You’d think my heart would be racing as I walk out toward the Tahoe. I’ve made a decision. I arrive first and take the driver’s seat. The small show of dominance bolsters me. My pulse is neat and even, like my resolve.

I will be in control of the vehicle, if nothing else. It’s a hollow victory; I know that’s all I will be controlling.

Tonight will decide my fate. Whatever happens, it can’t be as bad as the past several months have been.

I’ve felt pinned down these last few years. Watched and coveted like something with wings. The butterfly thing is not lost on me. I’ve given him chances, flirtation. I even asked him to dinner once. And he broke my heart with four words, words he didn‘t even bother speaking to me. He spoke them to a suspect, a murderer, but not me. “I couldn’t do it.”

Only when I see him come out to the parking lot, does the anxiety spear through me. I feel as if I might puke. I think about chickening out, but I know I can’t. This is the chance I have waited for. A forty-five minute drive out of town. Just me and him. I know a chance like this won’t come up in a while.

I pull out of the parking space and pick him up alongside the sidewalk. He sets his kit in the back, then gets into the front seat.

“How are you, Sara?”

“I’m okay,” I say as I navigate us out of the parking lot. This is going to be so hard. “How are you?”

“Well.”

Well. Typical monosyllabic Grissom. The man I knew four years ago is gone. I fight the urge to roll my eyes. This is why I want to leave. I can’t take it.

I promise myself that when I get to that red light, I’ll do it. I press my foot slightly to the gas.

I glance at his profile as I bring the Tahoe to a stop at the intersection. He seems to watch the ebb and flow of traffic. The light on him is red, then it turns green. Still I drive, silent.

Okay. When I get onto the freeway. Yeah. That’s it. As soon as I merge into traffic, I’ll do it.

I wait for an opening, and then merge.

Deep breath, and I speak. “I’m glad you paired us up tonight. I need to talk to you.”

I imagine the tension washing over him. I don’t even need to look at him to know.

“Is this about the promotion?”

“No, why, did you want to talk to me about that?” After I say it, I realize that I am giving myself an out, trying to find a reason to back down.

“Not unless you do.”

See, this is why I can’t stay. Typical Grissom answer.

“No. You had the right to make your choices. I’m not going there.” I swallow. I flick on my turn signal and merge into the leftmost lane.

Breathe, Sara, I think.

“I want to tell you that I’m thinking of quitting. I wanted you to hear it first from me, rather than through the grapevine.” I swallow and take a deep breath.

“Why?” he says quietly.

I’m halfway there. This is the hard part.

I take a deep breath. “I can’t do this. It’s too hard. I can’t work with you like this. And I want to let you know, I’m not trying to manipulate you into anything, either professionally or personally. I’m trying to be professional, and fair. This isn’t an ultimatum, it’s just...a heads up.”

“Why?”

Oh, god, this just gets harder.

“Grissom, I thought that you might be interested in...building something with me, but I know now that it won’t happen. I’m in love with you. I have been for years. I don’t want you to think, either, that I’m trying to punish you. I would never do that. This is about me. I can’t… be like this with you, it hurts too much.”

“Oh, Sara.” The emotion in his voice is complex and hard to decipher. It is gentle.

I know in that instant that no matter what, he cares for me as a friend, and that somehow makes it harder.

I close my eyes for a brief second, then talk. “You don’t have to say anything. I’m not asking you for a thing. I want you to understand that. I know we’re not close anymore, but it’s important to me that you don’t think I’m trying to punish you or manipulate you.”

“Have things between us deteriorated so much that you think I’d think that of you?”

I glance at him, and see that he looks not quite hurt but disappointed, resigned.

“I don’t know.” I will not cry I will not cry I will not cry. “I’ve changed. You’ve changed, drastically.”

“What can I do to get you to stay?”

“Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

“I have,” he whispers. “I can’t give you-”

“I’m not asking you to!” I say it emphatically, almost harshly. I did not bring this up to be rejected again. “Got the picture, it’s very clear, thank you.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

I blink, and try to breathe in that second where my tears spill and flow down my face. Deep breath in. “I’m not accusing you of that.”

“I know. I just want you to know.”

“Have things between us deteriorated so much that you think I’d think that of you?” I mimic, and smile without feeling it.

He smiles and our eyes meet for a second. “I guess we’ve really messed…” he sees the tears on my face and his own face falls. This makes me want to sob more. “…things up. Oh, Sara, I’m so sorry.”

