Beyond Butterflied

Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Grissom/Sara
Category: General/Romance
Archive: FF.net and here. Anywhere else ask first, I might say yes.
Disclaimer: I keep telling you I don't own these characters, yet you're still reading these disclaimers...

Author's Note: Oh, Marlou-the things you caught in this fic! Thanks for paying attention when my brain decided not to. Thanks to anyone else who might need thanking. <G> Also, I haven't forgotten about Back to Bangkok, but this latest fic kind of occupied me for a bit. Phillippe will resurface soon, I promise!

Summary: Just what we need. Another 'Post-Butterflied' fic! Toss mine in the pile, folks, here we go! I will give you a heads up: it's not that depressing, and there's actually some resolution.

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Brass stood in the doorway to the interrogation room, watching the doctor and his lawyer saunter down the hallway. He silently cursed the lack of evidence. It was times like this that made him question his choice of career, but now wasn't the time for self-reflection. He glanced back in the room, looking at the broken man slumped in the chair. His friend. At least he thought he was his friend. He started to wonder if he ever really knew Grissom at all.

He took a few steps out in the hall, just to take a breath and finish absorbing the situation, when he noticed someone in the corner of his eye.

He groaned quietly under his breath when he recognized who was standing there. "Ugh geez..."

Sara stared him down, her feet unable to move in either direction-toward him or away. Her mouth opened and closed. No words would form.

Fortunately, Brass moved for her, inching his way toward her, a sad, sympathetic look on his face.

"You better get out of here. If he knew you were here..." he trailed off, knowing there was no need to say more.

They both stood silently, gazing into the window at Grissom. When Brass turned to her, fully intending to shoo her away again, he noticed a tear in Sara's eye.

He touched her elbow, unsure what he could possibly say to comfort her. "I had no idea," he muttered sadly, gazing into her face with new understanding.

Sara huffed a humorless laugh. "Me neither. At least I know it wasn't just for lack of interest, huh? I suppose I should feel good about this, right? In some twisted way..."

Brass just watched her a moment, then he noticed Grissom start to sit up in his chair. "You'd better--"

"I know. I'm going." He watched her walk away and disappear through the double doors. Then he turned and walked back into the interrogation room.

Grissom stared at the table in front of him, appearing hypnotized and dazed.

"You all right?"

He slowly lifted his head, his eyes the only expressive part of his haggard face. "No."

"Come on, I'll buy ya a drink."

"I don't want a drink." Grissom's eyes moved to the floor, and he slowly stood up, exhaling miserably as he did.

"What do you want... besides the obvious?"

Grissom glared at him, in no mood for Jim's ribbing.

"Jesus, man, I'm buying you a drink whether you want one or not." Slapping him kindly on the back, Jim guided him out of the room. "Let's go."

When they sat down at the bar, Grissom was already showing his irritation. "I really don't want to talk about this. Just because you happened to be standing there... doesn't mean I want to talk about this."

Jim was undeterred. "Fine, we don't have to talk about it. In fact, let's not talk about you at all. Let's talk about me." He smiled obnoxiously and ordered two beers while Grissom eyed him curiously.

"I got married when I was twenty-seven," he began theatrically. "She was a pretty thing back then. We were in a bowling league together. Good times, but I digress..."

Grissom just stared at the bar, pursing his lips and rolling his eyes. The bartender set two beers in front of them. "But as is the case with many a cop, I was married to the force, father to the investigations. So, that was that. I got a Christmas card from Ellie last month..."

"I get it, Jim."

"I don't think so." He leaned over to Grissom, resting his hand on his shoulder. "Ask me if I'd do it all again, Gil," he said quietly.

Grissom just turned to look at him, a sadness washing over his face as he realized that of course he would.

"Now, you get it. Not everybody gets a second chance."

"Just... shut up," Grissom muttered, tipping up his beer bottle and taking a few swallows.

"Fine. Consider me shut up, but there's something you should know," Jim said heavily.

Grissom's eyes shot to his.

