her. His hands found his way to her hair, threading through the soft strands and stroking gently as he shuddered with the sheer bliss of her lips on his skin. He'd thought a few moments ago nothing could possibly compare to the joy of touching her, kissing her, and knowing she wanted him to continue. But he'd been wrong. Perfection was her touching him, kissing him, and knowing she wanted to continue.

Mimicking his earlier action, she hooked her fingers in the waistband of his boxers and tugged gently. He smiled and lifted his hips, gasping as she slid them down slowly and sensually, grazing his throbbing erection as she did so. Once he'd been freed, she rapidly divested him of the garment completely, throwing it in the general direction he'd thrown her underclothes only minutes earlier.

He ached for her, his hips straining up toward her. She leaned forward and her cool, soft hair brushed against his burning skin. He inhaled sharply as he felt a rush of blood to his already rock-hard erection. He opened his eyes just in time to see her smile widely as she closed her hand around him, stroking gently.

A strangled cry that might have been her name rushed from his lips as his fingers tightened convulsively in her hair. She continued to touch him, setting up no rhythm, simply exploring him. "Oh god, Sara. Oh god," he managed finally. "Honey...."

She removed her hand and he was conflicted, torn between heart-wrenching disappointment and relief because he knew he was far too close to the edge if he wanted this to last much longer. Before he could analyze it any further, her lips were on him and he lost all ability to formulate coherent thoughts. She kissed down and then back up his solid length, her tongue darting out occasionally to taste him. He groaned and tried to control his urge to thrust, his body rigid with anticipation. Frantically he sought a distraction, any mundane list or fact he could focus on in order to keep from losing control of his body. It was a futile effort; all he could think about was her. Her body, her lips, her touch. Her heart. God she was sweet. Her touches, though obviously arousing, were also tender and loving. His love for her swelled in his heart and for one terrifying moment he thought he would cry.

Then her mouth closed over his erection sucking gently. "Sara, no!"

She jerked back as if she'd been slapped and he realized how harsh his tone had been. His hand cupped her cheek, stroking her soft skin. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm sorry," he whispered, rolling onto his side and pulling her up to lay next to him. He kissed her lips tenderly, his hands cradling her face. She returned his kisses, but her body was still tense. "I just.... I'm so close," he explained. "Way too close for something that good. I want to be inside you when I come."

Her smile returned once she realized he hadn't been angry with her. He stroked her cheek and kissed her again, waiting until her body was completely relaxed next to him before continuing. "I'm sorry I yelled. I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," she mumbled, unconcerned now, her lips seeking his neck, her hands roaming his body once again.

Her hand closed around him once more, stroking slowly and he couldn't control the urge to thrust this time. He bit back a groan and captured her hand, stilling it. "Oh, honey. Sara, I can't wait anymore. I have to be inside you. I need you."

Immediately, she rolled onto her back, her hands tugging him over her. His body covered hers as her legs parted, cradling his hips and opening herself in an intimate invitation. His elbows rested on either side of her shoulders, bracing himself in order to protect her from some of his weight, his hands stroking her face and hair. He trembled as he held himself in check, his erection resting at the entrance of her slick folds.

"Yes," she whispered, as if sensing he was seeking her permission one final time. Her eyes were closed, head thrown back against the mattress. "Please."

His chest constricted and he thought for the millionth time that evening that he just couldn't believe this was real. "Sara, honey, open your eyes. Look at me for a second."

Her eyes fluttered open, and they met his. He waited until her gaze sharpened and he knew she was really seeing him, then slid slowly into her, pressing gently but firmly until he couldn't go any further.

"Oh my god," she cried softly, her eyes closing and her head falling back again. "God, Gil. Oh god."

A lump formed in his throat as he watched her eyes open again and lock with his. Summoning every ounce of strength and willpower within, he forced himself not to thrust, just to stay fully sheathed inside of her.