I nod, because the words “I know” could never form in my throat. It’s all I can give him.

Red lights ahead. I tap the brake. Oh, god, I forced myself so hard to initiate this, but now I’m stuck here with all this time ahead of us, stretched out into a traffic jam.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

But you have, so many times.

“Can we not focus on that? I’m feeling vulnerable enough as it is.”

“But you’re so strong. You’re the strongest person I know.” I am?

He’s right. When I think about it now, I think deep down I didn’t really believe I could do this. I’ve surprised myself.

He is not one to say the right things at the worst times, but this time he’s nailed it.

He continues. “You’re much braver than I am. I’ve been ignoring this situation for all this time.”

This, too, is true. I had the courage to initiate this conversation, knowing that it will determine my fate, both personally and professionally. “I know.” I whisper.

“I don’t know what I can do to make this better,” he says and I believe him.

“I do.” I say, surprising myself.

I do?

I glance at him. Oh, he is going to think I’m jerking him around. I told him that I didn’t want a thing from him, and now here I’m asking him for something.

“Don’t say anything, Grissom.”

“I- okay.”

“I told you I didn’t want anything from you, and you have every right to refuse this. But there is one thing you could do for me before I leave. I’ve tried to figure you out for so long, and I’m so damn tired. I wish you could just tell me how you do feel, and why you’ve made the choices you have. It would help me to know, and to move on. To know, definitively.”

“That sounds like the least I could do.”

“I know you’re a private person, that for you answering those questions is akin to eating glass shards, but it would help me.”

“Okay.” His voice sounds funny. I turn to look at him and I see him wiping tears away.

Grissom is crying. This just gets weirder.

“Oh, don’t you even start with that. This is hard enough as it is.” I smile to soften what I just said. It’s hard when my bottom lip is quivering. But I wouldn’t want him censoring me, so I won’t do it to him.

He smiles back at me, and it is like seeing him naked. Never in my life have I imagined what Grissom crying would be like. It hurts me to the core. But it heals a little bit, because he is finally showing himself to me. Finally showing me some tenderness.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m kidding. It wouldn’t be very fair to tell you I want to know how you feel and then tell you not to cry, if that’s what you feel like doing.”

He laughs roughly, still crying. “You’re also the sweetest person I know.”

I close my eyes again. This time it’s okay, because we are at a standstill. Tail lights stretch red and blur into the distance for as long as I can see.

“Thank you again,” I finally whisper.

“Sara...”

I tense, because I know that what he says will hurt.

“Gil,” I mimic again, trying to lighten things. It’s the first time I’ve ever used his first name.

“I’ll gladly tell you everything you want to know, but first can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah.”

“If I were to agree to explore this thing between us, would you stay?”

Everything I wanted to hear.

I have to be honest, because it really is that simple. “Yes.”

“Yes. Just like that?”

“Just like that. That’s not an ultimatum. It’s not a pressure. I don‘t want you to think-”

“I know that, okay.” He says gently. I hope I haven’t insulted him.

“Okay.” I say. The cars in front of us are moving, slowly. No one lane is going any faster than the others. I stay in this lane, and move steadily ahead.

“I’m not asking you to change your mind.”

“I know that too.”

“Okay.” I swallow. These tears just won’t stop. “Thank you. For letting me say this, for taking me seriously.”

“How could I not take you seriously?”

I swallow slightly and blink. More tears fall. As long as they are silent, I can handle it. Openly sobbing in front of him would be too hard. I have decided to show all my cards, but there is a limit to how vulnerable I will make myself.

We are quiet for a long time. Traffic slows and speeds up again, tail lights blurring into a single straight line beyond my tears. Still I am driving through that red line toward the future. I have never been aware of another person’s physical presence so acutely before. I don’t dare look at him, because then it would all come crashing down and I would be sobbing and I wouldn’t be able to stop when we got to our scene.

“So, you are leaving then? Definitely?”

“I can’t stay.” I say. I try to think of a clearer way to sat it, but there is none.

“Have you given any thought to where you’re going?”

“Yes.” New York has the number one lab but I don’t want to go there. I could always try to go with federal government. I suppose he wants me to elaborate, but I realize that I can’t. This has to be a clean break.

“If you need my help-”

“No. I won’t. Well, if I could use you as a reference, that would be great.”

