Disclaimer: Helaas ben ik nog steeds niet in het bezit van enige CSI rechten, nog van CBS. Ik heb zelfs geen aandelen van Viacom. Als ik die wel had, was de man wiens initialen L.M is al lang de laan uitgevlogen.

To make it easier for any CBS hotshots reading this: CSI ain't mine.

LK, dear, thanks for the quick beta job. Hope you have a lovely nap, and have fun experimenting on the different forms of beard burn with the hubby. {evil grin}

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The Swirling Path of Thought

Dark hues of blue and red, carefully blending into one another, creating a swirling and swooshing pattern of indigo blue, Bordeaux red and purple violet. It seemed as though the mingled and unidentifiable figures had tried to escape somehow into the dark voids that were sprinkled on the page, yet now, as the ink on the notebook cover had swiftly dried, they were doomed to motionlessly sit and wait, trapped.

Every so often, a random page bound within the covers would be turned and words (and memories) that had been written down in the past came back to the fore of her mind. A short paragraph, page forty-four, from months ago once again allowed her to recollect the sorrow, pain and disgrace that filtered through in the victim's eyes, and into her heart. The utter loneliness that too often would weave a trap around her, luring her closer and closer until she silently cried, longing for some human comfort. Comfort that often wasn't there.

Page eight. Not quite in shorthand, not easily decipherable either. 'I can't believe I didn't see it coming. What good am I in my job if I didn't see this?! God, how often we see spouses and couples that aren't faithful. I never, ever thought I'd be the 'other woman'. Shit. Bastard. Why did I even care about him?'

A collection of words, no heed paid to the grammatical rules she had been taught in school, had been jotted down near the top of the page, on the thirty-second page.

Angry letters, carved deeply into the thin paper, nearly scratched through. The despair she felt when Susanna died emanating from every pore of the page, from every inked word. Even now, the raw pain seemed fresh, as though it had only happened last week. Time had placed a band-aid on the wound, but the scar hadn't healed yet. She wondered if it ever would.

Page sixty-four was mostly blank. She hadn't known what to write then. 'Sometimes words aren't enough, no matter how wonderful they are.' The only line, in the middle of the page. Hesitation marks could be seen, indicating her uncertainty of what exactly to write. For how to translate her emotions into words after witnessing a speech that, for her, came out of the blue, enrapturing her and enticing a cacophony of feelings. Why couldn't he be as eloquent when talking to her? Worn down and exhausted, his defenses had shattered and what he had said had been unimpeded by the more logical side of him, the rational part. Instead it seemed to come from his heart. But why then? Why in an interrogation room, talking to a suspect? Why not to her? God knows she had tried to access his heart and feelings before, tried to draw them out. At first there were the double entendres, sexual innuendos, smiles and jokes, which over the course of years had mutated into gaps of silence, uncertain looks and rejections. In the back of her mind, the uncertainty and pain still lingered, occasionally interfering with her more rational thoughts.

She had never purposely endangered the reputation of the lab, had never been outrageously rude to staff or suspect, had always tried to achieve the best possible results. And she had the least to show for it.

It also rankled her slightly that a near DUI screw up on her part could turn out to be quite possibly the savior of their relationship. But, she told herself, he was the one who made the first move after so long. Things were going better, their trust in each other, and themselves, restored, the easy friendship and comfort had returned, and they talked again. About everything and nothing. And he hadn't yet withdrawn. Nor had she.

The ringing of her cell phone interrupted her bittersweet musings, and she immediately recognized the caller's ID.

"You're lucky I'm still awake, Grissom, or you'd have an extremely grouchy me to deal with. What's up? Has there been a break in the case?" Sara grabbed a pair of jeans from her bedroom to replace the sweatpants she was currently wearing.

"This coming from Miss 'she who never sleeps'? I have yet to see you sleeping in a proper bed instead of nodding off in the break room. But no, nothing on the case yet. I was wondering if I could come over, just…to see you." 'To see you, to talk to you, to hold you… ' His treacherous imagination veered off down a path that was much traveled, but not yet taken.

Yes, he wanted more than friendship, he had established that already days ago in the last argument that had raged within him. No, neither of them had been ready then, or so he thought. But what about now? Grissom realized that sentiments and views could change suddenly when dealing with matters of the heart. And he wasn't so sure he'd be able to hang on to his previously decided direction.

