The dark of the sky shaded towards the horizon, where the first hints of yellow dawn were easing upwards, pushing the blackness of night back into the celestial void. Soon the soft pinks would begin their journey over the landscape, as the sun began to rise on Nevada.

Of course, the sun wasn't really rising, Sara thought pragmatically. And it was actually a G2 star, one of more than 100 billion stars in this galaxy. While it might look small, seen to be hanging there as viewed by people on the earth's surface, that enormous hydrogen and hellium body accounted for 99 of the mass of the entire solar system. And while it did rotate on it's own axis, once every twenty-five days at it's equator, and as many as thirty-six days near it's poles...since it was not a solid body, but gaseous in nature...the sun did not rotate around the earth. The earth rotated around the sun. The whole idea of the sun rising and setting was a misnomer.

Sara remembered standing out on the balcony with her mother one evening, when she was about ten years old. The sky had glowed with a myriad of reds and golds, the heavy, low cloud cover picking up the hues and blending them in a breathtaking spectacle. Her mother had leaned against the rail, putting one arm around Sara. "Isn't that the most perfect sunset?"

The young Sara had launched into a discussion about the scientific facts she had been reading about the sun. Pointing out to her mother that the sun wasn't really setting, the earth was just moving around it. The girl shared the idea of differential rotation, and how it varied from the rotation of the solid mass of the earth. Clinically, Sara had spoken about the incredible temperatures, almost sixteen million Kelvin at the sun's core. She described the nuclear fusion reactions that accounted for the sun's incredible energy output.

Her mother had listened with interest. And then when Sara was done, she had pulled her daughter's head against her chest, and smoothed her long, dark hair. "My baby," she had said softly. "You have the most incredible head on your shoulders. You are such a smart girl and there is no limit to what you will be able to do in your life. I love learning everything that you just told me, and I am so proud of you and your never-ending quest to discover knowledge." She had paused then. "But there's more to the sun than all of those facts and figures. Once in a while, my Sara, take some time to see the beauty of things. To allow a little mystery into your life. To look at the sky and imagine instead one of heaven's best artists dipping brush to ink and using the undersides of the clouds as a canvas, he or she creating a temporary masterpiece for our viewing pleasure. A one-of-a-kind sunset that no one has seen before in exactly that form, or will ever see again. It's good to know things, Sara. But it's good to feel them too."

Only Sara didn't want to feel things. She prefered to bury her nose in a book. She wanted the consistency and the solidity and the unquestionable predictability of logic and science and fact. The young girl wanted to forget the sudden anger that would flare within the walls of the Sidle household. She wanted to forget the ugliness and the pain. That nebulous world of emotion was unpredictable. Everything could be happy one moment, and tragic the next. It was impossible to anticipate and plan for. It was too hard to stay safe in that world of emotion and dreams. Sara wanted the security of unchanging fact, and to concentrate on those things that were within her control.

But nothing was in her control these day, she realized. Sara sat on the hood of the black Denali, parked near the edge of a small rockface that dropped away to a small valley still blanketed in shadow. Her bent legs were drawn tight to her body, her thin arms clasped around them, her chin resting on the slight depression between her knees. She was staring off into the distance, thinking, waiting for a new day to dawn.

Sara had been out towards Barstow, on a domestic assault case. The battered body of the unconscious woman had been transported to the hospital. Her partner maintained that she had fallen down the stairs, going to get a drink of water in the dark. The cops on the scene were confident that the doctors at the hospital would be able to show that the woman's injuries were inconsistent with the man's story. But CSI had been called in to substantiate abuse. And Sara had been able to do so, through the collection of both primary evidence on the boyfriend, and secondary evidence on the scene. She had worked silently, furiously, identifying far too closely with the victim that she hadn't even seen, but who the EMTs and ER staff worked to save.

