Grissom sat at his desk, glaring at the ever-present pile of paperwork and files. He hated passing fieldwork up to grapple with administrative tasks, but he'd learned something early on as supervisor: the Topple Rule. If the ignored work on his desk was teetering or threatening to topple to the floor, it was time to have an in-office day.

"Trying to make them disappear?"

He looked up to Sara standing in the doorway, her smile and stance so similar to the one in his dream.

"Your mind's good, but not that good."

He frowned at the pile once again. "Don't be too sure. I'm feeling pretty determined."

She tilted her head and let her eyes scan his face openly. Instead of commenting on whatever it was she saw, she just smiled and asked, "You coming?"

"Did you need something?"

"It's start of shift, Gris. You're late with our assignments, and judging by Catherine's face, it seemed better for her career and your health if I came to grab you instead."

He nodded, grabbing the case assignments purposefully. Another day, another murder. Pushing the thought aside, he started to lighten the mood with a Mama Bear crack about Catherine, only to realize the doorway was empty. The fact bothered him. It happened every few weeks, the realization that he wasn't always in tune with her presence.

I haven't seen you in awhile, have I?

You see me every day.

Nearing the break room, Grissom heard laughing and chatter. He hadn't felt as close to any of them lately. It was mostly Sara, he knew, but thinking back over the last few months, he realized that he had been distancing himself from the whole group. Cases. Meetings. Paperwork. There was always a reason. He wasn't even sure when they'd last had breakfast, the whole team, at the end of a busy shift.

"Go long!"

Grissom looked up in time to sidestep an airborne football. He peered knowingly at Nick over his glasses.

"Sorry, Grissom." He ducked out into the hall, grabbing the ball as it bounced off the wall and hit a couple of interns. Warrick and Sara snickered. He shifted his gaze to them and they silenced, but smiles still tugged at their lips. "This is a crime lab, not recess."

Catherine just rolled her eyes. "You're the one 12 minutes late."

"And we all know how the boys get," Sara added with a grin.

Grissom didn't bother to reply, just walked to the front of the table and dropped his handful of pertinent files. "Then by all means, let me keep you busy." He passed out assignments, pairing Catherine and Sara, giving Warrick his first solo DB, and keeping Nick for a burglary in the suburbs.

Nick started to argue, but Grissom just help up a hand. "Consider it detention. No more ball during school hours."

- - - - - - - - -

The burglary had been more straight forward than expected. Nick was wrapping up some details but there wasn't much else left, so Grissom retreated to his office with little enthusiasm.

File after file, notation after notation. His signatures were beginning to blur together in his mind. Someone could slip in a contract marrying him to Eckley and he wouldn't notice.

"Sorry to interrupt the fun."

He raised an eyebrow, again ignoring the image of her standing in a different doorway – when did she start using entrances to distance them? – and said dryly, "You should knock when the door's shut."

"I did. Twice."

So much for the authoritative edge. And now she was eyeing him with that same look. He suppressed a sigh. "What do you need, Sara?"

"It's the Connors case. From last week? I want to question the husband again and Brass is busy."

He kept any of a dozen thoughts to himself, instead just nodding. "Okay. Meet me outside in five." He gestured at the desk. "I'll need to tunnel myself out."

Sara was used to five minutes becoming ten, sometime even fifteen or twenty. She was the only team member that didn't mind much; 'work captivation' was something she understood a little too well. So when a chat with Greg stretched out to eight minutes, she didn't think anything of it until she walked outside and found Grissom waiting at the car, adjusting his kit in the back seat.

"Sorry. Were you waiting long?"

"Figured it was payback for every time I kept you waiting."

"Yeah, I'm evil like that. Even keep a roster in my locker so I know who to punish for what." She glanced at the open car door. "We've been over that house twice already. You really think we'll find anything new?"

"Just ensuring that I can keep up with you." Paired with the smile he was flashing her, it was the closest to a flirtatious comment she'd noticed lately.

The car ride went well. They mostly reviewed the case, and at the top of the list of things Grissom didn't say was how proud he was of her for bringing a man along. Mr. Connors had a problem with strong women, but he wasn't the culprit and they needed him to find the real killer. Humoring prejudices like that revolted Sara as much as it did Grissom, but she was thinking of the victim, not herself. Grissom didn't say anything because he was certain it would come off as patronizing. He had that problem a lot around her. The words were right, but they never sounded the way he meant them to.

"You've seemed off lately." Her words were too casual. "Anything up?"

Grissom instinctively clamped his mouth shut. Apparently he'd been distracted enough for her to broach a personal topic. He needed a good answer to stop the questions, but it didn't feel okay lying. "Sleep. My pattern's been off lately."

"What sleep pattern?" she joked.

"So says the chronic insomniac."

"True, unfortunately."

"Just another thing we'll always have in common." They were at the house and she was already pulling the key from the ignition. Like every other memorable comment from either of them, it had been off-hand and without follow-up.

- - - - - - - - -

At the end of shift, Grissom returned to his office just long enough to glare at the paperwork and decide that the appeal of going home was too powerful. In the hallway he heard Warrick making jokes and Nick and Catherine laughing appreciatively. The absence of Sara was almost palpable to him. She had been quiet after their interview with Mr. Connors. He had been as brutish as ever and she had kept her temper at bay for the victim's sake.

He passed the happy group, reminding them of the monthly staff meeting next week, and headed out. He was so distracted with annoyed thoughts of his overflowing desk he nearly missed Sara.

She was sitting in her car, windows rolled down, looking for something in the back while rock music pulsed through the air. Her head was bobbing in sync with the tune, a bit emphatically.

At one time, it would've been so easy to just walk over. To tap on her window and joke about her music selection. To invite her to a meal. Now, nothing was easy. They were both responsible for that, he knew. But here she was, staying calm, grappling with new problems, attempting to have a life. Moving on.

Apparently he was the only one willing to drown in the complications.

- - - - - - - - -

Him and Sara were on his sofa. He sat. She reclined with her head in his lap. They both read, the turning pages the only noise in the room. Sometimes she would reach for his hand, and their fingers would tangle and untangle at a lazy pace. She was safe. He was happy.

Grissom woke up after three hours of sleep. He debated staying in bed, trying to doze off, but thought better of it. Instead, he got the new scientific journal from the pile of mail on his kitchen table, chose a mellow classical CD to play, and reclined on the sofa.