Sara rose through layers of sleep slowly, regaining consciousness without opening her eyes, letting her other senses have their say. A smile crossed her mouth as she took stock of her situation: warmth of a larger body holding hers, damp silk under them. The sweet scent of mingled sweat and musk hung heavy in the air. The call of a mockingbird from outside rode over the rustle of wind through the pines--

"I know you're awake," came the soft, amused voice in her ear. Sara opened her eyes, turning to look at Grissom. He had his head propped up on one hand, the other cupping her breast lightly.

She smiled. He looked slightly wild with his tangled hair and faint stubble evident on his cheeks.

"What time is it?"

"About eleven--we've been asleep for about four hours. Your furniture is going to be here soon."

"Oh God, that's right--" she blinked rapidly, trying to sit up. The big hand on her chest didn't let her though, and she shot Grissom a puzzled look.

"First things first. Are you--okay?"

She took a moment before answering, flexing and stretching, sensing the deeper question in his eyes. Sara lifted her chin.

"I'd like to think I'm BETTER than okay, given the amount of moaning you were doing--"

He blushed. Sara bit back a giggle at the sight of Grissom Grissom flushing with embarrassment as he lay naked with her in the midday heat in the cocoon of the bedroom. His mouth twisted in a wry grin.

"I distinctly recall a duet of voices, Ms Sidle."

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" she sighed luxuriously, smile flashing out as her hand came up to rest on his over her breast. Grissom gave an answering smile of rare sweetness.

"I want you to know I've never FELT--so utterly--" she stumbled, shying away from admitting the L word, not sure of its reception even now in the aftermath of their union. Grissom's mouth twitched a bit.

"--Consumed by the bright essence of another's soul?" he teased, but lightly. Sara arched an eyebrow, not sure what to say. He laughed.

"I read that little phrase in a Harlequin Romance in this very house almost thirty six years ago. As an unimpressed ten year old I thought it was an incredibly corny way of announcing the characters had had sex. But now--"

"YOU read a Harlequin Romance?" Sara bit her lips at the very thought of Grissom as a boy hunkered over a yellowing paperback, rolling his eyes and thumbing through it. He gave in to her amusement and laughed.

"I was trapped here, caught without my standards of Gray's Anatomy and copies of Mad. All the reading material that was available in the living room bookcase that first summer consisted of Harlequin Romances and ancient Sunset magazines."

"Tough choice."

"Tell me about it--a summer full of Blaines and Cathys falling into each other's arms," he sighed with a hint of melodramatic emphasis. Sara propped herself up on her elbows, her gaze taking in the room once more.

"So are you going to tell me about this house?"

"I have every confidence you can put the clues together and figure it out yourself, Sara. A keen mind to go with your delectable body--" as he spoke, Grissom let his thumb rub lightly over her rosy nipple; Sara felt it stiffen eagerly against his touch. She let her head drop back for a minute and savored the sensation.

"This house used to belong to a woman, that's pretty clear--"

"And you can tell that from--?"

"The décor mostly. The little touches like glass knobs and flowerboxes and Harlequin Romances. And the bath oil of course. So given what few hints you've dropped, I'd say that this place was either your aunt's or grandmother's house."

"Very good," Grissom praised, hand sliding from one breast to the other. Sara bit back a moan and tried to stay focused.

"And by your own admission you spent time here as a kid, probably your summers since that would be both logical and likely--"

"Top of the class so far, honey--"

"--And if you don't STOP that I'm going to have to jump you--" she warned. Grissom laughed, dropping his mouth to her nipple, letting his tongue circle it before pulling away reluctantly.

"Tempting as that is, we've got a few things to do before we indulge again. How much furniture are we looking at, Sara?"

She blinked, running through a mental inventory as she rolled her head from shoulder to shoulder.

"Three sofas, a chinese armoire, coffee table, some rugs, assorted household goods I threw into boxes mostly without labels--and bookcases of course. A few other things."

"No bed, appliances, Christmas ornaments?" came Grissom's curious tone. He sat up, letting his glance linger over her nude form. Sara dropped a shielding hand between her thighs in the age old gesture of modesty.

"Probably, and keep your roving eyes to yourself, Doctor Grissom--"

"Too late. I have breeched the gates of paradise and fully intend to do so again, Sara my sweet."

She looked up at him, meeting his clear pellucid gaze and in that moment heard him whisper it in soft wondering tones. Her eyes stung and she dropped her head, overwhelmed. Grissom took her chin in his hand, raising her face, smiling at her.

"Surprised?"

"--Yes," she gulped. He drew her close and kissed her forehead.

"We've got to get dressed. I'll go pick up some groceries and a few amenities for us, all right?"

Sara nodded, thinking hard.

"For--the weekend?"

Grissom nodded, tugging on his slacks, fishing for his shirt as he replied.

"Yes. Think of this place as a--neutral zone of parity. My house, your furniture."

"A love nest--" Sara asked in an odd voice. He lifted his head to look at her, seeing the fleeting expression of confusion and bitterness cross her face. Grissom froze as she scrambled off the bed.

"Jesus! I don't intend on being a KEPT woman, Grissom. That sort of arrangement went out with fedoras and Philco radios! In the twentieth century women aren't property you know, we HAVE intelligence and wills of our own--" she tried to push past him to the bathroom, but he snagged her by the waist, reeling her in against his bare chest. She struggled, but he tightened his grip on her, pinning her against the broad hot muscles of his chest.

"You're not being KEPT, Sara. You're free to walk out of this house and this relationship whenever you want to," he admitted thickly, "But this--it's all I can OFFER you right now."

