Author: geekyfrog
Rating: Mature. But not overly graphic... yet.
Pairing: Grissom/Sara
Spoilers: general through the end of Season Six
Disclaimer: I'm not affiliated with CBS and don't have any claim to these characters.
Author's Notes: Thanks to the lovely gabesaunt for the beta, again... your suggestions were spot on. And Nomadic Soul, what can I say? You're such an integral part of this process.

Chapter Two: Parallax

Grissom pulled into a parking space outside Sara's building. He had barely stopped the car when she jumped out, striding quickly towards the front door, still saying nothing. He hurriedly killed the engine and locked the car, catching up with her just as she jerked the door open with such force that it slammed against the outside of the building. Catching the door so it didn't slam shut, too, he followed her down the hall to her apartment.

Her hands shook as she tried to fit the key in the lock and he noticed her arms were covered with a fine web of gooseflesh. Finally, the notches in the key connected with the tumblers in the lock, and she walked inside without a glance at him, almost as if she were unaware of his presence.

He didn't ask, just followed her inside, took out the keys, laid them on her counter, and closed the door. They were in her kitchen, and he noticed with surprise that the drab, dreary place he remembered had been brightened with a coat of butter yellow paint and accented with touches of red – a dishtowel here, a magnet there, a new teakettle on the stove.

The evidence confirmed what he had noticed at work over the past few months – Sara was healing. The counseling had helped her. A wave of concern washed over him. She was so determined, so courageous, so strong… what would this setback do to her?

She didn't look strong at this moment. Her back to him, she gripped the counter with both hands and bowed her head. He hesitated for just a second, and then instinct took over. He stepped behind her and folded her in his arms, wanting only to offer her comfort.

She turned into his embrace and wordlessly laid her head against his chest. She wasn't crying, but her entire body quivered with fine tremors. Resisting the temptation to nuzzle the top of her head, to stroke her hair, he simply held her.

He breathed deeply, soaking in her scent. The top notes were unpleasant: the bitter smell he recognized as the aftermath of fear, and an objectionable sourness from when she had gotten sick. Below these, though, was the aroma he knew simply as the essence of Sara. It was something she always wore, and it intoxicated him. She smelled of ripe fruit and damp earth, and something else, something complex and multilayered and mysterious.

Her body seemed to be quieting a little. He heard her mumbling something against his chest but couldn't make out the words.

"What did you say, Sara?" He tried to pull away so he could look at her while she talked, but she resisted, burying her head and refusing to meet his eyes.

"Damn you, don't make me beg for it. Please make love to me. I – I know it's a bad idea but I promise you we'll close the door on it and never talk about it again afterwards. I just – I need to feel alive tonight. Please, Grissom…"

He couldn't breathe. He felt like he had taken a blow to his solar plexus. His brain fought desperately for control, but his body – oh, his body heard her and was reacting faster than his mind could keep up. Heart pounding, the roar of blood in his ears drowning out all sound, he answered her by pinning her back against the counter.

OhgodSara… honeyIwantyou and he jerked her face roughly upwards and kissed her. He felt the floodgates open as years of denial and desire poured free. His kiss was raw as he forced her mouth open, slipping his tongue inside –

And sweet God, she was kissing him back, kissing him with an equal ferocity, wrapping her hands in his hair as she writhed beneath him. The combustion was faster and more intense than he had dreamed in his deepest fantasies. He was finally here with her, about to take her against her kitchen counter…

Somehow, that thought penetrated his libido and reached his consciousness. About to take her against her kitchen counter – his Sara, who he loved more than words, whose desperation was borne of her trauma that day, who deserved so much more than this.

It took everything he had to break the kiss. "No, Sara, I won't," he gasped as he fought for control, sucking in huge gulps of oxygen in an attempt to clear his brain. He could feel small spasms throughout his body and knew she must feel them too, just as she couldn't possibly miss his arousal pressed against her belly. Smooth, Gil, really smooth. He rested his forehead against her hair and waited for the recriminations he surely deserved.

She surprised him. Instead of pulling away with the anger he expected, she simply rested in the embrace, her head against his chest again. She was breathing hard too, he noted with surprise – could she possibly have been equally affected? His desire ratcheted up another notch at the thought, but this time tenderness won out, and he simply tightened his arms around her and pressed a kiss into her hair.

"Grissom," she began, and the skin on the back of his neck prickled at the tone of her voice. She sounded sad, tired – defeated. "I can't do this anymore. We've been dancing this dance ever since that first seminar."

She drew back and looked at him thoughtfully. "I sometimes think we're like binary stars, you and I, locked in an endless gravitational rotation with each other. But the thing about binary stars – they accrete. Feed each other's existence, until they can't exist on their own.

