Twist of Fate
Summary: For most people, the threads of life form an unchanging tapestry, with the past setting the pattern for the future. Can Grissom overcome his own doubts when given the chance to weave a new life? GSR, A/U
A/N: This is a sequel to "If the Fates Allow", and I strongly suggest reading that story first to understand what's going on. Thanks to Gibby for agreeing to beta this mess, and thanks to everyone who has reviewed. It's greatly appreciated and makes the writing worthwhile.
Rating: What's wrong with PG? Why do people always want smut? I don't do good smut. Let's call this a strong PG-13.
Disclaimer: Do you really think anyone would trust me with these characters given what I put them through? I only play with them when the mood strikes.

Chapter 3

Once on the flight, Grissom examined the photos in more detail, searching for clues to help explain the unusual insects. He felt a certain professional pride that Sara had recognized their significance, and a thrill that she'd contacted him immediately. Personal hopes reared in his subconscious, but he kept his attention focused on the case. They'd be able to talk afterwards.

Sara greeted him at the reception desk in the San Francisco lab, and he knew she hadn't slept in too long.

"Thanks for coming," she said gratefully. "I wasn't really expecting you."

"Of course I'd come," he said, unable to completely contain the hurt in his tone.

"I figured you'd e-mail me or call," she said in explanation. "Uh, my boss doesn't know you were coming. I didn't clear it or anything."

"Don't worry about the pay. And I'll need to see the insects themselves."

"Why? Who the hell is this, Sidle?" an angry voice boomed out as they entered a meeting room.

He saw her physically tense, recalling an earlier comment about her immediate supervisor being an overbearing ass. Turning to the man, he had to agree with the assessment, and he regarded him coolly. Before either of them could answer, the man shoved his finger in Sara's face, and he saw her balling her fists to control her temper; Grissom felt his anger threatening to boil over.

"What part of keeping this quiet don't you understand? We're getting enough heat now without bringing in visitors," he barked before turning to Grissom. "Who the hell are you?"

Automatically, he stepped between Sara and the hulking man, his expression dangerous as he fought to keep his control. Before he could respond, the lab director, Jose Hegira, entered the room.

"His name, Morris, is Dr. Gilbert Grissom, and he's probably written more articles on forensics than I've ever read," Hegira said, extending his hand in greeting. "Good to see you, Gil. I wish the circumstances were better."

"Jose."

"I didn't realize there was some evidence in this case that would attract the attention of one of the world's foremost experts on forensic entomology," Hegira said, giving Morris a pointed glare. "I'm sure I asked that all relevant information be forwarded to my office."

"Apparently, I didn't make it clear that the bugs I found on the bodies were important," Sara said tightly.

Hegira darted his eyes from Sara to Grissom's protective stance, and he gave his friend a penetrating stare. "Is that a fact?"

"CSI Sidle recognized that the insects found on your victims weren't native to this area, and, in fact, cannot live in this area," he said, trying to keep things professional. There was obviously some sort of office dynamics at work here, and he wanted to avoid creating trouble for Sara.

He also had an overwhelming urge to deck Morris. The man's attitude towards her had Grissom on edge, fighting down a protective side he never knew existed. It was silly, not only because it was immature, but because Sara didn't need assistance in defending or standing up for herself.

"So, the bodies were killed somewhere else and dumped," Morris said, trying to make the information sound unimpressive. "Is that reason to bring in someone from the outside, without authorization," he added nastily.

"Do you often have bodies killed in Madagascar and dumped in the Bay Area?" Grissom responded with deadly calm, then focusing on Hegira. "CSI Sidle sent me copies of the photos, but I need to examine the insects personally. Given the nature of the crime, I didn't want to waste time with bureaucracy."

"I appreciate it, Gil. The mayor is really starting to put the pressure on us to catch this killer. We've had five bodies found already, and all of them were murdered brutally. Sara, since you've worked with Dr. Grissom before, I want you to help him. You can take over one of the labs downstairs."

Grissom nearly sputtered when Hegira gave him a private wink.

After the briefing finished, Angry Morris – Grissom never bothered to find out if that was his first or last name – stormed out. Sara led him to a stairway at the end of the hallway, the tension still evident in her posture. Once in the privacy of a lab, he closed the door and raised an eyebrow.