She knew that she had to get the kits and swabs and photographs back to the lab. But Sara simply hadn't had the energy to drive any further, feeling spent by her emotional intensity at the scene, and her concentration had been compromised. So she had pulled over, taking a seldom used access road out to this isolated spot. Sara had popped a CD into the player, then gotten out of the SUV, walking along the ledge, scuffing the ground with the tips of her sturdy hiking shoes, before hopping onto the Denali's hood and assuming her current pose, while the desert began to luminesce and the vehicle throbbed beneath her with a heavy bass beat.

Sara was filled with remorse for what she had said about Cecilia Laval earlier that night, and especially that the novelist had overheard her remarks. In truth, Sara didn't have anything against the woman. Cecilia was alright. Sara had certainly had never meant to hurt her. Her heart constricted at the memory of the shock on the writer's face, and the realization that she had wounded the other woman deeply, whether that had been her intention or not.

She couldn't keep doing this. She couldn't keep bottling up her anger and her frustration and her feelings for Grissom, only to release them periodically in an incendiary flash that ended up burning herself and others. Sara was ashamed of her behaviour. Hated the way she was acting, but couldn't seem to control herself. And if there was one thing Sara hated...it was not being in control.

On the stereo, Annie Lennox's voice reverberated, coming through the lowered windows and sending a message to Sara's blighted soul as the sound swept over her and down the gully. The song was set to repeat, the message hammering away at the brunette. At the centre of everything, of all of the unhappiness, the self-doubt, the personal and professional dissastisfaction, was Grissom. It was long past time for Sara to deal with this situation. To do something before it consumed not only herself, but those around her. She listened to the words, identifying with the lyrics of the Eurythmics song that had been popular in the 80s, when Sara had been a teen.

Love is a stranger
In an open car
To tempt you in

And drive you far away...

The phone call had come in just before the end of shift. "Miss Sidle, call for you from a Mr. Gil Grissom, LVPD CSI."

Sara had lifted the receiver, surprised to be hearing from him. Curious as to what he wanted. Excited to hear his voice again.

"Sara? It's Grissom? I need a favour. I've already cleared things with Mark." Mark Tremblay was Sara's supervisor at the San Francisco CSI lab. "We've got a bit of a situation here. I need someone on the outside. Someone who's a good CSI. Someone I can trust." Sara had grinned to herself at the praise. "One of our CSIs was killed. We need an investigation into the circumstances."

Sara had seen the news reports on the shooting of Holly Gribbs in Las Vegas. And had waited anxiously for an update when the young woman was taken to the ER, her status critical. Sara had thought about Grissom...relief that he hadn't been the one to be working that case or it could have been his body pumped full of bullets...and sympathy that someone he knew, a co-worker, had been injured. When she had heard news that Gribbs hadn't made it, Sara had felt the anger and the pain of the senseless loss.

She had agreed to come to Las Vegas as soon as it could be arranged, and had flown to the desert gambling town two days later, her sorrow at the circumstances that were taking her there, intermingled with her anticipation at seeing Gil Grissom again. She had met him for the first time three years previously, at an entomology conference. Bugs weren't her thing, but she'd known enough and shown enough interest to stand out from the crowd, and the scientist had noticed her. They'd shared a lunch that had been the bright spot of the conference, for Sara. She had been intrigued by Grissom's amazing mind, and even though he wasn't her usual physical 'type' she had found him very attractive.

Two years after that, almost a year to the day before he had asked her for her help, Gil had been called out to San Francisco to assist with a decomp case. His expertise as an entomologist had been invaluable in determining a time line and solving the murder of a young gay man, the victim of a hate crime. Sara had reveled in being able to work with him. She had learned a lot, professionally, from their short time together.

Additionally, it had cemented her feelings for him on a more personal level. She had sensed in Gil Grissom a bit of a kindred spirit. Another bright but socially inept science geek who kept his innermost thoughts and feelings to himself. When it had been time for Gil to go back to Las Vegas, Sara had already been crazy about him. She hadn't said anything of course, and had accepted that their paths crossing but nothing coming of it, was just another of the disappointments life liked to throw her way.

