A/N Sorry about the erratic nature of the updates to this story. I'll try to do better next time. I was hoping to be inspired by the most recent CSI episodes, though I have some ideas of my own to run with instead. Glad to hear so many of you enjoyed Chapter 1! Great to hear from you! Thanks! And thanks to smryczko for her wonderfully helpful comments on this chapter.

Chapter 2 Defining Moments

Grissom

It had started off as a routine db investigation. Yet, the minute he discovered that there was even a hint of domestic abuse, he conveniently switched Greg to a new assignment, and then he practically glued himself to Sara's side. Unfortunately, she misinterpreted his motives. Her stubborn frown and her thinly veiled hostile glances were evidence of that.

Initially he was frustrated by her reaction, hadn't he explained himself over breakfast that day? Didn't she realize that he hovered only because he was worried about her? Why didn't she understand? Although she strongly suspected it, he wasn't overly concerned with protecting the department's reputation; in fact, it wasn't high on his agenda. In addition to solving the case, keeping Sara safe ranked as his highest priority.

As the investigation proceeded, Sara became increasingly annoyed by his nearly smothering presence. It was puzzling, for normally the two of them worked so well together, they'd always been able to silently anticipate one another's thoughts and moves. They made a good team. Thus, it was even more confusing to him that he was acting so overly sensitive, practically staring at her half the time, trying to gage her reaction to every little insignificant detail. Of course, she'd feel as if he doubted her capability.

He couldn't explain the odd panicked feelings that gripped his gut like a vise; they were completely irrational. The emotions were unfamiliar and disturbing. In fact, he was embarrassed by his uncharacteristic behavior; the ridges of his ears were even somewhat warm. Yet he was powerless to stop himself.

Sara was a highly qualified investigator; he had total confidence in her abilities. However, with her recently disclosed traumatic personal history and numerous other current developments, she had every reason to be on edge. Despite his or her personal comfort zone, at all costs, he had to be sure that she was all right. After this case, he'd insist that she use some of her massively accrued vacation time. He'd even personally escort her to one of those counselors that he'd suggested, if she hadn't already heeded his pleas. Otherwise, he'd never be able to truly rest again.

When it was time to interrogate the suspect at the station, Sara insisted upon taking the lead, her defensive stance practically daring him to attempt to replace her, or remove her from the case. Sara always did have to do things the hard way; she wasn't one to run away from difficult situations. Given her family history, most likely, she'd always had to face them alone.

He probably should've pulled rank on her, for she was already riled up and distracted. And every irrational fiber in his being shrieked that it was far too dangerous, he was tense just thinking about it. But he owed it to her; he wanted her to know that he did have confidence in her. He couldn't take that away from her, regardless of his mounting anxiety. So he let her direct the questioning, with him close by her side.

At first, the session proceeded as expected. Still Grissom found himself reaching for his sidearm, to pat it and assure himself that it was there, just in case. The suspect was hesitant yet cooperative. He was a handsome man who exuded charm. It was difficult to believe that he could've committed such a crime. However, once Sara began to confront him with the evidence, his amiable façade crumbled. Sara's questions became more animated, more probing, as she tried to break him down, tried to catch him in his intricate web of lies.

Things got out of hand, fast.

When the suspect lunged towards Sara, smashing his fist into her face, Grissom's reaction was visceral. He grabbed his weapon and fired, immediately, aiming directly at the suspect's temple. The horrifyingly graphic image of the man's head exploding and blood and tissue clumps splattering all about caused him to scream.

And wake up.

What the hell was that?

He gasped for breath, sitting bolt upright in his bed, as his body continued to tremble. He was covered with a thin layer of cold sweat and his heart was hammering like crazy in his chest. Not for the first time, he wondered if this was what a heart attack felt like.

Why does this dream keep haunting me? Why won't it go away?

What were dreams anyway? Just the subconscious working out minor unresolved issues? A type of mental housecleaning that was essentially helpful yet lacking any deeper meaning? Or were dreams more significant, as Freud suggested? Did they represent reflections of our true inner subconscious? Perhaps they resulted from deeper primal forces within the spiritual component of the body that demanded for their voices to be heard? He'd never held much stock in the latter interpretations, until recently.

He'd hoped that talking with Sara about her problem would make the dreams go away, thus his breakfast invitation. If he knew she was getting help, seeing a professional who would help her continue to deal with the horrors of her past, perhaps then he could finally rest. Although she'd completed her sessions with the PEAP counselor, her recent outburst in the interrogation room proved that it hadn't been sufficient.

It had been difficult enough for him to get up the nerve to approach her. It took him over two weeks. Why was everything with Sara so difficult? Asking Sophia to dinner had been easy. Though to be fair, it was a spur of the moment type of thing. However, at dinner their conversation had flowed effortlessly; it had seemed so natural and it had been pleasant. It reminded him that he was feeling lonely, and that he might have to address this need for companionship in his life.

So why couldn't he just start off fresh with Sophia? She was attractive and intelligent; he enjoyed her company. Why couldn't he follow a simpler path that held less resistance, one that presented fewer obstacles? Simply try to be happy? Why not?

You know why.

At least over their breakfast, he hoped that he conveyed to Sara that he cared about her and that he wanted her to get help. Had she followed his suggestion? Her initial reaction had been tentative, though he couldn't fully blame her; he hadn't given her ample reasons for trusting him these days. That thought hurt him more than he realized.