"You're not going to want to hear this," he began, shaking his head. "I mean, you are really not gonna want to hear this-but I have to tell you." Grissom was confused, but officially intrigued. "Because I'm your friend, but more importantly, because I don't want to be carrying this around for the rest of my life while you two keep... dying a slow death around each other."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

After taking another sip of his beer, Jim sighed, "She was there."

"Who was there?"

"Sara."

"Sara was where?" He asked, getting annoyed. Between his lack of sleep and the drink he just downed, he was utterly confused.

"She was in the hall," he explained. "On the other side of the mirror."

Grissom's face fell, and his eyes closed. A long, quiet sigh escaped him.

"She heard all of it," Jim said, glancing at him. His eyes were still closed, and he was biting his lower lip. "I just thought you should know..."

After a long period of uncomfortable silence, Grissom rubbed his eyes and sighed again. "It doesn't matter. It's too late."

"What the hell is your problem?" Jim asked loudly. "I've known you for, what, nineteen years? I had no idea you were such a coward."

Grissom wanted to punch him, or yell at him, something to make him feel alive again. But he was too tired, and plus, deep down he knew Jim was right. "Well, I am," he agreed despondently.

"I also never realized how stupid you were."

"Excuse me?" He was still alive. He could feel his anger brewing.

"Yeah. There oughta be statistics on guys like you. I.Q. off the charts, but you don't know when to come in out of the rain. Or when to come out and play."

Grissom's anger was at a full boil, but he just couldn't release it. He was too tired. Plus, he suspected Jim was only trying to be a friend. He slid off his barstool and stared him down. "I'm going home. I need to sleep." With that, he began walking away.

"You're already asleep," Jim shouted over his shoulder, drinking the last of his beer.

Grissom entered his townhouse on autopilot, dumping his keys and wallet on his kitchen counter and heading straight for his bedroom. He stripped off his clothes with little regard for where they fell and flopped onto his bed heavily. In minutes, he was sleeping harder than he ever had before.

His dreams were anguished, with visions of Sara interchanging with the victim, Debbie Marlin. Sometimes Sara was dead; sometimes she was alive. Sometimes she was crying. Once, he was holding her while she cried. He woke up mentally exhausted and emotionally drained.

When he arrived at work for his next shift, Grissom was surprised to notice he was five minutes late. He couldn't remember the last time he was ever late for work. Finding everyone but Nick in the conference room, he quickly handed out assignments, giving Warrick an armed robbery and Catherine a drive by with no casualties. "Sara, you're with me," he said, turning to leave the room. She tried not to react, but she was surprised, sliding out her chair and standing. "We've got a single car rollover accident on I-15. It just happened twenty minutes ago, so let's move." There was no time for awkwardness.

They arrived at the scene minutes later. The highway was closed, police cars with lights flashing everywhere, and flares lit along the accident path. David pulled up behind them. A traffic cop met them as they got out of their cars. "Minivan, six passengers." Sara turned and noticed four covered bodies-obviously thrown during the accident. They looked small.

"Four died at the scene, all children. A woman from the front passenger seat is at Desert Palm in critical. The driver, James Heidrick, was also sent to the hospital. His injuries look minor-broken arm, deep lacerations."

Grissom and Sara slipped into a symbiotic working relationship immediately, photographing and collecting data as a fluid team. They even communicated well, walking through the accident, and wrapping up the scene quickly. The police, as expected, were pressuring them to hurry, so the highway could be reopened. "You wanna call it?" Grissom asked, watching the vehicle as it was towed off the road.

Sara cocked her head a moment, still staring at the accident path. "I'd bet the driver fell asleep at the wheel. No brake marks until the car was in the lane of oncoming traffic." She turned around, eyeing the skid marks to where the car flipped. "He woke up and overcorrected, maybe."

"Car full of kids," Grissom argued, "He could have been distracted and lost control."

"Not likely, given the time of the accident," Sara countered.

"I'm sure they tested his BAC; he could have been drunk."

"I'll stick with fell asleep. Drunk drivers rarely have kids in the car."

"Let's head back to the lab. I'm going to release the scene. Hopefully we can talk to the driver soon."

