A/N: Thank you for waiting-and thank you for reading!

Gil Grissom's Romance

Chapter 7

"You want to take a walk around the block? Get some air...Clear your head…" and then the intimate touch of Sara's palm against his flushed cheek. "Chalk…from plaster." She had said.

Grissom had followed the team to breakfast, going into the diner fifteen minutes after them, ordering only coffee as he passed the waitress. They had greeted him with warm surprise; everyone shifting chairs as he brought one from another table. He managed to place his chair so he could watch Sara.

She was unguarded, engaged in conversation with Warrick and Nick, laughing at something; her face was even more radiant as morning sun angled through the span of windows across the front of the diner.

He managed to respond to Catherine—as much as one needed to—as she talked about Lindsay, aspects of the job and people in the lab, her mother, and a dozen other topics while she ate her food. He drank four cups of coffee in an hour as they lingered; in this way he shared the ordinary experiences of Sara's life with no actual acknowledgement of what he enjoyed, of feelings he managed to suppress successfully.

Why he thought differently about Sara, Grissom did not know, and he had spent more time than he was willing to admit thinking about it. Finally, settling on the idea that it was because he had selected her for the team—his team—the first decision he had made as supervisor made Sara Sidle special to him. Yet there was something else, something that niggled at the back of his mind, that kept him awake, that caused him to seek her company.

Touching his face in the place her fingers had stroked, he could still feel the warmth, the tender touch as she had said "chalk" yet his hand had come away clean.

Finally, he drove away; all of them getting into vehicles and going different directions. Except for Sara—she lived several blocks west of his place—so for him to follow her out of the parking lot was expected and she gave no indication of knowing he was behind her in traffic.

He thought in isolation while driving; thought of Sara—of her dark hair that tended to curl, her eyes that flashed gold, of her quirky expression that could make him smile, of her enormously strong character. He sighed. She was a rebel—that had been proven when she volunteered for the FBI before Syd Goggle was killed. Grissom did not want to think about the events following Sara's failed attempt to attract the strangler.

So Gil Grissom thought about Sara. Different from Catherine, Sara was not a flirt—the word he often used when thinking of Catherine. Only occasionally, did he notice Sara in a cozy flirtation with one of the guys, more friendly than sexy. Most of the time, she acted like a sister to them, teasing and bantering with them in a way that she had never done with him. Yet, at times, she was could be charming and flirtatious with him; she would captivate him, tease him, flirt with him, and he could recall every minute of her attentions.

Smiling, he slowed, watching her car, wondering what she would do before he saw her again.

Entering his home, he knew it would be hours before he slept and when he did, he dreamed of fields of flowers, of long walks, and always in the presence of a slim, dark-haired young woman.

In a sudden uptick of crime, they were all busy—he and Nick headed out to the national forest where a young man had been discovered burying a body. He had not realized Sara had made a wrong turn until he was at the scene and then they were all involved in a multiple murder case, gathering evidence, finding the brother, and all for naught as things ended for Benjamin Jennings.

Before they could file evidence and close the case, they were scattered across town again. Working a murder case in the historical library, he met Aaron Pratt—an autistic man who lived on the fringe of the world—who observed, scrutinized, and remembered everything about Veronica Bradley. Everything.

As he walked with Aaron to the lobby of the lab, passing the break room, he heard the laughter of Sara Sidle. The woman he watched—and remembered everything, every moment. He stood at the door and, as Aaron Pratt left the lab, a thought emerged; he did not want to be another Aaron Pratt. Silently, he made a resolution, promising himself to change. He had the will power, the tenacity, to—to put this behind him. Sara was his subordinate; he was her supervisor.

What remained of the shift, he spent at his desk working on paperwork that seemed to mysteriously appear when he turned his back. He had closed the door, closed the blinds, so he worked in silence. From outside his office, the shadows, the murmured voices, let him know the lab was running as it should. Shifts changed, he knew by the subtle change of voices and light yet he continued to work.

It was easy to bury oneself in work. He had done that for years; he could do it again, he thought, as he closed a file and placed it on his 'completed' stack of work.

For a moment, he took a deep breath, deciding it was time to leave his office. Almost immediately, his eyes rested on a small framed butterfly; Sara had given it to him, saying she had found it on one of her hikes. She had taken great care to mount it between two pieces of glass and frame it, placing it on his desk one night. A "thank you" gift she said.

As he drove away from the lab, the morning sun poured through the windows; his face warmed to it. He drove to a favorite diner and ordered the largest breakfast on the menu. As he ate, he relaxed, the knot between his shoulders gradually released.

And because the day was bright and clear, he made a decision to enjoy it; he finished breakfast and drove to Mount Charleston. Within minutes of being on the highway, he knew he had made the right choice. The clear air was what he required to jettison the tangles in his mind and the cramp of his body from hours of sitting.

