Disclaimer: I do not own CSI, etc.

A/N: Thanks for all the lovely reviews, they made my weekend! :) Aaaand, here's two more chapters for my wonderful readers... some sweetness, some smut, and a little bit of storyline progression... Don't worry, chapters 7 and 8 are way more storyline... although, ...I think there may still be some smut. teehee.


Chapter 5: Home

The second week of the convention was more interesting by far—mock crime scenes and experiments, competitions to determine directionality or motive or, because of me, time of death based on insect presence and state of decomposition. We left early Monday morning, stopped at the Berkeley office to pick up her diploma on the way there, and I held her hand as we moved from activity to activity, playfully competing.

I had more experience, but her logic was infallible and precise—I had the initial advantage, but by the end of everything except the insects, we were neck and neck. She seemed to be striving to impress me, and though I found the effort silly but endearing, I had to admit that it worked. I was impressed. Impressed and enamored and head-over-heels for her brilliant mind.

She kissed me softly, every now and then, and not once did I feel I was acting in a way that was unethical or wrong—not once did I think about how young she looked on my arm, or the surprised expressions her colleagues gave when she introduced me. I was happier than I had been in a lifetime, it seemed, and my only negative thoughts were directed towards the end of the week. So, when she excused herself to the ladies' room before us leaving on Wednesday, I stepped outside and made a call to Jim.

"Brass."

"Hey, Jim, it's Gil."

"Hey, how's the conference?"

"Good, good. Listen, uh… I know this isn't really a good time, and that I've already taken two weeks off, but… I have a lot of vacation time stored up. Would it be possible to take some of it?"

"…How much time were you thinking?"

"A week. Or… two. If I could get it."

He heaves a heavy sigh. "It's really short notice, Gil. I had you helping me sort applications, for George and Kathy's replacements. We've probably got near a thousand to sort through. Is it an emergency? Something with your… daughter?"

"No, no… nothing like that. Uh… listen, if I took the paperwork and worked on it all week, could I at least get the one week? I'd do all the office work, just… not in the office. Would that work?"

He chuckles softly. "Did you meet somebody, Gil?"

I feel myself blushing, but I force my voice to remain impassive. "I just need a week at home. So if you send the paperwork to my house next… Monday… I'll have a short list of people to interview by the following Monday, when I return to work."

"Fine, but only because you haven't taken any real vacation time in years… I sincerely hope you're getting laid, Gil." I'm drawing in a breath to speak as he says this, and I gag on the air in my lungs, sending me into a coughing fit, but he just laughs. "I'll take that as a yes. Have a good week, Gil." And he hangs up.

I pocket the phone as Sara comes out the doors, looking around for me. "There you are. I was looking all over for you."

"Sorry, honey, just grabbing some air… You ready?" She nods, and we link our fingers together. "So, uh… when do you start at the lab, here? Monday?"

She nods again. "They really don't need me for, like, another three weeks, so I don't know how many hours I'll have… they've already hired my replacement lab rat, but the person I'm replacing isn't done for a while…"

"So, uh… you could probably get another week off, then… if you wanted. It wouldn't be too hard…"

She makes a confused face. "I guess so… I'd have to call, but I'm sure it wouldn't make much of a difference. Why?"

I'm nervous, but excitedly so. "…Come to Vegas, with me, for a week. Come stay with me."

Her eyebrows shoot up, but she's smiling. "…Really? I mean, you'd want me to… to come home with you?"

I wrap an arm around her, squeezing her to my side. "Of course I would, Sara. I was going to stay here, for a week, but the most I could get my boss to agree to was working at home, for a week… paperwork." I add, seeing her look of confusion. She nods in understanding, and then bites her bottom lip.

"I, uh… I don't have a lot of savings, Gil. I don't think I could pay for the plane tickets. I just bought my car and…"

"I'll pay for them."

"…Gil…"

"Really, the conference paid for my tickets here… so it was like a free trip. And you saved me a tremendous amount of money in hotel costs. Let me pay for it. …Come home with me."

She smiles hesitantly, hopefully, and then nods excitedly. "Okay… I'll… I'll call the lab, see if I can get some time off."

I pull her into a kiss, deep and demanding, and she's blushing when she pulls away from me, glancing around like she's worried someone saw—as if we'd been making love instead of just kissing. I smile softly—how strange that a girl who worked so hard to get me into her bed could seem so shy now…

I made us steaks that night, while she called her boss—just before five o'clock—and pushed back her start date a week. I called the airline, and managed to get her a seat next to me on the plane—thankfully it was a fairly empty flight so far—and we curled up in bed early, our bodies molding together immediately. Everything about this woman felt perfect, and I simply couldn't get enough of her.

I was scheduled to fly out Saturday evening—we packed ourselves up, Friday night, returned my rental car, and spent Saturday afternoon at a beach in San Francisco. We swam, kissed in the surf, sun bathed, and had a picnic lunch on the sand. She even asked a tourist couple to take a picture of us with my camera, swim-suit clad, arms around each other, with the golden gate bridge behind us.