Seven hours later, they were leaning even more toward the 'fell asleep' theory. No mechanical problems were found with the car. The BAC of the driver was zero. The female passenger was still in surgery, but the driver was about to be released.

Sara was surprised when Grissom suggested they interview the driver together at the hospital. Given how much he distanced himself from her during the Marlin case, she certainly wasn't expecting to be working with him so closely, and definitely not so soon.

The driver of the car had little recollection of the accident. The last thing he remembered was the entire car being asleep. "We got a late start today," he explained, still appearing dazed from the accident. "We were supposed to leave at eight." He stared at the floor for a while, clearly sorting out a myriad of thoughts and emotions. "The kids. It takes so long to get them moving in the morning." He started to sob quietly.

"Mr. Heidrick, do you think you might have fallen asleep at the wheel?" Grissom asked, a calm, gentle lilt to his voice.

"I might have," the man said, still crying. "I drove all day. I was so tired; I think I might have." Grissom and Sara remained silent as the man was overcome with grief. "Oh my God, I hope she dies," he wailed, rocking himself side to side.

Grissom and Sara exchanged worried glances. "Your wife?" Grissom asked.

"Our babies... She'll never survive that." His voice grew louder as the tears flowed more forcefully. "Oh my God! She'll never survive this. I killed our children."

Sara swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat and blinked repeatedly.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, Mr. Heidick." Grissom rose from his seat and ushered Sara out with him. They left the man alone in the waiting room.

Once outside in the hall, Grissom turned to the officer assigned to the accident. "Get his statement tomorrow. I'm ruling it an accident."

Sara walked beside Grissom, as they slowly made their way down the hospital corridor. It had been a long shift. She felt such a mixture of emotions, her own confused feelings about Grissom's outburst the day before mixing with her sympathetic, sorrowful feelings for the father who lost his entire family.

She was suddenly overwhelmed, in that hospital hallway, feeling ridiculously sad. Her head hurt, trying to hold back tears that would not be stopped. She hated this, walking in silence, side by side. Walking like zombies, disconnected and isolated, no human connection to speak of.

It didn't used to be like that. They used to share such a special connection. They always had. Until yesterday, she had only hoped that he felt it too, but now, she had proof of that. He felt it all. She still wasn't sure what that meant for her future. At the worst possible moment, she risked a glance at him, seeing only his own sadness looking back.

She blinked vigorously, knowing her eyes were now moist. She wanted him in her life, on every kind of level; she needed him in every possible way. The emotions of the past two days engulfed her.

Grissom turned to her when he heard a small sniffle. "You okay?"

Dammit. Of all the times for him to be observant. She stared straight ahead, but her own voice betrayed her. "Yeah," she said softly. Only she wasn't, and her tears flowed heavier.

"Hey, what's wrong?" He stopped walking and lightly touched her arm.

"No-thing," she said awkwardly, tenaciously avoiding his eyes. Her face was flushed, and she wiped tears from her cheek.

"Sara." He looked so confused, so concerned.

When her eyes met his, she officially lost it. "I'm so sorry," she spat out, the words bubbling out of her through heavy tears. She was literally unable to talk.

He touched the same arm again, guiding her closer to the wall. "For what?" he asked, at a loss for why she was so upset. Then, after a few beats, his heart began to pound. She was there. She had heard it all. No, not here, Sara. Don't.

They stared at each other, both with such sorrowful, apologetic expressions. With the typical flair for reading his mind, she sensed a distinct shift in the universe-

He knew that she knew.

And he wasn't ready. He still couldn't do it. It only made her cry harder.

Without a thought, his hand reached behind her, pulling her into a loose embrace. She was stiff at first, shocked by the outreach, but eventually, she relaxed in his arms and let her hands complete the embrace around his waist. This may be all she would ever have. His strong arms enveloped her, and for just a second, she thought about how this was what it felt like to be held by Grissom.

"Don't," he whispered, rocking her gently. He sighed heavily, but tightened his hold on her. An odd feeling of deja vu washed over him, as he remembered his dream about holding her while she cried. He could not stand the thought that he may be the reason for her pain. "Don't," he repeated again. "Not here."

