Disclaimer: I don't own them.

A/N: Here's another chapter. :( It made me sad just proof-reading it, so fair warning...

I might have to rewatch the very end of tonight's episode, because it made me all kinds of happy... I love CSI, even if they tricked me into thinking we'd get a Grissom cameo... and even if they took forever to put Sara in another episode... Grr!

Anyway, let me know what you think... :)


Chapter 3: Fight

Sara and I had never fought. Not really. When she left me, for the most part she made calm accusations and I watched her leave in silent bewilderment. When I stopped talking to her… I told her I loved her and said goodbye, before I tried to block her out of my life. When I had spoken too personally in instant messages, she had merely signed off… When she tried to kiss me in Kelly's guest bed, I rationally told her I couldn't, and though she had cried, we hadn't raised our voices in anger.

So when we had our first fight—and over a topic which completely confused me—I was hardly prepared for it.

The night had started normally enough—having all pulled a double, the team was on-call but otherwise going home to get some much needed sleep. I had booked Sara into a hotel room—having not realized she'd stashed her luggage in my office after I gave her no indication of how long or where she would be staying. I considered giving her my guest bedroom but… lines were so easily blurred with Sara, and I couldn't imagine spending another night in bed with her and making the same decision to not be intimate.

I ran home for a quick shower and a change of clothes and picked her back up at the hotel about an hour later—she looked like she'd showered too. Her curls, which had been pinned up around her face later in the day, now looked softer and more controlled. Her eyes were bright, and the smile as exuberant as ever, but there was a pinched look in her eyes too… a tightness I couldn't define.

Maybe I should have seen it coming.

We decided on one of the restaurants downstairs, and were seated shortly after, which was a rare treat when eating in a Vegas hotel. She sighs softly as we take our seats and I take a minute just to breath in the moment—no one had ever filled me up the way she did with nearness alone.

"So, what did you think of the team…? Were they all what you expected?" She had heard a great deal about all of them from me, which, in retrospect, could have biased her report, but it clearly hadn't… I'd always spoken of Warrick in glowing terms.

She tilts her head, a small smile on her face. "They were… very like your descriptions. Still, though, they surprised me, a little. I think they must act differently, around you, than they do when you're not around…"

I cock an eyebrow. "I suppose that's true. What surprised you…?"

She grins. "Catherine caught Cooper by offering him a 'little bling-bling…' though neither of us really knew what it meant…"

I chuckle—the seductive tone her voice took on when mimicking Catherine actually sounded very like the woman… and left no doubt in my mind to the sexual undertone of the phrase. "Yeah, she's… fearless." I say, because it's a trait which I both admire and find eternally frustrating. The corners of Sara's mouth turn down.

"Nick seemed nice… I didn't see him much, but he looks at you like… like the sun rises and sets at your discretion." I shift uncomfortably in my chair—I knew Nick viewed me as a mentor, but that kind of devotion made me uncomfortable, to say the least. To hide this discomfort, I change the subject—

"What did you think of Warrick?"

This was obviously not a wise choice. Her eyes widen just slightly, her eyebrows rise almost to her hairline, and her lips part in surprise—she paints a pretty picture, but there's a fire in her eyes that I've seen before… but never directed at me. It is somehow fiercer when I'm the object of its attention—I can almost feel the heat against my skin.

"I thought he should have been fired. I think that was pretty clear."

Her voice is harder than I expect, though the fire should have warned me. My head moves back in surprise, but I try to answer calmly… rationally.

"I asked you here to investigate… not make the final decisions in my team."

"Your team? You've been the acting supervisor for all of a day. You weren't willing to risk your job as a top CSI in the lab to have me in Vegas with you, but you're willing to risk your supervisor position over a man who is responsible for the death of a young girl?"

My eyes narrow. That isn't fair, and she knows it. I see the acknowledgement of it in her eyes, but it seems to make the fire burn hotter. "He wasn't responsible for her death. He didn't follow orders, but it isn't lab policy to accompany rookies to scenes that are low-profile, straight-forward, or low-risk. PD is going to be investigating too, as to why the officer on the scene left."

She rolls her eyes, scathingly. "Regardless, you let me walk away for just the thought of those people's disapproval. But for him, you couldn't care less. He can place bets instead of following orders, but if I—"

"Sara." I interrupt, too harshly, because I won't go down that road again. I've relived the day enough times in my own mind without having to walk through it, moment by moment, with her. She stops, abruptly, and I close my eyes. "We both know that you left without giving me a chance. We both know that I didn't choose my job over you. And we both know that, as an investigator—either in the field or just doing me a favor—your job is to collect the evidence and let someone else decide what to do with it."

Her lovely lips pucker now, the same way they do when she's being playful or seductive, but they're thinner in anger. They draw her whole face down. "Yeah, but the DA doesn't ignore me when I hand him a gun with bloody fingerprints on the grip. If my efforts were merely a show so that you could pretend you were being fair… if I was simply helping you hide under some false guise of morality… then you shouldn't have wasted my time bringing me here."

