My most sincere thanks for the abundant feedback! I had no idea that I would receive this many comments so quickly. Keep in mind that feedback feeds the writer, and seeing it makes me want to write more… not that I wouldn't anyway. For some reason, I have these two stuck in my head, and they just won't go away… Chapter 4

She knew it was taking a chance, and she knew the position she was putting them both in, but Sara really didn't care. She had been half in love with this man for longer than she could remember, and had all but give up hope that he would ever return even a part of that affection. Now, with his lips against hers, she was in heaven. The kiss wasn't particularly special in and of itself. In fact, it was positively chaste compared to what she had encountered on most dates, but the sensation of warmth had spread almost instantly from her lips to her heart. It wasn't just that she was kissing him; he was kissing her, too.

All too soon, he pulled away. She had known it was far too good to be true, but at least she would go through life knowing that she had done everything – absolutely everything – that she could to get past this man's barriers. She was shocked when he brought his hand up to her neck, leaned forward once more, and kissed her on the forehead before resting his head against hers.

Once more, she had no clue what to do. He hadn't initially rejected the kiss - hell, he'd kissed her voluntarily just that day, if it could be called a kiss – but neither had he deepened it, nor reached for her, nor any of the other predictable reactions that she'd experienced in the past with men. And yet he was keeping her close, tenderly cradling her head in his hand. His fingers were threaded through her hair, the warmth of his forehead was against hers, and that didn't seem to be the reaction of a man who felt nothing. What she didn't know is what it all meant, or what he wanted, or what to do next.

For a change, she decided not to be the aggressor. Gil Grissom did things in his own way and his own time; she wasn't going to rush him on anything. He would tell her what he wanted when he was damned good and ready, and not a moment before. It frustrated the hell out of her, but it was pure fact, and one that it had taken her years to learn. This close to him, she couldn't even find it in herself to mind.

Did she love him? Absolutely. Somewhere in all the confusion, she had come to think of him more as a friend than a boss, and the love had come naturally from that friendship, however odd it seemed to be. Was she in love? Even she didn't know. She did know that he intrigued her as no other man ever had. He tested her mind and kept her thinking, and she valued his opinions because they were intelligent and well thought-out. She respected his work, and more so she respected his dedication to that work. He would never be a man to resent her own dedication when she got an early morning call, and he would understand the times she needed to vent about her job without thinking that she hated it. She loved his gentleness, however clumsy it often was. His heart was in the right place, even if he didn't seem to know it. She didn't know if she was in love with him, or infatuated, or what exactly she would define her feelings as. One thing she was certain of though was that she and Grissom had the potential to understand one another. The relationship might have a hell of a lot of roadblocks, but once removed the road itself was absolutely concrete.

She wasn't deluded. She knew that even if she could convince this man to try, every argument he had posed would indeed become a factor. She would probably have to transfer off the night shift so that she wasn't under his direct supervision, and that would put her under Eckley's jurisdiction. Yes, they would get some odd looks with the age difference, but not as many as he might think. Men were not opposed to younger women as a rule, so while he might be thought of as eccentric, he wouldn't necessarily be criticized. From her perspective, he was as handsome in his own way as any man she'd ever known, to include Nicky and his blond good looks. She preferred distinguished, and Grissom had that mastered. His hearing might indeed pose a problem. She certainly wouldn't stop caring about him because he couldn't hear, but communication between them was hard enough without the disability. She would have to learn to sign, and he would have to learn enough trust to tell her when he didn't understand. Those appeared to her to be the biggest obstacles. Neither his past nor hers had to be factors if they were living in the here and now. She only had to convince him of it.

She felt him release a breath on a shuddering sigh, and braced herself for his withdrawal. It was what he always did. He surprised her though by leaving his hand in place as he drew back to look at her. She caught the ghost of a smile on his face before he spoke.

"At least you didn't slap me," he told her.

"I kissed you," she reminded him. "And you let me."

The ghost became a true grin, one that lit up his eyes and set off a dimple that was visible despite the beard. "Yeah, you did," he said around the smile.

"I'm glad," she told him. "Even if you'd been upset, I had to know…"

"Know what?" he asked when she didn't complete her thought.

"How it would feel. I've thought about it long enough; I've wondered about it, and imagined it."

"Disappointed?" he asked, and she could swear the expression on his face was pure insecurity. Surely he couldn't still doubt her attraction to him.

"I don't know," she said with a devious grin, wanting to make him squirm just a little bit as a gentle revenge for what he'd done to her over the previous four years. When his face fell, she let him off the hook. "We could try it a couple dozen more times, and then I'll make a judgment."

She watched her words sink in. He shook his head and looked at her with what appeared to be wonder. "What can you see in an old man?" he asked, and then looked startled that he'd spoken. Perhaps he had just been thinking aloud.

