Ever After
Summary:
Life isn't a fairy tale, and happily isn't guaranteed.
A/N:
Lost – one Niff. Vaguely mythological in appearance. Responds to chocolate and risotto, though not in the same dish. If found, please let her know her story is up and give her some chocolate Zingers.

Sorry for the delay in getting this out; there was a death in the family that screwed up my schedule. Big thanks to Gibby and mystery for looking this over. Feel free to give them chocolate, too.

Disclaimer: Does anyone even read these things? If you're an attorney for CBS, I don't even pretend to own the rights, but you might want to look into a better job.


Part II

If anyone had ever told Sara that she would leave unfinished work at the lab to go home and do something domestic, she'd have laughed at the absurdity of the suggestion. The fact that she now did so nearly every week made her roll her eyes as she pulled in front of Grissom's townhouse. For someone so totally unique, he had a fondness for tradition, and Sunday dinner had become theirs.

Whenever their schedules allowed, Sunday meant a day spent at home working together to fix a fancy meal. As much as she appreciated good food and being with him, she was perfectly willing to order out, freeing up time for more enjoyable activities. But the actual preparation of the dinner seemed an essential part of the experience for him, so she endured the chore. Besides, it was a small price to pay to make him happy, especially considering how little he asked of her.

A wry smile formed as she spied him walking toward his door with an armload of grocery bags. He hadn't settled on what dish was "their" Sunday dinner yet, but she knew the bags were full of foods she liked. He'd even given up his own childhood favorite of pot roast, despite her insistence that she didn't expect him to stop eating meat.

I told him I don't care if he eats pot roast as long as there are side dishes I can eat. He doesn't have to give up things he likes to make me happy, but he has. I don't even remember the last time he ate meat in front of me. I know he grabs sandwiches at work sometimes, but he'll eat those alone in his office. I've walked in on him when he's been eating one, and he looked guilty. Guess he's worried about offending me.

He tries so hard. Maybe too hard. I hope he's still not afraid that I'm going to give up on him. I've told him I'm not, but something made him so insecure. Whatever it was, it's probably going to take him some time to get over it. Well, I don't mind telling him.

Or showing him.

Wonder if I can tempt him into ordering pizza today?

"Hey," she exhaled as she dashed passed him to open the door. Turning around to help with the bags, her remaining ire at leaving work faded at his happy look. Her evidence wasn't going anywhere, and she had plenty of time left to max out on overtime.

Once in the privacy of his townhouse, he greeted her with a kiss, awkwardly hugging her around the bags. Running her free hand over his chest and around his neck, she surreptitiously checked for any telltale signs of stress. Stepping back, she gave him a relieved smile. She hadn't felt any obvious tension, and he seemed more relaxed. They'd had little chance to be together in the past few days, and she was still worried about how Jim's shooting affected him.

Sara began unpacking the bags and tried to find a way to broach the subject while he started a pot of coffee. Asking him directly wasn't really an option; Grissom would insist he was fine. She didn't want to confront him, but there were bags under his eyes. He hadn't slept well since the shooting, implying it bothered him more than he was willing to admit.

That's just it. He may not admit it to me, but that doesn't mean he's not aware of it. Look at what he's shared. The things he wants to do after he retires, opinions on professional stuff, what he likes, some of his childhood stories, but nothing really about what he fears.

He's never said anything about it, but I bet he thought he had to be 'the man of the house' after his father died. It's not easy having to act like the adult when you're still a kid. He's probably always overcompensated that way, never letting on that something was too hard for him. Nothing that he'd consider a sign of weakness.

If that's the case, he may never feel comfortable sharing something like that with me. I can tell him that he can talk to me, but it's too ingrained into who he is. I guess if he's survived this long, he's okay with it. Doesn't mean I'm not going to be worried.

"Did you get a chance to see Brass this morning?" she eventually asked.

"Uh, huh."

"Was he okay?"

"Uh, huh."

Sara leaned against the fridge as she watched him. He usually didn't resort to grunts unless he was distracted. "I'm sure he was glad to see you."

"Hmm."

"I'm sure you floored him with your witty repartee."

Grissom finally peered at her over the top of his glasses. "Actually, he seemed more interested in knowing when you were coming to see him again."

"That's because I bring him real food. No need to get jealous," she teased, grinning when he gave her a mock-scowl.

"He's not my type."

She paused in taking the salad fixings to the sink. The conversation was diverging from where she wanted it to go, but her curiosity was piqued. "What exactly is your type?"

"You," he answered with a simplicity too honest to be affected. Taking out some pans, he quietly put on water to boil and then started making a tomato sauce.

"Stuffed shells? I know a place that makes great ones and delivers," she started hopefully, shrugging her shoulders when he stared at her.

Guess I should be glad that he doesn't insist on making the pasta from scratch or growing the tomatoes for the sauce. It's only one day a week at most. Like my counselor said, there'll always be another case, so make time for other things. Besides, he likes it.

He likes other things, too.

"Or we can spend our day off in the kitchen," she said, her tone carrying a suggestion that they spend the time in another room. Grissom just nodded.

Recognizing that something was on his mind, she gave her head a shake and returned to the bags. His powers of concentration were amazing, and it was a losing battle trying to have a conversation when it was focused on something else. She learned that the day she came over and found him fascinated by a new tarantula. Sitting with it walking over his hands, he'd absentmindedly answered her questions. Oblivious to her numerous hints, it had taken him a full five minutes to realize she was standing naked beside him. Once he had realized, though, he'd only taken the time to put the spider in a cage because she insisted on it.

"I don't want to be wondering who's feeling me up," she had told him, and his bemused expression had been adorable.

Already smiling from the memory, it widened as she pulled a container of moisturizer out of the last bag. The bottle she kept in his bathroom was nearly empty, but she never said a word to him about it. She didn't have to. When not distracted, she was the center of his considerable observational skills, and he went out of his way to please her.