"I think 'overbearing ass' was an understatement."

She let out an angry huff of air as she gathered the insects collected from the bodies. "He's a damned dinosaur who doesn't understand anything more complicated than fingerprints. No one is going to miss him when he retires next month. The only reason he hasn't been fired is that he has friends on the city council."

"I know the type," Grissom said in sympathy, and they settled into an easy routine of examining each of the insects closely. By working late into the night, they'd verified that each body contained at least one insect that wasn't native to the San Francisco area. More importantly, the bugs came from different continents – with some corpses hosting their own entomological United Nations.

Some of the insects had very specific and narrow living requirements, and this helped to limit the possible locations where the murders took place. There was a sense of professional satisfaction, but when he caught Sara yawning out of the corner of his eye, he insisted that they call it a night.

"I want to catch this creep," she said intently.

"So do I, but you need to be awake to do it," he said levelly. "How many days have you been working on this already?"

"A few."

"I don't know the city like you do. I need you awake and coherent to help me narrow down the places that house this many bugs. That means sleep. I'm tired, and I haven't been working on this as long as you have."

"Fine," she said grudgingly, unable to stop another yawn. Rolling her eyes, she helped pack away the evidence and headed for the parking lot. She stopped beside his car, turning with a mildly worried expression. "Did you get a hotel room?"

"Not yet. How hard is it to get a room at this time of night?"

She winced. "You mean one that doesn't charge a fortune or doesn't charge by the hour?"

Grissom grunted, knowing he should have made reservations before leaving Las Vegas. He recalled hearing something at the airport about a convention in town.

"Look, uhm," Sara stammered, shifting her weight from foot to foot before facing him nervously. "I have a futon if you want to crash at my place for the night. It's stupid to pay a fortune for a room you're only going to be using for a couple of hours."

He stared silently for a moment, trying to decipher the invitation. On the surface, he understood it perfectly, but he wondered if there was a deeper meaning. Noticing her exhaustion, he decided there wasn't.

"Okay," he said. "Won't Larry mind?"

"No roommate," she said.

"Oh."

Her home appeared to be even smaller than her college efficiency, looking like it was once a one-car garage converted into a rental unit. She took a quick shower, coming out of the bathroom bearing a stack of towels, wearing just a skimpy top and pajama bottoms. She tossed him the towels, pulled a pillow off the bed and grabbed spare sheets from a shelf.

Giving his head a shake, he took the linens from her. "Get some sleep," he said softly. "I can make my own bed."

Grunting sleepily, she crawled into bed and fell asleep immediately. Feeling intrusive, he stood there for a moment to admire the view, wondering if he'd have a chance to join her anytime soon. His guilty conscience eventually sent him into the tiny bathroom to get ready for bed.

The futon was softer than it seemed, and he had no trouble falling asleep. When he did wake up, it was in a mild state of confusion. It was still very early, the first light of dawn coming through the window, but it was the sounds that troubled him. Giving his head a shake, he sat up and frowned, seeing Sara tossing in her sleep.

Grissom padded across the room, gently sitting on the side of her bed. He hoped the bad dream would pass, but she continued to mutter in her sleep, a limb occasionally thrashing in response to some unseen specter. Hesitantly he reached out, running his hand lightly over her arm. When that didn't appear to help, he started making soft hushing sounds.

Sara eventually jerked up, staring at him in terror until she recognized him.

"Shit, Gil. You scared me."

"I'm sorry. You were having a nightmare," he explained quietly, his concern evident. He hadn't been able to make out anything she'd said, but it was clear that the dream was unpleasant.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you," she said, rubbing her face with her hands as she yawned. "You go ahead and go back to sleep."

"What about you?"

"Insomniac, remember? I must have been tired to sleep this long. I'll go for a run so I won't bother you."

"You're not bothering me," he said softly.

She stared as he wrapped his hand around hers, but she made no move to pull away. She made no move to encourage him, either, so he sat there unsure of what to do next. Giving it a last squeeze, he got up and stretched.

"Want to get some breakfast and catch this creep?" he asked, and she nodded with a grin.

