A/N: With some gentle prodding from a dear friend, I have been convinced to continue with this story. So chapter 10 is in the works and I am going to upload chapters 7 through 9 to catch up anyone who hasn't and still wants to read this fic.

"Sara, I got the results for the Henderson case. Did you want to pick them up or should I hand them to Nick?" Greg asked as he caught up with her in the hallway. She'd seemed a little pre-occupied, but that didn't stop him from getting her attention.

"Umm, yeah, sure, give them to Nick." Her eyes never met his, but rather were glued to her pager that she'd unclipped from her belt. She walked away, leaving him standing in the hallway.

The pager read, Grissom's office - ASAP. What now, she thought. The last few days had been trying. It seemed that Grissom had taken up his preoccupation of watching her, studying her as if she didn't know he was near. Then there were the instances where the physical contact had returned; a hand just barely grazing the small of her back, or a grasp of her elbow, only to release it once they'd headed in whatever direction he'd wanted them to go. Of course, it seemed that he was purposely assigning them to the same cases. It wouldn't have been a problem a couple of months ago, but now, it just felt awkward.

Her footsteps echoed through the halls as she approached his office. The door was uncharacteristically closed, so she knocked lightly. When she didn't get an answer, she knocked again with more force.

There was a hurried, "Come in," and then she opened the door.

Grissom was standing next to his terrarium, feeding his tarantula. In the midst of dropping a live cricket into the glass case, he turned to see who had knocked. "Oh, Sara. Come in. Please close the door." He capped off his jar of crickets, placing it next to the case then turned to take a seat, not behind his desk, but rather in one of the guest chairs.

Unaccustomed to this behavior, she hesitated.

"Come in, take a seat." He patted the other chair, and Sara raised her eyebrows in wonder. Something wasn't right with this picture. Who was this man?

"Uh, Grissom. What's going on?" she asked, not taking the proffered seat.

He grimaced, knowing he was acting completely abnormal, his insecurities the cause for his strange behavior. "Please, Sara, have a seat. I want to talk to you."

Cautiously, she took the seat and turned in it so that she could face him. "What about?"

His lips twisted into a near pout, something that Sara had seen on his face before when he was contemplating something she'd said. She waited patiently this time however, as he considered his words. Her patience was quickly rewarded.

"Us."

Or punished.

In previous months, that word would have spawned all sorts of tingling sensations throughout her body, including her brain.

Not this time.

Now she sat impassively, staring at this stranger sitting before her, wondering what in the world had possessed him to make such an utterance. With a shake of her head in disbelief, she asked, "Us?"

He nodded, as if he thought she understood what he'd meant.

"Define 'Us'."

He blinked, and then a ragged sigh escaped between his pursed lips. He motioned with his hand between them. "Umm… you and me?"

Sara shook her head. "No.

She stood abruptly and so did he. "There is no 'us', no 'you and me'."

"Sara, please, can we talk? I know things have changed over the last several months, particularly the last two, but I wanted to ask if you'd have dinner with me… tonight."

She could see this was hard for him. He struggled with the words, taking shallower breaths as he tried to speak. But his words felt like a dagger, creating a whole in her being and stripping her skin away. After all this time, after all the smack-downs and the avoidances, she was astounded that he would even try. "No."

She could see that he hadn't expected this answer from her. The wheels in his thick skull were turning. Hers were also and if she didn't leave now, they'd both regret what would happen next. So, with a final shake of her head, she walked out of his office, shutting the door behind her. It wasn't time for her to leave yet, but with her accumulated hours, she'd be sent home soon anyway. So she hurriedly retrieved her jacket from her locker, and slipped out into the night.

Grissom, on the other hand, could only stare after her, her last word haunting him as he remembered the time that it had been his answer. Her turn of phrase had hit home, and left a gaping wound in his heart and in his pride. It had taken him the better part of a week to pull together enough courage to attempt to ask her out. He'd felt confident enough that she'd at least take him up on it to talk it out, but her abruptness left him feeling whipped.

He knew he'd hurt her. It was apparent in everything about her –her appearance, her attitude and her behavior. But what he'd done just moments ago… did it deserve such treatment by her?

Suddenly, his ire rose and his blood boiled. If anything, he felt that he at least needed to be able to hear it from her lips that he was 'too late'. He grabbed his jacket and keys, rushed out of his office and straight into Catherine.

"Whoa there, Gil. What's lit your fire?" she smirked.

"I don't have time. Only two hours left in the shift, think you can handle it?"

"Well, yeah, of course, but –"

"Good, talk to you tomorrow night. Bye." And with a quick nod, he left a speechless Catherine standing in the hall.

Sara's drive home had been spent airing her frustration with Grissom to her enclosed car. Upon reaching her apartment, though, the tension had not lessened. At first, she wanted nothing more than to climb into a hot bath, but after having reached her bedroom, the only thing she wanted was to change and veg. No thoughts of work, no wracking the brain over the evidence of one of the many cases the team was working on and… no man.