"This is.... You feel...." she trailed off, obviously unable to find the words to describe it.

"I know," he said simply.

"God, it's even better than I imagined. How is that possible?" she asked, smiling at him.

He chuckled and kissed her neck. "I don't know. But it's better than I ever imagined either. Either we both have weak imaginations or-"

"This is beyond imagination?" she finished, serious once again.

"Yes," he hissed, his willpower slipping as she wrapped her legs around his waist. Those legs; the star players in so many of his fantasies about her. He had been right, he thought hazily, having them wrapped around his waist was the best feeling in the world. Then she clenched her internal muscles, squeezing him, and all bets were off. He groaned loudly as he withdrew, then thrust again as deeply as he could. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard her gasp with pleasure and felt her fingernails dig into his back. Then instincts took over and he lost the ability to think as he thrust into her again and again, her silky muscles enveloping him time after time.

Her breaths became shallow and her head pressed back against the blankets, eyes clenched shut. Soft, mostly unintelligible words began to pour out of her as she pled with him. His strokes became shorter as he increased his pace to an almost frantic level, pumping into her. And then she was calling out his name and writhing beneath him, her entire body tensing as her muscles contracted, milking him. It was more than he could take, hearing his name on her lips as her pleasure crested, and suddenly he was releasing into her, sobbing out her name as he did so. His arms gave way and he collapsed on top of her, their bodies tangling in a mass of sweaty limbs.

Hours or possibly minutes later, he was unsure having lost all sense of time, he realized he must be crushing her and forced himself to roll off of her, flopping onto his back. He heard her whimper in protest and used what little remaining strength he had to pull her onto him. Her head rested on his shoulder, one arm and one leg flung haphazardly over his body. She sighed, and he stroked her back lazily.

Finally she stretched, the length of her body rubbing gently against his, and he knew it was a feeling he'd treasure for the rest of his life. She lifted her head and looked at him, eyes twinkling. "We should have done that ages ago," she said with a smile. "Wow."

He couldn't help but laugh. He pulled her down and kissed her soundly. "It was worth the wait," he said when he finally released her lips.

"You don't regret it?" she asked quietly.

He reached up, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "My only regret is it has to end."

Her eyes clouded with tears and she started to say something, then stopped herself. She blinked back the tears and kissed him before laying her head on his shoulder again. "Let's not think about that right now."

He kissed the top of her head and held her tightly. After a minute, he wiggled out of her embrace and sat up.

"Where are you going," she asked, the panicked look in her eyes belying her casual tone.

"Just to the bathroom," he said, bending down to kiss her before standing. "I'll be right back."

He used the bathroom quickly, cleaning up and getting ready for bed. He ran his tongue over his teeth grimacing at the thought of not being able to brush them, and popped his head out of the door. Sara lay sprawled across the bed, eyes closed, a self-satisfied grin spread across her features. His words caught in his throat and he stood there frozen, watching her. Eventually her eyes opened and her grin turned into a full-fledged Sara smile when she caught him gaping at her.

She quirked her eyebrows questioningly and he cleared his throat, trying to find his voice. "I, um, just wanted to know if you had an extra toothbrush."

"Oh. No, but you can use mine. It's not like I'm afraid of your germs." She closed her eyes again, stretching like a cat.

He tore his eyes from her and returned to the bathroom, plucking her toothbrush from the cup next to the sink and using it quickly.

The intimacy of using her toothbrush seemed important in a way that was far different from the intimacy they'd just experienced. Using her toothbrush made him think of the mundane, everyday things that made love special and suddenly he longed to watch her get ready for work every evening, wash dishes after dinner, or read a book on her couch. He wanted to hear her sing in the shower, smell her on his clothes when she was away.

He sat down on the side of the tub, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hand, tears threatening yet again. Suddenly his exhaustion caught up with him and it was all he could do to stand and walk back into the bedroom.

