The townhouse was dark when Sara stepped inside, the only light spilling in from the streetlamp outside. She slipped off her shoes and set her keys on the entryway table, pausing when she spotted a light in the kitchen.

Grissom.

She found him leaning against the counter, his reading glasses perched low on his nose as he paged through a book. At the sound of her footsteps, he glanced up, setting it aside.

"Hey," he said softly.

Sara managed a tired smile. "Hey."

His eyes searched hers, reading the exhaustion in her posture, the tension still lingering in her shoulders. "How was it?"

Sara let out a breath, moving to the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water. She twisted the cap off but didn't drink. "Hard," she admitted. "But… I think it helped."

Grissom nodded, watching her carefully. "Heather's good at what she does."

Sara smirked slightly. "Yeah, well, she's also infuriatingly perceptive."

He smiled, but there was something else in his expression—something quiet and concerned. He wanted to ask more. To know more. But he wouldn't push.

Not tonight.

Instead, he stepped forward, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm glad you went."

Sara leaned into the touch for just a moment before stepping back, taking a sip of water. "I should probably head home soon," she murmured.

Grissom's brow furrowed. "You don't have to."

She huffed out a small laugh. "Yeah, I do. I have work tomorrow, remember?"

"I remember." His lips pressed together. "But I don't want you to go."

Sara stilled, blinking at him.

He hesitated, then continued. "Stay."

Her stomach twisted. "Grissom—"

"I don't mean for the night," he cut in. "I mean… stay."

Sara's breath caught.

He was looking at her like this was obvious. Like it was inevitable.

Like he couldn't imagine a world where she didn't live here.

"Move in with me," he said, quieter this time.

Sara's grip on the water bottle tightened. "I—"

He watched her closely. "You don't have to decide right now. But I want you here, Sara. I want this to be your home too."

Her chest ached.

She wanted to say yes. She wanted to be here. With him.

But the thought of giving up her apartment made her stomach churn.

Grissom seemed to sense it. "What's stopping you?"

Sara exhaled, rubbing a hand over her face. "I don't know," she admitted. "It's stupid."

Grissom stepped closer, his voice gentle. "Tell me anyway."

She hesitated, then sighed. "It's just… my place is the only thing that's mine."

He didn't speak, letting her get it out.

"I've never really had a home," she continued. "Not really. And when I got that apartment, it was the first time I felt like I had something that was mine. Something no one could take away."

Grissom's expression softened.

Sara let out a shaky breath. "I know it's just walls and a lease, and I know this is stupid because I want to be here, but—"

"It's not stupid," he interrupted gently.

She blinked at him.

He gave her a small, understanding smile. "You spent your whole life having things taken away from you, Sara. Your safety. Your home. Your sense of security." His voice was quiet. "It makes sense that letting go of something that's yours would be hard."

Her throat tightened.

He reached for her hands, threading their fingers together. "I don't want you to feel like you're giving something up." He squeezed lightly. "I want you to feel like you're gaining something."

Sara swallowed hard.

Grissom exhaled. "I can't promise I won't drive you crazy. That I won't be impossible to live with sometimes." His lips twitched. "I have a lot of bugs, Sara."

She huffed out a watery laugh.

His expression turned serious again. "But I can promise that this will always be your home. That you'll never have to wonder if you belong here."

Sara inhaled sharply, her heart pounding.

She had spent years searching for that feeling. For something permanent.

She had found it in him.

She let out a slow breath, then squeezed his hands back.

"Okay," she whispered.

Grissom's brows lifted slightly. "Okay?"

Sara nodded, a small, real smile pulling at her lips. "Okay."

His relief was visible.

She let out a breath, shaking her head. "I can't believe I'm moving into a bug-filled townhouse."

Grissom smirked. "They're very well-behaved bugs."

Sara rolled her eyes, but when he tugged her closer, she didn't resist.

"I've lived here a long time, but it's so different from your apartment, it's more like a lab" he said, suddenly realising, looking around at all the stainless steel worktops and uncomfortable office couch.

"why don't I speak to a realtor and we can find somewhere new together?, somewhere we can both decorate and make our home" he offered

The weight in her chest easing.

"That sounds like a great idea" Sara replied.

She was going to make a home with Grissom.

The crime lab felt both familiar and strangely foreign as Sara stepped through the glass doors the following evening. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the scent of coffee and chemicals lingered in the air, and the usual low murmur of conversation filled the hallways. It was like she had never left.

And yet, she had changed.

Her stomach was tight with nerves as she made her way toward Grissom's office. It wasn't just about getting back to work—it was about facing the people who had witnessed her at her lowest. About proving to herself that she belonged here.

As she neared his door, she heard the familiar tap tap of someone knocking, followed by a voice that made her stomach sink.

"Ecklie wants to see you."