She crossed her tiny dinette, grabbed a bottle of juice from her fridge and then settled into her single bed. With her television remote in one hand and her juice in the other, she snuggled against her pillows, prepared to fall into a mind-numbing daze of weekday morning talk shows.

No such luck.

A soft knock at the door, just as she was tuning out everything around her while watching Regis and Kelli, jolted her from her stupor. Mildly annoyed at the disturbance, she pretended not to have heard it, hoping the person would think she wasn't there.

With another knock, louder this time, she knew that whoever it was wasn't going to leave her alone. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and quickly shuffled to the door.

She was stunned at the sight of Grissom on the other side. Pulling away from the door she stared at it as she nibbled her bottom lip between her teeth; there was no mistaking why he was at her door.

The echo in the hallway of shuffling feet drew her to look out the peephole once again. He was facing the door, a look of apprehension marring his bearded face. His eyes darted to the peephole.

"Sara, I know you're there –"

Her shoulders slumped in defeat. It was now or never. "Grissom? What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk." She could hear the determination in his voice. "I've put it off for too long already."

The weariness was also plainly evident in his voice, and it tugged at her heart. She opened the door and met his gaze. His shimmered with pent up emotion, too much emotion if what she saw was correct. He looked at her, then past her, inquiring silently if he was allowed to enter.

She waved her hand toward the inside and he followed immediately, almost as if he were afraid she'd slam the door on him if he took too long.

After shutting the door, Sara turned and nearly collided with him. His eyes clear and observant were absorbing everything within his line of sight. They darted over to the now dried bunch of jasmine shoots she'd hung on a string near her bed. Sara had seen him do this many times, at a crime scene. He seemed to be searching for something, some evidence.

She broke the silence, dreading every word that led her further to the discussion they needed to have. "Grissom, why are you here?"

Looking over his shoulder to her, he said, "You once said that you always over-talk around me. So, now let me talk."

Raising fine, arched eyebrows, she was about to protest, but gathered her wits about her and realized that she was in fact interested in hearing what he had to say. She deserved at least that much, and so did he.

"Okay," she drawled, stepping around him. She walked into the kitchen, stood at the island, and peered at him through interested eyes.

He in turn, nervously stepped forward to the other side of the island, facing her. His hand found its way to his lips and wiped an imaginary crumb from them. Sara knew from this small action that he was brainstorming –and nervous.

"You've," he sighed and shook his head. "There was a time when neither of us held back from saying what we thought. We understood each other. I know something changed that. I don't know when or why it did. Do you know?"

Astonishment at his choice of words made her hesitate in her response. She'd never understood him. They had a remarkable ability to relate with each other when working a case, but he'd always remained a mystery to her. But as for the 'when things had changed between them', she couldn't put a finger on it.

She shook her head.

He bowed his and slumped into a breakfast stool. "When I asked you to move here, it was a conflict for me. When you lived in San Francisco, it was… safe. I was safe." He looked up at her tentatively. "But having you near me and working so closely together, at first it was exciting, stimulating. Then it was no longer safe. I found myself in a situation that was difficult to control." His gaze met hers, hoping to see understanding, but found confusion instead. Her brow was creased, as she concentrated on his words. "Am I making sense?"

She shook her head. He was confusing the hell out of her.

"When you were in San Francisco, there was a freedom in our conversations. But when I asked you to move here, to work at the lab, you became my subordinate and I had to be careful. Not just for myself, but also for your own good. I'm not blind, Sara. I knew you had feelings for me a long time ago, before you even came to Las Vegas."

Her eyes brightened in surprise.

"Yes, I did know. But what I didn't know was that it would become so easily apparent to those we worked with. Or at least, I didn't think it would happen so quickly. Suddenly, I was no longer a ghost, but completely visible to those around me. I knew that they could see right through me when you were near. And my first reaction was to try and conceal myself again. That meant putting you at arms length."

"Then I wasn't just imagining things. You did feel something for me?"

"Yes," he surrendered. "I do."

She heard his words, heard the present tense. Her mouth opened to continue, but he interrupted her.

"No, let me finish." He stood again and inched his way toward the end of the island. Her eyes followed his every move.

"I got scared, Sara. And before I knew it, I came up with excuse after excuse as to why we couldn't be together." He began ticking them off on each of his fingers. "My age, my supervisory status, your career would be put under scrutiny, my career would falter, and your reputation would be smeared."

She stammered, trying to refute his words and lost track of where he was. Before she knew it, he was standing mere inches from her. The heat of his passion emanated from him, coating her with warmth to soothe her apprehension. His finger landed on her lips, stilling them. Their eyes held and she watched in awe as this man she'd loved for so long, grasped the back of her neck then dipped his head, taking her lips with his mouth, rendering her speechless.