A/N: Finally! A new chapter! Thank you in advance for staying with us!

Gil Grissom's Romance

Chapter 25

Gil Grissom quietly opened the door, slipping into the back entrance to their condo, toeing the shoes off his feet, thankful the whirring of the dryer covered any sounds he made. He didn't do this often but they had all been working long hours, ungodly cases for weeks, and had just come off a horrific shift—Greg's beating by young thugs had affected Sara in a deeply personal way—thus the flowers he hid behind his back.

Hesitating for a few seconds as he watched her stir something in a pot on the stove, he felt a peacefulness flutter inside his chest. It always did when he was near her and especially when they were together in the new home they were making. His shadow gave him away.

Sara, tiredness showing on her face, turned, saying, "You're home!" Softly, yet cheerful—a bit too happy, he thought, after their long shift.

He drew the bouquet from behind his back. "I thought," he shrugged. "I thought we—we needed something to brighten our day."

She took the flowers and leaned in to kiss him. After a quick hug, she said, "Soup—veggies and barley." It was one of the soups they had prepared and frozen several weeks ago.

"Smells good," he whispered, keeping his hand on her back even as she moved, reaching below the sink for a vase. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she said as she filled the vase, taking each stem and arranging the flowers in it.

He stirred the soup. "I talked to Greg. Did you know he'd never told his parents he was working in the field?"

Sara nodded. "He—he said his mother would worry all the time." Her voice hitched with emotion. The arranging of flowers slowed. "Greg—he—he would never hurt anyone—anything."

"He'll be okay."

Turning to face him, a bright pink flower—a daisy, he knew—in her hand, she said, "Greg isn't like Nick, Gil. He's—he acts macho—like he's one of the boys—but he's very tender hearted."

Grissom took a step and wrapped his arms around her, kissed her cheek and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. The flower tickled his nose as her arms went around his neck. "He'll be fine, honey." For several minutes, he focused on her—running a thumb across her cheek as tears overwhelmed her ability to blink them away, holding her tightly as she gulped several deep breaths and managed to check emotions.

Finally, she said, "The soup is hot. And bread's in the oven."

"Okay," Grissom answered. Before letting her go, he kissed her again, first on her forehead, then her nose, and finally on her lips.

In the time it took to fill bowls and slice bread, Sara regained a sense of happiness. Grissom watched as she put two mismatched placemats on the counter, arranged flatware, and placed the flowers on one of the small tables.

He said, "I'm still amazed at what you've done with this place." Placing a bowl of soup on each mat, he added a plate of sliced bread and a bottle of olive oil to the space between them. As he came around the counter, taking the stool beside Sara, he continued, "This was an empty shell when we moved in—and now—look at what you've done."

Finally, she smiled. "And your mother—she deserves much of the credit."

Grissom chuckled, saying, "Her boxes. I never knew what to do with all this stuff—you're the one who brought it out of storage and—and did this." His hand waved in the direction of a wall filled with books and souvenirs and mementos his mother had kept for years, some as old as he was, others collected while traveling. Framed prints decorated walls; plants flourished on window sills.

They ate in companionable silence; favorite music playing quietly. When Grissom finished the soup, he took a crust of bread and sopped it around the bowl. "Good soup," he said as he nodded in the direction of the refrigerator. "You've got an appointment tomorrow—I took you off the schedule so you have tomorrow night free."

"I can work. Annual check-up." Sara said with a shrug and then grinned, adding, "Got to keep my birth control up-to-date."

Eyebrows shot skyward as Grissom made a face before saying, "We could—you know—go in another direction."

Sara shook her head. "I think we'll continue in the direction we're going, Gilbert." Pausing a few seconds, she continued, a teasing smile edging around her mouth, "Not saying never—but—but I like where we are right now."

Grissom made a sound that was as near "neutral" as he could make; he reached for his jacket and pulled out a handful of mail. "Forgot—letter from your mother in today's mail." He handed her a slim white envelope and made two stacks with what was left. As Sara opened the letter, Grissom frowned with puzzlement at one envelope addressed to him and tore it open.

A minute passed before Sara said, "Nothing has changed. My mother lives in her own make-believe world." She folded the letter and tossed it in the direction of the recycle stack.