At first it surprised her to find some item she liked in his home, but it was now a common occurrence, whether it was a favorite snack or the scented bath salts that she thought were a secret luxury. His bath towels were still a generic white, but he'd replaced them with a high-quality Egyptian cotton after she spent time examining some in a catalogue.

I never did figure out how he knew what I was looking at. Or even what page. He was watching a poker game the entire time. Or so I thought. Maybe I'm lucky he didn't order the leopard print toilet seat that was on the opposite page.

I have to give him credit – he plays to his strengths. He knows so much about me, and he's hardly had to ask a question. Griss may not be a Casanova, but he cares and this is his way of telling me.

"Thanks," she said, nudging her way between him and the counter to kiss him softly. Seeing his pleased – albeit befuddled – look, she held up the bottle and caressed his cheek. "You're something special, you know that?"

She glowed under his open look of satisfaction. He was deeply touched by her thanking him for such a small favor, and that knowledge moved her. Walking to the bathroom to put the moisturizer away, she felt his gaze following her, and she smiled when he eyed her when she returned. The amount of pleasure he derived from her presence still astounded Sara; no one in her life had ever been so content just to be around her.

For someone who spent much of her life wanting affection, wanting to be acknowledged, the realization was a rush.

While he often kept hidden within himself, he made no secret of the way he adored her. Whether sitting on the couch or in their wildest lovemaking, he treated her with absolute respect. He went out of his way to solicit her opinions both at work and home, always carefully considering what she had to offer. There was no question that making her happy was his first priority. All it took was a hint that she was dissatisfied for him to stop whatever he was doing. His categorical devotion was never in question.

He'd placed her firmly in control of their relationship, essentially putting his fate in her hands. She rewarded his trust by never abusing that power. The temptation to tweak him was occasionally too strong to ignore, but she always made sure he understood she was teasing. In turn, her playful affection thrilled him, strengthening his resolve to make her happy.

Grissom wasn't calculating enough to think up a pretense to put her at ease; his behavior was a genuine indicator of how he felt. The end result left her more secure than she had ever imagined possible.

For all the Sturm und Drang in their past, they had easily settled into a comfortable liaison. They hadn't said a word to each other in nearly a half an hour, but there was none of the awkwardness such a silence would have created in the early days of their relationship. Simply being with one another was enough.

After washing the salad vegetables, she set them aside to dry and smiled as Grissom drained the partially-cooked shells. In all the years she'd known him, she couldn't recall him eating pasta before they hooked up. She suspected he did so now because it offered so many vegetarians options.

"Want the last cup?" Sara asked when he started on the cheese filling, indicating the dregs in the bottom of the coffee pot.

"No, thanks. I do want to get some sleep when we get to bed," he said, his eyes twinkling.

"Just some?"

"The ravages of time haven't hit that hard. I think I can stay up for a while."

Chuckling, she washed out their mugs and the pot before starting on the salad. He joked lightly as they worked, and she concluded that he'd resolved whatever had been on his mind earlier. Deciding it was time to suggest that he take a vacation, she tore the greens fretfully. It had the potential to be a touchy subject.

Early on, he had asked her to move into his home. She'd turned down his offer, pointing out that they couldn't hide that development from work. When he listed various ways to avoid that, she finally told him that she didn't think it was a good idea, at least not at that point.

He had been less than pleased.

Sara loved being with him, but she didn't need to be with him all the time. Being a couple was enough for her. It had been difficult enough for him to pursue her, and she was going to do anything possible to make the transition easier for him.

The truth was she knew he was a nearly fifty-year-old man who spent most of that time alone. Grissom had grown accustomed to his solitude. He'd set up everything around him to reflect his tastes, and she didn't want him to be uncomfortable having someone around him all the time. She had worried that he was diving into things too quickly, that he hadn't had time yet to realize what a change he was making in his life.

That didn't stop him from getting upset. He even pouted at a crime scene with his "smothering" conversation. It's not like we'd see each other any more if I gave up my apartment. Yeah, but that wasn't the issue.

Let's face it – he's a bit sensitive to anything that suggests I don't want to be with him. Hell, he avoided this for years because he worried that I'd eventually leave him. Griss worked up the nerve to face his concerns by being with me, and he's doing a damned good job making this work. But things like that don't disappear overnight.

I hope he doesn't pout after I suggest he take a vacation by himself. It's not cute.

"Made any plans to enter your chess tournament?" she asked, taking care to keep her tone casual.

"Not really," he said, cocking his head as he stared at her. "There's plenty of time to do that later."

"Yeah, it's just that people always say they're going to do something later, but they never get around to it."

"It's not like chess tournaments are once-in-a-lifetime events. There'll always be another one," he said with a dismissive tone.

Sara scowled as she finished with the greens. He wasn't even considering her suggestion. "Well, have you given any more thought about going to ride that new roller coaster you were talking about?" she asked.

"Uh, uh."

"Really?"

"No, dear," he said firmly.

"Oh. 'Cause it sounded like something you were really interested in."

Grissom stopped in mid-taste and set the spoon down. "Do you know something about my health that I should know?" he quipped.

"No," Sara laughed, walking to stand close to him and running her hand up and down his arm. "It's just you haven't taken a vacation in what? Years?"

"Actually, I typically try to do something fun when I go to a conference."

"And when was the last time that happened?"

Grissom shrugged as he poured the sauce into a bowl. Sara rolled her eyes, noting to herself that for someone who insisted that she get a hobby, he rarely did anything outside of work himself.

"Vacation isn't a dirty word," she said jokingly.

"I think our taking vacations at the same time might be noticed."

"We don't have to take them at the same time. I like the idea," she added quickly as his brow puckered. "But you're the roller coaster freak."

"It wouldn't be much of a vacation if you weren't there."

His smile was touching, but still Sara resisted the urge to sigh. As long as they decided to keep their relationship private, taking any type of joint vacation was going to be next to impossible. At most, they could arrange their leave so they had some overlapping days. She learned the importance of taking a breather the hard way; she didn't want him to ever reach that state.

