Some of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them. The rest belong to me, and if you want to play with them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any.

Spoilers: General fifth season through "Spark of Life."

This is in response to a private challenge. The story was to include a number of given phrases as well as an appearance by David, and to be G/S.

As ever, many thanks to Cincoflex, without whom this would not exist!

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Grissom was all but holding his breath as they walked down the street towards the twenty-four hour diner. His offer of lunch had been an impulse, and he had more than half-expected Sara to refuse, especially after their awkward moment earlier. The fact that she had accepted elated him, even if she seemed confused. Sooner or later, he figured, she would skewer him with those eyes and demand an explanation.

I think…for once…I will have one.

The diner wasn't crowded; they slid into a booth and ordered as soon as the server showed up, going for old favorites. Before Sara could say anything, Grissom held up a finger and pulled out his cellphone. "I need to call Wannemacher."

"He'll be asleep," Sara protested, but she was starting to grin. Grissom winked, and punched in the number.

"Exactly." He waited through two-and-a-half rings, holding the phone slightly away from his ear so that Sara could catch the sleepy "Hello?"

"District Attorney Wannemacher, this is Gil Grissom from the Crime Lab," Grissom said, using his best and most cheerful professional tone. "We have some updates on the Abel case."

"Oh?" Grissom could all but hear the D.A.'s ears pricking up. "Such as?"

"The evidence indicates that David Phillips is being framed for Abel's murder," Grissom informed him.

"What? By whom?"

"We're not sure. Possibly Susan Methody." Grissom felt a smirk coming on at the indignation in the man's voice.

"But Methody's dead."

"There's no evidence of that. The bloodstain in her car was staged."

An irritated growl reached Grissom's ear. "Have you found her?"

"That's the job of the police," Grissom pointed out politely. "However, we haven't turned up anything new to tell us where she might be."

"And?"

"And that's all."

"You woke me up just to tell me that?" Grissom wasn't sure, but there was possibly some gnashing of teeth going on.

"You did say you wanted to be kept abreast of developments." Grissom kept his voice smooth, though it was hard with Sara holding her hands over her mouth across from him and making muffled snickering noises.

"Next time just fax me, Dr. Grissom." The connection clicked off sharply, and Grissom closed his phone, feeling vindicated.

Sara let a laugh out. "That was evil, Grissom!"

He shrugged. "You don't think he deserved it?"

She lifted both hands in quick denial. "I didn't say that." Her face sobered. "It probably wasn't smart, though. Politically, I mean."

Grissom put his phone away. "I don't really care, Sara. Wannemacher was willing to move ahead of the evidence to satisfy his political ally, and as a consequence he basically harassed an innocent man. David could legitimately register a complaint against the department. If that's being political, I'd rather not."

The server came by and poured them coffee. Sara doctored hers, then lifted her cup in both hands, resting her elbows on the table and regarding him with a steady gaze. "That's one of the things I admire about you," she said at last. "Your integrity isn't for sale."

Her frankness left him without words, and Grissom sipped at his own cup to cover it. A hint of pink was dusting Sara's cheeks now, and he swallowed and found an answer. "Thank you. That, uh, means a lot."

She relaxed a little, drinking again and glancing out the window. He took the moment to study her, thinking of a hundred small moments where her statement didn't apply; it seemed to him that she was the one whose integrity was without question. She had done hard and painful things for what she believed in; she had suffered. And probably always will, he thought. Sara would always choose that thornier path.

The thing was, he hated to see her in pain. In fact, it had sometimes driven him away from her, when he couldn't stand to watch and do nothing, and when no words within the constraints of their present relationship would serve to ease her. Even if he could think of them.

But if things were different... If they were different, he could offer her comfort without limits. He could ease that pain, share it, make it less. He wouldn't have to worry so much.

It occurred to him, not for the first time, that he was tired of limits.

Maybe I don't have to wait for her to ask.