Not here? Sara stopped crying. Then where? What was he talking about? Her heart was pounding.

No, he said he couldn't do it, and she would not push him. She would not guilt him into risking a life with her. She blinked away her tears and wiped her face again, dropping her arms from him. "I'm sorry," she said again, collecting herself and attempting a weak smile. "It just really bugs me that they lost every kid." She blinked several times, widening her eyes with frustration. "It's not right," she added, sniffling. She glanced at him, trying to pull off a composed expression that convinced him it was just the accident that upset her.

He eyed her curiously, unsure if she was trying to cover for herself or if she really was just upset about the case. He nodded slowly and stepped back from her. "I know. It's not," he agreed.

They started walking, an uncomfortable silence settling between them again.

Buckling her seatbelt, Sara muttered, "Sorry about that." Upon seeing his confused look, she continued, "I didn't mean to... get emotional like that... in front of you."

He pulled out of the parking lot, his eyes fixed attentively on the road. The memory of her slim body in his arms came flooding back to him, agonizingly vivid. "You don't ever have to apologize to me for that." He had never felt so conflicted. The only thing he was sure of was that he could not go on like this.

When Sara left the lab that morning, he wanted to catch her, wanted to ask her to talk, have breakfast, something. Something to fix all this. He couldn't do it.

He couldn't do it. The familiar words were starting to irritate him.

He collected his things and turned out the light in his office and then promptly ran into Catherine in the hallway. "How ya doin?" she asked, a concerned look to her face. "I haven't seen you all shift."

"I'm fine. That accident Sara and I had was awful. Father fell asleep at the wheel, killed all four of his kids and probably his wife."

"Sounds pretty awful."

They stood outside his office, talking for a while. Grissom could always tell when Catherine was worried about him. She would hover around and talk excessively, with a sympathetic, motherly look on her face.

"Did you finally get some sleep?"

"Yeah," he nodded, offering her a small smile. "I'll be okay, Cath."

"Sara okay?" she asked suddenly.

With a subtle shrug, Grissom replied, "I guess so. The accident kind of upset her, but I think she's okay."

"No, I mean... I saw her yesterday after she printed Debbie Marlin. I think she was a little freaked out," she said, eyebrows raised to illustrate her point.

"Oh." Grissom's eyes roamed over the floor. "She didn't mention anything."

"Well, I guess it kind of freaked us all out a little." Catherine stared him down, wondering if he really was all right, or if he was on the verge of some kind of a breakdown. "It certainly got to you, didn't it?" she asked, unaccusingly. Her eyes held a gentle look of understanding.

Grissom stood straighter, putting on his best confused look. "What do you mean?"

"You went a little wacky on us there, even for you." He shifted nervously, avoiding her eyes. He certainly wasn't about to explain himself to her. "It's okay, you know," she continued hesitantly. "It doesn't make you a bad person."

Grissom's eyes narrowed as he wondered what exactly she was getting at.

Catherine considered leaving it at that, but she suspected he needed further explanation. The man was tremendously dense at times. She shrugged a shoulder and wrinkled her lips just a little. "You know, it's been documented that fraternization policies fail miserably across the board, regardless of the profession." Grissom offered no reply, but he did not move away. "Ya know why?" she asked casually, as if they were talking about complete strangers, certainly not Grissom and Sara.

"Because people are people." She waited until he lifted his eyes to hers. "You can't help who you fall in love with." She said it so sweetly, like she was talking to a child. "Do you realize that? It just makes you human..." She watched him for a moment, with his eyes cast down, occasionally rising to hers, only to go back down again.

"Well, I can only assume by your silence that you're giving this some thought." She flashed him a wide smile and patted his arm. "Take care, Gil. Hang in there."

"Bye, Catherine," he said quietly. He watched her walk away, feeling the irony of the situation. How nice, that everyone knew he had feelings for Sara. He shook his head and began walking to his car.

It was as if the car decided where he was going before he did. He stood outside Sara's apartment door, not quite ready to knock. His stomach was beyond butterflies; it felt more like birds or bats were flapping around in there. He had to do something. If she was no longer interested, it was a moot point-but at least he would know, and he could try to move on. But deep down he knew she was still interested. He could tell. He took a deep breath and knocked loudly on her door. She opened it a few seconds later.

