I can only spend so many hours unpacking before I find myself with nothing to do but wonder what I'm supposed to do about Sara. When you're settled, I hear her repeat in my head.

When will I be settled?

I need to think. I was able to go along with it for today, but I can't stay in this state of limbo where I don't know where I stand with her. Worse yet, I don't quite know where I want to stand with her.

That is, I can clearly articulate what it is that I don't want to happen: I don't want us to revert to our pre-New York non-relationship, where I'm stuck stealing glances and only daydreaming about touching her. I don't want the tension to come back. I don't want her to think of me as aloof.

On the other hand, I don't want either of us to lose our jobs. I don't want to get my heart stomped on. I don't want people to think Sara's sleeping her way to the top.

But what do I want? I tax myself. Well, I want Sara.

Not that that's a change from what I've wanted for the past five years. I need to narrow it down to specifics, I think. That's the only way I'll be able to really work this out. What, specifically, do I want from Sara? From my job?

Companionship. Someone reliable, someone who I trust without question. Someone who understands me and can handle my idiosyncrasies without killing me. Someone tall, with long legs and brown hair . . .

I cut myself off before I can go too far off track and remind myself that I already know who I want; I'm trying to work out what I want. If I can have Sara, what will I expect of her? What will the lab expect of us?

I need Sara to be discreet. Whether we hide the relationship at work or not, I don't want to give Ecklie any more ammunition. I would expect that both she and I would function exactly the same in our work environment as we always have, and I would expect her to understand the need for that.

But this is the tricky part: I would expect our work environment to be equally accepting of us. It would make us hate our work, and probably each other, if we found that we had to spend more energy being on guard around each other than working on cases.

How can I know whether work will cooperate, though? I haven't the slightest idea what our reception as a couple would be. I'm certain that Sara doesn't either.

I need a second opinion. I pick up the phone and dial Catherine's number.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A few hours later, I knock on Sara's door. I have a bag of gummi worms in one hand and a bunch of wildflowers, which I'm currently holding much too tightly, in the other. I hear footsteps approaching the door and take a giant step back, not wanting to be in her face when she opens the door.

It opens only as far as the chain will allow and her face appears in the crack. Her eyes widen and she says, "Grissom!" then slams the door.

Feeling an odd sort of deja vu, I stand and wait for her to open the door again.

I hear her scrabbling at the locks and then the door swings open all the way. "Sorry," she says sheepishly, motioning me in.

"Habit, I know," I tell her as I step in. "These are for you." I thrust the flowers at her, knowing as I do it that I'm a long way from being suave like Catherine said I should be.

"Uh, thanks." She accepts the flowers, looks down at them like she doesn't know what to do with them, and lays them on the kitchen counter. "What are you doing here?"

Well, I hadn't expected her to be this up-front, but I guess I can play along. "I came to see you," I tell her. "Oh, and to say, uh, 'thank you' and pay you back."

She leans against the counter and looks at me with an expression I can't decipher. "Exactly what are you thanking me for?"

Not trusting myself to not say something to anger her, I just hold out the bag of candy. She takes it cautiously and studies it. "Gummi worms?"

Now I'm getting unsettled. She's not acting anything like she was earlier today. Has she changed her mind? "I ate yours," I say tentatively. "Almost the whole bag. So I just thought I'd . . ." I shrug and gesture to the bag she's now holding.

She sets it next to the flowers and stares at me. "Let me get this straight. You came all the way over to my apartment . . . to return the candy you ate?"

"No!" What the hell? She's taking this too literally. "I came to . . ." I start. What did I come to tell her? "I came to talk to you," I say lamely.

"We're talking," she says, waving her hand to indicate I should go on.

I take a deep breath. "I came to talk to you about what happened this week. And what's going to happen now."

"How so?" she says tightly.

I stammer for a few seconds, but I can't seem to get out anything coherent. Finally I give up and just take her hands in mine, hoping that the contact will calm me.

It doesn't much calm me, but it seems to help her. She squeezes my hands and says, "Grissom, talk to me. If you want to tell me something, just tell me. Even if it's bad. I don't like being kept in suspense."