They presented their findings in the morning meeting, and the team broke up into groups to investigate potential locations where the killings may have happened. Sara and Grissom returned to the evidence, eventually finding a small piece of mulch that didn't come from the scene where the body was found. That sent them in the direction of botanical gardens, and on the third day they discovered the garden shed with the bloody floor.

"Thanks for your help," she told him as the took the last of the evidence to the lab. "I don't know how long it would have taken us to catch that guy without your help."

"You're the one who recognized the vital clue," he told her kindly as he settled into the car seat. Her endurance was astounding; he was exhausted, but she seemed ready to start another shift. "You'd have worked it out without my help."

"Right," she chortled. "You're the expert with bugs."

He shrugged casually, but mentally he glowed under her praise. "Well, you can return the favor if I ever need help at a scene with Fermi-Dirac statistics."

"I don't think so, Gil! I'm not sure I want to be anywhere near a crime scene where quantum mechanics come into play."

"Where's your sense of adventure?" he teased. The friendly banter reminded him of his desires, boosting his spirits.

"Firmly under my sense of self-preservation. I'll be happy to deal with the evidence we collected today when I go to work in the morning."

Grissom immediately turned to her, his displeasure clear. "I thought you were scheduled off for tomorrow."

"I am. I haven't maxed out on overtime this month, so I was planning on going in."

"Why?"

"Why not?" she asked with a frown. "There's a lot of evidence that needs processing."

The tip of his tongue appeared as he regarded her. With a friendly tone, he asked, "Do you have any hobbies?"

"Not really."

"You need one," he said in earnest. "It helps to deal with the stress from the job. You can let go of everything you see."

"I'm fine."

"I'm glad to hear it," he said, again feeling the ghostly sensation that she wasn't. There had been an edge to her voice, and it propelled his protective urges to the forefront. "But it'll help keep you that way."

"And what do you do for a hobby?" she asked, a hint of challenge in her tone.

"I race cockroaches," he said, nodding at her shocked expression. "And I like roller coasters. Well, who doesn't? But I try to ride as many as possible."

"I've never been on one."

"What!"

She greeted his disbelieving stare with an amused smirk. "What? I'm sure there are a lot of people who haven't ridden roller coasters."

"You're not going to work tomorrow," Grissom stated firmly. "We're going to find an amusement park."

"Gil," she started to complain, but he shook his head.

"I'm not getting paid my usual fee for this trip. You're taking me to an amusement park tomorrow, and you are riding a roller coaster with me."

"Whatever," she said with a laugh.

After dropping off the evidence, they each finished up various tasks at the lab. Hegira stopped by to thank Grissom, insisting on taking him out to dinner. Sara waved him out, telling him she'd finish logging the evidence.

It wasn't until he'd finished the meal that he remembered his luggage was at Sara's place. Two wrong turns later, he eventually found her home and knocked nervously. Jose hadn't come out and said anything directly, but he apparently guessed that his interest in Sara wasn't entirely professional.

It was disconcerting enough that someone figured it out, but what was more startling was Hegira didn't seemed bothered by the revelation. Of course, they didn't work together, so that wasn't an ethical concern. Not that they'd done anything yet to bring them under scrutiny.

He really wanted to change that.

Grissom checked the address again, stretching his aching muscles. He stood there for a long time, wondering if she had decided to work late tonight since he was making her take a day off tomorrow. Her dedication was admirable, but he was beat. His clean clothes and credit cards were in his luggage, and he wanted to sleep. When she opened the door wrapped in only a towel, he swallowed nervously.

"You can come in," she said, calling over her shoulder on her way across the room. "I just told you I was almost finished with my shower – in case you weren't listening."

"I heard you," he lied as he forced his eyes away from her nearly-naked form, unwilling to admit that she'd stunned him.

"There're menus on the fridge. Feel free to order us some dinner. My wallet is in my purse."

He let out a groan once she was out of sight, the image of her very long – and very, very bare – legs in his mind. Grissom looked at the wide range of options available on the fridge, finally picking the menu with the most wear, presuming it was a favorite of hers. Neither of them had bothered to eat much during the case, so he placed a large order.

Sinking onto the futon, he debated packing his suitcase, unsure if Sara intended for him to spend another night. One thing was sure: if she did, he hoped he didn't spend it alone on the futon.