“Of course.”

The car in front of me brakes suddenly. I slam the brakes hard, and the case file he is holding falls to the floor.

I feel the burden of tears in my eyes, and I long for nothing more than to be at home so I can let it go. But I’m also feeling something new, and that’s the future. Hope, maybe. A lightness. The road ahead. A life without him. Without second-guessing. Without this eternal dance.

“This is the last time I want to discuss this during work hours. We can talk about it on the way back to the lab, but this is just too hard.”

“You didn’t have to bring it up at work. You could have called me. I would have come over.”

“I know.” It’s easier to do this when I don’t have to look into his eyes.

I think back to a day we stood side by side, and I said that about a vic. It’s easy to wear your heart on your sleeve… It is no less true.

Oh, god, I love him so much. So much. I want him to say ‘no, Sara, stay, I’ll let myself love you.’

I hate myself for having this tiny shard of hope, and with the hope tears well up freshly. We have only come ten miles, and I’m glad for the time and space protecting us from our B and E scene. I will need it to get myself together.

“How soon do you plan on leaving?”

“Soon. I’ll give you time to find a replacement, don’t worry.”

“I don’t doubt it.” he says gently. I think he has stopped crying. I’m simultaneously relieved and disappointed. Relieved because it is so hard to see him cry. Disappointed because I will be the one doing the most crying, and it‘s nice to see I‘m not alone.

But I already know that, don’t I? The inequity in our relationship exists on every level.

“You do have about three months of vacation time.”

“I know. And I’m sure I’ll use it.”

“Well, Warrick is looking for overtime. When I get back I’ll look at the schedule and try to work something out. As soon as I can get shifts covered you can take your vacation time and I’m sure it won’t take you long to get snatched up.”

I feel the twitch of a smile cross my face, and fade. “Thanks.”

I honestly haven’t expected him to be this kind and calm. I expected that he would shut me down, and get quiet. The way he is acting now makes it so much easier, and so much harder.

“I want to tell you something,” he says, and my heart lurches.

“Okay.”

“I wanted to tell you, about the night you asked me out to dinner, after the explosion.” Nausea clenches my gut like a fist. No. I don‘t want to think about that night. “I was having surgery the next day. That was probably one of the most self-absorbed moments of my life. It was the first time I’d really realized that if the surgery wouldn’t work, then I’d be deaf, and my career would be over.”

“Deaf?” I remember him signing to that bitchy woman from the School for the Deaf. Has he learned to sign ahead of time? That’s fatalistic.

“I have a genetic condition called otosclerosis. My mother went deaf before I was born. It’s progressive, and surgery was my only shot.”

Oh. I try, and fail, to picture Grissom as a kid, talking in sign to his mother. I can imagine him undergoing surgery. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Luckily, it worked.”

“Good.” I say quietly. The tears are starting to dry up for now. This is progress.

“The reason why I’m telling you this is so you’ll know what my state of mind was. You’ll know why I was so rude.”

“Oh.” The tears are back at the memory that cuts me hard. I swallow. “You could have told me.”

“I know that now. It seems so simple and obvious now. But I’m a complete imbecile at thinking logically though when I’m emotional.”

“You’ve done okay in the last few minutes.”

“True.”

This makes me hope, and that just can’t happen. It’s not the new world order. I have to cut it off in order to survive.

“But if I asked you at any other time your answer would still be the same?”

I’m impressed with myself. That actually came out without a waver.

Silence.

I am seriously going to throw up, even though there’s nothing in my stomach but coffee.

“It would have to be.”

“Why?”

It is his time to be quiet. I try to focus only on my breathing and the road ahead.

“There are so many reasons why.”

I swallow. I know this is going to hurt like a motherfucker.

I choose not to prompt him. I know this requires time and space so I am silent.

“Reason number one, the first and foremost reason:” Spill it out, Grissom, or I’m going to seriously hork up my coffee. “I’m horrible at relationships. The last time I cared for someone I hurt her so much that it… it was awful. I’m moody, and withdrawn, and easily scared, and I don’t share easily.”

The giggle is out of my control, and even as I‘m laughing, it horrifies me. “No kidding. I had no idea.”

He looks at me, bewildered and a little irked. “I’m serious, Sara.”

“I know you are, I just… I’m sorry. All those things are things I already know about you, except about your ex. I don’t mean to laugh at you but I’m wound up so tight I have to laugh at something or I’ll snap. Tension. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he whispers.

