Chapter 4

Valentine Daze

"I got this in the mail this morning," Catherine Willows said as she sat down at the table in the common room just before the start of the graveyard shift. She dropped a red envelope on the table, her expression was somewhat amused.

Gil gazed down envelope with its pattern of embossed red hearts. Catherine's name had been written in black ink in the most detailed calligraphy. There was no stamp upon it, so it had been hand delivered.

All these clues meant only one horrible thing.

As if to confirm his theory, Gil glanced towards the calendar on the wall, and seen a large 14 circled in a red lipstick heart.

"It's Valentines Day," Gil rolled his eyes.

"Oh, I forgot, Mr. Grissom hates Valentines Day," Catherine grinned, she gazed absently into her coffee – she'd brought Starbucks in with her.

"I don't 'hate' Valentines Day," Gil responded after a moment, "I just don't see what all the fuss is. People pin their whole romantic futures on this day – they pin their whole love life on whether they get one piece of cardboard with 'from guess who' written in phoney handwriting, or not."

Catherine merely laughed, "said the man who never gets Valentines from anyone," she glanced over at him. Gil was doing the crossword in today's newspaper. He looked as if he couldn't care less at her comment. She ignored his indifference and opened the envelope and slipped the card out, "tell me who you think sent this," she placed the card in front of him.

Gil sighed and picked the card up, he gazed at the cartoon on the front, "be my sex kitten," he read off the card, and somehow he couldn't even find it in him to laugh. He opened the card and looked for a signature, "oh, big surprise, it's from 'guess who'," he said, he rolled his eyes again.

"I thought it was cute," Catherine admitted, she gave a shrug.

"Unfortunately I don't know who might have sent it," Gil responded with a nonchalant shrug.

"In that case, I think I'm going to dust it for prints," she said, "I want to know who sent it. I know it's gotta be a joke, but I just gotta know," she smirked.

Gil tried to focus on his crossword, even the crossword was annoying him, it having several Valentines Day clues. All he wanted to do was forget about romance today.

"Got any plans for Valentines day?" Catherine asked, she sipped her coffee nonchalantly, she gazed over the rim of the cup at him.

"Apart from working, no," Gil responded, "and I really couldn't care less that I don't have any plans either. You know that all this is a typical 'Hallmark' commercialised holiday. Its just another useless day for people to spend money on useless little presents for each other. There's nothing special about it," he stated in a cold matter-of-fact tone.

"Nothing special?" Catherine asked, she shook her head, "that's not true. It's the one day of the year, we can be silly and romantic and tell someone else we want to be silly and romantic with them. It's the one day a year where you can get away with telling someone – albeit anonymously – that you're completely stoked for them – without that person thinking they have a stalker on their hands!"

Typical response for a woman, thought Gil as he pushed the newspaper away from him feeling very dejected.

"You've been single too long," Catherine shook her head at him, "if you were in love with someone, you wouldn't feel that way."

Gil thought immediately of Sara Sidle, but he tried to ignore the emotions that welled up inside of him every time he did think of her, "If I were 'in love' with someone, I wouldn't have a certain day in February dictate to me when I should be romantic towards her," Gil responded very quickly, he deliberately turned away from her. Catherine knew him too well, and he was afraid that even now if she should look into his eyes for a mere second, she'd be able to single out the conflict that had begun to go on in his mind between the two halves of him, one that wanted Sara, and the other that didn't.

"Gil, one of these days—" Catherine began in a rather firm and straightforward way, but before she could finish her thoughts, Sara Sidle strode into the office, and Catherine immediately closed her mouth.

Gil started to wonder if whatever Catherine was about to say had anything to do with Sara at all – why else should she suddenly clam up.

"Hi," Sara said quietly, she took a seat at the table, putting her hands together, she looked at both of them. "Sorry I'm late," she said to Gil, she gestured to the clock, she was two minutes late. "Neighbour had to drop me off, my car has been screwed all week."

"Still haven't got a new battery?" Catherine asked.