"Hey. What are you... doing here?" she asked, her voice going shaky as her nervousness kicked in.

"I just wondered if you were okay. I know you were upset today, and--"

They locked eyes a moment. "You didn't have to come all the way--" she stopped, realizing that that probably wasn't really the reason he was here. "I'm okay," she said, with an embarrassed smile. He nodded. They stared at each other for a minute, and finally he dropped his eyes to the ground.

"Grissom?"

"Hm?"

Every past memory was telling her to say good-bye, shut up and close the door, but her heart was telling her something different. "Do you want to come in?" she asked, staring him down with her own fearful face.

There was a moment of panic when he considered saying no and running like hell. Then he reminded himself: she already knows. Surely there should be some consolation, knowing she was already aware of things. Theoretically, it should make it easier to just talk to her. "Um, sure."

There were several queer moments once he was inside. Sara stumbled over her words while offering him a drink, which he declined. Grissom snuck quick glances around her apartment, which she caught him doing. Sara looked down and realized she was wearing her pajamas-plaid flannel pants and a navy blue t-shirt. She figured it would be even more awkward if she abandoned him to go change, so she didn't.

Deciding this was more than she had ever gotten in the past-Grissom actually inside her apartment-Sara took a deep breath and tried to relax, taking a seat in her living room and encouraging him to do the same. They sat across from each other, she on the sofa, and he on the matching chair.

"Are you okay, Grissom?" There was something multifaceted about the way she asked. It wasn't just this moment she was referring to. She meant it in a wide-ranging, 'life-in-general' sort of way.

He sighed heavily, rubbing his hand across his forehead nervously.

"I guess," he shrugged. Then, he seemed to reconsider his answer, closing his eyes briefly. "I don't know." He looked at her and shook his head in defeat. "I... think I should talk to you."

"O-kay." She licked her lips and tried to steady her increasingly rapid breathing.

"It's occurred to me that I... think about you a lot, but I don't really talk to you that much." Well, that was for obvious reasons. If he talked to her, made himself available to her emotionally, he would fall in love with her and want to be with her. That couldn't happen. Wait, he was panicking. He exhaled slowly, willing himself to relax. That was in the past. This was a new day.

"You think about me?"

"Yeah."

"What do you think about?" she asked, with a charming crinkle to her nose, no doubt her attempt to lighten the moment.

He spoke slowly, contemplating his reply. "I think about why you moved here, why you came to work for me. I think about how beautiful you are. I think about the day you asked me to have dinner with you."

Sara stiffened, frightened of the words actually being spoken. He definitely knew she knew. She suddenly felt very unprepared. She felt naked, somehow-sitting in her t-shirt and goofy plaid pants. Unprotected. Like this was going to be a very raw conversation. She wanted her shoes on for some reason. What if she needed to flee? Wait, that was a ridiculous thought-this was her apartment. She still wanted her shoes on.

"Oh."

Sara was completely unsure how to respond. She thought it best to keep quiet. He was the one who had things to say, not her.

But then again, maybe he needed help. Of course he needed help. If the last three years were any indication, the man needed a lot of help. Sara took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, willing herself to be kind, patient. To love him, like he needed. It was hard-not to love him-but to show him. She was scared.

"It was a long time ago," he said, as if she had somehow forgotten about asking him out.

"Hm." She felt frozen. Her mouth was dry, and her heart was pounding. She couldn't think, couldn't talk.

Grissom looked like he was deep in thought, and he kept lifting his eyes to look at her, only to have them drop and roam across the floor again. He appeared so calm, though she could tell, inside, he was in turmoil.

She wanted to reassure him, make him relax. "You know, it's alright," she began shyly. His eyes met hers again. She shrugged and wrinkled her lips. "You don't have to explain yourself."

"I want to," he blurted, before his brain could filter the idiocy of the statement. Riiight. Explaining himself was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn't even understand the things he did. How could he make her understand?