“I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t ever be.”

“I’m not trying to convince you of anything, I want to make this clear. This is a question, not an argument, okay?”

He nods.

“I just don’t understand that you are so hurt, so beyond repair, that you couldn’t work through that. Or maybe you could, but I’m not the one. I just - how did you get so jaded?”

“I promised myself I would never do that to anyone. I couldn’t live with the guilt. Yes, that’s selfish, I know.”

“It’s not selfish at all. Because if that’s your choice you’ll live and die alone.” I feel hope that he will see the logic in my words, and it seems no matter what I do, I can’t squelch this damn hope.

“I’ve accepted that.” He shrugs quietly.

“You have? Really?” I can’t help but feel though as if I’m pushing him unfairly. But it’s not a challenge, not an argument, just incredulity. I know that will come across in my tone.

“Yes, I have.” He meets my eyes. I am shocked; he really means it.

“Grissom, that breaks my heart in a way that has nothing to do with me.”

“I’ve accepted it.”

“You deserve more.”

“You might not say that if you knew the whole story.”

“I doubt it.” Brave as I have been tonight, that’s not a story I want to know. The idea of him dying alone hurts me in a place I didn’t even know existed.

“I would work through that with you. But I understand your decision, and… I’m sorry you’ve been so hurt before.”

“Thanks. I’ve never told anyone about her.”

And I hope to god that he doesn’t start now. But another thought comes to mind. There is something I want to know.

“How long ago was this?” That hope again. Because if it is fresh, then perhaps he is biased.

“It was about eight years ago.”

Well. That’s that.

“Okay. I understand. Care to tackle reason number two?”

He sighs. “Reason number two, in that order: I’m old.”

“Bullshit. My ninety-five year old grandfather is old.”

“Sara, you are thirty-three and I’m forty eight. In ten years you’ll be barely thirty and I’ll practically be sixty.”

He has actually thought about this. Even though it is complete bullshit.

“And ten years after that I’ll be fifty three, and you’ll be pushing seventy. I know how to add x plus fifteen. And I don’t care.”

“That’s easy to say when you’re the one who is young and beautiful.”

He said I’m beautiful. And it’s pissing me off.

“Again, I’m not arguing with you. But I will say this: that’s pretty weak that you’d allow yourself to be lead by your insecurities.”

“I never said I wasn’t weak.”

I’m just not the right woman. Tears spring to my eyes. If he loved me, he would take the chance.

I don’t say it. It would look too much as if I were fishing for something.

“Damn, Grissom. I wish you’d told me this years ago and saved me the trouble of falling in love with you.” I am angry, suddenly so angry, and it shows in my voice. What’s more, I don’t care. I am pissed. The traffic has thinned out, and I press the accelerator with my foot.

“I do too.” He says it coldly, and it hurts, even though it shouldn’t. “Why do you always have to push?” he says with coldness that amazes me, and now I see some of the temper which might explain how he hurt the last woman.

Luckily, it is matched by my own.

“Because I love you, goddamnit! I fucking love you, okay, and I don’t want to! You think I want this? You think I enjoy this? You think this has been fun for me? I could have been with someone, it’s not as if I don’t have opportunities! Damn you, Grissom!”

Oh, shit. He is still my boss. I feel my face burn. No, there’ll be no asking for his recommendation now.

Deep breath “I’m sorry. You’re still technically my boss. That was inappropriate.”

“I know I deserve it.” he says quietly.

His ability to calmly denigrate himself, deprive himself, disturbs me. Again, I feel like I’m seeing a glimpse something terrifyingly dark in him.

“Reason three?” I’m eager to get to the part where he says he just doesn’t love me enough, so we can get it over with.

“I’m your boss.”

“Easily remedied, and soon to be untrue. Reason four?”

He pauses for a while. I am suddenly so exhausted.

“Reason four is that I love you, probably as much as you love me.” He says it very quietly.

It takes me a few seconds to get that.

I can’t believe that I thought anything before this was hard. That it hurt.

That was nothing. This is a fucking bomb.

I am literally seeing colored lights and I think I might pass out.

This is absolute nihilism. It makes no sense. It pulls the world out from under me and I am reeling. It is everything I have ever wanted, and my worst fear, all in one sentence.

