Major A/N: Go to my homepage to get a list of contact information to protest the firing of Jorja Fox and George Eads from the show. Whether you're a fan of either character or not, the show will not be the same without them. Fan input has brought shows back from cancellation; it can bring back two actors.

No Room To Wiggle
Summary: Grissom tricked Sara into going to a conference with him. What's going to happen now that she knows the truth?
A/N: A follow up to my Improve Challenge short story, Wiggle Room, that one of my betas blackmailed me into writing. A few sprinkled spoilers for season four. Thanks to Burked, Ann and Marlou for looking over this.
Rating: R.
Disclaimer: If I haven't figured out a way to own CSI by now, I'm never going to.

Chapter 2

After seven-and-a-half hours in coach and a layover in Cleveland, Grissom stretched blissfully as he stood to open the overhead compartment. Despite a minor embarrassment, the flight to Toledo had gone better than he thought it would, although he hadn't been entirely sure what to expect.

In the days since Sara's confrontation in his office, they had little interaction. His paperwork had reached the critical mass that produced an explosive Cavallo extolling the virtues of Ecklie and his prompt submittal of forms and reports. Sara's case had been full of dead-ends that sent her and Catherine over half the county. They had some professional conversations that, while polite, weren't exactly what Grissom would call friendly.

We used to be friends. God, I miss that. I never realized how much it meant to me until it was gone. Isn't that always the case? If nothing else, I want to get our friendship back. I owe Sara that much. But can I settle for that? Well, it's not like that's my choice anymore.

"I'll get these," Grissom said as he retrieved their carryon bags, leaving Sara with just the laptop and her purse. When she nodded silently, he decided to take that as a positive sign; at this point, he'd taken any encouragement that came his way.

Grissom was self-aware enough to know that the past year probably counted as a mild mid-life crisis. Immediately after the surgery to correct his hearing, he'd decided to change, to become more connected with the world. In spite of his intentions, he found that change was easier said than done. There were some cosmetic differences – like the beard – but his overall behavior remained monastic.

One area of change that kept coming to mind was Sara. Grissom told himself that his growing desire to be with her was part of his crisis; the older man trying to recapture his youth with a younger woman was a classic mid-life cliché. But clichés developed because they had a basis in fact. He wouldn't want to use any woman like that, but especially not Sara. To resist temptation, he kept her away, turning from being simply distant to openly cool. It was all to protect her.

So he told himself.

But in bed, during the time sleep approached and his mental defenses were down, the truth seeped out, and it wasn't a comforting thing. As much as Grissom wanted to deny it, he needed Sara. Not on a physical level, though the attraction was undeniable, but in a way that made his head spin. It was like nothing he'd ever experienced before, and the intensity of it was more than a little overwhelming for a man used to keeping his emotions in check.

I'm afraid of you. Who'd believe it? Oh, you can be a spitfire, and only a fool would make you angry … Well, I guess I'm all kinds of a fool, then … But inside, at your core, you have a gentle soul. There is a kindness that is inherent in who you are. I know you'd be an incredible partner.

That's what makes you so scary. I could never get over losing you. And I don't know how to keep you from leaving. You have to know by now that I don't 'get' personal relationships. How long would you be happy with me?

You're my personal Scylla and Charybdis. Being with you means running the risk of a pain I can only imagine. Being without you means living without happiness. I'm not sure how to handle either option.

Confrontation was never his style, so Grissom didn't act on his feelings, at least not openly. But the growing frustration of his self-imposed exile took its toll on him. Grissom found it impossible to maintain the strict separation between personal and private that had been a keystone of his life.

Unfortunately, the object of his frustration often turned out to be the source of it. Grissom knew he hurt Sara, and the added guilt compounded his frustration. The inevitable result was a deterioration of their personal and professional relationships.

They'd reached a crossroads. Things could no longer remain the same between them. He had to open himself to the possibility of being hurt, or he would lose Sara forever. But just when he was ready to move forward, Sara seemed to have given up on him.

Toledo seemed the obvious solution to his romantic dilemma.

Grissom hadn't been lying when he told Sara she was working too hard. He'd been telling her that since she moved to Vegas. But his real interest in her attending the conference had been purely personal. It would be the perfect cover for gauging where they stood.

Under the guise of work, he'd be able to ask her to share meals and attend the evening social events. If she said 'no', he was spared the embarrassment of a direct rejection. If she said 'yes', Grissom could see if Sara was just being friendly, or if she was still interested in finding out what could happen between them.

The conference also provided a modicum of protection. Grissom feared she was going to reject him; that her prediction that he would wait until it was too late would prove true. If she did rebuff him, he'd have time to come to grips with his heartbreak before they returned to Las Vegas. And if, by some chance, she agreed, they would have a degree of privacy as they started out.

That had been the plan, anyway. Sara finding out his ruse wasn't.

It had been Catherine who had paged him during the showdown in his office. As always, his friend's timing had been impeccable. Her message – 'Sara knows' – arrived too late to do any good. He worried that his charade made things worse.

But Sara came. Why? I could tell she was angry. Probably hurt, too. But she's here with me. Maybe she's giving me another chance. Or she believed me when I said I needed an assistant. No, I could tell she wasn't buying that in my office. I'll take my chances on 'last chance'. I can't blow this.

Grissom decided to make use of the limited confines of the airplane to his advantage. Once Sara finished an article in a forensics journal, he'd broken the ice by asking her about it. When she mentioned the author's name, a grin formed naturally.

"Did he mention the dead rat anecdote?"

She'd turned to give him a puzzled look. "About the poisoned rat providing the clue? Yeah."