So why did the dream keep occurring? Haunting him, reeking havoc with his neatly ordered life? He felt as if there were a cauldron of emotions literally simmering within him. He ignored them as best he could, slamming the lid on top of them. He didn't want anything to do with them; their intensity frightened him. He didn't want to get burned when they bubbled over the edge of the pot. He wanted to be in control. Once those feelings boiled over or leaked out of the tightly shut container of his subconscious, he'd be in trouble. He was scared.

Should he ask her at work if she was getting help? Though, he didn't want to be intrusive, nor did he want to reinforce her notion that his concern was only work related. He was tempted to even call her right now, at her home; his heart was pounding so fast. He was desperate to quench his gnawing fears for her safety. But would that make a difference?

For tonight, despite the fact that he'd spoken with her, that he'd tried to act in such a way to assuage his fears, the dream had gotten worse.

Before, the dream had ended as it had countless times before with the suspect breaking Sara's nose, the blood gushing down her face. He'd awaken, fully experiencing the terror of witnessing that gruesome event. Since he was a coward, he chose not to overanalyze the powerful emotions that were coursing through him, as he struggled to regain his composure.

Many times, he feebly assured himself that he'd have the same reaction if the woman was Catherine or possibly even Sophia. It was because the victim was someone that he knew, that accounted for why he couldn't emotionally detach himself.

Who are you kidding?

But tonight, in this newly extended version of the dream, it had gone one step further; he'd taken a man's life, without a moment of hesitation or any regard for the consequences. He'd done it coldly, precisely, using an overabundance of deadly force.

What kind of a man was he? He'd been appalled by the savagery within him. Was he no better than the criminals he prosecuted? Was he inherently an evil man or would any man do such a thing when pushed beyond his limits? He was deeply shaken.

Or maybe he was taking himself too seriously; after all it was just a dream. But those were possibly an indication of his subconscious desires, so he wasn't able to derive much comfort from that thought.

The emotions welling up within in him were unfamiliar. If his gun hadn't been handy, he felt certain that he would've beaten that man bloody with his fists. It was rage, blind rage, that someone could hurt someone like this.

Be honest Grissom. That someone could hurt Sara like this.

His mask was slipping; his ability to suppress his feelings was failing, because he was beginning to allow himself to see the truth, shining brightly as if illuminated by massive floodlights.

His life had changed a lot in the past few months. Ecklie had done his best to humiliate him at the lab, dismantling his trusted team, taking away Nick and Warrick. His pride in his lab and its accomplishments along with his sense of inner peace in his sanctuary had been affected.

His closest friend, Catherine, had been switched to Swing shift, and now she seemed to believe that he was questioning her authority and her ability to lead an investigation. Though to be fair to Catherine, the transition from being one of the troops to becoming the leader could be tricky, and it took time. He missed their casual banter and her insightful comments. She'd always had a much better handle on the human element than he did.

Then there was Sara: her disappointment that he didn't recommend her for the key position, the shock of her DUI, her deeply personal revelations about her true reasons for coming to Vegas and her hideous family secret, along with her recent altercations with Catherine and Ecklie.

Each event had influenced him, some more than others, each creating minor chinks in his protective armor. Yet as a result, now there were several sizable dents, they were beginning to accumulate and test the integrity of the material.

Surprisingly he'd been extremely touched that Sara had actually come to Vegas for him. That suggested that her feelings for him were far more substantial than he'd originally imagined. He'd tried to ask her to go out to do something at that moment, yet he had trouble getting the words out, she'd caught him off guard. Her account of her past had greatly disturbed him. In his line of work, he'd heard worse, yet no version had ever pierced the protective covering of his heart like hers had.

The solid ice block surrounding his heart was beginning to crack.

That unfamiliar rage began to well up again as he thought about Sara's family and her unfortunate upbringing. Ever since she'd spoken with him about it, parts of her words kept replaying in his mind at odd instances. He'd mentally reviewed their encounter with Kay Shelton's husband, many times, trying to reassess Sara's reactions in light of his current knowledge.

Unfortunately, he could also recall her gut reaction to rape victims such as Pam Adler and Linley Parker. At breakfast, he'd almost come right out and asked her, only to discover that he couldn't handle the truth. If her father had sexually abused her, it would deeply grieve him, certainly sending him over the edge into the dark abyss.

Stop fooling yourself.

No matter how much he tried to deny it, Sara was deeply rooted within his heart. He could have dinner with Sophia or any other woman, every day of the week; hell he could even have sex with them for that matter. It was be nice, he'd enjoy it but ultimately, it would be in vain, for it was destined to be a casual safe relationship, devoid of true passion. Should he settle for an attractive package yet an essentially empty relationship? Was he that much of a coward?

If he faced the truth, that he had these feelings for Sara, could he be man enough to pursue her? Could he ignore his urgent craving for caution and seize the chance to pursue his heart's desire? These types of opportunities were rare and they wouldn't last forever.

The intensity of his emotions frightened him. He didn't want to be out of control. He didn't want her to control him. But maybe she already was controlling him, in an indirect manner? Maybe he was already past the point of no return? His dreams certainly wouldn't allow him to maintain the status quo much longer.

Who was it that said, "Even if you stand still, the world around you continues to change"? For it was true, despite his best efforts of dragging his heals to resist it. And he no longer had the convenient reason of his failing hearing to fall back upon. He was running out of excuses.

After the events of the last few months, he didn't want to lose anything or any one else. But was it too late to do something about this?

You know what you have to do.

But could he do it?

TBC