Sara turned to find Judy standing behind her, arms crossed. There was no hostility in her expression, just something measured. Maybe cautious.

Sara exhaled through her nose, nodding. "Figured as much."

Judy studied her for a beat before gesturing down the hall. "He's waiting."

Sara forced herself to move.

She had expected this—Ecklie wouldn't just let her slip back into work without a word. But as she reached his office, she still felt the familiar prickle of unease crawl up her spine.

Ecklie sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable as he gestured for her to take a seat.

"Sidle." His tone was clipped but not outright hostile. "Glad to see you back."

Sara nodded, settling into the chair across from him. "Thanks."

He folded his hands on the desk. "You've had some time off to—what's the phrase HR likes to use? Reassess and reflect?" His gaze was sharp. "So let's talk about your future here."

Sara forced herself to meet his stare. "I want to be here. I know I screwed up, but I also know I'm good at my job."

Ecklie tilted his head slightly. "I don't doubt that you're a good CSI. But I do doubt whether you're capable of maintaining professionalism when emotions run high."

Sara's jaw tightened.

"You were suspended for insubordination," he continued. "For letting your personal feelings interfere with an investigation. And this wasn't the first time." He leaned forward. "So tell me, Sidle—why should I believe this time will be different?"

Sara swallowed the sharp retort that threatened to rise. She wanted to snap back, to remind him of all the times she had gone above and beyond for this job, but she knew that wasn't what this moment needed.

Instead, she exhaled, keeping her voice steady. "Because I've spent this time actually dealing with the things that got me suspended in the first place."

Ecklie raised an eyebrow. "Meaning?"

"I've been seeing a therapist," she said plainly. "I'm working through the things that made me react the way I did."

Ecklie's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted, like he hadn't expected that answer.

"I won't pretend I'm suddenly perfect," Sara added, leaning forward slightly. "But I love this job. I know how to do it well. And I know that I can keep my emotions in check when it matters."

A long silence stretched between them.

Finally, Ecklie sighed, picking up a folder and flipping it open. "Your suspension is officially lifted, effective tonight."

Relief flooded through her, but she didn't let it show.

"There will be no second chances," he added, looking up at her. "If I see so much as a hint of unprofessionalism, you're done. Understood?"

Sara nodded once. "Understood."

Ecklie studied her for another beat before setting the folder aside. "Then get to work."

Sara stood, turning toward the door.

"Sidle."

She paused, glancing back.

Ecklie's expression was unreadable. "Don't prove me right."

She held his gaze for a second, then nodded. "I won't."

And with that, she walked out, exhaling a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Walking through the halls of the lab after a week away felt surreal. Everything was exactly the same—familiar smells of stale coffee and printer toner, the low hum of conversations, the occasional clang of a beaker from Hodges' lab.

And yet, everything was different.

As Sara made her way to the breakroom, she could feel eyes on her. It wasn't hostile, just…curious.

She didn't need to ask why.

They knew.

She wasn't sure how, but she suspected Catherine had something to do with it.

Still, nobody outright said anything. Not at first.

Nick was the first to approach, greeting her with an easy smile. "Hey, welcome back. How's it feel to be out of detention?"

Sara smirked. "Like I should be catching up on homework instead of cases."

He chuckled, but his gaze was sharp, searching. "You good?"

It was a simple question, but she could hear the real meaning behind it.

She nodded. "Yeah."

Nick held her gaze for a beat, then nodded back.

Warrick was next, throwing an arm over her shoulder in a brief half-hug as he passed. "Good to have you back, Sidle."

"Good to be back," she admitted.

But it was Greg who finally said something.

The moment he spotted her in the breakroom, he grinned. "So…you and Grissom, huh?"

Sara nearly choked on her coffee. "Jesus, Greg."

"What?" he asked innocently, plopping into a chair. "We all knew you had a thing for him." He tilted his head. "Judy mentioned the boss had asked for your address to be changed to his on your personal file?"

Sara rolled her eyes. "Drop it."

Greg just smirked. "I mean, I'm happy for you, really. But I will be mourning the loss of my favorite hangout spot."

Sara raised a brow.

"Greg, you have your own apartment."

"Yeah, but your place was better," he insisted. "Better movies. Better snacks. And you actually laugh at my jokes."

Sara smirked. "That's a pretty low bar."

Greg clutched his chest in mock offense. "I am wounded."

Sara shook her head, still amused. "You'll survive."

Greg leaned back, eyes twinkling. "So, you still gonna have time for Monty Python nights, or does Grissom not approve?"

Sara smirked. "He loves Monty Python."

Greg's face twisted in exaggerated horror. "That means he'll join in, won't he?"

Sara shrugged, enjoying this way too much. "He does voices."

Greg groaned. "Oh no. No, no. I cannot be in a room where my boss is reciting the 'Knights Who Say Ni.'"

"He does a pretty solid French Taunter, too."