"He uses it all the time. It's not true," he'd told her conspiratorially. "I was there."

"Really?"

"They wanted my opinion on some of the bugs. The body had been found in the sewer, like all the others, with the hands cut off and the throat slit. This one had been down there for a long time, really putrid, probably the first one. When he leaned over to take some pictures, the rat jumped out of the mouth. It startled him so much, he dropped the camera on its head, killing it. They didn't find out about the poison until later."

"Cool!" a voice squeaked.

Both had looked up to see the enthusiastic freckled face of boy and his horrified mother peering over the top of the seats in front of them. Other passengers had stared at them in a mixture of fear and disgust, while the steward had paused in pouring coffee.

"We're criminalists," he'd offered. While the gaffe was embarrassing to him, Sara seemed to be trying to control her mirth, pointing out the journal's title as if trying to convince the others that he wasn't some sort of pervert. After that, he'd kept the conversation limited to safer – and much quieter – topics, ignoring the boy who kept trying to observe them from between the seats.

That was somewhat humiliating. I hate being the center of that type of attention. It did get Sara to smile, though. She didn't seem to be upset. And I think she was laughing at the situation, not at me. How many times have women been disgusted by what I talk about?

Well, so far, so good. We talked. I'm glad I made up a list of topics she might be interested in before we left. I knew Sara was intelligent, but I didn't realize she was so well-read. And she is talking to me. She can't be too upset then.

'The basis of optimism is sheer terror.' I think Oscar Wilde may have been on to something there.

"Do you want to grab something to drink before we head to the hotel?" Grissom asked as they headed for the baggage claim.

"No, thanks. Sorry," she said after a brief yawn.

"You're sleepy?" he teased.

"Hey, I actually worked last night."

Grissom smiled as they loaded the rest of their luggage on a pushcart. The convention wouldn't start until tomorrow, but they arrived early to get a chance to adjust to being awake during the day. That meant he'd picked Sara up directly from the lab to go to the airport.

"I thought the hotel was next to the convention center," Sara asked as they approached a car rental booth.

"They're actually connected. But some of the events take place around town. And there's time for other activities. It's built into the schedule. 'Independent review sessions' is entomologicesse for 'Go have fun on company time'. That leaves all day Thursday for entertainment."

"In exciting Toledo," Sara said, raising an eyebrow sarcastically. "Go visit the bakery and watch the buns rise?"

"That's only on Saturday nights," Grissom said, not sure whether he should be pleased when she froze in the middle of the parking area. Catching a reference to an obscure John Denver song wasn't something she expected from him. He gave her a smile as he escorted her to their car. "Bob made plenty of jokes about it when he sent out the schedule."

"Dr. Crothers?"

"Bit of advice – don't call him that. He doesn't like reminders that he's an adult now. At least chronologically," he said lightly.

"You sound like you know him well."

"Too well."

"That's a side of you I never suspected."

"We went to grad school together," Grissom said in mock-indignation. "Bob is colorful. He was always getting into trouble. He probably still is. Every few years, we run into each other at conferences. What?"

"Nothing."

"An open-mouth stare usually has a cause."

Sara gave a half-hearted shrug as she got into the car. "I guess I'm not use to you talking. About personal stuff."

Really? I thought I told you things before. You knew Philip was my mentor, and we didn't get along. I'm sure I've told you things since that. Maybe.

"I guess I'm not use to having someone to talk to."

"How much of that was your choice?"

"Not as much as you'd think," Grissom said, darting his eyes to find Sara twisted to face him with her arms crossed. She gave him another silent nod before settling back into her seat.

The remainder of the ride to the hotel went in silence. Grissom stole an occasional sideways glance to see if Sara had fallen asleep. She'd been putting in a lot of extra time with her case. If she had, he could drive around town a bit so he wouldn't have to wake her up immediately. But he could see that she wasn't relaxed enough to be asleep.

"Bob will probably want to take us out to dinner tonight. Would you rather stay in and sleep?"

"If I go to bed now, I'll be up in the middle of the night. May as well stay up a bit later," she yawned as they pulled in front of the Radisson. The hotel was nicer than where they usually stayed for conferences, but it was connected to the SeaGate Convention Center. Bob apparently had pulled some strings, hinting the Entomological Society was considering selecting a permanent location for its annual conventions. That got them special rates.

As the clerk checked them in, Grissom reviewed a handful of notes waiting for him. "Your Suite is 410. Turn to the left once you get off the elevator."

"What?" he exclaimed, turning to look at Sara. She looks pissed. "We're supposed to be in separate rooms."

"It was an upgrade, sir."

"We're supposed to have separate rooms," he repeated.

"It is a two-bedroom suite, sir."

How could this happen? Bob. He wouldn't … who am I kidding? Grissom frantically flipped through the messages, resting the urge to damn his old colleague when he found the incriminating evidence. "Bob did this," he said, holding out the note towards Sara. "The hotel offered some suites, and he gave us one. Can you switch us back to single rooms?"

"I'm sorry, sir, but I we don't have two empty single rooms."

"Find some!"

"Let's go," Sara said tiredly, pulling on his arm. "I haven't had cooties since seventh grade."

Grissom didn't budge, looking at her carefully. He hadn't planned for them to share a suite. Did she think he'd done this on purpose? Hell, it took all my nerve to get her to the come with me. I certainly wasn't going to shack us up together. She doesn't seem to be very happy.

"I'm tired, Grissom."

Dropping his arm, Sara made her way to the elevator. After a beat, he followed, wondering if her clipped tone was meant to be a hint.

TBC