His train of thought was interrupted.

"Hey, I sleep," she countered, "In a very comfortable bed I might add, you just haven't seen it. Yet." She glanced at her bedroom surroundings. "Do you just want to see me, or would you like to talk too? Or perhaps that wasn't quite what you had in mind?"

Grissom could practically hear her smile through the phone, the humor and flirtatiousness traveling straight through him. He could see her holding the phone with one hand, head slightly cocked, her other hand occasionally tucking a stray tendril of hair behind her ear. "How about I just show you what I had in mind, make it an experiment of sorts?"

He was astonished at the words that left his mouth, which truth be told had been trotting around in his subconscious ever since she mentioned the word bed. She was pleasantly shocked and tried to come up with a response.

"Sounds good to me. As you of course know though, being a doctor in entomology and such, any experiment needs a sound hypothesis. Want to share yours?" She wasn't sure what to expect, but a tingling sensation had crept into her, one of excitement and awareness that this phone conversation might have the power to steer them into a whole new direction.

"I'd rather not. It would spoil the surprise, don't you think?"

She chuckled slightly. "Hmm… Alright then, when can you be here?"

He was thankful that the route to her apartment was relatively simple and had been memorized for longer than he cared to admit. While he hadn't acted outwardly on his feelings in the past years, his car had passed her apartment block more than once. And never had he stopped and gotten out. Well, not before last May anyway.

Parking the car nearby, he stepped out and locked it. A rustle in the woody bushes to the right of him alerted Grissom that something was prowling around, and no sooner than he started to wonder what it might be, a silver-gray cat slunk from beneath the Jasmine, walked proudly up to a nearby oak tree, and sat down. His tail occasionally sweeping the floor, his gaze was firmly fixed on the bird perched on one of the lower branches of the tree. Deciding that it had had enough of the inquisitive and hungry pair of eyes that were permanently fixed on him, the bluebird gracefully winged its way over the cat's head onto a safer patch of land. One less bird casualty today, Grissom thought.

Walking the few remaining yards to Sara's complex, the already hot dry air hung like a blanket around him. The scorching sun was set high and proud in the sky, casting its rays partially on the front and side of the building, enveloping it in a patchwork of sunlit and shadowy patches. Some of the windows were ruthlessly reflecting the light, and Grissom was glad he was wearing sunglasses. All that unnecessary squinting when not wearing them played havoc on his ocular muscles.

Pushing open the door, he easily navigated through the small hallway and up the stairs. Grey and white tiles adorned the floor, the black dots speckled amongst the swirls lending it a faux-marble effect. While the white walls were left bare in most parts, the ocean blue doors, and occasional horsehead Philodendron creeping its way down the wall towards the floor, injected some color into the décor. Clean and modern, with the occasional touch of elegance thrown in, Grissom wasn't surprised that Sara lived here. Her interests ranged far and wide, from mythical tales to postmodern art. It only made sense that her abode wouldn't be constricted to just one style either.

Three quick raps on the door and he stood back a step, bag of bagels and fruit at his side, waiting for Sara to open the door.

Grissom hardly had time to run a hand through his hair before she appeared and waved him in. "Hey, come on in."

"Well, that was quick," he commented, sidestepping a cluttered dining table and placing his coat on one of the wooden chairs. Upon Sara's slightly puzzled look, "You answering the door."

"Ah, right. One of the perks of a minimally small apartment. Takes me just seconds to cross from the bedroom to the front door." She took the offered breakfast and placed it on the kitchen counter.

"Want some coffee or, " she grabbed a bottle from the fridge and held it up, "the healthier option, also known as water?" Looking up, she saw Grissom opening and closing several of the cupboard doors until he found what he was looking for and plucked the canister of ground coffee from its usual spot. "I guess water is out, then, seeing that you figured out the workings of my espresso machine."

His lips twitched, an attempt to stifle the grin that tried to break through, and he simply continued with the coffee making ritual. A silence ensued, occasionally broken up by the soft whir from the airconditioning, and Sara's sock-clad steps that indicated that she hadn't planted herself on her couch and relaxed. She had tried to place the bagels on plates, and when he looked at her with raised eyebrows and a 'what do you think you're doing?' look she went to get some cutlery to make things easier, but he would have none of that either. Instead, he barred her from opening the drawer, standing in front of it, arms held backwards gripping the counter top, and shook his head slightly. "Let me do this, Sara. "

She huffed and turned, hands on her hips, looking around the room. Her reaction didn't surprise him. After all, he was the one who had called her, asked to come over, invaded her space at - a quick glance at his watch - ten in the morning. Sara's energetic ways didn't screech to a halt just because he was here with her. And invading her house wasn't the best way to have her relax.

