"You were talking to him. I saw you!" Mark's tone sounded almost accusing when he planted himself in Sam's path later that night.

"Smokers do that, Mark. I know you quit and all, but you should remember that much."

"Did he say anything about me? What did you find out?"

Purposely ignoring the urgency in Mark's voice, Sam lounged against the hallway wall and regarded the other man. He flicked a strand of hair out of his face, then decided that that wasn't adequate and set to work elaborately retying his ponytail. It was amusing to watch Mark's glower get darker and darker, he thought, wondering how long he could keep it up for.

"Well? Are you just gonna ignore me?"

"I wasn't ignoring you," Sam replied in a mock-innocent voice. "I was just fixing my hair."

"Well it's fixed now, so tell me what I want to know."

Sam thought about this for a moment. Grissom had been surprisingly – perhaps shockingly – open with him when they spoke, and he wasn't really sure he would want someone revealing such information if the situations were reversed.

"Well?" Mark said again, leaning forward threateningly.

"I think . . ." Sam began, then paused to arrange his words. "I think that you can safely assume he's mean to you because he thinks you're moving in on Sara. And I'm not going to say any more than that."

"But there was more?" Mark immediately switched to a more ingratiating tone and stance. "C'mon, man, tell me. Sophie and Jack told when they got information on him."

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm serious. The guy was too open for his own good, and I'm not spreading around the stuff he told me because some of it's . . . sensitive. I told you the part you need to know, the part that applies to you."

"Dude!"

"No."

"But Sam . . ."

"No, Mark. Take what you can get. Maybe you'll find out about the other stuff at some point in the future when Grissom tells you himself."

Mark's eyes widened. "So he's gonna talk to me?" he asked excitedly.

"Oh, for god's sake! You are turning into a gossipmonger. Shoo!" Making corresponding shooing motion with his hands, Sam herded Mark into the nearest doorway and then quickly continued on his way to the DNA lab.

Grissom couldn't believe he'd just spilled his guts to a twenty-something kid. This was going to end badly, he decided; it couldn't end any other way, considering that the CSIs talked about him and Sara to begin with.

He had managed to sneak into the layout room without being spotted, and was sitting there with his cheek resting in his hand when Sara found him.

"Gris?"

Grissom's head snapped up and, realizing he'd been caught doing nothing, he winced. "Sorry. Do you need me?"

Moving closer, she frowned. "You smell like smoke."

Thinking fast, Grissom said the first thing that came to mind: "I was, uh, talking to Sam while he smoked."

Sara raised an eyebrow and gave him a skeptical look. "You were talking to Sam?"

"Uh-huh." It sounded like she might believe him, Grissom thought with relief.

"What did you talk to him about?"

Caught off guard, Grissom could only stutter something meaningless and watch Sara's skeptical expression change to a downright suspicious one.

"You didn't talk to him after all," she said after a moment, "did you?"

Something he could give her an honest answer about! "I did too talk to him!"

"What is this, second grade?" She sat across the table and regarded him with amusement. " 'Did too,' 'did not'? Come on, Grissom. You have no reason to lie to me. Tell me why you smell like smoke, it'll be easier than trying to keep your lies straight."

"I didn't lie." Technically. "I was talking to Sam while he smoked."

Shifting her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation, Sara sighed. "I'm sure that's true. But what's the part you're not telling me? This isn't the end of the world, Gris. If you slipped, just grit your teeth and admit it."

"I didn't!"

"Ok, fine," she said, waving her hands dismissively. "You didn't lie, then. When you want to tell me what's going on with you, I'll be in my office." With that, she stood up and made her way to the door, not looking back at him.

"Sara . . ."

Still not turning around, she paused in the doorway. "Yes?"

Grissom stared sadly at her back, hurt by the fact that she wouldn't look at him. When he didn't say anything, Sara moved again for the door. Grissom felt his willpower snapping, thread by thread. "I slipped."

Sara finally turned to face him. "I figured."

"I'm sorry."

"I figured that too." With a sigh, she walked back to the table and sat down across from him. "For a reason? Or you just got a random craving?"

"Well, it wasn't a reason like, 'I'm going to get revenge by coating my lungs with tar.' But there was an impetus, I guess you could say."

"And . . . ? I assume it has to do with me, considering your attempts to escape this conversation?"

"Doesn't everything have to do with you these days?" Grissom asked tiredly.

That gave Sara pause. "Uh . . . it does?"

"Yes, Sara." He held a hand out to her entreatingly. "I came here for you. I'm staying here for you. My emotions might as well be dictated by you."

Sitting back in her chair, Sara frowned. "I'm not too sure I like that idea."

He shrugged. "It's the truth. Quitting smoking is just an excuse for me to be here."

"Grissom . . ."

"I know," he sighed. "You don't know what you want you want. I'm just here as a convenience for you."

"Grissom."

"And I'm so emotionally invested in this that I'm staying here even though I know that I'm getting nothing accomplished – I haven't stopped smoking, I haven't made any headway with you . . ."

"Grissom!" Sara slapped the palm of her hand down on the table, making herself jump at the noise. "Enough! You make it sound like I'm using you! And if you're still smoking, then it's not my fault that you are."

He shook his head. "You are using me. I'm an extra pair of hands to put on cases, and something to divert you when you're bored." What was he saying? Grissom was horrified by the words coming out of his mouth. Ten minutes ago he had been telling Sam how he was still determined to get the girl, and now that he had "the girl" in front of him, he was going to let loose on a rant and screw things up yet again?

On the other hand, he thought, everything he was telling her was true. He was beginning to feel used by Sara. He had come to New Jersey to be with her, and he'd believed that he'd be happy with any circumstances he could wrangle . . . But now he found himself losing patience. Nothing was happening, except for him picking fights with Mark. He'd kissed her yesterday, for the first time, and he'd thought that was a huge step; then, an hour later, she had made it abundantly clear that the kiss was not to be discussed or repeated.

Really, what was he doing here?

"Hey," Sara said quietly, leaning in and putting her face near his, trying to make eye contact with him. "What are you thinking? You've been quiet for a good minute."

His face less than six inches from hers, he studied her eyes for a moment. Was there anything there but confusion? Any affection, desire, concern? He didn't think so, and that realization, more than anything else that had happened in the past few days, made him decide that something had to give.

Sara waved a hand between their faces. "Helloooo."

Grissom's eyes snapped to hers. "Do you care about me?"

She blinked. "Huh? Of course I do."

"You told me you were 'almost in love' with me for years."

Unsure where he was going with this, Sara said only, "Yes."

"But you're not now."

"Well, I . . ."

"We're less close now than we were in Las Vegas, and back then I hardly even talked to you."

"Grissom . . ."

"For every step I move closer to you, you move five steps back. Something is wrong with that."

Sara shook her head in semi-exasperation. "What do you want me to do, Grissom? Declare my undying love? Because I can't do that."

"I know you can't." His eyes roamed around the room for a moment before focusing back on her. "I know you can't," he repeated. "But you can't say you would be broken-hearted if I left here right now, can you?"

Sara's head was spinning. She didn't know what Grissom wanted from her, but she was pretty sure it wasn't a declaration of love, at least right now. "I don't know. . . I don't understand what you want from me right now, Grissom."

"Yeah," he said shortly, pushing back his chair and standing up. "I know."

She watched him in disbelief. "Wait! Where are you going? I don't know what the hell you're trying to tell me, Gris!"

"The ball's in your court now," he said as he walked to the door. "I'm not going to push you where you don't want to go. I'll see you at the end of shift."

Sara could only sputter in confusion as she watched him walk away from her.