After filling his backpack with several bottles of water and energy bars—a food product brought to his notice by Sara—he glanced around the parking lot at the dozen or so other vehicles neither noticing nor paying special attention to any of them. He was not the only one in Vegas who had discovered a beautiful day.

The air was clean—a recent rain had settled dust and brought a fragrance of growth throughout the forest. It was habit that took him up the same trail toward the open meadow he favored, where he had taken Sara months ago. Quickly, he pushed the thought of her away and wandered from the path to a grove of trees recently infested with a destructive insect. Taking his time, he studied several trees, already damaged, wildlife and birds would use the dying trees for their purposes for years to come. Several feet away, he noticed the wood dust made by the activity of the black and white woodpecker.

Returning to the trail, he retraced his steps, deciding to take a popular path that led to a steep, rocky canyon with a small pond and creek running through it. The trail was wide, open to the sky, bordered by low growth before the forest of pines and firs became a barrier against the canyon walls. Birds—and watchers—would be plentiful, as well as wildflowers. It was a beautiful walk and considerable shorter than the trail to the high meadow.

He passed picnic tables, already taken by birdwatchers, and a few minutes later, he was alone on an easy-to-walk trail, a stream bubbling alongside. He breathed deeply, at ease with himself for the first time in weeks. Yellow wildflowers grew thick along the trail. Birds flittered back and forth to the water and he could hear no trace of humans as he knelt beside a tall fir tree taking in the natural beauty that surrounded him.

Finally, he got up, continuing his trek. As he rounded a curve of the path, he noticed a flash of red through the trees and knew he would find birdwatchers or hikers ahead. Adjusting his hat so he could nod a greeting without making eye contact, he quickened his pace. The red he had noticed was a lone hiker, like himself, who was drifting slowly among wild flowers that carpeted a grove of willows near the stream.

He slowed, not wanting to startle the hiker before she was aware of his presence, because she was female, he noticed. Before his mind could comprehend, the hiker's head came up; a smile he knew well spread across her face. Her eyes were wide with surprise; the familiar face sent a shock into his chest.

"Sara," he whispered.

"Grissom!" The surprise in her voice was evident.

She strode toward him as he said, "Sara! I—I—you've been here a while?"

Nodding, she said, "I came out early, right after shift was over." She waved her hand, "It's so peaceful out here, isn't it. Sort of clears my mind."

Grissom, still at a loss for words, stuttered a reply of "It does." The resolve he had made was quickly sliding away even as his brain repeated 'I am her supervisor.'

Sara, realizing he was as surprised to see her as she had been to see him, said, "I'm heading back—I parked in the picnic area. Do you like this trail? I think it's my favorite. Once you pass the birdwatchers, it is usually quiet all the way to the end."

She meant to leave him, he thought. "You come out here alone?"

She laughed, the easy giggle he heard so often when she was in the company of others. "I like the quiet. I like the sunshine. And I'm never really alone," she waved in the direction from which he had come, "the birdwatchers are always here."

"Are you here often?"

Shaking her head, she said, "Not as much as I'd like to be. Maybe every two weeks." She moved passed him as she talked. "I—I don't want to interrupt your walk."

His hand shot out to touch her arm. He said, "No, no—you aren't interrupting anything. Like you—I'm looking for a quiet place." When she stepped away, his fingers sliding from her arm, he added, "I'll walk back with you." Chuckling quietly, "We both need to get some sleep today."

Without a word, Sara's hand came to his arm. She nodded. They turned, returning to the scattered picnic tables, passing the birdwatchers, and reaching the parking lot where Sara had left her car.

Looking around, she asked, "Where did you park?"

"The other lot—the first one—I started to walk up to the meadow—and—and then…" his voice trailed to nothing as he tried to remember why he had changed his mind.

She smiled. "Get in—I'll drive you down. Unless—unless you want to walk—that's fine."

With a grin, tossing his backpack on the backseat of her car, he got in. For the minutes it took for Sara to drive out of the parking lot and to the next lot, half a mile away, a battle fought within his mind. The sound portion of his thoughts warned him to be reasonable—he was her supervisor. She was not yet thirty years old. Yet he fought with what was becoming a foolish—an absurd notion of happiness in her presence.

Their leave-taking was quickly done. He stepped out of Sara's car as soon as she stopped next to his, saying he would see her later. Standing in the parking lot, he watched her drive away, her slim hand waving from the window as she pulled onto the highway. He liked Sara, he thought, yet his decision returned. She was young; he was her supervisor. They could be friends—a guarded friendship—one of support—Sara was so young, so intelligent. There was a place for her in his compartmented life.

A week later, Mona Taylor's body was found and Gil Grissom met another woman, nothing like Sara on introduction, yet a woman he could not forget; a woman who served to complicate and confuse his mind for weeks to come.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Real life has a way of getting in the way of writing-so stay with us! Grissom did not resolve his romance in a few weeks-neither will we! Thank you for reviewing!