A/N: Thank you for reading! This one may bounce around a bit, but in this season, Grissom had his 'moments'!

Gil Grissom's Romance

Chapter 9

Grissom juggled long hours of work in the office and in the field and he enjoyed every minute of it. His hands-on approach had him working with his team as well as the lab techs and he had never been more satisfied. Yet there were still bumps that occurred and he often worked fourteen to sixteen hours a day.

The plant to Sara had worked and he had taken some of the advice given by Catherine. Sara was eager and excited about work again. He was still confused about her request for leave and spent more time than he should thinking about it, trying to determine what had caused her to want to leave the lab; yet he knew—he knew the moment, the cause of her discontent. Tilting his chair and rubbing his face with his hand, he knew he needed to go home, yet the events of the past few weeks swirled in his mind. Trying to make an ordered calendar of events, he remembered:

"I was, uh, thinking…you want to go out…somewhere?"

Until he heard her voice, it had not occurred to Grissom the effect the two Marks sisters' deaths had on Sara. Especially Donna Marks as he recalled Sara's comments.

After a soft chuckle, he said, "I have just taken off my shoes—where would 'somewhere' be? I'd think you would be exhausted."

"Sorry—I shouldn't have called—I mean I know you are tired. I—I just thought—I mean, maybe you'd like to get outside—get some sun."

He had brought her to Vegas with a request; she often worked around the clock, coming in early and on her off days. And he cared about her—enjoyed being around her much more than anyone he knew.

He found it easy to agree with her as he said, "We should drive to Red Rocks."

Relief flooded her voice as she said, "I'll drive—I can pick you up."

Another chuckle; he said, "Give me ten minutes and I'll be out front."

Grissom's intention of a quick outing, driving the scenic loop at Red Rocks and returning home was short-lived when Sara pulled to the curb fifteen minutes later. He wasn't sure how she had managed it, but on the back seat of her car was a small cooler and, on the front seat, was a paper bag from McDonalds.

"I got breakfast," she said as she held up the sack. "Drinks in the cooler."

It was a thirty minute drive—few tourists on the Strip knew of the protected wilderness area only a short distance from the neon lights, glitz and gambling of the hotels and casinos. Sara chattered about food in the sack, the beautiful weather, and other drives she had taken—more than a few with him—around the area; she stopped her car at the first pull-out on the loop.

"I'm starving," she said with a quick smile as her hand motioned for Grissom to open the bag. "You pick—I'll eat either one."

Grissom shook his head. "You drove, you get first choice." Smiling, nodding his head toward the west, he said, "Thanks for driving. You know, I never get tired of this."

Crackling paper obscured Sara's voice; he leaned forward. She seemed to realize he had not heard and turned to face him, quietly folding the paper around her food. "I miss San Francisco at times—the lush growth, the flowers. This is so different—but I've learned to like it." A quick smile. "I'm learning to love it."

"You want to go for a walk—after we eat? I'll show you a little secret." His words surprised him; his plans for a short drive had disappeared. The walk he had in mind would take two hours at least. "Have you got a hat or cap?"

And walk, they did.

The route—not a trail—was not marked on any official hiker's map but Grissom headed between boulders the size of cars, after he shoved a bottle of water into his back pocket and tilted his hat to cover his eyes. Thirty feet or so into a broad scattering of rocks, he pointed to several small flat stones piled vertically, placed on a high point.

"See the cairn—up there? The rocks stacked one on top of the other?"

Sara nodded.

He led the way up and across the rocks until they were standing next to the flat stones. Again, he pointed. "Another one there. From any one, you can see at least one, sometimes two, to mark the path." He grinned. "A guy mapped out the route years ago. Wait until you see what's at the end."

Grissom had walked the route enough times to know the way, but he pointed to the stacked flat rocks that marked the path. They passed a twenty-foot column of stone shaped like a wine glass with a slim pedestal. Speechless, Sara had to stop and stare.

Weaving around multi-colored walls of stone, they walked uphill, mostly in shade, until Grissom pointed to another cairn.

"That's the last one. See the crack—the fissure?"

"Yes."

"We're going in there." Using his thumb he tilted his hat back a bit and grinned. "You aren't claustrophobic or afraid of tight places, are you?"

Shaking her head, she said, "Never." She laughed, "Lead on."

The cleft was three to four feet wide in most places, sliced fifty to one hundred feet between massive rock mountains. The sun seemed to light up the layers of red and orange stone far above their heads; the sky was a blue ribbon. After several hundred feet, Grissom slowed and reached for Sara's hand.

"We're almost there." A rare smile spread across his face.

