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Gil Grissom's Romance Part 2

Chapter 34

Over the next two weeks, the following observations and conversations occurred:

Sheriff Catherine Willows kept glancing at the new lab director. More than a dozen people crowded in a conference room, half of them talking, and Sara Sidle stood out like a—like a rose in the desert, she thought.

Someone—Brent Something-or-other—was going on and on about logistics and cameras and press for Conrad Ecklie's memorial service. Catherine knew when to show up and what she'd be wearing. Another glance at Sara.

There was something different about Sara this morning; a sharp intake of air from Catherine before she averted her eyes from Sara. Sex. That blush came from sex; looking intently without moving closer, Catherine thought she could see a darker red mark along Sara's neck. Beard rash. She was certain.

Someone—Brent—called Catherine's name and she had to stop looking and thinking about Sara.

Quickly, she thanked Brent for his excellent work and plans. She thanked everyone in the room, dismissing them with a "be safe". Immediately, a line formed to talk to her; she noticed Sara was among the first out of the room.

As the sheriff, Catherine learned quickly about the numerous demands made on the position for twenty-four hours a day. And as her days rolled into a week, she was extremely satisfied to have a trusted friend and professional as director of the crime lab.

The day before the memorial service for Ecklie, Catherine sat at the dining table in Sara's house, enjoying old friends and good food. During those hours, she watched as Gil Grissom—for lack of a better word—courted the woman he loved. It wasn't excessively noticeable and he sat at the opposite end of the table but she noticed. He knew where to find things, when glasses needed refilling; he was comfortable in this house.

The next day, the city's civic center was packed with mourners from all over the country. Conrad's only child, Morgan, was truly grief-stricken. Catherine wasn't sure anyone else would feel his loss as much as his daughter.

Someone, probably Brent, had put together a short movie about Ecklie that had the effect of making Ecklie's life seem more vibrant, rich and substantial than the lives of everyone in attendance. The sound track was perfectly synchronized for maximum impact giving irrefutable evidence that Conrad Ecklie was a good man.

Catherine almost forgot that at one time she and Ecklie had been on very friendly terms; for a short time, they disappeared, had drinks together, and jokingly talked about going further. However, there was something about the man and his insinuations that caused her to step back, truthfully consider her career, deciding their relationship should go no further. Both had moved on without regrets.

For several days afterwards, she did not see Sara. She knew Nick had returned to San Diego; she wasn't sure where Gil Grissom was but when she set eyes on Sara, she was sure Grissom was still in Las Vegas.

The two women discussed business, open cases, moving employees to other shifts, selecting candidates for job openings.

As Sara got up to leave, Catherine asked, "Is Grissom happy to be back?"

Sara response was, "He's not here. He went back to his boat—doing his 'save the ocean' work."

Catherine was surprised into silence. She would have placed a bet on the man being in town. Sara was radiant—glowing—in appearance. As Sara left the room, Catherine dismissed her thoughts, thinking she had more to do than working out why her lab director appeared to get more beautiful as she grew older.

Hanging around in the nearly empty office, Greg Sanders was as exhausted as he'd been in his memory. He felt like he'd work for days; he had worked most of the night and then spent time talking on the phone with Morgan before getting a few hours of sleep.

His eyes went to the sign on the door.

Lab Director. He grinned and then gave a soft chuckle. Made him feel old, he thought. The office was cleaned out, a new desk and several chairs had gone in. A map hung on the wall. It would not take long for Sara Sidle to make it her own.

Even before it had been official, Sara had been the informal supervisor while D.B. had let things slide as he mourned his long-time friend and co-worker's death. When he announced he was leaving, everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

When all hell broke out—Ecklie shot in Lady Heather's house, Hodges sent that message about contaminating cases, Sara had been the one who kept her cool—thus everyone else in the lab did too.

Leaning against the desk, Greg surveyed the room remembering the shelves Grissom had stacked with experiments and specimens. The place had always had a smell—what he had named "a Grissom smell" meaning the man was cooking or dissolving or letting something rot. The memories faded as he visualized Sara's office; she'd probably grow sprouts where D.B. had grown mushrooms. And it would smell of—his nose twitched—lavender or rosemary, he thought. And fresh air.

Walking to the framed map, he wondered why Sara had chosen a map—then realized it was a map of the Pacific Ocean. Now he knew.

Frustration and anger stirred as he thought about Gil Grissom. The man had arrived with Nick, stayed seven or eight days, and had left as quickly and quietly as he'd come. Greg knew where Grissom had stayed; he knew Sara had slept with him. Not that she'd told—it was the look on her face.

Then when they had dinner at Sara's, Grissom was overdoing everything. From pouring drinks to placing food on the table, he was the front-and-center host with the most as if he lived in the house all the time. Greg had listened as Grissom told the group about his work in the Pacific, all-the-while thinking of the days when Sara's sadness had been so profound to be painful to all of them.

Leaning closer, Greg smiled when he found a small, faint line of dots from Vegas to Los Angeles. Someone had marked a route with a pencil. He would never understand love; he did know Sara had never looked twice at another man.

Stepping back from the map, Greg turned his thoughts to Morgan. She had left town with her mother for awhile. A month, she'd said. When she returned, they would decide their future. A promise both had made.

Just then, Sara appeared in the doorway, two people trailing behind her. Her relief was obvious when she came into her office, closing the door behind her.