When he entered the room, Sara was sitting on the edge of the bed wearing his dress shirt loose and unbuttoned. She looked up and her brow furrowed as soon as she saw him, "Are you okay?"

"Just tired," he said wearily.

"Oh, god. Of course you are. When was the last time you slept?"

He shrugged, too tired to try to remember. She stood and pulled back the covers, guiding him to lie down. He scooted over and tugged on her arm, wordlessly asking her to join him.

"I'll be there in just a minute," she whispered, extracting her hand. "Just let me go to the bathroom."

He struggled valiantly to stay awake until she returned. His eyes were closed when he heard the door open and her footsteps shuffle across the room. There was a soft swish that could only be his shirt falling from her shoulders to the floor, and then she was creeping into the bed, obviously trying not to awaken him. He reached for her automatically, drawing her close. Her head rested on one of his arms, while his other arm wrapped around her, pressing her back against his chest, intertwining their legs. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the sweet smell of her shampoo, then sighed contentedly. He was asleep instantly.

He knew it was a dream, but that didn't make the terror any less real. There was no plot to this dream, no dialogue. Just image after horrible image. Flashes of her body laying in front of him, her life seeping out her with every beat of her heart, her blood spilling on the earth. She tried to speak, tried to cry out, but that was no longer an option. The surroundings kept changing. They were inside. They were outside. They were in familiar places: the lab, his home, her home, the strip. They were in unfamiliar places: a field, a building, a church. But no matter where they were, her throat was slit and he could do nothing but watch as she slipped out of his life.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, his eyes opened and he escaped the terrorizing grip of sleep. The images haunted him still, and he was glad for the light streaming in through the windows, thankful for once that their nights were brightly lit. She was not dead. She was not hurt. She was asleep in his arms, one hand resting on his hand where it lay splayed across her stomach. She was so peaceful in sleep. It was the Sara that no one else saw. Awake she was a ball of energy, jumping from one project to the next, never slowing down. Asleep, she was an angel, relaxed and so vulnerable.

He nuzzled against her, shifting his legs to brush against hers and hugging her as tightly as he could without startling her. He let go of her waist and brushed her hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear so he could layer kisses along her neck and face wherever he could reach without moving too much; light, lazy kisses that were more about adoration than passion.

She sighed, then stretched, snuggling back against him and pulling his arm back around her. He felt a smile spread across his face and he eagerly obliged, hugging her tightly. She said nothing, though he knew she was awake now, laying in his arms and occasionally shifting to grant him freer access or sighing with contentment.

His hand traveled up and cupped the soft swell of her breast, stroking the peak lightly until it formed a tight bud. She arched into his touch, moaning quietly. Then she wiggled in his grip until she had turned to face him, dazzling him with a beautiful smile before pulling his head down to reacquaint their lips.

Their kisses and touches were soft and gentle and their lovemaking took on a dreamlike quality. All of the frantic passion of earlier had been replaced with tender affection, and when he heard her climax, just seconds before he crested himself, he could have sworn her cry of pleasure was tinged with sadness.

He lay on his back afterwards, holding her close, unable to bear the thought of letting go. Suddenly he was all too aware this would be their only night together. Tomorrow things between them would have to go back to normal, or whatever twisted torture they were pretending was normal. For a moment he was tempted to throw caution to the wind, to tell her he no longer cared what happened to his career, he no longer was worried that some day in the not-so-distant future she'd run away with a younger, more attractive man leaving him broken and hopeless. For a moment, none of those things mattered, and all he could think about was loving her and having the right to lay with her like this every night, sated and sweet, her body draped across his, her fingers drawing random patterns on his chest. Then reality set in, and he knew it couldn't be, and he was overwhelmed by a sadness so acute he thought it might kill him.

They were silent for a long time before he finally whispered, "I love you, Sara."

"I love you, too, Gil," she whispered, her voice thick with emotions.

He closed his eyes and replayed her words in his mind again and again until he fell into a troubled sleep.