AN: Thanks goes to guess19 for betaing, and for reading the first ending I wrote and telling me it sucked, then putting up with me when I moaned about not knowing how to rewrite it. I'm pretty pleased with the new ending and hope everyone who's been reading since Chapter 1 is too.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Epilogue: Waking

Sara opened her eyes. She noted immediately that the lids no longer felt like they weighed several tons as they had during the past week. Her whole body was bathed in the most delicious warmth; as her eyes slowly focused on her fingers resting on the pillow near her head, she saw that for the first time in months, the nail beds were flushed a bright, healthy pink instead of their usual bluish purple tinge.

A rustling of papers made her look up, and she realized that what she had thought was a pillow under her head was actually Grissom's abdomen. He was propped up slightly against the headboard, peering through his glasses at the journal he held in one hand; the other hand was slowly stroking absently over Sara's hair. Suddenly embarrassed, Sara sat up and pulled away from him. He regarded her solemnly.

"Good morning."

"How long did I sleep?" she asked, trying to control the flush rising in her cheeks.

He glanced at the clock. "About nine hours."

She gaped at him. "Nine hours?"

He nodded. "From what Nick and Greg tell me, you needed it, plus a lot more."

"You don't understand," she said. "I haven't slept for more than five hours at a stretch in years. Possibly decades."

"Why?" he asked softly.

Embarrassed again, she looked away, tracing a pattern on Nick and Greg's bedspread with her thumbnail. "I have a lot on my mind."

Grissom drew in a deep breath. "Sara…Is it because of me?"

She glanced up at him. His face was clouded with pain and confusion, and a little – was that hope? "I won't lie," she finally said, studying his face as she spoke. "You've been part of the problem these last few years. But Grissom, you're not the only rough spot in my life – just the most recent. There's a lot in my past that contributes – you know some of it already."

He nodded slowly, but didn't respond. She sat back, flexing her fingers, enjoying the alertness in her limbs and lack of soreness in her muscles. Suddenly remembering the hallucinations she had been having, she whipped her head around to check the corner where her father's ghost had been, then nearly laughed out loud. There was a chair in the corner with a three foot doll dressed as Tim Curry's character in Rocky Horror Picture Show, complete with fishnets, sitting on it. Nothing more sinister than that. When Grissom spoke again it startled her.

"I can't make up for the past," he said slowly, "particularly events that I wasn't even a party to." He took a deep breath. "But Sara – if you're still interested – I'd like to try to make the future a little better."

To her surprise, her heart didn't leap at his invitation as it might have a year or two ago. Instead, wariness filled her. "Why this sudden change of heart?" she asked cautiously.

He looked away from her, staring out the window at the deepening twilight. "For a long while, I told myself that the timing was wrong for us. I was your teacher and you were my student, and then I was in Vegas and you were in San Francisco. Then you had only been in Vegas for a little while and I didn't want people to think I called you here and hired you just because I was in lo- was attracted to you. Then you were dating Hank…" he trailed off. When he began speaking again, his voice was low. "And then I was losing my hearing, and I was terrified and confused."

"That was over two years ago, Gris," Sara said. At his surprised look, she waved a hand. "Oh please, Gris, do you think I couldn't tell? I'm an investigator at the second-best crime lab in the country; I can put two and two together and get four."

"I should have known better," he said gruffly. "Well, after that, when there was a possibility of the timing being right, I – I chickened out."

Sara suppressed a snort of hysterical laughter. "I'm sorry, you what?"

He looked at her reproachfully over the glasses he still wore. "I was terrified. I started making up excuses in my mind – I was too old, it was inappropriate for us to have a relationship when I was your supervisor, we couldn't risk our jobs like that, you must be interested in other men – hell, I half convinced myself that you were in love with either Greg or Nick or both."

Now she did snort with laughter. "Greggo or Nicky?"

Sighing, Grissom tossed the journal aside and nodded ruefully. "Yes. I only just realized when I came over yesterday why that was such a ridiculous idea."

She froze. "You mean – they – "

Grissom nodded again. "It would have been hard to hide once I was here: living together but not telling any of us – except you apparently – that they were, only one bed in the house, photos of the two of them together all over."

"Oh my God," Sara said dazedly. "They came out to you for me, for my sake." It was such a dangerous, selfless act that she was overcome with an urge to cry.

"It won't make any difference at work," Grissom said firmly. "I don't intend to tell anyone, and it certainly doesn't matter to me." He smiled slightly. "Though I'll admit it surprised me. I had no idea." He turned to Sara. "I didn't ask them – how long – ?"