"I haven't had the chance, I sleep all day and work all night," Sara reminded. "And these 'all night garages' charge a bomb for their batteries and they're usually just second hand. I'm going to wait until I get a whole afternoon off – then I can look around and get a decent one that's brand new," she shrugged, "Anyway, did I interrupt something? Sounded like you were about to say something before I walked in," Sara admitted, although rather coldly, as if she thought Catherine might have been trying to hide a secret – or perhaps had been talking behind her back.

Gil glanced over to Sara briefly. Their work relationship had been very strained as of recent all because of events that had happened two weeks previously. He had been hoping over the past two weeks that the tension would die down, but he'd had no such luck in that.

Being civil at work was easy, but it was just barely civil and anytime that Gil had found himself alone with Sara at work, she'd been very aloof towards him and wouldn't meet his eyes when he looked at her. He was beginning to grow rather frustrated with it, but he hadn't been able to tell her so as of yet.

Catherine had the knack of picking up on the tension, Gil saw her eyes dart from left to right, and the look of realisation cross her face. She said nothing though, she simply folded her arms over her stomach, and glanced down at the card on the table, pretending it was more interesting than the look that Gil was giving Sara at this moment.

Sara was going through her bag, she pulled out a packet of Nicorette gum and put it on the table, and placed her bag on the floor by her feet. She opened the box, and took out a piece.

Gil watched her with absurd fascination.

"So…" Catherine said, deciding to cut the awkward silence, the tension felt so infinitely thick it might have blunted a knife. "Sara…get any Valentines?"

Sara threw Catherine a look that said it all, really, but she spoke, "no."

Gil was surprised at this. Sara was a beautiful woman, and had many admirers in the police department, that it seemed almost unnatural she hadn't received any.

Catherine gave an expression that really said 'sorry I even asked', she sipped her coffee, and looked away. "Where are the others?" she asked of Gil.

"Nick and Warrick are at a basketball game, I believe it's just us three on tonight. Short staffed as we are, I'm sure we'll do just fine," Gil responded.

"So…what are we doing?" Catherine asked, she pushed her hair back from her face.

"You two can work together – big heist at the MGM."

"Joy," Catherine commented and Sara snorted as if to agree.

Gil felt their pain, robberies were the most boring cases to deal with in his opinion, barely anything about them fascinated him anymore. "I know, I know," he nodded, deciding to agree, "But it's high priority, so…I need you both on it," he promised himself he'd make it up to them – later.

Sara and Catherine stood up, "Fine…" Catherine said, "Let's go."

Gil caught Sara giving him an almost forlorn glance, then she turned quickly away when she noticed he was looking right back at her. Gil watched the two women leave, and he shook his head at himself. Snap out of it, stop mooning over her, Gil. It's not going to work.

The rest of the night Gil found himself so busy he momentarily forgot about Valentines Day – or his feelings for Sara – that was until he had to stop in to see Greg Sanders in the lab. Gil immediately forgot the reason he was there the minute he saw Greg was sitting doodling on a piece of folded card, he'd drawn several rather childish looking love hearts.

"What is this?" Gil asked, he pointed to the piece of paper.

"Uh, nothing," Greg said, his cheeks flushed instantly and he pushed it under a pile of DNA printouts.

Gil moved over swiftly, and retrieved the piece of card from under the printouts, "a homemade card?" He asked, raising an eyebrow, "for…?"

"Sara," Greg responded, his eyes fell to the desk, he looked sheepish, and ever so boyish, that Gil was finding it hard to be mad at him. "I was passing by the common room and I heard Sara say she didn't get any," he confessed, he traced an invisible pattern on the desk with his index finger. "So…"

"So you thought you'd make her one?" Gil raised an eyebrow.

"I know it's not gonna score me any points whatsoever with her, she's way out of my league, but…I just thought, hey, she'll never know who it's from and…maybe it'd cheer her up. She's been so…down in the dumps this last few weeks. I don't know what's eatin' at her, but…y'know, I thought I could maybe just temporarily make her feel better."

