AN: I started this story seventeen years ago (God, I feel old!), probably around the time Nesting Dolls aired here. I honestly don't know why I started posting it, I usually don't start posting until a story is (more or less) finished. It's been nagging at the back of my mind every time I got back into writing since then, but it wasn't until I decided to rewatch the show after watching the reboot, and I got back into the CSI/GSR fandom, that I actually felt like I could continue it. I've been working on it for a few months now, and finally, the last chapter is done, so I decided to start, or continue, posting!

I've edited the first six chapters and updated them here – if you've already read them, it's not essential to go back and reread as it's mostly linguistic changes (my style has changed quite a bit since I started this!) but there might be some plot stuff that's been updated as well, so it couldn't hurt ;) I'm hoping to be able to stick to a schedule of posting twice a week going forward

And with that, let's get started! It's going to be quite a ride – this little story ended up 44 chapters and roughly 100K words long…

Disclaimer: I don't own anything relating to CSI

Chapter 1

As the morning light peeking through the half-open blinds slowly pulls her from sleep, Sara stretches in bed, working out a few muscle kinks and enjoying the feel of the rays of sunlight on her body. It took a while to get back to a 'normal' schedule after working nights for years, her body resisting the change in the circadian rhythm it had gotten used to even more so than when she made the change to nights, but letting in the morning light had helped.

She knows she'll soon have to draw the curtains at night, as the sunrise comes earlier and earlier with each passing spring day, but she can enjoy the soft wake-up call for a little while longer. It's not like she's ever needed that much sleep – she doesn't mind waking up a little earlier than she needs to.

Looking over at the alarm clock, she notes that she still has fifteen minutes before it's set to go off. She loves mornings like these, when she has a few moments to herself, can ease into being awake instead of jolting out of bed. It doesn't happen very often.

Since leaving Las Vegas, she's mostly tried not to look back too much. It's just too hard to focus on the present, to move forward, while still clinging to the past. But today… the memories are already tugging to get her attention, and for once she doesn't fight them, instead allowing her mind to unravel the days.

One thousand, three hundred and sixty. That's how many days it's been since that day in Las Vegas, the day that changed her life on so many levels.

"Do you think there's a murder gene?"

He looked at her for a long moment before answering.

"I don't believe that genes are a predictor of violent behavior," he replied finally, the words carefully chosen, she knew.

"You wouldn't know that in my house. The fights, the yelling, the trips to the hospital. I thought it was the way that everybody lived. When my mother killed my father, I found out that it wasn't." She could feel herself starting to break down, could feel the cracks spreading through the walls she'd built up so carefully, but at that moment, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that she had finally told someone about her past, her childhood, and they hadn't turned their back on her.

As the tears started streaming down her cheeks, she noticed how Grissom moved a little uncomfortably beside her. She knew he didn't know how to react to this side of her. It had been years since she let her guard down enough around him to actually cry. No wonder he didn't know what to do.

His hand closing around hers was like a lifeline, and she clung to it, trying to hold back tears that were years in the making, and failing miserably. A moment later, she felt him tug on her hand and let him pull her from the armchair to the couch next to him. He put an arm around her, only slightly awkward, and guided her head to his shoulder, rubbing gentle circles on her back. She was too tired, both emotionally and physically, to even process the simple act, so instead she just relaxed in his semi-embrace and cried.

Whether minutes or hours passed, Sara didn't know, but finally the tears seemed to dry up, at least for the moment. She knew they would be back later, during nightmares or cases that hit too close to home. They always came back.

Lifting her head from Grissom's shoulder, she wiped her eyes.

"Sorry," she mumbled, embarrassed. "Didn't mean to cry all over you."

"You don't need to apologize," he assured her, voice warm. "Sometimes it helps to just let it all out. Are you feeling better?"

"A little, I guess." She tried a small smile as she looked up at him.

She didn't realize he was still so close, just a couple of inches away. She could tell, by the way his eyes widened slightly, that he wasn't prepared either.

She should move back, she really should. Put some distance between them.

But then again, he could do that too.

Instead, he lifted his free hand to wipe away a lone tear she must have missed, then cupped her face gently. She pulled in a shaky breath as he moved a fraction of an inch closer, but didn't move. She couldn't, she was frozen in place by his gaze. He hesitated for just a second, eyes searching hers, and she wasn't sure what he found, but he closed the rest of the distance between them, his mouth finding hers.

When Sara woke up, the first thing she noticed was that she was alone in bed. She hadn't been when she fell asleep. Her stomach immediately dropped as she turned on the lamp on the bedside table to find what she already knew she would. An empty spot beside her, the sheets cold when she slid a hand over them.

Getting out of the bed, she tried to tell herself that he had just gone into the kitchen to make breakfast, or was in the bathroom. Anything to keep her mind from forming the conclusion that he had left before she woke up.

Finding the living area empty, Sara continued to the bathroom, where the open door revealing an empty room destroyed the last of her hope. He wasn't there. Of course he wasn't there. She didn't even bother looking for a note, knowing there wouldn't be one.

Dropping down on the couch, where he'd held her only a few hours ago, she let out a long, tired breath. She should have known this would happen. She should have stopped it before it went as far as it did. But she had been hoping that maybe, just maybe, he had finally overcome whatever fears it was that kept him from her.

Clearly, she had been wrong.

"So, this is where you're hiding?" Sara tried to joke, taking a step into Grissom's office and pulling the door closed behind her. He glanced up at her briefly, carefully not meeting her eyes, before returning to the papers on his desk.

"I'm not hiding," he replied, voice carefully devoid of any emotion, and she sighed. So, they were back to that. "Paperwork."

