Ok. Bare with me.

This story has been in my archives for MONTHS now because I've been trying to find the perfect way to end it... but I just can't get past my mental block. I don't know how to do it justice, so I've left it with a simple three word sentence, and I hope you all feel as passionate about it as I do.

We all know what would have happened at the end - I just couldn't write it properly without spoiling the sweetness.. so forgive me.

All ideas are my own, and the study of the sonnet Grissom used is accurate. (Shakespeare fan over here!). The more you look into the meaning of the sonnet itself the more you really understand what Gil was trying to say in his letter.

Takes place during Leaping Lizards, after Sara reads THE LETTER.

Enjoy, friends. Xx

Delight

Sara sat on their bed, her heart beating heavily in her chest, as her long fingers grasped the note as delicately as possible.

The paper was thick, good quality, but she wouldn't expect anything less from Gil Grissom.

He was a man who appreciated the finer things in life. He wasn't showy about it and wasn't one to brag or buy nice things to make a statement; he just liked certain things a certain way.

The 100 dollar edition of a Shakespeare sonnet volume from a little known bookstore, as opposed to the 25 dollar version from Barnes and Noble. Real napkins at dinner, instead of paper. The expensive scotch from behind the locked glass case, instead of Johnnie Walker. The La Perla lingerie he had surprised her with several months ago, as opposed to the typical matching bra and underwear set she would typically wear. How he knew about La Perla in the first place, she didn't want to know, and didn't ask.

Evidently, too, he was the kind of man who used a fountain pen by choice, instead of a ballpoint. His choice of paper in this situation was no surprise to Sara.

No, what was a surprise to her were the words he had so carefully scribed while he was away on his sabbatical.

Glancing up and shifting her eyes in the direction of his office, a small room off of their bedroom, she felt her breath catch in her throat.

Sara knew that Gil loved her.

She could tell in the way he looked at her as she folded laundry, or wiped down the sink.

She could tell by the way he touched her, both intimately and innocently.

She could tell by the way he would reach across the center console on their way to a crime scene and squeeze her hand and give her a playful, knowing smile.

His love was evident when he would wipe a tear from her face after a particularly difficult case.

She was absolutely certain of his love when he would envelop her thin frame into his warm arms at three in the morning when she silently woke from a nightmare and couldn't catch her breath.

She knew he loved her because he would leave his sonnet book upside down on her side table, flipped open to save the page he intended for her to see, the words filled with romantic intent and expression.

She felt his love when he would tuck her unruly curls behind her ears when he thought she was sleeping beside him, and kiss her forehead.

She knew he loved her. She had no doubt in her mind.

But he had never actually said it.

He had never uttered those three little words.

He had implied them, sure. Most recently being at the Sugar Cane Ranch last week when the topic of paid sex came up.

To be fair, Sara had been joking and teasing him about it a bit, but he did openly say that she made him happy.

Gil certainly knew she loved him.

Neither were big on fancy gestures and expressions, and when she told him the first time it was more of a slip of the tongue than a declaration.

...

"Are you coming to bed?" Sara spoke softly as she quietly stepped into his office and approached him sitting at his desk. Her arms wrapped around her waist to keep her soft satin robe in place.

It had been a long week in court for the both of them, they had been testifying on a case that involved a well known pimp and drug lord and his murdered 'girlfriend'. The guy was loaded and could afford one of Vegas' top criminal defence lawyers, so while the evidence was solid and more than enough to convict, they still had to endure the process because he would NOT take a deal.

Thankfully, the two of them had been the CSIs on the case together so they were able to do the court process together too. They were able be on a relatively similar schedule for the last five days, but Sara knew Gil was tired.

He had been staying up late combing through the files and the evidence and was carrying this one on his shoulders like a 100lb yolk.

"Yes, in a few minutes. I'm just going back over the tox report." He mumbled, not looking up from the file.