When Gil had phoned and requested that she come to Las Vegas, Sara had been sure that it was a sign. Of all of the CSIs that Grissom knew, he had wanted her.

...And I want you
And I want you
And I want you
So it's an obsession...

She had fulfilled the role he had bestowed on her, investigating Holly Gribbs' death, digging to determine where Warrick Brown had been and what he had been doing when he should have been watching the rookie. Sara had been firm and no nonsense, suggesting to Warrick that anything he had to hide would be better volunteered on his own, rather than dredged up by her queries. Because whatever there was, she would uncover it. Sara had wanted to be dedicated and efficient and to prove herself worthy of Gil's faith.

As a result of the whole tragedy, Jim Brass had been busted down to homicide detective again. Grissom had been elevated to night shift supervisor. Despite what they had all learned in the aftermath of the young CSI's death, Gil had been forgiving of Warrick, and had refused to take any action beyond the temporary suspension that Brass had imposed. Warrick Brown hadn't held it against Sara that she had come with the explicit intent to turn him upside down and inside out while searching out the truth of the circumstances that had surrounded Holly Gribbs's murder. There had been some early wariness between them, and a couple of occasions where Sara had misjudged Warrick badly, but in the intervening months and years they had developed a working rapport that had evolved into genuine friendship.

The Vegas lab was short a criminalist, with Gribbs' death. When Gil had offered the position to Sara, she had been overwhelmed, though she had struggled to appear nonchalant. Vegas was probably the premier lab in the country, the premier lab in the west at the very least, and professionally it was an intriguing opportunity and a good career move. Personally, the idea of working with Gil Grissom on a permanent basis had sent Sara into a happy tailspin. While she had never qualified her feelings as love, up to that point, she knew that what she felt for him was something beyond a lustful desire or a fleeting infatuation.

Sara had known that mingling work and romance was a bad idea, and had never before been interested in a man that she worked so closely with. The fact that Grissom would be her boss was an added complication, of course. But Sara had believed that whatever risk she was taking in staying, she would be risking even more by walking out of his life and not taking this chance.

...Love is a danger
Of a different kind
To take you away
And leave you far behind...

Sara had had no idea how her decision would impact on her life. Though she had managed to be in close proximity to Grissom every day, and should have been able to get to know him better, and to allow him to know her, rather than their being able to draw nearer to one another, a small rift began that had continued to widen until it became a huge gap. And it had seemed to start the moment Sara had pinned on the nametag that identified her as one of LVPD's criminalists.

Puzzled, she had watched the days, weeks and eventually months slip past while Grissom had retreated from her more and more on an emotional level. She had learned, chagrined, that he was not nearly as wonderful to work for, as he was to work with. Though bright and thorough, virtually unmatched as a forensic scientist, his skills as a supervisor left something to be desired. Sara believed that it was the strength of her co-workers, Nick, Warrick and Catherine, and her own, that kept the group as such a cohesive unit, moreso than Gil's non-existant team-building overtures or any ability to identify and bond with his CSIs on an emotional level.

They all respected him of course. Deeply. And enjoyed working with him. And benefitted from his mentoring. What he lacked in one area, he more than made up for in another. And since the individual members of the nightshift were so strong, the lack of a paternal centre did not damage the group.

Sara knew that she needed more from Grissom though. She simply wasn't satisfied with only a working relationship. She was confused by what she perceived as mixed signals. Sometimes, she thought she could feel Gil's interest in her, like a palpable, living thing. It hung over them, coiled around like the mighty crushing force of an articulated python, squeezing them together with such psychic and emotional force that it would leave her feeling physically weak and breathless.

