A/N: Thanks for reading! More to come!

Shopping for Sara

Chapter 5

Love Runs Through

"Move in with me."

Sara lifted her eyes from the pizza she was sprinkling with cheese. Shredded cheese slipped through her fingers to form a small white pyramid on tomato sauce.

"What did you say?" She asked, trying desperately to keep her voice steady.

"Move in with me." Grissom chuckled. "My kitchen is bigger."

She knew he had hinted about this for weeks. Almost without conscious thought her head moved side-to-side. "I—I don't know…"

Grissom sighed. He had tried subtle suggestions for weeks—ever since Nick's kidnapping—an unspoken routine had developed. They were with each other after every shift. When one had a day off, the day was spent preparing and getting ready for the one who was working. On the rare occasion they both had the same time off, they were together the entire time.

"I'm serious," he said. "I've got plenty of room."

Sara's head was shaking before he finished his first words. "I don't think I'm ready," she said as she began to spread the cheese with her hand; her eyes dropped. "This is difficult for me, Gil. To explain, I mean." Her hand stopped moving; difficult did not begin to explain her reasons, "I—I—this is the first place I've had that's mine. I always had roommates before coming to Vegas." She chewed her lip while Grissom waited, silently. She glanced around her apartment, her eyes taking in her things—books, artwork, her furniture—things she had purchased because she wanted them.

"We would move everything—there is room." He watched her as indefinable emotion changed her face; anguish, he thought, at the thought of moving. Much later, he would realize he was wrong.

He had no desire to bring unhappy memories, something about her past, into their time. "Only when you are ready, honey. My offer is there." His hand gently covered hers. "I'm selfish. I want you all the time."

Her smile recovered, she leaned against his shoulder. "We are together—almost all the time." Softly, she laughed. "Except for the rare occasion when my supervisor assigns me a trash run!"

A week later, an enormous billboard caught Grissom's eye. He turned a corner and found the advertised address. Idly curious for months, he had watched the development grow into a business and residential center, but today, sudden intuition caused him to stop and read the advertising notice plastered near the sidewalk; he retraced his route to another address. Sara wasn't refusing to move; she did not want to live in someone else's space—as a child that had been her life. As an adult, as the woman he loved, he should—he could—provide her with a real home—one she could decorate as she wanted. She could toss everything in his house except the new bed; he chuckled at his realization.

The realtor was more than delighted to have a returning customer and with a short conversation had provided Grissom with information he sought.

"Do you have an idea of what you want? Moving out to the suburbs? A house? Gated community?

Grissom asked about the building project he had just left.

"Great place—the commercial area has really taken off. Retail shops, several restaurants, a book store just steps away from the residential section." The man went into great detail describing housing units as absolutely magnificent—including two-car garages, off street parking, laundry rooms in each unit.

"You will not find any better placed condos in Vegas—not for the price. And, if you get in early, you can personalize—walls where you want, flooring, counter tops—selected by you." The realtor rummaged through a stack of files and unfolded a large layout of the condominium property. "Here's more information. Do you still work for the county? A policeman—or something—lab—are you still in the crime lab? Look how close this is, but private, very quiet. And these units are a real bargain in today's real estate boom."

Grissom raised his hand in an effort to stop the realtor's sales pitch. "Someone else will be making design decisions," he said. He leaned forward and pointed to four units. "Can you show these four units tomorrow afternoon?"

"Sure—sure—about your current place?"

Grissom stood. "After we look at the new ones, we can talk about listing it." He paused before extending his hand. "And the less talking we do tomorrow, the better this will go."

Back in his vehicle, he raked a hand across his face. "What have I done?" he asked, no one hearing his question. Sweat beaded along his hairline even as cool air hit his skin. Sara would not agree to move in with him and he had just made an appointment to show her four new condos. After her comments at a crime scene about bed-sharing and romance, he wasn't sure he would ever convince her to actually move her possessions into a shared household.

He heaved a noisy sigh. Maybe he could sweetened this process; he had thought about buying a gift for Sara since—since weeks ago, before Nick was kidnapped—but he had never gotten around to doing it. He entered traffic with a destination.

