They hadn't left each other on the greatest of terms, so Gil was shocked beyond words when the young woman who had all but thrown him off her yard appeared just before sunset. He'd been out in the sand, working to extract a dead something from it's grave. He wasn't sure what it was, and would never find out.

Her hand grazed up his back, startling him and causing his hands to jerk, the scalpel in his right hand managing to snag on his left thumb, splitting it open. Hissing, he pushed it into his mouth, standing and turning… and he was rendered silent. The only sound was the crashing of waves as tide swept in -- she didn't say anything, and he used the excuse that his thumb was in his mouth to remain quiet as well.

When no words were exchanged, Gil turned to kneel back down and go back to the exhumation, only to feel her catch his arm by placing her hand in the hook of his elbow, the way she always did. There was a little pull, and he obliged, bringing his blue eyes back to her gray ones. The hand not on his arm raised to his wrist, and she pulled his hand away from his face. The sting of air against his cut caught his attention for a moment, but the realization of what was going to happen very quickly took over that worry.

She kissed him. A little more than a peck, but completely chaste and innocent, and when she pulled away, he felt oddly unembarrassed by it.

"I'm sorry, Gil." He had known what was coming the second her lips met his, and in all respects, he had deserved the apology. He'd done nothing to anger her that day, and she had attempted to hit him for it. Thus, Grissom did not attempt to say anything to excuse her, merely looking down at his thumb, watching blood ooze from the slice.

"It's good that your reflexes are fast, you know? If you'd let me hit you I'd never be able to face you again." She admitted, offering a little smile in her attempt to lighten the mood.

Smile, dammit! This can get better if you just smile!

Wiping the blood from his thumb on the hem of his shirt, he let the corners of his lips twitch up, and he met her gaze again.

"I used to play baseball with my dad." He gave the most vague explanation he could, and it seemed to work, because she bobbed her head in understanding, a little 'ah' making it's way past her lips. Which he suddenly noticed were painted dark red, and as soon as the thought hit him that it may have gotten on him, she raised a hand and pushed her thumb across his bottom lip, a smirk on her face.

"Not really your color." She joked, and they both chuckled, the mood between them lifting unmeasurably.

"I'll go put my kit away and get this cleaned, then we'll go for a walk, alright?" He suggested, kneeling and picking up his 'kit' of autopsy materials. She nodded, clasping her hands behind her back.

"I'll wait here."

"You can come in…"

"No, it's fine. I'll wait. I want to listen to the water." And she turned, once again granting him a profile view of her. Nodding, he dropped his gaze, making his way up toward his house.

--

On his way back down the slope, he observed her from behind, immediately noticing that she wasn't where he'd left her. She had stepped closer to the water, her hands were no longer clasped, and the sun hit her beautiful hair, creating quite an image for her. Fifteen years old, and yet she had the grace and poise of a queen.

She seemed unaware of him as he stepped up behind her. Only when his hand came up to lightly touch the small of her back did she acknowledge him. Her head tipped toward him, her gaze following a few seconds later. No words needed, the two turned and began their walk through the surf, Heather not noticing(or caring) that once in a while, a particularly forceful wave would roll in, soaking her feet and the few lower inches of her skirt.

Silence and the ocean and Heather.

The combination had Gil quite at east, so relaxed, in face, that he did not notice that his hand had remained against her back.

"I don't think you realize your own perfection, Gil." She rather suddenly observed, and his confused look make her smile. "You're perfect in a rare way, and no one has pointed it out because they don't know if perfect is the right word."

"I don't think it is."

"It is." She interrupted, her eyes flicking up to him for a moment. "You're not easily angered or offended… and you… you have a sort of innocence about you that confuses people who see your intelligence. In theory, someone as smart as you should know but you hardly understand me." Gil wasn't sure what she meant that he was supposed to know but she wasn't done yet, so he didn't ask. "I don't know if that's a choice or-" She broke off, a smile melting onto her face as she shook her head. "You're the exact opposite of my father."

That surprised him almost as much as her kiss had, and he looked down at her, the smile gone from her face.

"I guess I knew the moment my mother left that he'd ruin me to punish her." Bitterness came to her tone, and Gil realized they had stopped walking, her hand pushing to her abdomen. "He never stopped to think that she doesn't, never has, give a damn." Now his own hand rose and he pushed two fingers over her lips. She jerked away, stepping out of his reach. "I don't want to stop." Her voice shook, and Gil felt his chest tighten. Voicing what she wanted seemed to give her more power, and he had a gnawing feeling that this was the first time she was sure that he would let her have what she wanted.

Stepping up to him, she brought her hands to the sides of his face. "You have to help me, Gil. I need you to help me." The power she had earned shattered, and the girl -woman- who threw herself into his arms made him realize, right there on the beach, what perfection really was.

She didn't cry this time, merely clung to him like he held all of the answers and could make everything okay. And exactly like the last time, all he could do was stand there and hold her.