At other times, even when he was just across the room, or next to her in the SUV, the coldness that Grissom radiated created such a distance that Sara was sure she could never rappel the mountaintop where he sat, alone and unaffected. She would begin to understand that whatever her feelings, Gil didn't share them. That any dreams of a man-woman relationship were just that...dreams. And she would make a valiant attempt to go on with her life. To date other men. To excorcise her feelings for Grissom.

And then he would do something to reel her back in again. Like presenting her with a book at Christmastime, which Sara would later learn was an unique gesture, because he hadn't given gifts to any of the others. And her foolish heart would read more into it than Grissom had seemed to intend.

...And love love love
Is a dangerous drug
You have to receive it
And you still can't
Get enough of the stuff...

Just like she had that night when they had sat up together in the parking lot, with the carcass of the pig. Sara had found Grissom alone outside. It was one of those chilly Vegas evenings, and she had brought him a thermos of coffee, and a blanket. He had smiled at her gratefully, as she had taken a seat next to him. Sara thought that the walls had crumbled a bit that night. That Grissom had appreciated her company even more than the hot brew and the cotton throw around his shoulders.

They has spoken haltingly at first. About work, as they always did. Gradually, tentatively, Gil had begun to open up to her. He'd told her about Uncle Stan, his mother's brother who had initiated him to the wonderful world of insects all of those years ago. Grissom's voice had been soft with fond remembrance. His words had held the recollection of his wonder at unveiling this interest that would shape his life. Sara had been captivated to be privy to his thoughts.

In turn, she had shared a bit of her younger years with him. Not the ugly parts, of course. Those she kept locked in an impenetrable vault, away from the shocked repulsion of those who peopled her present day life. But not all of her memories were bad. She had told him about the science fair she'd entered when she'd been in sixth grade. About her teacher, Mr. Carlisle, who had noticed her aptitude for the sciences, and who had encouraged Sara to excel.

Her project, about global warming, had garnered first prize. When Sara had taken the stage during the presentations, feeling shy and awkward as she always did when she drew attention...embarassed that she was already taller than all of the girls and most of the boys, and rail thin, with long, coltish legs...she had noticed her mother, front and centre in the audience. Standing and clapping, initiating the ovation, a smile of pure joy in her delicate features as she had celebrated her daughter's victory. It had been a shining moment for the young girl, and the love that had radiated from her mother had soothed any of Sara's doubts and insecurities and allowed her to truly enjoy the moment, and to savour her win.

The one thing that Sara had held back from Grissom was her almost overwhelming relief as she had realized that her mother, clapping enthusiastically despite the cast on her left hand, looked younger than Sara had ever seen her...happier than Sara had ever seen her...all of her pain and problems temporarily forgotten as she had embraced Sara's success.

They had sat there, Grissom making his notes, and Sara couldn't remember the last time she had felt so light-hearted and relaxed. It was the night that had precipitated her becoming a vegetarian, documentating the arrival of the flies as they had. She had stayed, even though watching nature begin it's inexorable march as the pig was transformed into it's most basic elements, had caused her stomache to rebel. Ashes to ashes...dust to dust. Worms and maggots. It had been, Sara thought, a pivotal moment in their relationship.

And yet when Sara had shared a bit of what had occured that night with Cecilia not long ago, explaining her reasons for becoming vegetarian, Grissom had sat there, his face a mask in boredom, as though she had been telling someone else's story. He hadn't even looked at Sara or acknowledged his part in it at all. She had been humiliated by his disinterest, wounded that the memory that was so special to her, meant nothing to him at all.

But that was the way it had always been between them. She would get her hopes up, and then Grissom would indicate to her time and time again that her interest was not reciprocated. And yet Sara just couldn't seem to take no for an answer. Over and over she would set herself up for disappointment. As though she had some kind of Grissom-addiction, and as long as she could be near him, even a negative outcome was better than forfeiting the interaction altogether.

