"So what'd you do tonight?" Sara asked Grissom as they drove back to her apartment. "Besides arguing with me."

"Well, not much. You sent us on a smash-and-grab; you know there's never anything momentous there."

"Of course, but I assume you didn't just sit in the car and sulk while Sophie and Jack handled the scene . . . so tell me what you did do."

"Okay," he said slowly. "I actually did try to stay out of their way, though, since they're the ones who're getting paid for it. Pretty much did the grunt work – dusted for latents on the glass, swabbed for blood. You know the drill."

"You're kidding," Sara said, fighting the urge to turn away from the road and stare at him. "You didn't help them out?"

"Of course I helped them! I just said that I dusted and swabbed."

"Yeah, and that's all you did? Gris, you're incapable of just watching people who know less than you without offering up 'hints' on what they missed and how you think they ought to do things."

Grissom scowled. "You think I'm that bad? That I can't allow someone to work in peace?"

". . . without at least looking disapproving?" Sara asked. "Yeah, I do think you're that bad. I don't think you realize you do it half the time," she added conciliatorily, "but you do. That's why I called you Yoda. You know, always trying to impart your wisdom."

"Well I . . ." He shrugged. "I don't know, then, if I 'helped' them or not. You'll have to ask them." A pause. "You really think I'm that bad?" he asked again in a voice tinged with worry.

"Not 'bad,' Gris," Sara said as she swung the car into her building's parking lot. "I'm not saying that you're a bad person or anything. That's just . . . your teaching style. You wait for someone to make the mistake, then explain to them how not to make it."

"That doesn't make me feel any better," he sighed. As he stepped out of the car, he looked over the roof at her. "Am I really that bad?"

"Grissom," Sara warned. "Stop asking. I just said that you're not 'bad' at anything, so calm down and come up with another topic of conversation."

Grissom was silent as they made their way into her apartment, wondering again why people always waited until after the damage was done to warn him of his shortcomings.

"So?" Sara asked, shrugging off her coat. "Did you come up with another topic?"

Grissom nodded, leaning one shoulder against the wall. "Yeah. Why don't you tell me what it was that went on in your office today?"

Sara's mouth fell open and she blinked. "I can't believe you're asking me that again! I though we already established that, first off, you're an idiot for thinking I'd do anything with Mark, and second off, nothing happened!"

"Er . . . that wasn't what I meant," he said.

"Huh?"

"I was referring to what happened after we established all that. When you, uh . . ."

"Kissed you?"

"Yeah. That."

"Oookay," Sara said. "What do you want to know about it?"

Grissom took a deep breath. "Sit."

Sara backed up to the couch and sat, looking at him quizzically. "Why? Am I in trouble or something? Are you going to tell me you're actually a woman or something freaky like that?"

"No," he said with a firm shake of his head. "Definitely neither of those. I just want to put a little space between us so that if you try to kill me, I have that extra second of reaction time."

"Grissom. I am not a homicidal maniac, believe it or not. I don't plan on killing you in the near future, so why don't you tell me what's going on here?"

God, why did life have to be so hard? He knew Catherine had been right about his needing to talk directly to Sara, but well . . . did she really have to be right about that? "You kissed me."

"Yes," Sara said calmly.

"Why?"

"I told you that after I did it. I did it to demonstrate that I don't have any interest in Mark."

"I need more information, Sara. I, uh . . . talked to Catherine after I left your office . . ."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Sara muttered under her breath.

"I don't know, why doesn't it?" Grissom shot back.

She shook her head. "Just keep talking."

"Okay well, uh . . . oh, yeah. I talked to Catherine after I left your office, because I was a little confused by your behavior . . ."

"So what else is new?"

Grissom gritted his teeth. "Would you mind keeping the smart comments to yourself until I'm done talking?"

Sara cocked her head to the side and studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure." Patting the area of couch next to her, she added, "Sit."

He nervously lowered himself to the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I talked to Catherine after I left your office and I asked her whether the fact that you . . . did that . . . meant that you weren't angry with me for my earlier, uh, assumption."

"Oh?" Sara said, eyebrows raised. "And what did Catherine say I thought?"

"She didn't," Grissom sighed. "That's the problem. She said that she couldn't read your mind, and that I'd have to just suck it up and ask you directly. Which, if you haven't noticed, I'm very uncomfortable doing."

"No kidding."

"Sara . . ."

"Yeah, sorry. You have more to say, or can I start in with my 'smart comments'?"

Shrugging slightly, he said, "Go ahead, I suppose. But hey, give me a break?"

With a hint of a smile on her face, Sara said, "Don't worry, I'm not planning to kick you out of my house or anything. But . . .hmm. What exactly do you want to know? Whether I stopped being mad at you when I kissed you, or whether I'm still mad at you now?"

"Both, I guess."

