A/N: Thank you for reading!

An Evolving Resolution

Chapter 2

On Sara's days off—which were rare and far between—she ate, she slept, she played with the most recent addition to her life; she hadn't realized how tired she was and the moment she lay down, she had gone to sleep for hours. As she filled the tea kettle, she realized she seldom missed the hurried noise of work; her house was peaceful. Her music played softly in the background and, she thought, for the first time in a long time, she didn't keep herself absorbed in work as a way to block out everything else in her life.

As she wandered through her house, she thought of her mother—finally, housed in a facility that worked with the illnesses that had stripped Laura Sidle of dignity for decades. Sara rearranged a small figurine that had been a gift from Betty Grissom—she and Betty would never be close friends, but they were linked by one man and that connection kept them tied. She sighed as she wiped invisible dust from the figure.

Then she picked up a photograph. Gil Grissom. Another sigh as she thought about the man she had married—was still married to even though she had not seen him in person in months. Another wipe of her finger to remove any possible dust caused her to smile. Since the day he had answered her question, he had always been a part of her—and, heaven forbid, if she never saw him again, she knew her last thought this side of the grave would be of him.

Softly, she laughed. He had no idea of how much he meant to her. She had moved on—not from her love of her husband—that would always be with her. She had spent money on the house, decorations and furnishings that he had never seen. Occasionally, she would go out with her co-workers. She had gotten a puppy—a small fuzzy mutt with a fantastic energy level. And she was content—as much as a woman could be when one's husband preferred to dig in the earth thousands of miles away from his wife.

They had both been disappointed when none of their grants were approved—year after year. Yet, those who received grants begged, solicited, sent letters of request by the dozen for Grissom to join a project in China, in Guatemala, in Tunisia, in Peru—projects that had no use for a physics major turned crime scene investigator, so Sara had remained in Vegas, and made a home—for both of them, because she was convinced that one day he would return—to her, to the home she had made.

She was so engrossed in her thoughts, in moving around the room and handling objects that actually made her smile, that gave her comfort for what had been, that she was startled by the sound of the door bell ringing. Puzzled as to who her visitor could be, she stuck her eye to the peephole—and nearly fainted.

For ten—fifteen—twenty minutes, nothing in her seemed to be functioning, not her legs, or mind, or heart. Her husband stood at her door. She welcomed him home with a bottle of water. He was home—he wanted to stay. And they had kissed—kissed for a long time.

It—the kissing—would have gone on for much longer except for the coalescence of several events. The tea kettle whistled with such ferocity that it sounded like a fire alarm; the sudden high-pitched howling of a young puppy demanded attention and interrupted Grissom's thought process and Sara's phone chirped some irritating chime noise.

"I—ah—tea—Bruno, the puppy," Sara stammered, hesitating as she took a half-step away from him.

As light as a feather's touch, his thumb slid along her lip. Somewhat awkward, yet with a smile, he said, "I'll get the kettle."

The phone was chirping again with a message so Sara grabbed it from the table and headed toward a gate locked across a doorway where the howling white puppy barked several times before she reached over and picked him up. Turning, she found Grissom so near he had to spread his arms to accommodate the puppy in Sara's arms.

"Bruno?" Grissom's eyebrows shot upward as his finger scratched the top of the dog's curly head.

"Gil, meet Bruno—Bruno meet Gil." Sara smiled as she fumbled with her phone while holding the puppy. "Your mother left a message."

A lopsided grin quickly crossed Grissom's face. "She doesn't know I'm here." Easily, he took the puppy and began murmuring nonsense words to it.

Sara stepped around him, put a yellow plastic bowl on the floor, and scooped a small amount of puppy chow into it. She watched as her long estranged husband nuzzled the now happy dog before he placed the animal on the floor.

Standing up, he said, "He's as cute as the photo." For several long moments, they watched the puppy eat. Finally, in a low voice, Grissom's face grew solemn. "I am so sorry, Sara."

She rotated so her back was to him; so she would not have to look into his soft blue eyes, taking longer than necessary to place the scoop back in the dog food container. Moving a few steps away, Sara got two cups from the cabinet and busied herself with tea for several minutes.

"I want to stay—if you will let me."

His statement was so gentle, so tenderly whispered that Sara felt her heart knocking in her chest. Her hand clenched into a fist. She blinked back tears before raising her eyes to meet his.