I am in the left lane and there is a wide shoulder. I hit the flashers and pull over, smoothly, quickly. I put the Tahoe in park. We are late for our B and E as it is, but fuck it, the store isn’t going to get more broken into.

Am I breathing? Because it doesn’t feel like I am breathing.

“You did not just say that.” My voice sounds foreign to me.

“I did. And I mean it.”

He loves me.

I pull the keys out of the ignition, and get out. “Sara-”

I don’t look at him, but I can hear the panic in his voice. Does he think I’m going to walk into traffic? I walk around to his side. A car shrieks its horn, though there is plenty of room between the breakdown lane and oncoming traffic.

I open his door, dangle the keys. “You drive.”

He is upset, and is so gorgeous with his eyebrows all wrinkled. He takes the keys and slides out. I slip into his seat, and buckle up. He takes the driver’s seat, adjusts the mirrors, and restarts the Tahoe.

“Why are you doing this to us?” I am practically yelling. I never realized just how dark he was, how fucked up. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I thought I made that clear.”

“I’m not sure that will ever be clear.” I want to tell him that he is seriously fucked up but I realize that that will only reinforce his notion of himself as damaged.

I shove my hands into my hair and hide my face. I don’t give a damn about sobbing in front of him anymore. This hurts far too much for me to contain it due to simple pride. The things coming out of me are raw and ugly, jagged, horrible sobs. Damn, I didn’t want to do this.

All this time I thought it was because he just didn’t love me enough, and now I find out that he’s so screwed up that it doesn’t matter how much he loves me.

I can’t stop crying. It goes on like this for minutes. The sobs are a lot like retching. I feel as if I can’t physically control it. I come to my senses and try hard to put on the brakes. I need to get a hold of myself. Crime scene, I tell myself. Crime scene, duty, officer of the court...

“Drive,” I say.

He does, shifting into gear and waiting for a break in traffic.

Eventually I stop crying. I pour cold water from my water bottle on to a napkin from the glove compartment and press it to my face. I hold it there.

I thought rejection would hurt me more than anything. God, that had been naïve.

I’m too exhausted to cry anymore. I focus on breathing. The singular upshot of my parents’ hippie mentality: I am excellent at meditation.

Eventually my face is cooled and I throw away the paper towel.

“If anyone asks I just had a violent reaction to the new print powder.”

“Got it,” he says quietly.

When we arrive at the scene I am full of relief. I grab my kit and walk away from that damn Tahoe.

I see Brass, looking at the perimeter the uniforms have set. It is a jewelry store. “What have we got?” I call.

He turns to face me and smiles. I hope that it’s too dark for him to notice my inflamed eyes, but of course he does, and his smile flickers like a candle in a draft.

“You all right?”

“That new print powder is the devil. I don’t know who ordered it but I spilled some yesterday and my sinuses are still killing me.”

I’m a pretty good actress if I do say so myself. If it were anyone other than Brass they would buy that on the spot. He merely raises an eyebrow at me and begins to explain the scene.

“What do we have?” Grissom says from behind me. I swallow.

“B and E, jewelry store.”

“Smash and grab?”

“No. And here’s where it gets weird. There’s a ton of blood in the back but no vic. The convenience store next door called it in. The owner swears he wasn’t there. No smash, and no grab. Everything is accounted for."

A perfect puzzle. It doesn’t make a bit of sense and it is just what I need now.

If nothing else, the gods of case assignment have been good to me tonight.

“So it can’t be an insurance scam,” I think aloud.

“Well, not a very good one,” Brass says wryly.

“I’ll check the owner for wounds and GSR,” I say, and walk toward the man at the perimeter with amid the uniforms.

I throw myself in to this, and forget the puffiness in my eyes. The owner is cooperative and seems to have been recently awakened. His story is plausible, I see no defensive wounds, and there is no GSR.

I move on to the back alley. There is a huge pool of blood and Grissom is kneeling close to it.

“Damn,” I say. I quietly estimate the amount of surface area the blood pool covers. This wasn’t any paper cut.

“Doesn’t make sense.”

“No,” I say softly, suddenly not thinking about the case. “If this is all human, our vic is dead.”

“It’s all human,” he said. “If this is all from one vic, then our vic is dead.” he corrects.

