Grissom scowls and slams the door behind him.

If he was feeling “edgy” before, right now he is downright vexed.

How in the hell could Doug possibly know that he is meeting Sara, that she loved him, and that most of all whether or not she still does?

He doubts that. If she had loved him, she wouldn’t have left. It’s a thought he frequently has, usually with anger.

His watch tells him that he has two minutes to be in the lobby. He enters the elevator and closes his eyes. He tries to breathe.

Sara isn’t in the lobby. He sits on one of the overstuffed sofas and picks up a magazine. He leafs through it, forcing himself to not watch the elevators.

“Hi.”

He hasn’t even heard her approach. His attempt at distraction actually worked, to his surprise.

“Hello.“ He smiles.

Sara is beautiful in blue jeans and a red halter top. Her skin tanned, her hair is pulled haphazardly up in a tortoise shell clip, brown wisps escaping in several directions.

In that instant, they each think the same thought - that their hearts are beating so fast.

Seeing him is still like walking on glass shards, only less so.

He is so sexy in that blue tee shirt, she thinks. Has he actually been working out?

“You wanna go for a walk?”

“Sure.” He puts the magazine back where it belongs and they walk outside.

The sky is just beginning to darken. The wind picks up, huffing in all directions, electric. Heat lightning flutters diffusely across the sky.

“Looks like rain.” He says.

“Oh, I love this weather. Right before a storm. it’s so cool.” She smiles. She is determined not to censor herself. At times in Vegas she kept quiet, unsure he would even notice her if she did speak, let alone give her any positive attention. So she had suppressed herself until it was habitual.

“Why?”

She blinks. He actually cares what she thinks about something so...unserious? This is a change. “I don’t know. I just love the energy right before a storm. I can’t put my finger on why.”

She thinks, but does not say, that there is something sensual and intimate about the breezes that rush about like warring lovers, volatile and beautiful like the moments that vibrate in the string of a cello right before an orchestra plays.

She half-expects him to quote some arcane statistic about lightning or weather, but he just says “I agree.”

They walk along the shore, lights coming on as the sky darkens, until they encounter some kids at the water’s edge. The parents are sitting farther from the water, watching over them.

“I got a crab,” the little boy says, unabashedly holding his hand out to them. He can’t be a day older than four.

Sara squats down without a second’s hesitation. “I see that. Does he have a name?”

The kid tucks his head under his arm, suddenly shy. When he shakes his head, he moves his entire body back and forth.

“No name, huh?” Sara says.

Grissom kneels down, balancing himself with two fingers in the wet sand. He extends his palm. “May I?”

The boy allows the small creature to crawl into Grissom’s much larger hand. “Actually this guy does have a name. it’s Emerita talpoida.”

The kid giggles.

Sara’s mouth twitches. Trust Grissom to be such a geek. The kids, however, are eating it up. The girl, who is a bit older, stands closer and peers at the crab in Grissom’s hand.

“That’s a silly name, huh?” Sara says. The little boy grins back, cute as can be.

“That’s the species name,” the girl says. “it’s Latin.”

Grissom blinks at the girl. “Very good.” His tone is surprised and impressed. Sara’s smile fades when she thinks about how much that tone used to warm her.

“I learned about it in school.”

“Me too,” he says, choosing not to mention the L.A. floater case that comes to mind when he sees a sand crab.

“Are you a crab expert?” the girl asks.

“No, I’m a bug expert.”

“Eew. Well, it looks like a bug.”

“Yes it does. It’s similar to a bug in a lot of ways.” Grissom watches the crab move over his palm, and reaches to hand it back.

“Let me hold him,” the girl says.

“It’s a her, actually.”

“No way! Cool.” He cups his hands and tilts them, and the crab tumbles into the little girl’s sandy palm.

Sara stands and rubs sand from her hands, and he does the same. “Put her back in the water when you’re done playing with her, so she’ll live.”

“Okay, Mister. Bye!”

“Bye.”

They walk away from the kids and he realizes that her shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.

“Are you making fun of me, Special Agent Sidle?”

“No, I just --” she laughs. “If you ever get sick of Mobley you can have a great career as a kindergarten teacher.”

“I would, and it’s not funny. And don’t forget people pay to hear me teach, and that my teaching prowess was how we met.”

“Oh, calm down, Grissom, I just think it‘s cute.” she offers.

He has no clue how to interpret that, and he can’t think of a reply. “I don’t think it’s actually going to rain,” he says.