Gil couldn't be angry at Greg anymore, he sighed, "do it on your break, okay?" he asked quietly.

"Okay," Greg nodded, beginning to look relieved. "Don't you find it weird?"

"Don't I find what weird?" Gil asked, he took a seat beside Greg at the desk, and he looked at the young man in curiosity.

"How…someone…as great as her, could be so…single?" Greg asked. "It's like she's saving herself or something…" he admitted. "Waiting for someone, maybe…I dunno, Mr Right, who knows?" Greg shrugged, he yanked off the latex gloves he'd been wearing.

Gil lost himself in his thought for a moment. It's funny how perceptive this kid can be…Could it be he's right? Could it be that she's just…waiting…waiting for …me maybe?

He shook himself out of his thoughts.

No, that's…preposterous. Why would I think that? Thinking such a stupid thing is only ego massage, why should I be full of myself. She could have any guy she wanted – why would she save herself for me?

"Not that it has any relevance," Gil said, and cleared his throat just a little, he let his elbow rest on the desk, and he propped his chin upon his fist, "but who do you see as 'Mr Right' for Sara?" he used his free hand to pick up a DNA printout, and he let his eyes scan over it, pretending to be more interested in work than what Greg thought.

Greg didn't answer for some moments, and Gil eventually felt he had to speak again.

"Sorry, that's probably a hard one to answer," he put the printout down.

"No, it's not that," Greg admitted, "I've thought about it like, a hundred times, I think…" he confessed, "but the weird thing is, the only guy I can peg as her so-called 'Mr Right'…is probably the last person you'd think," his eyes fell to the desk. A pencil was lying there, and he pushed it with his middle finger so that it rolled – stopping a mere centimetre before falling off the desk completely.

"Tell me…" Gil said, he picked up the pencil Greg had just rolled over, and he put it in an official LVDP cup that was sitting there on the desk – filled with several other assorted pencils and pens.

"Well…Sara is a workaholic, so anyone she gets together with has gotta understand how important her work is to her, and he's gotta feel the same…he's gotta be…I don't know…passionate about his work too." Greg shrugged, his eyes never left the desk, he looked crestfallen, as if with every word he was realising more and more that his feelings for Sara might never amount to anything other than a crush.

"Oh?" Gil asked.

"He's the kind of guy who gets excited about the tiniest things at work, y'know, totally amazed by tiny simple little things – things that she'd find fascinating too…" Greg added, rolling his eyes. "And since…y'know, she works weird hours, he's gotta be someone as much of a night owl as she is – someone who really prefers the night to the daytime," Greg added, he looked down at his idle hands, "he has to be someone she trusts, someone she can talk to, someone she wouldn't be afraid to cry in front of. Someone she respects and admires, but someone she can also just…stand up to. He's sincere, y'know, no bullshit. He doesn't do mean things or look out for his own ass – he spends more time worrying about everyone else than himself."

Gil couldn't help but stare at Greg in wonderment. Did this man actually exist, or was he made up completely?

"He's gotta be someone who's interesting, someone who knows a hundred thousand fascinating little things – someone who can really talk to her about any subject without running out of things to say…" Greg added.

Gil wondered how much more wonderful this imaginary 'Mr Right' could be.

"He's someone who doesn't…take pride in being right, because it's not about 'being right' that counts to him. He's also someone that can actually admit he's wrong occasionally. He can admit he's made mistakes, he can admit he's done something stupid and take full responsibility for it," Greg drew in a breath, "this guy is someone who appreciates her for how brilliant she is - her mind, her intelligence, her passion, her courage…"

He has thought about this a lot, thought Gil, he stared even harder at Greg.

"He's an enigma to almost everyone who knows him – and Sara likes that, because you know our Sara…she loves a mystery…" Greg stopped, the sound of the door opening caught him off guard. Catherine was there, leaning into the room. "Hey," Greg brightened up, as if he didn't like the thought of Catherine seeing him so glum.