While he waited for her to finish her shower, he leaned back and closed his eyes, trying to figure out where they stood with each other. His curt refusal to show her the lab ages ago probably insulted her, but she didn't seem to hold it against him. They were going out tomorrow for a day of fun. She had invited him to stay in her home, and Grissom knew she also valued her privacy. That had to mean something didn't it?

He really hoped so.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to the smell of coffee, and he groaned as he noticed the afghan pulled over his chest.

"Good morning," Sara's voice called out, and she knelt by his side with a mug of coffee.

"Hi," he said, gladly taking the hot drink. "It's tomorrow, isn't it?"

"No, I'm pretty sure it's today. Which is the day after you fell asleep," she joked lightly. "There's leftovers from last night, or I have some cereal."

"Leftovers are fine," he said, remembering the generous selection he'd ordered the night before. "Sorry about that."

She grinned and waved off his concern, and he sipped his coffee feeling more relaxed than he had in ages. Grissom took a leisurely shower while she reheated the meal, and came out dressed in khakis and a dark blue polo shirt.

He smiled when she gave him an approving nod.

They joked as they ate, Grissom faking outrage at her lack of experience with amusement parks. She listed the local options, and they decided to go to Santa Cruz. As they headed out the door, he slipped his hand into hers, his lips lifting slightly as she tightened her grip.

It was off-season, but there was still a decent-sized crowd at the park. Grissom took her hand again as they entered the facility, using his free hand to point out various attractions. Despite her lack of enthusiasm, he finally dragged her onto a roller coaster, laughing as she held the bar tightly. She responded with muttered calculations about acceleration, impacts and the force needed to break human bones.

With a mysterious grin, he pulled her into the line for one of the other attractions. She rolled her eyes when she saw it was a slow train ride through the park. Joking that it was more her speed, he casually laid his arm on the back of their seat, hoping that he wasn't rushing things.

He nearly choked on his lemonade when she rested her hand on his knee, and the wicked smile she gave him when they got off the ride sent his heart racing.

For the first time in his life, he thought about leaving an amusement park before noon, but Sara insisted on staying longer. He'd have followed her anywhere as long as she kept her inviting look. They treated each other to junk food, watched an animal show, went on other rides and walked hand-in-hand until late afternoon.

The drive back to her place was filled with deliberately casual conversation, but it did little to cover the rising tension in the car. They kept exchanging glances that went from mildly coy to unmistakably smoldering, and their talked died off as their anticipation grew.

Grissom followed her through the front door, and they were immediately embracing. The kisses started quickly, deep and longing as they sought to satisfy long-denied desires. For a brief moment, they both pulled back with questioning looks, grinning when they saw each other's acceptance.

In his many dreams, he'd approached this first time tenderly, slowly and carefully arousing her before indulging himself, but their mutual hunger was too strong to deny. The realization that her passion matched his drove away any remaining doubts he had.

Afterwards, Grissom lay panting on top of Sara, resting most of his weight on his elbows. She ran a lazy hand up and down his back, occasionally running seeking fingers over his rear and down his inner thigh. When he had some control over his breathing, he began to nuzzle her neck, causing her to let out another satisfied moan. Rolling on his side, he slid an arm under her, pulling her close.

She rose up to give him a long kiss, and he smiled when she finally pulled away.

"You have no idea long how long I've wanted to do that," she said.

"Kiss me?" he joked.

"That was part of it, smart ass."

"Was it worth the wait?"

"Eh," she deadpanned, giving him another kiss before resting her head on his chest. "I think I'm entitled to some interest after waiting this long."

"Trust me, you have all my interest."

"Good, 'cause I intend to collect."

His satisfaction went beyond the physical, and he was truly happy for the first time in years. He smiled contently, relishing the feel of her against his body. Her breath tickled his chest, and he reached over to run his fingers through her hair.

After a few moments, though, reality rushed in.

"Sara," he began uneasily. "I have to go back to Vegas soon."

"I know," she said in a low voice. "Let's not worry about that right now. We have tonight."

He lifted his head to try to watch her expression, but she stared towards his belly. Did she think this was just a one-night stand? She didn't sound happy about it, so it wasn't something she wanted.

"Have you checked your mail lately?" he asked, and she pulled back with a confused appearance. "You should have a letter from me."

"I haven't paid much attention to it in the last few days," she said.

