Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them; any others are mine, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.

This is a sequel to "In the Center", and as such has spoilers through the end of Season 4 but will not take Season 5 into account.

Thank you all so much for your wonderful feedback! It's very reassuring.

Two angsty chapters...

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They were sharing a takeout lunch in his office, inadvertent intimacy; Nick had been scheduled to join them, but had been diverted to another crime scene on his way back. His double-double animal style and large fries sat waiting for him in the bag on Grissom's desk, but the two CSIs saw no reason to let their own food get cold.

"Salt shaker please?" Sara asked absently, never lifting her eyes from the file she was studying, and Grissom retrieved the cylinder from his desk drawer and handed it to her. He watched her salt her fries, shuddering a little; he only kept the stuff in his office for use in experiments. "Is that really healthy?" And when did I start sounding like my mother?

Sara looked up with a grin. "It's the only thing I put salt on, Griss. That and my dad's potato soup."

Grissom chuckled. "Fair enough."

They munched in silence for a while; Sara had just finished her veggie wrap and was idly watching Grissom lick ketchup from his fingers when her beeper went off. She glanced down at it, sighed, and flipped her folder shut. "The doctor calls."

Grissom polished off a last fry. "Let me know what he says."

Sara nodded and put the file on his desk, rising to stretch. Grissom took in the line of her body in silent admiration, and noted with a now-familiar pulse of pleasure the dangling pearl puzzle she wore tonight. He had forgotten how much fun it could be to give other people gifts.

"Oh, I was meaning to tell you," Sara said, dropping the stretch. "I want to put in for Christmas vacation now, while it's still available."

Grissom looked at her blankly. "You never go home for Christmas."

She laughed a little. "I'm going this year. Actually, my parents get Christmas day, but I'm planning on spending most of it in Oakland at my aunt's old place." She put one hand on her hip, still smiling. "C'mon, Grissom, you're always telling me I should take more time off."

He nodded, making the movement slow to give him time to think, to master his dismay. Grissom hadn't realized how much he'd been looking forward to spending Christmas with Sara, just the two of them, and while they hadn't actually discussed the holiday, he'd assumed--

Never assume, he reminded himself ruefully. He opened the datebook in which he kept scheduling requests, flipping the pages and trying to ignore the tightness in his throat. It was going to be his first Christmas without even a TTY conversation with his mother--his first ever--and he had been holding hard to his plan not only because of the delight of spending time with Sara, but because it wouldn't be so hard.

"So," Sara said brightly, putting her hands in her labcoat pockets. "You'd better call in the favors Catherine owes you, Griss."

He frowned, puzzled. "I beg your pardon?"

"If she squawks about having to work Christmas, you can just remind her that she'll get to play supervisor for a week," Sara added, looking thoughtfully around his crowded office. "I know how you get, working up to a holiday. You're going to need at least three days to recover." She grinned at him. "Trust me, even in winter my aunt's place is worth it."

Realizing that his mouth was hanging open, Grissom shut it. "Right," he said weakly, but Sara didn't seem to notice. Winking, she blew out of his office, leaving him speechless as she had so often before. Though this time, it felt better.

She wants me to go with her. Warm amazement flooded through him at the thought. True, they had been officially seeing each other for six months now; true, Sara had waited for him through years of misunderstanding and heartache; true, his confidence level had grown enough for him to make certain plans for the holiday. But something in him still refused to believe that it was all quite real, that it would last.

He laughed a little at himself. She didn't even ask. She...she just assumed I would be going with her. As though it were the most natural thing in the world.

For some reason, Grissom didn't feel like calling her to task for making an assumption. Not this time.

xxxx

Nick wondered briefly if he'd somehow managed to piss Grissom off without noticing, then discarded the idea. The older man had been preoccupied when he'd called with this assignment, but not cold. And somebody has to take the boring ones. Guess it's me this time.

He dutifully tried to pay attention as Mr. Winters nattered on and on about the value of the stolen rabbit--its pedigree, its championships, its offspring--but the man was just annoying. Nick half-suspected that the prize bunny had simply escaped its own hutch, perhaps fed up with the life of a show rabbit.