Another turn and they stepped out of the crevice to bright sun light, a clear blue sky, and what appeared to be a microcosm of unexpected scenery.

Gasping at the change, it took Sara a few seconds to realize they were surrounded by sandstone and she was looking upward at a huge natural skylight. The mountains made an irregular circle surrounding an oasis greenery, complete with a wide, sparkling blue-green pond, an abundance of wildflowers, and numerous trees providing shade.

"It's unbelievable," she stammered, "in a desert—a true oasis!"

Grissom headed to the edge of the pond. "Wait until you feel the water!" When Sara reached the water, he continued, "The bottom is rock—about ten feet deep."

The pool was crystal clear; small water bugs scampered across the still water. A frog plopped into the water near Sara's feet causing her to shriek before she realized what it what.

With a sheepish grin, recovering quickly, she said, "A frog—how does a frog get here?"

Grissom sat down and pulled off his shoes and socks. He said, "The water is warm—try it!"

In minutes, they were sticking their feet into clear water making rings of tiny waves. Grissom leaned back against a twisted tree that provided shade for both of them. Almost at the same instant, both sighed. Then Sara gave a quiet laugh.

"How did you find this place?" She asked.

"The guy who built the cairns brought me out here years ago. I've never seen anyone else here but I know others know the way in." He pointed above their heads. "There is a way to climb to the top but I've never tried it."

Sara leaned back, using her elbows to keep her head and shoulders elevated. Her toes splashed the water. "The sky is a different blue here. Thank you for bringing me."

They talked in spurts, silence settling between them with ease, until Sara said, "We'd better get back, Grissom."

Without a word, he stood, extending his hand to hers. In that moment, as she gained her feet, the air between them changed. Each seemed to lean imperceptibly toward the other. And then he kissed her—on the lips. It was an astonishing contact; for a few seconds, he felt her mouth welcoming his, and then one backed away. It was over as quickly as it had happened—so quickly he wasn't sure who had moved first.

At once, he was hot and disconcerted, thrown off balance, and thoroughly put out with himself as he had made a determined effort to check his feelings.

Sara eyes sparkled, a smile played around her mouth. Then the tip of her tongue, pink and moist, licked slowly across her top lip. She was deliberately provoking him without saying a word.

Grissom knew his face flamed pink. He was her supervisor—her boss—he had an obligation to respect her as a professional. He could not be personally—definitely could not be romantically involved with Sara.

He said, "We need to start back." He stammered and stumbled over each word.

Quickly, Sara bent to the ground and retrieved her hat; he didn't know when it had come off her head. Standing, she smiled before pressing her lips together. A few seconds passed before she said, "Well, that took long enough."

"Sara, we're not children," he began.

She giggled, quickly, stifling it before saying, "No, we are not."

Shoving hands in his pockets, he continued, "I'm your supervisor, Sara. I—we—we can't do this."

Positioning the cap on her head, she smiled again. "Grissom, we haven't done anything—walked together on a beautiful day. We—we—I like your company." Her eyes left his and went skyward. "This is a beautiful place—thank you for—for showing it to me." Another smile, "we do need to get back."

Their walk back was silent yet not forced. In the car, Sara talked, faster than usual for awhile until she turned on music. At his condo, she pulled to the curb and stopped.

Placing her hand on his arm, she smiled, "Thanks, Grissom. Thank you for—for this morning."

He had not said much on the return trip; his mind was tangled by what had happened between them. She knew it too—he had wanted to kiss her for much longer.

Nodding, he reached across to open the car door, stopping as his fingers touched the handle. "I enjoyed this morning, Sara. I appreciate you calling—thinking of me. But—uh—but the fact that I'm your supervisor—I—we should—you—you—I know you have friends—some of the guys at the lab—you are a great person to be around." He knew he was stumbling over words. "I—I don't—we—we—you and me." His hand swiped across his mouth. "Do you know what I'm trying to say?"

When he brought his eyes to meet hers, he saw confusion, hurt, and pain reflected in soft brown eyes. What had happened—he had kissed her—had not been her fault. His fingers fumbled as he opened the door; he glanced away from her eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he said, "I enjoyed the morning. Thank you for calling me." He hesitated, without looking at her again, before he got out of the car. "I'll see you tonight." And left her without glancing back.

He felt like an old fool. He had kissed her—he had enjoyed it and she knew it. Acting like a school boy, he had showed her a secret place—isolated from the world—and he had kissed her.

The dilemma he had created was his own fault.