"When you find the letter, I asked if you wanted to get together over Thanksgiving."

Her smile lit up her eyes. "You did?"

"I still do," he said, easing her back down and turning so they faced each other. His hand tenderly traced her jaw line. "I wasn't sure if you could get the time off, but I can still come out. We should be able to get a bit of time together."

To his horror, she shook her head vigorously, but her smile saved him from despair. "Thanksgiving is a bitch to travel on. Why don't you come at a different time? Or can't you get another weekend off?"

"I make the schedule."

"That sounds promising," she murmured, slipping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a prolonged kiss.

They eventually stumbled out of bed to fetch their respective calendars, finally finding a few days in early December they both could take off. Grissom tossed his PDA on the bedside table, and then he pulled the covers down on the bed. He reached for Sara's hand, but she pointed in the direction of the bathroom.

"I'm going to get a shower."

"That would be silly."

"Why?" she asked, letting out a surprised huff when he pulled her onto his lap.

"Because you'd just need to take another one," he said, cupping her face with his hands and drawing her forward for a passionate kiss. Partway through, his hands moved down and sought out her breasts, prompting her to rock against him.

"Oh," she said, smiling as she straddled him.

Their second round of lovemaking went a little slower than the first, but both were still eager to take pleasure in each other. Afterwards they laughed as they tried to rinse each other off in the tiny shower stall, both of them banging knees and elbows in the process. Cuddling together on the futon, they teased each other as they ate a makeshift dinner, half-heartedly watching a TV show.

They spent the next day quietly, going for a long walk in the morning. Neither mentioned the future. After lunch in a Chinese restaurant, they went home to make love leisurely. Despite their mutual physical satisfaction, there was an air of melancholy after Grissom received a call from Las Vegas, and he stoically made reservations to return that night while she gathered his things together.

They shared an uneasy dinner at a restaurant near the airport, neither wanting to be the first to say good-bye. They had hugged tightly before leaving the apartment and shared a last, long kiss. Sara went to the airport with him, and he promised to call as soon as he could. That conversation lasted for three hours.

Grissom tried to arrange his schedule to allow as many visits as possible, but each had court appearances, conferences and seminars in addition to their work. He refrained from explaining his sporadic departures from the city, but Catherine started giving him knowing looks that were promptly ignored.

When they did manage to spend a few days together, they made up for the long absences with sheer intensity. They occasionally went out for dinner or a movie, but they were usually content to stay at Sara's apartment. The small space seemed cozy as he drew comfort from her presence.

It wasn't a perfect arrangement, but he tried to convince himself it was better than nothing, certainly better than all the years he spent alone. In truth, it highlighted his emptiness. Before, he only imagined what it was like to have someone to care for, and the weeks without Sara stretched out with excruciating slowness.

They exchanged e-mail messages almost daily and phone calls a few times a week.

Grissom picked up the habit of finding small presents for her, delighting in having someone to surprise. Sara finally told him he didn't have to buy her things, but he insisted that he liked doing it. A week later, a box of his favorite chocolate-covered grasshoppers arrived for him, starting a regular exchange of little gifts between them.

On hearing that Sara was going to a conference in Denver, Grissom signed himself up to attend. This caused questions since the talks were too introductory for someone of his expertise, but he insisted it was always possible to learn something new. Brass complained about the expense, and Catherine silently watched him like a blonde Cheshire cat.

His appearance raised eyebrows among the presenters, and a few of the more observant noticed the discreet attention he paid the young CSI from San Francisco, but no one spoke about it openly. On the last morning as they left his hotel room, they passed one of Grissom's colleagues, and he knew Sara saw him tense when the woman's mouth dropped open.

"I like to keep my private life private," he offered.

"So do I," she said softly, and he had to divert his eyes from her probing gaze. For the rest of the day, they kept a prudent distance, but she gave him quick, encouraging smiles whenever he looked her way. They shared a taxi to the airport, and she assured him that everything was okay. "I don't talk about us."

There was something in her tone that upset him. While Grissom valued his privacy, he hated the way they had to sneak around at conferences, but it was one of the few ways they had of being together. Once back in Las Vegas, he spent several hours carefully picking out a beautiful necklace, enclosing a volume of love sonnets with the gift.

