I pray Warrick and Nick don't notice the smell of sex that hangs heavy in the back of the car. Or at least I think it does. I'm not sure if it's in my imagination. My mind could be playing tricks on me.

I can't get the scent and touch and sound of us out of my head. I keep feeling his fingers on me, keep seeing the look on his face. It's running through me like a film loop, incessant and hot.

We arrive much too late for the opening lecture of the conference. I go directly to my room and shower. The events of early morning have done a number on my head. I am still exhausted, in some ways more so than ever. Even though I was in control the whole time, the new complexity of things is taxing to me. I know there will be a confrontation.

I'm not sure what I want the results to be, and that is the most taxing thing of all.

Thank god I'm the only female on this trip. I get a room to myself while the guys have to share. Well, Nicky and Warrick do. I suppose Grissom also has a room of his own, a privelige of his rank, which I don't want to think about too much.

After a shower I feel almost human. I slide into black pants and a red shirt. No jeans for the first day. I'd like to look somewhat presentable. It never hurts to network. No telling which straw will be the last, and I could need a new job at any time.

I walk into the conference center a few minutes late. Nicky and Warr have saved a seat for me between them. Grissom is right behind us. I don't look at him when I slide into the seat, but I feel his eyes on me.

The entire time I am acutely aware of Grissom's presence behind us. I imagine that he is looking at me, though he probably doesn't have much to see. I didn't bother blowing my hair straight so I know it's curling everywhere.

Nothing being said here is at all novel or compelling to me, and my thoughts drift. Did I actually jerk him off in a tent with Nicky and Warrick just yards away?

More stupendously, he returned the favor. I think of the way he looked as he brought me off, focused and tense, and a wave of heat travels through my body. I'm glad I didn't put my hair up; he could probably see the blush burning on my neck. Or then again, maybe I should have. I'm told my naked nape is one of my sexier features.

"This isn't over," he said. I wonder what he has to say to me now. Will he have the gall to censure me for taking advantage of him, for making a move? I smile bitterly. I almost welcome that. An excuse to tear into him, to point out the hypocracy of it, the fact that he returned the favor, would probably be good for me.

After, I retreat to my room. I'm not ready for this discussion. I mope around on the bed for a while watching TV, channel-surfing. Nicky and Warr come to fetch me for dinner but I decline, telling them I'll just grab room service. I give them a plausible excuse about my circadian rhythms being screwed up and they seem to buy it.

I doze off there a while, somewhere between Friends and Seinfeld, and am interrupted by a ringing phone.

I pick it up. "H'lo?"

"Sara? It's Grissom." It's hard to describe the way he sounds. Sort of nervous, as if he intends to treat me gingerly.

"Hey."

"Didn't you get dinner?"

"I got some room service. I fell asleep." I don't know why I'm being civil to him, except that I get the feeling that he's trying to do right by me.

"Do you want me to let you go back to sleep?" He's even giving me an out. Do I want that? Hell, I don't know. I am quiet for a long time.

"It's okay. I shouldn't sleep too much during the day anyway."

"Can we talk?"

"Am I going to want to hear what you have to say?"

"I don't know. To be honest I don't have a clue what to say. I can tell you that I don't want to see you cry again."

My heart doesn't know how to take that. I swallow. He does care. But this is the way he does it every time. He reels me in...

"I'd rather avoid that outcome myself." I say dryly. I don't want to meet him at the bar, and certainly not in either of our rooms...

We are quiet, each of our minds racing.

"Tell you what," I say. "Let's go for a walk."

"Around the block?" he says, echoing words I said a lifetime ago.

"Whatever."

"Okay. Meet me in ten?"

"Sure."

.

Thus I am standing in the hotel gift shop, perusing tacky tchotchkes I would never buy, tee shirts, keychains, pens, magazines and postcards.

I feel a gentle touch to the small of my back and I recoil. I don't want him touching me, because I want it so much. I whirl around and glare a bit, knowing he knows how it makes me feel. He looks slightly mortified. He has showered, trimmed his beard.

