'You wouldn't know that in my house, the yelling, the fighting. I thought that's how everybody lived. When my mother killed my father. I realised that it wasn't…..'

She looks away abruptly, struggling to hide the tears, hide her hurt. But a flash of emotion courses through her and whether she likes it or not the tears begin to fall, her face contorts into that of pure pain, pain mixed with anger. Flinching for only a microsecond he charges forward, clutching her hand and squeezing reassuringly. Her fingers clamp onto his, and she squeezes back tight. So tight he fears she might hurt herself, he doesn't care much about himself in this moment, broken fingers or not, she's worth it. After a few minutes of silence aside from her strangled sobs, he pulls away, hands still interlocked. Anxious that he wants to let go, that she has scared him off, freaked him out with her truth, her troubled past, she looks up, eyes red, tears coursing like a river down her face. But he doesn't look like any of those things, he isn't pulling away from her, but the opposite he is pulling her towards him. His other hand finds hers during all the internal confusion churning round her fuzzy head and he is pulling her up, slowly, carefully. Looking intently at her, he wants to take away her pain, remind her that she is away from it all now, that she is a successful, smart, beautiful woman, far from the image she has in her mind of just being a murdered man's daughter. He swings his arms under hers and draws her the closest they have been since San Francisco. His hands overlap on her back, and he nudges her head onto his shoulder. She blinks rapidly, pushing out the tears, an attempt to clear her view, her head. Is she dreaming this? It feels like a lifetime before she returns his embrace, finally melting.

An hour later, of clutching, sniffling, and swaying together in her apartment she uncurls herself out of his arms, his hands fall to his sides, already missing the physical contact, fists clenching a few times. Noticing the wet patch on the shoulder of his jacket, she raises her hand and rubs her fingers over the damp material, the other furiously wiping away any remaining tears in her stinging eyes.

'Sorry. I've made a mess.' She nods towards his jacket, wiping at her nose. He merely shrugs, maintaining the sincerest eye contact and sighs quietly, her hand a heavy but comfortable weight on his body. 'You should get going. You have shift in…' She turns to look at the clock on her desk, her hand falling from his shoulder to fold her arms across her chest. 'Fourteen hours.' She chuckles.

'If its ok with you, I'd rather stay.' He pockets his hands, rooted on the spot. She turns walking away, coming to stop behind the chair, mirroring where she started hours earlier.

'Why?' Picking at a thread, keeping her head down, guarded away from his bullshit answer about being her boss and wanting to keep tabs on her no doubt.

'Why not?' He quirks an eyebrow, hands moving slightly in his pockets. She smiles but not at him, her fingers twirling the loose thread. 'Let me stay?' She looks up, nods, and folds her arms over her chest again. 'May I use your restroom?' She points behind him towards her bathroom, using this time to quickly change into something more comfortable. When he returns, jacket over his arm, she quickly spies the wet patch which managed to seep through to his shirt and curses under her breath. Sensing her embarrassment, he swoops in and saves the day.

'Tea?' Bending down he tidies away the cards on the coffee table and picks up her empty beer bottle, standing two feet away. She nods and stands, uncurling her legs from the chair.

'Yeah. Let me.' He watches her walk away, the six or so metres to her kitchen and trails behind her cautiously. She heads toward a cupboard, plucking two mugs down from an obsessively organised shelf and pinchers two tea bags from a ceramic jar on the worktop. Following her lead, he treads over to the sink with the kettle from her stove top and fills it to the top. Slinking past her he rests it down and ignites the flame to boil the water. 'You, errr take sugar, right?' Her back to him, reaching into the cupboard again, fishing around from a small box of sugar cubes.

'Please.' He watches her long arms pull the box down and how she meticulously drops a small cube into each of their cups. Noticing she only gives herself one, as opposed to the two she used to prefer. He speaks up. 'Two please.' She drops another one into his mug and does the same for herself. Smiling he walks over to the fridge and pulls a carton of milk out, sliding it across the counter to meet her hand resting next to their cups. She looks up at him and smiles her thanks, twisting off the cap, she takes a sniff, wrinkles her nose, and rolls her tongue around her mouth in a mortified manner. He takes two steps over, taking the carton from her hands, bringing it up and taking a cautionary whiff, taking the cap and screwing it back on, not breaking eye contact. Turning quickly, he drops it into the bin at his side.

