A/N: A new chapter! Let us know what you think!

Gil Grissom's Romance Part 2

Chapter 33

After visiting for several hours with Jim Brass, Gil Grissom had a plan. It started with the upscale shops in the Eclipse Casino. Brass handed him a card with a telephone number.

"Call this number and the guy will drive you where you want to go," Brass said as he gave a small white card to Grissom. He watched as Grissom ambled away, walking in the direction of the shopping mall where gamblers and wives and girlfriends purchased expensive, high end clothing, jewelry and watches, shoes and bags, fragrances, even mink key rings—he'd seen it all and hoped his friend had a charge card with a high limit.

Grissom was on a mission; he had not been shopping—really shopping—in two years. It usually took him twenty minutes or less to buy whatever he needed. But this wasn't a 'need' shopping trip.

In the first shop, he quickly found what he wanted with the assistance of two young women who asked a few questions and showed him several pieces of jewelry before he decided on a long gold chain with a dangling crystal. A "modern delicate" style one of the women explained as the other wrapped the gift.

The next store was familiar; he'd shopped in one for several years once he had realized he enjoyed their line of intimate wear and Sara liked to wear it. Thinking it might be presuming too much, he had run the idea by Jim Brass who immediately voiced encouragement.

It was easy to select—blue, black, red, and a creamy white. He realized he was getting an almost forgotten growing warmth developing below his waist just by touching the silky fabric that he hoped to see on Sara. He thought, 'How pathetic I am' and then decided he wasn't pathetic—just ready to end the long months of solitary living.

He asked the woman who handed him his pink shopping bag where he could find good candy. She told him, pointing in the direction of the store.

When he completed his shopping adventure, he called the number on Jim's card and a few minutes later, he was in a dark blue car heading to Sara's house. And doubt and uncertainty worried its way to the forefront of his thoughts.

The driver had noticed the pink shopping bag and the gold-wrapped candy box and commented, "Looks like you are getting prepared for an apology or a very nice evening."

Grissom laughed. "Hoping for both—acted like a fool and now I'm seeking to make things right."

The two men had a quiet laugh before Grissom asked, "Do you know a good florist? I need one more thing."

The florist was a great one. As Grissom moved from one kind of flower to another, from a potted plant to tray of perennials, the florist arranging a large colorful bouquet watched for several minutes before approaching.

In a few minutes, the man had asked questions and was arranging several fragrant herbs in a stone planter.

"She will enjoy these—even if she doesn't cook!" The florist pressed a flowering plant into the soil and then stuck small identifying markers beside each plant.

The house was lighted when they arrived but no car in the driveway meant Sara had not gotten home. The two men worked quickly to get everything inside and after the driver left, Grissom was at loose ends, trying to decide what to do next, then thinking he had gotten too much to give to Sara at once, worrying she would not like any of it. Or perhaps he was rushing to win intimacy.

He paced. When he got to the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks. No food. He thought he had been so clever with his shopping—and now, there was no food. He opened the refrigerator and found what he expected—leftovers in plastic containers, a small block of cheese, wilted greens, yogurt, half a bottle of wine, and three beers. Obvious that Sara didn't cook much, he thought.

Looking for take-out menus, he opened several drawers finding kitchen utensils, kitchen towels, even the cutting board, familiar. Tucked into a drawer, he found one curled pizza menu. As he closed the last drawer, he wondered if Sara had changed anything in the years since he'd left. Leaning against the refrigerator, he unrolled the paper menu; old, creased, with his handwriting along the edge. A message he had written. Taking a deep breath, he pressed his hand against his aching chest.

Jim Brass had been right.

After a few minutes, he dialed the number on the pizza menu, surprised when the call was answered by a voice asking, "Are you ready to order? What size?"

A hot pizza arrived at the front door minutes after Grissom had gotten out of the shower. Still no Sara. The pizza went into the oven.

