Author's Note: A "Special Features" chapter will be posted later for folks who are interested.

There she was, standing in his door again, and there he was refusing to let her in. He had let her in once before after all, and she had made his house that much brighter and warmer until she burned it to the ground. Gil Grissom knew that candles were meant to be looked at not touched. Sara Sidle was the same way.

"Do you need this by end of shift?" she asked.

Grissom nodded absently, staring down at his papers. He didn't want to watch her retreating back. He didn't think he could stand watching her walk away from him again.

"OK." Her voice was soft but her presence was anything but. Even as he blindly flipped through paperwork, signing his name where needed, he knew she was still there, standing in the doorway, waiting for him to give her something, anything but the silence and nothingness. Finally, he looked up at her.

"What do you want from me?"

She entered the office, obviously taking this as an invitation and closed the door behind her. "I think we should talk."

Grissom's stomach twisted with apprehension and he turned back to his papers. "We can talk later, I have a lot of work to do."

"No," Sara insisted, coming further into the room and sitting in the chair opposite Grissom's desk. "No, see, you did this all the time when were dating and I'm sick of it."

"As I recall," Grissom said, looking up at her, "towards the end, it was you who didn't want to talk."

Sara looked down at her knees. She couldn't argue with that. She looked up at him again. "What are you going to do about Greg?"

Grissom's pen hovered over the page as he hesitated signing his name. "I'm going to talk to him," he said slowly. "I think it will be pretty routine. I'll keep up with his counselor to make sure he's attending meetings…" He looked up at Sara and frowned. "You won't believe who his sponsor is."

Sara cocked an eyebrow. "Grissom, I didn't mean—"

"Nick," Grissom interrupted. Sara did look surprised. "I don't know, he said some stint back in college, but it's not in his file."

"Probably off the record," Sara said. "First offense. Besides, it's Texas, who knows how they do things over there."

Grissom closed the file and rose to his feet. "If I don't get this to Ecklie, I'll be walking around without a head tomorrow."

Sara said nothing but as he tried to pass her by, her hand shot out and she grabbed his arm. "I'm not finished with you yet, Gil Grissom."

Her touch, which once brought endless warmth, now froze him to the bone. "You were pretty finished with me three months ago."

She looked up at him, her brown eyes pleading. "There used to be a time when we trusted each other, Gil. What happened to that?"

"You slept with someone else," he replied simply, his voice devoid of emotion. He made for the door again but Sara rose to her feet.

"And I'm sorry for that!" she called after him. He stopped again. She sighed. "OK, so I walked right into that one, I deserved that. But you told me once that all things considered, things like that are too pointless to worry about."

Grissom pushed his emotions down into the pit of his stomach as he turned to face her. "I almost lost you, Sara," he whispered. "In a situation like that, everything else in the world is too pointless to worry about. It doesn't change what you did."

"I know that," Sara said, her voice filled with regret. "And you have no idea how horrible I feel. I just hope that someday you can forgive me."

All of a sudden, Grissom turned around, his eyes accusing. "Sara, I have to know. Why did you say it?"

Sara knew perfectly well what he was talking about. "I was upset, Grissom… I was upset because you didn't trust me anymore, and I was afraid that you didn't…" She swallowed. "That you didn't love me anymore."

Grissom's heart was breaking all over again and he refused to let it. "And when I heard from the mouth of a killer that the most incredible woman I have ever known was sleeping with my friend, how do you think I felt, Sara? I've come to terms with our relationship, or lack thereof—"

"Oh don't you try to bullshit me like that, Grissom, I know damn well that you haven't come to terms with anything," Sara snapped. "Else what I said wouldn't bother you nearly as much as it did."

"It wasn't what you said," Grissom replied, gritting his teeth. "It was your attitude."

"My attitude?" Sara laughed. "Hell no, it was what I said, I saw how you took it."

Grissom looked away from her. "Did you mean it?" he asked quietly.

Her anger faded and her face fell. "Oh Gil…"

"Did you?"

She sighed. "You couldn't have thought for a moment that I did," she whispered. "After what I told you at the hospital?"

Grissom rubbed his eyes. He was suddenly very tired. "I don't know anymore, Sara. I wouldn't have been surprised."