Letting out a deep breath, Sara leaned backward into the couch and drew her legs up toward her, hugging them to her chest. "The only reason I kissed you was because I was mad. You weren't listening to me talk, so I tried something that was sure to shut you up. So no, the kiss didn't mean I wasn't angry. Whether I'm still angry now . . . well, I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt."

"Benefit of the doubt?" Grissom asked, furrowing his brows. "What exactly does that mean?"

"It means that, assuming you've learned your lesson about acting like I sleep around, you're forgiven. But if you do it again, I'm going to know that it wasn't just a momentary slip because of jealousy. And trust me, I won't be pleased if I find that out and know that you really don't think too highly of me."

"I think very highly of you," he said earnestly. "Otherwise I wouldn't be here."

"Okay, well, let's keep it that way."

Grissom nodded. "Okay."

"Good."

"Right."

"Soooo . . ." Sara said after a moment. "What do you want to do now?"

Grissom checked his watch. "Hmm . . . it's 8:30 now? Why don't we get something to eat?"

"Here, or out?"

"I don't feel much like going out, if it's ok with you," he said. "Do you have food here?"

"I have some things," Sara said thoughtfully. "What do you want?"

"Whatever you have is fine. Cereal?"

"You like Life?"

Grissom blinked. "It's preferable to death."

"The cereal, Gris. Life – the little cinnamon-sugared squares?"

"Ohhhh . . . yes, I like that, thanks. What are you having?"

Sara opened a cabinet and found the cereal, handing it to him over her shoulder. Pensively surveying the remaining contents of the cabinet, she shook her head. "Nothing – I'm good. Not really hungry."

"Did you eat lunch during the night?"

"Yeah, Gris," she said, rolling her eyes as she grabbed a carton of milk out of the refrigerator. Handing it to him, she sighed. "I'm not starving myself; I'm just not hungry right now. I only eat after work about half the time – usually I just want to fall into bed."

"That's not normal for you," Grissom said worriedly.

Sara retrieved a bowl from another cabinet and a spoon from a drawer. Handing them to him, she smiled slightly. "Not like you've ever come home with me after work, so you don't exactly have the best point of reference as to what's normal for me."

Grissom waved the cereal box he was holding at her. "That may be true, but I know how you are at work, and you're very seldom tired. It doesn't seem right for you to be too exhausted to even feed yourself."

"I didn't say I was exhausted. I just said I was going to go to bed."

"What's the difference?"

"I could stay up if I wanted to, Gris. I just don't want to. Maybe I'm just getting old, ok?"

"You work too hard."

"Look who's talking," she said with a snort. "The guy who had to be blackmailed into taking a vacation. Just eat. You know where my bedroom is; if you need anything just wake me up."

Grissom gave her a considering look, but didn't protest any further. "Okay, Sara. Sleep well. Will you get me up tonight?"

"Yeah," Sara said, already turning away from him. "No problem."

Grissom watched Sara's back as she walked the length of her living area, unaware that he still had the cereal box dangling from his hand. It really didn't seem good that Sara was so tired. But then, he thought, perhaps she wasn't that tired at all, and just wanted to get away from him.

Not that that boded too well either, he realized. He ought to just eat his breakfast and follow Sara to bed.

No, not follow her to bed . . . to bed . . . to bed. Nothing like that! Just follow her in going to bed, he meant. Different beds. Not her bed. Because that would make her "uncomfortable." She'd told him that as soon as he'd stepped off the plane. Nope, not following her to bed. Just happening to go to his futon, while Sara was already in her own bed.

Exactly.

The cereal didn't look so appetizing anymore, he thought with a sigh, and he hadn't even poured any into the bowl yet. That was the problem with talking to Sara – he always ended up more confused or, in this case, more stressed than when he'd started. Were relationships supposed to be like that?

Wait . . . Did they have a relationship to begin with? Catherine had called it a relationship, but then, she'd also said that she didn't know what was in Sara's mind. How did one tell if they were in a relationship, anyway? Was it something you discussed with the other person, so as to get a concrete answer?

There was no way he was going to get any food down his throat now – he was too busy mentally defining all these terms that he hadn't had to worry about for so long.

Placing the milk back in the fridge and the cereal, bowl, and spoon on the counter, he made his way into the living area, where his futon was located. As much as he hated to disturb Sara, he realized as he assessed the space, he was going to need a blanket.

He hoped she wasn't already asleep. If she was, maybe he could find a blanket without waking her up. He knocked quietly on her bedroom door. When no answer came after a few seconds, he decided that she must already be asleep and that he'd see if there were any extra blankets in plain sight. Gently turning the knob, he poked his head in the door.

He didn't know who was more surprised – Sara, just poking her head through the neck of a t-shirt, or him, presented with a full-on view of Sara's naked form.

Grissom didn't say a word, just backed out of the room and slammed the door behind him.