Greg squeezed his eyes shut. "This is ruining my perception of him."

Sara laughed. "Oh, come on, you could still come over."

Greg shuddered. "No way. The man lectures about insects for fun, Sara. I can't risk him turning Holy Grail into a biology lesson."

"He actually explained the swallow thing," she admitted.

Greg groaned. "Of course he did."

From the hallway, Catherine poked her head in. "Oh God, not you again."

Sara smirked. "Missed me, huh?"

Catherine rolled her eyes but smiled. "Yeah, yeah. Now get to work before Ecklie finds a reason to regret letting you back, Grissoms already on the scene." She handed Sara and Nick an assignment card, Nick reaching out first and grabbing it before Sara stood a chance, earning him driver privilege.

Sara sighed dramatically. "Slave driver."

"Take this one with you" Catherine told them, nodding her head at Greg.

Greg huffed. "This is so unfair. Now I have to watch movies alone in my disaster of an apartment."

Sara snorted. "Greg, your apartment has a cleaning style best described as 'there appears to have been a struggle.' You could fix that."

Greg looked offended. "That is an intentional system. Controlled chaos."

Catherine smirked. "That's a very generous way of describing it."

Sara grinned. "If you ever actually cleaned it, maybe people would want to visit you."

Greg crossed his arms. "You sound just like my mom."

Catherine patted his shoulder. "That's because she's right."

Greg sighed dramatically. "Fine. Maybe I'll consider it."

But as Sara grabbed her kit and headed for the locker room, she couldn't help but smile.

She was back.

The warehouse smelled of dust, rust, and something darker. The kind of scent that settled into your clothes, your skin, and stayed with you long after you left. The crime scene was dimly lit by the few overhead lights still working, casting long, fractured shadows across the concrete floor.

Sara stood near the body, eyes scanning everything, taking it in. A young woman, mid-twenties, hung from the rafters by a length of coarse rope. Her head tilted unnaturally to the side, her dark hair falling over her face, the tips matted with dried blood from a small cut at her temple.

Grissom moved beside her, his presence steady, familiar. "What do you see?" he asked, his voice low, professional.

Sara tilted her head, studying the scene. "It's too clean," she said after a beat. "For a warehouse this abandoned, this… unlived in. The dust around her feet is disturbed, but only in a tight radius, like someone wiped it away."

He nodded. "Good. What else?"

Sara stepped closer, careful not to disturb the evidence markers already placed. "The knot," she murmured, pointing up at where the rope coiled around the beam. "That's a clove hitch. Not exactly the go-to choice for a suicide."

Grissom's lips pressed together. "No. It's more common in sailing. Rock climbing." He glanced at Nick, who was examining the victim's hands. "Anything under her nails?"

Nick shook his head. "Nothing. No defensive wounds, either."

"That's strange," Sara muttered. "If this was a suicide, there would still be some kind of struggle. Human reflex, the body fights, even when the mind doesn't want to."

Grissom watched her as she spoke, the way her brow furrowed slightly in thought. He treated her like any other investigator—challenging her, pushing her observations—but there was a softness in his approach that hadn't been there before. A flicker of concern behind his eyes, a momentary hesitation before he asked her to look at something gruesome.

If the others noticed, they didn't say anything.

Greg was kneeling near the victim's shoes, which were several feet away from the body, neatly placed side by side. "Okay, so I've seen my fair share of weird death scenes, but this?" He gestured to them. "This is weird. If you're gonna hang yourself, why take your shoes off and put them this far away? And in a warehouse? You want to be comfortable before you die?"

Sara crossed her arms. "Unless someone else took them off."

"Like a killer," Greg said, nodding.

"Or a very neat ghost," Nick added dryly.

Brass stepped into the circle of light, his expression unreadable. "Got a witness," he announced. "Homeless guy, says he saw a black SUV parked outside the warehouse last night. Two people went in. Only one came out."

Grissom glanced at Sara, his eyes dark with thought. "Looks like we're dealing with a staged suicide."

Sara exhaled, shaking her head. "Yeah. The suicide that wasn't."

Greg muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?" Sara asked.

"Just… this was a lot easier when I thought we were dealing with actual suicides," Greg admitted. "Staged ones mean someone made this happen. And I really hate people who do that."

Nick gave him a pat on the back. "Welcome to homicide, buddy."

Greg sighed. "Why didn't I just stay in DNA? My apartment looks like a crime scene anyway. I could've spent my life solving cases from a safe, well-lit lab."

Sara smirked. "Your apartment doesn't look like a crime scene, Greg. It looks like there was a crime, and you lost the fight."

Greg pointed at her. "That is exactly what it looks like."

Sara rolled her eyes, turning her attention back to the body. The humor faded as she studied the young woman again. Someone had done this to her. And whoever it was, they thought they'd get away with it.

Not on their watch.

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