"I guess I'm just-Sara, I really don't know what to do," he said in a gasp-revealing his own exasperation. They exchanged odd looks as they tried to read each other's minds.

"But I... Look, I know you were there..." With that, he became antsy and rose from his chair, walking toward the only window in the room. He looked out the open blinds into the parking lot of her apartment complex. For some strange reason he started counting all the red cars he could see, until he realized what he was doing, and stopped.

Sara stood up and followed him, though she wasn't sure why, standing a couple feet away from him.

"I know how stupid it must look," he said, still staring out the window. Sara furrowed her brow slightly, unsure what exactly he was referring to. "Even if there weren't all the professional obstacles, I... still don't know what to do." He turned to look at her-and his terrified expression triggered such sadness in her. She wanted to cry. "Sometimes I feel like I'm fourteen around you," he admitted.

"Grissom," she said, gazing out the window herself. She felt unusually cold, so cold, that she worried she may start shivering. She took a deep breath to fight it.

"I don't know why this is so hard for me," he said, running his fingers through the back of his hair. He turned to her suddenly, startling her. "Don't you see? I don't have an explanation for you. I have nothing to tell you that will make you feel better." It didn't help that he could tell she was about to cry. "I... I don't know how to make you feel better."

"I know," she whispered, as the first tears spilled painfully out of her eyes.

"And I want to, Sara. I want to make you feel better." There was a subtle hitch in his voice as he fought his own tears from falling. He realized suddenly that he had never cried over a woman, ever. How many more frustrating illustrations did he need before he came to terms with the fact that he was in love with her?

She moved closer to him, wrapping her fingers around his forearm, unable to stop herself from reaching out to him. They stood facing each other, frozen, teetering dangerously close to the edge of an emotional collapse.

"Grissom... Gil," she corrected, finally knowing the right time to test using his first name. "No one knows you're here," she said, pleadingly, moving even closer to him. She slid her hand further up his arm, cupping his elbow solidly. "Maybe it's not as ill-fated as you seem to think it is." She watched his eyes drift over her face admiringly. "We're two consenting adults..." Now she was standing directly in front of him, inches away, her face lowered to avoid his eyes. She didn't know what else to say.

He didn't move toward her, but he didn't move away. Just her close proximity set him on fire. She was barely touching him. Why did he come here? What did he expect to happen? He took a deep breath, breathing out her name with his sigh.

"I can't promise you that I'm never going to hurt you," she began, speaking between ragged, tearful breaths. "But I can promise... that I love you. I mean, how much worse can it get, Grissom? Look at us... look at me." She was shivering now.

"Sara," was all he could get out as she flung herself at him, hugging him fiercely. His hands grabbed at her hips because they had to-the force with which she pushed into his chest was so powerful. But he had no problem with it. He felt as charged as she did and had to touch her. He had to have his arms on her. It wasn't enough. He had to have her.

Maybe nothing else mattered.

They would never know which one moved first, but when their lips met, it was as if the skies opened in a heavenly rain, mixing with tears, working to wash away their pain. There was nothing soft or gentle about the kiss. It was primal and impassioned, expected, and yet still startling in some way. Time was not counted as long as their lips were entwined. It could have been minutes that they kissed and explored each other, but it might just as easily have been hours.

When the need for oxygen became impossible to ignore, Grissom released her lips for a moment. He tenderly pressed his forehead against hers, holding her face behind both of her ears. "That woman looked so much like you," he said painfully.

"I know." She kissed across his cheeks, finding his lips once more. She wanted to show him how much she loved him. She was desperate to make love to him, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything. Her hands roamed over his body with their own sense of determination. She had no idea how far he was willing to go. He just kept kissing her, everywhere. Her lips, face, neck, ears... When his hands moved under her shirt, his touch burning a gentle path across her back and then her abdomen, Sara could tell his desire for her was just as intense.

Grissom felt like the earth had swallowed him whole, and the only thing he could recognize was Sara. He felt out of control, yet in complete command of the moment all at the same time. When he began to caress her breast, he knew what he needed to do, what he desperately wanted to do. He looked at her, the significant question floating in his eyes. She answered him by swiftly making work of his shirt buttons. When she got to the last one, she frowned a moment. They were standing in the middle of her living room. She looked up as if she thought of something brilliant.