Sara sighed and brought her long fingers to his tense shoulders and began to massage deeply, "The report is going to say the same thing it said 18 months ago when Hodges ran it, the same thing it said last month when you brought these files home to go over for trial prep, and the same thing it said last night when you were stuck in it, Gil. She had a BAC of .09, had Detienne's brand of heroin in her blood and was drugged with Flunitrazepam."

"I know." Grissom grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose as he dropped the file in defeat.

"We're going to get him tomorrow. It's the last day of trial and the evidence is stacked up against him. Detienne raped and killed Lauren Westcott, and his going to go to prison for it."

Turning in his office chair to face her, Grissom sighed, "What would I do without you?"

"I dunno," Sara shrugged playfully, "Probably the same thing you did before me. You'd be pretty lonely."

"Mm," he nodded, pulling her down into his lap and kissing her lips gently, "It's a good thing I dropped by that Sunday morning then isn't it?"

Sara laughed out loud, slapping his shoulder and flashing him with a grin, remembering the morning fondly. They had already been 'seeing' each-other causally outside of work for a few weeks with the obvious intent of getting to know one another. Breakfasts, one movie night, a couple of walks with Grissom's dog, Hank. But nothing more intimate than one shy kiss on the cheek after breakfast a couple of days prior.

"I was a bit disheveled and desperate that morning, wasn't I?"

"You were." She laughed as she felt his fingers teasing the edge of her pyjama t-shirt under her robe, "It's a good thing I love you because if any other obviously sexually frustrated middle aged man showed up at my door at 7:00am with curly unbrushed hair and bags around his eyes, wearing the same work clothes for the day before I'd have been on the phone with 911 in an instant!"

That stopped his ministrations immediately, as his shock filled eyes snapped up to hers.

Sara simply shrugged a shoulder and smiled at him, sweetly. She knew what she had said, and while it may not have been the most graceful way to go about it, nothing they ever did was by the book.

He didn't say anything in return. He simply quirked his lips into a boyish grin, and guided her lips down to his for a slow kiss that eventually lead them to his bed.

They ended up winning the trial the next day, as Sara assured him they would, and once they got back to his condo she repeated her words, timidly.

"I meant it, you know? Yesterday?" She spoke from inside the fridge, searching for cheese slices to make them celebratory grilled cheese sandwiches with beer. "That I love you."

When she finally closed the fridge door to meet his gaze, his face had flushed and his eyes sparkled.

"I know." He nodded, slowly.

...

She hadn't said it much out loud since then, because it just wasn't their style, but she did say it when the moment felt right. Like when Brass woke up from his surgery, and he had come back to her apartment for the night and made love to her out of desperation and exhaustion and heartache. Or when came back from his sabbatical a few weeks ago and they had made up from their odd miscommunication issue, she told him then. She also whispered it over and over into his t-shirt when he had held her after that show girl murder.

Still, months after she had first expressed her love, he still hadn't said the words. At this point, she had began to assume he might not be able to. She wasn't sure he ever would.. and while she did long to hear them, Sara had grown comfortable with their arrangement.

She knew he loved her. He showed her every day.

He knew she loved him.

What they had was working.

This letter, though, felt different. It felt like a declaration, or an odd 'Grissom' way of saying I Love You. The sonnets he had left for her previously were never quite as direct.

With the letter still in hand, Sara stood up and made her way to the office where her lover was working on his office miniature.

If she was honest, it freaked her out a bit, but she knew it helped him with his process and kept his hands busy, so she patiently supported his hobby. It has also become quite the expensive past time but ever the gentleman, he never let her worry about finances now that they shared a home. He had told her if she was really that concerned, she could pay for the groceries every week, and to let him take care of the rest of it.. which he did, and indeed, she did the grocery shopping every weekend.