"Did you get to work on that swab I sent over two hours ago?" Catherine asked, she tucked her hair behind her ear.

Greg scratched the back of his neck, "Yeah, that black stuff, it was paint, diluted with turpentine," he responded, "here…" he said, he grabbed a printout from another section of the desk and rolled his chair over to the door to hand her it. "Everything you need to know is right there.

"Thanks," Catherine said absently, she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Gil watched Catherine disappear through the windows, and then he turned back to Greg, "so…who is this guy?" he asked, he smirked. He was waiting for Greg to mention some fictional character from a famous book, or movie, or television programme. Instead Greg's eyes squinted slightly and he looked at Gil as if in complete disbelief.

"You mean you don't know?" Greg asked, his voice incredulous.

"Uh…no…" Gil said, he raised an eyebrow.

Greg gave a snort that was half between scoff and laugh, "and you're meant to be the most perceptive and observant guy in here…" was all he replied to this and he stood up, grabbing his printouts, he opened a folder and began to add them into it.

Gil blinked, "did I miss something?"

"Only that Sara's 'Mr Right' can only really match up to one person in this building…" Greg forced a smile, and it was a rather wry one at that, "only one person in this room for that matter. And sadly, it isn't me."

Gil was shaking when he left the lab, however hard he tried to hide it, he couldn't stop tingling. What Greg had said had been like being cornered and attacked, being chained and left to die trembling in the cold. He felt exposed and vulnerable.

What Greg had said – all those things he'd said the man Sara's 'Mr Right' would need to be – seemed to be true. But he'd never imagined he was all those things. Even as Greg had listed each thing off, Gil had never at any point thought to himself 'that's me'.

So when Greg had finally come out with his theory that the only person in the whole world – or was it only in the police department? – good enough for Sara Sidle was in fact Gil Grissom himself, it had come as a shock.

Gil couldn't work properly after this. He still felt exposed, in fact, he was sure where his chest was, there might be an ugly gaping wound laying open with a path right to his raw heart.

It was hard enough loving Sara and having to keep his distance from her. But it was harder being told that you might be that other persons soul mate, that out of so many others, he was the only person who was 'right' enough for her. This information felt like it was physically hurting him as well as emotionally.

He would have rather gone through the rest of his life believing he and Sara were a very bad match and that any relationship would be pointless and wouldn't work. He could have gone a lifetime without knowing that he and Sara were perfect for each other.

Gil sat his desk idle, a pen poised in his hand. He had so much paperwork to do, but couldn't focus on any of it. Greg's words kept replaying in his head like a broken record. Every little detail of that discussion, Gil knew, would haunt him for the rest of his life.

No, it won't haunt you, Gil decided. Not if you just do something about it instead of sitting like a butterfly caught in a spider web. If you don't, it probably will haunt you though, because you're always going to be wondering. And even if you forget about it, something will eventually come back and bite you in the ass to make you remember it all over again.

Gil began to wonder if maybe his own opinion about being with Sara was biased because it was in his own favour. I could be telling myself I'm wrong for her because I wanted to be wrong for her. I could just be convincing myself it won't go anywhere because I don't want all that heartache and misery that go along with relationships, he thought.

Greg's opinion though…that can't be biased, he realised. Greg couldn't benefit from his own opinion, and therefore, that was unbiased, and more reliable.

Gil shook his head. The kid nailed it, he thought. He actually nailed it on the head. He actually took time and thought long and hard about – and somehow he managed to connect me and Sara in his theory without ever knowing how me and Sara feel about each other.

The thought was staggering.

"Grissom…"

Gil blinked, he'd left his office door open, and Sara was standing there, her hand against the threshold. She had her jacket on, and she was looking at him in a somewhat curious way.

"Your shift ended half an hour ago," Sara said, she sounded tired, and empty.

Gil glanced quickly towards the clock on his desk. Sara was right. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that time had flown so quickly he'd failed to notice he should have been home by now. "Oh…" he said, he quickly tidied away the papers on his desk.