Sara still had a soft spot for Gil Grissom, and she knew she always would. She smiled reassuringly at him and walked over to him. She took her hand and put it against her cheek. It was warm and rough and it reminded Sara of all the fleeting touches, all the soft caresses they had shared in previous years. Old habits die hard. "Look at me," she ordered. His eyes still avoided hers. "Please?" Grissom finally obliged and felt her piercing gaze bore into him. "Let me set the record straight. I'm sorry I said that I never loved you. Because it was probably the biggest lie I've told in my life. It was a self-defense effort you see. Because I still love you. A part of me always will. You're a good person, Gil Grissom."

"You're with Greg now…" Grissom said, pulling his hand away from her.

"I know that," Sara said, nodding. "But we're talking about you now. You're a part of my past, Grissom. You're a part of me. And I love you for all of that. You never did anything wrong. We didn't work. And I'm sorry we didn't work. But can you ever forgive me"

Grissom smiled at her and nodded. "I love you, Sara," he said. "And because of that… I can forgive you. You asked for space. I ask for time."

Sara grinned. "I can give you time. So are we good now?"

"As good as we'll get," Grissom replied. He looked at the file in his hand. "Now I really should be getting this to Ecklie."

Sara nodded. "Yeah, good luck with that."

His smile broadened and Sara knew that things would be a little less tense with him now. And as time went on, there was a possibility things would go back to normal. She didn't know when, but for once, she was OK with not knowing.

Things were pulling themselves together.

Leon Kuzmin never showed up to the hospital, but Grissom and Warrick did. Warrick had come bearing gifts, handing Greg the Sports Illustrated Swim Suit Edition. He said it seemed just a little bit classier than a playboy until Greg pointed out that Playboy was pretty much the same as Time with naked girls, while Sports Illustrated was like news for jocks. Warrick had just rolled his eyes and said he'd take football over politics any day.

Grissom had remained quiet through most of the conversation, but had eyed Greg intently. When he spoke, it was to inquire about his health or his life in general. He said nothing about the pills, possibly because Warrick was there. But the look in his blue eyes told Greg that Nick had told him everything.

A few days later, Catherine called and he received an earful from her about drug abuse and responsibility. Greg felt like he was talking to his mother, but it only made him smile. In the end, she just told him to "Stop scaring the shit" out of her or she would kill him herself just to keep from worrying about him all the time. He'd told her to go back to Lindsey and giver her an awesome Christmas.

It was the day before Christmas Eve when Greg was finally released after being hospitalized for a week during his most painful withdrawal symptoms. Nick had driven him home, with a quick stop off at Sun Valley Clinic to check Greg in for his first session. Nick had waited patiently for him in the car until the hour meeting had ended and he drove Greg home, telling 'a guy walked into a bar' jokes. Greg had heard most of them, but he loved to listen to the Texan tell them. For some reason, the southern drawl made them that much funnier. Also, Greg found Nick's voice comforting, like the brother calming his kid brother down after he'd broken curfew to get drunk and was in trouble with their parents.

Sara was at his apartment when he got there wearing a Santa hat. She had decorated an artificial tree with tinsel and baubles. She apologized for it being artificial, but said it was impossible to find a real Christmas tree in Las Vegas.

They were snuggling on Greg's small couch watching a sitcom when Greg's phone began to ring. He didn't recognize the number so answered warily.

"Hello?"

"Is this Greg Sanders?"

"Yeah," Greg said. "And this is?"

"My name is Leon Kuzmin. I am Vera Volkova's brother."

Greg's breath hitched in his throat. "Yes. Um. Can I help you?"

"Catherine Willows gave me your home address… I hope that's OK. I'm outside now. I was wondering if I would be able to come up and speak with you. I won't take long. I have something very important to discuss with you."

Greg slowly nodded. "Yeah, sure, come on up," he said, rising to his feet. He went over to the wall and buzzed him in. Sara was watching him curiously.

"Who's coming up?" she asked.

"Sara…" Greg tried to think how he was going to do this. "Why don't you keep watching TV? I'm going to talk to someone outside. I'll be back in a few."

"OK…" Sara said slowly. "But you'll tell me about it when you're done, won't you?"

"Of course, angel," Greg said. He stepped outside the apartment just in time to see Leon Kuzmin come up the stairs. The larger man seemed hesitant at first, but Greg gave him a reassuring smile.

"I promise I won't bite," he said. "Not this time."

Leon returned the smile and extended his hand. "It is good to meet you," he said as Greg shook it. "I hope this is alright. Vera told me that you were the father of the child."