"I don't care if you go somewhere to visit an amusement park. That's not really my thing," she said with a reassuring smile. "I can deal with not seeing you for a couple of days. I know you like the rides."

Grissom actually seemed to think about it, but after a long moment he shook his head. When she started to object, he wagged his eyebrows salaciously. "The rides at home usually aren't over in under two minutes."

Sara felt herself grinning uncontrollably. "Yeah, but you don't have to wait as long for a second ride at the park."

"Some things are worth waiting for," he replied after a moment, dropping his eyes as he started to put away the prepped food.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she said, kissing his cheek before flashing him an evil grin. "Or was that a brag?"

Grissom darted his eyes to the side to give her an indulgent look. "Definitely a compliment."

"If you say so. I was totally on board with the brag," she purred, resting her hand on his chest. Slowly, she pulled the zipper on his jacket downward, letting her fingers brush against his shirt. Reaching his belly, she ran a fingertip lightly over then under his belt buckle. "I'm heading to bed."

Hearing the frantic sound of containers going into the refrigerator, she laughed softly and began undressing.

Later that evening, Grissom assembled the shells and put them in the oven while she showered. Sara set the table, fixed the salad and other sides as he got ready for work. Dinner was a lighthearted affair, each joking with the other, basking in their mutual love. As they put the last of the washed dishes away, she turned to him and gave him a bear hug.

"I'm glad you're okay," she said with an abashed smile as she leaned back in his embrace.

For the first time in days, his sleep had been peaceful. On top of that, he'd been very relaxed in bed, with no outward signs that the stress of the shooting remained. She still wished he'd talk about it, but her earlier fears were starting to fade.

"Okay," he replied in confusion.

Laughing softly, she played with the curls on the nape of his neck. "Jim's lucky to have you for a friend. You really handled that mess."

He rested his hands on her hips, but cocked his head to the side as he observed her.

"I'd be a wreck if something ever happened to you," she admitted. They'd recently exchanged power of attorney for one another, and if he were ever hurt, she'd follow his expressed wishes, but that didn't mean she would be able to keep her distress in check. Continuing her caresses, she watched as a play of emotions crossed his features. First confusion, followed by amazement then contentment showed in his eyes.

"You'd do fine," he finally said in reassurance, but she saw he was obviously touched that she'd be upset.

"I hope I never have to find out." As she pulled back from another emotional hug, she noted the way he stared thoughtfully at her for a long time.

As the days passed, and he showed no lingering ill effects, Sara began to relax. He slept solidly, without a trace of the restlessness that plagued him earlier, and he was openly teasing and affectionate when they were alone. She still wished he felt comfortable talking to her, but she accepted that he kept what he perceived to be "weaknesses" to himself.

After a court date was cancelled, she decided to surprise him at home. Letting herself in, she noted the array of bags on the counter and stopped to investigate. As far as she knew, they weren't short of any supplies. The amount of fresh fruit seemed unusually high, and the box of artificial sweetener and diet sodas further spurred her curiosity.

Heading to the bedroom, she paused in the doorway. Grissom, dressed in a black tunic, trousers and slippers, gradually rotated as his arms moved in slow, complicated patterns. As she came into sight, he froze in mid-form.

"You're not in court," he noted, discreetly adjusting his outfit as he straightened up.

"The guy jumped bail. The judge issued a warrant for his arrest," she answered, giving her head a shake as she leaned against the doorframe. "And what have you been up to, grasshopper?"

"That was kung fu. This is tai chi."

"That makes sense," she answered vaguely. "More, uh, meditative?"

"Easier on the knees," Grissom said.

Sara looked over her shoulder, pointing into the kitchen. "You're going on a diet, exercising." Turning around, she gave him a lopsided grin. "Is this because of what I said the other day? You're doing this so I won't worry?"

He gave his head a short bob. "I could stand to lose the weight."

"I'll, uh, let you get back to that," she said, her lips twitching as she started to back out of the room. "And let me know when you've lost the first ten pounds."

"Why?"

"If you're doing this for me, the least I can do is give you a treat," she said, raising an eyebrow suggestively before closing the bedroom door.

Soaking in the tub, she closed her eyes and didn't even try to contain her grin. His extra weight didn't bother her at a physical level; he was middle-aged and some spread was to be expected. But she was happy that he was taking better care of himself. That he was doing it for her benefit made the gesture sweeter.

He does so much for me, and what does he expect in return? Not a lot. We make love, but that's not exactly a hardship. I never was a big one for going out, so spending time at home isn't really a sacrifice.

We both agreed it was better to keep this between ourselves. Besides, neither one of us is the type to talk about relationships with our friends. I'd never cheat on him, so being faithful is a given.

He did ask me to move in. I think I hurt him when I turned him down. He's never mentioned it again. Not that it matters; we're practically living together as it is. We just spend time at both of our places.

I wish I knew how to tell him how much he means to me. The way I feel safe with him, that he makes me feel so special. Words just don't cut it.

What would make him happy?

When he walked into the bathroom, she turned her head and opened her eyes. His gaze ran over her form longingly, and he slipped out of the tunic and sat beside the tub. Grabbing the washcloth, he urged her to sit up and began washing her back in leisurely motions.

"What can I do for you?" Sara asked honestly.

"You're already doing a lot," he answered huskily.

"I'm serious." Leaning back, she ran her knuckles over his chin. "What would make you happy?"

Grissom shrugged as he ran his hand over her wet collarbone. "Just keep being who you are."

She started to protest, but he finished undressing and climbed into the tub, silencing her with his kisses. Afterwards as they lounged in bed, she told him again that she wanted to do something for him.

"Meet me at the home improvement store tomorrow after work," was all he said.

When she arrived the next morning, he was waiting out front with a cup of hot tea. He kept shooting her mildly nervous looks as he led them to the rear of the store, finally stopping in front of a display of closet organization supplies.