"You looked a million miles away just then," Sara said. It was the first time her voice had softened towards him in two whole weeks – it no longer held the coldness it had been full of since the night she'd yelled at him in his car. Gil was beginning to wonder now if she had finally begun to cool down.

"I was," he confessed, although this was as much as he was willing to admit, he grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and pulled it on, headed towards the door, "you should be home by now…" Gil pointed out. She, too, should have finished her shift half an hour ago.

"I got held up in the interrogation room, I thought we'd better keep it going while we could – wrapping it up just because my shift finished would mean compromising the whole investigation and possibly give the suspect several hours to come up with a new story," Sara explained.

Gil nodded, he stepped over to the door, he hit the light switch, drowning the office in thick blackness. Sara stood merely a foot apart from him, and her eyes searched his momentarily.

Already, Gil could feel the familiar forlorn emotions surfacing – and it reminded him of the raw emotional wound Greg had left him with by telling him that he – Gil Grissom – was Sara's 'Mr Right'. Not wanting to expose that gaping emotional wound to Sara, he turned from her, stepped out into the hall, shut the office door and locked it securely.

"Can…I have a ride home?" Sara asked quietly, she glanced down to her feet awkwardly.

Gil turned to her, "walked to work?" he shoved the keys in his jacket pocket. Has she been drinking again? He asked himself in thought, he felt the immediate concern that always arose just after he asked himself that question. Since she'd been pulled over for drinking and driving – and had just barely managed to escape with a warning – she had been driving to work less and less, and it always left Gil wondering just how much she did drink on a regular basis.

"A neighbour dropped me off. My car has been sitting in the parking lot outside my building all week – the battery died and I haven't had a chance to shop for a new one," she replied, her tone indifferent and monotone.

Okay, now that I think about it, I think I heard her mention it to Cath earlier, Gil suddenly realised. Why must I keep jumping to this drinking conclusion?

Sara waited for a reply to her question, but did not look at him. Gil found himself trying to fathom if it would be a good idea to get into a car with her again or not. Especially after all they'd been through in the past month. He wasn't sure if he was emotionally strong enough should any other outbursts occur.

I can't let her walk home, look at her, she's exhausted. Do I really want her walking home in such a tired state – what if she crossed the street and failed to notice a truck hurtling down the road? Gil hated himself for thinking so morbidly, he pulled himself out of the reverie of visions that thought had onslaught him with. "Of course you can have a ride home."

They were silent as they left the building together, and they climbed into Gil's SUV barely even glancing at each other. Gil switched the radio on immediately after starting the car, to free them both of an awkward silence. He'd left the radio on a 24 hour news station. A newsreader was prattling on about a celebrity engagement that had been publicly announced the previous morning – a rock star had proposed to his actress girlfriend for Valentines Day. Gil didn't recognise either celebrity names, and he didn't care either.

"Ugh. More stupid Valentines Day propaganda," Sara suddenly uttered, "they make it sound romantic – they're both has-beens who're just announcing their engagement for publicity to boost their own stupid little careers," she added.

"Probably," Gil confessed, he stopped at a red light. "So…you hate Valentines Day too, then?" he asked.

"I just think it's…stupid…" Sara said, "it's not about love or meaning, it's about commercialism."

"I agree," Gil seconded that.

"It's the one day of the year that couples celebrate and seem to glory in making anyone who's single feel like a complete loser," Sara grumbled.

Gil had to smile at that. She sounded bitter, but she reminded him somewhat of himself at that moment. He'd thought the same thing on more than one occasion in the last twenty-four hours.

"I got a card," Sara finally admitted.

"Oh?" Gil asked, he already knew this, he knew all about it.

"It was slipped into my locker," Sara added, "I know who it was from. It had his fingerprints on it."

Gil was greatly amused by the fact that she'd fingerprinted a homemade card – and probably ruined it altogether just to find out who sent it. He was going to guess Catherine had something to do with that idea.

"Trust the guy to make you a card end up covering it with his own trace evidence," Gil responded with a smile. "A little careless, I know."