“Me neither. I just think it’s going to be all neat and windy like this all night.”

He smiles slightly at the idea of spending the entire night with her.

She is like a different creature, happier, freer. Perhaps getting away from him was the best thing she ever did.

The world doesn’t revolve around me, he reminds himself.

“Let’s check out the pier,” she says.

“Okay.”

His mind returns to Doug’s words. She still loves you, man. . .

They walk up the wooden steps to the pier. The wood is acrid with creosote, its scent creeping into the ocean air. A few people are out fishing off of either side. Sara and Grissom walk slowly toward the end.

When they are halfway down, out of earshot of the fishermen, he speaks. “Sara, I have a question for you.”

She swallows and tries to appear light and nonchalant. “Allright. Shoot.”

She glances over at him. He looks so sexy in the moonlight. She could just reach over...

They take a good ten paces before he actually says anything. He doesn’t look at her.

“I just wanted to know why you left Vegas. Other than the reasons you told me. Um, if there are other reasons, I mean.”

He’s pondered this almost daily for two years. He gave her an actual plant, for godsakes! With an actual sentiment. She knew that he was horrible at this stuff. Why couldn’t she have cut him some slack?

She turns to him, surprise on her face. It scares him. He fears it could turn to anger any minute.

“I was going to bring that up, actually.” she says calmly.

“I’d love to hear it.”

I bet you would, she thinks.

“It’s so hard to talk about this. It’s so weird to be here with you.”

“You know you can always talk to me, Sara. I consider you one of my closest friends, even if that has derailed a bit of late.”

“I know.” she swallows. “It doesn’t make what I have to say any easier.”

“Okay.”

They are at the end of the pier, and it is a relief for her to sit down on the bench and not have to face him.

I am an idiot, he thinks. He can’t think of a single word that might ease her discomfort.

Finally, she speaks.

“When I first wrote up my letter of resignation I thought that my reasons were exactly the things I articulated to you. I felt overlooked and unrespected. Unseen. And then you sent me the orchid, which is still thriving, by the way...” she smiles.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Anyway, after we talked I knew exactly what you meant. I knew that you’d realized that you weren’t treating me right as a supervisor and that you would change.”

“I’m glad. To be truthful I spent a lot of time wondering what you thought it meant. God knows I’m not the most eloquent man on the planet.”

“Oh, you can be eloquent when you want to be,” she says.

He ponders this, wondering if she has some deeper meaning. His thoughts are cut short by a bombshell.

“Anyway, the problem was that I was completely, head over heels, out of my head in love with you.”

She is still talking. None of her words are registering.

He feels the rhythmic whoosh of his heartbeat in his ears.

“What?”

She narrows her eyes at him, somewhat irked by the interruption.

“Forgive me for interrupting, but did you just say that or am I hallucinating?”

“I really said it, Grissom. Now shut up and listen, because this is hard enough as it is.”

“Sorry. You just floored me.”

She has to look away from him in order to continue. But her thoughts are derailed. She can’t think straight with him sitting so close.

There are tears in her eyes. She can’t speak a word.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks gently.

She can hear his very heart in the tone of his voice and feels the guilt more strongly than ever.

“I didn’t have the heart to. Or the guts. I apologize for that, I know that you at least deserved to know.”

He realizes that she’s crying. He pulls her close, fracturing her remaining emotional control. She is horrified at her display of tears.

“I’m so, so sorry. You seem so much happier without me around.”

She looks at him, surprised. “Well, I’m happier, but not necessarily anything to do with you.” She wipes her face and pauses.

“All my life I wasn’t really sure what I wanted to be. The problem was that meeting you changed my life. Because you were the one who introduced me to my calling, my profession. But that was all mixed up with the feelings I had for you, and somehow along the way I lost myself. And it wasn’t your fault, it was mine.”

Something tightens in his chest as he watches her tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

“There were two reasons why I left Vegas, and for the record it wasn’t about the workplace respect thing. The first reason was that I needed to set out on my own, and reclaim my own identity. The second was… the feelings I had for you. They complicated things so much, and compounded the problem. I’m sorry, from the bottom of my heart that I didn’t at least tell you. I owed you so much more.”

“You don’t owe me a thing.” He studies her profile as she looks out at the ocean. Her face is still wet with tears. He wants very much to touch her. “I understand. I know it would have just hurt you more. I‘m glad you didn't.”

She looks at him.

“Not...not that wouldn’t have wanted to know. I just - it kills me that I hurt you as much as I did. I wish I’d known then, but I’m glad you took your own time to tell me.”