But a movement caught his eye, and Nick turned from the empty hutch to see a little girl--maybe nine years old--standing at the house's back door. She was plump and pale and clad in bright pink pajamas, but it was her woebegone expression that melted Nick's heart. Angostura's Bittersweet Baby might represent prestige to Winters, but Winters' daughter had obviously lost her beloved pet.

Nick gave her a small smile, and she drifted closer as Winters' ringing cellphone interrupted his tirade. "Hey there," Nick said quietly as Winters stepped away to answer his cell. "What's your name?"

"Alice," she replied, her voice soft and shy. "Are you a detective?"

"I'm a crime scene analyst," Nick said. "Alice, do you know what happened to your rabbit? Did somebody leave the cage open by accident?"

She shook her head firmly. "Nope. Somebody took Babe."

Nick sighed, looking without much hope at the hutch. "Looks like it."

xxxx

It had started out such a simple thing. A bit of a disagreement. They were both tired, but he wanted to go out for breakfast; he didn't feel like cooking. Sara wanted to stay in, or call for takeout. He didn't want takeout.

Now all of a sudden they were yelling, and part of him was appalled at what they were doing, but he couldn't seem to stop the words that were pouring out of him. "What is your problem, Sara? It's just dinner. You're sure not going to cook it!"

Which was unfair, and he knew it; the reason he did the cooking was because Sara would ruin all but the simplest of dishes. Her eyes flashed with hurt and anger as she shouted back.

"It's always about what you want, isn't it? I worked two doubles in a row, I'm too tired to get cleaned up again and go out! You know it would take hours!"

She could be so stubborn. The mild comment that they didn't have to go anywhere fancy was lost under a rush of anger. "You'd rather eat greasy Chinese food?"

Sara flipped up her hands dismissively. "You know what? I'm not hungry anymore. Do what you want, Grissom, I've lost my appetite."

"You need to eat!" She was too thin already, too tired, and he wouldn't be manipulated. "I won't be your excuse for skipping another meal."

"Oh, so I'm anorexic now?" Her cheeks were flushed, and he could feel his own face heat.

"Will you just cooperate for once?!"

She paled, then flushed again. "I'm not doing this," she said, her mouth tight, and snatched up her shoulder bag and keys. "I am so not doing this!"

Grissom's mouth opened, but words failed him as Sara swept out of the townhouse, barely pausing to shove her feet into the sandals she'd kicked off in the entranceway. The slam of the door echoed in the main room, which suddenly seemed terribly empty. Grissom blinked, trying to figure out what had just happened.

We've never...I haven't.... He couldn't seem to formulate a complete thought. She was gone.

Gone.

The emptiness of the room was replicated in his gut. She's gone. She left. I've driven her away.

Grissom moved slowly to the couch and sat down, noting blankly that his hands were shaking, though he didn't know if it was leftover rage or something else. I can't believe I did that. I knew...but I was starting to think maybe....

His chest ached with the hollowness that was growing, pressing up against his heart. Idiot. You knew this would happen. You knew it wouldn't last. He leaned forward to put his elbows on his knees, bending over the pain, trying to control it. Sooner or later, she'd get fed up with you, and she'd leave. You knew it would happen.

A small noise escaped him, and he cut it off as soon as he realized it was coming from him, but he recognized it--the inner wail of shock and pain that comes with sudden loss. He struggled for rational thought, but it remained out of reach. Sara was gone, and while his tomorrows were still there, he wished they weren't, because they would only be empty.

Half-blind with pain, he found himself on his feet as instinct kicked in, and he retreated.

xxxx

Sara bit her lip as she mounted the stairs, not at all sure of her reception. She lost her temper fairly frequently, but for Grissom it was a lot rarer, and they'd never fought before--not like this. They'd had disagreements, sure, but nothing that went further than a few minutes' annoyance. She figured Grissom had probably calmed down by now--she'd been gone for at least three hours--but the lump in her throat was in anticipation of icy silence. When Grissom was truly angry, he didn't go halfway.

She frowned when she put her key in the lock and found that it wasn't engaged. I guess he just stomped off without locking it. I sure didn't bother. When she swung the door open, the room beyond was empty of his presence. "Grissom?" she called hesitantly, but there was no answer.

Maybe he's not here. Sara locked the door behind her, frowning more deeply. His car was still in its space in the parking lot; maybe he'd gone out for a walk to blow off steam, though that wasn't his usual method. She dropped her purse near the door, looking around. Nothing met her gaze but sunlight. Did he go to bed?

