A/N Just in case we forgot that there are more people in the CSI world (gasp! doesn't CSI revolve around Sara and Grissom?) here we are back at the lab.

Chapter 5

Seven weeks. For seven weeks he had been able to hold it all together, working at the lab all night, spending much of his day with Sara before going home to sleep, waking up just in time to go to work. For seven weeks he had kept Sara's secret, even though he didn't agree with her reasoning. It was only a matter of time before something broke.

He was in the morgue when it happened. It was a domestic abuse case, the kind Sara would have gotten over involved in if she had been at work. This time the husband had gone too far. He went too far the first time, Sara's voice echoed in his head. The woman was covered in bruises, some from shortly before her death, others weeks old. The X-ray films hanging on the wall showed at least three prior fractures on her arm, as well as a broken tibia and multiple facial fractures. All evidence pointed to long term abuse.

"Fucking bastard. There isn't enough pain and suffering in the world, this guy felt like he had to add to it"

Al Robbins looked across the body to the man on the other side of the table. Never in his memory had he heard the night shift supervisor speak so heatedly, or use such language.

"Gil? Are you okay."

He hadn't realized that he had spoken his thought out loud, certainly hadn't meant to. Now Al was looking at him, concern obvious.

"I'm fine."

"Then I'd hate to see you when your not fine."

"I just hate cases like this." Blame it on work. Work is safe.

"We all do, but unfortunately we get cases like this all too often. You, however, have been... preoccupied... for at least a couple of weeks now. What's going on?"

If it had been anyone else, he wouldn't have said anything. Brass, Catherine, they were too close and he would have felt like he was betraying Sara to talk to them. But Doc Robbins, isolated in his morgue with only the bodies of the dead, seemed like a safe person to talk to. Someone he could trust not to add to the water cooler gossip. And suddenly he needed to talk to someone.

"I have this... friend. My friend was recently diagnosed with cancer. I only know about it because I found out by accident, but this person won't tell anyone else. I've been visiting everyday and I think, I hope, that I am helping. But it's hard, watching this person going through everything they're faced with. I want to do more. I want to... I don't know. I feel helpless." He carefully avoided even using gender in his story, not wanting to give away more then he had. Al had a pretty good idea of who they were talking about, though he desperately hoped that he was wrong.

"Why doesn't your friend tell other people what's happening?"

"My friend is a very... private person. Also a very independent person. Doesn't have any family, and has trouble letting other people in."

"Are we talking about Sara? Is this why she took the leave of absence?"

The slight widening of Grissom's eyes confirmed Al's suspicions before his words did. Damn. He didn't want to be right.

"God, Gil. I'm sorry. Is there anything that I can do? Who's her doctor?"

"Dr. Sheldon, out of Desert Palms." Grissom answered the simplest question, not sure what to say about the rest.

"He's a good man, top of his field." Privately Al resolved to call the doctor, make sure everything possible was being done. Being head coroner of Las Vegas carried some weight in the medical community, even if all his patents were dead. Well, except that one guy.

"Thanks, Al. I know I don't have to ask, but..."

"I won't say a word. Neither will they." He motioned to the two draped bodies behind him. "Dead men tell no tales."

Together they turned back to the body before them, returning to the relative ease of work. When the examination was over and Grissom had left to meet Brass at the husband's house Al headed strait for the bookcase in his office, removing his worn copy of The Physician's Desk Reference. With one hand he leafed through the pages until he reached the chapters on oncology, with the other he picked up the phone. Looking up from the book only long enough to dial, he skimmed through the first chapter.

"Yes, hello. I'd like to speak to Dr. Sheldon regarding a patient of his. Yes, I'll hold."

Doc Robbins wasn't the only one who was concerned about Grissom. The whole night shift team had noticed that something was different. One morning after shift, Catherine finally decided to broach the subject. They were all having breakfast at the diner. Well, all but Grissom.

"So, am I the only one who thinks that Grissom has been acting weird lately?"

"What do you mean?" Still getting use to being a full member of the team, Greg cautiously questioned before agreeing to anything.

"Well, there's overtime for one thing."

"What overtime?" Nick questioned this time.

"That's my point. Griss had barely logged in any overtime this month. If that's not weird, I don't know what is"

"Especially since he was maxing out after Sara left. Even more then usual." Warrick pointed out.

"And is it just me, or is he more absent minded then usual? Last week he scheduled me to work on a day that I had to be in court. He's never done that before." Nick was perplexed.

"If it were anyone else, I'd say they had a girlfriend." Greg meant it as a joke, but everyone looked at each other in speculation. Was it possible? He did seem pretty eager to leave the lab when his shift was over. Didn't usually come in until an hour before shift started. And the paper work was piling up on his desk at an alarming rate. That, at least, was normal. He had to be doing something with all that free time, away from work. A girlfriend?

"No, that's just too... weird." Nick tried to picture Grissom with a girlfriend. The only person he could remotely see her with was maybe Sara, and they all knew that wasn't possible.

"Plus, if he was seeing someone, don't you think he'd be happier?" Warrick pointed out.