"What I see," she said thoughtfully. "Well, first off there's your eyes. I don't think I've ever seen eyes as blue as yours. I also see a great sense of humor. You can find the humor in even the most horrible situation. And I see strength, too. You hold our lab together, keep everyone in line, and still find time to work in the field as much as any of us. You don't consider anything beneath you. You've never asked any of us to do something you were unwilling to do yourself. That kind of fairness is rare."

"You'll have me nominated for sainthood before your speech is over," he told her, but the pleased blush was clear.

She didn't let him distract her. "And you care about things. I know you've given me a dozen lectures on keeping my professional distance, but you care more than any of us. You may not show it, but I see it. I also see how you care about the team."

"You're a part of that team," he reminded her.

She shrugged. "I've seen you stand up for us, especially against Eckley."

"That's my job."

She shook her head, her face still perilously close to his. "Above and beyond, Grissom."

He reached up with his free hand and gently stroked the backs of his fingers across her cheek. He didn't kiss her, but she saw something in his eyes that she liked, something she wanted to see more of.

"So, that's what I see in you. Now, can you see anything in a knobby-kneed kid to peak your interest?" With the question out there, she understood his previous insecurity. There was nothing like asking for someone else's opinion of you; especially someone who's opinion you truly valued.

"I see life," he told her softly. "I… love my work. We speak for those who can't speak for themselves, and we give closure to families, justice to criminals. But every day I see someone or something horrible. I see what man can do to his fellow man, and sometimes I have to wonder if there's a point to it. For every criminal we put away – every case we solve – there are ten that we don't. Every day I go into work and I know that someone will have done something unspeakable to someone else. But then I see you, and there's this… reason to try to keep the city just a little safer. I see hope in you, and energy, and vitality. That's what I'm so afraid I'll damage."

"Grissom, I do the same job that you do. I see the same things, and I understand the frustration that goes with it. But we do it anyway. It's who we are."

"Gruesome Grissom," he said softly.

She shook her head. "I prefer the "Bugman". At least it sounds better."

He leaned forward and kissed her again, just as softly as before, and all too soon he pulled away. Next, he glanced at his wrist and frowned. "We have shift in a little over two hours," he told her. "I really need to get you home."

She nodded reluctantly. She was afraid to leave, afraid to risk this new closeness that she'd found with him. Their relationship had always balanced on a fragile line, and she was terrified that any absence at all would destroy it. She was afraid she would wake up, and like the thousand times before this would just be a dream.

"You know, if you go ahead and get ready for work, and you don't mind, then we could run by my place on the way to work. I can feed you dinner while I get a shower and change of clothes." She held her breath as she waited for his answer.

He didn't rush. In fact, the wait became so long and the silence so heavy that she became worried that she'd overstepped once more. "I… I think I'd like that," he finally stammered. She could see in his expression – in the way he couldn't meet her eyes – that he was as unsure of his answer as she had been. "It won't take me long to get ready."

He brushed his fingers across her cheek once more, and then moved away with a reluctance so obvious that it loosened something inside of her. When he had left the room, she finally allowed herself to take a deep breath and she stood to clean up after herself. She had no clue where his hamper might be, so she folded the sheets as neatly as she could and laid them on the coffee table atop the pillow. Then she started straightening magazines on surfaces, stacking books, and generally moving about to relieve some of her nervous energy.

Sara closed her eyes tightly against involuntary visions as she heard the shower start. The last thing she needed to be doing was lusting after him, although the thought of anything physical was appealing. She hadn't realized until that morning – until he'd taken her hand in the police station – just how long it had been since she had touched someone or been touched by them. Truthfully, she had received more physical contact in this one day than in the two weeks prior, even with Warrick and Greg smacking her on the back or punching her in the arm, and Nick's occasional hugs.

The water stopped in record time, and she had to smile. Either he'd forgotten something, or he took the quickest and most no-nonsense showers that she'd ever known. When she didn't hear the water start up again, she smiled thinking that it must be the latter. That, she thought hopefully, or he was as anxious to be back with her as she was for him to return. Not likely, but a girl could hope.

Only a few moments later he walked from his room wearing clean clothes, socks, and carrying his shoes. He smiled at her as he sat down on the brown couch to pull on his shoes. "You didn't have to clean up," he told her. "You're a guest."

She shrugged her shoulder and watched him as he finished with his shoes and then looked up at her. "Ready," he told her with another glance at his watch. "If we hurry, we might have time to run by the police station and pick up your car before work."

She nodded at that. "It would cause… fewer questions," she admitted. "There are going to be enough with the blood tests."

He looked at her for a moment and appeared to be considering before he spoke. "I can have those run through district," he offered. "It would keep it out of the labs, but it would formally put it on record. The choice is yours. If you don't want Greg and the rest to know…"

She shook her head as she stood. "I'd rather it stay within the lab," she admitted. "With the team, it's embarrassing. If it goes formal, it could affect my career." She paused a moment as she watched him stand and face her. "Or yours," she added.

