A/N: Thank you for staying with us for a year+ a few as we've written a story of romance. This chapter brings "Part 1" to a close. Your support means a lot-so please leave us a comment, a word, a review-we plan to continue the story.

Gil Grissom's Romance

Chapter 32

Sara Sidle's idea of shopping did not involve a mall or the shops at one of the casinos. Grissom knew this as he shopped for her. It was a small price to pay for being an ass—and for breaking news that he was still trying to process.

The salesman wrapped the thin box in silver paper, added a ribbon to it, and handed it to Grissom with a flourish.

"I'm sure your lady will be delighted, but if not, we will happily help her choose something else."

Grissom thanked him and left, adding the silver-wrapped gift to a shiny pink shopping bag that he did not pretend to hide. He had shopped in the lingerie store enough to know the ropes—and the pink bag was part of it.

Arriving home, he saw Sara and Hank in the park and quickly decided he had enough time to create a surprise. And the easiest way to do it was to place the bag on the bed. Then he went outside and threw a ball several times for the dog before casually suggesting it was time to go in.

And then Sara wanted to hang around the kitchen. She watered the plants, removed dead leaves, moved a few books, and began to put away dishes.

He took a plate from her hands, saying "I'll put these away if you'll get the glass by the bed—my side." He followed as she headed to the bedroom, standing in the doorway, watching as she came to an abrupt stop.

Turning, surprise showing on her face, she asked, "What is this?"

Grissom walked to her, arms spread. A smile crossed his face as he said, "Something for you—for me—from me." As her hand went into the pink bag, he continued, "I know I'm an ass sometimes—difficult to live with—and I hope this will—will—you know." He shrugged.

Tossing tissue paper aside, she unwrapped three sets of lingerie-panties and bras in black, turquoise, and pale pink. Laughing, holding each piece against her body, she went through the motions of a fake striptease while fully clothed. She made such a production of each item—she always did, he thought—like a kid on Christmas morning—that she missed the silver-wrapped box and Grissom finally turned the bag upside down and handed her the box.

Carefully inspecting the wrapping, Sara's eyes narrowed as she asked, "Why all of this?" She shook the box to hear a soft, muffled clink.

"Because I was an ass last week—the Heather thing—I should have let you know what I was doing. Not let it become gossip for you to hear. And I've had my head stuck in that miniature world too much."

Sara held up the pink panties. Impishly grinning, she said, "Does Heather wear this color?"

"Stop."

She snickered. "I had to ask." She giggled again before placing the box under her arm and, balancing awkwardly, stripped off her pants and panties and pulled on the new pink ones.

Watching her and enjoying her delight, Grissom sat on the bed, saying impatiently, "Open the box." He did not want Heather Kessler mentioned in their bedroom.

Sara sat beside him, taking time to remove tape and carefully peeling back the paper. He remained quiet, waiting for her to open it, knowing it would be perfect.

The gasp was enough. He grinned.

"Oh, Gil," she whispered. "This is too much—it's beautiful." Her fingers trembled as she attempted to lift the gold necklace from the box.

He reached over and popped the tabs holding the chain. "It belongs around your neck." After he had fastened the clasp and smoothed each gold teardrop against her skin, he kissed her. His hand curled around her neck and into her hair. Her lips yielded to his as he enjoyed the taste of her.

Eventually, one drew back and deep sighs came from both.

Sara's fingertips touched the necklace. "Gil, this is too much—I can't wear something like this—it—it looks expensive."

He grinned, saying, "Yes, you can." He pulled two tickets out of his shirt pocket and said, "We're going to a party."

When she took the tickets, he explained. "It's a benefit for the Gilbert Institute. Only two hundred people—an opera singer. What do you say?"

Smiling, she said, "Let's go!" Then a quick frown, "What if someone sees us?"

Shrugging, he said, "It's a small event—and." He winced. "And my mother will be there."

"Your mother!" Eyes wide, surprise on her face, Sara's mouth remained open as Grissom nodded. "Ah—the tickets came from her?"