While he seldom made a jewelry purchase, he knew a little about high-end stores due to work and robbery histories. He traveled away from the Strip and new malls to a small store in one of the oldest strip malls in Vegas. Most of his jewelry shopping had been for his mother who liked to wear pins and he had found this place when looking for a specific type of pin—brooch, he had learned—for her.

The woman greeted him as a well-known, familiar customer, even though he had not walked in the door in a year. Her familiarity caused Grissom to think the place had face recognition equipment secreted in the back room.

"Dr. Grissom! It's good to see you again."

He raised two fingers as a hello. The woman stepped in the direction of a large glass display of pins. He said: "Not a brooch, today. I'm looking for—I think I'm looking for a necklace. Yes, a necklace."

Smoothly, the lady moved to another display case. "Certainly. Anything specific? Silver, gold, with a stone or charm?"

The presentation was dazzling; a rainbow of color, chains, loops, beads, pendants, double and triple strands, every conceivable miniature item he could think of was delicately placed in orderly rows. Overwhelming—he did not know where to begin.

The woman recognized his confusion. "Tell me something about your lady—what does she wear?"

"Simple," he said. "Nothing flashy—she's very—very…" he struggled for words to describe Sara, "she's natural, effortlessly beautiful, unpretentious."

The lady made a confirming sound and moved along the case. "Silver can be sterling silver or a color—as in platinum. We have a few titanium necklaces—very expensive but lightweight." She placed three small chains on a display board and showed him the differences in silver, platinum, and titanium. "Do you think she has any allergies? Sometimes the nickel in sterling can cause skin irritation, but if she wears it over her clothing, it usually isn't a problem."

Grissom fingered the strands. "I want her to wear it against her skin," he smiled. "She has a beautiful neck." His fingers went to his own neck. "Something for here." He placed his hand along his upper chest.

He looked at pearls and hearts, medallions, teardrops and twisted wire—dozens of necklaces came out of the display case and into his hand. After an hour he had narrowed his selection to a dozen. He kept returning to one—a simple chain with a hollow square at its center—light as a feather in his palm.

"I think this one will be perfect."

The patient woman who had greeted him and shown necklace after necklace lifted the silver chain from his hand. "This one is titanium—expensive because jewelers are just beginning to use it and expensive because it will last forever." She pointed to several similar items. "Sterling silver, even platinum would be less expensive."

Grissom raised an eyebrow. The signal worked; the price was written on a piece of paper and turned so he could see it. He picked up the sterling silver, then the platinum. "I want this one." He indicated the titanium. "I think she'll wear it for a long time."

After Grissom wrote a favorite poem on a white card, the necklace was carefully wrapped in a small box, tied with black and white ribbon, and placed in a black gift bag with the store's name embossed into a lower corner.

"Thank you, Dr. Grissom." The lady smiled. "We look forward to seeing you again. And if the lady has any questions, if you decide on something else, if she isn't delighted, come back."

At home, he placed the package in a drawer, checked his refrigerator for food, and called his girlfriend. The appellation always caused him to grin and made Sara laugh. A few seconds into the call, another call beeped; he glanced at the caller.

"Got to go, honey. Work calls. See you soon."

A shoot-out with drug smugglers, an officer shot, three others dead, bullets sprayed along several city blocks filled hours that turned into a double shift, and to make it worse, the dead officer was killed by another officer. Much later, standing in an alley, watching Sara toss a gun onto the clay-tiled roof, he realized now much he loved her—being with her in bed was a very pleasing physical sensation, being with her at work seemed to double his fascination. His thoughts fled as questions were asked; Sara tossed a second gun which slid into her hands just as he had predicted.

She was beautiful, he thought. He wanted to reach out and touch her, like a rare butterfly, just to hold her for a few seconds, but like a rare butterfly, he knew if he touched her, here with others watching, she would turn to powder. He grimaced when he thought of the appointment he had made; they would not begin a search today. He glanced at Sara and found she was watching him, a frown puckered her brow.

In a rare moment of shared sentiment, he smiled and winked. Sara's face relaxed into a smile.

Hours later, after a long and exhausting investigation, Grissom slowed and stopped his vehicle next to Sara's car. As she slid into his vehicle, he said "You can park in my garage—every morning." At her reaction, he changed his statement. "Every other morning."

She buckled the seatbelt. "You know we need a little time away from each other—a bit of…" she paused. "Breathing room."