"A closet?" Sara stared at the array of shelves and other items. Picking up a large hook, she raised an eyebrow. "Or do you want something kinky?"

"No. Uh, my bedroom closet is big enough, but it just has that one rod," he said, darting his eyes to the side briefly. "There'd be more room if it was organized properly."

"You need more room?" she said, fighting to keep her lips from twitching.

"It, uh, could come in handy. Some day."

As he shifted his weight, Sara picked up a brochure to hide her grin, seriously doubting he'd find her reaction amusing.

"I have the measurements," he added.

"Okay," she said, giving him a fond smile. Pulling out her notebook, she quickly made a rough sketch of his closet.

He's good. He isn't actually asking me to move in, but he's letting me know there's going to be room for me in his home. I don't get why this is such a big deal for him. We see each other all night at work, and almost every day afterwards.

I don't know why I'm surprised. He is big on tradition and stuff. I guess it is more important to him that we formalize our living arrangements.

Oh, damn.

Does that mean he'll want to get married at some point?

That's crazy. It's just a piece of paper. Who cares if the state recognizes it? It's not like he's mentioned anything about it. Well, no shit. Look how he's 'asking' me to move in again. He's not going to risk me turning down an engagement offer. It's not like he's going to come out and ask unless he's sure I want it. And it's not a big deal to me.

But what if it matters to him?

He can be a bit old-fashioned. I, I guess that would be okay. It's not like what we have is anything like what my parents had. I don't need it, but if he wants to get married, I guess I could go through with it.

No damn tacky Vegas wedding, though. I'll draw the line there. And he better not have a stripper at his bachelor party. Right. This is Griss. He'd be more interested in reading a forensics journal than letting Greg get him drunk.

But he does know a lot about sex…Oh, relax! He's making room in his closet. Panic when he starts buying wedding favors.

What if he wants kids? That usually follows getting married.

Oh, shit, shit, shit!

It's one thing if this doesn't work out. It'll suck whether we're married or not, but kids? That's a lifetime commitment.

He likes kids, but that doesn't mean he wants his own. He's already made plans for his retirement. Even if we had a kid now, Griss would be nearly seventy by the time high school graduation rolls around.

"Hey!" At the unexpected call, Sara snapped her head up suddenly. From Grissom's expression, she gathered he noticed her panicked look, but now wasn't the time to deal with it.

"What are you doing here?" she stammered.

"Lindsey wants to repaint her room," Catherine said with a long-suffering sigh. "How did the kid go from pink ruffles to wanting her room painted flat black? I told her that's not going to happen. I figured I'd take some suitable color samples back to her. What are you two doing here? Something with your case?"

Already feeling nervous, she opened her mouth silently, but Grissom responded calmly. "Sara was kind enough to let me borrow her organizational skills."

"You're finally doing something with that front closet of yours? About damn time."

Giving her head a shake, Sara tried to regain her balance, but she suddenly realized that she'd never seen the inside of his apparently infamous front closet. "What is in there?" she asked.

"You didn't see it before agreeing to do this? You're braver than I am," Catherine chortled as she ignored his pointed glare. "Most people know that having a skeleton in your closet is an idiom. Grissom took it literally."

"You have a skeleton?" Sara asked with a grin.

"Doesn't everyone?" he answered frivolously.

"Usually under their skin," she said, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

"That's just the start of it. I'm surprised the university hasn't started archeological digs in there," Catherine added.

Sara caught her looking between them with a perplexed expression. Guessing that her mental gears were churning, she acted quickly to draw attention away from them. Turning to Catherine, she immediately grinned playfully. "So, you know what's in Grissom's closet," she said teasingly. "What about his drawers?"

"Hell, no!" she exclaimed, belatedly offering a passable, "no offense."

"You're assuming I have drawers," he pointed out with a slightly miffed air.

Catherine flailed her hands frantically. "Keep your commando self in your pants."

"I was actually referring to a dresser."

"Right. I'm going to get paint," Catherine said, waving as she walked away.

"Try a dark blue or purple. Lindsey might like those instead," Sara suggested, watching their colleague until she disappeared down the cavernous aisle. Letting out a long breath, she leaned against the shelf. "That was close."

"Hmm."

"You don't care that Cath saw us here?"

"Not really," Grissom said, shrugging at her incredulous look. "Catherine isn't going to care if we're together. At most, she'll be upset that she didn't figure it out. She likes to think she knows me better than I know myself."

"If you say so," Sara said, "but you're not the one she tried to get fired."

Grissom nodded his head, pausing as he stared into the distance. "For all her bluster, I think Catherine wasn't as secure in a leadership position as she let on. You bore the brunt of that insecurity."

She gave a noncommittal grunt. "We're lucky it wasn't Ecklie."

"It wouldn't have mattered."

"I think it would, Griss. He wouldn't ignore us being together. It doesn't matter if we did nothing wrong. He's enough of a prick to make it an issue."

"I'm fine with it," he said, setting down the box he'd been inspecting. "I'm the supervisor, therefore I'm the one to blame if any repercussions come from this. And I don't care."

For a long time, she quietly watched him, surprised by how sincere he sounded. He'd dropped hints about what he wanted them to do after Vegas, but she always assumed those were long-term plans. She never considered that he was ready to leave the lab.

"Right. Not that you don't care," she said, although she questioned that. "You're the lab's star. There's no way they'd get rid of you. You have nothing to worry about."

"Neither do you," he said with a finality that caused her to blush.

God, would he quit if it became a problem? That job was his life for over a decade.

"Let's get your closets straightened out before we update our resumes," she said with a forced levity. "Do you know what size your front closet is?"

"No."

"I'll measure it later. If I work up the nerve to open the door," she said, nudging his arm affectionately. "Do you really have a skeleton in your front closet?"

"Yes," he answered between examining shelving units. "McCoy."

