A/N: Thanks for all the wonderful feedback so far. I tried to make the timing clear with the narrative, but for those who are confused, the March sections are the current time and the January sections are the flashbacks. Each successive flashback will get you closer to the current time, explaining how we got where we are.

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

Sara smiled as brightly as she could, knowing even as she did so that it would look forced.

"See, I told you you'd love it."

Nick scooped another spoonful of steaming stir fry from his Tupperware container to her plate, and Sara's stomach rolled again.

"Thanks, really, but I'm fine." The smell was permeating her senses now and she knew that smiling was no longer going to be enough to suppress the gag reflex. She made a quick and probably incoherent excuse and fled the break room.

She made it to the bathroom just in time, heaving the meager contents of her stomach into the porcelain bowl. Once she was certain she was finished, she wiped her mouth with toilet paper and flushed, but didn't move from where she was crouched on the floor. She placed her hands on the seat and let her head rest against them, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths as she tried not to think of the number of germs she was coming into contact with.

The bathroom door opened and she scurried to her feet, grimacing as the sudden movement prompted another wave of nausea. She heard another stall door close and she opened hers, moving quickly to the sinks. She scrubbed her hands, then dampened a paper towel and wiped off her face and neck.

The toilet flushed and Sara quickly dropped the paper towels into the trashcan and headed for the door, not wanting to make polite chitchat with whoever was in the other stall.

She stood in the hallway, indecisive for a minute, then decided to abandon the rest of her lunch break and headed for a small evidence room. She retrieved the box of evidence she had been going over earlier, and laid out the bloody towels. Samples had already been sent to DNA, but she was hoping to find fibers or a unique pattern that would give her more information.

Before she got far, she heard a knock at the door and looked up just in time to see Nick enter the room, closing the door behind him.

"Hey, Nick. What's up?"

He looked serious and a little nervous, and suddenly Sara was worried about what he might have come to tell her. "Hey, Sar. Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure," she said slowly.

He took a deep breath. "Look, I know you probably are going to be mad at me for even asking this, but I swear I'm only doing it because I care about you. It's just that, well...." Sara's brow furrowed as Nick faltered, then surged forward. "I've noticed that you haven't been eating much lately. I can't remember the last time I saw you sit and eat. And then today you ate and then made a beeline for the bathroom. And you've always been thin, but.... One of my girlfriends in college was bulimic. And I'm not saying that you ARE bulimic, I'm just saying that maybe you've been having some food issues lately and I'm worried it could turn into that. I saw how hard and scary it was for her and I don't want that to happen to you. And I want you to know that if you need to talk to me, I'm here."

Sara was stunned for a minute. A part of her wanted to be mad, but another part of her was touched that Nick was obviously worried about her and cared enough to confront her. Still another part of her wanted to burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it. First Brass and his pointed questions about alcohol, now this.

"I'm not bulimic, Nick. I swear, I'm not."

She could see the skepticism in his eyes, so she continued. "Look, you're right. Something's going on with me right now and I'm not handling it really well. But I swear it's not that. I'm not ready to talk about it yet, but when I am...I just might take you up on that offer. It means a lot to me that you care. And I do appreciate you coming to me, rather than just asking around and spreading rumors or something."

"I wouldn't do that."

"I know," she said softly, trying to swallow the lump in her throat.

He hung back for another second, then grabbed her impulsively and hugged her tightly. "If you want to talk...anytime, anyplace, okay? Just call me."

She nodded, sniffling. He pulled back finally and she swiped at her eyes, forcing a laugh. "Don't mind me, I've just been a little emotional lately."

Nick smiled tentatively, then started for the door.

"Hey, Nick?" She waited until he'd turned back around. "Don't tell anyone, okay?"

"About what?" he replied with a smile, exiting the room.

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

Sara kept her eyelids firmly closed, desperately trying to remain asleep even though she knew the battle was futile. After a few more moments she finally relented, opening her eyes and smiling wistfully at the brilliant colors of the setting sun framed in her window. It was time to get up and start getting ready for work, but she couldn't bring herself to sit up quite yet. She shifted and he cuddled her instinctively, still deep in the grip of sleep. She turned her head slightly and pressed a kiss to his bare chest, earning a contented sigh.

