"Yeah," Sara said, pulling away from the hug and facing Grissom, Sophie, and Jack. "As a matter of fact, Mark and I were busy having wild kinky sex all over my office; how 'bout you come back later?"

Trying not to laugh, Mark looked pointedly at himself and Sara – both of them fully clothed - and deadpanned, "Yeah, we're kinda naked here, so give us a chance to put away the whips and chains."

"Let's not talk about whips and chains, okay?" Sara said sharply. She was glad to see that Grissom had caught the reference, as evidenced by the flush rising on his face.

"Ok," she said after a moment, "obviously you weren't interrupting anything except Mark hugging me, so can we move the circus somewhere other than my office? I think the max occupancy of this place is, like, three."

Sara watched the group file out of the room. When everyone but Grissom, who was bringing up the rear of the line, was out of the room, she said, "Grissom, stay here. I need to talk to you."

"Oh?" he asked in a deceivingly airy voice.

"Yeah. Sit," Sara ordered with a wave of her hand toward the chair opposite her desk. When Grissom was sitting, she walked around and perched on the corner of her desk.

Resting her elbows on her thighs, she leaned over and looked him in the eye. "What was that?"

"What? The case you sent us on?"

"No, Grissom. What was that whole 'are we interrupting you as you do something illicit with one of your CSIs in your private office' bit?"

"I didn't say that."

"Just about!"

"But I didn't. You're reading too much into my words."

"Oh come on, Gris. I'm sure everyone in the room picked up on the insinuation; you might as well have tattooed it on your forehead. So seriously, what's the deal?"

Giving her a persecuted look, Grissom leaned back into his chair. "I just asked if we were interrupting anything, since it looked like you and, uh . . . Mark . . . were occupied."

Sara snorted. "Oh, give it up already! I know you don't get out much and all, but are you seriously unaware that one of the most important parts of a friendship is trust? 'Trust,' like when you see me doing something and don't automatically jump to the worst possible conclusion?"

"I trust you," Grissom said indignantly. "You should know that by now."

"Yeah, you trust me with evidence. You trust me with covering your ass at a scene. You don't trust me with anything that involves emotion, though. We already went over this in the e-mails, Grissom. I'm not interested in going in circles."

"I'm not arguing about this, Sara," Grissom said calmly. "If you don't think I trust you, then I can't make you believe it."

"Whatever," Sara said with a shrug. "Your loss."

"My loss of what?"

Smiling slightly, she cocked her head to the side. "You tell me." When Grissom didn't answer after a second, she sighed. "Look, we still have a few hours till shift is over . . . why don't you go hang out with Will. Teach him a lesson or something; you like doing that."

"I'd rather not, Sara. Why don't you go on page and we'll get an early breakfast or something?"

"I'd rather not," she echoed him pointedly. "You might think I was hitting on the waitress. Go bother someone else, Grissom; I have a pile of reports to sign off on."

"Fine." He stood up, looking hard at her. When she still hadn't said anything after a few seconds, he sighed and headed for the door.

"Hold on," Sara said just before he turned the doorknob.

"Why don't you make up your . . ." Grissom's admonition was cut off by Sara's lips as they made gentle contact with his. It was over in the space of a second and he was left standing a foot from the door, confused but pleased. "Why'd you . . ." he began.

"Think about it, Grissom," Sara said quietly. "You still believe I'd be kissing Mark when I've been wanting to kiss you like that for years?" Without waiting for an answer, she pulled open the door and pushed him through it. "Go. I'll talk to you later."

*****

Catherine's voice sounded tinny as it came through Grissom's cell phone. "She kissed you?"

"Yeah, she did. Not kissed, like make out," he added, stressing 'kiss.' "Just kissed."

"Uh-huh." Catherine smirked into the phone. "So she didn't kiss you, but she kissed you. Makes perfect sense now. But, um . . . why are you calling me? Shouldn't you be, like, declaring your undying love to her?"

"I'm not going to . . .! Ok, wait. Listen. The reason she kissed me is that she's mad at me."

"What, you pissed her off so she tied you to a chair, whipped you, and gave you exactly what you've been dying to get? I know you were into the whole domination thing last year, but isn't it time to move on?"

"No! She did not tie me up. Geez!"

"Ok, so what happened? No, before you tell me that – you realize that there's going to be a point where you're not gonna be able to call me every time you get confused, right? You might try talking it over with Sara before calling me and begging for help."

