Chapter Sixteen

II

There was a butterfly in his window, flying in the midnight sun. Yellow and green, sun and grass, summer on its wings. The entomologist in him wondered what butterflies dared the north, the man in him was longing to show the beauty to Sara.

Gil Grissom was torn, he had to admit. Within him, it seemed feelings he'd forgotten had come out, reaching for the sun. Desire. Fear. Happiness. Relief. Anger. Dread. Longing.

Longing.

Longing for Las Vegas, for home soil, for home skin, for himself again. Longing for Catherine, to see her smile at him, know she was truly okay. Longing for Warrick's presence, filled with the passion and the drive that would one day run the lab. Longing for his house, his land, his clearly defined borders. Longing for Sara. Her mind, her presence, her skin, her touch.

Sara.

He let out a breath and the butterfly flapped away, chasing the summer night. He'd slept with her. In a moment of weakness and darkness, he'd reached for her. This new Grissom, this daring Grissom he had long since thought age had killed. He'd kissed her, caressed her skin, possessed her body, seen her eyes. Such beauty in her eyes, for they held her spirit and mind.

And now, it wasn't enough. As he had always known it would be, as he'd always feared it would be.

It wasn't enough.

They hadn't had much chance to talk. Perhaps he'd even willed it so, all the words he might say to her muddled in his own mind still. And they had a case to solve. For a moment, he felt a bang of guilt. He should be thinking of Anna, not Sara. But coming to Norway had been nothing as he had imagined and then there had been Catherine and Warrick's disappearance...

Catherine had called earlier in the evening, her voice tired and wonderfully and soft as she spoke of Warrick. He'd just listened to her, feeling warmed by her voice and the knowledge she was safe and he hadn't lost her. But a part of him felt a hint of anger directed at her, for making him be afraid, for casting him adrift, for making him find a harbour in Sara.

The rational part of him knew it was misdirection. The real anger wasn't directed at Catherine, or at Sara for that matter. It was at himself, for resolving not to try a life with her in the first place, for tossing that resolution to the wind when faced with possible loss. And now he had to sort out this new land, redefine borders, redefine Grissom.

The knock on his door was expected and he opened it to see Sara in the hallways, colour in her cheeks. She and Greg had lingered in the bar for celebratory drinks a bit longer, but Greg had evidently finally gone to bed and here she was. As he had known she would be.

"Hey," she said softly.

A part of him that wanted to hurt her almost asked how much she'd have to drink. But he bit it back. She was not a drunk, had never been so and she didn't deserve him cheapening her problems down to that.

"Hey," he echoed instead, wondering why his voice was so soft.

"Wanna go for a walk?" she asked and looked at him. He met her glance and knew what she was asking. If he said no, she would never talk about last night again. It would never have happened. She was tired of chasing him. One last question, making last night real.

"Yes," he replied and parts of his mind screamed at him. Something almost like surprise flashed across her face as well, followed by the faintest lingering smile.

"Let's go, then."

They went.

Oslo was quiet in the night, just hints of distant traffic and a few fellow humans awake. The smell of rain had been burned away, leaving only traces of dark, wet earth as they walked in the light night. The sun was low, almost ready to dip below the horizon for a few hours before returning to shine another day almost through.

"What are you telling me with your silence, Grissom?" she asked after a while.

"That I don't know what to say."

She considered that for a moment, her hair dark as it brushed against green leaves. "No 'this was a great mistake, I didn't mean it' speech?"

"I meant it from the moment I kissed you," he replied honestly and he wasn't sure who was more surprised, she or him. "But..."

"The dreaded 'but'," she muttered and the light in her eyes faded.

"I'm old, I'm your supervisor, I'm... I'm not good with... You," he said haltingly, awkwardly.

"And I was raised in a dysfunctional family, get too emotional and have dated more than one guy that was all wrong for me," she countered. "What else have you got?"

"I'm emotionally unavailable."

"We have established that," she said with a hint of humour in her voice. "Why I went after you, remember?"

He wondered if she was amused by herself or him, or just the trappings of life. After all she had done to be near him - come to Las Vegas, invited him to dinner, stayed despite thinking of leaving - it was in fact Catherine and Warrick and a perp that had brought him to her embrace.

'Perhaps I would have come anyway,' he thought and it was a dangerous thought.

"Not the only reason I went after you, though," she said softly and her honesty almost felt like rain drowning him.

"I didn't ask you to..."

"Fall in love with you? You did, Grissom. With every look."

"You can't love me. You don't know me," he said quickly without really thinking, a reflex from the darkness of his mind.

"And whose fault is that?" she countered angrily, then took a deep breath. "I do know you, Grissom. You just refuse to acknowledge it, as if that would give me some kind of hold over you."

"It would," he said quietly. "You could leave me and I would have nothing."

She halted and stared at him. They had walked down to what Grissom recognised as the city hall and stood at a square leading to the harbour. The water glimmered before him, breaking the last of the sun's rays, exposing what the sun hid in its light. Not secret anymore.

"I heard what you told Dr. Lurie that one time," she said suddenly, eyes now on the sea and the boats slowly rocking in the slight waves. "I was angry with each word you spoke. I realised I didn't mean enough for you to take that risk."

"You meant too much for me to take that risk," he countered, feeling his breath caught in his throat. She had heard. She had known. She had known a part of him, a part of his fear all this time.

"I just want the possibility, Gil. I'm not looking for guarantees or promises or a house with picket fences and a dog and barbecue parties for our neighbours. I'm looking for you," she said simply, her voice even. Not pleading, not excusing, just stating a fact.

'That's what I'm afraid of,' he thought and for a moment, the silence seemed louder than all the roar the sea could ever muster.

"I... I don't know what I can offer you," he started, feeling as if he was taking a wild fly off the ski jump looming over the city.

"You told me once I deserved to have a life," she cut in and past hurt seemed to lace her words. "Did you mean it?"

"Yes."

"And if the life I want is with you, do I deserve that still?"

He bit his lip, but when the word came out, it felt like a burden fell off him. "Yes."

She didn't triumph, didn't beam happily, didn't look at him. She merely let out a slow breath, an exhale of life. The wind caressed her skin and stroked her hair and he wished he was it, always free to be near her.

"The sun's going down," she said distantly. "Almost morning and the sun is setting."

"It'll rise again in a few hours."

She nodded, closing her eyes to the sea and the sky and as he watched her, he almost felt young, almost felt brave.

"You want to have breakfast with me?" he asked. "See what happens?"

She finally turned to look at him, the dying sun in her eyes, his heart for a moment in her hands.

"It's a start," she acknowledged, her voice firm. "Yes. I'd love to have breakfast with you."

She smiled at him as they walked on in silence, the sun at last falling below the horizon. It would rise again, starting a new day, and strangely, he found he longed for it.

'A start,' he thought. New country, new territory. New morning. New Grissom, new Sara. She'd want more than a start, want what he didn't know if he could give. And even what he could give might not be enough.

But maybe it would be. Maybe...

The day was already over. All he could do was walk into the next, Sara next to him, a mere touch away.

A start.