A/N: Another chapter! At one time, we'd hope to finish this one on the one year anniversary of the CSI finale-we haven't done that-so it continues!

Gil Grissom's Romance Part 2

Chapter 19

A face appeared in the oval window of the door; not Heather but the woman he recognized as Heather's housekeeper smiled as she opened the door.

"It's Mr. Grissom, isn't it?" She waved her hand. "Come in, come in! It's good to see you again." After a few seconds of hesitation, she added, "Are you expected?"

An awkward moment followed as the woman held the door and Grissom paused on the steps.

"Oh," she said with a quiet laugh, "your dog—it's fine to bring him inside."

Hank seemed to understand the invitation and immediately climbed the steps, tail wagging.

"And it appears he'd like to come inside!" The woman laughed; Grissom tried with no avail to remember her name.

Grissom followed the dog. And then followed the housekeeper and the dog into a large, well-appointed kitchen. Glancing around, he knew there had been changes. Gone were the trappings of Heather's former business and the expensive china plates and cups that he had used for tea on several occasions. A bright yellow cereal box was on the countertop. There was a Disney placemat on the small table.

The house had once been the scene of parties and staged dramas that would be unbelievable to most people. Heather had willingly shared her fetish knowledge with him on several occasions but today, the house was different. Brighter, sun blazing in windows he had never noticed. A display of photographs of a laughing little girl decorated the yellow walls of the dining area. A child's drawings adorned a door and a window.

Finding his voice, Grissom said, "I—I didn't plan a visit—I—I was in the neighborhood." His hand waved toward Hank. "I—Hank needed water—I—we walked too far."

The woman was filling a bowl with water as he spoke. She said, "Heather's not here this morning. She goes to Alison's school once a week." Turning to the refrigerator, she brought out a pitcher of lemonade, filled a glass and handed it to Grissom. "She's doing good—really good."

As Grissom lifted the glass to his lips, she continued, "Would you like a sandwich? How are you doing? We heard you'd left the lab."

Shaking his hand at her offer of food, he answered, "I'm doing good—married Sara after I left the lab. We've traveled some. We're doing—we're doing good. She's back in Vegas working again."

"And you? What are you doing?" The housekeeper wiped two small drops of water from the countertop. With a quiet laugh, she said, "I can't see you as retired—I mean, really retired—drinking coffee with all those retired cops at Franks Diner."

With a smile, Grissom told her where he had recently traveled. "Peru is a beautiful country—doing so much to preserve and uncover its history," he added. "I'm going back again to—to finish up."

"And Sara doesn't go with you?"

Softly, Grissom chuckled, shaking his head. The housekeeper was much more direct than Heather had ever been. He said, "No, she stays here—the dog—my mother is here."

Then he saw her eyes lift slightly; her head tilted a fraction of an inch. And he realized Heather was not the only one in this house with the ability to interpret words that were not spoken.

"It works for us," he said and smiled before he emptied the glass. "Thanks for the lemonade. Tell Heather I'll call next time I'm—I'm near—sorry to miss her."

The housekeeper nodded, almost imperceptibly. She said, "I can call a taxi."

"No—no, we can walk back." With a low whistle from Grissom, Hank stood, cooled and refreshed, ready to follow his master. "Thank you for the water—and lemonade—from both of us."

As he turned toward the door, the woman said, "Would you like to leave your phone number? She'd like to hear from you again."

Pausing a few seconds, he replied, turning to face her with a smile, "I have her number—I'll—I'll be in touch. Thank you, again."

During the long walk home, Grissom thought about Heather for a few minutes, deciding she had overcome depression and sadness and moved on to a stable, and from appearances, loving relationship with her granddaughter. As a therapist, he had no doubt that Heather was first-rate.

As he and Hank crossed a busy intersection, his thoughts turned to Sara. Sara with her loving and gentle ways deserved a happy, fulfilled life. Devastated as he was at the outcome of their attempts at having a child, he knew she felt crushing pain yet had managed to push beyond her own grief to comfort him. But there was something that made him remain quiet—an irascible stubbornness—an illogical belief that she could not know what this failure meant to him.

He had given Hank a length of leash and the dog raced ahead several yards then circled back to repeat his sprint again. The dog was happy to be moving again—and toward home. Grissom's steady pace held until Hank tired of running and joined his side.

While impatient to get home, the long walk gave him time to reflect and consider. The brief stop at Heather Kessler's home had given him a glance into the future. Heather had moved on as he must.

Plans he had made—he and Sara had made—would not happen. Looking back, he knew he had been overconfident in his expectations. For a moment, he felt the humiliation again; he needed time and activity to distract him from what might have been. Time alone.

Yet, when he entered their home, found Sara asleep in bed with a book next to her, the familiarity of it, caused his breathe to catch in his chest. He realized he would always be in love with this woman. Her dark hair spread across the pillow; her arm was thrown across the bed so her hand lay on his pillow. A bare pale foot had managed to work free of covers.