"I'm dangerously close to that point with you, Grissom. I've offered you everything I have to give – my thoughts, my heart, my body– and I don't… I don't understand why it isn't enough." Her voice broke. "But I do understand that it isn't, that it has never been."

He drew in a breath, feeling the icy fingers of panic twisting in his belly, liquefying his viscera. The parallax pierced his soul. How can we see the same thing so differently just by approaching from different angles? How can you think you were never enough for me? If anything, you have always been too much, so much more than I deserve, so much more than I can fathom.

"Grissom. I love you. I will for the rest of my life. But I have to walk away while I still can. I just… I'm done, Grissom. This non-relationship we have – it's killing me. I'm nothing but a shell. I couldn't even bring myself to help my best friend die." She paused, swallowed, continued. "Tomorrow, I'm going to start looking for another job. And right now, I want you to go."

He watched himself dispassionately as the detachment that was his favorite defense mechanism kicked in. Subject is experiencing significant discharge of the sympathetic nervous system. Acetylcholine triggers the release of epinephrine and norepinephrine resulting in… and just as quickly the disconnect resolved, plunging him back into the midst of the adrenal storm.

"Sara," he began, and his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "You – you're right. I have been… I've been ambiguous and I know my… vacillation has been difficult for you. Look, I know it's more than I deserve but I'm asking for your forbearance. I have some things I need to say and I want you to listen. When I'm done, if you still want me to leave, I will." Christ, I'm really shaking now.

He pulled back a little bit and slipped a quivering finger under her chin, tipping her face up so he could look at her. Her dark eyes looked huge in her pale face, but they locked on his and he knew she was listening. "Will you hear me out?"

Long seconds passed as her eyes searched his. He tried desperately to gauge her thoughts but his normally transparent Sara was unreadable. Finally, she gave a slow, barely perceptible nod of her head. He exhaled sharply, feeling dizzy, and realized that he had been holding his breath. "Can we sit down?"

Saying nothing, she led him into the living room and gestured towards the couch. Wiping his damp palms on his knees, he perched gingerly on its edge. She chose a wing chair and folded gracefully into it, tucking her legs underneath, waiting.

Mother of God, help me. I have to, have to get this right.

"Sara, you tempt me and you terrify me." Her eyes widened in surprise. "I don't like to want things. I learned that early in life. Wanting things leaves you defenseless. If you don't want, if you don't crave, then you don't get disappointed, and you don't get hurt. I've tried to order my life so I don't have needs I can't fulfill. But you – ever since I first met you, you've made me... hunger.

He made a sound of frustration. "I'm sorry, I'm not expressing it well. With you – with you I can glimpse happiness, for the first time in my life. I can't describe how incredibly enticing that is. But reaching for that chance of happiness – well, the other side of that coin means staring into the abyss.

"One thing I have always believed about us is that I couldn't do it halfway, honey. I thought that it was better not to begin, because if we started something together, I would need you more than I need air to breathe. And if you ever left…" he trailed off bleakly.

Sighing, he slipped off the couch and knelt in front of her, palms up in a mute request. Tentatively, she placed her hands in his and he gripped them urgently. "Do you remember at the start of shift I asked you if you would meet me for breakfast because I wanted to talk to you?" She nodded slowly. "I wanted to talk about us." He paused, searching her face.

Sara, please hear me.

"I wanted to tell you that a lot of things lately have made me realize… I'm nearly fifty years old, Sara. I've got less than half of my life left. And the thing is – the abyss is there. I can't escape it by refusing the other side of the coin. I already need you. Binary stars, right?"

A sad smile flitted across her face and was gone. Her eyes bored into his soul. The vulnerability he felt dried his mouth and hoarsened his throat, but he didn't break her gaze. "Sara," he continued quietly, "I finally understand - if the abyss is there anyway, why not take the chance?

"I can't live the rest of my life without reaching for happiness. Even if I never get there, I need to know that I tried. I can't promise you that I won't – I won't falter at times. This is new territory for me and I know I'm going to walk this road imperfectly. But I want to walk it with you." He glanced down at their joined hands to gather his courage, then met her eyes again. "Will you, Sara?"

Impatiently, Sara jerked her hands from his, ignoring his question. "Grissom, you're not making sense. I hear the words you're saying, but your actions don't follow. Why pull away tonight?" Her voice rose as the anger built, and she stood up and walked to the window, staring out at the street. "You say you're ready to take the risk, but your declarations are empty. We could have been… amazing together."

She rotated to face him. "At least give me the respect of admitting that you wanted me."

He was surprised to feel the hint of a blush heat his cheeks. He glanced down at his body, where the physical proof of his arousal was all too visible, and then looked at her squarely. "Wanted… and still want, honey," he said softly.