"Yeah," Greg said. "Take good care of the kid, would you?"

Leon seemed to hesitate. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually."

Greg frowned. "Don't tell me you don't want to take it now…"

"No," Leon said quickly. "I would gladly have raised her as my own, but—"

"Her," Greg interrupted, his heart for some reason leaping into his throat. "It's a her? For sure?"

But Leon Kuzmin looked sad as he shook his head. "It was a her… Mr. Sanders— Greg… About a week ago Vera was trampled in a prison riot. She lost the baby."

Greg frowned and he looked at the man's shoes. They were a light brown, suede by the look of them. He swallowed and his heart fell back into the pit of his stomach. "Oh. When, uh… when exactly did this happen?"

"When you were in the hospital," Leon explained. "Before, I just wanted to assure you that your child would have been in good hands. But the very same day I met you was the day the riot occurred. Vera hadn't wanted me to tell you, but of course you needed to know."

Greg was nodding, slowly. "I guess… I should feel like the weight has been lifted from my shoulders, shouldn't I? I no longer have to feel guilty about not being a part of her life. I don't have to be the father who abandoned his little girl…" He looked up at Leon with dull brown eyes. "I don't suppose you could tell me why I don't feel relieved at all."

The older man put a sympathetic hand on Greg's shoulder. "You lost a child," he said. "And a child is a child, regardless of her mother. And she was your child. My niece. It's OK to grieve. And here I was thinking God had given me a second chance…" Leon closed his eyes and shook his head.

Slowly, Greg nodded. "I think I want to talk to her."

"To Vera?" Leon asked.

Greg bit his lip. "To Lydia," he clarified.

Leon frowned. "I don't understand…"

"I had the funniest dream the other day," Greg was saying ignoring Leon for a moment. "And I don't know if it was the fever or the drugs or a combination of the two but it felt oddly real. Her name was Lydia. The baby. She was dead in the dream, too."

Leon was silent. He looked at his watch. "I should be leaving. It will be Christmas Eve soon and I have to work. Being the only doctor without a family means I work holidays. It was good to meet you, Greg Sanders."

"Likewise," Greg said absently. As Leon Kuzmin began to walk away, Greg did something without thinking. "Hey! Would you, uh, like to join my girlfriend and me for Christmas dinner? I mean, even doctors have to eat, right?"

Leon looked at Greg over his shoulder and smiled warmly at him. "Thank you," he said. "I would like that very much."

Greg smiled back and nodded.

This time, when Greg went to meet her, it was different. She was kept in the prison hospital to recover from her injuries and apparently was under mental assessment as well. He saw her in the common room at a small piano drumming out Moonlight Sonata. The room was surrounded with guards, but it wasn't as highly secure as her prison. He would have never seen Vera under these circumstances there. He couldn't see her face as it was hidden by her long blonde hair. Her fingers looked bruised and cut up but nonetheless she still played beautifully. Greg felt an eerie sense of déjà vu as he approached her.

"Greg Sanders," Vera said without stopping the music or looking up. "To what do I owe this honor on Christmas Eve?"

Greg remained silent as he watched her play. The music soothed him on some primal level and he didn't know why. "How did it happen?" he asked at last.

"How did what happen?"

Greg was certain that Vera knew exactly what he was talking about. "What started the riot? How could a woman as vicious as you get trampled."

Vera stopped playing, her fingers coming down on the keys with a jarring sound. She stared down at the black and white plastic before she answered him. "My brother lied to you. I wasn't trampled, a needless casualty. I was the cause."

Greg was silent. Vera explained. "I got a little too curious about what my cell mate looked like on the inside. Mid-dissection she woke up. She's much larger than me and stronger too. Because of that, she has more allies than I do. Needless to say, she didn't like me much after that. And one day in the mess hall, she and her brainless thugs attacked me. Soon enough, everyone had joined in. I brought this upon myself."

"You did," Greg said flatly. "But lucky for you, you won't have to live with it long."

Greg watched her as she lowered her head in a portrait of defeat. "I do not grieve, Greg," she said. "Not for my niece, or my husband, or the countless number of people I've killed. They all served their purpose. They lived, they breathed, they ate, and then one day they crossed my path. And now they're dead. And I felt nothing. That child was inside of me for four and a half months. I haven't felt pain like this since… Well, I've never felt pain like this. I never understood grief."

