Spoilers: General, if it has aired in the US it may be referenced….Disclaimer: I borrow the CSI's on occasion, but they are not mine… Only their adventures are. Information, when researched, has been found within the public domain unless otherwise stated.

Red

May - Psyche is the Greek word for Spirit and Butterfly.

Las Vegas – anno 2005
It was that uneasy feeling.

The kind that lingers right up top in your chest cavity, pressing down on your feelings because you know you screwed up. The localized presence that encompasses all of your being making you feel slightly nervous and jittery and ready to curl up in bed and hide because your conscience feels physically ill.

It was the one that no words can describe, but to which every word you encounter will refer.

It was that kind.

She longed for the deep healing breath that would indicate the weight had been lifted and her lungs would again be capable of holding a sufficient amount of air.
In reality her reaction had been reasonable and logical leaving no justification for her uneasiness, but this was surreal and beyond logic and reason; which was exactly why she felt the way that she did to begin with.

This was, is, too valuable not to endure.

It was just that she had endured so much of it and for such a long time; she was so very tired and weary.
But so had he, and so was he.

She knew that now.

And for the first time ever she thought she might understand...a little.Yesterday, when he had showed up at her door radiating nothing but honesty from his eyes, she just hadn't wanted to talk.

She had been…

…tired.

Work had seemed longer than usual and the cases too real.
Her stomach was cramping, her head was spinning and she were just plain bitchy.

He had been…

…trying.

"Red roses?"

Silence --

"You are telling me now that all this stems from red roses?"

Sara's face had been that of utter disbelief, no, sheer and pained abhorrence.
If she hadn't seen his face right then and the wide-eyed look of fear reflected in the glassy blues, she would have told him to go fuck himself.
Her anger had shown him no mercy, nor had her words.

Lingo had rolled off her tongue and out of her mouth and into his face. She felt like she had to get it out, like she had to throw up all that venom and he was the porcelain god of choice.
It was not like he wouldn't just receive it, flush it, then clean up around the edges and immediate surroundings and be right back to normal anyway.
It would be in mode for him.

Red roses…

Some eight years prior…
Gil Grissom had stared at the answering machine for longer than his brain had managed to keep count of the seconds. At threehundredandfive he had lost rhythm, seconds becoming drawn out and inaccurate and he had cursed himself for the loss of control.

He had cursed the answering machine too, following what must have been threehundredandsix seconds, after which he had been looking at its dead and battered pieces scattered in front of the brick wall directly below the dead butterflies that lived on it, in framed glass boxes out of reach.

As if even butterflies could be dead and live at the same time.

He walked over and carefully picked up the tape, his hands suddenly gentle after the show of violence only seconds before. He had a temper and he feared it.

Sara was on that tape and the tape was intact.
Sara was on there so she was intact.
Nothing broken it looked like,
so then she must be okay.
Nothing is missing,
Sara is missing.
Not nothing,
Sara.

Missing…Sara

He had completed his testimony flawlessly, always the expert witness. Never faltering, always in control. It was predictably simple.
Brass had flagged him down upon his return.

After a brief "How was your trip, uneventful as always?" and the "Never a dull moment!" that had followed, the man had come alive briefly.

"Good, good. You won't mind the SFPD bugging you some more then." A throaty snort had escaped at the mention of 'bug'.
Brass always had the humor of a fly that couldn't bird…

"You sign my travel requests!" was all he uttered, SFPD still ringing in his ears and clouding his mind.

"And I had a message from Moby when I got back, thanks for giving me a heads up."

"My pleasure, then that's settled then."

Seventeen days later, Grissom found himself focusing on yet another pinhole in yet another airplane window, as a familiar tightness crept into his chest. Or, rather emerged from within him he decided.

He sat in the break room of the SFPD's slightly downtrodden main building as he waited for Moby to surface.

"For a Ms. Sidle" he heard from the reception area across the hall as a clipboard-clutching shadow appeared.

"Again? Oh my…!" a female voice responded, the voice getting stronger as she approached his room, only to bypass him for the little refrigerator in the corner.

"She can't miss them here," she said, apparently to herself, as she set the vase down in plain view.

"Oh hi, how are you Sir? Can I get you anything?"

"Thank you, I am just fine. Waiting for Mr. Katz."

"Dr. Grissom! Oh I'm so sorry, I didn't recognize you right off the bat. Moby should be out of his meeting in no more than fifteen, Sir."

"Thank you."

Five minutes and the bouquet of red roses had him so stirred up it brought him to his feet and sent his eyes across the hall.
Nobody there.
He casually walked toward the fridge, and with his body in front of the vase perused the card held by three clear plastic fingers among thorny green stems.

'To a real one – Tim'

"Grissom!" Sara's exclamation made both men turn.
Probably not the first time that had happened Gil thought to himself.

"Dr. Grissom, nice seeing you again" she amended at Moby's deciphering gaze. Shit Sidle, subtle much…geez.

"You too, how are you Ms. Sidle?"
He couldn't hide his one-sided smirk if he had tried, Moby's left-out expression notwithstanding.

"Uh, I'm fine" she announced, realizing the possible double entendre as his eyes burned her lips.
Wide-eyed she stood between the two as if aliens from planet Inept had dropped her right there.

