A/N: Whoops! Forgot to mention last time that there would be at least one more chapter. So, here it is. There is a sense of completion to it, though it is also left open enough that I can come back to it in the future if the muse strikes me.A quick thanks to those who have read, and an extra thanks to those who have commented.

--

She wasn't sure what she expected when she pulled into Vartan's driveway, but she was sure this wasn't it. The small house had a long way to go before it would be considered extravagant, but with its short fence and tended hedges it was... nice. Or maybe she had been out of touch with the rest of the world for so long that she had forgotten what normal looked like.

On her way up the steps Sara picked up the newspaper, hesitating for a brief moment before she rang the doorbell. It opened so quickly that she jumped back.

"Were you camped out at the door waiting for me?" she asked, covering her alarm.

His normally hard angular features softened into a smile. "Maybe."

It was then that she realized he was just as uncertain about all this as she was, and something in that knowledge helped her relax. Holding up a bag she held in one hand, she said, "Orange juice." Holding up the other, she added, "Newspaper."

"Yeah, I heard it hit the door when that damn delivery kid heaved it at the house. One day he's gonna bust one of my windows, then I'm gonna have to bust his ass." The image of Vartan running down some poor kid on a bike brought a smile to her face and made her laugh. He smiled at her response. Stepping to the right, he gestured inside. "Come on in."

When the door closed behind her, she rocked back slightly on her heels, uncertain of the next step.

"Kick off your shoes and make yourself at home. Here, let me take that," he offered as he reached for the bag. Their fingers brushed each other and he froze in his half-bent position.

In an attempt to deflect the awkwardness and accept the moment, Sara held up the bag and looked at him square in the eyes. "Here."

Taking the bag from her, he tilted his head towards another room. "Let me show you around the rest of the place."

The size of it made the tour a short one. Two bedrooms, with one turned into an office space, one bathroom, a laundry room, a deceptively large living room and a kitchen that opened up to face the living room. The small breakfast island with four stools made up for the absence of a dining room.

"I don't have a lot of people over and I don't eat a lot at home," he explained when he saw her looking around.

She turned to him and shook her head. "No, I wasn't thinking that –I was thinking how neat you are."

He smirked. "I guess I didn't have as much dirty laundry as I thought."

"Or as much porn."

He laughed warmly. "Or porn." He saw her look around again and asked, "What are you thinking now?"

"I don't know. I guess I was thinking cops must make way more than I thought." His expression asked her to explain. "I mean, this is a really nice place. And...," she wasn't sure how to say it, but she had gone this far, "you're divorced."

The light of realization went on in his eyes. "Ah, you mean alimony." She nodded. "I'm off the hook for that. My ex got married a year after we divorced." Try as she might, Sara couldn't stop the surprise from showing on her face. "Yeah," Vartan said, "to our mailman."

The choke of laughter snuck out of the corner of her mouth. "You're not serious." The look on his face told her otherwise. "Oh. Oh, shit. I'm sorry." She put her hand on his arm to let him know she meant it. "I shouldn't have laughed. That was rude."

He accepted her apology with a good-natured shrug. "Don't worry. She's happy, he's happy and I'm... relatively happy." They were quiet for a moment. "Why don't you have a seat," he said at last. "You can read the paper while I make breakfast."

"I thought you were going to make it while I came over."

"Yeah, but then I realized I didn't know how you like your eggs."

Puzzled at his point, she shrugged. "Whatever way you want them is fine with me."

"How about we make them the way you want them? Humour me, will you?"

Inexplicably, she felt the sting of tears threaten. "That would be nice," she answered.

"Okay then," he smiled. "Scrambled? Fried? Poached? Something else?"

"My mom used to make these great scrambled eggs when I was a kid," Sara said.

"Come on," he replied, gesturing to the kitchen. "You can show me how."

--

"God," she praised as she took another forkful of her breakfast, "these are fantastic. Thank you."

"Don't thank me, it was your mother's recipe. I just broke the eggs."

"Well then, it was a collaborative effort." Another forkful went into her mouth. "These are so good."

He nodded in agreement, then wiped his mouth with a napkin. "I forgot the coffee." Standing up, he walked the five steps to the cupboard and took out two mugs. Without Sara's instruction, he poured the coffee and scooped two teaspoons of sugar into one mug. When he was satisfied the mix was complete, he tapped the spoon on the lip of the ceramic and put it into the sink. Carefully holding both mugs, he returned to the breakfast island and put her cup down in front of her. Without a word, he sat down.

"Okay, how did you know how I take my coffee?" she asked.

"Would you have been more surprised if I had given you tea?" he asked in return, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he tried not to smile.

Sara's eyes narrowed. "How did you know I was drinking tea these days?"

"Same way I know how you take your coffee." He took a bite of his toast and let her ponder the answer, finally relenting under her scrutiny. "Remember the McMillan case last spring?"

"How could I not? I don't know how many hours we logged in on that case."

He nodded. "We all got together that one night and hashed it out. I don't think we left that conference room the entire night."

"That's right, I remember." She snapped her fingers. "We decided to forego the office coffee and got it from the Starbucks down the street from the lab."

"That's right."

"And you remember how I take my coffee from that one moment?"