Sara laughed as she turned to him. "Bones McCoy? Getting in touch with your inner geek?"

"The real McCoy," Grissom corrected. "Most skeletons are actually fakes, reproductions made from plaster or some other substance. Mine is a real one."

"You have authentic human remains in your closet," Sara said slowly. "Have you ever thought of having a yard sale?"

"No. Why?" he asked, clearly perplexed by her laughter.

"Never mind." After debating the merits of different layout options, they settled on an assortment of units. He seemed uneasy, so as they loaded them into a cart, Sara brushed her hand over his. "Now that you're going to have the extra room, do you think I could keep some more stuff at your place?"

His joyful grin was all the answer she needed.

If Catherine had any suspicions after seeing them together, she didn't mention it, not even to ask Sara if she'd finished with the closet. That prompted Grissom to proudly point out that he had said she wasn't really interested.

Still, she wondered if the others had noticed any changes. They were a crack group of investigators; one of them was bound to perceive something was going on. Besides the obvious lack of tension between them, Grissom almost exclusively paired up with her at crime scenes. That alone would eventually raise suspicions.

One day as they lay sated in bed, she mentioned her thoughts. He opined that the others probably figured they had just returned to being friends, and given the length of time, probably weren't expecting them to be together. To alleviate her concerns, he started adding a third CSI to their cases on occasion.

Sara received further assurance a month later, although the circumstances were less than ideal. She was sitting in the break room scanning a new journal as the team waited for assignments. As soon as he entered the room, she noted his tense posture, but he calmly handed out cases until he reached Nick and Warrick.

"Your suspect claims to have been drunk the night of the fight. I want you to verify her story," he said curtly.

"Well, by the time it broke out, her blood alcohol level was probably…" Warrick began.

"I don't give a damn about probably. I want the two of you to work out the blood alcohol chart for a woman who weighs one hundred and forty five pounds. Start immediately after her last drink and continue at thirty minute intervals."

Sara slid down in her chair, picking up her journal and silently counting to ten.

Nick opened and closed his mouth, exchanging a questioning look with Warrick. "But, we have that information on the computer," he drawled.

"I said I want you to work it out. By hand. I want the charts in my office before the end of shift."

"Griss, man, what's going on?" Warrick said as Greg sneaked out of the room.

"I think you can use the practice. Get started."

"Don't mind him," Catherine said with a knowing shrug after he left. "They've changed the paperwork. Again. He missed the memo, and he has to redo all the expense reports before tomorrow morning's meeting with the sheriff."

"Lucky us," Warrick sighed. "Do you think we have to show our calculations?"

"In his mood? I'm not taking any chances," Nick said.

Finishing her coffee, Sara forced a smile as they begged for her help. Heading to Trace, she gathered her reports, shrugging nonchalantly when Greg asked if she knew what was going on. Keeping her step at a normal pace, she strolled into Grissom's office and took a seat in front of his desk.

"One hundred and forty five pounds?" she said coolly.

Grissom glanced up impatiently, but his shoulders dropped under her unflinching glare. "It's what their suspect weighs."

She continued to stare silently as she fought with her temper. The entire lab probably learned of her drunk driving within a day of it happening; that none of the others seemed to have guessed the true source of his bad mood was little consolation.

"I can't believe you did this. How did you even know they were the ones with me that night?" she said, her voice low but her ire evident.

Glaring over the top of his glasses, he met her gaze evenly. "I checked the timesheets. Greg and Catherine were working late. I doubted that you'd go out for drinks with Hodges."

She bobbed her head, the only outward sign of her anger. His refusal to acknowledge that he was in the wrong fueled her growing irritation. "And you've been waiting for a case to come up where you could punish them. What the hell were you thinking?"

Tossing down his pen, he leaned over his desk. "That they're both trained investigators. That they watched you drink too much. That they should have known not to let you drive," he whispered harshly.

Blinking in surprise, she didn't falter. "All of that applies to me." She waited for a response, but he went back to working on a stack of paperwork. "And it was my responsibility. Not theirs."

"You could have been hurt," he snapped with a ferociousness that startled her.

What the hell?

He's actually shaken. I had no idea I scared him so badly.

I was embarrassed when he picked me up, afraid my career was over, couldn't believe how stupid I had been. He was so calm, though. And kind. He never let on that this bothered him.

It makes sense. He freaked when someone who looked like me was killed.

"Not likely. I was the one who was drunk. Relaxed muscles, less likely to be injured," she pointed out calmly. While she had a better understanding for his behavior, it still wasn't right. "If you're going to be pissed at anyone, it should be me."

His head snapped up as some lab techs walked past his office door, and he gave her a pleading look. "I can't."

She frowned as she leaned back in her chair, wondering if he couldn't get angry with her or if didn't want to have the conversation. With a sigh, she gave him a pointed stare that indicated she was only dropping the subject for now.

"Well, that stain on our suspect's jacket wasn't human blood. It's meerkat," she said, holding up the report. "Mixed with tamarind sauce. Stir-fried Timon?"

"Are there any meerkats in Las Vegas?" he asked.

"I was hoping you knew. I guess I'll be doing some research," she said as she stood up. "What about the guys?"

"They can help you," he groused. "When they get done with the chart."

Deciding not to push the issue at work, she left muttering under her breath about wasted resources, not bothering to look back. The rest of the shift passed without seeing each other. It wasn't until she finished breakfast at her apartment that she wondered if he was angry and pouting, or stuck with paperwork and pissed.

Whatever is going on, I hope his mood doesn't get him in trouble with the sheriff.

And I wanted him to be more open with his emotions. It was like opening a damn bottleneck. He's always been that way. If something makes him angry, everyone knows it. At least he didn't toss any DNA samples this time.

When Grissom finally arrived, he collapsed beside her on the sofa. "I don't want to fight," was all he said. She watched as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, a muscle ticcing above his left cheek. Her first inclination was to offer him a massage, but she got him a bottle of water instead.

