A/N: Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter up. I'll just be honest with you guys: it sucks. My mind is kind of mushy right now. It turns out that getting an actual, full-time, grown-up, degree-requiring job takes a lot of paperwork. And I think we can all agree with the particularly Grissom-esque viewpoint that paperwork BLOWS.

I was going to dedicate this to someone, but I'm about to fall asleep sitting up, and I can't remember who, so it'll have to wait until next chapter. For now, I'll just dedicate it to all my readers who live in Tennessee, used to live in Tennessee, have thought about living in Tennessee, or passed through Tennessee once on their way to visit their great aunt Edna.

Sara's breath caught in her throat as she took in the magnitude of what Grissom had just said. She knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was serious. If he ever found the man who had raped her, Grissom would kill him for what he did to Sara. And no one would ever know.

"Grissom—"

He pressed his thumb to her lips, effectively silencing her.

"I mean it, Sara. What that bastard did to you is unforgivable. If he is ever found, he will never make it to trial. I'll make sure of that."

Sara leaned her head against his chest and contemplated how far she wanted to take this vein of conversation. Deciding that it was pointless to argue, she dropped it. If her rapist ever surfaced, he would die at Gil Grissom's hands, and she was powerless to stop it. For the first time in her life, Sara Sidle was grateful that the man had not been caught. Losing her virginity to a rapist had been bad enough; she didn't want to have to worry about protecting said rapist from Grissom's brand of vigilante justice.

She pressed her head into his chest with a sigh, and she felt his arms tighten around her. He rested his chin atop her head, and after a moment she felt moisture on her hair. He was quietly sobbing. She jerked her head up at him, alarmed. His emotions were all over the charts—sadness, desperation, anger, full-blow rage, and back to weary sadness.

"Gil?"

He looked at her in anguish, tears flowing down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Sara. I'm so sorry this had to happen to you." She gently shushed him, making soothing noises with her mouth as she stroked his cheek. He softly pushed her hands away and spoke again. "I feel so inadequate. You've just told me the most horrifying story of your life, and you have to comfort me. Something is wrong with this picture. I'm sorry I'm not the man you need me to be." He looked ashamed, and before Sara could reassure him, he spoke up softly. "What can I do to help you, Sara?"

She smiled tenderly at him. "You can love me."

"Done. Next?"

Softly, "That's all I need, Gil. I'm really okay. I know it seems shocking to you, but the thing is, I understand what you're going through, and there's no need to be embarrassed by your reaction. You've just learned that the woman you love" (at this she blushed slightly) "was raped. It's a shock. The pieces of the Sara Sidle Puzzle are starting to fall into place, and you're learning what makes me tick. You're furious that someone hurt me. You probably feel guilty that you never knew before, although you shouldn't. How could you have known? But I, on the other hand, have had fifteen years to deal with this. Yes, every September 8th sucks, yes, it hurts to remember it, and it hurt like hell to tell the story today—it's a story that no one in my new life knows. But I needed to tell you, and you needed to know." A small smile spread across her face as she placed a gentle kiss on the side of his neck. "Actually, Grissom, your reaction today tells me how much you really love me," she said softly, "and if possible, I love you more for it. I'm sorry you threw up, though," she said with a tiny chuckle. This last comment elicited a small smile from Grissom. Mission accomplished. With that smile, a huge weight lifted from Sara's life. She had finally succeeded in dropping her facades and letting someone get close to the real Sara Sidle. She had told him the truth: she really was okay. Was she over it? No. Glad it happened? Hell, no. But was she okay? For the first time in her life, yes.

"Besides," she added. "The rape led me to you."

He jerked away as if he'd been burned. Sara quickly explained, "Forensics, Grissom." She dragged in a deep breath. "The investigating officer may have been a complete bitch, but that doesn't mean I didn't want to know every last detail of my case. I hounded the hell out of that woman. I knew nothing about forensics, but I made it my mission in life to learn everything I could about the process. It became kind of an obsession—I don't know, some sort of a stress outlet, I guess. I earned my degree in physics, then when I went to Berkeley and had the opportunity to take your seminar…" Her voice trailed off and she shrugged. "The rest, as they say, is history…"

He considered. With a serious voice, he asked her, "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"For the love of God, Sara, when I handed out those cases, why didn't you tell me?" he cried in anguish. "We were friends. I would have given you a different case."

"Grissom, that's just ridiculous on so many levels I don't even know where to start. First of all, yeah, okay, we were friends—we had this connection, but you know me. Do you think it's really my style to walk up to someone I've known for less than two months and say, 'Uh, yeah, hi, I just wanted to let you know that I can't do this because the anonymous underage victim in this file is me.'" She snorted. "As if."

He started to say something, but she put up a hand to stop him. "Second of all, Grissom, when have you ever known me to back down from a challenge or ask for special treatment?"

Grissom gave her a wry smile. She had a damn good point on that one. He sighed tiredly and reached out to pull her back against him. She had sat up during her discourse on Sara Logic. Brushing her hair back from her neck, he kissed it gently and whispered into her ear, "God, Sara, I'm so sorry I put you through that. I don't know if I'll ever be able to forgive myself. God, you have to believe me, if I had had any idea it was you—"

Sara scoffed, interrupting him. "Gil! Of course you didn't know! I would never blame you for that! My point in starting this entire conversation was that if I can handle that, then I can handle everything the lab throws at me and more. I just want you to know that I love you for trying to protect me, but it's not necessary. And," she said pointedly as he started to ask her a question, "I give you my word that I'll tell you if I ever come across a case I don't think I can handle."

With his impending question answered by the seemingly psychic Sara Sidle, Gil Grissom closed his eyes as a small smile graced his lips. He fell asleep like that, arms securely around the woman he loved enough to kill for.

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Two hours later, Grissom woke up. Sara was lying next to him, somehow having disentangled herself from his grip. He took the opportunity to curl up next to her and study her face. He saw no discernible scars in the vicinity of her left cheekbone. The plastic surgeon had done a damn fine job, he mused. He glanced down at her left wrist. Unless they had inserted pins, he knew there would be no scars from the break, but he inspected it just the same. His gaze slid down her body to her left hip, where a tiny bit of the white scar was peeking out over the top of her sweatpants. He couldn't help himself; he scooted down the bed and rested his lips gently atop the bit of exposed flesh. Her skin was so soft and warm. She moved a bit, and Grissom glanced up her body to see a pair of sad brown eyes looking back at him.

"I'm sorry," he said, straightening up.

"Don't be. I just don't want you to dwell on it. You needed to know, and now you know. But we're here to have fun and get to know each other. This was a necessary step in getting to know each other—now let's get on with the fun part!" She flashed him the megawatt, trademarked, patented, copyrighted, reserved-especially-for-Gilbert-Grissom Sara Sidle Smile. It was so bright and genuine that Grissom couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"Ok, Miss Sidle—what do you want to do, then?" He glanced at his watch. "It's 3 pm—we've still got all day."

She contemplated her options.

"Let's take the boat out!"