...It's savage and it's cruel
And it shines like destruction
Comes in like the flood
And it seems like religion
It's noble and it's brutal
It distorts and deranges
And it wrenches you up
And you're left like a zombie...

Of course it wasn't all negative. And that was the problem. His attitude towards her was a constant source of confusion for Sara. She lived in a heightened state of expectation, followed by disappointment, before he would soothe her bruised and battered heart, only to rip it from her chest again.

Sara had tried to escape the cycle once before. She had given Grissom a request for a leave of abscence. She had certainly had enough time coming to her. The sudden request had thrown him for a bit of a loop, she had known. Even though her unhappiness and lack of satisfaction had been building for some time, he had been oblivious, as always. She had told him that she was going to pursue other avenues, perhaps check out the federal system. She had an acquaintance from university who worked with a profiler at Quantico. She could get Sara in to see the right people, and arrange for an interview with the F.B.I.

Grissom had laughed at her aspirations, insisting that theirs was the best lab in the country, and implying that anything else would be a step backward. When she had told him that she needed more...professionally in the form of respect, and communication...he had frowned at her and asked if this was about 'that hamburger thing'. An incident when he had asked her to clean up the leftover hamburger from one of his experiments, forgetting that she couldn't even stand to look at meat, let alone touch it, after 'the night of the pig'. He had been so totally clueless, taking all of her valid concerns and logical decision, and making it seem so petty, that it was just too deflating for Sara to even try to explain why she had to get away.

She had come close to making the break. Grissom would have approved her leave of abscence. He would have had no choice, eventually. Only...he'd done it again. Suckered her back in. Had Sara thinking that he really did care about her. Not just as a CSI, but as a person. As a woman. First it had been that damn plant. Some kind of ivy that had showed up at work, with a card 'From Grissom'. And so Sara had begun to thaw. And then one night not too long afterwards, in an ice rink, following the death of an amateur hockey player at the bottom of a pile-on, Grissom had said the words that had made her withdraw her request for leave.

"Since when have you been interested in beauty," Sara had teased him, chuckling, after a comment Grissom had made.

He had looked at her then, his blue eyes as vast and unending as a summer's sky, holding hers, mesmerizing her. And his lips had curled just a bit, to soften the intensity of his gaze, and Grissom had said, "Since I met you."

It was the first concrete evidence of his interest, and a turning point, or so Sara had thought. She had replayed those words over and over in her mind, so many times since he had uttered them. Each time feeling that same thrill. That same longing. That same boost to her ego. That same desperate belief that he did care. That it was only a matter of time. That if she guided him gently enough, Grissom would eventually declare his feelings about her for once and for all.

Sara knew there was passion there too. She could feel the electricity between them. One night, tearing down walls in an apartment building, looking for the dead body that Grissom was certain was hidden somewhere within, Sara had wanted him so much, ached for him so badly, that she had been unable to stop herself from touching his face. She had told him that he had drywall dust on his cheek, but that had only been an excuse for the contact that she craved. For just a moment he had leaned into her open palm, his cheek warm and cleanly shaven beneath her fingers. And Sara was convinced that Grissom had wanted the touch as much as she had.

Once, she had almost thought he would kiss her. They were examining the pattern of blood evidence on a bedsheet. Talking through the way they imagined the scene had occured. Envisioning the placements of body and hands of both victim and perp. Sara had stood against the sheet, while Gil had taken both of her wrists, pressing her arms back the way the killer would have, his body close to hers, his face only inches away. Her eyes had darted nervously to his lips. She had found it hard to concentrate on the experiment. Her wrists burned where he held them. Sara had seen the sweat that had beaded his brow. Had felt the accelerated respirations of his breath against her skin. And then he was releasing her, while every nerve ending screamed its frustration.

...And I want you
And I want you
And I want you
So it's an obsession...

