A/N: To the reviewer who mentioned the Kama Sutra not being Victorian: One of the things I had planned to research was one when the first illustrated versions came out in England. Unfortunately, when the chapter was posted it slipped my mind and thus it was unclear/not completely correct. Sorry about that.

And oh, a great big thank you for those who have read and/or reviewed the chapters so far. You rock.

III

The house was clean and light, and the late evening's sunlight that shone through the windows gave everything the soft glow of purity. Paint canisters were dotted around on the floor and a paint-splattered stairway stood in a corner of the living room. Brass entered through the hallway and looked around, shuffling forward over the plastic sheets covering the marble tiles.

"Hey Gil, this reminds me of your place."

Up went an eyebrow in question, but Grissom didn't turn around to face him. " Care to explain that statement?"

"White, pristine, and bare."

Brass was feeling frustrated and pissed off, and he took it out on Grissom, who on all accounts didn't exactly look the picture of Perfect Health either.

He could have said how his townhouse was clean as a whistle, quite the opposite of how Brass's used to be. Or that there never had been empty bottles of Jack Daniels and cans of Budweiser spread around the place, both the witnesses and culprits of long, drunken ramblings and lonely nights.

"Jim…." His mouth opened and the bitter and stinging words that were mangling around in his mind were so close to come rolling out. Instead, Grissom chose not to confront Brass in a showdown of words and walked away. A tactic he had employed often, and which had the ability to create rifts between him and those he called friends.

Casting an eye along the bare room, some of which still bore the marks of this having been a house in which people had lived. And where a woman might have been murdered. Bright white squares dotted around on the walls, witnesses to taken-down painting of photographs. A dried, and nearly mummified spider was crumpled up in a corner, tossed between the skirting board and the plastic sheets. As he started to walk around, emerging himself in the task of observing, he saw Sara standing near the far end of the room, camera ready in her hands to document her findings.

"Sara?"

She turned rather abruptly, as though forgetting that he was there in the room with her. Or surprised that he paid attention to her. "Come take a look. This area here," her fingers hovered over the wall, "hasn't been painted yet. Forgotten, maybe. But there's some red cast-off here. I was just about to test it for blood."

Walking towards her, the intangible hold she had over him became clearer and clearer to him, and somewhere in his subconscious, the dreams were replaying itself, fast-forwarding to the most intense moments. And when she smiled at him, just a soft and gentle one, he had a sudden need to hold her close. Just for a single moment, a second. To feel her, to know how she felt in his arms, so that his dreams could even be more realistic in their submersive powers.

Holding up the swab confirming that the swab was blood, she looked at him. "I wonder how Landsworth will explain this."

"Sara, we don't know yet if this is the victim's blood. For all we know, it might be his'."

She sighed in frustration. "I know, I know, no jumping to conclusions. But damnit, Griss, why else would he move out of here so quickly, and plan on painting every single inch of this wall? He has to be covering up something." She held up the camera, and nodded towards the wall. "Could you…?"

He held the yellow marker in place while she documented the possible evidence.

Brass' voice rang out from a few feet away. "Grief, perhaps? Not all men are bastards and kill their wives, you know."

"Brass, I know that. But you've seen the guy. Interviewed him. Don't tell me you're convinced of his innocence!"

She shook her head as both Brass and Grissom looked at her. "Look, guys, I'm fine. It's not like I'd nail his ass for no reason." A grin errupted as she saw the dubious looks on her companions. "Honest! Let's just see what else we can find."

"What are you hoping to find? Some brand new incriminating evidence which will lock him up for life? Come on, Sara. Life doesn't work that way."

"With the removal of the furniture, there is a reasonable chance that we'll find new evidence that could secure a trial against him, Jim." Grissom was still standing close to Sara, seemingly forming a front against the sceptism that appeared to have invaded the detective.

"Fine. Just uh, just don't let this case consume you, Sara." Brass' eyes were fixed upon Sara, but flickered towards Grissom as well, silently letting him know that the piece of advice was valid for him too.