As soon as possible, he took a full week's vacation and headed for San Francisco. Sara was unable to get the time off, but they were both frustrated at how little time they'd been able to share since the Denver trip. She came home as early as she could every day, and he had dinner waiting when she arrived. They usually spent the rest of the day at her home, watching TV or videos between bouts of lovemaking.

It was another seven weeks after that before they could see each other again, and the first time Sara came to see him in Las Vegas. She had never said anything, but he didn't want her to think he was ashamed of their relationship. He stocked up on her favorite beer and wine, and he replaced his bath towels with the softer ones she preferred.

Grissom feared his strep throat put a damper on things, but she insisted he take it easy, making sure he had a supply of medicine and soothing drinks. Cuddling together, they watched television, read and slept, happy just to be seeing each other.

Sara never mentioned seeing the lab.

It wasn't until after she left that he took notice of it, and he felt a twinge of guilt. He also worried that he'd bored her. He had watched his westerns and monster movies, but she usually read a journal article. It took time, but he finally found out she didn't like either genre. It struck him as a bad omen that he didn't know that about her. She'd never complained about his selections, always letting him pick out what they watched.

Now that he thought about it, he realized that he didn't know what type of movie she preferred. In fact, there was little about her that he actually knew.

He was broody when he returned to work, unsatisfied by their arrangements. They didn't get to spend enough time together. He didn't have a chance to learn her preferences, to find out more about her. She occasionally had nightmares, but she still hadn't told him anything about her background. It was starting to worry him on a deeper level.

In the course of an investigation, Grissom and Catherine ended up in a tea shop to talk to the owner. Nothing came from the conversation, but while she went to call O'Riley, he'd asked the clerk to wrap up a decorative tea set that had caught his eye.

"What's your best gunpowder?" he asked.

"Gunpowder? Remind me not to drink tea at your place," Catherine's voice came over his shoulder.

"It's a type of green tea. Whole leaves are rolled into little balls shapes that look like grains of old-fashioned gunpowder," he said, hoping the mundane explanation would satisfy her.

"Since when do you drink green tea?" she asked as the owner brought out a large tin marked special grade Temple of Heaven.

"It's a birthday present."

"Oh," she said, shrugging nonchalantly. He'd nearly relaxed when she added slyly, "I guess Sara's the tea drinker."

"I'll take it," he told the owner, focusing on keeping his hands from shaking. Catherine's inquisitiveness often overstepped her commonsense, but he was still stunned. It was inconceivable that she found out about Sara, and it was frightening to wonder how much she really knew.

"Give me some credit, Gil," Catherine said lightly when he continued to ignore her. "Do you think no one noticed that you were taking time off to go to San Francisco."

"I never told anyone where I went," he said, his curiosity overriding his shock.

"Wasn't hard to figure out," she said vaguely.

"Right."

"Then I remembered how quickly you ran there to help on a case. Figured you were seeing a CSI."

She waited with a patient smile that aggravated him. He paid the owner and headed to the door with his packages.

"Then when I was at the seminar in Chicago, I ran into Dr. Miku, the swing shift supervisor from San Francisco. I asked him if he knew who you were seeing. All he would say is that you're friends with Sara Sidle."

"At least someone understands boundaries," he muttered darkly.

"This isn't a bad thing," Catherine said softly when she sensed his ire. "I'm glad for you, Gil. It shows you're human. You've been a workaholic for too long."

He glared over his glasses as they got in the Tahoe.

"Aren't you going to tell me anything about her?" she prodded.

"And deny you the thrill of snooping for yourself? Let's get back to the lab."

"Your sarcasm needs work," she said, her jovial mood fading as she gave him a sharp look. "You are serious about this, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. I have a meeting with Mobley, and I want to finish my analysis of the water we collected before then."

"You know what I mean. You're shipping her expensive gifts. All those flights to San Francisco add up. That's not the behavior of someone who just wants to get laid," she said, pausing as her head bobbed slightly as if she was having an internal debate. Finally she gave him a doubtful look. "Unless he was really desperate."

Grissom glared at her until she sank back into the seat, holding her hand up in defeat.

TBC

A/N II: There was a little bit of smut in this chapter and the next. If there's any interest, I can post those on my website later this week.