Grissom actually winced when he saw the glitter in her eyes and the downward tug at the corners of her mouth. "Don't," he whispered, unsure of what he did not want to see or hear. "You—you have always been—been sweet and kind—don't—don't become bitter because of me—of what I've done—what I've caused."

Sara's eyes filled with tears, threatening to spill down her cheeks. Her clenched fist remained on the countertop; fingers from her right hand swiped across her face before she held her hand, fingers widespread, toward him in the universal signal to stop as she found her voice—and the words she had silently practiced for months.

"All the years, Gil, I've loved you so long I don't remember what it's like not to love you—even when I've tried to forget. I'm no saint—just an ordinary person who wants a man to love me—to need me—to want me—as I want and need him."

A sob escaped, but she managed to rein it in before it became a full-blown cry. "You are not a bad man—you are a wonderful person, kind, considerate, and caring—when you want to be. When it suits your purpose! But—but—you are like a big moth! You are bashing yourself against a flame until you fall—burned and dead—when here—in your home—there is a cool place, a warm bed, and food and love—all of it is here. Yet you keep flying into that flame, Gil!" She gulped in air, angry that her hand was shaking, angry that her voice trembled.

She continued, "I want you here—yes, I want you! That's all I've ever wanted!" Her voice softened, slowed, "but I can't—I can't bear the thought of you leaving again."

Grissom did not know what to say. For several minutes, they stared at each other until Sara turned away and pushed one of the cups in his direction.

Gently, he said, "I think of you, Sara. I do love you—you are the most beautiful person in my life—a treasure I—I—you are never out of my thoughts." When she did not look at him, he continued, "I'm here to stay if you'll let me."

She picked up one of the cups, leaned over and picked up the dog. "Bruno needs to go outside."

Grissom followed her to doors that opened onto a small patio. In his absence, she had removed the old broken concrete and replaced it with large flagstones interspaced with small gravel. Along the edges, rectangles of grass had been put in—for the dog.

The patio, surrounded on three sides by the house, opened to the back yard, but what Grissom noticed was the colorful art Sara had placed on the walls, the pots of blooming flowers, making the patio appear larger. As they drank the cooling tea in silence, watching the dog explore the patio as he hiked a leg over every blade of grass, the quietness stretched until the tea was finished.

Grissom shifted his gaze to Sara while she kept hers on the antics of the white puppy who had wandered into the yard but kept looking back at Sara as if seeking her approval or her companionship. And, Grissom noticed, Sara kept her hands across the table, near her body, giving him no opportunity to touch her.

Grissom had realized years ago that he over analyzed every aspect of his relationship with Sara. He had never understood obsession or the ferocious pull of another human until Sara. No one had ever made him feel so aware or alive. She fascinated him; she aroused him unbearably—she made him laugh. As he watched, she smiled, never glancing in his direction.

With a graceful simplicity of movement he remembered so well, Sara stood. He watched as she took several deep breaths before extending her hand in his direction.

She looked at him and smiled, "Our little four-legged mutt has yet to learn to come when called."

Much later, Grissom would realize that was the moment he knew she was welcoming him home.

Now, he took her hand and they walked into the back yard. With a wordless exclamation, he saw that Sara's work inside had also extended to the outside. He knew no hired gardener had torn out decades old shrubs and stunted bushes and replaced them with the tumbles of color and profusion of wildflowers. In the center of the yard was a circular bench so one could see all corners of the garden with a slight shift in position. She had not tried to tame the desert by bringing in lush grass and tropical plants; she had brought the best of the desert to her yard.

As they reached the bench, the sublime scent of sun-heated flowers reached Grissom's nose; the delicate fluttering wings of butterflies—dozens of them—quivered across the plants.

Sara, her voice a stroke of velvet on his ears, said, "I planted it with flowers most likely to attract them."

"A butterfly garden," Grissom whispered as he came to stand beside her. "You have Painted Ladies—Vanessa cardui—and Blues on wild pea!" He stepped nearer the fence. "And milkweed—ah!" His laughter came easily, "Monarchs already!"

"I—I think the monarchs stay year-round."

Another surprised sound erupted from Grissom. "You are growing lavender!"

Sara nodded. "I've got it on a waste water drip system—water from the washer every two days or so. And the butterflies love it."