She smiles. God, she loves him so much. She doesn’t know how, or in what manner, but in that second she would do anything to keep him from hurting.

“And I want you to know that I know what a myopic asshole I am, and I categorically apologize for being insensitive for all those years. If one can do such a thing.”

“One apology for all your transgressions? That’s awfully convenient,” she says with a teasing smile.

“It’s the best I can do. Catherine has gone to great lengths to get me to realize how bad I am.”

Sara feels a twinge of jealousy at the mention of other woman. Irrational jealousy. She lets it go, and chalks it up to her current Grissom-induced emotionally overwrought state of mind.

“Someone needs to keep you in line,” she jokes.

“Probably. I haven’t found anyone yet who will put up with me.”

She laughs quietly and looks out at the water, trying again to delineate the horizon. Why did that relieve her? She had been so determined not to go there.

Damn her stupid heart. It’s going in a direction that she strictly forbade.

He’d said “I’d wish I’d known then.” Does that mean he would have reciprocated her feelings? Acted on them? She shrugged to herself.

A moot point, she reminds herself for the eleventh time in one day.

He is still holding her to him, her shoulder to his, and he is unsure of whether he should continue, or let go.

“I’m glad I’ve finally told you this,” she says. “It’s so good to be talking to you again, to be your friend again, to be open about things. I’ve missed you so much. Your friendship, I mean.”

“Me too,” he admits.

He wonders if friendship is all she wants. She did use the past tense when saying that she’d loved him.

He frowns, and they are quiet for a while, not offering anything else, just letting things settle.

He watches the reflection of the moon for a long time. Then he pulls her closer. “I missed you too,” he whispers, looking out at the water.

I’m glad, she thinks, mind racing with all the things she feels. They are wild and intense and fleeting like the weather, and she is unable to distill any of them into speech, so she just leans into him. When he turns to gently kiss the top of her head she closes her eyes, and feels as if she might break apart from the tension and simultaneous resolution of it.

.

She barely sleeps that night, hovering over her laptop until Calleigh throws a pillow at her. “Will you turn that fucking thing off and go to sleep, Sidle?”

.

Sara and Grissom spend the rest of the week rebuilding their friendship. They have lunch every day, sometimes with others, sometimes just them. Calleigh is actually a bit jealous of Sara‘s attention to Grissom.

He tells Sara that he plans to present the Renteria case on Thursday, and would she like to present it with him?

She grins, even as a part of her cringes at how good it feels to be working with him again. One evening in his room they pore over the case file, just like old times, photos and reports spread out over the small table.

Doug finds them like that. He grins in his distinctive Doug way and says “sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“Does it look like you’re interrupting something?” Sara says.

Doug grins more and his eyes widen at some thought known only to him. Sara grins back. “Bite me, Douggo.”

Grissom smiles. The comparison with Greg Sanders is one he often makes.

“Whatcha doin’, anyway,” Doug asks.

“Going over a case to present at rounds.”

Doug picks up some photos. “Bloodflies. Cool.”

.

Sara would never believe it, but Grissom is sleeping even less than she is. He has never thought about another person so much in his life. Is this want it feels like to be normal, to not be a self-absorbed loser with his head stuck in a book? If so, he thinks, he isn’t sure he likes it. He feels restless, out of control, and above all very, very unsatisfied.

On Wednesday Sara gives a speech. The Rape Exam: Sensitivity to Psychological and Psychosocial aspects. It is an unusual lecture, but her reputation is as a first-rate scientist, so the turnout is good.

Grissom sits near the front, watching her walk back and forth in her tailored black suit, calmly, casually speaking to the audience without a single slide or visual aid of any kind, channeling her energy into he usual Sara gestures. She talks about the least intrusive, most supportive way to do a rape exam.

He had no idea she would be such a captivating public speaker. Everyone is fascinated, and not just the men. Her words are clear and eloquent and her passion for advocacy comes through. He has never been so proud in his life.

Grissom can’t take his eyes off of her as she discusses her research with rape victims. She actually interviewed victims, male and female, to see what their experience of the exam was like. She also interviewed trauma counselors. This lends her work an empirical soundness that causes even the most scientific of her peers to admire her.

He marvels that she is at once so professional and casual, talking to the group as if she were in her dorm room in the middle of the night. She is truly and utterly in her element. This is the essence of Sara, brilliant, passionate, calm and clear. She shines. The realization that he is in love with her hits him like a ton of bricks.