He wanted to call her—or send her a text message. He hesitated, changed his mind, pocketed his phone, and paced around the house. Twice, he almost opened the door to Sara's bedroom, backing away each time. Finally, he took a beer to the terrace where he raised his feet to rest on a footstool, took a long swallow of the beer, and leaned his head against the back cushion of the chair.

"Gil."

He heard the soft voice only seconds before feeling a hand on this leg.

"Sara."

A blissful smile, one he had not seen since he arrived, was on her face. As he scrambled to get up, he knocked over the stool; extending her hand to him, the smile remained.

She said, "I smelled food—and found a beautiful pot of plants on the table—when I came in."

Grissom managed to stand and place the stool upright before facing Sara. And then he lost his voice and stumbled for words as she stood in front of him with that delightful smile on her face.

"I—uh—I—ordered pizza—vegetarian—uh—uh—it's warm. In the oven."

Sara took a few steps back. "And the plants?"

"I—I know you love plants."

She kept a smile on her face as she turned, heading back into the house. He followed. Effortlessly, she reached in the refrigerator, retrieving two beers, turned and pulled the pizza out of the oven, nodded in the direction of plates and napkins, and carried the pizza and beers back to the terrace.

Grissom followed with plates and napkins.

"How was Jim?"

"Good—it was—it was good to visit with him."

They placed everything on a round table; Sara moved beers and plates so they were across the table from each other with pizza between them. Then Grissom remembered the necklace and chocolate.

"I'll be right back."

When he returned, he placed the box of candy on the table. "For you—I—I—thought you—you might like this."

Surprise caused Sara's eye's to widen. "Candy and plants? Wow! What's going on?"

He took the chair across from her. Condensation covered the beer bottles; small droplets of water shimmered and gleamed with tiny points of light.

"I—I wanted to thank you—for—for letting me stay here. You didn't have to make the offer."

She reached for a slice of pizza and formed it in a fold hold; something Grissom had noticed for years as her method of eating pizza. Watching her bite into it was a pleasure.

He was fairly certain she was chewing very slowly for a reason. He said, "You've done a great job here—the house looks great."

He got a slight nod and continued, "And at work—it's—it's easy to see why you are the director now."

She made a humming sound, took a swallow of beer, before saying, "I think it was my time—seniority or something—stayed here long enough." She shrugged. "Who would have thought—you were the one to leave and I stayed."

"Sara—Sara." He placed his uneaten slice on the plate. "We need to talk—I—I mean—really talk. About us."

Her pizza slice slid from her fingers to her plate; her fingers touched a napkin and brought it to her lips. She said, "I—I don't know—what do you want to say?" A ghost of a smile played along her lips before a crease formed between her eyebrows.

For a few seconds, he thought she was teasing him before he looked at her eyes. And then he knew. He knew he'd been a fool; he knew he had hurt her deeply. And he knew he'd been forgiven.

Reaching into his pocket, he brought out the small jewelry box, pushed the pizza aside, and placed it in front of Sara before saying, "I'm trying to say I'm sorry for what I've done, for how I hurt you."

She did not open the box; instead, she covered his hand with hers. "Shhh," she said as her fingers went to her lips. "Don't say anything else, please." Her fingers tightened around his. "As much as—as much as I'd like to think we could go back to the way things were," her words rushed, "I'm not sure we—I can do that." Her thumb stroked the top of his hand. "I know—I know this has been an emotional upheaval for both of us—seeing each other again after all this time—in a tragic situation."

If a heart could actually sink, Grissom knew his did. He didn't move, didn't speak.

Her fingers joined her thumb in softly stroking his hand. "I know you love me," she whispered. Her eyes met his. "And I love you—always will. We had some great times—the best I'll ever have were with you."

Releasing his hand, she reached for pizza, not the box, before continuing, "Thank you for the pizza—it's good—and the candy and the plants." She made a soft chuckle, saying, "God, I sound like some—some old lady."

"You are not an old lady."