Sara tensed at the pain in his voice and looked up, seeing a bleakness cross his face. Grissom sighed, his eyes closed.

"The more I want to--control you--the more I realize I can't. Not without your consent, Sara. And I WANT you so very, very much--"

She swallowed hard, forcing the bittersweet words out.

"I want you too. But I'm NOT your plaything, Gris. I'm a grown woman and I don't hand myself out on a platter to just anyone."

Grissom gave a nod, a reluctant acknowledgement of her personal autonomy; Sara felt him tense and knew how much that little admission cost him. She tipped her head to flick her tongue along the cleft in his chin, sighing softly, waiting a long moment.

A serious moment.

She sighed.

"And with that being said and understood, all right. You go to the store and I'll get dressed."

He blinked, stunned at how quickly the crisis had passed, his blue eyes searching her brown ones wonderingly. Sara smiled crookedly.

"I think you ought to get a bathmat--I'm not about to risk another concussion."

"Jawohl--anything else?" he recovered, letting his grip around her loosen. She kissed his chin again to hide her expression.

"You might think about sports cream--some of the stuff that's coming is pretty heavy--" Sara muttered sweetly.

Grissom looked wary.

While he was gone, Sara set out to explore the bungalow on her own, holding the key Grissom had pressed into her hand tightly. It was slightly rusted, and hung on an ancient Chicago Cubs keychain. The date on the back was 1968, and she pictured him carrying it various pockets all those years, the enamel wearing off as it rubbed over time.

The kitchen cupboards were empty, the shelf paper in them a pattern of faded daisies. Sara noted the enamel sink was chipped, but the window over it was utterly charming, opening out on the back yard through thin embroidered cotton curtains. She carefully undid the hook and eye latch for the back door and opened it, looking out onto a broad flat brick patio.

Sara wandered out, amazed. Someone had carefully laid out the brick flowerboxes that bordered the yard, arranging them along the perimeter to make a cozy enclosed area easily bigger than her entire apartment back in town. An ancient towering cottonwood stood in the far back, casting shade over the yard along with smaller pines around it. She looked again.

"Oh my God--"

Through the branches she could see the faint ancient boards of a platform, a rudimentary treehouse high in the branches. Stepping out, Sara felt a sweet shiver run through her at the sight of what had undoubtedly been a young Grissom Grissom's sanctuary. A huge smile crossed her face, and she shaded her eyes.

"Evidence of an actual CHILDHOOD--will wonders never cease--" she muttered to herself. Walking carefully across the lawn, she kept her eyes on the platform until she stood at the base of the tree looking twelve feet up at the bottom of it.

"I'll bet you spent a few nights out there, looking at stars between the leaves, wondering about your place in the grand scheme of life, huh, Gris--" she sighed. She turned to go, and something caught her eye. A strange mark on one of the brick flowerbeds seemed oddly familiar, and Sara squatted to take a look. Overgrown weeds obscured part of it; she swept them back to stare at the brick, seeing a handprint in white paint against it.

A small handprint.

Cautiously, Sara reached out her own palm and laid it over the mark on the wall, her hand engulfing it easily. Looking right, she saw--another. Slightly larger.

And beyond that one, another one.

Along the back wall of flowerbeds half hidden by the weeds was a graphic timeline, moving from left to right in a series of white painted palmprints, six in all, each larger than the last, with the biggest jump between then third and fourth prints. Sara smirked, touching them.

"Growth spurt, big boy. Must have hit puberty with all those raging hormones. I'd say this hand probably started getting a workout right about then--"

Laughing at her own words, Sara rose up and walked back into the bungalow, still grinning.

She scooped some water from the faucet and took a drink, then wiped her hands on her hips and walked over to the living room again, looking at it a bit more critically, trying to place invisible furniture in it. Faintly in the back of her mind she wondered why she felt so off-balance, and a sudden thought came to her in one solid rush, like a punch to the stomach.

//Like newlyweds. Setting up a home. Oh GOD//

She swayed a little, laughing and crying in the same moment, overcome with the idea. Not an apartment, not hotel room somewhere, but a true trysting spot.

A trusting spot.

Panic set in, and she looked around wildly, wondering how Grissom would react if she simply left--jumped in her car and drove off, back to the city, leaving boxes and furniture sitting on the porch and driveway in a scatter of debris--

The doorbell chimed, a rusty note that startled her so badly she actually flinched at the sound. Through the curtains of the bay window nearest the door she could see someone trying to peer in. Sara sighed.

"Hey, you got here--" she smiled weakly at the two men on the porch. One of them was long and lean, with a shaggy mullet. The other was as round as a three tiered snowman, and held out a clipboard to her.

"Ms. Sara Sidle?"

"The one and only--" she admitted, taking the paperwork and looking it over, trying to hide her jitters. The two men slouched as she checked the sheet.

"We made good time," the snowman ventured. Mullet nodded. Sara shrugged.

"I guess you did--well, the living room's ready so, haul away--"

They did. Moving with the practice of an old team in sync, Mullet and Snowman managed to bring in two of the sofas before Sara heard the Tahoe crunching up the drive. Grissom climbed out, staring into the open end of the van with fascination as she slowly walked out to meet him.

"Look at that--" he pointed to the upper reaches of the interior.

Sara looked. A small yellow and grey spider sat in the middle of a glittering web between buckle straps on the ceiling.

"A spider," she noted.

"Not just a spider, it's a House Grey all the way from the Bay Area--Hey, do we have a jar?" he asked eagerly, climbing up into the back of the van. Sara crossed her arms over her chest, holding in the woozy surge of tearful giggles that threatened to rise up again at the sight of him.