She glances around the room as she speaks, briefly making eye contact with him. She wonders why he isn’t smiling.

Afterward, he is smiling again. He waits for her, wanting to confirm the dinner plans they have with Calleigh, Warrick, and Doug. Several other people have beaten him to the punch, however, so he patiently waits while Sara chats with a forensic psychologist about doing a collaborative project.

He waits until the last person is done speaking with her. She finally gives him a grin.

“That was amazing.”

“Well, you always told me I was too emotional. I wanted to channel it into something productive.”

“I’ve never heard a talk like that. You should publish your findings in a psychology journal.”

“I have.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Thanks. Hey, looks like the tables are turned, and you’re the one seeking me out after a lecture.” she smiles lightly.

“That’s so true, Sara. You have no idea just how much the tables have turned.”

Her eyes widen, but before she can decipher that Calleigh is there. “Hey guys, are we still on for dinner?”

They have dinner at a trendy Cuban restaurant. There is a big booth in the back for all of them. Several bottles of wine are passed around, and everyone feels good.

It is at times like this, Sara thinks, surrounded by peers, talking and laughing, that she forgets what a bumbling asocial loser she is.

Across the table, at exactly the same time, Grissom has the exact same thought about himself.

That night in their room, Calleigh corners Sara as she comes out of the shower. “Okay, I have you where I want you. What’s going on.”

Sara removes the towel from her head and starts to comb her hair. “I don’t know. Honestly.”

“You still love him,” Calleigh’s accent is strong.

Sara sighs deeply. “I think I‘ll always love him. In some way or another. Mostly we’ve been just straightening out the things that happened before. We’re becoming friends again.”

“You actually told him that you were in love with him?”

“I told him that I had been.”

“And?”

“And he understood why I never told him. He was actually very sweet about it.”

“I’m not buying it. I think you are still head over heels, Sara Sidle.”

“Calleigh, did I ever tell you that you remind me of Catherine Willows?”

“No, but thanks. She’s a sharp lady. And you’re trying to distract me from the point.”

Sara tosses her brush on to her bed. “I don’t know what it is you want me to say. I’m feeling a million things all week and I don’t know what they are. I need to sort it out. Maybe I am still in love with him. But that doesn’t mean anything’s gonna come of it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I promised myself not to go down that road again.”

“You couldn’t.” Calleigh says. “I didn’t know you back then, but I know you well enough now to know that next time you won’t lose yourself, in him or anyone else.”

Sara smiles. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But who knows if there’ll be a next time?” She pulls back her covers and lays down. “Enough about me, Cal, what’s up with you and Warrick?”

“I dunno. I get the feeling there’s something with him and Catherine.”

“Possible. But Catherine is in Vegas.”

“So is Grissom,” Calleigh says instantly, with a sharp smile and innocuous Southern lilt.

“Apples and oranges. My point was that I doubt that either War or Cath do the long-distance relationship thing.”

“Go on.”

“I think he’s into you. Ask him out. There’s only like three days left.”

“I will if you will.”

“Girl, will you stop?”

“Never,” Calleigh chirps, and turns out the lights. “Good night, Sidle.”

“Night, pain in the ass.”

Sara closes her eyes and hears the phrase over and over again.

You have no idea just how much the tables have turned...

.

Grissom sits through Thursday’s presentations without hearing them. His feelings seize him, blindside him, flabbergast him. He can’t get her face out of his head. Can’t stop hearing that sultry voice that said she had been out of her head in love with him.

Do you still? Those are the only words he thinks, over and over. They have dinner together that night, and the words hover on the tip of his tongue, but then her pager goes off, and they recede back into his queasy body.

.

The final day of the conference ends with an awards ceremony, dinner and dancing. Sara and Calleigh are in their bathroom, both using the mirror.

Calleigh wears a sexy black number, and Sara is in red, a simple maroon sheath dress with beads swirling in patterns at the bottom. She puts on her ribbon necklace with the garnet heart pendant. “Did you talk to Warrick?” she asks, smoothing out her dress and turning back and forth.

“No, but don’t worry.” Calleigh smiles like a cat.

“Why?”

“Because I have other plans for tonight.”

“Oh?”

“I have a date. Don’t wait up.”

“Who?”

“Not Warrick.”

“Cal!”

She smiles. “If you weren’t out half the night geeking around with Grissom, you might have noticed that I didn’t come home.”

Sara grinned. “Oh my god, you were out with Douggo, weren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“So?”