She was still looking out the window, her eyes a little unfocused, her face a little tired. She'd been working furiously on the Abel case, Grissom knew, but he'd had neither the will nor the desire to stop her; despite his own statement, some cases were special. And besides, it was hard to convince her to ease up when he himself was working just as hard.

Grissom took a breath, and set down his cup. The movement caught her attention, and Sara turned back, putting her own down and reaching idly for a spoon to stir it with. But the strength of his gaze seemed to penetrate, and she looked up again, puzzled. "What?"

Grissom shifted his jaw. "Sara, I..." He hesitated.

Her mouth and her expression both closed, sealing down into cool neutrality. "Is this going to be a lecture, Grissom? Because if it is, I think the lab's a better place for it."

That was not what he intended. Had he really hurt her that badly, that all she was expecting was a scolding? "No. I'm not going to lecture you."

She arched a brow and set the spoon aside. "Okay, then why are you looking at me like that?"

When he was growing up, the most intimate and personal conversations of Grissom's life had been conducted in sign rather than words. It had always been easier to speak his heart through gestures than through his lips, and since the habit had continued into adulthood, he'd never broken it. At the moment, he couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound abrupt or awkward, and he wasn't sure he could make his voice give the right inflections anyway. So he fell back on the familiarity of action, reaching across the table to take her hand in his.

Sara twitched with surprise, but didn't pull back as Grissom wrapped his fingers around hers. With a surge of confidence whose source he didn't know, he met her eyes again. "Because I...I want another chance, Sara."

It wasn't often at all that one got to see Sara Sidle looking astonished, and he tucked the sight away to remember later. Her surprise didn't last long; it melted into disbelief and a bit of bitterness. Her hand tensed, but he tightened his grip a little, unwilling to let her just pull away. "With me, you mean?" she asked, her voice low and skeptical.

Grissom nodded. She was exerting the slightest bit of pull, as though daring him to let her hand go. He didn't.

"What makes you think you deserve one?"

He let a brow go up. "I'm not sure I ever did. But this isn't about deserving, Sara, it's about asking. I'm asking for another chance."

Audacity seemed to do the trick; her eyes widened with outrage, but a small smile fought its way onto her face as well. "Spell it out for me, Griss. What exactly do you want? 'Cause I'm really tired of ambiguity."

Grissom licked his lips, reminding himself that none of the disasters he'd anticipated in this conversation had yet occurred. "I want to see if our friendship can develop into something more. I want to...have the right to worry about you, to make sure you get enough sleep." He slid his thumb over the pulse of her wrist, then gave into impulse and lifted her palm so he could press his lips to it for a moment. "I want to do that to you whenever I like." He cocked his head. "And wherever you like."

This time her face flushed all over, down her long throat, and he could feel that pulse running faster. "Um..." Sara swallowed. "Uh, Grissom..."

He just shrugged a little, letting his words lie between them. He'd run out, anyway.

"I need time to think about this," Sara said quickly, and his heart quailed, but then rallied when her fingers returned the pressure of his grip. "It's kind of, um, sudden."

"For me, too," he admitted, and she chuckled at that, and some of the tension evaporated. "Sara, I know we're not even the best of friends anymore, and a lot of that's my fault."

She didn't dispute his statement, only tilted her own head for a moment. "Trying to be friends while ignoring...this..." and she mimicked his gesture of two years previous, "hasn't worked too well."

Grissom nodded, letting his fingers tighten a little more on hers. "Combining the two might be interesting, though."

This time Sara laughed outright. "That's an understatement."

At that moment, the server arrived with their plates, and Grissom let her hand go with some reluctance. He expected discomfited silence, but it just didn't happen. Sara picked up a sandwich half - grilled cheese and tomato - and nodded at her plate. "Want my pickle?"

Grissom reached over and snagged it. "I thought you liked dills."

"Too limp here." She bit into her sandwich with enthusiasm.

