Title: This Disaster

Disclaimer: If you can buy CSI for the five pennies in my pocket, check back tomorrow. If it costs a bit more, then it will never be mine.

Spoilers: Indirect references to some of the relationship bumps up to about season 4, I think. Nothing major. More like this takes place sometime during/after the fourth season.

A/N: I was determined to see how much angst I could fit into one piece without wanting to rip it up. An hour and one Hershey's bar later, this is what came out. Hope you like it.

The first time he'd seen them, together, that is, he imagined the expression on his face was reminiscent of a startled deer caught in blinding headlights. Or like that of a child whose best friend calls him "four-eyes" in front of a crush. Or perhaps a mixture of both, accompanied by a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't remember precisely, he mind was too busy trying to shift emotional gears, but he was almost certain his jaw dropped. Never before had Gil Grissom felt like someone had sucker-punched him, knocking the wind out of his body, leaving him gasping like a fish out of water.

Sara.

And Nick.

Together?

It certainly had seemed like it, as hard as it was for him to completely comprehend what was going on. That first time, they hadn't even seen him; Grissom had a sneaky suspicion that Sara and Nick might not have noticed him even if he'd been only inches away. He'd sighed; they looked thoroughly occupied with each other to even think that they were in the break room, visible to any lab personnel who happened to walk by. Including him.

Nick had Sara pinned against one of the large glass windows, his body pressed firmly against hers. Pressed almost as firmly as their lips were; devouring each other's in a kiss so passionate it made Grissom want to avert his gaze.

But he didn't. He couldn't. Some sadistic, twisted part of him kept Grissom from tearing his eyes away from them, instead forcing Grissom to watch; to commit to memory the way Nick's fingers splayed out on the glass, leaving handprints where he pushed against it for support as he smiled against Sara's lips. Or the was she clutched fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him so close to her that it seemed inhumanly possible to conceive there was so much as a single air molecule between the two of them. Or the way that during the few, and brief, moments when they pulled apart for air, Nick looked at her. Really looked at her; tousled ringlets of dark copper hair and flushed expression; his eyes smoky with lust.

And Grissom, for his part, had just walked away after what seemed like an eternity, feeling thoroughly miserable for himself, and thoroughly jealous of Nick.

Even with soft strains of Bach floating through his living room that night, Grissom heard only silence that screamed volumes at him, shattered sporadically as he remembered the way Sara had moaned when Nick deepened the kiss.

This was going to haunt him. He could tell.

And although, lying in his bed later on, he'd closed his eyes and imagined himself in Nick's place; Sara's lithe form responding to Grissom's touch rather than Nick's, it was wholly unsatisfying. And empty apartment mocked him for hours before he fell asleep, his dreams invaded by what he'd witnessed that shift. Of Sara. Of Sara with Nick.

The next shift he'd paired Nick off with Catherine, Sara with Warrick, satisfied that they were, at least, working separate cases while he retreated into his office to convince himself what he'd seen was a fluke. That Sara and Nick were…a mistake. That it'd been a one time thing only. That they'd realize it wouldn't work, and stop.

It wouldn't work, Grissom though sadly, because he didn't want it to.

But even after running through a dozen scenarios, explaining it wasn't what it'd looked like to the fetal pig floating in a jar on his desk, who insisted to Grissom that maybe Sara and Nick were just plain in love, he didn't believe a word of it. He couldn't convince himself that it hadn't happened, and that stung him in a way witnessing the interaction hadn't.

He'd meant to catch up with them near the end of shift; to confront them, to watch them, even Grissom himself didn't know why. But he ended up, once again, a silent, invisible observer of a kiss, this one soft and gentle, in the parking lot. Nick had cupped Sara's chin with one hand, guiding her lips towards his own, while her hands seemed content to toy with the small hairs at the nape of his neck.

Grissom sighed. So much for the "one-time thing only" theory.

That night, some part of his brain registered that he'd been selfish. Selfish to lead Sara on with a plant or a touch or a look. Selfish to think she'd wait for him forever; pine away while he held her at arms length. Selfish for always expecting her to be ready for a case; to come when he called, forget that it had been he who'd told her to get a life.

But the bigger part, the majority of his brain which was being drowned with burning whiskey, quickly stifled that train of though. Selfish? Hadn't it been him who'd gotten her a job at the number two lab in the country? Hadn't it been him who'd provided her a mentor?

The alcohol did nothing to help him; Grissom woke the next morning with the beginnings of a brutal migraine, and a whisper echoing in his head:

"Too late, too late. By the time you figure things out…"

Her voice crashed against the confines of his skull, causing him to wince.

And his own voice, too:

"I don't know what to do about this"

"I do" she chided, her voice a ghost in his head.

"The lab needs you"

"Great…"

And a tormented Grissom completed the next few shifts replaying every dialogue they'd had; a habit which caused him no end of pain, but was something he couldn't stop.

He was torturing himself.

And it didn't help that it seemed to have become public knowledge that Sara and Nick had become involved. Warrick goaded the both of them about it every chance he got, earning any number of blushes and mock angry glares from the two. Catherine couldn't help but coo over the "magic of a new romance", finding (or inventing) no end of excuses to get the two in the same room. Brass had acted like a protective father, asking the pair with a wink if they needed to have "the talk". Even Greg had eventually warmed up to the idea, telling Sara if things didn't work out, he'd be happy to be the "trademark wild night of rebound sex". Grissom was the only one who seemed to have a problem with it.

Watching them, catching them together, had become a regular occurrence around the lab. Coffee breaks spent together cuddled on the couch; compromising moments in the locker room which always elicited a remark or two from Warrick before he walked out, joking he didn't need to be scarred with such images.

And so, over the next few months, Grissom effectively ruled out the "realize it was a mistake" theory.

It had become a routine, Grissom reflected sadly; to see them together was expected. Sara's strictly professional attitude with him, Nick's regarding him a bit stiffly, was now the norm (and Grissom couldn't blame him. He supposed interacting with the man who was in love with your girlfriend was uncomfortable, and didn't allow for the mentor/student relationship they'd once shared). The (not so) subtle whispers of "he's still in love with Sara" that followed him down the halls, Catherine getting fed up with him and telling him one day that "it was his own damn fault"…it was all regular. Almost a tradition.

Just as was Grissom's going home each night, wishing that he'd wake up the next morning to find out this whole disaster had been a horrible nightmare.

But every morning he'd open his eyes.

No such luck.

A/N: Don't hate me for being so mean to Grissom :D He can take it, right? Right? Anyways, drop me a review and let me know what you think.