“So what?”

“How was it?”

Calleigh grins, a hint of a blush starting in her cheeks.

“You are actually blushing. Never thought I’d see that. Was it good?”

Calleigh smirks.

“Tell!”

“Mind blowing.”

“Well, wait a minute - if you’re spending the night in his room, then where is Grissom - Oh, no! Don’t even think about it!”

“Who said anything about Grissom,” Cal grins, putting on lip gloss.

“Okay, I hate you, you little redneck brat.”

Calleigh suppresses a smile. “You dummy. We’re getting a room in another hotel.”

“Oh.” Then she realizes the implications of this. She will be alone, Grissom will be alone…. “Oh, no, you conniving little bitch.”

“This isn’t about you, Sidle! Enjoy the room, though.”

Sara grins and points her finger at Calleigh. “You are so going to hell! Now do my hair for me.”

.

Grissom, Warrick and Doug are at a table near the back of the ballroom, in varying degrees of formal wear. The circular tables are clad in linen and candles flicker at their centers.

Grissom sees Warrick raise his head and motion to the two saved seats. He doesn’t dare turn around. He has chosen to sit facing away from the door because he knows Sara will be wearing something formal and devastating, and he doesn’t trust himself not to gawk.

He pretends he doesn’t see Warrick’s gesture, and looks at his water glass. But when she sits down opposite him, he can’t take his eyes off of her.

Warrick looks at both women and lets out a low whistle.

“Thank you Warrick,” Calleigh primly says, unfolding her napkin and placing it on her lap.

“Thank you, Warrick,” Sara parrots, quashing the very strong and sudden urge to giggle. Grissom’s gaze feels like champagne bubbles in her head.

She clears her throat. “Evening, everyone.” she nods at everyone, briefly letting her eyes make contact with his. He looks so good in his blue shirt. She sips her ice water and thinks that she might combust, but there doesn’t seem to be enough oxygen in the room to support a fire.

Only when the MC starts to speak, and her peripheral vision tells her that he is no longer staring, does she calm, and become able to breathe.

Dinner and awards fly by quickly. Grissom wins an award for something but she doesn’t remember much. She watches him as he makes his way to the stage. He is wearing a charcoal-colored suit with a blue silk shirt. It is decidedly less than formal, but impeccably, deliberately, casual. What she doesn’t realize is that it is Armani, and that he spent an obscene amount of money on it several hours ago in a desperate attempt to look good for her.

He returns to the table and the award presentation stops while the next course is served. “Can I get something vegetarian, please,” she whispers to the waitress.

“Yes ma’am. We have an eggplant parmesan with fresh asparagus.”

“That sounds wonderful. Thanks.”

She again feels Grissom’s eyes on her. She doesn’t know how she will make it through the night without ravishing him.

“Your hair is lovely, Sara,” he says.

“Um, thanks.” She gingerly touches the silk flowers nestled to one side of her French twist. “Calleigh’s handiwork.”

She is flustered and feels very much put on display. She doesn’t like it. He on the other hand, seems oddly comfortable, sipping beer from his glass. His suit has blue undertones that bring out the color of his eyes. He didn’t shave, merely trimmed his facial hair. She thinks that he looks good enough to eat and she wonders how the tanned skin of his neck tastes, and-

Busted. He has caught her staring, and raises his eyebrow. His mouth twitches in a near-smile, the slight blush of his cheeks betraying this new, suave Grissom that feels like a stranger.

She keeps looking, refusing to back down. Finally, he smiles, sips his beer, and looks away. He feels warmth at the back of his neck, where for some reason he tends to blush. He is incredibly thankful that it’s not all over his face.

After dinner, Calleigh and Doug dance while the others discuss decomps, swapping horror stories.

Teri Miller appears, regal in her white dress, platinum hair done in waves. “Gil, how are you?”

“Terri! I’m well. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Well, I’m in town for a consultation so I thought I would crash the party. Hello Sara.”

“Hi, Terri.”

“Gil, would you like to dance?”

“No thank you.”

“Okay,” Terri said smoothly. Sara could tell that she wasn’t expecting that, but she hides it well. “Well, it was good seeing you all.” She smiles and walks away.

“Grissom! That was harsh!”

“Why? What should I have said?”

“I dunno, but you could have softened the blow a little.”

“You know I’m not good with stuff like that.”

“Why didn’t you just dance with her?”

“I don’t want to dance with her,” he says, eyes narrowed, wondering why he is suddenly furious.