"I haven't done anything wrong, Sara," he told her gently. "You haven't either. We both know that blood tests carry more weight than breathalyzers in court, and by the time I drew you the levels had to be within legal limits. The only questions will be why we ran the tests, and that will stay in your personnel file, in my office. So long as there's no reason to pull your file in the next two years – no reviews or conduct hearings – then no one will see it except for me."

She let out a breath as she nodded her understanding. He was actually being very light on her as compared to most supervisors. If she'd been under Eckley, she would have spent the day in a holding cell just for him to make a point. He wouldn't have accepted a professional courtesy; he would have used it as an opportunity to nail her. Frankly, she was surprised that Grissom was treating this as lightly as he was. He was known for his uncompromising judgment. Hell, he didn't even cut Catherine any slack when it came to discipline, and she was probably his closest friend. Granted, Cath had pulled some stupid stunts in recent months, but any one of them was understandable. It was only the whole picture that looked bad. Sara had to wonder if that was what was happening with her, if this was just her first offense so he wasn't pressing it. She was too grateful to ask.

They were quiet as they walked to his Tahoe and he unlocked the door to let her in. She smiled at that sign of chivalry. Gil Grissom was old-school in a lot of ways, and while she might be a modern and relatively independent woman she could definitely appreciate good manners. She had certainly dealt with enough men in the past who didn't have them.

It didn't surprise her that he knew the way to her apartment. He might never have been there, but the address was common knowledge to the team. Oddly enough, Grissom was probably the only one who hadn't been to her place either for an errand, or a movie, or just to carpool. The guys had come over for Superbowl Sunday that year and had had a blast. She had cleaned up potato chips and beer stains for a week, but it had been worth it. The only thing that had been wrong with the day had been Grissom's absence. Knowing what she did now about his hearing, that absence made a lot more sense. A crowded room with everyone talking at once and cheering over the volume of the television would have made him miserable. She wished she had known it then; at the time she had just been hurt. He'd come to Nick's house the year before, and she had taken it personally when he hadn't come to hers.

With the Tahoe parked in her carport, she jogged up the stairs just in front of him so that she could unlock the door. Unlike Grissom's wide-open townhouse with its comfortable clutter on every surface, her apartment was tidy. Granted, she had nearly as much room as he did, but the positioning of the breakfast bar made the room look smaller. One bookcase dominated the far wall, holding most of her books, although not the special ones. Her computer desk took over another wall, and was the only area of the room that held any loose papers. She was absurdly grateful that she no longer had take-out menus on her refrigerator and catalogs on her desk, although she couldn't have said why. She was also grateful that she'd thought to shop a few days before, and that eggs and bread had been on her list.

"How do you feel about egg salad?" she asked as she put her purse on the bar and turned to him. He was looking around the room with interest, and it took him a moment to meet her eyes. For a moment she thought he might not have heard her, but his next words proved that he had only been distracted.

"No hot dogs?" he asked her with a wink.

She rolled her eyes at that. "Dream on," she fired back. "Your other options are yogurt, salad, or…" She paused as she moved a couple of containers to the side. "Maybe an omelet," she offered as she spotted some cheese.

"The yogurt sounds good," he told her as he took a seat on one of the barstools.

"That's it?"

"Unless you've got some peanut butter," he said with a shrug.

"You want jelly with that?" she asked as she grabbed a container of strawberry yogurt and set it before him with a spoon and a bottle of water. They really didn't have time for coffee if they were going to pick up her car.

"No," he said simply. "Just a bowl or something." At her quizzical look he explained. "I don't think you want me eating it out of the jar."

She didn't want to know what the expression on her face was as she handed him what he had asked for, but she knew it couldn't have been good.

"Thanks," he told her, as though his meal choice were as common as a bologna sandwich and chips. As she watched him dip out a generous portion of peanut butter with the spoon to drop in the bowl, and then use that same spoon to take a bite of yogurt, she decided that for him it probably was. What could a woman expect from a man who raced cockroaches for fun? The meal had carbs and protein both, so it wasn't unhealthy. It was just… odd.

"I'll just be a minute," she told him as she headed to the back of the room towards her bedroom. He didn't answer, for which she was grateful; his mouth was full.

She took her shower quickly, then toweled off and dressed. She put on a minimum of makeup after brushing her teeth, but she didn't bother with drying her hair. In all, she was ready to go in less than twenty minutes, and she decided that was the best anyone could hope for. She returned to the living area to find him flipping through a book over by the shelves.

"Find something you like?" she asked.

"Lewis Carroll," he told her with a raised eyebrow. "The Complete, Unabridged Works. Who would have thought you were an Alice in Wonderland fan."