Quietly, he retreated to the second bathroom and showered, fed Hank a handful of food on his way back to the bedroom, and crawled into the shared bed. Carefully, he lifted Sara's hand from the pillow and placed it on his chest.

Sara stirred in her sleep.

"It's me," whispered Grissom.

And even in her sleep, Sara shifted toward him. He was asleep in minutes.

Hours later, he woke to find himself alone in bed. Quickly raising his head, he heard quiet noise, the clink of a cup, a soft murmur of a voice, coming from the kitchen. A few minutes later, after a quick wash-up, he ambled through the house looking for Sara, found her standing at the back door, watching Hank in the back yard.

"You left me," he said as he wrapped arms around her waist.

She smiled as she turned to kiss him, her lips lightly brushing against his. "You were sleeping—I thought you needed it." Her arms twined around his neck. "It's quiet—I'm on call for tonight and not needed—let's—let's go back to bed and." Her eyes suddenly gleamed with love and mischief.

Grissom eyebrows lifted in an undisguised surprise.

Sara laughed softly and reached to frame his face with her hands. "Let's just get in bed—talk for a while—read together—and—and just be us." Her smile broadened. "We don't have to do anything—but we can." Sexy, seductive.

She knew how to get his attention. He said, "Have sex because…" At the sight of her dark eyes, sparkling with gold, an aching hunger seized him.

"Because we can," she said.

In the hours that followed, Gil Grissom remembered meeting Sara Sidle and knew she was going to be more than a mere acquaintance. Fate, luck, chemistry—whatever it was, he had known, she would be the one person who stayed in his life. The one person he loved—who loved him without question. She had waited, watched him as he stumbled through year after year, like someone worshipping a god who will become a miracle one day. Steadfast, loyal to a fault.

For a while, they read from individual books; then he read from his thick tome of Shakespeare, favorite sonnets, a short story. Sara rested her head on his shoulder as his voice, quiet and melodious, read line after line.

Gradually, the distracted hand-holding became a rhythm that stirred a change when he leaned over and kissed Sara. And the kiss was so passionate that she was moving; he was rubbing his hand along her right thigh. Her pelvis rocked forward in a way that made contact with his and minutes later, they were breathing so heavily that every breath sent a plume of sensation up and down his spine.

They were making adjustments and removing clothes—not many for him—as urgency dominated their passion. His hands were all over her body; lips barely brushed soft skin as she wiggled under him, fitting against his body as if she'd been molded for him.

Sara received him in one body-shuddering moment and then very quickly came the soft powerful explosion of her orgasm. He wanted to slow down, to take immense pleasure in this moment, but then he came as lightening, strong spasms of her vagina seemed to grip his solid erection as if to suck every drop of his fluid into her body. He drove himself into her attempting to become part of her; for a time he was.

Afterwards, he knew bliss by the look on her face; such perfect, complete joy that his sudden shame took him by surprise. How could he be the man he wanted to be with her when he was so disappointed in himself? Contrary to her assuring words, he had failed them.

A tender kiss on his chin turned his face to Sara's. Her expression, caring and loving, tempted him to reveal his crushing pain; she was equally devastated. His thoughts would not form into words. Instead, he kissed her, remaining quiet as he shifted to hold her in his arms.

After a while, Sara's fingers played on his bare chest. She asked, "What are you thinking?"

He squeezed her in a gentle hug. "Nothing—can you sleep?"

A quiet giggled followed. " are always thinking."

Sighing, he knew he'd been caught. "What I'll do next."

"Peru!" She exclaimed as she sat up, resting an arm across his chest. "Is there something else? Something you've not mentioned?"

"No—no," he assured her.

"I know you are anxious to get back." Her eyebrows cocked upward with a thought. "What would you say to this—Betty and I meet you in—in Lima—maybe another place—when you finish? See the Galapagos together—we could meet you in Quito or Lima and go from there!"

For a few minutes, he was silent; then his smile formed, slowly growing with his thoughts. "That's a good idea—I think my mom would enjoy something like that."

Almost immediately, enthusiasm filled Sara's eyes. "I know she would!" She leaned over and kissed his lips. "It will be fun for all of us!"

"Can you get the time off?"

After a quick roll of her eyes, she confirmed, "I will—your mom and me." She giggled saying, "After a month in the jungle—will you be ready for us?"

A week later…

With his feet planted firmly on the ground, Grissom knew he had made the right decision. In the deep-green jungle, digging into the mahogany-brown soil, searching for the mysteries of unknown inhabitants, he found an atmosphere where the physical exercise of work helped him escape the tangled thoughts of his mind. Except in the darkness of night.

A/N: Thank for reading! And review this time. We haven't heard from some of you in weeks! So take a few minutes and send a comment! More to come.