"Then why?" she asked, and he knew this was it, knew his next words were critical. Uncomfortable on his knees, he stood for the most important conversation of his life.

"Because I…" he began, and faltered. Taking a different tack, he tried again. "It's a normal human reaction – when we look too closely at death, we want to do something that makes us feel alive. It's as old as time. You even said it yourself, earlier, right?" He watched carefully, waiting for her acknowledgement.

At the slight dip of her head, he continued. "Sara, I do want you – but not like this. I don't want one evening of pleasure. If I'm taking this risk, I want a lifetime of it. I love you, Sara, and if we are ever, um, intimate with each other," he blushed again at his old-fashioned phrasing – "I want it to be about that, not about some biological response to trauma."

"What did you just say?"

His heart sunk. He had blown it. Why had he talked about it so clinically? She had just lost her best friend, and was feeling guilty to boot. He looked down, unable to meet her eyes. "I'm sorry, Sara. I didn't mean to imply that it was… that you were… that biology…"

"Not that part. The other part. About why…" she trailed off.

He glanced up at her, puzzled. Going over the conversation in his mind… the other part… oh! "You mean when I talked about wanting intimacy to be an expression of the love I feel for you?" he asked tentatively, walking over to her.

"Yes. Say it again." Her eyes were suspiciously shiny, and comprehension finally dawned.

"I love you, Sara." A tear spilled out of her left eye and down her cheek. He reached up with his right hand and gently traced its track with his thumb. "Oh, honey, didn't you know?" he asked hoarsely. She turned her face into his hand, snuffling a little. "Sweet, sweet Sara," he sighed. "That was never, ever in question." He pulled her into his arms as her tears began in earnest.

This time, he allowed himself the pleasure of sliding his fingers through her silky hair, stroking her head to comfort her while she cried. He said nothing, just let her exhaust herself, soaking his shirt as she spent her anger, pain, and sorrow.

While she cried, he thought about what had just happened. There was a new and unfamiliar emotion swelling in his chest. What was it? He probed it with his mind. Not love; he had loved her for years; he knew what that felt like and though that sensation was there as always, this was something else. He had the tiniest, most tentative sense that maybe, just maybe, this beginning was going to take them somewhere.

Hope, he realized. It was hope.

The relief was palpable, coursing through his body, weakening his muscles. Unable to keep standing, he led her to the couch and pulled her down with him. Simply enjoying the sensation of holding her, he had no sense of time passing as they sat there. After she stopped crying, she rested against him for a long time, but finally she raised her head and wriggled off his lap to sit next to him. "Grissom, I'm beat."

"I can see that." He noted the smudges of exhaustion under her eyes. "You need to get some rest – it's been an emotional day. Why don't I leave so you can sleep?"

She nodded her assent, but he saw resistance in her eyes. "Do you need anything before I go?"

"Just a little – just a little reassurance, I guess. Grissom, I'm afraid if you leave now that all of this – that this new place between us will evaporate."

"Oh, Sara." He smiled ruefully. "Honey, we couldn't close the door on this now even if we wanted to. You know, you never answered my question earlier. Will you… will you explore with me what we can be, together? And be patient with me, because I'm new at this?"

"Griss."

He smiled at the diminutive. She had never used a nickname for him before.

"Yes. It's always been yes."

His hands gripped hers, reflexively, fiercely. "Thank you." He thought for a moment. "Did they tell you when Lisa's funeral will be?"

"Not for five days. Her baby brother is stationed in Iraq and they're waiting for him to get home on bereavement leave."

"Okay. I - I'd like to have dinner with you. Shall we wait until after you get back?"

She considered. "No," she replied slowly. "I don't think Lisa would want me to put my life on hold. I've wasted too many minutes already."

"Okay, honey. If that's the case, we're both off next shift. Do you know Angelo's?

"No, I'm not familiar with them."

"It's way off the strip. Not fancy, but the food is excellent and it's kind of intimate, so it's good for talking. Plus I'm pretty sure there are a number of vegetarian options. 8:00 tonight?"

She smiled sweetly. "Sounds perfect. I would be honored."

He lifted her hands gently to his lips. "Lovely Sara, the honor is all mine. I'll pick you up at 7:30?"

"Okay," she breathed.

"Okay," he answered, stroking her face one last time, holding her gaze and stretching the moment out as long as he could before he turned to leave. At the door he paused and looked back. She was still watching him, her fingers pressed to her cheek where his hand had just been.

"Sara. Are you okay to be alone?"

"I will be. I need to – I need to write a letter to Lisa."

Ahh, Sara. Brave as always. I love you so. "Call if you need anything?"

"I promise," she said.

Taking a deep breath, he slipped out the door while he could still convince himself to go.