Author's Note: This is a piece set after Inside the Box but before "What Lies Ahead" (a Greg-angst story I posted up here a while back). You don't need to have read Ahead to get Beneath, or vice versa. Chapter one is from Grissom's point of view.

Important: Everything before the line break is thought.

What Lies Beneath

I noticed that she cradled her hand for days afterward. Each time she walked down that hallway she stared at the glass as though it would leap out of the window-wall and chase her down the corridor.

Small things startled her, things that didn't use to. I used to be able to slip up behind her and enjoy the warmth, the aura of ease we shared. She always smiled to herself, knowing I was there. She stopped smiling after the explosion, except for show. Now she jumps and shies away when she feels me close in.

Shortly afterwards, she started looking left and right before walking across the hall. Now that's a bit extreme don't you think?

Sara once told me that she had to have order in her life. I quite understand that, actually. Mental order at any rate... Catherine would never believe that I appreciate a sense of organization, not from looking at my office at least.

Maybe the lab explosion threw her, maybe it broke the rhythm. Blew down the even walls and scattered the piles of order.

Maybe it woke her up.

It certainly woke me up.

If Sara's worst fear is losing control, then my worst fear is losing Sara. Even though I saw her sitting there, hand cut open, face scraped, I felt like I had lost her by the look in her eyes. Some people don't realize that her dark eyes can be so expressive, so full of emotion and beauty...

But I digress. I recognized the stunned look as a textbook example of shock. Once I got her moving she was fine, her hand stitched up quickly by a medic. I wonder if she even remembers that I called her honey. At the time I quite surprised myself by letting that slip. I can't help but smile when remembering it though. She looked so... gone, so lost I had to help. Just the simple physical connection between hands was enough to anchor her back to me.

I wonder... If we had enough physical contact, would we be permanently anchored together? Perhaps through experimentation... No, I can't allow that line of thinking. At least, not right now.

While the door is closed and blinds are pulled, my CSIs are notorious for trying to get into my office, leaving that overdue report on my desk, and then trying to pass it off as "Oh Grissom, you just didn't see it on that messy desk of yours!"

Newsflash: I know exactly what's on my desk, kids, I just don't care to deal with it.

Back to Sara. It always comes back to Sara, doesn't it? I can't get her out of my head. Hell, I don't want to get her out of my head. I'd prefer to get her in my bed. Hmmm, head, bed. That rhymes... Oh yeah, back to rhythm.

So a random occurrence breaks the rhythm of her life and now she's washing away. No one's cried "man overboard" but... I might be able to help, if she would let me. A great deal of my trepidation about approaching her has to do with her passive-aggressive nature. She could either be very passive with me (and thereby total wriggle out of the deeper conversation) or very aggressive (bite my head off for trying to offer help). Conversations with Sara are best executed quickly, and with an escape plan already decided upon.

But I still love her. I find it amazing I can think this over and over and over. I love her. I love Sara. Sara Sidle that is. But I can never tell her face to face, because that simple fact could shove her over the edge. She'd either kiss me or kill me. Or kiss me then kill me. I don't think it would work the other way around. Here we stand, on emotional middle ground, a neutral territory filled with longing looks, innuendo, and flirtation.

Well, not any more.

That day altered the dynamic of the lab. Greg's been keeping to himself; Sara's been immersing herself twice as deep in her work. As far as I can tell she's all but stopped eating and sleeping. She's paler than usual, and resembles a waif. I can no longer stand so close to her, for fear of my breath turning her to dust in front of me.

Several times I've found myself at the door of her investigation room, under the pretense of asking about a case. I open my mouth but concern never comes out. I simply spew empty platitudes of "good job" and the ever-popular "nice work on that last case."

Sometimes I really disgust myself.

That's how we got into this situation from the start! Sara really deserves someone better than me, but I can't find it in me to let her go. Possessiveness is one of my major character flaws. I've always believed that, if I had a daughter, I would be one of those fathers that stalked her boyfriends and pulled up their criminal records for cross-referencing. I might even pull some strings with Brass and have an officer assigned to monitor her, undercover of course.

Somehow, it doesn't look like I'm going to have any daughters anytime soon. Or children. Or a wife. I can't stop myself from sighing when I end up thinking "Or Sara." ::sigh:: Damn, I knew that was coming.

But I need Sara. Losing her would be too much for me (or for anyone on nightshift for that matter). I can't lose her.

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"I can't lose her." Grissom said aloud, alarming himself with the sound of his own voice.

It was even more alarming when he realized that if he failed to take action quickly, he could very well lose her. Grissom quickly pushed back his chair and left his office, checking each investigation room until he came across Sara, leaning over a pile of leaves. She looked so frail, a slight ashen-colored woman in a white lab coat and latex gloves. He must have shifted or exhaled loudly because her head jerked up.

"Oh! Hey Grissom... I'm just working on that vegetative evidence we found in the trunk of the car. Several of these leafs have a minimum altitude requirement, so that's helping us narrow down the possible dump locations."

Sara noticed he was staring at her oddly, a look of wonderment on his face, like he hadn't seen her in years. She adjusted her hair behind her ear self-consciously and leaned back a bit, her voice and demeanor both shrinking.

"Grissom... What is it?"

TBC....

Author's Note: What do you think? Please R&R! Chapter 2 will be from Sara's point of view, written in the same internal monologue then external dialogue setup. I might be willing to consider more chapters based on the reviews, if the mechanism is working well. Brass maybe? Or maybe just a longer interaction between good ole Griss 'n Sara...