Again, nodding, he shifted; his hands moved nervously.

Sara recognized his reluctance to say more. She said, "What else?"

"My mother is looking into moving to Vegas."

Without questioning, Sara approved Betty Grissom's plan. "She's decided you've made your home here and she wants to be near you." With the soft acceptance in her voice, relief flooded his body.

The simple beauty of her response caused him to reach out; she leaned into his embrace. For several minutes, they enjoyed a quiet, intimate moment, but desire warmed their actions.

For a while, they whispered as if they were afraid others were listening. He kissed her chin; she stroked his back. He nibbled her ear lobe.

"Can we get this shirt off?" She asked; he peeled his shirt over his head and heard two buttons pop. She kissed his chest. His hands found the silky pink panties.

"Dear God, you feel wonderful."

A muffled giggle. "And you are very hard." Her fingers grasped him as she slipped downward and kissed his erect penis.

It was a moaned "no" as Sara continued. "Come back," he said, tugging her face back to his. "I—I can't take you doing that now."

The new panties came off in a rush. And then quietness as he fitted himself between her legs and found she was warm and welcoming. She smelled of spring, he thought, as they came together. His last thought before losing conscious control was of the wonderful life they had.

A few hours later, Jim Brass called him with information about Trevor Dell. And their world changed.

The miniature with the red car was the work of a mad woman; a meticulous model of a death scene except the victim wasn't dead—yet. Sara was underneath a car somewhere in the desert. The moving hand was a sign, a message of some kind, from an insane Natalie Davis who had worked in the lab. Who had observed, who had followed Sara, who had noticed what no one else had—he loved Sara.

This woman would kill Sara. Paralyzed by fear, he realized this was what Natalie wanted. That was how kidnapping worked. He had to work, to do something. His mind compartmentalized everything; he would find her. His team would find her.

And she was found. She had made stacks of stones in the desert to mark her path. She had taken a mirror with her—and the mirror reflected sunlight.

Grissom did not know what to do for her. The physicians had repaired her broken bones, stitched her wounds; had run test after test, and finally, released her.

She sat in the passenger seat, her eyes closed. But he knew she wasn't sleeping. Her composure was a thin, tensile veneer, and he wasn't certain what he would find if it cracked.

So he drove in silence.

The energy, the vitality that was Sara was gone. That concerned him most. She was like a fragile doll sitting beside him.

When he turned into the driveway, she opened her eyes, as if she sensed she was home. After parking in the garage, he placed his hand on hers. He felt her shiver.

"We're home, Sara. For as long as we need to be."

"I don't know what to do—I—I don't know what happens next."

After patting her hand, he got out of the car, came around to her side, and helped her out. Tears filled her eyes as he guided her into their home.

The house was quiet and fragrant with flowers; Greg had taken Hank for a few days. The flowers had come from everyone—lawyers, judges, policemen, people Grissom did not even know or remember. He'd insisted visitors be limited while she was in the hospital. Jim and Nick had promised to do the same while she recovered.

Gently, Grissom walked Sara into the bedroom. When she started to protest, he shushed her. "Rest, Sara."

"When I think—"

"Don't think." He kissed her on the cheek below the red gash only partly covered by a bandage. "I'll be right back."

It took him several minutes to heat water for tea and then he poured a generous nip of brandy into his cup. Life was a messy business, he thought, as he carried tea into the bedroom.

She was where he left her, sitting on the bed, staring into nothing. Sitting the cups beside the bed, he knelt in front of her and took her hands in his.

"Hold on, okay?"

Leaning forward, she rested his head on his shoulder. He heard her sigh.

She said, "It could have been worse."

"It could have been much worse. You are very brave."

She managed a tight laugh. "It's over. I don't have to talk or think about it again. Lock it away. Everything starts again." She yawned. "If I can sleep, I'll be fine."

A/N: Thank you for reading Part 1-Part 2 will come, so read, review, and keep GSR alive! Thank you again!