Again, I'm taken aback. I draw in a deep breath. "Sara… hours before Warrick left her at a scene, I dropped her off at burglary at a liquor store in which she had a gun drawn on her by the owner… the only difference was that Jim hadn't told me to shadow her. …He's not guiltier of her death because she died at his scene and not at mine... or because Brass let his power go to his head… I couldn't fire him without stepping down myself."

Her lips fall open again, and she blinks too often, as if trying to disguise the apology in her eyes. I see it anyway. I exhale slowly, softening my voice.

"Sara… I don't believe her death was Warrick's fault, though he certainly blames himself. And I didn't call you here for appearances' sake. I believed that I didn't have a choice—I was going to fire him, once I'd read your report. …This team is the only family I have, Sara…" The look in her eyes tells me this hurts her, but there's nothing to be done for it. "…and if Warrick didn't do anything which truly endangered her—like leaving her without an officer—then I'm not going to send him away."

She looks down, and a waiter moves over to us. From the look on his face, he's been waiting until we stopped fighting to approach… I order us two cokes, and he moves away. When she speaks again, her voice is broken.

"Why could you… forgive him… but not me?"

I sigh, softly. "I have… forgiven you."

"…He gets to go back to being your star CSI, and I'm left on the sidelines."

"Sara…"

"No, Gil… or is it Grissom, here? Just… forget I said anything."

"Sara…" I try again, but apparently she didn't mean it when she said to forget her words.

"It's just that—"

"Come work in Vegas, Sara." I say, even though I had meant to ask her differently, because if I don't get it out there, she'll never stop speaking long enough for me to say it at all.

"I… what?"

My heart is hammering in my chest. "Come… work in Vegas. I… I'm short a CSI, again. I don't really have the time, with all the changes, to take applications and do interviews… You're more than qualified, and wasting your talent in San Francisco. Come… work with me."

She stares at me for so long with that deer-in-the-headlights look that I start to worry about what her answer will be. I hadn't even considered that she wouldn't accept the job offer. I feel nervous. She clears her throat. The sound actually startles me.

"On… on the graveyard shift?"

We both knew that she is asking quite a bit more than just what time of the day she'd be working. Members on a team weren't allowed to be involved… and I would be her boss. I'd already made it clear that the reason I hadn't wanted her on grave had been because of that rule. …So she knew I wouldn't ask her to work on grave if I had any intention of us having a relationship when she moved here. I was asking her to move with the full knowledge that we wouldn't be together.

I nod, slowly, and my mouth is dry. Maybe it wasn't rational, asking an ex-lover to come work with me… but I could truly think of no better addition to the team, even just in professional terms. And the idea of having her around every day was tempting as much as it was painful.

Her deep, dark, beautiful brown eyes meet mine, and I find that I've never seen them darker. They reveal nothing of her emotions—a first. Even falsely-confident Sara's eyes betrayed her more often than not. Her gaze is steady, and for the first time since we began this conversation, her hands aren't shaking. Her chin rises slowly, an act of defiance.

"Okay… I'll have to go back to Frisco… pack up my apartment, give notice… find a place here. I don't have money to move…" Her eyes narrow and she fixes me tightly in that expressionless stare, her voice turning coy and yet dangerous. "How badly does the Las Vegas Crime Lab want me?"

Another misleading question—she's asking how badly I want her. I won't tell her, though… I won't reveal that it's a need so deep and pulling that it feels as though it has simply always been a part of me. "There are… resources in the lab budget to offset the financial burden of transfer for a highly-sought recruit. I can direct you to human resources tomorrow, to speak with them about it…"

She nods, and her eyes find the table, her lips twitching in disappointment.

"Great. Thanks… boss."

I wince at the title, but she seems to draw some sort of satisfaction from this—she's relieved that she isn't the only one of us hurting. I swallow hard. "You don't need to call me that. …Grissom will be fine."

Okay, I admit it; I was trying to hurt her too. I was being petty, and cold, but it was only to assuage the aching in my breast that would not subside. Her breath hitches at my words, but I pretend not to hear it. I pretend not to see the tears in her eyes, too.

And I pretend not to be surprised when she pulls a five dollar bill from her purse and drops it on the table, breathing out a "I'll let you know when I can start…" before she leaves me alone at our table.

I give her ten minutes to make a getaway, though I don't want to, because I know that if I catch her I'll apologize… admit the depth of my pain, submit to what my head denies my heart…

I leave another five on the table, both our drinks sitting cold and untouched—I hadn't even noticed the waiter set them before us. I move slowly out, to my car, and she isn't there, but I don't expect her to be.

I sleep alone that night, and though this is normal for me, I feel it more than usual… like my solitude is a weight pressing around me in the darkness of the bedroom we had made love in more times than I could count. The only bright spot—and it isn't, really, because it's also the reason for the weight—is that Sara will be living here now, and I'll get to see her every day.

I could do this, surely… look and not touch… be satisfied with her presence and her smile and her mere proximity… Really, I could. It couldn't possibly drive me crazier than the distance had…

Yet even without the distance… even with her sleeping in the same city, tonight…

I feel so alone.