Grissom handed the letter he had opened to Sara which she read, eyes widen as she passed it back to him.

Immediately, she said, "You should do it!"

Sighing, Grissom placed it on the counter—an announcement or an invitation, he was unsure—to teach a short-mid-winter seminar at a small college in the east. A colleague he had known for decades, now a professor, had sent the letter.

"I can't take off—work is never-ending. It would become an avalanche beyond comprehension!"

"You could put Catherine in charge—she'll love it." Sara's comment caused her to laugh, saying, "You know she wants to be supervisor and it might help her—you know—after all that's happened."

Leaving the letter on the counter, Grissom and Sara cleaned the kitchen while they talked about the possibility of a leave from the lab. Their discussion moved from work-related to private.

Grissom said, "Is there no way for you to go with me? I—I can't figure out how—unless—unless…"

Sara was already shaking her head. "You go—I stay. I'm not ready to let everyone inside—inside our life." Her hand waved in a circle between them. She smiled, saying, "I love working with you, Gil. I love living with you—I love keeping this—us—a secret." Moving near him, his arms effortlessly going around her, her hand touched his face as she dropped her head to his shoulder.

Whispering, she said, "I love the privacy we have now. I'm just not ready to go—make an announcement—because as soon as we do, Ecklie will either fire me or put us on different shifts."

"He's not going to fire you—and yeah, he'll demand one of us move to another shift."

"I'm not ready for that." She remained within his arms, snuggled against the curve of his neck.

She knew she would miss moments like this if he were gone for a while—a month of not hearing the steady beat of his heart as he slept, of not hearing his low, sweetly mellow voice. Suddenly, she understood why lovers collected keepsakes—letters, photos, trinkets. There was so much to know about him, she thought. She knew there would be things he would never reveal but she also knew both kept secrets, thoughts, past experiences and conversations neither could nor would share.

Sighing, she knew she was exhausted; he must be.

As if knowing her desire before she did, he said, "You'll sleep better after a shower."

Sara knew that was true.

Slowly, they walked to the shower—an elaborate stone and glass enclosure with multiple jets, a waterfall spigot, and a gentle-as-rain showerhead. She took off her clothes, stood where he placed her and let him wipe and wash her skin with long, gently strokes. He seemed oblivious to water soaking his socks and pants.

"Don't you want to join me?"

"No," Grissom said, a faint smile appearing on his lips, "I just want an excuse to touch you—but you will sleep better."

She watched as his strong hands smoothed water across her shoulders and down her arms, across her breasts, and then turned so he could wash her back. There was something unexplainable and soothing in what he did—continuing with how he toweled her dry and slipped a soft shirt over her head.

A few minutes later, he tucked her into bed, and, later, after his own shower, joined her. Pulling her close, fitting his legs against hers, wrapping an arm around her so it rested in the valley between her breasts, he took a deep breath, already relaxing into sleep, as Sara placed her hand over his.

"Good night, Gil," she whispered as his lips kissed her neck and she felt, more than heard, the quiet response of "Sweet dreams, honey."

Sara knew what his decision would be before he did. Work, which he was passionate about, was draining the light from his eyes and the energy from his life.

They did not have to make love for it to flow around them, comfortable and sheltered in a world of their own. Before falling asleep, Sara turned so her head was on his chest, listening to the steady sound of his heart. She smiled as she thought how the new condo, a new bed, decorating a place as a home, had gotten them to sleep in the same bed, to share a bedroom and bathroom. Her hand patted his chest; his plan had worked.

Softly, she chuckled, bending her leg over his as he stretched in his sleep. She could sleep; her hand above his heart.

A week later, a woman's body was found hanging in a church.

The case stunned Grissom more than he would admit; a love triangle involving a priest who would have given up his vocation—his life for the woman he loved.

A child died.

And then, what they had all thought to be an eccentricity, a-never to be repeated event occurred. A meticulously crafted second miniature crime scene was delivered to Penny Garden's home.

A/N: Again, we appreciate you reading our story! With the end of CSI, have the fanfiction fans sailed to a new ship? We would like to know what you think!