"So…?"

"So?" Moby echoed, fully aware of his criminalist's unusually flustered façade.

"Would you like to join us for a briefing kiddo?"
His suspicions were confirmed when she flinched at his nickname for her, he contained his grin just about as well as his buddy had earlier.

Damn, I'm not a kiddo – and this is not the time.

"You may if you like, we could use your clever mind, Ms. Sidle," he added.
She turned with a wide smile and followed them down the hall, arms swinging and confident in her stride.

She would be working with Grissom, on her home turf!

Together they had spent nearly five hours in a smallish room by a centered layout table. Inching together hour by hour, yet feeling increasingly comfortable in each other's space, completely professional. She had peeked at his dimples and the way they moved according to the intensity of concentration on his face. And every now and then his glasses gave her the opportunity to look right to his eyes, without the obstruction of a lens, because of the angle she had on him from her stool by his side.

Sometimes he would spot something tiny, but huge.

Grissom was like a pig after truffles she imagined, and she could swear his sense of smell was just as acute. He always seemed to be taking something in, collecting and connecting through his senses – and thinking. He came across as an individual constantly lost in thought.

Her mental images of a piggy bank and a mud hog having it out had let her glance linger a little too long and he had turned to her a bit puzzled; her eyebrows getting his attention.

'Just thinking,' she had said, a half save.
The piggy bank won, he was as treasured as he was hard to crack. Adorable too…

He was very professional and smelled really good. She truly was fascinated by what she were learning from him, even though the case was being recreated through the use of video footage and meticulous photographs; every larva or pupa were important, and every stage of their life meant something. And he took it all very seriously. She admired that in him. She sensed that most every case must be like this to him, high profile or not.

He had made use of her long limbs and phalanges, as the various photos would inevitably work themselves toward the middle of the table, out of his reach.
Occasionally he had encouraged such happenings.

The small of her back would bare itself as she reached across the table and he would remember how his hand had rested there so perfectly before. He was looking over the top of the rims of his glasses when she caught him staring at his right palm.

"What happened to your hand?" The series of little prickle marks weren't a big deal, but like paper cuts they hurt exponentially.
The shrill of her cell phone caused her to jump, her calf bumping his in the process. She quickly got up, excused herself and retreated to a corner.

Not that it would make much difference, she did have caller ID and it wasn't…

"…Timmy?"

She flushed immediately. He was calling from the front of the building wanting to take her out for lunch, a surprise to show her how much he cared for her.
Today of all days he wanted to take things one step further by showing up at her place of employment, if only…

She fidgeted; one hand in her pocket, then back out. Hair behind her ear, then in her face and twisted around her index finger. Heel of right shoe on toes of left shoe as if choking a cigarette butt, and leaving a stain. Voice getting lower and lower; airless, not breezy.

"I can't, not now. Uh, this just isn't a good time. I'm in the middle of an important case and – flowers? Nooo…? I'm sorry, I'll check. Look, I – okay, you sure? Yeah…you too."
Where is that big black hole of nothingness when you want it?

He didn't look at her.
Timmy? They had nicknames for each other? He had signed Tim, not Timmy…what was hers?
Was this serious, had he just…

"Sorry," she snapped her cell quickly back into place on her right hip, keeping her trembling hands engaged doing…something. That was literally done in a snap and her hands found her pockets as she sat down; markedly less relaxed than had been the case just a minute ago.

"You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good." She offered a bright smile, not quite reaching her eyes.

"Let's… Let's take a break, grab some lunch. My treat."
Shit, Timmy may still be there.

"How's it going you two?" Moby poked his head in for a second, looking as if he were definitely on his way from A to B and layout were somewhere in the middle.

"So far it has been straight forward, nothing amiss. Why don't you come with us for a late lunch? We were just about to head out and we could give you the run down of the case. So far your guys have done a good job documenting the timeline, feeding the maggots and…"

"Spare me! Give me five, okay. I'll meet you up front."

Note to self: Indulge boss for the next forever.
A five-minute wait had never felt more welcomed.

One by one they had floated away to the end of the ocean, a dozen times over.He had squeezed his hand firmly around the last one, needing to feel the pain of guilt.
Now he officially had blood on his hands.

He had claimed her.

'A robin red breast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage'

- William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

Anno 2005

Red roses…

Her rage had come full circle.
"So you took them, as in stole them, because you didn't want me to acknowledge them?"

He had swallowed hard while he had looked to the floor with a mixture of defeat and sadness.

Then he had nodded.
Then he hadn't done something.
He hadn't turned for the door and he hadn't opened it.
He hadn't stuttered, he hadn't apologized, he hadn't done what she had come to expect of him.

For once he had simply done.

"I regret that moment.
He had looked up at her and through her into their past.

"I regret that moment because you were not there."
He had looked at the woman he had caged for so many years, caged within the confines of two conflicted minds.

Then he had gathered the strength it would take to undo the latch.

It was not like him to be cocky and he had known as riled as she was it would likely be the last straw for her.
He had known he might never see her again.

"I regret that moment because you were not there with me to do it yourself."
Latch undone, door wide open.

He had looked at her, no -- looked to her, as a deep audible sigh escaped to let recharged air in.

Silence --

"I regret that moment… because I didn't let you."