"Sorry."

I know I'm supposed to say 'it's okay', but it's not, not given the current lack of intent, and I know I'm being unfair because I was completely down his pants twelve hours ago.

We leave the hotel quietly and walk down the street. It is hot and windy. As if the Santa Anas are early this year. My hair is immediately blown into curly disarray. We walk without speaking.

At random we climb a set of stairs and are in a little urban oasis, a concrete and marble park with benches and pools and trees and fountains, and a waterfall that trickles off the edge of its east side. It's past rush hour, and not many people are here.

I sit at the edge of the large fountain. The sunlight on rippling water is exquisite in my eyes, sparkling violently. I sit Indian style, facing the water, and he does likewise.

I speak first. "I don't suppose I have any right to be angry about you touching me, after this morning."

"I suppose not."

Is that all he is going to say?

"Are you pissed?" I ask him.

"No."

"What are you?"

"Confused," he pauses, dragging his fingers in an arc through the water. "Turned on. Terrified. Pressured. You?"

Wow. This is more than I expected. An actual dialogue. And the admission of him actually being turned on stokes a slow warmth somewhere in the vicinity of my crotch.

What am I? "I guess, the things I feel are not beause of last night, but just because of the way things have been in general. I'm angry. Hurt. Confused too, which is new, because I always knew... what I want. I'm also turned on. I'm afraid. Something's gotta give."

"And about last night - how do you feel?"

I blink. I didn't need that image in my head.

How do I feel? Liquid adrenaline surges through me every time I remember his touch, his fingers, the naked throb of him in my hands. My heart races and I swallow every time I remember, and I feel alive and wonderful and unbearably real.

"The way I feel about last night... isn't something I can put into words. But...I guess aroused, suffices. Well, not suffices, but, it's the tip of the iceberg." He doesn't need to know every little visceral reaction he engenders in my body.

"Me too." He says. I expect to hear 'but I don't know what to do about it' next, but it never comes.

"Why did you cry?" He asks it with a compassion that makes the tears flood forth again.

"Because it hurts. What you do to me. Pulling me close, pushing away. It has hurt for so long and when you ... give me the tiniest little thing I want it so much that it hurts like hell."

"And I don't need to guess why you're angry."

"I'm not angry with you for not loving me, for not wanting me."

"That's not true-"

"Grissom. Don't."

He sighs, exasperated. "Well then why are you angry?"

"I'm angry - because you're oblivious. I'm mostly angry because you didn't recommend me for the promotion, because your reason was stupid, and I can't help but wondering if it was personal. I'm angry because of the way you give then take it all back. I'm angry that you could spill your guts to a murder suspect, but not to me."

"Jim told me you were there."

"I was."

"I'm sorry you heard that."

"I'm not. My reality check was long overdue."

"It's not... like I probably said it."

"Then how is it, because my patience is wearing very thin."

"Sara. If you believe anything I say, believe that I never intended to hurt you."

Oh, god, how many times have I heard this speech? The tears spill over. I let them stay.

"I already know that."

"It's that I'm a coward on a massive scale."

Well. At least he's honest.

"That's also nothing I don't know."

We are quiet. Traffic whooshes to the end of the block, stops, and hums away again. The sun is burning down late in the sky.

"What are you afraid of?"

He doesn't answer quickly. I don't push. We are here, in a neutral space, not looking at one another, and we seem to be giving each other the space in which to be honest. So I just slip out of my sandals and roll my pants up to the knee and put my feet in the water. The coolness calms me.

"I'm afraid you'll destroy me." He says it quietly but steadily.

"That's not very flattering. What am I, a Gorgon?"

"I'm serious. If I lost you..."

"So what, you never try? You just assume you're doomed to failure?"

"So far, no."

"Are you telling me you want to try?" Oh shit, no, I did NOT say that.

"I-"

"Shush!"