Then she extricated herself from his embrace, careful not to wake him. Forcing herself not to look at him, which would only make this harder than it already was, she walked straight to the bathroom. It was only once the hot water was sluicing over her body that she let the tears fall. It was over. In a matter of minutes, he'd awaken and walk out of her apartment. Even though she'd known from the beginning this moment was inevitable, the pain was unbearable.

She wallowed in her tears for a moment, then forcibly pulled herself together. She'd promised him she could handle this. The least she could do was wait until he was gone to break down.

She washed quickly, then stepped out of the shower, toweling off and blotting as much water from her hair as she could. Wrapping the towel securely around her body, she reached for the door, bracing herself. He might be gone already, she reminded herself. If he was still there, he likely was awake and dressed waiting to say an awkward goodbye before disappearing.

Instead, she found him still fast asleep, his arm flung across the spot where she had been sleeping only a short while ago. He was still exhausted, she realized. He'd gone far too long without sleeping and last night hadn't exactly been a chance for him to catch up on his rest. She glanced at the clock, wincing. If he didn't get up within the next few minutes, he wouldn't have time to go home and shower and change before work. She was tempted just to let him sleep and to call in sick for him, but there was no way to do that without arousing suspicions.

She sat on the edge of the bed and stroked his curls softly, then rubbing his back. "Gil," she whispered. "Wake up for just a minute."

His eyes fluttered open and he smiled sleepily at her. "There you are," he said softly, tugging her down for a kiss. Their lips parted slowly and she rested her forehead against his.

"It's late," she said finally, forcing herself to pull away from him. "I think you should call in tonight. You're exhausted and there's no way you should be working. You can stay here as long as you want, I'll leave you a key. Or I can take you home if you'd rather sleep there. But I really don't want you to drive anywhere."

His eyes were closed and he didn't respond. She smiled and shook his shoulder gently. "Grissom, you have to call in. I can't do it for you. I would, but.... I can't. You know that."

"My phone...." he mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes.

She reached for her phone, sitting on the nightstand, then realized he was right. He needed to call from his cell phone, otherwise the caller ID would display her number. She stood and looked around quickly, securing her towel as she did so. She found his pants near the foot of the bed and dug his cell phone out of the pocket.

She brought it to him, perching on the edge of the bed once again, stroking his hair until his eyes opened.

"Thank you," he said, taking the phone. She continued stroking his hair as he pushed a few buttons and raised it to his ear. "Hey, Cath.... No, I'm not.... Yeah, I know.... Okay, thanks. Call if you need me." He snapped the phone shut and handed it back to her, settling into the pillow.

She stood, but froze when he spoke again. "Come back to bed."

"I can't. I have to go to work."

His eyes cracked open and he looked at her through the thin slits. "Today's your day off."

"What, do you have my schedule memorized?" she asked, trying to infuse her voice with a teasing vibe.

"There's a lot about you that I have memorized, Sara."

His soft confession twisted in her stomach. Taking a deep, stabilizing breath, she returned to the subject at hand. "I know it's my day off, but I was going to go in anyway. I...."

"You have no open cases, Sara. There is absolutely no reason for you to go in tonight. I don't need you there, I need you here. Please come back to bed."

Against her will, her feet carried her back to the bed. She stood there hesitantly, unable to make a decision. In all honestly, she wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with him and delay the inevitable. But already she was on the verge of tears. Walking away from him after last night was going to be the hardest thing she'd ever have to do. If it got any harder, she really wasn't sure she'd be able to stand it.

Her hands gripped the top of the towel. His arm moved, throwing back the covers and beckoning her. In one swift motion, she released the towel and crawled into bed. His arms tightened around her immediately and he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

"My hair's still wet," she apologized.

He mumbled something incomprehensible and nuzzled against her, his soft whiskers tickling her sensitive skin. She made a soft sound of contentment and wrapped her arms around him, stroking his back and running her fingers through his soft hair until his breathing evened out and she knew he was asleep.

She felt the tug of sleep, but she fought the urge. They had so little time together, she didn't want to waste anymore of it.

The numbers on the digital clocked ticked forward at a maddeningly fast pace. She tried to ignore the neon digits, focusing instead on the feel of his body beside her: his strong arms wrapped around her, his legs intertwined with hers. He cuddled her instinctively in his sleep, whispering her name occasionally. Each time, she responded with words of love, holding him tighter and smiling through her tears.