"I'm not begging you for anything," he said indignantly. "I just called to . . . chat."

"Right. Whatever you say, Gil. Now tell me what happened."

"Well, I kinda walked in on her and one of her CSIs . . ."

"Whoa," Catherine interrupted, "don't go any farther. Are you telling me that you think Sara's hooking up with one of her coworkers? If you are, you just need to give up and come home, because you'll obviously never know her."

"Huh?"

"Unless the world is now spinning upside-down and in the wrong direction, there's no way Sara would do that. She's been after you, Grissom. For years."

"Are you born with this?" Grissom groaned.

"Born with what? The ability to understand other women? Uh, yeah."

"No, born with . . . well yeah, understanding other women. But you just used almost exactly the same words she did after she kissed me."

"It's a woman thing. And think about it this way – I didn't just kiss you, so it's not like there's a pattern emerging here."

"You're not being helpful, Catherine."

"Well gosh," she said, her sarcasm nearly oozing through the phone, "I'd better start doing my job and giving you advice on your love life; god knows I get paid so much money for it. How 'bout first you tell me what you're asking me to help with, and then maybe I can offer some assistance."

"I don't know what I'm asking, exactly. I suppose it's whether I'm in trouble with her or whether I'm forgiven. I mean, she told me to get the hell out, then she kissed me, then she pushed me out of her office. I may not be the too sharp when it comes to women, but I'm pretty sure that those were mixed signals."

Catherine burst out laughing. "Serves you right! The girl is dishing you up in your own sauce; way to go Sara!"

"I didn't call you so that you could mock me, Catherine."

"No kidding."

"Just answer my question," Grissom snapped. Then, thinking better of angering the one person who could help him, he said more politely, "Please?"

"You want me to tell you if the fact that she kissed you means that she's not angry at you for insinuating that she'd do that? Sorry, Gris, but I couldn't tell you that with a straight face; you're in the doghouse, kiss or no kiss."

"Then how do I . . .?"

"I don't know!" Catherine exclaimed in exasperation. "Listen, Grissom, I am not Sara. Got that? I am not her, I cannot read her mind, and I do not telepathically know her motivations and needs. I'm doing the best I can, just using my common sense, but if you want to know this stuff, you have to start asking her instead of me."

"I can't just ask her these things," he protested.

"You're gonna have to. It's this thing called a 'relationship,' and to keep it up the two participants need to actually communicate every now and then. Rationally. Without yelling at each other or running off to call a friend. This ain't Who Wants to be a Millionaire, Gil."

"Yeah, but . . .but I'm supposed to know this stuff already," he muttered in a humiliated tone. " I'm a forty-seven year old man, for god's sake; am I just supposed to turn to her and say, 'Oh, by the way, I don't understand you, so if you could just give me a translation of everything you say and do, that'd be nice'?"

"Yup," Catherine said brightly. "That would work. Alternatively, you could try just listening to her when she gets angry or upset or whatever. I think you'll find that – gasp! – Sara tends to speak her mind, and you'll find out what she's thinking pretty quick."

"I . . . hmm. I, uh . . ." Grissom stammered as he began to understand what Catherine was saying. But talking to Sara was so much more . . . intimidating . . . than talking to Catherine. When he talked to Sara, he had a vested interest; he couldn't screw up with her like he felt free to do with Catherine!

"Listen, Gris – as much as I'd love to stay on the phone and listen to you say absolutely nothing, I've got to get going. I promised to take Lindsey out for an early breakfast before school."

"Oh . . . uh, okay. Thanks for helping me, Catherine."

"Hey, all I did was tell you what you need to do to help yourself. Now I get to sit back and see if you actually take my advice for once, or if you're just gonna dig your hole a little deeper."

"It's not like I'm wallowing!"

"Uh-huh. Sure. Gotta go. Talk to you later!" Catherine chirped, snapping her phone shut.

Grissom gave his now-silent phone a disgusted look. Well, that certainly hadn't helped as much as he'd hoped it would. Of course he had to talk to Sara, but what was wrong with getting some advice from friends on the side? Didn't all men do that?

"Grissom?"

He spun around at the sound of Sara's voice. "Er, yeah. Here."

"So I see," Sara said with a teasing smile. "Come on, ten minutes to the end of shift - let's get out of here."