I force myself to look away from his bare neck and silvery hair, and kneel down. The blood is about an hour old. It has congealed somewhat during our time in the Tahoe, while we were laying things bare. There is no visible trace in it, and no drag marks. The alley is lined with dumpsters. Being tall is an advantage. I do a once-over, peeking into each one, and return to the blood.

“What time was this called in?” I say, suddenly having an idea.

“About midnight.” I shine my light down the alley, scanning for something, while he takes a pad from his pocket. “Eleven fifty-three.”

“And it’s now…” I look at my watch. “Two o one.”

“Two hours and eight minutes.”

“Does that blood look like it’s been sitting two hours and eight minutes?” I say. I stand there, amazed that my brain can even function right now, let alone work so seamlessly with his. My eyes are still irritated and raw from crying and my voice sounds like a stranger's.

“Does this pool look like someone died in it?”

“No smearing, no spatter. No arterial spurt.”

“No trace,” I finish.

“And, no body. I’ll have Greg check it for anticoagulants.”

“And I’ll get swabs to rule out the owner and 911 caller.”

Forty minutes later, I have buccal swabs of the jewelry store owner and 911 guy. The owner started to sweat when I requested a sample. This is a waste of time. I know it.

Grissom is in a dumpster when I get back into the alley. He looks up at me and I suddenly feel dizzy again. Either I’m imagining things or there is heat in his gaze. Not anger. Maybe that’s the effect of getting it out in the open.

“The owner started sweating when I requested a DNA sample. And get this - he used to be a phlebotomist. Ten bucks that’s all his blood, and it’s full of EDTA.”

“So I’m standing in a dumpster for nothing.”

“Probably. If you find any vacutainer tube tops, though, and they’re either purple, blue, yellow or green, we can nail him for wasting police time."

He nods, looking away from me, though I know there is nothing in that dumpster he hasn’t seen twice.

“I’m thinking I’ll take the blood samples back to Greg right away, that way we can rule out murder. If it’s okay with you I’ll hitch a ride back with Brass.”

This makes perfect sense in terms of the case, and I realize that he is staring at me, trying to assess this.

“That’s logical.” He nods. I can’t tell if he is disappointed or relieved. “Will you be okay?” he says in a quieter voice.

Always with the tough questions. I shrug.

“It’ll help if I can get out of here. Are you?” I counter. I don’t know what makes me think to ask, except the pain in his eyes. And the fact that I still love him. Even though I don’t want to.

He watches me, flabbergasted. He doesn’t speak for a while.

I don’t just turn and walk away because he is even more flabbergasted than usual. I’m actually worried.

Finally, he nods. I can feel him watching me, all the way down the alley.

“Sara?” I hear just before I reach the back door of the store.

I stop. His voice is gentle. I don’t know why, but as I turn around the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Yeah?”

“Can we talk after shift? Would that be okay?”

I nod. “Your place, or mine?”

“Whatever you prefer. I’ll see you back at the lab.”

Brass is waiting for me in the car. I slip in to the passenger’s seat. “That took a while.”

“I had to talk to Grissom.”

I relax as we drive away from that scene. “So, did you have a good weekend?” he asks. God, I love him. It feels so good to small-talk, have a conversation that isn’t fraught with emotion or meaning. I’ll miss him. No, don’t cry Sara.

“It was good. How about you?”

“I didn’t do a damn thing. It was wonderful.”

I chuckle softly. I might as well make use of this time. “I have some news for you, Jim. I’m going to ask you to keep it under your hat for the time being, okay?”

“Okay.” He looks over at me curiously as we slide to a stop at a red light.

“I’m going to start looking for a new position.”

“What? What did he do now?”

I smile. “I’ll assume that was a reference to Grissom.”

“Who else?”

“Not everything revolves around him.” Nice. That was a good roundabout way of avoiding his question.

Damn, even though my heart is in pieces, I’ve got game tonight.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

I roll my eyes. Damn, Brass.

“No, I didn’t. I haven’t started looking yet, but I just wanted to let you and Grissom know.”

“Gil knows this already?”

“Yeah.” I don’t give him an opening to ask how this news was received. “I was wondering if I could use you as a reference.”

“Of course, doll. God, I wish you weren’t going. You‘re the best we got.”

Me too. I love my job and I love Brass and I love the night shift. Unfortunately I also love Grissom. I try to swallow the lump in my throat.

“Thanks. That means a lot, cause the others are really great too. But don’t break out your hankie yet; I haven’t even started looking.”