"She was a girl," Greg said, not very interested in her feelings. "The baby was a girl."

She nodded and finally looked over her shoulder at him, tucking her long hair behind her ears. Her face was a hideous swollen mess of bruises and had it been anyone else, Greg might have felt sorry for them. There was a large gash on her forehead with four white medical strips holding it closed. It looked like she was trying to smile at him, though with her face so swollen it was hard to tell.

"I call her Lydia," she said. "But don't think it's because of you. It's because I am partial to the name."

"Giving her a name will only make it harder," Greg muttered, although he too had made the same mistake already.

Vera laughed morosely and turned back to the piano, staring blankly at it. "Sasha and I had a suicide pact. If anything went wrong, we would each die together. I think it was his plan to die after he conquered Sara Sidle. But it wasn't my plan. I had just gotten what I wanted. I know he expected me to die when he did. But I couldn't kill myself when I had a life depending on me. Now I have nothing. And I'm lost. There was always something for me. There was always beauty in the contorted faces of my victims. The love poems Sasha would write me. The euphoria we would experience together. The sex, the schemes, the murders, the torture. I never felt more alive than when I bled a man dry. The stench of death was like a fountain of youth for me. I was immortal. And now, I have a very literal deadline. It's like someone stamped an expiration date across my forehead. 'Best if used before…' And I am. Used. I'm all used up now, Greg, and the only thing I have to look forward to now is walking down that long hallway where I can finally stop thinking."

Greg stared at the back of her head for a long time. "I'm not going to pretend that I don't look forward to that day too," he whispered. "But I won't lie to myself and say that… It's kind of reassuring, to see this side of you."

Vera scoffed, her head bobbing up with the force of her contempt. "And why is that, exactly?"

Greg let out a low whistle and folded his arms before shrugging. His eyes never left Vera's battered form. "Because it reminds me that you're not all monster. There's still some sliver of human in you. And that… that's good to know."

"It's easier to hate someone when you think they're pure evil," Vera commented slowly.

"I don't think I hate you anymore," Greg said, as if just coming to the realization himself. "And I don't feel sorry for you either. You exist. And soon, you won't anymore. No. I don't hate you, Vera. I just don't care. Not at all. Not even a little bit. Because when I walk out of here today, I am never going to think about you again. And in eight months or so when I read about your execution in the headlines, it will be like I'm reading about any other criminal. I'll think, 'Good riddance,' and go on with my day. Because I have a life to lead. And… you have nothing to do with it."

Vera turned her whole torso around on the piano bench, her legs following. Greg saw the handcuffs that bound them together and only then remembered he was in a prison hospital and there were guards at the door and in the room, watching them and listening to them, and if Vera laid a finger on him, their guns would be drawn and she would be reprimanded. She looked at him with dead blue eyes and Greg knew then that it didn't matter when her execution date was set because Vera's life was lost with that of her unborn child's. Even a psychopathic murderess could be a mother, it seemed, in every sense of the word.

She said only one simple word, and it was hard to know what she meant by it, but Greg found he wasn't inclined to dwell too much on the mystery. "OK."

It wasn't clear what she was agreeing to, or acknowledging, or even if she'd heard a word Greg had said at all. But "OK" was the last word Vera Volkova ever said to Greg Sanders, and would be the last word she would ever say to anyone.

After Greg left that Christmas Eve, Vera returned to her room escorted by her guards, fashioned a noose out of her bed sheets and hung herself from the ceiling. She left behind a note that no one could make sense of. Its intended reader never had a chance to see it.

Love lost the war within me years ago
You were my magnum opus
Daddy dearest
In phoenix flames, he burns inside my veins
All I ever wanted was to feel alive…

RIP

Greg returned home that night to find Sara and Leon in his kitchen, Leon teaching Sara how to prepare a proper dinner. The ham was charred and the popovers were hard as rocks, but the three of them simply laughed.

They reveled in the mirth of the season and drank into the early hours of the morning before Leon finally went home and Greg had Sara all to himself. They sat snugly on the couch together, Sara resting her head on Greg's chest as they watched It's A Wonderful Life until five o'clock in the morning. By the time the movie ended, Sara and Greg had missed George Bailey's realization that he did, indeed, have a wonderful life because both of them had fallen fast asleep, and spent most of Christmas Day just lying peacefully together.

They both knew instinctively that it was going to be a very happy New Year indeed.

THE VERY END