Sara had been unable to hide her longing anymore. She hadn't wanted to have to pretend another day that her feelings for Gil were either of the mentor/pupil or friend variety. She knew that there was something there and she had been willing to put everything on the line to find out just what it was and where it might take them. Tired of being alone, ready to open up to another human being and to allow him in completely, Sara, unable to wait any longer, had mustered up her courage, and gone to Grissom.

Her heart had galloped in her chest as she had stood there, issuing her invitation for dinner. Suggesting that whatever it was between them, it was time to explore it. Sara had been optimistic, uncharacteristically hopeful, and couldn't remember ever feeling as vulnerable in her adult life as she had in those few seconds between asking Grissom to have dinner with her, and waiting for his response.

Even when he had tilted his head, closing his eyes for a moment, opening his mouth to speak, then closing it again before he could, and it had been clear that rejection was coming, Sara had been unable to accept that and to just give up her dream. Not when she was so close. Not when she knew that in Gil's arms, she could finally morph into the Sara that had for so long been hidden beneath the fear and the pain and the memories of a past that she could never seem to escape.

So when he had said that one simple word, "No," Sara had been unwilling to give up. She had swallowed the last remnants of her pride, and tried to convince him that they both deserved the chance to see where their attraction might lead.

But Grissom had made it clear. No matter how much Sara wanted him, no matter how much he might want her on some level, it simply wasn't enough.

None of it had meant anything, not really. Not Gil's asking her to come to Vegas in the first place. Not his asking her to stay. Not the book at Christmas, or the potted ivy, or even his words about his interest in beauty...his interest in her.

Even when that nurse had been killed. The one who had eerily resembled Sara. And they had brought that doctor in for interrogation. She had stood on the other side of the glass, and observed Grissom and Brass, as they had shared with the good doctor what they believed had happened. The only problem had been that all they had was speculation and instinct. There was no hard, physical evidence to tie the physician to the crime.

As the man had left the interrogation room, Grissom had spoken to him. About middle-aged men who had nothing but their careers. Who were given a chance to embrace life, through the love of a beautiful, younger woman. Gil had said that he hadn't been able to risk his current life when offered that chance. But he believed that the doctor had. And that when the beautiful young nurse, who had shown him how wonderfully complete life could be, turned her affection from him, and took that life away, the doctor had killed her for it.

"We wake up one day and realize that for fifty years we haven't really lived at all. But then, all of a sudden, we get a second chance. Somebody young and beeautiful shows up. Somebody...we could car about. She offers us a new life with her. But we have a big decision to make, right? Because we have to everything we've worked for, in order to have her. I couldn't do it..."

Sara had thought at the time that Gil had been speaking from the heart. And that he had been speaking about her. That it was only fear of how his interest in her would compromise the professional reputation he had spent years building, or perhaps his lack of faith in his ability to sustain a relationship, that was the stumbling block between them. Sara had thought, for a long time, that he had meant the words he had spoken to the physician. That Grissom did want her, but that things were just complicated.

Or perhaps...and the realization had been humilating...Grissom had meant those introspective words. Only he hadn't been talking about her, Sara. But about another woman altogether. Perhaps Lady Heather, the sultry dominatrix that she had heard Grissom had found an excuse to return to, time and time again. Or someone else that Gil had had an attraction for, that he believed it would be too big a chance to pursue.

She had come to accept that while he wanted her around, for some reason or the other, he didn't really want her. Not with all of the fierce longing...mental, spiritual, emotional and physical...that Sara wanted him.

...It's guilt edged
Glamorous and sleek by design
You know it's jealous by nature
False and unkind
It's hard and restrained
And it's totally cool
It touches and it teases
As you stumble in the debris...

Sara couldn't continue to live like this. She hated the woman she was becoming. Bitter and jealous. The truth was that even if there was nothing between Catherine and Gil...there was never ever going to be anything between Gil and Sara. Whatever Grissom felt for her, it wasn't keeping him up nights to have to restrain his feelings. It wasn't stopping him from appreciating other women.