Sara’s evening bag beeps. “Oh, damn,” she says with disgust. She removes her phone and walks out of the room. He watches her retreat, enjoying the low V-shaped back of her dress, and the interplay of light on her shoulder blades.

When she returns, Grissom is the only one left at the table. He is nursing the dregs of a gin and tonic, pushing the lime around and around the rim of the glass.

“Hey,” she says, pulling out the chair next to him.

“Hey.”

“Griss, are you angry with me?”

“No! Yes. I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry I offended you.”

“No, Sara, you didn’t. I’m just... frustrated.” “Want to talk about it?”

“I’m just... I’m never good at saying the right thing. I thought I was being polite with her.”

“You weren’t that harsh. I guess I was just surprised that you didn’t say yes. I thought you liked her.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay. Well, I can think of numerous occasions when you said the right thing to me. Lots of them, in fact. You‘re not as bad at this stuff as you think.”

He smiles somewhat sadly, still pushing his lime around in circles.

“Will you dance with me, Sara?” He looks from the glass to her face. The way he says it takes her breath away. She feels his sadness, his frustration.

“I’d be honored,” she smiles, trying to soothe the damage she caused. They move to the dance floor. She glances up at him shyly and he takes the lead, pulling her reverently close to him, hand splayed on her naked back.

“I’m really sorry,” she repeats.

His eyes on hers are very intense. “So am I. I feel like all I have done is hurt you.”

“It’s not true. You’ve given me a lot.”

“Not nearly what you deserve,” he pulls her closer.

Her heart is pounding. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to steady herself. But he smells so good, of clean skin and faintly spicy soap. Breathing does nothing to calm her, instead it plunges her deeper into feeling and memory.

“Sara? Are you ok? We don’t have to dance if you don’t want.”

“I’m okay,” she says. He looks into her eyes and he believes her. She rests her head on his shoulder and he is unexpectedly solid, comforting. She lets herself be held, and relaxes.

Too soon, or not quickly enough, the song ends. “Again?” he asks.

“No, let’s go for a walk.”

“Okay.”

His mind races. Was that a rejection? Or would a walk lead to something more intimate, as it had the other night?

As they walk outside he reflects that he hasn’t felt this way in thirty years. He had forgotten it was possible. He remembers the girl from the Catholic school in Marina del Ray, the girl who smiled at him and liked him, not knowing how his classmates regarded him. He remembers writing her letters, making love to her in her parents’ house, trembling with emotion. He nearly forgot her. He certainly forgot this feeling. But it is again coursing through his veins, a million times more potent.

They walk quietly out to the beach, stopping to remove their shoes. Her pumps dangle from the fingers of her left hand, and as they walk their hands bump, her right and his left. She looks straight ahead, wildly conscious of it.

His fingers brush hers, tentatively. He is looking at her and she thinks the intensity of it should send her spinning out into space. His fingers curl gingerly into hers, a question mark. She briefly meets his eyes and sees the question there.

She entwines her fingers in his and looks away.

They walk like that for what seems like miles, hand loosely clasped in hand, mouths quiet, thoughts racing.

Then he stops, but when she continues to walk he still holds her hand.

She turns to face him. He is so serious. “Sara.”

“Hey. What’s wrong?”

He closes his eyes. Opens them again. “Everything. I hope I didn’t ruin everything. With us, I mean.”

“No you haven’t.” She says it gently. He marvels that she is comforting him, compassionate and sweet.

He fixes his eyes in the distance and is quiet. He still holds her hand, not budging.

“Grissom?” This is starting to concern her.

“I love you Sara. Maybe I always have. I don’t know.”

The shock lasts for about ten seconds. She opens her mouth to rebut, but then she sees his eyes, sees that it is true.

She wraps her arms around him, face to chest. He holds her so close, and she can feel every inch of his arms around her, holding so tight. It was a feeling she had always wanted.

She is shaking and she can’t stop. There are tears high in her throat.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

She presses her fingers to his lips and he is quiet. He kisses her fingers, then holds her close, for a long time. There is the cadence of waves and people talking far away. Her hand falls, then rises again to rub the silky skin of his neck.

“I love you too. I don’t know how, everything is so different, and I’m so confused.”

“S’okay,” he whispers, like a father comforting his child, and he rubs her back.

She closes her eyes and tries to steady her thoughts. His hands rise up to the flowered clip that holds her updo in place, and he impulsively pulls it. Her hair comes tumbling down.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve wanted to do that all night.” He presses his forehead to hers.

