Disclaimer: I don't own them, I just play with them...

The waiter returned with Grissom's card and Sara looked up in surprise. She hadn't noticed him take it in the first place. Grissom replaced his card in a worn, black leather wallet and signed the slip, writing in gratuity, before looking back up to her. He caught her with a day-dreamy look on her face and smiled, wondering what she'd been thinking about. He stood and moved around the table to pull her chair out as she stood up. She smiled in surprise and they walked out of the restaurant, a little closer together than when they had walked in. He opened her car door for her as well, and they drove back to her apartment in what could not help but be described as a comfortable silence.

She waited this time, allowing him to come around and open the door again, a big smile inescapable on her face. She thought about the evening they'd had as they walked inside—she hadn't anticipated it being so much… fun. She'd had fun with Grissom before now, of course, but it had been a long time since then, filled mostly with awkward silences and those "moments" Grissom liked to pretend had never happened. She was happy they had their witty banter back, at least.

By now they'd entered the elevator and Grissom pushed the number "3." Sara liked that he seemed to feel at home in her building. They exited as the doors opened and made their way to her door, Sara pulling out her keys and unlocking her multiple locks, disregarding his wry smile. Once into the small entryway, Sara relocked all of her locks and slipped her shoes off, bending to tuck them against the wall by the coat closet. Her purse was discarded on the bar top, and she turned back to look at him, to make sure he was coming past the doorway. He had removed his shoes as well, and was placing them in a neat row beside hers.

He looked up and, catching her expression, asked, "What?"

"You didn't… have to take your shoes off. It was… force of habit, for me."

He smiled. "Well, now you know I'm not afraid of being… 'jumped'." She laughed and gestured that he should take a seat at her little table before moving into her kitchen and starting a fresh pot of coffee.

"Black?"

"Of course." He smiled, knowing that she knew this already. She pulled mugs out of her cupboard and then plates from a second cupboard, and finally two forks from the drawer beneath her coffee maker. Cheesecake was pulled from the fridge, and she leaned forward to set one side of the variety tray on the breakfast bar.

"Which kind would you like?"

Grissom had watched her through all of this, and selected one with chocolate, trying to keep his eyes from the little piece of lace at the front of her dress. She had been leaning, after all.

She dished up the pair of them and set the small plates on the table in time for the coffee to finish brewing. She poured them each a cup and moved into her small dining area, setting one before him and one before herself.

"Don't you like sugar in yours?" She glanced up at him, her mug a half inch from her lips, and smiled.

"I'm having it with sugar." She gestured to the cheesecake. His eyes rolled again, keeping the smile on her face.

It was very good cheesecake—the kind that facilitates conversation as a rule—and before they knew what they were doing, they had been talking more freely than they had all night. Sara swallowed her bite indignantly, her voice rising in pitch as she tried to defend herself.

"Just because I said I'd get dinner with Greg does not mean anything happened! I took a rain check!"

"He could call it in anytime. Would you offer him a freebie too?" He grinned.

He received a swift, though not painful, kick under the table. "You know I wouldn't."

He smiled softly, unable to help himself. "I do know. But really, how many dates would it take…?"

Her eyes narrowed. "I probably wouldn't accept a second date. When he asked me it was… I was trying to… get out more."

Grissom nodded. "You really should, too."

It was her turn to roll her eyes. "You're the one who expects me to be ready to pull an extra shift at a moment's notice…"

The corner of his mouth turned up, but he didn't say anything. He didn't like the idea that she would be too occupied to come in to work, even if it was her day off. There was a brief moment, and when he didn't say anything, she stood up. "Can I get you more coffee? Another piece of cheesecake? I can open a bottle of merlot?"

His blue eyes sought her brown. He probably shouldn't stay much longer… and wine was a bad idea. Somehow he felt deflated as he spoke, but he let the words come out anyway. "No, I should… probably get going."

"Really? Are you tired? I feel like, on days off, I still can't sleep 'til close to when shift would end, even if I've been up all day…"

She was calling his bluff, trying to make him reconsider his need to leave. And though he'd been dying to find an excuse to touch that damned dress all night, just to know if it felt as silky as it looked, he knew staying would lead to a harder decision yet, one he had already made, under less pressure. He stood.

"I'm a little tired. The wine, you know."

The corner of her mouth twisted, but she shrugged, walking him back to the little entryway and her doorway while he put his shoes back on. She stood, not blocking his way, but before the door, hoping against all odds that he would kiss her. There was a part of him, she knew, that had wanted to take her up on her offer tonight. She took a deep breath as he rose, shoes now firmly in place.

"I actually had fun tonight," she told him. "I wasn't expecting that."

He chuckled. "You agreed to something you thought would make you miserable?"

"Not miserable, no. Just… it's been a long time since you've joked with me."

He smiled. "I had fun too." There was moment of hesitation, their eyes locked in together, and then Grissom turned from her, reaching for the door handle. "We should… do this again sometime."

He didn't turn around immediately when she didn't respond, but when the lag time became too long, he reluctantly turned and was alarmed by the look on her face. "Sara?"