'I'll be right back.'

'Sorry.' She leans back against the work top. He scoops his jacket from the end of the sofa and fishes his keys from the deep pockets. He winks at her as he opens the door, then darts out into the mid-afternoon sun.

Less than ten minutes later and he is back through the door a carton of milk in one hand and bag of food in the other. Sara, deep in the cupboard underneath the sink, groans as she raises from the floor. Struggling to come to full height as quick as she would like to, he drops the milk and bag on the counter and reaches down, taking her hand, hoisting her up. Their eyes locking in a moment, he licks his lips and looks down at hers, still somewhat puffy from crying but pink and soft. She takes him in, her eyes racing around his features before she drops to look at his lips, his tongue poking out. Breaking the tension she looks down at her bare feet and turns towards the stove, clicking the gas back on, the flame making a loud whooshing noise as it begins it slow task of boiling the water, for a second time. He sighs heavily, and rubs his neck with his hand, watching her move away from him. Would he have kissed her, if they stood there longer? Facing the stove, she hears him rip open the paper bag, opening cupboards looking for plates. Slowly, silently they make their tea, shuffling over to the living area together. Reaching for the remote, he flicks on the tv, where they stay for the next hour.

Food demolished; cups of tea drained in record time. They sit together, closer than co-workers, friends? He reaches over and takes her hand again, maintaining his focus on the noisy tv in the corner. She looks down at his warm, tanned hand, eclipsing her slim, cold, pale one and feels the sharp sting of fresh tears.

'Why are you doing this?'

'Doing what?'

'Being nice to me?'

'Am I not normally this nice?' He laughs. She turns, tears threatening to spill and their eyes lock whilst she gently shakes her head. He looks down at their hands and thinks what he could possibly say or do next to make this better. Her eyes drop to their hands also, watching as his thumb brushes over her skin in small circles, it should feel nice, but it doesn't, it burns. Whilst he fumbles with what to say she pulls her hand away and places it in her lap. Frustrated with himself he stands sharply walking back towards the kitchen. 'Why do I always mess this up.'

'What?'

'This…. Us?' He spins, facing her. His face red and angry. Defensively she stands, ready for the fight.

'Define, Us?' She takes a step towards him. 'What is 'this'? You so frequently seem to be messing up Griss? What is there to mess up? We exist in the lab, out in the field. We don't see each other outside of work. We work well together. We can maintain a conversation. I don't see anything wrong, do you?'

'Sara…'

'No seriously, as working relationships go, I reckon we are pretty solid. So please Grissom, please tell me what it is you think you keep messing up, because I am obviously missing something here.' Her arms swing in front of her, gesturing between them violently.

'I need to leave.' He walks past her, grabbing his jacket from the arm of the sofa. She nods, pursing her lips together.

'Of course, you do. God forbid you ever talk to me about anything remotely personal about you.' His head snaps up and he looks at her harshly.

'I don't take two sugars in my tea.' She laughs at him but stops when she sees his expression, sadness mixed with care. Crossing her arms over her chest, for the millionth time today she widens her stance.

'They why did you say so?'

'Because I know you do, and you only gave yourself one. So, when I said two, I thought you would do the same for yourself…. And you did.'

'What does that even mean?' She tilts her head towards him, searching his face for an answer, anything to explain what the hell that could possibly mean.

'You are so guarded Sara. It's hard to get close to you.' Her eyes widen and she sucks in air through her nose before pushing it out her mouth forcibly. She turns and walks towards the window.

'I'm guarded? I'm guarded? Griss, I literally told you about my life mere hours ago. I have never told anyone any of that before ever, no friends, boyfriends…' He squints at her. 'No one. I've spent the best part of six, no seven years showing you how much you mean to me. What more can I do? Jesus Griss, I even threatened you.' His face scrunches in confusion and he opens his mouth a few times, but nothing comes out. 'You could be too late… Remember?'