Other than a few incredibly small incidents that she had blown way out of proportion, Gil had never indicated to Sara that he saw her as more than a friend. Or that there was any kind of future for them. In fact, he had made it abundantly clear, time and again, that there was no 'them' and that he didn't want there to be.

It wasn't that Grissom wasn't delivering the message, it was that she...Sara...was refusing to accept it. She continued to stumble through the months and the years, accepting the crumbs, while day by day her soul continued to wither. When she looked in the mirror these days, she saw the unrelenting hardness in her eyes. She had once had a nice smile, Sara thought, but lately it had been nothing more than a bitter curve of compressed lips. Frighteningly, there had been a couple of times when she had turned to alcohol to try to make sense of her confused life, and to take the edge off of the pain.

She would find herself lashing out at others, when the torment of her loneliness, and jealousy, and her need became overpowering. And then Sara would live with remorse and regrets, and apologies. She couldn't keep doing this. Hurting others. Hurting herself. Continuing to spiral out of control, ranting and raging at the heavens because her heart's desire was denied to her.

...And I want you
And I want you
And I want you so
It's an obsession...

Nothing about this situation with Grissom was healthy or positive. It was sick and warped. It wasn't love. It was...an obsession. Sara had latched onto Grissom knowing that he could never give her what she needed. Because he was older and smarter and he had that wall around himself...and deep inside Sara felt that if she could break down that wall, if she could gain his love and acceptance, it would heal all of the wounds of her past. Because he represented Sara's desperate need to change the outcome of her mother's tragic and unhealthy relationship, to repair things and to redirect the past.

While her mother's situation had been different in almost every way, when it came right down to it, Sara realized that she was modelling that relationship. It hadn't been love either, not that kind of positive, supportive, compassionate, enriching and uplifting experience that love was supposed to be. It had been dark and brooding and desperate and pain-filled, and had caused her mother to accept indignities that no woman should have to endure, because of some twisted belief that she was in love, and that love would conquer all.

But that wasn't love. That was an obsession. And here was Sara, decades later, reliving that relationship model. Investing in something that was unhealthy and unfulfilling. Sara didn't love Gil Grissom...she was obsessed with him. And if she didn't do something soon, she would drown in the undertow of that unnatural desire, completely losing any semblance of the woman that she really was. The Sara that she knew would be replaced with this shrewish, pained, cruel and quarrelsome doppleganger.

And then not only wouldn't Grissom love and respect her, Sara wouldn't be able to love and respect herself.

There were no clouds in the sky this morning, just the vast expanse blue. But where earth met the heavens, there was a coral pink blush.

"Once in a while, my Sara, take some time to see the beauty of things. To allow a little mystery into your life. To look at the sky and imagine instead one of heaven's best artists dipping brush to ink and using the undersides of the clouds as a canvas, he or she creating a temporary masterpiece for our viewing pleasure."

There would be no elaborate, romantic sunrises or sunsets for Sara and Gil Grissom. No joining of two hearts, filled with the wonder and beauty of the world.

There would only be theresidual glow of a G2 star. A hydrogen and hellium body on a differential rotation. Burning an incredible sixteen million Kelvin at it's centre. While one nuclear fusion reaction after another, sent light energy blasting across the galaxy towards the third planet in its orbit. A planet that turned on its own axis, while circling the big star, first one side towards the fiery, golden ball, then the other, so that the earth spent half of its solar day warmed by the results of those reactions, and the other half turned away, blanketed in darkness. That changing from dark to light, and light to dark again, observed with clinical eyes and empty hearts.

No beauty. No mystery. Just a cold, compilation of scientific data. An accurate but empty portrayal of life.

Thank you for the encouraging comments. And I apologize to anyone who finds 'song fic' cheesy. I've been unable to get this one 'Love is Stranger' out of my mind, because it seems to encapsulate the way I view the Sara/Grissom relationship. Cathy.