Grissom's eyes fell on Sara's sunlight glossed hair, on the delicate curve of her neck, and, suddenly, he was aware of an intense coiling within his own body. He realized the butterflies could wait.

"Sara?"

She looked at him with dark eyes glowing with sparks of amber. Years ago, he had realized her eyes were brown—not black—because of those golden flames. Easily, she smiled as she said:

"You need to get unpacked—a shower? And I'll fix something to eat." She scooped up the dog with one arm and took his hand with the other, twinning her fingers with his.

Later, after one of the best tasting meals he had eaten in months, Grissom offered to clean the kitchen but his assistance was gently refused.

"Take a book to the bedroom," she said. "I know you are exhausted."

He wasn't, but he did as told.

Fifteen minutes later, he heard the shower, confusing him for a second until he remembered the master bath was connected to the laundry room and kitchen. And he hoped it did not mean that Sara was planning to sleep elsewhere.

When the door opened, he felt a rush of pure happiness at the sight of Sara's face. Her expression was unreadable but her eyes glowed with warmth. She was beautiful, he thought. Instead of the tee-shirt and soft pants he remembered her wearing to bed, she had put on a white open-front shirt. Smiling, he realized it was his shirt.

With a look of amusement, Sara walked to him. Her gaze kept his as her finger touched his bottom lip before moving her long slim fingers along his jaw and around his neck. Their lips met and suddenly he felt as if his blood was flowing white hot. She tasted clean and sweet, delicious; the feel of her body caused him to tremble. As she nestled closer, he felt her shiver.

"Sara," his voice was husky. "Is this too soon? I—I—we…"

She answered with a low, rumbling laugh. She began to explore his neck, his face, his shoulders with her fingers while keeping her mouth pressed to his.

The smell of her skin intoxicated him with every breath. He pressed her body to his as he kissed her—and suddenly knew he could never kiss her enough. Slowly, deeply, he kissed her as she returned the same. One of them groaned with pleasure.

Moving his hands, he stroked his palm along her spine. At some point, they were on the bed, and the aching excitement penetrated every inch of his body. And Sara responded as he gathered her to his chest. What was once familiar returned as his hands played over her soft skin; for Sara, her husband's touch ignited waves of intense relief followed by a deeper, more pleasurable ache.

Grissom whispered words of endearment, of intimate adoration, and of lust; his hands aroused layer upon layer of sensation until Sara parted her legs in invitation. He pushed, entered her slowly, and, in seconds, he was above her, inside her, and nothing could stop the deep thrusts, nudging into her sex with tenderness.

Too quickly, there was a shattering burst of orgasm as Sara's body clenched around him in throbbing contractions, easily milking a climax from him until a deep growl came from his throat.

Panting, Grissom lowered his body over hers, his mouth against the nape of her neck, his penis still buried inside her.

Sara licked her swollen lips and smiled as she mumbled, "And how long will you stay?"

He chuckled; his hand cupped her butt and then slid to her thigh. "I could tell you about the dreams I've had about your magnificent legs, but dreams pale in comparison to reality."

"You dreamed about my legs?"

His hand moved to her inner thigh. "Oh, yes—wrapped around me—gripping me." His fingers moved upward with gentle strokes and movements to the wet folds between her legs. His finger was inside her; another flirted skillfully with the sensitive nub pulsating with a pressure that sent heat dancing from her toes to her brain.

Darkening blue eyes held her gaze, taking in the sight of her passion, and the realization of how focused he was on her caused the ecstasy to bloom until she shuddered—hard, with deep-seated spasms surging through her.

As she floated up from her second orgasm, feeling spent and drained, Sara opened drowsy eyes to her husband's pleased smile. His body was no longer attached to hers, but his hand remained closed over the triangle at the apex of her legs.

Leaning to her lips, he kissed her—several times—before saying, "I can't remember why I left."

He was sure Sara giggled—but hidden somewhere was a groan.

"I'm serious—I'm here to stay—with you. There is nothing on earth more precious to me than you—your smile, your laugh—no greater pleasure than holding you. Several days ago, I realized that—that—I did not want to live without you. You are my only hope for happiness. I promise—I am determined," he paused to kiss Sara—and smiled as the quiet wisp of a light snore broke the peaceful silence.

The End

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