"Come with me," she said, taking his hand and leading him down the hall.

They were still holding hands when they walked into her bedroom. Sara hastily kicked a few dirty clothes and shoes out of their pathway. Her room had certainly looked better. Grissom glanced around the room, surprised by its state.

"Oh, give me a break. I work a lot."

He smirked at her, unexpectedly amused. "I didn't say anything," he defended, wrapping his arms around her and resuming his pursuit of her neck. She forgot about the room soon enough.

His shirt was on the floor before they reached the bed. Hers came off just before they descended onto the mattress. The foreplay was frenzied, yet excruciatingly slow at the same time.

It was perfect.

And when he began to move in her, slowly and gently, they both released a dramatic sigh of relief. Sara found herself becoming emotional.

"Do you want me to stop?" He immediately worried that she had regrets.

"No. I just never thought you'd really be here with me," she explained, needing to feel his lips again.

"I'm sorry, Sara. Don't cry," he whispered, kissing over her face sweetly. "Please don't cry anymore." He kissed her deeply as their lovemaking became more impassioned.

When the pinnacle had been reached, and their breathing had begun to slow, they both lay on their backs, with their hands linked, staring up at the ceiling.

Sara was still reeling from the experience, unable to process a thought. Grissom, on the other hand was processing a multitude of thoughts, wondering mostly what in the world he should do now. He had no idea what this would mean for their working relationship. He had been through the work situation a million times before, but then again, he had never really tried to figure out a way to make it work.

Brass was encouraging, in his own way, when he yelled at him at the bar. Catherine had encouraged him this morning when he was leaving work. None of the key players seemed thrown by his potential involvement with Sara. The fraternization policy at the lab was extremely vague, stating only that 'fraternizing between management and staff would be discouraged and scrutinized'. Well, he had tried to discourage it for years, and judging from how many people already knew about the situation, it was already being scrutinized.

Grissom sighed quietly, lifting Sara's hand to his lips to kiss her fingers. She still stared at the ceiling in a daze, only one thought coming through the fog in her brain: please don't pull away from me now.

Several simple solutions popped into his head immediately. She could report to an external supervisor. Swing shift management could assign her new cases before leaving. Hell, he could resign and take a lower position, equivalent to her level. He'd be thrilled to lose the paperwork and political obligations. It didn't matter what they chose. It would resolve itself. And for some crazy reason, he didn't really care right now if it did or did not resolve itself. He felt like his world was turned upside down because suddenly his job wasn't really that important. All the things he had worked for, the lab, his position, his stature, were buried and lost in the whirlwind that was Sara.

Now, he understood why Dr. Lurie risked everything to be with that woman. It was worth it, to be with someone like Sara. How could he not have realized before how much better this was-to live fully and allow himself to be happy? She made him happy. He began to feel pangs of doubt as he wondered if he actually made her happy.

He rolled on his side and kissed her shoulder twice. "Do you understand that I love you?"

Her eyes widened before she smiled and nodded. "I love you too." She rolled on her side to face him and began slowly kissing up his chest, finally allowing her contentment to fill her.

Grissom lay back and decided right then that his new, unofficial job in life was to ensure her happiness. That was a tall order to fill, considering his track record thus far. It was a major change he was considering-much more than growing a beard and wearing jeans more often. His fully anticipated, fearful doubts began to gnaw at him, but he kept them under control. Maybe it was the sex, maybe it was the emotional high, maybe this was what happens when you realize you're in love with someone, but regardless-he was feeling optimistic.

Sara nuzzled her face into his neck, sighing contentedly. It made him smile. He would have to start small, take one step at a time. Holding her close to him, he idly ran his fingers up her back, thinking. He was very good at making omelets. He wondered if she had any spinach and mushrooms.

"Sara?" He turned his face and kissed her soundly on the lips, making a ridiculous smacking sound when he finished. "Are you hungry?"

With a surprised expression and a wide smile, she replied, "Yes."

- The End -