Sara spent a few more minutes dancing before she decided that she needed to get some sleep or she'd be worthless for shift that night. Her mind wandered as she slowly gathered up her things. 'I wonder what he'd think if he could see me dance. Would he think I was beautiful? Would he see something in me that he didn't see before? Would he realize that I am not just a robot? Would he...fall in love with me?' She paused and shook her head to clear it. 'Stop it, Sara! He will never be in love with you. Sure, he's attracted to you...that you're pretty sure of, but it's just some physical sensation that he's too chicken to act on. After all, if he was really in love with you...wouldn't he be willing to take the chance? Oh, god, get a hold of yourself.' Taking a deep breath, she willed the impending tears to recede, and walked out to her car.

That day, Sara slept fitfully. That was one good thing about having taken up dance again—as long as she chose to do her dancing after shift, instead of beforehand, she would always sleep like the dead. This was a welcome change. If she had her usual nightmares, she didn't generally remember them. Even after the really bad cases, if she went and danced, she found it only took her slightly longer than usual to fall asleep.

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While Sara was encased in the deep cocoon of sleep, Gil Grissom was tossing in his bed a few short miles away. It had been two hours since he had lain down to sleep, and he was no closer to slumber than he had been when he crawled into bed. An angel wearing pink, black, and grey kept floating before his tired eyes. As he thought of her, his body began to betray him. He was in no mood to take a cold shower, so he reminded himself of all the reasons he could not be with her as he willed his body to calm down. 'You're her supervisor,' he told himself. He heard Jim's voice in his mind. "Your careers will be fine..." 'You are fifteen years older, for God's sake! She could be your daughter!' "The age difference matters to absolutely no one except for you," Brass' voice taunted him. Ok, then, he'd fall back on his old standby: 'She can do better than me. It's best for her if we leave it this way...' Once again, his friend's words rang in his ears. "Don't you think that perhaps you should let HER be the judge of that?" This gave him pause. He had never really considered that before. Sara's amazing intellect had been one of the original reasons for their unique connection, and it occurred to him that by doubting her ability to make her own decisions, he was in essence doubting her intelligence. 'Maybe Brass had a point with that one. I have no idea why she wants me, and she could definitely do better, but I saw the look in her eyes when I turned down her dinner invitation, and she was really hurt. The point is, she does want me. Or she did at one point, anyway.' Grissom rolled over yet again as a realization slammed into him. He had to do something about "this," and he had to do it NOW...before it was too late. He sat up and reached for the phone book as he began to formulate a plan...

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Sara awoke with a muffled gasp as a charley horse gripped her left calf muscle. "Unnnhhhhh," she moaned as she massaged her clenching muscle. She had been having them a couple of times a week since she had taken up dancing again—usually after particularly strenuous sessions. She had nearly forgotten how prone to cramping she was. She didn't have problems when she ran, but dancing had always been a shortcut to muscle cramps for her. Sara flopped back on her pillow as the charley horse subsided. The relief was almost palpable. She glanced over at her clock. Almost time to get up anyway. She rolled out of bed and, since she had a little extra time, decided to draw a hot bath to soothe her aching muscles.

She walked into her bathroom, sat down on the edge of the tub and turned the hot water on. She grabbed some raspberry-scented bath salts and poured a handful in, idly watching the water fizz as the salts made contact. She snorted as she thought of Catherine. Catherine was always trying to "girly" Sara up. 'Buy some lacy bras, wear more makeup, splurge on a nice piece of jewelry,' she'd say. 'Get some girly-smelling bubble bath and shower gel. Put some candles around your apartment and you'll see—you'll be a girly-girl in no time flat.' Little did Catherine know that Sara had lacy bras, she did wear more makeup--if she was going out on a date or something, and that she did own some nice jewelry. She just didn't see the point of wearing her $300 pearl earrings to the office where they might get covered in God-only-knows-what. Call it an occupational hazard, if you like. On top of that, she was an absolute sucker for scented bubble bath, shower gel, and candles. She just didn't want anyone at work to know that. Might affect her "tough girl" image...

Running her hands through the water to test it, she decided it was warm enough and slipped out of her clothes and into the tub. As she slid under the water, her eyes fluttered closed and she allowed herself the simultaneous luxury and torture of thinking about the man she loved.

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Grissom woke with a start as his alarm sounded. After taking care of the first part of his plan that morning, he had finally gotten some shuteye, but had to set his alarm two hours earlier than usual to make sure he got to the lab before Sara did. Filled with a sudden zeal, he jumped out of bed and headed to the shower. As he stood under the hot spray, he was amazed at how light he felt. He had expected that once he made the decision to pursue a relationship with Sara, he would be filled with a constant nagging doubt about whether or not he had made the right decision. But the only thing that filled him was utter relief...and a tiny nagging fear that he was too late. He reminded himself that if they were truly meant to be, it would all work out.

Stepping out of the shower and getting dressed, Grissom looked at his clock. He had an old friend he needed to see before work—a friend who happened to be an expert calligrapher...

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Grissom smiled as pulled up next to the UNLV fine arts building. Walking inside, he went straight to a cramped office on the first floor. Peeking in, he saw his old friend Nancy Krauss waiting for him. "Why, Gil, come in!" she exclaimed happily. "When I got your message I was so intrigued that I've been looking forward to this all day!" Gil stepped in and smiled warmly as he sat down. He had met Nancy several years ago while working on a case involving notes written in fine calligraphy that were left at crime scenes. He had gone to UNLV looking for an expert opinion, and Nancy had been a tremendous help. The two had stayed in contact from time to time since then.

"Thanks for agreeing to see me on such short notice, Nancy. I know this is way past your office hours, but I really appreciate it," Grissom said.

"For the inimitable Gil Grissom? Not a problem at all," Nancy replied. "Now what can I do for you?"

Grissom blushed. "Well...honestly, I just need to borrow your skills. Can you write something for me?"

Nancy grinned mischievously. "Now I'm really curious! Of course, I will. Now, tell me what you need me to say..."