Her eyes looked into his, and neither of them moved. His eyes were a caress, neither of them made any move to touch each other.

"I'm glad you're here," she said softly.

Suddenly, he looked like a boy with his ruffled mass of hair and eyes the color of a summer sky, and a smile that played with the edges of his mouth. Her hand went to his arm. "Are you very tired?"

He laughed, remembering how exhausted he had been as he pulled into her apartment complex and stopped beside her car. "No more than you. There is food at the condo."

"Good." She grew serious. "It shouldn't, but it hurts so much when its one of us, doesn't it."

Grissom knew what she meant. He also remembered the blaze of annoyance he had seen when Sophia was in his office. Sara was his protector; his thought caused him to chuckle. Perhaps she was more green-eyed monster than protector.

"Sara, you know I love you." He said as he drove the short distance to his home.

"I know, Gil" she said softly. "You know I love you in ways I can never put into words."

Their hands met and fingers intertwined, releasing only when he had parked in the garage and needed to remove the key. When that happened, he reached for her, closing his arms around her as he had wanted to do in the alley. Here, in the dim glow given off by the overhead light, he kissed her with the passion that had been pent up for hours. As his hands tightened and he felt her arms, hands and fingers against his body, he knew she was no rare butterfly but an exceptionally rare woman.

Her kisses were as hungry as his and it was some time before they seemed to remember where they were and forced themselves apart and smiled at each other.

"We should eat," Sara whispered, her finger traced his bottom lip.

"I need a shower."

Sara laughed. "So do I—quick one."

"You first," Grissom said, "and I'll fix food."

It took all their strength to pull away from each other again and walk up the steps to his door. It took another effort for Grissom to let her shower, but he kept his word and took out cheese and sauce and tortillas for the fastest food he could prepare. While the tortillas heated, he retrieved his gift from its drawer and placed it near the table, hiding it behind a book. His thoughts went back to his shopping trip—his double shopping trip—which seemed like days ago. He still had to convince Sara of his housing idea.

She read the poem first—a simple one written by Pablo Neruda about love—which left her speechless. The silver-colored necklace was an instant winner; he saw it in her eyes as she opened the box and again when he fastened its hook and the chain and its square settled against her skin.

"Oh, Grissom—what have you done? It's so light—I don't even know its there." Her fingers touched the delicate chain and smooth square. Her eyes radiated softness. "Why? What's the occasion—have we had a significant anniversary?"

"No anniversary—and every day with you is significant." He smiled; she liked it.

Her hands moved from the necklace to him. His hands played with her hair as he kissed her again and again. Whispering as he kissed her neck, he said: "We've showered, we've eaten; we are exhausted."

As an answer, Sara deepened the kiss and his hands began to explore, wrapping arms around her so he could find the curve of her breasts. She moaned softly at his touch and in a single instant she forgot about the exhausting hours they had spent at work. She pulled him slowly toward the bedroom and within minutes their bodies were entwined, tangled in sheets while still fully dressed and rediscovering the promise of passion.

Without saying another word, she peeled his shirt away from him; his jeans were next. He tossed her thin tee-shirt high into the air and it floated somewhere on the floor as they began making love.

Grissom had made plans for long passionate love-making with the beautiful woman in his bed. But her breathless words and soft gasps constituted the most erotic song Grissom had ever heard. He could not get enough of her against his body, his mouth. He strung kisses along her neck and shoulder, around the new necklace, gradually working his mouth to one rounded breast while his hand found the other.

All of his intentions exploded in a flash when her hips lifted and her legs separated to cradle him between her thighs. The heat between them seemed to weld them together as he pushed gently past the tight feminine muscles of her core. She closed around him. The last of his self-control disintegrated.

Hoarsely, he whispered, "Tell me that you love me."

"I love you, I love you." She clung to him as her fingers clenched against his back and arched her body into his. She shuddered and cried out.

Grissom heard his blood roar in his veins as he plunged into Sara's welcoming body. Her own convulsions had not ceased when shudders that stole his breath racked him with euphoria and left him damp and weary but wonderfully alive.

Deep, exhausted sleep came to both as they curled into each other beneath the bed covers; neither seemed to notice the massive expanse of vacant bed on either side of their bodies.

A/N: Now review! Thanks so much!