"Thank you for being here, Greg!" She took one of the chairs, waving for him to do the same. "I can sit here and let my mind go blank for five minutes." She laughed as she twirled the chair left then right. "You know, now I know why a sofa was in here."

Greg sat in the other chair, laughing, as he said, "Grissom didn't have a sofa."

"No, but Brass did and Grissom used it." Leaning back, she placed her feet on the desk and closed her eyes. "Just sit with me—I need a full minute of quiet time."

He let three minutes pass before saying, "You don't want to be lab director, do you?"

Not even opening her eyes, she asked, "Is it that obvious?"

"Not at all. You actually cut quite a figure at the memorial service—I think everyone there noticed you."

One eye opened. "Yeah? I was in Catherine's shadow—no one noticed anyone else."

Greg chuckled. "That's what you think. Catherine's old news in the," another chuckle, "in the UST department. Every man there noticed you."

Sara moved her feet to the floor and sat up, looking at him. "Greg, I'm too old for this. And what is UST, anyway?"

"Unresolved sexual tension. Means you're hot."

"Oh, dear God. I am not hot—I don't feel hot. I never felt 'hot' in that way."

"You've always been hot." When he said that, he moved away, ready for his buddy's fist punch, laughing as his chair rolled across the floor.

Instead, Sara laughed, shook her head at his laughter. Frowning, she said, "You should have been showing your respect and you were checking out the women!"

"I wasn't checking out the women—I was checking out who was looking at you—other than Grissom." Turning the chair in circles, he moved closer to her. "Tell me—how is Grissom? Honestly, I can't believe he left you."

Sara smiled. "He has his work—his boat—he loves being on the ocean. He knows where I am—he'll come home."

Leaning forward, Greg placed his elbows on his knees, clasped his hands together, and rested his chin on his knuckles. He said, "I want you to be happy, Sara. Morgan and I think we can be happy together—she says she is going to quit her job, go back to school—be a teacher." His mouth twisted. "I should have let her tell you."

"I'm glad you did." She leaned back and closed her eyes again. "I think the past few weeks have caught up with me."

"I'll leave. Give you some quiet time."

Sara chuckled, saying, "I'm at work—and there's a ton of work to do." She stood, as did Greg. "How is everyone doing? The new guys?"

"Good—three at one time. That's never happened, but it was a good idea to pair each one with someone with experience."

With that, he left her. Something still niggled in his brain; not just Sara's admission about her new job, but something else.

Nick Stokes received a message from the harbor police when Gil Grissom arrived at his boat which had been moored at the San Diego harbor for nearly two weeks. Surprised, Nick had thought Grissom would stay in Vegas for a while.

Sitting at Sara's table, he'd been pleased to see everyone and happy when Sara and Grissom were obviously happy together. He had never understood why the man had left and never returned. They all knew Sara was a one-man woman; she never showed the slightest interest in any other man.

During the meal, everyone talked and laughed, rehashing old stories and shared experiences. They had talked about good times, none of the shared sadness they had lived through. Even Brass had been jovial, in good spirits, as some of their talk went back years. He—Brass—had talked about Annie Kramer in fond terms and every one of them had teased him about finding a love life.

Not one person had mentioned Grissom and Sara, both appeared to be as much in love as they had in—Nick actually counted up in years, surprised to realize it had been nearly six years since this group had been together.

In unguarded moments, he had seen Sara look at Grissom, holding her eyes on him as he talked or watched Grissom as he kept his hand on Sara for much longer than necessary. They were lovers; he was sure of it.

He'd watch Catherine and Sara during Ecklie's memorial service, hiding his grin when he realized he was mesmerized by Sara. Sure, he had always known Sara had an unusual beauty—not flamboyant like Catherine—but a subtle, understated beauty. And wearing a black suit—something about a woman wearing black—and then he noticed he was not the only man who followed the new lab director's movements.

Sara had been the one to drive him to the airport. And she looked radiant. And she had promised to visit him in San Diego—soon.

He sat back and pondered Grissom's arrival in San Diego. The man did have a boat—maybe he was running it up the coast. Reaching for the stack of paperwork on his desk, he shook his head. He would never understand love.

Sara was oblivious to most of the thoughts of her friends and co-workers. She'd had a very busy and bizarre two weeks in her new job. Her ex-husband arriving had been a surprise which turned into a good thing—more than a good thing. They had confirmed their love; she smiled at that thought.

Gil Grissom said he had been celibate during their separation but he had not lost his magic touch. When he presented her with panties and pajamas and one piece teddies, she'd laughed so hard she cried. And then they had made love for hours.

Hours. Her body actually tingled thinking about what they had done—and would do again in the future. They had made love on every bed in the house. Flushing as she remembered how Grissom had loved every inch of her body—from the bottom of her feet to the top of her head. Knowing he loved her as he did made it easier for him to leave—at least she didn't cry as she left him at the airport.

She had come to terms with his desire to continue working on his boat; he enjoyed it, she knew. Just as they had done in the past, they were going to commute. The distance between Vegas and LA was short. Frequent flights—as soon as she settled into this new job—she would fly to meet him.

They didn't make specific plans.

She shifted files on the desk; the paperwork was never-ending. Wiping her hand across her eyes, she knew what she wanted. A nap. For some reason she could not shake the exhaustion; even after hours of sleep, she felt tired and sleepy.

After six phone calls, two visitors, and signing her name to a dozen forms, Sara leaned over, placed her head on the desk and closed her eyes.

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