Sara's head snapped to the side to look at him, "I never said it was a 'homemade' card."

"Oh…" Gil realised. Had he just given Greg's secret away? Had he just admitted he'd been there when Greg had made the card…and did it matter, since she'd obviously found Greg's fingerprints all over it anyway. "At least you got one," Gil then said matter-of-factly. "I don't think, in all of my forty-nine years on this planet that I've ever actually had a Valentine."

"Shocker," Sara responded, but she had a slight smile playing on her lips.

"I'm not a Valentines Day kind of guy," Gil admitted, "I'm more of a…" he paused, looking for the words.

"Finding the romantic lives of bugs more fascinating kind of guy," Sara finished for him.

"Yeah, I guess I am," Gil smirked. The red light changed to green, and they were off on their journey again. He found it strange, now how he and Sara were suddenly talking again after having fallen out over his bad choices barely two weeks ago. He wondered if this was just another sign that Greg might be right about their being made for each other. But Gil guessed that the hostility or emotion in Sara had probably just burned itself out.

He found himself very suddenly absurdly wishing he could send her a dozen red roses – just to see if her views on Valentines Day would suddenly swing in a different direction.

Uh oh, you're doing it again. You don't want to test a theory about her hatred of Valentines day being based on her lack of received gifts. You just want to send her flowers because you want to see her face light up when she sees the card says they're from you. Gil forced the thought out of his mind, and tried to focus on driving.

"I guess I shouldn't complain about Valentines day too much…since I did get a card. Even if it was homemade and coloured in like it was done by a six year old," she added with an amused grin.

"It was a little childish looking, I'll admit," Gil shrugged. "But it's the thought that counts, right?" he asked as he parked the car in the residential lot behind her building.

"Of course it is," she said, and she reached over and touched his arm tenderly in a way that caught him by surprise. He looked down at her hand the tips of her fingers lightly on the soft suede of his sleeve. "And…it surprised me…" she said.

Gil raised his eyes to glance over at her. He didn't understand what she meant. Why was she all of a sudden so tender towards him after he'd made such a horrible mistake two weeks before? "Why…did it surprise you?"

"Because the thought was in it…" Sara confessed, her eyes softened. "I didn't think you'd ever...I mean…I just didn't figure you'd do something like that, especially since…you seem to go all speechless any time I try to talk about 'us' with you…"

Wait a minute, what is she saying? Gil panicked. Does she think that I sent the card? He tried to replay the events of today through his mind, and bits of pieces only seemed to stand out. And then he realised something he'd done earlier that day. When he'd come into the lab, Greg had been doodling on the card – but he had been wearing latex gloves. Gil remembered watching him taking them off.

Gil also now remembered having picked up the card himself – with his bare hands. Picking up the card would leave his own fingerprints on the card.

Oh…my…God.

The words were slow and clear in his head. They repeated themselves several times. How could this misunderstanding occur? All he'd done was touch a silly piece of card. He would have never thought that somehow, he could have accidentally altered the whole perception of who'd given the card just by a simple touch.

And now, he had the helpless realisation that now, he had to answer to it. She was waiting for him to make some kind of reference to the card she thought he'd sent her.

There were two choices he felt were most likely to work in this situation.

He could tell her that he made the card only to cheer her up because he felt bad she didn't receive any from anyone. It might be a slightly bad way to deal with the situation – because first it would be a lie, and second, it might make her feel like he was pitying her.

Of course, there was always the truth. Greg made the card, I caught him making it, he hid it under a pile of printouts but I found it and picked it up. It was the honest truth, but he could see how even saying it might sound like a lie. It might even provoke her into being more angry with him than she had been before. It might make her assume he was playing games with her even more than she'd thought he was before.

A third option crossed his mind, by far, it felt like the worst of all the thoughts he'd had today.