"I am a cop, you know," he replied. "If it makes you feel any better, Brass likes his straight up, Grissom takes two creams, Catherine likes hers double-double -"

Sara held up her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay." Looking off to the side, it took her less than a minute to fill in the rest of the blanks. "The Phillips case. We all pulled another brainstorming session. I ordered tea."

"You ordered tea. One sugar, not two."

Smiling appreciatively, she said, "That's good."

"Thanks," he replied over the rim of his cup.

"You take yours straight up, like Brass."

"Sorry?"

"Your coffee," she said, pointing to his cup. "Black, no sugar."

"Yep."

"I'll remember that," she promised. Before he could read anything in her eyes, she looked down and took another forkful of her eggs. Behind the thick lock of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes, she mused, "Good job, own your own house, good-looking by most women's standards," she snuck a quick peek, then looked down into her plate again, "and a great cook. So why are you single?" A thought flashed through her mind and her head came up. "You are single, aren't you?"

He frowned. "Of course I am. I wouldn't have invited you over if I wasn't." He took another sip from his cup. "Good job, incredibly smart, beautiful by most men's standards..." he waited for her to see his wink before continuing, "and a recipe for scrambled eggs that most people would kill for." Her laugh interrupted him. "So why are you single?"

She brushed her hair back and rested her chin in her hand. "Why do I think my answer's going to be so much longer than yours?"

He wiped his mouth and leaned back in his stool. With his left arm on the table, he drummed his fingers for a bit before responding, "I don't know what you think of me, Sara, but my wife didn't leave me just because one day she decided to hook up with the mailman. I'm not the easiest person in the world to live with, and I'd probably say the same thing even if I didn't do the job I do. But does the job add to it? Sure. When I'm home, I find it hard to leave the job behind me. And when I'm not home... well, I might not make it home." Sara's eyes widened. "Chances are low –Christ, I feel for the guys in uniform –but it's something that comes with the job, too. All these things make it hard to sustain anything good for any length of time."

"So... why did you give me your number?" she asked, not accusingly, but with honest curiosity.

"Because life's too short to spend it wondering 'what if?' And..." he faltered slightly, "there was just something about you sitting on those steps that night. Made me wonder 'what if?'"

"What if what?"

He shrugged and looked into the living room, away from her gaze. "I dunno. What if I could make it work with this girl, I guess."

Her chin came off her hand and she sat back. She thought of a thousand things to say, but the only word that came out was a stunned, "Wow."

With a sidelong glance, he made an attempt at levity. "And here I thought you were gonna bust me for calling you a girl." When she still said nothing more, he stood up and gathered their plates. "Let me clean this up a bit," he said and took the dishes over to the sink.

On uncertain legs, she stood up and walked towards him. "Hey."

He turned, "Hey." He wiped his hands on a dishcloth and tossed it on the counter. "I'm sorry if I'm moving too fast. I don't meant to put you in a -"

"No," she interrupted, "it's okay. You're not moving too fast. Just... faster than I'm used to. I'll catch up, I promise."

"Okay," he smiled.

"Okay." Tiredness chose that moment to overtake her and her hand quickly covered her mouth, but not before a small yawn escaped.

"Shit," Vartan said, "I completely forgot. You're nights. You must be exhausted. I should let you get home." The sudden gleam in his eye couldn't be ignored. "Unless you want to sleep here."

She smirked. "Now that's moving too fast."

They shared a lazy laugh.

"Maybe we can come up with some kinda compromise," he suggested.

Before she could ask him what he meant, he brought up his left hand to her face and ran his fingers through her hair until his hand nestled in the curve of her neck. His thumb caressed her jaw line and his mouth followed his gaze; transfixed by her lips. He hesitated just before their mouths met, giving her the chance to change her mind. His lips brushed lightly across hers, but he didn't go further, giving her another chance. It was then she brushed her lips across his to let him know she wasn't objecting.

She was surprised to hear him moan softly and even more surprised at the warm tingle when their tongues finally met. Her hand had found its way to his shoulder, where it was now gripping tightly at the material and holding on for dear life. His free hand circled around her waist and pulled her flush against him. She groaned at the evidence of his arousal pressed against her. It must have been her groan that pulled him back to reality. His hold loosened, though he didn't let go entirely.

Turning his mouth away from hers, he managed to say, "Any more than this and we'll be well past half way."

She grinned along his cheek. "You're right."

They pulled away and smiled at each other, neither sure what to do next.

"Uh, why don't I walk you to the door?" he offered at last.

"Okay."

Seven seconds later, they were at the door.

"Here we are," he announced unnecessarily. When she laughed, he said, "You know, I was married at one time. Had a couple of girlfriends before I got married. I've had one since my divorce. You'd think I'd have all this memorized by now."

"Well," she smiled, "maybe it's a good thing, because I don't know what I'm doing either."

"So it's not just me."

"No."

"Thank God," he said, which made her smile again. "Think of it this way –we'll have a good story to tell our grandchildren in forty years."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You're very confident."

"Hey, I didn't say the forty years would start right now. But you know, I wouldn't mind having something to look forward to."

She looked at him, his eyes full of amusement yet not without a large measure of honesty in them. She couldn't think of a better way to thank him than by giving him the same in return.

"Me, too," she replied honestly. "Me, too."

--end