"Okay," she agreed. "But we're going to talk."

"They made a stupid mistake. One that could have had tragic consequences," he said, a mix of and exhaustion in his tone.

"My mistake. My consequences. I meant it. If you're going to be angry, get angry with me," she said levelly.

He took a long draw from the bottle, deliberately avoiding her stare. "If I point out that you were probably not in a position to realize you had too much to drink, are you going to get angry?"

"No. That's actually a logical argument. Treating Nick and Warrick like crap isn't."

"What did you expect me to do?" he finally asked in a half-growl. "Pull them into my office and chew them out because you got pulled over for drunk driving? That would have been subtle."

"Do you honestly think there's anyone in the department who doesn't know, Griss?"

"I'm sorry," he said in a voice almost too soft to hear.

What's going on? He's not sorry for what he did to the guys. Something has him worked up.

When she rested her hand over his, he met her eyes for a fleeting moment, but it was enough for her to see his pain. "It never should have gotten to that point."

He thinks he should have prevented it? Or that he caused it? God, is that why he's so pissed off? He actually thinks he had something to do with what happened? No, he can't. It's stupid. But he's awfully upset.

"Are you blaming yourself?" she finally sputtered out. "Yeah, you have a big influence on me, but you didn't turn me into a drunk. Don't ever, ever go there."

She squeezed his hand when he turned to watch her. "Look, my childhood sucked. I thought I'd gotten over it. I was wrong. I, uh, guess it was only a matter of time before it became a problem. It wasn't about you, or that promotion mess, or anything like that. Okay?"

"I didn't help," he said.

She rolled her shoulders and debated her next words. His behavior had hurt her, disappointed her in many ways. It had been hard enough to find herself loving a man apparently unwilling to act on his feelings, but his deliberate distance cut her deeply. Worse, she was unable to leave, and that dredged up a fear that she was more like her mother than she wanted to admit.

But the truth was she was responsible for how she reacted, and she had chosen the wrong path. "You didn't cause it. All of it, anyway."

For a long time he remained silent, and Sara finally reached over to rub his shoulder. To her surprise, he shrugged her off and walked into the bathroom. Hearing the shower start, she sat frowning until he emerged wrapped in a towel.

"Just this once, will you please tell me what's wrong?" she pleaded softly. "I want to help, but I don't even understand what's going on."

"I never noticed," he admitted dejectedly. Sinking on the couch, he absentmindedly played with the edge of the material, refusing to meet her eyes until she knelt on the floor before him. "I'm supposed to be this observant savant, and I had no idea," he half-sneered. "More like an idiot savant."

"I didn't tell you," she said, resting her hands on his knees. "Hell, Griss, I didn't tell myself there was a problem. I don't expect you to have picked up on it. Don't do this to yourself."

"I failed you, both as a boss and a friend. If anything had happened to you"

"Nothing did," she insisted, standing up and pulling him off the couch. Wrapping her arms around him, she rested her head against his. "I'm fine now. Please don't blame yourself for what happened. I'd never forgive myself for doing that to you."

He pulled back at her words, tilting his head as he furrowed his brow deeply. Sara continued stroking him softly, physically trying to ease his misplaced guilt. When she stepped closer to kiss him softly, he drew her into a tight embrace. Feeling his muscles quake, she murmured tender words between planting kisses on his neck.

Slipping her hand into his, she led him to the bedroom. It was the first time he'd confided something so personal to her, and she suspected he was feeling vulnerable, both from the conversation and the underlying guilt. She planned to allay any lingering doubts, but he didn't allow her touches. Instead he focused on her pleasure alone.

As she lay panting after her second orgasm, he curled up around her, holding her tightly and kissing her hair. They talked for a long time, sometimes addressing what happened, but mostly just comforting one another. When she thought he had relaxed, Sara moved on top of him, gradually bringing both of them to an emotional release.

When she woke up that evening, it was to an empty bed. Heading into the living room, she found a note beside her laptop explaining that he had returned to the lab to finish the reports. Tossing the note away, she swore under her breath as she got ready for work. Finding him in the lab, she stopped outside his door and observed him sadly.

He looks like hell. How can I be angry with him when this is so hard for him? It's the first time he's ever really opened up to me. It went against everything he's known for so long, but he did it for me.

"Hey," she said kindly as she entered his office. His embarrassed demeanor caused her to give a half-smile. "You okay?"

"This new paperwork requirement is stupid. All it does is create more of it. Weren't we supposed to be a paperless society by now?"

"That'll never happen," she said. "And that's not exactly what I meant."

He gave his head a brief nod before tossing his glasses on his desk and rubbing his eyes. "I'm fine," he insisted.

Like hell he is.

So, do I let him get away with it this time? What choice do I have? He's already on edge. Confront him and who knows how far he'll run away.

That's not fair. He's not really retreating as much as regrouping. He needs to get his bearings.

Sure.

"I have a ton of evidence to process," she said. "But if you need a break, let me know."

"Thanks."

She flashed him a tender look before leaving. A few hours later, he found her in the Drying Room and let her know he had brought her lunch from the deli, and he promised to take her out for breakfast after shift. Any plans for a conversation then ended when David and Doc Robbins unexpectedly joined them.

Once in her apartment, he immediately took her to bed, making love with a fierceness he had seldom shown. Afterwards, he cuddled with her before drifting off to sleep. Stroking his hair, she tried to decipher his actions. It seemed as though he was trying to apologize for leaving the day before, but she wondered if he regretted opening up to her.

Grissom didn't mention the conversation, but he took extra pains to please her. At work he was conscientious, and affectionate when they were alone. To her surprise, he shared a few tidbits from his childhood. While not on the same scale as before, she supposed it was his way of saying he didn't mind talking to her.

In return she shared some of her experiences in social services, trying to convey what it was like to be shuffled from one uncaring home to another. How unsettling it was to never form proper roots, always being yanked out of a home when it was finally becoming familiar. The way she had learned never to plan on the future, because it was never settled. That hopes always led to disappointment, leaving indelible scars on her psyche.