She shook her head, angry at herself for allowing herself to get her hopes up. "You know, you don't have to kiss me and you don't have to sleep with me, and you don't even have to want to. But at the end of the night, if you're completely disinterested, kindly have the courtesy to tell me so, because I have to go to work tomorrow and I don't want to see you while disillusioned that we might 'do it again sometime.' You know as well as I do that it means we won't do this again, ever. I would have expected this from the average man, but not from you Gil Grissom."

His jaw had dropped, and she sniffled, trying desperately to keep herself from crying. Grissom was frozen in place, alarmed and ashamed and uncertain. How could he tell her that he didn't want her when he did? When he had wanted her for years and it had only been by sheer force of will and overpowering fear that he had managed to keep himself away from her?

Didn't she understand that he wasn't any good for her? That it would only mean sacrificing both their jobs for a man who could never be what she wanted or needed? Didn't she understand that he just couldn't take advantage of her like that, and would only be a disappointment to her in the end? And how, when she knew him so well, could she not understand that he must always look and look and look again before he leaped? When he didn't respond, she got louder.

"Just tell me! You have to stop screwing with my head, Grissom! Say that you don't want me, that I was never all that enticing a temptation in the first place, and that I've just been fucking kidding myself for seven years, and then get out!" She stubbornly blinked tears from the corners of her eyes, their unwelcome presence making her even angrier.

Grissom could not say those words, and so said nothing at first, taking in the anguished expression on her face. It reminded him, unavoidably, of another moment between them. Though the face was not the same, the expression was similar—the hurt in her eyes, the set of her jaw, the defensive way she moved and held herself. It reminded him of when he'd told her he didn't know what to do about them. Her response had been that by the time he figured it out, it was going to be too late. Too late.

Before he knew what he was doing, Grissom had crossed the few feet it took to reach her and cupped her trembling face in his large hands. He closed his eyes, avoiding meeting hers, and bent down to press his lips to hers. She did not immediately return the kiss, and he felt her lips shudder beneath his. He started to pull from her, worried that she had not wanted this—that perhaps his reluctance to kiss her previously had been the final straw—the dreaded 'too late.' But as he started to, her hands trembled against his chest and she desperately leaned in, catching his bottom lip between her teeth and pulling him back down to her. Her hands gripped the shoulders of his shirt and her lips captured his again in the most desperately passionate kiss he'd ever been a part of. It swept him up, made him dizzy and lightheaded, made him believe in things that were impossible.

Without any conscious decision to do so, he had pushed her body up against the door and his hands were at her waist now, gripping her sides in earnest. The silk ran under his fingers and he trembled himself—it felt better than he could have imagined. Her arms wrapped around his neck and her fingers crept into his curls, gripping them tightly, as if she needed an anchor to prove it was real. She pushed her body up from the door to press tightly against him, and he felt a warmth building in his chest. God—he was finally, finally, kissing Sara Sidle.

And then he was being pushed backwards, until he hit the wall between the closet and the kitchen, her hands still in his hair and her body still tight against him. He gasped softly at the intensity with which she kissed him, and she took advantage, sliding her tongue eagerly into his mouth and caressing his. He moaned softly and lifted his own, only to find that she had pulled from him, her mouth now on his neck, laying kisses across the delicate skin. His hands tightened around her waist—god that silk was good—and he felt goose bumps raise on his neck and down his arms. She moved her urgent kisses up and captured his mouth again, her fingers tugging impatiently at the topmost of the buttons on his shirt.

He thought vaguely, through the delirium and passion of the kiss, that perhaps he should stop her, but he knew he simply did not have the will power at this point. She had finally managed the button and make quick work of the others, finally lifting her hands to his shoulders to pull it off around his arms. He allowed it, but her hands were then frantically grasping at the bottom of his white undershirt, and he hesitated, stopping the motion by turning them both around and pushing her hard against the wall. She gasped against his mouth and he slid his tongue in, having not yet had the pleasure. While sliding his over hers—and completely lost in the feel of her mouth and her body and her rapid breathing against his chest—he suddenly broke the kiss, attaching himself to her neck and moving down the line of her v-neck until he could grasp her thighs and thrust her up, off her feet, pinned between the wall and his chest.

She gasped again, in surprise, but also, he thought, in desire. She wrapped her legs around his waist without hesitation and moaned as he buried his face in her neck and chest again. Sara tried very, very hard, in this moment, not to speak… not to jinx anything… but she couldn't help it. Lost in the feel of his mouth and his body between her legs and the absolute disbelief that this was happening, she moaned out softly, "I can't believe you're finally touching me…" She immediately regret her words.

His lips froze in place, as Grissom realized the gravity of his actions and tried, desperately, to go back to the place where he was only looking, not yet leaping. He lifted his head up, surveying the woman who had been a constant desire since the moment he'd met her. She met his eyes without hesitation, though there was fear in their depths. Long strands of hair had fallen free from their bindings and lay against the side of her face. Her tight lips turned down at the corners and she was bracing her whole body for the blow he was about to deliver, despite her chest still rising and falling rapidly from a moment previous' passion.