"True," added Catherine. "He's not as grouchy as he was, but not happy either. He is definitely not having sex."

"You guys talking about me?" Brass pulled up a chair. "Cause the last time I..."

"You can stop right there, Brass. We don't want to know."

"Now Cath, I'm hurt." He mimicked a pained expression, to which Catherine responded by rolling her eyes. "So if we're not talking about me, who are we talking about?"

"Grissom."

"You know, speaking of Grissom; does anyone think the guy is acting a little weird lately?" His confused expression was not faked this time when everyone at the table burst into laughter.

Unaware that his love life, or lack there of, was being discussed just blocks away, Grissom left the lab and headed out to the parking lot. He contemplated calling Sara and letting her know that he couldn't come over, but decided against it. Just yesterday he had left her with a kiss, and he was afraid that if he didn't come over today his absence might get misinterpreted. There had been enough crossed wires between them in the past.

He stopped by his townhouse first, to shower and change clothes. Usually he went directly to Sara's from the lab, but today's case left him feeling dirty. Even though there wasn't really anything there, he scrubbed at his skin until the combination of heat and friction turned it pink. If he had been staying at home he might have indulged in a scotch to further aid in forgetting the past shift.

An hour after he left the lab he arrived at Sara's apartment. She answered the door, head wrapped in a deep blue and purple scarf.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't look so hot." Sara took in the dark circles under his blood shot eyes, the stooped shoulders, and the yawn that he was valiantly trying to hide. "I have an excuse for looking bad. What's yours?"

"You don't look bad," he remarked automatically.

"Thanks, but that wasn't me fishing for a complement. That was me trying to surreptitiously ask you why you look so tired." She walked into the kitchen and returned with a cup of coffee in 'his' mug.

"Just a long shift," he answered evasively. "So how are you today? Are you up to going out, catching a movie or something?

"I might be, but your not. You know, Griss, you don't have to come over here every day." He started to protest, but she silenced him with an upraised hand. "Don't get me wrong, I love having you here. I honestly don't know if I could have made it this far without you, but you are spending everything on taking care of me. You have to take care of yourself too." She was worried about him, and afraid that she was being selfish in letting him do so much for her.

"I'm fine, really. Nothing a couple hours of relaxing won't take care of. I'm just in need of a diversion."

You need to find a diversion. Years ago the words had sounded like a criticism. Today they sounded like a challenge.

"In that case, what do you say to a game of Scrabble. I'm feeling particularly verbal today. I'll bet you I beat you. What do you say? Loser makes dinner tonight." She tried to lighten his mood, hoping to remove some of the weight metaphorically resting on his shoulders. "I promise that even if by some miracle you do win I won't force you to eat the tiles."

Grissom smiled for the first time that day, at her reference to the bizarre case they worked together last year.

"Someone thinks highly of themselves. It's a bet."

Sara went to get the game out of the closet, pleased with her success in getting a smile from Grissom.

"Prepare to lose, Bugman."

In the end they called it a tie, and had a pizza delivered; half tomato bell pepper, half pepperoni and sausage. Grissom had the night off, so after they ate they settled down on the couch with a copy of Casablanca. Fifteen minutes into the movie and Grissom was sound asleep. Sara curled up against him and covered them both with a quilt. Before the movie was over she had joined him in dreamland.

Sun streaming through the window wake Grissom. For a moment he forgot where he was, and why he was sleeping sitting up. Then he felt the tingling in his leg signaling that it had fallen asleep, and looked down to see Sara, her head pillowed on his thigh. She looked so peaceful, buried under the blanket, face framed by wispy curls. The scarf had come off sometime during their spirited Scrabble game.

He was tempted to stroke her hair, curious to know what her hair felt like. Was it as soft as it look? Only the fear that he would wake her up stayed his hand. She needed her sleep. Selfishly he had to admit that he had another motive. If she woke up he wouldn't be able to enjoy the feeling of her, curled up against his side. It was a pleasant sensation, definitely something he could get used to. Something he hoped that he might get a chance to get used to. If everything went well. No. He wouldn't let himself think about it like that. Everything would be fine. There was no other possibility.

Sara was hyper aware of two things when she woke up. Unlike most mornings she was toasty warm, and her pillow was much too firm to be made out of feathers.

"Good morning."

She opened her eyes to find Grissom watching her. It was then that she realized that it was his leg she was resting on, his body heat coursing through her. Sara sat up self consciously, keeping the blanket wrapped around her.

"Good morning to you too." It was an awkward moment in a relationship that had already been filled with so many. What do you say to your boss, who has become your best friend, when you fall asleep literally on top of him. Sara decided to avoid the issue.

"So, how about some breakfast?"

Grissom paused in the middle of pouring pancake batter, stuck by the sight before him. Sara sat perched on on of the bar stools, pouring two glasses of orange juice and setting them next two two plates. She was dressed in flannel pajama bottoms and a tank top. She hadn't bothered putting on a scarf. It was nothing special, and that is what caught his attention. The two of them, going about their established routine, were perfectly in sync. Just being together was enough to make Grissom feel happy. Life was good.

To be continued...