He held her close, silently offering her succor in his embrace, and she let herself believe in his presence.

For the next two weeks, they spent as much time as possible with each other. Then Sara had a major court case that kept her away from home for days. As her case was wrapping up, Grissom had to leave to give a lecture in Bakersfield. He returned in time for a gang shooting that had the entire team working around the clock for a week. After that, she had to attend a continuing education seminar for three days.

Heading home on the last day of her class, she smiled to find Grissom already there waiting for her, a bottle of wine sitting on the counter. She greeted him quickly before he captured her lips in a passionate kiss.

"Mmm," she purred as he began to ravish her neck. "Are you always this frisky when you haven't gotten any for ten days?"

"I don't want to find out again," he replied, pushing her against the fridge as his hands worked under her blouse. When his pager went off, he tossed it into the living room.

"I think you better turn that on," she sighed.

"That's not what I want to turn on."

Her chuckle was cut short as he worked his tongue into her mouth, but he pulled back swearing when his cell phone started ringing.

"What?" he barked, running his hand through his hair. "Call someone else…It's my day off."

Sara knew from the way he eventually dropped his shoulders in defeat that the case had to be bad. Heading to the living room, she began hunting for his pager. She heard his swearing as she found it under the coffee table.

"Right. Have someone take pictures every five minutes until I get there," he said, turning to her when she rested a hand on his back. "I have to go. I'm sorry. I don't want to, but …"

"Go. It's okay," she offered, handing him his discarded pager.

"No, it's not."

Before she had time to ask him anything else, he gave her a parting kiss and left. She had maxed out on overtime during the gang shooting, so she wasn't able to head to lab to help. Putting the bottle of wine away, she flipped through a catalogue absentmindedly.

If he's having them take pics every five minutes it must involve bugs. He's never hesitated to help on a case before. I don't think it's just because he's feeling randy.

He's never had to choose between work and me before. Yeah, he's not worked as late at times so we can spend time together. So have I. But it's not the same. He was screwed no matter what he did. He's pissed that he had to go into work, but he's probably also feeling a little guilty because he wanted to blow off the case.

He's so used to being able to do whatever he wants, not having to worry about what I think. I'll talk to him later and let him know I understand. Hell, I have the same job.

Tossing the catalogue away, she let out a huff of air as she looked at the clock. Seeing that she had hours to kill, she went to fix a snack before going to bed. Opening the refrigerator door, she swore softly as she saw the array of food in there.

When she arrived at the lab that night, she went straight to his office. Sitting on the edge of his desk, she frowned at the stack of pictures of a dead boy.

"Tainted heroin," Grissom said as he leaned back in his chair. "He's only twelve."

Knowing the case was bound to upset him, she wanted to hug him. Unable to do that while in the lab, she slid closer to him, letting her leg brush against his.

"Need any help? I'm stuck in the lab for the rest of the month."

He made an effort to give her a thankful nod. "Greg is processing his belongings."

"Okay," she said lowering her voice. "Did you get anything to eat?" When he shook his head, she pulled a plastic container from her bag. At his confused look, she gave him a crooked grin. "It's Sunday dinner. As well as I could make it."

"I'm sorry," he sighed miserably.

"It's okay, Griss," she said quietly. Missing dinner wasn't a big deal to her, but she knew how much it meant to him. She gave his leg another nudge before getting up. "You didn't plan this. We'll catch up eventually."

"I'll make it up to you," he promised.

"I'm counting on it."

For the next few days, she seldom saw him outside of the lab. They found two potential suspects, but they lacked enough evidence to pinpoint which one supplied the lethal drugs. The lack of resolution added to his misery.

When they finally managed to end up in bed at the same time, he sat on the edge and stared at the floor. Sensing that he was too tired to perform, she insisted that he get some sleep. He started to apologize, but she silenced him with a kiss.

"I hate this job at times," he said, grunting as she started to massage his tense shoulders. "Do you know how many kids I've seen killed by drugs? Too damn many."

"I was joking before, but maybe you should go take that vacation."

Grissom shook his head as he rolled over to pull down the sheets. "I'm fine," he yawned, asleep within minutes of climbing under covers.

Snuggling closely, she kept a silent vigil over him as she caressed his back. It was hours before he stirred and they made love at a frenzied pace. He held her closely for a long time before they drifted to sleep again.

Unlike Brass's shooting, this case didn't seem to carry lasting repercussions for Grissom. That didn't prevent her from being concerned, and she tried to suggest he take a vacation again, only to have him insist that he was fine.

For the next few weeks, she studied their work schedule with a dedication that bordered on obsession. She hoped to find a pocket of time available for them to slip away unnoticed for just a day or two.

I have that seminar next month. If he can arrange his day off… damn. There's a departmental meeting. He's missed too many of those already.

If I take off a few days, say Tuesday through Saturday, and he takes off Friday through Monday … Shit. I have court.

If he waits to take a break until we can do it together, he's never going. But he's not interested in going alone. That's sweet. Really, it is. But it's also stupid. The time off will do him good, but he doesn't believe it.

Face it. I'm not going to be able to talk him into taking a vacation. I'll have to see what I can do to make him more comfortable at home.

This could be fun. A lot of fun.

Grissom noted her playful grin as she headed into the break room at the start of shift, and he cocked his head quizzically. To her surprise, he didn't pair up with her, instead sending her and Nick to a remote location as he finished prepping for a grand jury hearing. Before leaving, she raised an eyebrow suggestively to him, and he gave her a small grin in return.

The next time he saw her he was red with fury.

She saw his Denali coming up the road as the roof of the shack they'd been examining finished collapsing with a loud crash.

"Oh, man," Nick said, his face contorting when he saw Grissom getting out of the SUV. "I'm so screwed."

"It's okay," she said, flinching as the paramedic checked the splint on her ankle.