---

Regardless of all the coffee cups and sugar sachets strewn around, she felt tired. Not a tiredness that could be fixed by yet another double espresso, but one that screamed desperately for sleep. An uninterrupted, deep slumber that would allow her to simply rest. To let go of her frustration with everything she encountered on a near daily basis. The pain, the anguish, the sorrow. The flicker of hope that was simply too stubborn to die off.

It kept coiling in her gut, clawing and squeezing at her heart. She had tried to stay away from him, for the both of them. But when he had sought her out, when he would talk to her, reminiscent of days long past, her need for self-preservation and letting-go would war with her heart. With hope. And she was so, so tired of it.

He confused her too. Not that that was anything new, but it still threw her off balance on occasion. Reminding her that she shouldn't think ahead of the what the evidence was telling her, almost as though she was a rookie. And yet, he backed her up only minutes later when Brass questioned her ideas.

All the memories, feelings, uncertainties, and wasted chances were milling around, stoking up a fire that was difficult to be tamed. Hurt turned into anger, disappointment into resolve. Closing the file and logging out of the computer program she had been using, Sara stood up and walked in the direction of Grissom's office.

---

He was sitting behind his desk, which was once again crowded. Stacks of supply requests and bills waiting to be approved by a simple wiggle of the pen were piled haphazardly on the side, and current case reports sat in front of him. Sometimes, more often than he wanted to admit to himself, he wondered when the work of science had come to resemble that of an accountant. Budgets that had to be strictly adhered to, theoretical inventories that never quite matched up with the actual physical stock. Everything had to be signed off on. And the slighest discrepancy would come back and bite him in the ass. A thousand less swabs than ordered, and the lab technicians would come complaining, and he would have to account for the mistake. Petty things that only served to heighten his restlessness.

The clearing of her throat alerted him to her presence. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course. Have a seat." Seeing her close the door, a trickle of unease ran through him. "Found new evidence against Landsworth?"

"It's uhm… It's not about the case, Grissom. We need to talk."

Her voice was soft but resolved, and he resisted the lure of sitting nearer to her. Instead, he kept behind his desk and placed his hands on its surface, fingers entwined. A place he felt most comfortable, and allowed him to look her in the eye. Or away, if he needed to.

"I need you to do something for me." She looked up from her hands which had been busy fingering the case file she had brought as a form of distraction. Or reason, had she chickened out in the last minute.

He looked intrigued, but didn't say a word. His face said it all. 'Go on…'

"I need you to tell me where you stand. Where we stand. The last weeks, months even, you've been… you've confused me. We've talked, laughed… you made me laugh. You were so much like back when I met you, when I came here for you. Maybe it could even be interpreted as flirting. Yet it seemed like you sometimes withdrew, like you didn't want anything to do with me. You'd have said something and then, within a few seconds, you'd be back to being aloof and distant."

She bit her lip lightly, wondering if she'd perhaps said too much. But she was proud; she had done what she set out to do. She had asked him where they stood. Maybe she would get an explanation, or a few cryptic words. Or nothing. And all of them allowed her to make a choice, including the one option she had considered, but didn't necessarily want. Moving on, and away.

He heard her words, and they registered. But he had no idea how to react. How to tell her of his dreams, nightmares. Of his constant battle to fall asleep and forget about her, and his feelings. Only to wake up and having to try to put the images and feelings of loneliness and emptiness away.

As she has seen him do so often, his eyes closed and he sighed, a weary and bleak sound. Before, she would have walked out, not wanting to ride the emotional 'coaster till the end in trepidation of what she might hear. But this time she stayed, needing that bit of closure he might provide. That she wanted him to give her.

"Sara, I…" His lips parted slightly and then closed again, swallowing whatever words he wanted to say.

She saw how his eyes flitted away from her, over to some of the paperwork on his desk, the books that were placed randomly on shelves, back to his hands. Pretty much anywhere but at her. But he seemed to be trying, and so she waited.

TBC...