She pursed her lips, trying to remember. "A long time. Three years? Since right around the time Nicky had that stalker." Now it was her turn to smile. "They're perfect together, Gris. When there's no one else around, you should see them. They're so affectionate and so – so loving."

"I'm glad to know they're happy," Grissom said. "And frankly, if they hadn't told me, I don't think we'd be having this conversation. They were the ones who made me decide to see if you were still willing to try this; I figured if Nicky and Greg can risk everything at work by maintaining an unorthodox relationship, I can certainly try too." He leaned forward and took Sara's hands. "Are you – are you still willing to try this with me, despite our past, and despite my age, and despite the fact that we'll have to keep it a secret at work?"

She took a deep breath. "Yes, on one condition: if you're worried about something between us, or something's just bothering you in general, you tell me. No shutting down, no shutting me out." When Grissom nodded, she continued, "I'm serious, Grissom. You fuck with me again, and I'm gone. As it is I can barely sleep; I can't handle anymore rejection."

He nodded again. "Fair enough, as long as you'll point it out to me if I do start shutting you out," he said. "Often I don't intend to, and I don't even realize I am – it's habit. I've always been a very introverted person."

"No kidding," she teased gently, grinning.

He smiled back, then raised his hand to trace along her lips. "I love when you smile," he said. He took a deep breath and slowly leaned forward to kiss her.

The warmth that Sara was still basking in came to a roaring boil within her. She slid her arms up around Grissom and drew him in closer to her, loving the heat and strength of his body pressed all along hers. When they drew apart, Grissom was nearly panting.

"Why don't we go back to my townhouse?" he said. "I think you need to get more rest, and I'd like to help you… relax so that you can."

Her lips twitched. "Oh you would, would you?"

He nodded solemnly. "It's very important – my top priority. But I don't think," he glanced down, "Nick and Greg's bed is the most appropriate or ideal location for what I had in mind."

"Neither do we!" came Greg's shout from the hallway outside the closed bedroom door.

Three weeks later

Sara shut the door to the townhouse softly, then gently deposited her light jacket and her purse on the end of the breakfast bar. She'd stayed at work for an extra two and half hours, wrapping up the case she had been working and catching up on some of the paperwork that had been piling up in her workstation. She fully expected Grissom to be in his bed asleep by now, and she smiled softly as she debated whether she should just slip silently into bed with him and let him sleep, or if she should strip, slide on top of him as he slept, and give him a pleasant awakening.

In the three weeks since her insomnia had reared its ugly head, Sara had only slept alone once, when Grissom had spent the day in a neighboring county after consulting on a crime scene with etymological evidence. She'd never slept so much, never felt more rested, never had more energy. While her performance at work, always exceptional, hadn't really changed, she knew she had become at least a more pleasant person to work with. And now when she was lying in bed awake, she was usually engaged in something far more enjoyable than counting the knots on the back of her closet door.

When she reached Grissom's bedroom, she stopped and stared. Not only was Grissom not in bed, but the bed was covered with plastic sheeting. Grissom himself was up on a stepladder, paintbrush in one hand, an open can of paint balancing precariously on the top step of the ladder.

She blinked in amazement. The once-white ceiling of his bedroom was now covered with an array of shapes and words. A horde of realistically-detailed insects crowded one corner, a meticulously complete skeleton was spread across another, and the periodic table was traced in pencil in a third. Beautiful scrolls and flourishes surrounded the light that hung from the center of the ceiling. Random words, many of them forensics-related, were painted in a lovely flowing script. As she watched, Grissom added color to the wing of an intricate butterfly that was traced in the fourth corner. Her mouth hung open.

"Gris?"

He turned to smile at her. "Hi honey." He glanced back at the ceiling. "I think we're going to have to sleep at your apartment today while this dries and the room airs out a bit."

"Um…," she squinted at him, "Can I ask what you're doing first?"

He grinned, looking immensely pleased with himself. "I'm painting you pictures. These are so whenever you can't sleep and I'm not here, you can look at these paintings instead of staring at a blank ceiling."

She stood unmoving for a moment, stunned not only by the thoughtfulness of his gesture but by his casual assumption that his bed would also be her bed for a good long time yet to come, then smiled and beckoned him down from the ladder so she could thank him properly. For the first time in well over a decade, she could see her future stretching out in front of her, and it didn't include only relentless dedication to her work and sleepless days and empty routines. It suddenly included Grissom as an active participant. And, also for the first time in well over a decade, she wanted to be an active participant in her life as well.

FIN