She knew how much the bills were, he never withheld that from her, but they were always paid in full and on time. They never really discussed finances, aside from when she shared that she sent money to her mother every month and was paying off a few debts when he had asked her to move in. He knew how much she made and had told her his salary as well, and the rest was history. She was not naive to think after years of living a bachelor lifestyle, and with some funds from his mother's galleries and royalties from journals and seminars.. he was well enough off. He would never flinch at a 130 bottle of whiskey, or when she said she was running out to grab a new pair of pants for court, and told her to take his card and buy the matching blazer, or get herself an expensive coffee like he knew she secretly enjoyed.

As she entered the room and saw him piecing together the walls of his miniature she chuckled to herself, and leaned up against the wall, folding her arms. She took a deep, calming breath and asked:

"Why didn't you send this?"

Obviously knowing what she was referring to, he put the office wall down and removed his glasses, turning in his chair to face her.

She gave him a small sad smile, and waved the letter gently and watched his cheeks flush.

"I would have liked to have gotten it." She nodded.

"I almost did," Grissom replied, his face unreadable, "but I decided it would have been cowardly, on my part."

"What do you mean?"

"I suppose I'm still a coward, leaving it for you to find instead of telling you to your face." Grissom shrugged, and stood up, making his way to her.

"Telling me what?" Sara grinned, with a twinkle in her eye.

"Did you read it?"

"Yes."

"Did you understand it?"

"I think so."

Grissom nodded, and took the letter from her hand and placed it on his desk slowly before placing his warm hands on her hips, drawing her closer.

"Thyself away art present still with me;

For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move,

And I am still with them and they with thee;

Or, if they sleep, thy picture in my sight

Awakes my heart to heart's and eye's delight."

With a soft smile, his right hand travelled upwards to her neck, and his thumb ran gently over her jaw line as he explained:

"The whole sonnet is actually much longer, but essentially Shakespeare is expressing that his eyes and his heart have become one. His eyes and his heart both feel an immense love for someone, and when he cannot physically see her, his heart can paint her in his imagination." He cleared his throat, "Love is a very powerful thing."

"It is." Sara nodded, feeling the sting of tears rim her eyes.

"My eyes... you have always been beautiful to me, Sara. Breathtaking, even." Grissom blushed, "It was something I tried to ignore for a very long time but you began to permeate every fraction of my life. Every minute of my day."

"Sorry." She laughed, teasingly, willing her heart to beat normally.

Shaking his head with a soft smile, he continued, "And once I allowed my eyes to look, really look," his eyes glanced at her form up and down, eliciting a chuckle from her and a playful slap to the shoulder, "my heart quickly became involved too."

Feeling the hitch of breath in her throat, Sara swallowed, and searched his eyes.

"When I was away," Grissom explained as his hands began to massage her hips, "I could close my eyes and picture you with me, laying on the couch reading while I did class preparation, or sleeping in the bed as I snuck out to go to the auditorium. You were with me the whole time, Sara. Sometimes I could even smell your shampoo. I-I... I realized just how much my heart longs for you and needs you. How much I need you."

He inched closer so that his chest pressed to hers and tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear, and whispered intimately, "How much I love you."

Sara had wondered how it would sound and feel when he finally said it, said those three words, but nothing compared to the reality. She was usually the one full of words, but here they were, roles reversed as she stared at him with her mouth agape, her knees weak as jello, her nerves tingling in unspeakable places.

"Oh." She muttered, and immediately chastised herself, but Grissom simply laughed lovingly as he leant his lips down to hers to kiss her softly.

"You're not really surprised, are you?" He smiled against her lips as he kissed her and began to back them up towards the bedroom again.

"No." Sara whispered into his mouth as her fingers found the nape of his neck and caressed his curls.

"You already knew." Gil nodded as he began to work her green tank top up her torso, and then lifted it over her head, leaving her in a simple bra. He gazed at her pale skin, up and down, and smiled as he met her eyes again and reached his hand around to release her pony tale. He watched as her wavy hair fell around her face and as the blush crept up her chest to her neck and cheeks. "I love you, Sara."

Feeling the tears fill her eyes, but willing them not to fall, Sara simply nodded and whispered, "Show me."

And he did.