“Grissom.” It is a warning and a protest both. She can’t rely on her will alone to stop what is happening.

His lips graze her forehead. Goosebumps rise on her arm and she feels her nipples harden. His hands are so warm at the small of her back. She feels his mouth move down to her temple, then her ear, pressing small kisses, then moves to her neck, as if waiting for permission. She hovers trembling in space, knowing that a movement in either direction will change things forever.

“If you want me to stop then you need to say so.” His eyes are so raw. She can envision him laying her down on the sand and taking her.

“I-”

He retreats a bit and looks at her, His hands rest on her shoulders, thumbs gently stroking her collarbone.

“You’re confused?”

She nods. Her eyes glitter.

“Do you...still have feelings for me?”

The feeling that comsumes her is why she had to run. She feels herself losing control. She feels his pull, drawing her back in.

“Yes, but...”

He waits for her to finish. When she doesn’t, he says “I’m not trying to subjugate you, to control you, or to own you, Sara. All of those things that happened won’t happen again.”

“What do you want?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. Then he opens them. “I just want to love you.” He traces the delicate arch of her eyebrow. “You need to tell me to stop if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t know what I want,” she whispers.

“Then is it okay if I just hold you?”

She nods, and slips back into his arms. His shirt is soft. The same embrace that had agitated her now slowly calms her. She realizes that he is done pushing, that he is content just to hold her.

“I’m so afraid,” she finally whispers.

“Me too.”

It never occurred to her that he might feel just as out of control as she did. “What are you afraid of?” she asks in a shaky voice.

“Of what I’m feeling. Of hurting you. Of losing you.” She listens to the cadence of his breath from within, ear pressed to his chest. “I’m afraid I’ll never feel this way again. Mostly I‘m just afraid of ruining things, same thing I‘ve always been afraid of.”

They are quiet, and she holds him close.

He presses a kiss to her temple. “Can you tell me what you’re afraid of?” he gently asks.

“I...yeah. I’m afraid that you’ll withdraw back into yourself. All that time, sometimes it seemed like you cared, then you were so cold. I can’t take that risk again, I can’t... be burned like that again.”

“I never knew the depth of what you felt.”

“Then you really are clueless.” she laughs gently to soften the blow.

“I don’t want to be. And I tried to push you away for your own good.”

“Why?”

“Because I was your boss. Because of the way rumors start. Because there’s a double standard, that would ruin your career and not mine. Because you were dating that guy. Because you deserved better.”

“I think I can be the judge of what I do and don’t deserve.”

“I know. Plus, there’s the issue of communication. I grew up in a very quiet house. Silence...silence feels like home to me. I’m not used to talking, I never was. I’m so damn bad at it, Sara.”

“You’re doing okay now.”

“I hope.” He pulls away and takes her hands in his. “I hope you feel like you can give me a chance.”

“You’re in Vegas. I’m in Indy.”

“I know. You could always...Come back?”

She drops his hands. “I am not coming back to Vegas.”

“I didn’t mean... Damn, I’m sorry I said that. I just wish we could have a chance to be together. To see where things go.”

She nods.

Something awful occurrs to him. She had said that she wasn’t sure how she loved him.

“Sara, are you no longer attracted to me?”

She looked up in surprise. “What gave you that idea?”

“Well, you're a little out of my league.”

She is shocked. She never dreamed that someone so sexy could be so insecure.

She steps closer, takes his hand in hers. She places the palm of his hand flat on her chest, over her heart.

“You feel that?” she whispers.

He nods and swallows. The naked thrumming of her heart is acutely, unexpectedly erotic, in and of itself. He feels himself go hard even before it occurs to him that his hand is almost on her left breast.

He meets her frightened, aroused eyes, all the while feeling the racing pulse below his fingers.

Then she steps back and looks away from the intensity of it. “I mean, do you not feel me shaking?” She feels flustered and embarrassed.

“I feel it,” he says, wondering how in the hell he can stop himself from making love to her right then and there.

She looks down at the sand, unsure, and her gaze traces the water’s edge.

He takes a few deep breaths. Finally he speaks, seeking to give her all the respect he never has.

“What happens next is up to you.”

She nods slowly, her mind racing.

“Come on. Let’s go get a cup of coffee,” he says, and this unexpected grace makes her love him more. It confuses her more, too, but she puts the confusion and the turmoil and her shaking heart on hold, and takes his offered hand.

