A/N Spoilers for Nesting Dolls, and Committed, and The Unusual Suspect. Thanks to brandie.d for an excellent beta!

The house was dark when he returned home. Grissom frowned as he turned and locked the door behind him. He'd been used to this-coming home to a dark, quiet house. It had never bothered him; nor had it bothered him that he'd been used to calling it a house-not a home. So much had changed in the last months. It still astonished him sometimes how quickly he'd become accustomed to coming home to all the lights blazing and music he'd never have chosen himself coming from the stereo. How quickly he's stopped calling it 'the house' in his mind and started calling it 'home'.

How quickly he'd become accustomed to her.

The corners of his lips turned up as he made his way around the bookshelves to the main room, flipping lights on as he walked. His briefcase found a place on the floor next to the new sofa-the first purchase she'd talked him to making once she'd started spending time here. He smiled as he remembered her argument, "Grissom! I don't care what you call it, that…thing…is not furniture. Furniture is comfortable, cozy. That…that is leather clad art!"

Grissom had given in of course, and had taken her shopping for a new sofa the next weekend. Just as he'd given in to the bright rugs that now adorned his previously gray floor, and the splashes of color in the new window dressings. He was just glad she didn't have a penchant for pink-he might have actually had to say 'no' to pink.

He'd vowed never to say 'no' to her again. Not after spending so many years doing just that.

He'd already un-tucked his shirt by the time he reached the hallway leading to his…their…room. He'd grab a quick shower, get the sheen of a double shift off him then make breakfast. Let her be the one to come home to a bright, warm house for a change. It wasn't often anymore that he beat her home; usually they arrived within minutes of each other. Rarer occasions had her beating him to the house, teasing that he'd missed his chance at hot water. He wondered as he opened the door what had kept her. The jury had already come back on the case she'd been working with Nick; she'd been heading over to the police department to tie up a few loose ends when he last saw her hours ago. Maybe she'd taken Nick out after, the younger man had been convinced in his suspect's guilt, and with the rumor mill being what it was, Grissom had learned of the acquittal almost as soon as those in the courtroom had.

He'd just reached for the light switch when her voice whispered from the darkened room. "Don't."

"Sara?"

Grissom eased the door closed behind him and crossed to the bed, lowering himself gently onto the mattress. Sara was sitting with her back against the headboard, chin resting on her knees. He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear so he could see her face. "Sara, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's nothing, Grissom."

"Hey. If it were nothing, you wouldn't be sitting alone in the dark. What happened at the police station?"

"Marlon was released." Her voice was quiet, her eyes never quite meeting his. "Nick's furious with the jury. But really…they had reasonable doubt, and we couldn't find anything to show Hannah didn't kill Stacy."

"But you still think she did…"

Her only response to that was a shrug. When she didn't elaborate further Grissom slid up on the bed so he was sitting next to her. He reached for her hand, unclenched her fingers from around her knee, and intertwined them with his own. "Tell me what's wrong, Sara. Please."

She let out a soft sigh and tightened her fingers around his, though she still refused to meet his eyes. "Hannah says now she didn't do it. That she's more than smart enough to get away with murder-that she's smart enough to make people think she'd gotten away with murder."

"Oh." He was quiet for a moment; when he did finally speak his voice was hesitant, "Sara. We've both been wrong before…"

"No!" Sara's head jerked up then, and she finally looked him in the eyes. "It's not that Grissom. I don't mind being wrong. I don't know that I am wrong this time…I still think Hannah had something to do with Stacy's death. But it's not that…"

"Then what is it Sara?"

"Do you think I'm capable of murder, Grissom?"

"What?" Grissom shook his head before noticing that she'd looked away again. This time he reached out and gently turned her head so she was facing him. "No. I don't believe you're capable of murder Sara. Of all the people I know…you're the least capable of murder. What brought this on?"

"Something Hannah said. About me being smart enough to get away with murder."

"Sara. Listen to me. She's a twelve year old girl…I don't care how smart she is, she's still just a twelve year old girl." He smiled as he let his thumb stroke her cheek, "But she may be right. You are smart enough to get away with murder. I know I'd hate to have to investigate any crime you committed. But Sara…that's not the same thing as being capable of murder."

"I know…it's just…"

He waited for her to continue. Waiting out silences was one thing that he truly was good at. Usually Sara couldn't handle silences, and rushed to fill them. God knew that pattern had damaged their relationship over the years. But this time she was just as quiet as he.

"Sara. Listen to me. You're not your mother."

She lifted her head to look at him, moisture threatening to spill from her eyes. "How do you know?"

"I know Sara. I know." His fingers tightened around hers as he leaned in to brush her lips with a kiss. "I know you Sara. I see the empathy you have for every victim of every crime you've ever investigated. People like that…people like you…just aren't capable of murder. Not for any reason. Believe me."

"I…don't know if I can."

Grissom let her hand drop from his as he reached his arm around her shoulders, pulling her tightly against him. "Then I'm just going to have to believe in you, until you can."

-end-