Disclaimer: I can't believe I forgot to do this before. I don't own CSI or the characters. They belong to CBS and Alliance Atlantis. The title of this fic was ripped off from the Dandy Warhols song.

Important: I was going through some of my old favorites and realized that one of the lines in the fist chapter echoed a plot device used by Laura Katharine in one of her stories. That was entirely unintentional; I was thinking of Fight Club and Janel Moloney's take on "perky" on the West Wing. Apologies, and no harm intended.

A.N.: Thank you very much for the reviews. Once again, I encourage you to be brutally honest.

Halving the painkiller dosage kept the edge off the pain and his brain functioning, for the most part. But he was getting tired, Sara was looking at him with worry and compassion, and he felt talked out.

„You need to get some rest. Those only heal if you stay horizontal," she said, squarely meeting his eyes.

So he gave her a small smile and went home.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In the lost hours of the morning, between exhaustion and unconsciousness, when his mind finally slowed down, thoughts of Sara would inevitably seep in. Sara humming in his shower, rummaging through his refrigerator, skimming through his journal collection, complaining about the couch, running her fingers through his hair. Her skin, her smell, the small of her back, her neck, the sound of her voice moaning his name.

Get a grip, Gil.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sara didn't believe in destiny, but some things clearly weren't meant to be forced. There was only so far she could push. Ever since she'd moved to Vegas, every attempt at making. things. happen. on a personal level had blown up in her face. High time to try something different.

She was telling Greg about the intricacies of lifting a fingerprint from a fragile plastic film when her phone rang.

"Sidle."

"Sara, it's Grissom. I need you to do me a favor."

Business it is.

"What do you need?"

"Catherine is tied up in court all morning and there's a pile of paperwork I need to sign today. She left it on my desk. Could you drop it off after shift?"

"No problem."

"Thanks, I appreciate it."

"Sure. See you later."

Huh. He'd sounded matter of fact but friendly and she was looking forward to seeing him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Come in. You hungry?"

"I'm fine, thanks. Where do you want me to put this?"

"Just drop it on the counter. Sure you don't want anything? The cantaloupes are really good." The offer was accompanied by a rare, disarming smile.

He's bored. My God, he's like a kid.

She was disturbed by how utterly adorable she found it. Grissom was homebound and wanting company, so she stayed and told him about Greg's progress, about her current case, and listened to his remarks on hands-on training. They drank coffee and she let his thoughtful squint and earnest enthusiasm warm her heart.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It had been thoroughly shitty year. Or two. Disastrous, horrible, deeply depressing. She could wallow all night.

Caught in an explosion on the way to asking out the guy she'd been drawn to for years and who happened to be her boss; talk about karmic debt. How many harmless rodents had she killed in a past life?

For endless moments, she'd believed Greg was dead. She'd been shell shocked, but had apparently put up an Emmy worthy front, because nobody had stopped her from taking her shift that night. So she'd pulled her gun, asked Grissom out, run herself into exhaustion and started to pretend it had never happened.

She refused to think about Hank.

Cyrus' funeral had been beautiful and she'd fought off the futility she'd felt at the sight of the coffin by working a triple shift. Grissom grew a beard and mutated from a shut off version of himself into a complete stranger. Sara kept clocking in overtime.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Driving to work, looking at her reflection in the rearview mirror, she thought of the Debbie Marlin debacle.

It wasn't what he said. It was his voice.

She doubted he even remembered his own words, considering the state he had been in. He had sounded so resigned and defeated; too shocked to process what he'd meant, she'd drawn blood while biting her lip to stop herself from going in there and just wrapping her arms around him. His sigh was the saddest sound she'd ever heard; an echo to her own loneliness.

She'd gone home and cried sitting on her kitchen floor. Then she'd picked herself up, decided to get over it and realized that it had been all about him. There was nothing she could do or say; Sara had her own demons to defeat.

Shortly after that, at the most inappropriate time possible, sexual frustration had kicked in full force. Hank's betrayal had shaken her self confidence so badly it had put her off the whole dating ritual for a good long while. She did not want to date some random guys and suppress her yawns on a series of boring first dates; she wanted what was right in front of her, and she couldn't have it. She had started to be careful of her every movement and facial expression around him; the fact that he'd suddenly started to assign them on the same cases on a regular basis wasn't helping.

She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and settled in the break room to wait for the rest of her shift to arrive.

She missed sex, and she missed it a lot. Hank had been fun and attentive, but...

That particular spark, the thing that set her nerve endings on fire and took her out of her own head, it just hadn't been there. She'd had relationships with fantastic sexual chemistry before, which was surprising, considering how difficult it was for her to trust a man enough to let go properly; she'd never had such an intense connection with a man before sleeping with him as she had with Grissom. In addition, they had plenty of chemistry and their pheromones were constantly in uproar when in the same room. Sara wondered what it would be like to finally have him in her bed after all these years, this serious man with his dry sense of humor and all that gentleness he so rarely had an opportunity to show.

All jokes about sexual peaks aside, there were times when she wondered about his hands, his voice, his lips and how they'd feel on and all around her. Grissom was as far from judgmental as it got and constantly looking to learn and experience something new. Did he approach sex the same way? Or did he tend to stick to what he knew he liked? She'd bet her iPod they'd never get bored. There was nobody she trusted more not to hurt her physically; they were both curious minds who loved to tease.

The possibilities were infinite. She sighed.

The sexual profile of Gil Grissom, version 75.

Sara looked up from her slouch on the break room sofa. Shift would start soon. She self-consciously stopped peeling the label off her water bottle and threw it in the trashcan.

P.S.: No real porn, I'm afraid, but the characters have sex on the brain. I should probably tell you that I have no clue what I'm doing and a very blurry idea of where I want to end up. Want to try the adventure with me?