A/N: Sorry for the delay-enjoy!

Gil Grissom's Romance

Chapter 14

"I choose men who are emotionally unavailable."

Gil Grissom had appreciated the attentions of Sofia Curtis on several occasions—and she had certainly gotten his attention a few times. As she sat on his desk and flirted with him, the niggling thought that she had her reasons caused him to cut the social visit short; before landing on the night shift, Sofia had been friendly with several people who were attempting to leap into higher administrative positions. Getting crossed with Conrad Ecklie had caused a detour in her plans, but he had no doubt Sofia would gain admission into the politically elite club that surrounded the sheriff's office.

Grissom would admit to himself that Sofia had a way of talking to him that seemed to loosen the knot that had resided in his mind for months. Yet, it soon returned after he made excuses and got her out of his office. Quickly, he walked through the building, finding Greg laughing with Nick and Warrick. Catherine's head was bent over paperwork, but he could not find the one he sought.

Sara Sidle—it was curious, he thought, how he found it easy to laugh at another woman's friendly, teasing banter only to have Sara occupy his thoughts and dreams. He had tried—every way a man could—to dismiss the way he thought of Sara; truth was he wanted to love her, work with her. Taken a step farther, he knew he would enjoy living with Sara. A grimace formed across his face; truth be told, he wanted her all the time. Yet, he held back; he did not want to lose her to another shift and he could not bring himself to have a secret relationship as Jim Brass had suggested. It would be too much—to ask of a young woman, to put her career at risk. He roamed the hallway for another ten minutes before closing his office door.

Sara was waiting beside his vehicle when Grissom finally left the building. He looked the same, she thought, but when he lifted his head and looked at her, she saw she was wrong. He was tired; she noticed his eyes, etched with lines of fatigue.

The case they had worked was dreadfully sad and then caused by the adult—a relative—who was supposed to be caring for Devon Malton. The callous disregard for life by the aunt had shocked her as much as the little boy's body starved and thrown out with trash.

Afterwards, she had done something she had promised herself she would never do; she had looked up her mother's arrest and trial record, learning the child of Laura Sidle was mentioned in one line of the report. Anything else about Sara Sidle's foster care was sealed in court records. When she had read as much as she could, she had decided it was time to tell Gil Grissom, her supervisor, about her past.

"I thought you would be gone by now," he said as a greeting.

Hesitantly, Sara smiled, shaking her head. "I thought you might want company." It came out as a question.

His weary blue eyes met hers. "You haven't had enough of the human race for one day?"

"No," she said quietly. "I—I don't want the rest of the human race—thought we might talk." She waited a fast beat, adding "Or not."

Grissom did not want her keen inquiring mind asking questions; it was not what he wanted. Or for her to turn those compassionate eyes on him. "Go home, Sara."

She had seen Sofia with him, in his office, leaning toward him with an intimate gesture, thinking no one would notice. Jealousy, Sara thought, was a powerful motivation. Gently, she laid a hand on his arm. "I'll drive—we can—we can drive somewhere. Maybe Red Rocks—get some food on the way—wind down before we try to sleep."

Shoving hands in his pockets, Grissom managed to glance around the parking garage, seeing no one and noticed her car was parked next to his department vehicle. This case had been a tough one, he knew, on everyone but Sara was like him—hurting children was especially heinous. It had been a long hard shift, he reminded himself. She had found the two boys, banished and discarded in a crude basement, both barely alive.

He gave her a brief smile. "I can't, Sara. We—we should sleep."

Flashes of gold sparked in normally soft brown eyes. "Grissom," she turned away, blinking rapidly several times before turning to face him. "Why do you have time for everyone else?" She stopped, biting her lip to keep from saying more.

Quickly, she said, "I'm sorry—you're tired. I'm tired. We—we can talk later." Her head dipped as she moved away. "It wasn't important." Immediately, she walked to her car, leaving Grissom standing alone with a quizzical look on his face.

Her sudden anger had simmered beneath her words and it took several minutes for him process the reason for it. With a quiet chuckle, he remembered Sofia in his office. Shaking his head as he got into his vehicle a quirky grin on his lips; those sweet brown eyes had flashed gold instead of green, he thought, but he believed Sara Sidle was jealous of Sofia Curtis.

Later, as he cradled the remains of a glass of brandy, his thoughts rose from a tangle into the realm of rational control. He knew he was doing the right thing by avoiding an intimate relationship with Sara. He was her supervisor; officially, by department regulations, they could not have a personal relationship.