And that was that. They slid easily into conversation about ongoing and past cases, as though some spring of tension had been released, allowing them to be simpler with one another again. It wasn't gone entirely, but Grissom didn't feel as though they were walking a high wire of caution any longer.
It was when they were walking silently back to the lab that Sara spoke. "Give me a few days to think about it, Grissom, okay?" Her glance was uncertain, almost shy. "It's not that I don't want to, but - "

"But you need time. I understand." The words tasted a little bitter, but it was only because he knew her caution was his fault.

She shrugged unhappily, her slenderness half-swallowed by his jacket. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Grissom stopped, and she did too, swinging around to face him. "Trust takes time." He reached out and gripped her arms gently just above the elbows, a nonthreatening gesture. "'A man who trusts can't be betrayed, only mistaken.' I don't want you to make a mistake, Sara. Take your time."

She let out a shaky breath, and he squeezed a little and let her go. "Who said that?" she asked. "Wilde?"

"Terry Nation, actually." Grissom put his hands in his pockets, and they returned to the lab.

xxxx

Two shifts passed; the Abel case came to a standstill as the last of the samples were processed but no new evidence was turned up. There was plenty to occupy the night shift, however.

David had not returned to work. When Sara saw the temporary diener on loan from dayshift still working in the morgue, she hunted up Robbins, finding him morosely going over budget sheets in the small back room he used as a storage and filing space.

"David's taking some leave time," Robbins replied to her concerned question. His expression was sour. "Those morons over at Administration were talking about keeping him on administrative leave until 'this gets straightened out' - " He gestured irritably.

"But it might not ever be, if nothing else turns up," Sara pointed out, distressed. Robbins snorted.

"Exactly, and that's what I told them. David says he'll take a few days, but if they don't get their heads out of their asses…" He didn't verbalize the threat, but Sara didn't doubt it. As the county's Chief Medical Officer, he could wield a considerable amount of power if he wanted. Sara suspected that because Robbins chose to work the night shift and remain relatively inconspicuous, notables such as the Sheriff tended to forget exactly what he could do.

"I'm sorry," she offered, feeling a little helpless at the lack of further evidence or leads. Robbins shook his head and sighed, and offered her a small smile.

"Not your fault. I know you and Gil are doing all you can."

Sara left him with a few more reassurances, still not happy about the situation but not knowing what else she could do. Her next stop was the police station for an interrogation; one of the suspects from her latest assault case had been located.

She nearly ran into O'Reilly in the hallway. "Hey! How's the search going?"

The detective frowned. "It's going. Not your problem."

Sara frowned right back. "Like hell!"

For a second they glowered at each other, and then O'Reilly exhaled heavily, running a hand over his short hair. "Sorry," he muttered.

Sara deflated, seeing the weariness etched into his face. "Me too. I'm just, you know, worried."

"Join the club," O'Reilly grunted; looking around, he put a big hand under her elbow and pulled her out of the hall and into one of the station's seating areas. "We're all pissed, Sidle. Phillips may be a ghoul but he's one of us."

Sara nodded, knowing that the nickname was mostly affectionate. "You've turned up nothing on Methody at all?"

The detective looked glum. "Not a thing. It's like she just vanished. No activity on her credit cards, not here or anywhere else."

"Maybe she hitched a ride," Sara said, without much hope. "It wouldn't be hard."

"Pretty little thing like that? Hell no," O'Reilly agreed. "We tried all her friends, but none of 'em admit to having seen her, and they all have alibis for the time she disappeared."

"So they might have funded her, but they didn't drive her out of town," Sara finished, and he nodded in turn.

"I hate to say it, Sidle, but we may be out of luck on this one."

Sara bit back an oath. If there had been more evidence to work on she would have run it into the ground, but she'd already been over everything a dozen times - phone lists, address book, and all - and there was simply no more information to be squeezed from them. Methody used her cellphone for most of her calls, and she seemed to have taken it with her. They didn't even know what company she used.

I guess I'll just have to take one more look. Her thought was stony with determination, but she gave O'Reilly a little smile. "Keep me posted, okay?"

He grunted again. "You bet."