For several weeks, he had avoided her—sent her across town, out with Warrick or Nick, or to search the perimeter of crime scenes. Insignificant work, gave her assignments that distanced them—and then she had brought in the request for leave. It was his fault she asked for a leave; he knew that. It had wakened him out of his denial about unspoken emotions—and then Catherine's lecture about being a favorite teacher, comparing him to Sam Braun. He wanted to forget all he had heard from her that day but as days passed, he knew the truth.

In addition to his concern for Sara, his gradual loss of hearing was overriding his ability to compensate. He could still hear but sounds were muted and that added another worry. He had made appointments, cancelled, and made another. It wasn't going away; loss of hearing would mean more than deafness. His job as an investigator meant he had to hear everything from cadence and inflection of voices to the sounds in the lab.

While he worried about his hearing, he did make a promise to himself; he was Sara's supervisor and he had to set a professional boundary for his actions. In his office, when he was working with someone else, before he slept, he convinced himself he would be her supervisor—nothing more. The pull he had felt that day had been a one-time occurrence of time and place.

Just as quickly as he reached a resolution about Sara, she would walk into a room. While in her physical presence, and he did enjoy working with her, they were a matched pair. Her brain operated on a different level—faster at solving a puzzle than anyone he'd ever been around—and often voiced what he was thinking before he could form sensible words. It was pure pleasure and he would rock back on his heels in proud satisfaction—she was part of him, his life, his team.

The Ben Weston investigation had been such a case. She could light up a room—or the front seat of a Mercedes. He was pleased—and certain Sara did not think of him as a father figure. He was her supervisor. All his logical thoughts, all his methodical efforts to compartmentalize and label, were turned upside down when a young woman's mutilated body was found in a shopping cart.

"I've got a gal named Sara…"

The path he took from Ashleigh James' loft passed by the detritus of Vegas, obviously away from the sparkling avenue of The Strip. No tourists came this way by design. He kept walking. Sounds drifted around him in a mindless hum. A left and he was on the Freemont pedestrian walkway, only steps away from homeless sleeping in a nameless alley. Insensible to everything, he seemed to be pulled by an invisible string until he rounded another corner and he was underneath the elevated interstate—the place where Ashleigh James' body had been found.

Suddenly, Grissom was face-to-face with Sara.

"What are you doing here?"

After she had retrieved her request for a leave, he had spent many long moments thinking about her situation. And his. There was no doubt he enjoyed Sara's company; she had captivated him from the moment they met with her arched eyebrow, the lift of her voice, the sparkle in her eyes, her giggle of delight, and her intelligence. At times he wanted her with him—and then he remembered he was her supervisor—his resolution in the wake of Catherine's sermonizing returned.

In that moment, seeing her standing alone in a debris-strewn alley, Grissom knew his resolve made weeks ago was as substantial as smoke. Before he could reform his thoughts, she looked at him with those intelligent eyes in a way that caused his breath to catch in his chest.

"Contextualizing," she said.

In an exchange of questions and answers, she studied him for a few moments, curious as he was about the place where Ashleigh James had been taken. Seconds ticked as both of them looked right, left, right, left, right, before Sara noticed the billboard.

The case caught them up as they worked through the madness of death. One moment, he knew pleasure and satisfaction as their heads bent together in discovery. And then, as they learned the whole story of Ashleigh's life in heart wrenching detail, there was only sadness.

Walking among the homeless, he had found a scarf and Ashleigh James' sister, Cassie.

Sara had worked on the diary, trying to break the nonsense of letters and numbers. In the quietness of the lab, Grissom realized he could hear Sara—her voice, her tone, even when soft, was in the range of his diminishing hearing.

Later, he glanced at the others, their mouths open in amazement, as Sara explained the mysterious code of Ashleigh James' day planner.

At that moment, he knew—Sara was no longer the novice—the 'new' girl had moved into her own place—a planet orbiting around her own sun. He hid his own astonishment as Sara went through the shorthand notes of the dead woman. No one else could have accomplished this, he thought.

Afterwards, he walked along the Strip, the sun warming his back, the noise of traffic unnaturally muted, thinking about changes he would have to make if his hearing loss continued. He could no longer work as an investigator; he would have to make—plan for—significant lifestyle changes.

Finally, he stacked papers and left his office. He had an appointment he needed to keep.

As he waited for the specialist, Sara lingered in his mind—Sara, young, intelligent, a beautiful woman who—who cared about him—and he cared about her. He had never mentioned his hearing loss, yet she knew. He could not tell her, admit to a weakness, a frailty, in the face of her good health.

The physician was guardedly hopeful; surgery was an option his mother had not had.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Thank you for reviewing! Long live GSR!