It was bitter sweet and exciting, when we packed up our belongings and changed into dry clothes in the somewhat-questionable park bathrooms just off the beach. We were leaving the time and place we had met—when everything between us had come together and felt so right and beautiful… it almost felt, to me at least, that we were now stepping into the real world… and I worried that our whirlwind romance could survive outside of it's protective cocoon.

But she was also coming to my home—entering my world and my life, in the way I had entered hers. I felt like it was a step forward—a sign of progress beyond a two-week relationship and the inevitable distance that would come between us.

We took her car to the airport, and I paid for the week in advance—I didn't want her to be put out by the trip in any way. We found a pizza place in the airport, and ate in a companionable silence, and then boarded the plane. As soon as we sat down, she broke the silence, as if the pressure to do so had been building for some time.

"So… tell me all about Las Vegas!"

I smile softly at her barely repressed excitement.

"Well, the strip is all you'd expect it to be—lights, drinking, gambling, sex… but the rest of the city is just that, a city. …People there are a little jaded, because of the strip, you know, but otherwise it's just like any other place..." I add as an afterthought, "I like the lights."

She smiles. "I wouldn't have guessed that about you."

I slide my hand into hers, linking our fingers tightly. "I suppose you're too cynical to like the lights?"

She laughs. "Something like that."

"…I'll show you how nice they can be. You just need… the proper perspective."

She grins, and lays her head on my shoulder. "You don't mind if I sleep, do you? I think the beach wore me out today… I want to be awake when we get there!"

I wrap an arm around her. "Of course not, sleep." I kiss her forehead softly. "I'll wake you before we get there."

And despite her fidgeting in her seat from the nervous excitement, she's asleep within minutes, and I spend most of the flight with my eyes closed and my head tilted back, listening to her soft breathing. I nudge her when we begin to circle McCarran, and her eyes flutter open so sweetly that I'm tempted to kiss each of her lids. I restrain myself, brushing her hair gently back from her forehead instead.

The plane lands, and she's practically bouncing in her seat with anticipation. We slide out of our row, I take both carry-on's down and carry them out, despite her protests, and we're in a cab within twenty minutes. She seems almost nervous, and squeezes my hand as I give the address.

"Sunset Drive… that sounds nice." Her voice is almost wistful. Dreamy, even.

I smile at her, sensing that we both feel our relationship is going somewhere—that sooner or later, she might be living in Vegas… might call the townhouse home. I feel a nervous rush at the thought too—but it's pleasant. After only two weeks, I feel like I can't imagine spending a day without her… I don't know what I'm going to do when she has to go back to San Francisco.

We pull up to the townhouse, and she smiles softly, peering out the window, as I pay the cab driver and collect the luggage. She has a strange expression on her face—something I can't seem to place or define, but it's childlike in nature, happy, but with a touch of fear behind it—as I lead her up to the door. I pick the key out of several on my key ring and hand it to her. "You can do the honors…"

She takes it from me almost reverently, her hands trembling, and opens the door, stepping inside. I flick the lights on and she slips out of her shoes, moving around to look inside. There's a small living area right inside the door, her eyes flicker over the lamps and the couch before continuing down the stairs, to the kitchen and the cases of my butterfly collection. She stops there, peering in and smiling, and then turns and moves through the kitchen, opening the fridge, running her fingers over the counter top, and then slipping into the hallway behind it.

I grab the carry-on's, and follow her trek, stopping to see her peek into the smallest bedroom—the office—and smile at the rows of bookshelves and the messy desk area. Then she's peering into the small guest bathroom, and the guest bedroom—never used—and finally the master. She hesitates in the doorway, glancing back at me, as if she needs permission. I move up behind her, kissing the gentle curve where her neck becomes her shoulder. "What's mine is yours, sweet."

She smiles, and steps into the room. I remain in the doorway, watching as she moves around—fingers running along the edge of the dresser, the foot board, the comforter, and then peeking into the master bathroom. I set the bags down on the bed, and look at her, my eyebrows raised. "Done investigating, Miss Sidle?"

She grins sheepishly, coming back to me from the doorway to the bathroom. "Just seeing who Dr. Grissom is in private…"

I pull her close against me and kiss her softly. "You know who I am in private, Sara… you know all of me." I press my lips to hers again, to emphasize the point. She moans softly into my mouth and I feel fire shoot down my spine.

It is with concerted effort that I pull from her, my eyes already clouded with my desire. "Did you… uh… want to see some of Vegas tonight? …Freemont Street… New York, New York… or… spend the night in?"

I try not to be obvious about my preferences in the matter, but I'm certain my voice betrays me. Her eyes flash at my words and she grins, grinding her hips gently against mine and making me draw in a surprised gasp.

"Show me some of Vegas… I promise I'll… take care of this problem…" Her fingers ran over the front of my jeans lightly—teasingly—and my whole body tenses. "…when we get back…" I groan and she giggles, dragging me back out of the bedroom, and I wonder how I spent over forty years without this woman—without this feeling. You couldn't miss what you'd never had but… Now that I had had it—had known what it could really feel like—how could I ever go back to living without her?