She really was very much like a butterfly. He sipped at his glass of whiskey as he contemplated their situation. She was exquisite, delicate, and he'd be a world-class liar if he denied the effect she had on him. Hell, he was pushing hard at 50, and here she was pursuing him like a worshipful groupie seeking her favorite rock star. He wasn't made of stone, despite what those around him thought. Many were the times he eyed his telephone and mentally recited her number in his mind - one call, and she would be here, in his arms, in his bed, in his life. He'd actually had his hand on the cold, smooth handset a time or two. He'd stopped when the second part of their impossible two-step hit him in the face: Catching her would be the easy part. Releasing her would be the problem. Deep inside he knew their ending - and they WOULD end - could well be the death of her. That was the downside of life with a butterfly - few creatures were as lovely, but even fewer were so fragile.
He was a strange man, that Gil Grissom knew of himself. He was also self-aware enough to know his limitations, and he knew he was not the sort of man to do well in a long-term relationship. He found romantic entanglements always grew claustrophobic, leaving him feeling like a fly caught in a spider's web. Sooner or later the need for escape always overrode the benefits of warm companionship, regular sex, even love, and his jilted former lover would inevitably be left wondering what had happenened. All of his previous lady friends had been emotionally sturdy enough to easily move on. Getting to know Sara Sidle had shown him that she would not bounce back so readily. She didn't love easily, but when she did it was with her whole heart - and she loved him. He sucked down the rest of his whiskey in one sip as he contemplated this fact. He hurt her with his distance, his snappiness, his unwillingness to engage in a relationship with her, but if he gave her what she wanted, how much worse would she hurt in the end, when he extricated himself and got on with his life? Whatever move he made was bound to hurt her. He only hoped the balm he was giving her would be a healing one. His instincts told him that what he was giving her would be exactly what she needed.
He was shaken from his thoughts by a faint rap at his door. "Come in."
Greg Sanders stepped slowly in. He cleared his throat and looked at the floor in front of Grissom's desk. Grissom studied the younger man before him, taking in his spiky hair and stooped shoulders. He smiled reassuringly when Greg threw him a nervous glance. "Greg. Sit down. I need to talk to you about something..."
That night, Sara was seated in the same chair Greg had occupied eighteen hours earlier. "So you want me to train Greg?"
Grissom nodded. "Yes, Sara, I do. He needs consistency, and he needs to work under someone who doesn't simply use him to do their dirty work. I trust you to show him all the facets of the job, to instruct and correct without breaking his spirit."
Sara nodded. "Okay. I agree that I'm probably the best choice for the job. I'll do it."
Grissom smiled slightly. "I'm glad we're in agreement. Greg will be waiting in the breakroom. Why don't you go meet up with him there?"
He looked through the window and watched her traverse the distance to the staff lounge, saw Greg break into a broad grin as she approached, noticed a smile creep across her face in response. Suddenly he knew he'd made the right decision. He'd placed her in Greg's hands as much as he'd given her Greg to train. He smiled sadly as he watched them walk away together, Greg's demeanor much like that of a happy puppy. In his heart he felt a door close, and for just a moment he wished he was a different sort of man.