Fifteen minutes later they are in a diner on a side street. They revert to talking about work but everything is different. He asks her about Indianapolis, what her lab is like, She doesn’t realize it then, but he is wondering if there are any jobs there.

Eventually they pay for their coffee and leave. They walk slowly back to the hotel, hand in hand. She laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“Are you aware of your roommate’s whereabouts tonight?”

“No, why.”

“Well, it seems your roommate and my roommate have a little thing going.”

“Doug and Calleigh?”

She nods.

“So what are their whereabouts?”

“I don’t know. They got a room somewhere.”

“I had no idea.”

“Yeah, well, Calleigh works in mysterious ways.”

“To be truthful I thought he was interested in you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“How could someone not be interested in you?” He means it honestly, and says it before his brain has a chance to stop him.

She smiles, a full smile that makes him fly.

“You up for a game of chess?”

“Always.” He tries not to smile like a little boy. He wants to keep her with him for as long as possible on this final night .

They return to his room. He keeps his distance and is careful not to make any overtures toward her, striving to keep his actions solely on the level of friendship. She senses this, and appreciates it. When he takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves, it is hard to stop looking at him.

Both are grateful for the complexity of the game, a welcome distraction from the tension that consumes them. But with her hair down and tousled and her face flushed, he is still distracted. She wins twice, and he only wins once.

After, she excuses herself to the bathroom. She looks at herself in the mirror, presses her lips together, then straightens her hair.

When she returns to the room, he is watching the Discovery channel. There is a program about hydras and jellyfish. They sit companionably on his bed and watch it. He sits with his back against the headboard, she lies down on her belly, facing away from him.

She is glad for the simple closeness. Even though his proximity tempts her, confuses her, arouses her, the comfort he gives by just existing is greater. She relaxes. Her feet are sandy, crossed at the ankles, and he can’t resist touching her. He gently strokes her ankle. She watches the filmy white hydras undulate in blue water, and falls slowly into sleep.

Like this he can look at her to his heart’s content. He notices the brown mole below her right shoulder blade, the gold highlights in her hair, the way her waist narrows then swells into the sweet curve of her ass under the silky fabric of her dress. He thinks it strange to be so happy and so unsatiated, all at once.

He watches her sleep throughout an episode of the Crocodile Hunter and a program on lemmings, marveling at the whorl of her ear, the way her tanned arms are thrown sideways. Finally, he places his own pillow next to hers at the foot of the bed, turns out the lights, and lays next to her, holding her close. “Grissom,” she mumbles.

“Hmm?”

But she doesn’t speak, content only to say his name, and lean back into his embrace.

.

They share a quiet breakfast and a contemplative cab to the airport. His flight will leave first. They sit together at the gate, sunlight slanting in sharply, and when she leans into him over the arm of her uncomfortable airport chair, he doesn’t care who sees. He puts his arm around her, and he never thought it would happen, but she actually snuggles close to him in a public place.

He closes his eyes and shuts out the world. His hearing wanes a bit. Being near-deaf has its blessings. He is conscious of the warmth of the sun on them, of her breath on his collar, her silky hair.

They sit like that for long minutes. His hearing recedes more and returns. He can hear the boarding calls, and ignores them until they call for the last passengers to board.

He pulls away, and Sara looks up at him. She still wears traces of last night’s makeup, and her hair lights up golden in the morning sun.

“That’s me,” he gestures toward the gate.

“Yeah,” she agrees sadly.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

“Me neither.” He looks at her face and can see that she is telling the truth. It heals some fissure of anxiety deep inside him.

“Call me?”

“Of course.” She smiles, warming him

“Okay.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles.

“Well...”

“Grissom?” Her tone changes, becomes urgent and intense.

“Yeah?”

She moves close to him and tilts her head and kisses him. He drops his bag and doesn’t know where to put his hands. They hover for a second, clueless.

Then he pulls her close to him, hand moving possessively up her side, and kisses her back, hard.

All of his inhibitions are gone. His only thought is that if he can kiss her passionately enough, she will stay with him.

He relishes the moan in her throat, the clutch of her fingers in his hair. His hand tightens on her back and confirms what she has always known - that he would be as focused, passionate, and intense in this as he was in all things.

He feels a solid flash of ecstasy travel up his body, and then she pulls away, breathless. She smiles through tears that are threatening to fall. “You’d better get that plane.”

“I’d better,” he echoes, as if not comprehending the words.

“Bye, Grissom.”

He smiles sadly, picks up his bag, and walks away.