A/N: Takes place directly after "Grave Danger."

Summary: My thoughts on how Grissom and Sara might have started their relationship...

Disclaimer: CSI belongs to CBS and no one else... I'm just renting the characters :-)

Note: This is my first fanfic EVAR! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated...

Time seems to stand still as Sara lets Grissom slowly take her clothes off. He starts with her vest, and her body seems to rebound on itself after the vest's heavy weight falls away from her. The flashlight lost its power about an hour ago, by her estimation. Luckily, a small amount of light comes in through the myriad of small holes in the tank's walls, but still she can barely see the outline of him, much less any features. It's maddening to feel him undressing her and to not see his face.

His hands move down to her jeans, automatically, even robotically unbuttoning them and pulling them down. She feels like she can barely breathe and her mind begins to spin. Her body obeys him, though, and she pulls her legs up to help him remove her sodden pants. Her shirt disappears next until she's sitting next to him in only her bra and panties. She expects those to go next, but Grissom's hands have moved away from her. Now she can feel the cold devouring her, making all of the hairs on her body stand up.

She hears him pulling at his own clothes and finds herself helping him, using her long, nimble fingers to undo the buttons on his shirt. He grunts his appreciation and moves on to his pants.

In a moment, they are sitting side-by-side, in only their underclothes. Sara's mind revolts. Not like this, she thinks. I don't want it to end like this. Not like this.

Involuntarily, she says the words, "Not like this, Grissom…"

"Shhhh," he whispers in her ear. "It's all right, Sara." She can feel him moving behind her. Her skin is on fire as he wraps his arms around her, folding her arms against her chest. His legs envelop hers and he pulls her back against his chest, holding her tightly. "We need to use our body heat. That's all I'm doing."

She begins giggling at the thought of Grissom trying to seduce her in a rusted-out water tank. Not even Gil Grissom is that clueless. "Grissom, I know what you're doing. That's not what I meant."

"Oh." She can't tell if he's relieved or disappointed.

"I…uh… just meant that…" She leans her head back, resting her cheek against his—a lone effort to glean some comfort from him. He presses against her, savoring the contact, the intimacy they never shared until now that their lives are at stake. Figures, she thinks. "I don't want to die here, Grissom."

His voice is soft, reassuring, but full of lies. "We won't die here. They'll find us."

Sara says nothing, but snuggles against him, feeling his body warm hers up. She thinks about that warmth and hopes that if she dies, that she's calm like she is now—safe in the arms of the man she loves—and not afraid.

David hangs up the phone and his hands are shaking. "I just talked to Mr. DeSoto… I told him that we need him to make an ID. He's in Laughlin and he's on his way."

"I bet he is," Brass counters.

"God, I can't believe this guy," David continues. "He's a murderer, but he sounds so nonchalant about everything." He throws up his hands in confusion. As a coroner, David deals with bodies—none of them with speaking roles—but he hasn't had much experience conversing with the people who made them that way. Greg understands his fish-out-of-water feelings, and pats him on the back in solidarity. David gives him an uneasy smile in response.

"I want to go back to the scene," Greg announces. "There's nothing left to process here… we'd probably do more good out at the site."

Brass considers it at the two of them walk down the hallway away from the morgue. Certainly, he can understand Greg's eagerness to help his friends, but from what Brass understands about the situation, there's not much processing to be done there as well. Add to that, the fact that Grissom and Sara might already be dead, and the existence of explosives in the area…

"Look, Sanders," Brass starts and sees the disappointment flood Greg's eyes. "Nick and Catherine are out there already… we need you and Warrick here if another case comes up."

"Morning shift's already arrived early to take care of that."

"Greg, the scene isn't exactly safe, you know? I'm nervous enough just having Catherine and Nick, not to mention Archie, out there. I think you're better off here in case new information comes in." Brass doesn't exactly sound authoritative, probably because he himself wants to be out there. But there's about to be a crucial interrogation of one Mr. Brad DeSoto, and he wants to be the one to let the smug bastard know that they've got his number.

Greg looks desperate, and Brass realizes that there will be no reasoning with the young CSI. "I can't just sit here. The waiting is making me crazy."

Brass is about to answer when some commotion at the end of the hall catches their attention. Devon Wright, still handcuffed, comes careening around the corner with Vartann in hot pursuit. "I said, Let me talk to that Detective! I want to talk to him."

Brass stops the row with a small wave of his hand. "I'm here, Devon, what can I do for you?"

Brass sees now that Devon Wright is livid. He shoots Vartann a hard look and the lieutenant shakes his head with embarrassment as Wright launches into a tirade. "I overheard these meatheads laughing about the guy who framed me up—it was that goddamn cop!" He says the final word like it dirties up his mouth. "And now I understand that DeSoto asshole is coming here! I want to talk to him. I want to look him in the face and ask him why he chose my life to fuck up!"

Vartann tries to grab Devon's arm to calm him down, but Devon shakes him off. Brass can see that this situation is going bad fast. It's no secret that the hacker was just a pawn in DeSoto's master game, but he's still useful to them. If they are going to even have a hope of putting DeSoto away, they are going to need Devon's help and a lot of it. But right now Devon's out of control angry and that isn't helping anyone. Nor would allowing him to confront Brad DeSoto.

"Devon," Brass says in his most calm and understanding voice. "I understand why you'd want to confront DeSoto, but we need to get some information out of him and he won't give anything up if he realizes we're onto him. So we need you to sit tight for a bit. You'll get your chance to screw him back, believe me."

"Do you really think he'll tell you anything? That guy is smarter than you and me, and half the police force combined. What exactly do you think you'll get out of him?"

"Well, for starters, how to shut off those transceivers and get my people to safety."

Devon snorts with complete derision. Then Greg pipes up. "He's right, Brass. This guy put all kinds of people in danger with his little explosives ring. Once he figures out that we know he's behind it, I don't think he'll give anything up. If he tells us how to disarm them, it'll be the same as admitting he did it."

"Exactly!" Devon says triumphantly. "So let me have a few minutes alone with him… I'd only need a couple to feel better…"

Brass ignores him and addresses Greg. "Sanders, do you have an alternative? This guy is the only one who knows how to shut those damn bombs off. If he doesn't tell us how…"

Greg purposefully walks over to Devon Wright and clasps his shoulder. "This guy might be able to. Let me take him to the site, Brass. He might be our only chance."

Devon nods emphatically, and his voice is suddenly contrite. "I never wanted anyone to get hurt, sir. That's not what I do. If I can help your people, I want to try."

Brass shakes his head, marveling at his own willingness to accept questionable ideas. But Greg's right about one thing: Devon Wright might be the only chance Grissom and Sara have. He takes a long look at the gangly, sandy-haired surfer and chuckles. "Vartann, take these two to the site. Let's hope Sanders' faith isn't misplaced."

Devon and Greg both grin and for a moment Brass thinks the two look enough alike to be brothers. Vartann escorts them down the hall towards the parking lot and Brass steels himself to match wits with the cunning Brad DeSoto. His concentration is interrupted by Greg shouting, "What about Warrick? He's gonna be pissed if he's left out!"

Brass grimaces, but nods his acquiescence. "Good luck," he mutters under his breath. "We're all going to need it."