Slowly, reluctantly, she stepped out of her sandals. Guilt, mixed with residual anger, made an uneasy mix in her stomach. Neither of them had been particularly mature during their fight, and she wasn't looking forward to making her apologies.

Silent on bare feet, she padded down the hallway. The bedroom door was open halfway, and Grissom lay on top of the bed covers, still dressed. Sara sighed at the sight of his back, relieved that he was there. "Gil?"

The soft word seemed to have no effect. She walked around to the far side of the bed, not sure whether he was asleep or sulking, and then sucked in a breath.

Grissom lay curled in a tight huddle, his arms wrapped around a small bundle that she recognized as the t-shirt she'd left lying across the bed. His eyes were shut, his mouth soft with sleep, but she could see lines of strain as well. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she gripped his shoulder gently, alarmed. "Gil? Gil, wake up." Crap. Did something happen? Is it someone from work?

He stirred, eyes opening, and Sara bent a little closer. "Gil, what's wrong? What happened?"

Grissom's gaze cleared, and for one long moment he only stared at her. Sara stared back, figuring he needed a minute to wake up, but when his lips moved silently, she reached out to cup his face in her palm. "Are you okay?" she asked worriedly.

His own hand came up and pressed hers against his cheek. "Sara," he said hoarsely.

"Yeah." Sara frowned again. Grissom could be slow to wake up, but this was getting weird.

He sat up slowly, as though every muscle hurt, and then reached out and pulled her into his arms, sitting back against the headboard. Sara relaxed into his grip, but she was still puzzled, and her alarm returned when she realized that he was shaking. "Gil, what's the matter? Are--"

"Shhh." One of Grissom's hands came up to lie feather-light on her lips, then slid round to draw her head onto his shoulder. His arms tightened around her, and she wrapped her own around his waist and let him hold her, trying to keep her impatience in check. Why he needed her there so badly would--hopefully--be revealed soon.

Sara estimated that almost ten minutes passed before Grissom spoke again. "I thought you left," he said quietly.

It took her a few seconds to figure out what, exactly, he meant, and then she stiffened, horrified. "Gil, I would never--" She lifted her head, but he ducked his own, closing his eyes and dropping his arms to his sides. Sara took his head in her hands, turning it up. "Gil, look at me. Look at me."

His eyes opened reluctantly, and the pain there made her ache. "I didn't leave. I won't leave," she told him softly, leaving aside logic for the moment. "You can't get rid of me that easily." She stroked her thumbs over his cheekbones. "Do you believe me?" He had to believe her, he had to. If she had known--

His eyes searched hers for a long, hurting moment, and then he sighed, lifting his arms again and lacing his fingers behind her neck. "Yes." He drew her head forward until their foreheads touched.

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry," she whispered, the lump back in her throat at the realization of what he'd been thinking. She hadn't meant to trigger his insecurity. "I just didn't want to argue."

"I'm sorry too," he said, equally quietly. "I should have trusted you."

They sat there for a long moment, breathing each other's breath, accepting the hurt they had dealt one another. Finally Sara chuckled, her voice a little shaky. "We need to learn how to fight right," she told him softly.

His mouth twitched in a slight smile. "Learning experience," he offered, and she snorted, and gave him another hug.

"Do you--" Sara started, but Grissom's grunt cut her off.

"I don't want to talk right now," he said, and she could hear the stress in his voice. "Can we just stay here? For a while at least?"

"Absolutely. Let me go for a sec."

His hands slid off of her, and she stood to pull off her shorts. Grissom only watched her, never taking his eyes from her, but the hunger in them was emotional rather than sexual, and Sara realized again, with an inward shudder, that the past few hours must have seemed to him a famine after a feast.

Hiding her dismay, she put her hands on her hips and cocked a brow. "That won't be very comfortable."

Grissom blinked, then swung his legs off the side of the bed and peeled off his pants. Sara helped him pull his shirt off, and then he simply enveloped her in his arms and pulled her down next to him. Sara wrapped herself around him, trying wordlessly to reassure, and rested her head on his shoulder. She rose and fell with his deep sigh, and placed a gentle kiss on his collarbone, and felt him rub his cheek against her hair. And then they simply held each other until sleep took them.

See Chapter 5