'I remember.'

'That was two years ago. I get it.' She rushes back into the living area, stacking their plates, piercing the handles of their empty mugs on her fingers and pushes past him to the kitchen. She didn't expect him to grab her arm and stop her so harshly.

'You…. I…'

'I heard your conversation with Lurie. How you couldn't do it. How someone young and beautiful could give you a second chance at life, but you couldn't do it. Everyone told me how much we looked alike, I didn't wanna hear it, see it. I was too concerned with how bizarre you were being. Then…' She swallows. 'I was in the morgue, taking her prints and I looked. I realised then why you wouldn't let me in the house that night. Why you obsessed over the case. I wondered for days, hell weeks, that what you said to him in that room was just a ploy, to get to him. But the more time went on… I think I expected you to just turn up one night, realising that you could do it, that I was worth it and I dunno, confess your love to me.' She smiles at him, a smile of sadness. 'But when you didn't, I knew, I knew that what you said was true. And now, you know why I am the way I am. Why I push everyone away. Everyone but you. Why I'm broken. Why I'm not worth the risk.' She looks down at his hand on her arm and pulls away, continuing to the kitchen. Silence falls over the room again, for a long, long time as she washes the dishes.

'I never said you weren't worth it.' His whispers. She turns.

'You didn't need to.' He turns to face her. The kitchen island between them.

'I wish I could go back. And… Make everything right.' Shaking her head slightly.

'I don't think you would. I don't think you are brave enough to admit to yourself what you want. You fear doing what feels right, that by making everything right, you will leave yourself open to be hurt.'

'You wouldn't hurt me.'

'Not like you have hurt me, no.'

'What can I do?'

'You can leave.' A long pause, she walks over to him. 'Or you could do what you really want to do. You could listen to your heart for once, rather than that head of yours.' Stepping closer she puts a hand on his chest, his hand automatically raising to cover hers, pinning her to him.

'What if I carry on hurting you?'

'I don't think you will.'

'You don't know that?'

'Neither do you?' He smiles.

'I'm not very good at this.'

'Me neither.' He shakes his head and takes her other hand.

'You are better at it than me.'

'Maybe.'

'Teach me?' She beams, a smile of happiness and hope.

She leans forward and his hands drop to her sides, holding her firmly. Leaning forward, he closes his eyes, she follows, and they brush their lips together, it lasts a second or two.

BANG, BANG, BANG! They splinter apart quickly, heads spinning towards the door to her apartment. She pushes out of his hold and smooths her clothing down. Yanking open the door, she finds Greg stood on the other side, case of beer in one hand and a pizza in the other.

'Hey, you weren't answering your cell, so I just came over.' He looks past her at Grissom stood in the middle of the room. 'Everything ok?'

'Yeah, Griss was just going over a few things, but he was just about to leave.' She turns towards Grissom who already has his jacket on and is making his way over towards the door.

'Ecklie is trying to get a hold of you, you know?' He pushes his way into the room and slams the pizza box down on the counter. 'Something about a meeting with him and Catherine.' He looks down at his cell, and sure enough he sees eight missed calls. Five from the man himself and three from Catherine.

'Bet I know what that is about.' Sara smirks at both the men currently in her apartment.

'I'll call you later.' He nods towards Sara. 'And Greg, you have shift in.' He glances down at his watch. 'Twelve hours, don't drink more than one of those.' Pointing towards the beers in his hand. He draws his gaze back towards Sara, hoping for a moment of privacy to communicate. She pushes him towards the open door, hand on his shoulder.

'Don't regret this.' She whispers, Greg busy behind her fishing out plates and a bottle opener not privy to their conversation.

'Call me when he leaves, please?' She nods and watches him leave.

'What was that all about?' Greg hurls a piece of greasy pizza into his mouth.

'I told Ecklie to shove the lab up his ass, of course Grissom was going to turn up unannounced.' She closes the door and jogs into the kitchen, taking the nearest bottle of beer and swigging the contents down quickly. 'So, movie or?' Greg reaches into his jacket and pulls out a DVD from the inside pocket. 'As long as it's not like the last one, that gave me nightmares!'