A brief, sad smile flickered across her face. "We are like ships, Gil. Crossing paths and blinking lights at each other."

Grissom could not believe his ears. He said, "We are not ships. We are people—two people who love each other. One," he pointed to his chest, "Has been a fool—running around trying to—to—on some kind of quest for something—and what I really wanted was here—right here waiting."

Sara nodded her head in agreement. "Yes, I've been here." Sighing, she took another bite of pizza, chewing slowly, and then lifted the beer, taking a long swallow. "I'm so tired," she said. "I need sleep." A quiet laugh. "Never thought you'd hear me say that—at one time, I was never tired. But I'm exhausted—I think if I could sleep for twenty-four hours, I'd appreciate having you here—appreciate your kindness."

Her half-eaten pizza was on her plate; most of the beer remained in the bottle.

Standing, she walked around the table and placed her hand on his shoulder. "I need a shower and a few hours of sleep. Again, thank you for the food, the plants—the candy and—and the gift—I—I'll look at it later."

Her hand left his shoulder and she quickly disappeared into the house.

After a few minutes of stunned silence, he gathered pizza, plates, and beer bottles and took everything to the kitchen. The necklace remained on the table. He considered making coffee but decided it would keep him awake and somehow found himself back on the terrace. He sat down heavily, chewing his lip, his eyes wandering around the darkened yard and back to the jewelry box.

His plan had disappeared; a wasted, futile strategy. His head dropped to his hands. What could he do? There was no making up, no way to go back in time.

He did not know how long he sat on the terrace before his mind arrived at an answer. Life wasn't neat and well organized and presenting gifts and at this point, he had nothing to lose.

Walking back into the house, he listened intently for sounds. Hearing nothing, he walked to the closed bedroom door and knocked.

He heard "Yes" and opened the door. Sara was sitting on the bed, a pillow against the headboard, a book in her lap. When he stepped through the door, she looked up, but did not speak, did not seem happy to see him.

Grissom crossed the room, knelt beside the bed, and placed his folded hands next to her thigh. "Sara, I'm so sorry for all the years, for everything. I can't atone," he whispered. "I do love you. I—I have a hard time saying those words to you."

For a long moment, she remained where she was and then she slid to the floor, holding his hands in hers.

"I think I'm wishing for a—a miracle," she said.

He smiled at her. "You never did stop loving me, did you?"

"No, never."

"I must have hurt you very much."

She smiled. "Not in the way you think. I knew you loved me—and—and I knew I could wait. A patient person always wins in the end." Her fingers touched his chin and then she reached for her book. She pulled a well-folded piece of paper from between the pages. "I've always kept this close."

Immediately, he knew what she held. "You've still got it?" Unfolding the letter, he smiled as he read it, remembering the time he'd tried to write her a letter and had copied a very old poem.

Sara's hand came to his. Softly, in a whisper, she said, "Kiss me."

He did.

Languorous and deep, an opportunity to taste and smell and feel, settled by layers into voluptuous ease. Their hands searched and spread, held and hardened against the other. Like coming home, recognizing every part of her with his hands and body.

At some point, he revealed he had made love to her a thousand times in his imagination which completely captivated her.

A few minutes later, she demanded he finish; his arms were around hers so strongly he could feel the contours of her bones. And he did. Finish what had been started.

A while later, wrapped in a sated peace, rumpled sheets covering their bodies, they had fallen into a rhythm of slow and easy breathing; his head lay against her shoulder. Her leg was thrown over his. Gently, he moved, turning to his back, inviting her to slide deeper into the intimacy between them. Her hand caressed his thigh and slid to cup around the languid form of his penis. Gradually, it was not languid and undemanding but rising and rigid and she wanted him again.

Thoughts and senses merged as her joyous cry was smothered by a happiness that shook both so deeply that they lost awareness of everything beyond their bodies.

A/N: A few more chapters coming. We appreciate hearing from you!