Finally she could no longer stand to lie in the bed unmoving. Her muscles ached and the emotional strain was becoming too much. She extricated herself from his embrace carefully, making every effort not to wake him.

In the kitchen, feet bare and dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, she puttered around, making coffee and examining the contents of her refrigerator. She wasn't really hungry, but it had been a good twelve hours since she ate last, and she didn't even want to hazard a guess as to when Grissom had last eaten. A glance toward the bedroom told her he was still fast asleep and she debated the food options. She settled for spaghetti, dumping the noodles into a pot of boiling water and chopping a few vegetables to add to the store-bought sauce. It was a quick and easy meal, but also one that would reheat easily.

Of course, there was no saying he would want to stay for dinner. He'd been eager for her presence in his sleep, but once he awakened, he might well decide it would be best to leave quickly, ripping off the metaphorical band- aid.

She pushed that thought from her mind and focused on stirring the sauce, keeping an eye on the boiling water. His hands on her waist startled her, catching her off guard. His hands slid around her, tugging her back until she was molded to him. "I woke up and you were gone."

"I couldn't lie in bed any longer," she told him sheepishly. "I spent more time in bed today than I normally do in a week."

He released her, and she saw he was wearing his boxers and nothing more. He looked completely at home standing half-naked in her kitchen, leaning against a countertop.

"The food's nearly ready. If you want, you can take a shower. It should be ready by the time you get out."

He pushed off the counter, kissing her cheek as he headed toward the bathroom. "You're awfully good to me."

It was the kind of statement that didn't require an answer and the only appropriate response would be something lighthearted and teasing. But she wasn't in a lighthearted mood. "I love you," she said softly.

He stopped and turned back to face her. For a moment, panic seized her as she realized that words appropriate in the tender moments of lovemaking might not be welcomed in the stark light of day. It didn't matter, she told herself. It was true and she meant it and whether or not he returned her feelings, she wanted him to know.

He held her gaze for another moment and she squirmed as she felt him looking into her soul. "I love you, too," he said finally, his voice quiet and deep. Then he turned and disappeared into the bathroom.

When he reappeared a short while later, fully dressed, she was setting the table. He tugged her into a brief embrace and she ran her fingers through his wet curls. They separated and sat to eat, enjoying the food in relative silence. Neither wanted to discuss what they were both thinking about and any other topic seemed inane and meaningless. Afterwards, he offered to help with the dishes, but she shooed him out of the kitchen, assuring him she'd take care of them later.

"What are you going to do today?" he asked as she wandered into the living room.

"I don't know. I was planning to go to work.... I'll probably just hang around the apartment. Maybe read. I think there's something on TV I wanted to watch tonight. I'll have to check."

He nodded, and they stood there awkwardly, neither wanting to be the first to bring up the inevitable separation.

"I should probably go," he said finally. "Let you get back to...."

"Yeah..."

They were silent as he gathered his things and she walked him to the door. He reached for the doorknob, then stopped and turned to face her. His hand reached up and caressed her cheek and when he spoke, his voice was thick and ragged. "Sara, I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," she replied.

"I don't want to do this," he said suddenly. "I don't want to walk away from you."

"You don't have to. I'm right here. I don't want you to go."

His eyes closed and he hung his head, the picture of a defeated man. "I have to. It's the right thing to do. It's the only way...."

"I'm not going to beg you, Gil. I promised you I could do this; I could be happy with one night. But you have to know I'd be happier if you stayed. We could find a way to make it work. I know we could."

"Are you sorry?" he asked quietly. "Do you wish I hadn't come home with you last night?"

"No. I'll treasure last night for the rest of my life. I'll never regret it."

His lips covered hers, infusing her with his love and with his reluctance to leave. He pulled away and their eyes met again, holding on to each other as long as possible. "I have to go now," he said finally.

She nodded.

"I'm sorry."

"Me too," she said softly, watching as he opened the door. He stepped out into the hallway and she repressed the urge to call out for him, begging him to stay. Instead she closed the door on his retreating back, his slumped shoulders. She leaned against the door, sliding down until she was sitting on the floor, her head resting on her knees. She expected tears, welcomed them even, but none came.

It was later, when the sheets were in the washer and she was drying the dinner dishes, all evidence he'd ever been in her home now erased, that she broke down, surrendering to the sobs that wracked her body.