"Sorry about that," he replied, flashing her a dazzling smile. "We can't have our prettiest passenger bouncing around."

"I'm okay," she repeated, squeezing Nick's hand as much for his benefit as for her own.

"This is my fault. I never should have suggested climbing on the roof to get the gun."

"We needed it. And I do weigh less than you, Nick," she pointed out between gritted teeth. The flirting paramedic was smiling at her again, but she had more pressing matters to deal with first.

"What the hell happened here?" Grissom demanded as he rounded the side of the ambulance.

"Our scene, uh, well, it sort of fell apart," Nick said.

"Sticking with the obvious?" he countered, visibly paling when he took the time to stare at Sara.

"We recovered the key evidence, though," Nick added hopefully.

"Good. Next time, though, try to do it without getting your partner impaled!"

"I'm fine, Griss," she said, her breath inhaling sharply as the paramedics lifted the gurney into the ambulance. Seeing his eyes drop to the chunk of wood sticking out of her thigh, she forced a smile. "Really. It's not in very deep. Just a overgrown splinter."

"It's bad enough that they you have to go to the hospital to get it removed."

She ignored his sarcastic tone; he was overprotective to begin with and unable to comfort her the way he wanted. "All the germs around here? They better not take it out until we're in a sterile hospital," she tried to say jokingly.

"You heard the pretty lady," her would-be-suitor said. "We're headed to the University Medical Center."

"I'll meet you there later," Grissom said before facing Nick. "Can you finish this without any more injuries?"

"Yes, sir."

Sara shot him an irate look before the ambulance doors closed, finally telling the paramedic to back off once they were bouncing down the dirt road. She was in the emergency room for nearly an hour before he joined her, and she immediately waved at him.

"What the hell was your problem?" She grinned broadly when he raised his eyebrow in puzzlement. "Demerol. I'm feeling fine," she added with a hearty chortle. "Except I'm pissed at you."

Sitting by her side, he held her hand as he stared at her leg, the piece of wood still sticking out of a sea of gauze. He didn't move or say a word until the doctor entered carrying a sheaf of x-rays.

"Nothing's broken," he said without preamble. "You did twist your ankle when the roof gave under you. Don't be surprised if your knee aches some after you get home. We'll pull that piece of wood out in a little bit and get the wound cleaned up and stitched, then you can go home."

"You're not going to operate?" Grissom asked.

"It's not in very deep. The main thing is to clean it well to prevent infection. We'll update your tetanus shot and give you some antibiotics," he said to Sara. His attempts to leave were cut short by a barrage of questions from Grissom.

She smiled in a drugged haze as he again took position by her side, her anger displaced by an urge to tickle his chin. Even under the influence of the painkiller, she knew enough not to indulge in that particular wish, but she did laugh from time to time. Her humor started to die off as they continued to wait for treatment, and he finally went to get a nurse.

"There was a food poisoning outbreak at one of the casinos," he said. "They're swamped."

"In puke," she said, frowning when she shifted position.

"Is the Demerol wearing off?"

"A little." Swearing softly, she rolled her head on the pillow, finally focusing on the clock on the side wall. "Griss, you have to be at the courthouse."

"I'll call the DA…"

"No, you won't. I'm going to be stuck here for a while. Go. I'll leave you a message when I need a ride home."

It took her a few more minutes to convince him to leave. She was still upset by his outburst at the crime scene, but he was too obviously anxious for her to be too angry.

Nick came to visit as soon as he got off of work, and he insisted on taking her home. She spent the entire drive trying to recall if Grissom had left any personal items in plain sight in her apartment. As soon as she was inside, she excused herself and closed the bathroom door, quickly hiding any obviously masculine items. Luckily, he didn't stay long, insisting that she rest up and making her promise to call him at the first sign of any complications.

She was half-asleep when Grissom arrived. Forcing open an eye, she found him kneeling beside her bed. His hand hovered over her bandaged leg, but he didn't touch her.

"Hey," she muttered.

"How are you, sweetheart?"

Sara smiled despite the twinges in her leg and residual anger. "Grumpy."

"Did they give you something for the pain?"

"It's not as good as the stuff in the hospital," she said with a yawn. When he helped her scoot up in the bed, she gave him a tolerant grin. It broadened when he hesitantly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, gingerly drawing her close. She accepted his embrace, snuggling into his chest.

"What happened out there, Griss?" she eventually asked. "I think Nick felt bad enough without you making it worse."

She felt him take a deep breath. When he didn't immediately answer, she leaned out of his arms and turned to stare at him.

"I get nervous when you're around paramedics," he answered warily.

Letting out a moan, she waved off his panicky expression. "I'm fine," she stated, closing her eyes as she slid out of his arms.

He did hear the paramedic. All of this because he's having a jealous fit. Well, he'd have been upset even without the guy flirting with me, but not like this.

We've talked about this before. He doesn't have any reason to be jealous, and it gets old pretty quickly.

"You think I was planning on banging the guy in the back of the ambulance," she said shortly.

"No!"

"Do you want to know if I got his phone number?"

"Sara," he sighed.

"If you trust me, then there's no reason for you to get upset," she pointed out evenly. "You don't own me, you don't decide who I talk to."

"I don't pretend that I do."

"Jealousy is about possession."

He dropped his shoulders in defeat, tentatively reaching over to take her hand in his. "I don't want to lose you," he answered weakly.

He's definitely upset, and it's not just about the paramedic. I guess my leg looked pretty bad. He probably thought I really messed myself up. I wonder what the deputy said when he called to let him know I had been hurt. He had that whole drive to work himself into a frenzy, probably imagining the worst.

That doesn't excuse his jealousy, though. He regrets it, I can tell from his nervousness. I feel like I'm scolding a puppy.

How can he be so cute and aggravating at the same time?

"Griss, you're stuck with me." She waited until he gave her a quizzical look before she smiled. Reaching out, she caressed his cheek. "I'm never going to leave you."