I could tell her I made the card, I could tell her I put it in her locker, I could even tell her that I had thought for two weeks about what she'd said and this card was my way of saying I was sorry, and I was ready to 'give in' in that way that she wanted me to…this…this whole thing would be an opportunity for me to be with her without having to ever properly initiate everything and end up all tongue-tied trying to do so.

There was something very wrong about that third option, he felt. The fact that it was a complete fabrication bothered him, and that he'd be taking credit for someone else's idea entirely bothered him even more.

But then, Greg had said 'she'll never know who' its from'. It made sense now why the design Greg had doodled was so childish instead of something much more elaborate which Gil felt he was more than capable of. It made sense now why Greg had worn latex gloves while he in the process of making it – he had never intended for her to find out at all. Not even to hint that it had been from him in the first place. The card had merely been meant to make Sara temporarily happy.

So…if I take credit for the card, would Greg ever actually know? Gil wondered. The whole thought left him feeling rather unethical, and like a child considering cheating for a school exam.

He looked at Sara. How could he deny the card was from him and have her believe it without having her lose her temper with him again? How could he take credit for it without feeling guilty? Both solutions had a bad side. There was no way to win.

There's only one thing to do, Gil. You have to tell her that she's gotten the wrong end of the stick somehow.

Sara was looking at him and smiling curiously, waiting for him to say something, he'd been silent for so long now.

She looks so happy, though. How can I tell her the card isn't from me when the reason she's happy is that she thinks it is? Come on, you have to tell her the truth. How mad can she get? It's a piece of cardboard with badly drawn hearts on it. I'm sure she'd appreciate the honesty rather than the lie…

"I…uh…" Gil tried to speak.

"I'm sorry…about how I acted two weeks ago…" Sara said, she reached over to touch his cheek but he caught her hand.

"The card isn't from me, it's from Greg," Gil blurted, his eyes wide, his mouth hung open to take a very large breath to calm himself before what he felt was probably going to be the worst argument he'd ever had with Sara yet.

"What?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Greg made it…I…I just happened to touch it accidentally…" he tried to explain.

Sara's eyes never left him, her hand remained grasped in his own. Gil wished he'd thought to grab the other hand just in case she'd thought to lash out and slap him for letting her go further in believing it was from him instead of nipping it in the bud straight away. He supposed he could deserve that for having left it this long.

She let out a half laugh – almost nervously. "I guess I should have known…" she said then, her voice had a quiver underlying, "I should have known that you'd have never had the balls to do anything like that…I should have known," she chided herself. He could already see the expression of self-loathing in her eyes that she'd fallen for it – and he could already feel the heat rising in his cheeks in anger.

What does she mean I'd never have the balls to do anything like that? I've done plenty of wild thing things in my life – things wilder than posting a stupid piece of cardboard with an anonymous love message into a woman's locker.

Maybe it was because he felt her comment was such a stab to his masculinity that he decided right then he wasn't going to sit back anymore and just play denial with her any longer. That he just wasn't going to sit speechless and idle and let her think that he was too weak to even tell anyone how he felt about anything - too scared to take any chances emotionally.

Gil had never felt such a challenge before as he did right then at that moment, and he was never one to withdraw from any challenge – even when the stakes were high.

He surprised himself just then, acting on impulse rather than sitting weighing out the pros and cons in his head first like he tended to do frequently. His movement was fast, reflexive, and very unlike him. He put his hand behind her neck and drew her in quickly. He pressed his mouth to hers in a desperate kiss that he felt he'd waited far too long to feel.

Sara never had a chance to react before he did so – he knew from the way she froze up that it was what she had least expected. It was what he had least expected to. He'd never let his impulses control him like this before.

Gil was violently shaking – he could feel those trembles through every nerve ending in his body, even to his lips. He didn't understand what was causing it…those trembles might have been from anger, lust, love or fear – or perhaps it was a culmination of all four, resulting in a powerful supernova of emotions.

He didn't care.

It wasn't until that moment, with his lips still hard against hers, that he realised he was more alive then than he'd ever been before.

However…it wasn't until he moved back, finally out of breath, that he realised didn't know what to do next.