She looked around, and while clean, she saw that the place was anything but uncluttered. Books were placed haphazardly on table tops and on one of the wooden dining chairs, mail-order catalogues and papers strewn amongst them, creating a chaotic display, letters and colors dancing and battling to attract the most eye attention.

Spotting an empty water bottle, its blue labeled and see-through container somehow had managed to blend in with the background decorations, she walked up to its perch and gentle pushed away the plant that had partially concealed it. The Aloe Vera was growing steadily, its pointy and waxy foliage standing tall and proud. The few cut out leafs that were used to combat the occasional cooking burn were regenerating well and the plant generally looked happy, she thought. For as far as plants could look happy, of course. Snapping up the empty bottle and carefully placing the pot into its old position, she walked back towards the kitchen where Grissom by now had fished two coffee cups and several plates from yet another cupboard. She had just about set foot in the kitchen when she set her bottle on the counter and walked a few steps back towards the center table, intent on rearranging the two magazines and notebook. All she did was straighten them out and pile them up, but at least it was something to do. Sitting down and doing nothing was not something that came easily to Sara Sidle.

"Counter or couch?" Grissom indicated both choices with a cup of coffee held in one hand, and bagels in the other. Just as Sara started to walk in his direction and made a move to take one of the cups from him, he held both arms wide and high, the coffee neatly staying in, but swashing around slightly, in their containers. "Sit down and relax. Let me serve you. " He reiterated his question. "Now, counter or couch?"

"Couch it is then. " Sara pouted slightly and plopped down on the couch, tilting her head slightly, staring at Grissom who sauntered over. The bright mismatched plates, courtesy of her parents when she first moved out, were set in front of her, the array of foods and steaming coffee traveling straight through her, her stomach voicing its appreciation by the tiniest of rumbles.

Grissom stood a little longer than necessary, trying to decide where to sit. Either on a nearby chair, which would be safe distance-wise, yet impersonal, or next to her on the couch where her aura and fragrance could so easily envelop him and penetrate his weakening fortress of a heart.

Decision made, he settled himself on the couch next to Sara, piercing a chunk of pineapple with his fork in the process. A smile playing on his lips, his entire demeanor one of playful relaxation, he held it up to Sara's mouth. "Hungry?"

Part of Sara's mind managed to immediately delve into the gutter and answered quietly 'Definitely, and for something bigger than that chunk of pineapple.' The rational, and for the moment, unaffected by lust, part, managed to give a slightly more subdued answer. "You betcha."

The gleaming glance in Sara's eyes and the shifting looks between staring at each other's eyes and lips had the effect of spiking up the heat between them, and Sara slowly moved forward, catching the piece of fruit deftly between her teeth. Closing her lips around it in a sultry fashion, she not once stopped looking Grissom in the eye.

He was enthralled, and against his common sense, he inched closer, his face hovering near hers, almost as though he was asking her permission to go forward. She nodded almost imperceptibly, and just as slowly, he closed the remaining distance.

Her lips were soft and pliant, a sugary film of pineapple juice mingling with a previously applied coating of lip balm, creating a sweet, slightly fragrant taste that Grissom couldn't get enough of.

His lips were strong and purposeful, the natural scent of him combined with the faintest trace of soap creating a dangerous and potent mix. Her hands threaded through his hair, keeping him as close as molecularly possible.

He was gentle yet determined, allowing her to be an equal participant in every touch and kiss, and she returned his gentleness, but becoming more forceful by the minute until they were nearly battling for the upper hand, inducing a make out session that would make any teenager proud. Then, almost by mind reading, they slowed down. Frantic kisses, nibbles, touches became gentler, more soothing, and they both moved around slightly to find a more comfortable position on the couch. She leaned up slightly to place a soft peck on his cheek and his arms went around her, holding her close to him.

"How's your appetite now?"

She closed her eyes and pressed a kiss on his shirt-clad chest. "Sated. For the moment."

TBC