“With your resume, you’ll be getting job offers by tomorrow.”

“You are great for a gal’s ego, you know that?”

“I try.”

After I return to the lab I give the swabs to Greg, telling him to page me as soon as we get a match. Then I walk into the locker room, past the lockers, and into the women’s shower area. I take some towels and turn on the water, but I don‘t shower. I sit down in the changing area outside the shower and hug my knees close to my chest.

I am shaking, but I don’t think I’m crying. It’s over, I tell myself. It’s decided, it’s over, and it’s down hill from here.

In several hours we establish that our B&E slash homicide is neither. The jewelry store owner copped to “just trying to mess with the cops,” by collecting his own blood for several weeks and then dumping it all at the crime scene.

I camp out in the break room to do my paperwork with some of Greg’s best coffee and my favorite pen. I fill out forms and am amazed that I am functioning right now. My heart is broken right in two. It’s approaching actual physical sensation.

Nick comes in. “Hey Sar.”

“Hi Nicky. Thought this was your night off.”

“I need the overtime.”

“Really? You want my shift tomorrow night?”

Nicky looks up from the coffee he is pouring, surprised. “Are you serious?”

“Yep.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Sara?” He makes me smile, and as I do I think of how it’s going to be hard to leave him.

“Sara is getting a little burnt out.”

“Well, it’s high time you took some time off. I’ll gladly take your shift.”

“Cool. I’ll clear it with Grissom.”

He stirs sugar into his coffee. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

“Freakin’ orange print powder. Watch that stuff. If you get it anywhere near your face, it’s all over.”

“Really?” I can tell he doesn’t believe me because he looks at me for a second too long. That‘s the problem with working with CSIs. They‘re too damn observant. I simply turn back to my paperwork. He is good enough, or else knows me well enough, to let it go.

When I finish my paperwork I look at my watch. It’s almost six. I walk to the interrogation rooms and look in to see Brass and Grissom busting the jewelry guy’s chops. I turn on the intercom and listen.

“So what, you just got bored, and you said ‘what can I do to entertain myself? Gee, I think I’ll fake a murder scene.’”

“Well, yeah.”

What a dumb ass.

I watch Grissom. He is quiet. He looks slightly disturbed. More than slightly. Actually sort of psychotic and latent, as if thoughts are racing by the millions through his mind. Actually I think this is a good interrogation tool. Jewelry guy keeps glancing nervously at him. Maybe we could clone him and piss the clone off and have him sit there brooding during all the interrogations.

I don’t even want to think about the applications of Grissom-cloning technology.

I turn away and look for Nicky, to see if there’s anything I can help him out with. He gladly hands me a mass of bank records, which I take back to the break room.

I’m like that an hour later when Grissom walks in. Our eyes meet and I swallow, we both look away shyly like teenagers. It feels like weeks since this shift has started.

“Hi.” I say, determined to keep it together. He loves me, I think.

“Hi.” He throws out the dregs of yesterday’s coffee, rinses his cup, and points to the coffeemaker. “This for public consumption?”

“Yeah. The courtesy of the spiky-haired coffee fairy.”

His mouth twitches, and that feels good.

If this were the last few months, he would run back to his office and bury his nose in work. But he pulls out the chair opposite me and looks at the bank records.

“Nick’s case?”

“Yeah. Unless there’s something else you want me to do?”

“That’s fine.”

He seems warmer, more open than he has in a while. It’s so simple, so easy, when it’s just work. It hasn’t been like this in months. He takes a sip of coffee and just sits.

I am bewildered by everything that has happened in the last ten hours. “You okay?”

His gentle concern is making me dizzy. Too much has happened, too much changed, and I feel like I’m on fragile earth.

“For now.” I look back down at the bank statement in front of me. “You?”

“Yeah. You look beat, why don’t you head home?”

Any other time I would have said no, but the numbness and exhaustion I’m feeling is freaking me out. I need to distance myself, lest I do something stupid. Like hope.

“You sure?” I stand up, handing him the records.

“I’m sure. Go.” His expression is complicated, intense. I see love there. It makes me fill with disbelief and fear.

“Thanks. Um, come over after nine if you want.”

“You sure?” he says, echoing me.

“Yeah. Oh, and by the way, Nicky said he’d take my shift tomorrow.”

“Good,” he says, not meaning it. I see pain in his eyes. He really doesn’t want me to go.