"I..."

"Don't talk, Grissom. Strike that question from the record! I never asked it!"

He is bewildered looking in profile and I realize that I've probably pushed him away.

I breathe out slowly, try to explain. "I can't take much more pain from you. I mean it."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"So you said." I say it without anger, but feel maudlin with tears running down my face. I wipe them away and sniffle.

"You don't believe me."

"I do believe you. I never said you do it on purpose. I know you're not like that." It's probably one of the reasons I still love you, I don't say.

"Well at least that's good."

His tone is bitter and anger flares through me. "I don't believe you're the one with the right to be bitter about this situation."

"Probably not." He sighs. "Okay. I'm going to level with you. I've been burned. I was burned so badly that I decided, consciously and not, that I was never going to be involved again. Ever. And I wasn't. Not for the last fifteen years."

I am quiet. I suspected something like this, but I sense he needs space to be with what he just said.

"It's become so habitual to turn away, Sara, that I don't know how..."

Tears are back, but now they are for him. The man I love, being so hurt so acutely, so deeply that he lost hope, that he turned away from the world. It hurts.

I sniffle and nod. "That makes sense."

"I'm glad you understand." His gratitude is sweet and I'm happy for the grace I just offered him.

"I would never do that to you." It's more than I wanted to give him but it slips from my lips.

"It still doesn't make it easier."

"I can't make it easier for you. I can do a lot of things for you, but I can't make you decide to have hope. You have to decide that on your own."

"I don't know what to do."

"What do you want to do?"

"What do I want to do?" He laughs a little, as if there is something ridiculous about me asking the question. "What do I want to do? I want to take you up to your room and make love to you until neither one of us can think straight, then wake up tomorrow and do it again. And that, is just the tip of the iceberg."

I can't get enough air into my chest. The resulting breath is harsh. I close my eyes and press my lips together. Hot shivering ecstasy runs through me like wind.

"I'm sorry if that hurts you." he says, fumbling.

"Grissom. Look at me." I force myself to look at him. "That doesn't upset me. It makes me feel so high..." I'm actually looking into his eyes and saying this. God. "That makes me feel this... searing... exquisite..." I look away. It is too intense. "Excitement," I finish feebly.

Quiet seems to go on for minutes. I know I'm blushing hot scarlet.

"Am I too late?"

"No. But..."

"But?"

"But things would have to be different. I can't keep going on with the push and pull."

"I know." He pauses for a long time and I am quiet. "Like I said, and I know this sounds stupid, but I want... I want, but I don't know how."

"You knew how last night."

"That was sex."

Oh yeah, damn straight. Shivers come again at the memory, insistent and distracting. "Grissom, how do you feel about me?"

I expect a long bout of silence. But he answers instantly. "I love you."

I close my eyes and press my lips together. My heart isn't sure if it feels euphoria or agony or both. Both. Definately both.

"Does that hurt you?"

I nod. "It's not just hurt. I've... wanted this for so long."

"And you still do."

"Yeah." It is a whisper. We are quiet for a long time.

Finally, I speak. "Look. Here's the deal: I love you. Have for years. I've loved you through all the crap you've put me through and if that doesn't make me stop I'm not sure anything will. You need to think carefully and make a choice. If you choose me, don't worry about knowing what to do. That would be like a bomb not knowing how to explode or a fire not knowing how to burn. That shouldn't be a factor in your decision. What should be is that I'm not gonna tolerate a lot of crap from you. I don't expect a marriage proposal but I do expect a little respect and consistency. I'm not fragile, I can work through things with you. I personally think that you and I are a couple of resourceful people. I know we could work through the rough spots. But you need to decide. And when you do, you know where my room is."

I slip my sandals on, and stand. I lay my hand gently on his shoulder, for a second, wanting to touch more, wanting somehow to soothe him, but I can't. I settle for stroking his hair quickly with the backs of my fingers, so silky smooth, and god I love him. And then I turn and walk away.