"I was kidding," she said. "I just figured, after the way you… took off last week, you might not want to see me."

Her suspension had been the longest seven days of her life. Each day, her hope that he would call, would reach out in some way, was dashed further. All she got was an official looking email saying he had managed to convince Ecklie to not fire her but that she was still suspended for a week. And tonight, her first shift back, he had sent her off on a suspicious death with Nick without even looking at her. She hadn't seen him all shift.

"I'm sorry, I just… sorry." He didn't look up from the desk, saying the words to the papers in front of him instead of her.

"I think we probably need to talk about this," Sara said.

"There's nothing to talk about," he replied, and she felt her stomach drop even further.

"Are you just going to pretend like nothing happened?" she asked incredulously, and Grissom finally looked up.

"It's for the best, Sara," he said to a point somewhere above her left shoulder.

"The best for who?" she demanded, anger welling up inside her, replacing the pain for at least a moment. It was a relief, to be honest. Anger, she could handle. "You might not want to think about it, but something did happen, you can't just sweep it under the rug and forget about it. If we're going to continue working together, we need to at least…"

"It was a mistake," he interrupted her. "It was a mistake, and it shouldn't have happened, and I'm sorry." Sara just stood there dumbstruck for a moment, trying to process what he just said.

"OK." She nodded, feeling tears rise in her eyes, surprised that her voice came out steady. She clung desperately to the fading anger as she continued. "If that's the way you want to do this, fine." Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry, she turned on her heel and left the office. He made no effort to follow her.

Sara sighs, shrugging the memory off. Over the last few years, she's wondered more than once what would have happened if Grissom had never showed up at her door that day. She wouldn't be where she is today, that's for sure. She would probably still be in Las Vegas, trying to make him notice her. Working her ass off to be the best CSI in the lab, lapping up the scraps of attention and appreciation he deigned to give her when he felt like it. Jealous of every woman he so much as looked at.

In many ways, that life might be easier than the one she lives now. But she wouldn't go back and change things even if she could. Not for anything in the world.

She still remembers the look on his face when she told him she was leaving, almost two months after they slept together. At first, he looked like he didn't believe her, like he thought she was joking, and it's not like she could blame him – she had threatened to leave before, after all. No doubt he thought he'd be able to change her mind again, maybe with another plant. When he realized that she was deadly serious, he had looked… not hurt, but… disappointed, that's it. Like she hadn't lived up to his expectations. In his eyes, she had let him down. If only he knew how much he had let her down too.

"What's this?" Grissom asked, picking up the piece of paper Sara had just dropped on his desk. She said nothing, just crossed her arms over her chest and waited for him to read for himself. "Are you asking me to approve your transfer?" He looked up at her, confusion written all over his face.

"No." She shook her head, and he looked at the paper again. He must have found Ecklie's signature, because he dropped the paper and looked up at her again, frowning.

"Is this some sort of joke?" he asked.

"Of course not," she huffed, a little insulted that he would think so little of her.

"Then what is it?"

"I just wanted to tell you myself, before Ecklie makes it official," she explained. To be honest, it had been tempting to not say anything, to see his face when he found out from Ecklie at the weekly assembly, but in the end, she couldn't. Maybe she was still hoping that he'd try to stop her. Maybe she just felt like she owed him that much, at least. They did use to be friends, after all, despite everything that had happened between them lately. "There's an opening at the San Francisco crime lab, I'm leaving in three weeks."

He stared at her for a long moment, processing her words, she assumed. She remained completely still, meeting his gaze head-on, refusing to back down despite her heart pounding so hard she could hear it in her ears.

"What do you want from me?" he finally asked, and Sara knew he wasn't just talking about her leaving.

"I want you to let me go," she replied, though it was the farthest thing from what she really wanted as you could possibly get. The transfer wasn't some mind game, she really had to leave, but a small part of her still hoped it might make him react. Do something. Realize that this thing between them was more important than appearances or whatever it was that kept his walls up.

He looked away from her, eyes falling back to the paper, one hand fiddling with the corner of it. "And if I can't do that?"

"Then I need you to give me a reason to stay." He didn't respond for a full minute, and even though Sara knew he wouldn't, it still hurt somewhere deep inside. "That's what I thought."

She left the office, closing the door behind her. This time she didn't expect him to follow her.

It had been so hard to leave. Not just him, but everyone. It wasn't until she had been in San Francisco for a couple of weeks that she realized that the reason she was feeling like crap was that she hadn't only left a job in Vegas. She had left her friends and her home. Her family, in every way that mattered. The only family she'd had for so long.

Luckily, she had been so busy with life and her new, or old, job, depending on how you looked at it, that she hadn't been able to dwell too much on what she had left behind. She just tucked it away somewhere in the back of her mind, locked the door and threw away the key, like she had with so many memories before. For over three years, or the one thousand, two hundred and seventy days since she left Vegas, it worked. Even if there hasn't been a day when she hasn't thought about it. About him.

She's just contemplating getting up when something, or rather, someone, lands on her stomach. Looking up at the little girl, she smiles.

"Good morning, sunshine."

"Get up, Mommy, it's my birthday!"

AN: One note about time frame and story lines from the actual show – time wise, this would take place around the end of season 8 (May–June) though I think I've messed a little with the timeline to make it line up better. I've taken the creative liberty to keep Warrick alive, because I want him in the story, and since I kind of messed with the whole premise by removing Sara in season 5, who's to say the whole Gedda thing even happened in my version? There will be some references to cases and plot up until this point of the show, but not too much, and I'm not digging any deeper into actual cases