"The one thing I like about this place is that it's quiet," Grissom whispered as he and Sara picked their way through the body farm compound. They had been there for half an hour, and he had taken her to see two bodies that he thought might interest her, but now he was allowing her to take the lead, letting her follow her own ... instincts, so to speak. He sneaked a sideways look and noted the intensity that had been on her face the previous day. Tonight was their night off, and throughout the whole time they had been wandering about the place, he was worried that he'd get called out on a bug case.

"It sure is. But the dead talk in ways without the need for words," she countered, her tone sombre.

He shot her a curious gaze. "You okay?"

"Sort of. But your tension's coming off you in waves. What's up?"

Disconcertingly, she hadn't even looked at him when she said that. He dropped his head, then lifted it again, regarding her from the corner of his eye. "I keep thinking I'm going to get a call-out, and I don't want that to happen."

She did turn to look at him this time. "You, of all people, should know that I, of all people, would be the one person to understand how important your work is to you. I'm not going to throw a hissy fit, I'm not going to ditch you if it happens that you get a phone call requesting your services. But let's just enjoy the time we have together."

He smiled shame-facedly, knowing full well that she was right. "It's happened to me before, that's all. I don't want you thinking that I want to go." He sighed, and Sara smiled inwardly, taking his hand.

"Tell me about it," she said softly.

"It's embarrassing."

"So? I've told you far more personal stuff."

"You know Terri Miller?"

"The anthropologist? Sure."

"I had a thing for her. I asked her out on a date, and I got page when we were at dinner. I ignored it, and told her to do the same, but then they phoned me. So I told them how to deal with the bug-covered body, and when I put the phone down, she'd left."

Sara felt a sharp pang of sadness, and related Grissom's tale to when she'd found out Hank had been cheating on his girlfriend with her. She squeezed his hand. "I kinda know the feeling," she agreed. "But don't let that blight our evening." She pulled at his arm, tugging him along after her, in search of the next body for them to study.

Another hour and half passed, and then Grissom got the call he'd been dreading. "Bugs," he winced, closing off the connection on his phone. "I'm sorry."

Sara shrugged. "Not a problem. Let me work the case with you," she stated simply, as if it were the most obvious answer.

He raised an eyebrow. "You wanna work a dirty, bug-infested case?"

"If it's with you, then yeah, sure. Plus," she winked, "if it's dirty, we'll need a shower when we get back."

Grissom grinned as they walked back to the car. "We're not even sleeping together, and you're suggesting we share a shower."

"Read into it whatever you want," she answered blandly. "I never said anything."

He held the car door open for her. "Your vocal cords may not have moved, but that wink of yours was certainly trying to communicate something to me."

The case was hard. And dirty. And long. By the time they had all finished collected the evidence they needed, they reeked of decomp, and were exhausted. Grissom smelled himself and wrinkled his nose. "I think we're going to need an industrial-sized crate of lemons to get this stuff off us," he whinged.

"That must be the first time I've ever heard you complain about smell," Sara remarked, climbing into the passenger side of the Tahoe. "I've got a load of lemons back at mine," she added.

Grissom started the engine. "I'm only complaining because my natural, nice-smelling pheromones are getting clouded over by a three-week old gunshot vic," he retorted. "And before, I never had to worry about impressing a woman with my personal appearance," he added slyly.

"Your appearance always made a good impression on me. Anyway, I smell exactly the same as you, so it doesn't really matter."

They drove along in silence for quite a while, trying hard to breathe through their mouths. Eventually (thankfully) they pulled up at Sara's apartment complex, and all but ran inside to wash the smell of death from their bodies.

"Strip off completely, and I'll put your clothes in with mine to soak in lemon concentrate while we get a shower." She saw the look on his face. "Stop acting like a teenager," she chided. "Strip off then get in the shower and wait for me. Get the water running while you're in there."

"Are you always this domineering?" he asked, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Only if you want me to be," came her loaded comment.

He grinned and finished divesting himself, then skulked off to the bathroom.

"Mm, I didn't know showers after decomps could be so much fun," Gil sighed as he lay with Sara in his arms. Nothing much had happened, but enough had taken place.

She wriggled against his chest. "And there you were, doubting me," she replied. "I can be right sometimes." He let out a deep breath. "What?"

His head turned to hers. "I was interrupted at the body farm, as you well know."

"Are you doing a post-mortem on that again?" she asked in exasperation. It was all he had blathered on about in the car on the way to the case. "Gil," she warned through clenched teeth. "I'm seriously gonna have to think about withdrawing all privileges until you get over this. It is not your fault that other people commit murders. It's not your fault that bugs go to the scenes of those murders. Shit, it's not even your fault that you're a brilliant entomologist. Getting call-outs comes with the territory - get. Over. It," she said pointedly.

"You mean that?"

"Mean what?"

"You think I'm a brilliant entomologist?"

"I don't think - I know. And so does everybody else in the rest of Clark County, and the rest of the state of Nevada, and most other states in this country." She lifted herself up and rested her arms on his chest, propping her chin there. "Babe, you are a foremost authority on this kind of stuff. I appreciate that, and I also appreciate the fact that I'm not the only person who requires your, uh, services." She slipped him a sly wink. "I'm cool with it, Gil," she reassured him. "You know I'd be the same."

He knew she was right, but that insecure part of him just wouldn't let up so easily - fifty years of being abandoned, by his father, and by women whom he may have had an opportunity to spend his life with ...

"Look, we spoke about this yesterday," Sara scolded him gently. "If I can stick around for six years when you're being a bastard, I don't mind having to cut a date short when you're so damn apologetic about it." She rubbed his chest. "Go to sleep before I'm tempted to kill you," she chuckled against his chest.

He pulled her closer and closed his eyes.