"Actually, I prefer The Hunting of the Snark," she admitted. "I did a composition on it in college and for some reason it struck me. I guess it was something in the rhythm of it."

"Ah, but some are Boojums," he told her.

She couldn't help but laugh. He was even informed about fairly obscure pieces written nearly a century before. "That they are," she agreed. "But if you expect me to faint away, you can think again."

His head cocked sideways. "Faint? No. In fact, I don't think I've even seen you get sick, much less faint. You've been furious, yes, and sometimes too sympathetic for your own good, but nothing so cliché as fainting."

She grinned at that as she sat down on a chair to put on her shoes. She had dressed comfortably in black jeans and a light blue blouse, and she hoped that the running shoes wouldn't clash too badly. "I used to watch those newsreels of Elvis and the Beetles," she admitted. "And I laughed at those screaming women. I never figured out how anyone could pass out just from seeing somebody famous."

"You live in a different age," he told her.

"Thank goodness for that."

"On the other hand," he said thoughtfully, "Maybe it's just you. I actually remember seeing Elvis with my mother, and yes there was some fainting, but she never did. Maybe it has to do with strength rather than time."

"Why would your mother go to see a singer?" she asked. His mother had been deaf; it seemed counterproductive.

"She actually took me to quite a few concerts," he told her. "When music is loud enough, it can be… felt. She loved music growing up, and that never really changed. It was probably what she missed most when she lost her hearing. And I think she also wanted me to have as normal a childhood as possible. Back in the fifties and early sixties, single parent families weren't the norm, much less single parents who signed rather than speaking. She tried to keep me from feeling different from the other kids."

"Did you?" she asked, running a comb through her hair again. "Feel different, I mean."

He smiled gently. "I didn't… feel. I had my nose in a book more often than not, or I was on my hands and knees looking for an insect. I don't think I ever looked up long enough to see if anyone was laughing down at me." He shook his head as he stood up and walked over to where she was sitting, gazing down at her. "I imagine you were in one of the popular cliques at school. Cheerleader?"

"Um, no," she said with a blush. "I worked in high school. It didn't leave a lot of extra time for socializing."

He didn't comment on that. "Are you ready?" he asked.

Hell no. She wanted to stay here and talk to him for the next fifty years. She wanted to find out about his mother, and know what had happened to his father, and all that made Gil Grissom the puzzle that he was. The last place she wanted to go was to the impound lot to retrieve her car, but she knew that it had to be done.

Absently, she wondered if she would have to pay the fine that normally accompanied vehicle storage there, and then she decided that she'd do what she had to do. It was a little late to be worrying about consequences; she couldn't take back the night before. And yet, in a perverse way, she was almost glad that she'd been so stupid. It had given her time with Grissom, and it had given him a reason to see her as more than one of his CSIs. She couldn't regret the day, whatever the consequences of the night before.

"Ready," she told him.

Half an hour later, they were pulling into the parking lot for the police station. The drive had been pleasant, with casual conversation and friendly discussion. She decided that she could get used to having someone to talk to on the drive to work, and then squashed that thought. This might be a start, but she was realistic about Gil Grissom. He was opening up, yes, but he wasn't going to ask her to move in within the week. Even if he did, she realized, she couldn't do it. For once, she was invested enough in a relationship that she was willing to go slowly. She didn't want to take a chance on rushing things, or rushing him. He was worth the wait. After all, she'd already been waiting four years, and longer than that if she went back to her initial crush on him when she had first met him in San Francisco.

She was more than a little confused as they approached her car. Rather than being in the impound yard behind the police station, it was out front in an employee parking space. She looked over at Grissom as he stopped the Tahoe and handed her the keys that had been taken from her. "How…?"

"Professional courtesy," he said simply. "The Chief gave me your keys when I came to get you."

She was stunned. She had known that the rules had been bent for her, but she was only now realizing that some had been completely broken. She owed someone a great deal, and for more than the day she would treasure for the rest of her life. "I really need to thank them," she said softly.

"Thank them by not letting it happen again," he told her, and there was some censure in his voice. Then he continued in a more normal tone. "And be glad that there were two officers in the car. One brought you in, and the other brought your car. If it had been a single officer, they would have had to have towed it."

She was. Thanking him for the ride, and wanting to thank him for so much more but not knowing how, she slipped out of the Tahoe and closed the door behind her. She got into her car and adjusted the seat and mirrors from where they had been placed to accommodate the officer who had driven it there, and then she started the car. Grissom backed the Tahoe up slightly, but then he just watched and waited. Finally, she realized that he was waiting for her to pull out. She did so, circling through the parking lot in front of him.

Sara glanced up to her rear-view mirror and smiled. He was driving behind her, close but not tailgating. She knew that they were just going to the same location, but it didn't matter. She decided that she liked having Grissom behind her. A lot.