With a sigh, she left for her interrogation.

When she got back to the lab, she passed Grissom as he was on his way out, and he merely nodded as he tugged on his jacket, obviously in a hurry. Sara waved back and went on to the evidence locker to pick up items for one of her current cases, but his image stuck in her mind - as it had for the past two nights.

She was coming to a belated appreciation of Grissom's dilemma, though she doubted her reasons for uncertainty were quite the same as his. A year ago I would have jumped at his - offer, whatever. Six months ago I might have yelled at him and walked out. Now -

Now, she didn't know what to do with the choice he'd dropped in her lap. She wasn't the same woman who had flirted with Grissom, nor the one who had mustered the courage to ask him out.

As she sorted through envelopes of evidence, the back of her mind kept going over the moments at the diner. The utter surprise and disbelief when he'd told her what he was thinking. The wrap of his fingers around hers - never a light thing - this time the move that convinced her he was speaking truth. The piercing, painful sweetness of his words, and the sudden heat that had flooded her when his mouth had touched her skin.

I could tell him I can't be more than friends anymore. Sara carefully cut open the red tape on one envelope and drew out the pocket flask within, and snorted to herself. Like that'll work. As she'd said herself, trying to ignore their attraction had never accomplished much. In fact, it had made things more difficult.

She dusted the flask for prints and lifted the results, considering possibilities. There's no guarantee that we could even make a relationship work. They were both workaholics, and while Sara wasn't too sure about Grissom's history, she herself hadn't had a lot of recent practice in being someone's significant other.

We could try it, and it might fail. In fact, it could fail catastrophically, leaving them burned and bitter and unable to stand the sight of each other. Or they could fail more gently, parting on better terms.

Sara rebagged and sealed the flask with unconscious expertise. We might even be able to stay friends afterwards. Unlikely, but a possibility. Passion might fade, but they had been good friends once, they could be again.

Or...it might work. And the thought sent a shiver over her, of incredible possibility.

Sara put the envelope down and picked up another one, feeling both delighted and a little bit scared. If he's really ready to do this...

…Maybe I am too.

xxxx

The sound of her phone pulled her from what was, for once, a fairly decent sleep, and she groaned as she reached out and snagged the receiver. "H'lo?"

Grissom's voice was disgustingly awake, but his words cleared the resentment as quickly as it formed. "O'Reilly just called. They found Methody."

Sara sat up straight, shocked alert. "Alive or dead?"

"Very much alive, according to O'Reilly. He's got her down at the station now, and our presence is requested."

She was already throwing off the covers with one hand and sliding out of bed. "I'll be out of the house in five."

"I'll pick you up. I'm almost at your place."

Sara blinked, taken aback, as she rummaged in her closet for clean slacks. "You are? What are you doing over here in the middle of the day?"

"Running an errand." A hum that she just then realized was a car engine shut off in the background. "I'm in your lot now."

"You - I'll be right down." Sara shut off the phone and tossed it on her bed, giving up arguing in favor of getting dressed, and dropped the question of Grissom's behavior for the moment. Methody was the key to this whole puzzle, and she wanted answers.

Grissom's Mercedes was parked right outside her building, and he leaned over to open the passenger door as she jogged out. Sara dropped into the seat and fastened the belt, and Grissom nodded at the center console. "Right one's yours."

There were two takeout cups of gourmet coffee sitting in the holder, and Sara shot him a wary look. "You stopped for coffee?"

He shrugged, putting his arm on the back of her seat as he looked behind to back out. "I was in line when I got the call. I just ordered two instead of one."

Hm. Sara picked up the cup nearest her and took a cautious sip; it was intense and sweet, the way she preferred. "Thanks."

Grissom put the car in gear and drove out of the lot. "You're welcome. And no tricks this time, Sidle."

It took her almost five seconds to figure out what he was talking about, and then she found herself laughing. "As long as I buy the next round."

The corner of his mouth tucked in, and he shot her a quick sly glance. "You can try."

See Chapter 7