"It's not bad," I say quickly. "At least, I don't think so."

She sighs and tugs on my hands. "Come on. If you're going to have a meltdown, sit on the couch while you do it."

I let her lead me into her living room and sit on her couch. She sits next to me, folding her legs under her indian-style, still holding my hands. "Talk."

I take a deep breath. "I called Catherine earlier."

She cocks her head to the side, looking puzzled. "Ok . . ."

"I wanted to ask her opinion about something."

"What kind of 'something'?" she prompts.

"I did some thinking while I was unpacking today," I say slowly. "I was trying to decide what . . . where . . . what I want to do with you. Now, I mean. That is, since we've returned to Las Vegas."

She relaxes slightly. "And did you reach a decision?"

"That's why I called Catherine."

"You called Catherine to make your decision for you?" Her voice is starting to take on that tone that I associate with an imminent storm-out. She drops my hands.

"No, I didn't," I say. "I called her because I needed more information before I made a decision."

"You know, I don't think I've ever known anyone quite as mechanical as you. You need information to feed into your processor before you can even make a decision about your personal life." She shakes her head. "You're weird, Grissom."

I take comfort in the fact that she sounds more indulgent than frustrated. "I'm sorry. It's just the way I operate."

She shrugs and gives me a small smile. "I know. It's something I'm learning to deal with. Now keep talking."

"Well, like I said, I called Catherine. I wanted to hear her opinion about what would happen if I were to, uh, pursue you."

" 'Pursue me'? You're losing me - I thought we already did the pursuit."

This isn't working as I'd hoped it would, but I tell myself to be thankful that she seems to be intrigued rather than angry. "I mean publicly."

"Pursue me publicly?" She laughs. "I'm getting mental images of you chasing me down the Strip."

I smile. "Not exactly. What I meant was that I asked her what she thought would happen if you and I were to . . . see each other . . . and not keep it hidden."

She stops laughing, closes her mouth with a snap, and stares at me.

I wait for her to say something, but she doesn't, so I venture on: "She checked the departmental regulations for me, so that it's not obvious that I'm the one interested."

"Ok . . ."

"There's no rule against it, Sara," I say, trying not to sound overeager. "We can't be fired for having a relationship with a co-worker unless the relationship leads to decreased work efficiency or compromised integrity."

She just looks at me for a long moment, then says, sounding slightly alarmed, "What, exactly, are you saying, Gris?"

I thought I was being fairly clear about it. I try to think of another way to phrase it. "I'm saying that I don't want to go back to what we were before New York. I want . . . more."

"You're nottrying to escape this?" she says incredulously. "You want to move forward, just like that?" she asks, snapping her fingers on that.

"Uh, yes." I'm getting nervous. Did I misread her signals this week? Should I have waited?

"You're not interested in trying to keep this a secret?"

"Why don't you believe me?" I finally ask, irritated by her skepticism.

She sighs. "You've spent years ignoring me. When you finally did something about it, it was somewhere far, far away from our everyday lives. Can you blame me for being a little doubtful that now you suddenly want to not only 'pursue' me, but do it in front of everyone?"

"I guess I can understand that. But Sara . . ."

"Just tell me this," she interrupts. "Tell me what's suddenly changed your mind, and then I'll listen to whatever you have to say after that."

I rub at my beard nervously, trying to formulate a response that will pass muster. "Catherine reminded me of something I said to you once, a few years ago."

"Oh? What?"

"It was after you went into that grocery store trying to trap the Strip Strangler. You were upset when it didn't work," I say, taking her hands again. Staring down at them so I don't have to see her reaction to what I'm about to say, I continue, "That night, I told you that sometimes, the harder thing to do is . . . to do nothing."

Her tension eases a bit, but she stays quiet.

I sigh and look up at her. "I guess I've finally learned to take my own advice."

It takes a second for that to sink in, but when it does she gives me the wide smile I love to see. "Took you long enough."

THE END

xxxxxxx

A/N: I know some of you thought the last chapter was the end, but I thought I needed to wrap it up a little more. So here's chapter 23, the actual last chapter!