Yet his heart—yes, it was his heart—that ached for the dark-haired, long-legged brainy-subordinate who he wasn't supposed to love.

What the hell was he supposed to do, he wondered? What had made him think he could bring her to Vegas, work with her every day, and not love her? Nothing was that simple. This situation made him feel helpless, brought all kinds of fear into his life—and he could only take his own advice and leave things as they were. Handle each day until she—until she did what?

Draining his glass of the last of the amber liquid, he reclined on the sofa, stuffed a pillow behind his head, and slept, his dreams filled with physical and emotional love for beautiful brown-eyed Sara.

That's where the relationship remained—professional. Sara worked with Greg on a difficult case and she had talked to Grissom, as her supervisor, briefly about her counseling sessions, leaving as quietly as she had arrived at his office door.

Several days passed before he heard about two bodies found in tar and came in early. Later, he had Sara work with Catherine on one of the victim's facial restoration. Everything was progressing well—and then all hell broke out.

He heard the wave of voices coming toward his office; Ecklie and Catherine made no attempt to quiet their voices as they discussed Sara. Catherine had been the first to relate the events leading to Sara's suspension. And in his office, Ecklie managed to bring up every infraction, no matter how small, in Sara's personnel file, as justification of the suspension. When Grissom left the lab, he knew he wasn't going to fire Sara but he was going to address her anger.

When Sara opened her door, he was surprised at her look of hopeless calm. The misery in her face caused an unfamiliar feeling in his chest.

And with her comment directed at him, "I choose men who are emotionally unavailable…"

After that, he heard all of her history—her father's death, her mother's illness, both alcoholics, yet they were her parents. Both gone from her life within minutes, and then the foster care system where she learned raw truths of growing up in an overloaded social welfare system. He grieved for the child, for the young girl who had lost so much.

Sara had cried; he had reached for her hand, fighting the impulse to gather her into his arms and promise to make everything right. He didn't, but as she talked, tears streaming down her face, he reached for his handkerchief. She took the white square, wadding it against her eyes, and the sight of her crying for so much—lost parents, a missed childhood, an over-powering loneliness—pulled him to her. His hand holding hers became an arm around her shoulders, and then both of his arms circled her body.

As she cried, he held her; his hand found her hair, the other hand flattened against the small of her back. Was it a surprise that her body fit his so perfectly? Her curves became a part of him; her face nested against his shoulder so his lips could touch her cheek.

A hundred different feelings fought for control inside him. Then, slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her lips.

Softly, he said, "I don't know what to say."

In a whisper, she said, "You don't have to say anything. We don't have to talk at all."

He knew what she was offering, even before she touched her lips to his. He wanted her, more than anything, he wanted to her—all of her, all of the time.

His fingers combed through her hair, playing with it as he said, "We haven't come up with—with a plan."

Her lips curved against his. "Can we figure it out later?"

"Sara." His mouth moved from hers to skim along her neck. "Sara—it's been so long—too long. I've been a fool for too long."

"Don't" she whispered. She had to concentrate to breathe.

He was very close to lifting her, tumbling onto her small bed and doing all the things he had fantasized during the years he had lain alone in bed, thinking of her. She sighed, her breathe against his chest. The soft, broken sound seemed to rip through his chest.

As he continued to hold her, just hold her, he realized she was stroking his hair, his face, warming him in a way that was entirely different from any flash of lust he had experienced in the past.

"We're not kids," she murmured.

"No, we are not," he said. "It's complicated." He was holding her so he was talking over her shoulder. "If we date, go to dinner, to the movies, we'll have to be careful."

A soft groan came to his ear before Sara said, "I'm fired so none of that matters."

With a quiet chuckle, he said, "No, you are not fired—I'm not going to fire you and Ecklie won't fire me."

"What are we going to do?"

Not quite sure he could trust himself, he drew back, taking both her hands in his. "We'll work it out." With his thumb, he wiped a tear track from her cheek. "Are you okay?"

Sara nodded.

"I'm going to leave—for now." Holding one of her hands, he walked to her door. "Sunday."

"Sunday?" Confusion caused a frown to form.

He said, "I'm off on Sunday. Spend it with me." Quickly, he smiled. "Let's get outside, in the sun—we could use more sun."

"Okay."

Leaning forward, he touched her lips again in a quick kiss. "Sunday—early."

A/N: We knew it was a Sunday! Thank you for reading and your reviews! More to come.