Grissom signed off the computer and checked his watch, noting with faint surprise that it was nearly eleven in the morning. The latest e-mail from his mother had come from Barcelona, where she and Alex were studying frescos. She’d insisted on sending blooming plants to Tamales Bay and urged him to keep in touch with her.

He looked around his townhouse, taking in the framed moths, the orderly bookcases and tidy worktable.

Very neat.

Very precise.

Normally it would have soothed him after a long night at work, to come back to an environment like this laid out to his specific tastes and needs. Dark floors eased eyestrain. White walls pacified the psyche. Classical music focused the mind.

It dawned on him that his entire décor looked like the dayroom in a psychiatric ward.

Grissom wandered from the computer to the loveseat, looking down at it. He’d slept here more than he wanted to admit, not that it was particularly comfortable. But he wasn’t sleeping well in the townhouse bed anymore. It was too big nowadays even though he hadn’t lost weight.

Weight, ha.

Well five days a week he lost about one hundred and six pounds if his estimate was right. A sleek eight stone of warm satiny woman he could wrap around, or pull over himself as the dictates of his unconscious body demanded. With a throb, Grissom remembered one delightful afternoon in particular: waking up to find Sara firmly ensconced in his hug, her long legs wrapped around one of his, her sleeping face pressed into his ribcage. Molded to him.

He rubbed a hand over his face and glanced at his watch again. It had been only six days since Sara left, and he couldn’t afford to lose any more sleep, not when there was an easy way to get some rest. He picked up his car keys and headed out.

Within an hour he was sound asleep, curled around a faintly Sara-scented pillow, his face buried in it as the sun filtered through shades over the French doors of the bedroom.

*** *** ***

She packed her suitcase carefully; putting in the drawings Sophie and Sam had done for her. They were fairly artistic for crayon masterpieces, and Sara had promised to frame them once she got home. Nine-year-old Sam had done a nice portrait of her, all long lines and somewhat stranger hair than she normally had. Five-year-old Sophie had done a very nice cat picture complete with pink ribbons and fluffy tail.

“Hey—Dad’s in the living room by the fireplace, Sara—you mind sitting with him while mom and I get the lasagna on?” Tom asked softly from the doorway. Sara looked at her brother and nodded.

“Not a problem,” She smiled.

William was sitting in the willow rocker on one side of the stone fireplace, looking pale but stronger. His eyes followed Sara as she walked towards him and he managed a smile.

“Hey Sara,” he greeted her raspily, his throat still sore from the gastric tube. She smiled, settling in along the brick edge of the fireplace and taking his hand. It was warm now, and gripped hers back lightly. “Getting ready to head back?”

“Yeah, going to have to. The lab needs me,” she told him with a squeeze to his fingers. Her father laughed, a dry sound that rattled out of his chest as he looked at her.

“You bet—I’m sure Vegas is having a crime wave while you’re out of town, eh?”

Giggling, Sara cocked her head and studied her father’s face, comforted at what she saw. He was alert, and quite a bit of motor control had returned to his face and left arm. The doctors had been cautiously optimistic, and felt that with therapy he would be mobile again, although he would probably need a cane. Will arched a shaggy eyebrow at his daughter.

“IS work going all right, Sara?” he asked, gently. His tone was so similar to Grissom’s that she shivered for a second.

“Yeah, it’s going great. I work with some fantastic people, and the lab itself is pretty amazing. I keep hoping you and mom will come out and see it sometime.”

“Maybe when I’m back on my feet—“ he rumbled. Sara blushed at her faux pas, but he squeezed her fingers forgivingly. “Atta girl, never lose a sense of humor about things. Your mother keeps threatening to shave me now that I can’t fight back—“

They both chuckled at the long running joke; William had worn his mustache for nearly fifty years, and Sara had never seen him without it, not even in photos. It was as much a part of him as his twinkling eyes or strong square shoulders.

“I see Tom’s been flirting with a cookie duster too—“ she observed. Her father rolled his eyes.

“It’s a smudge. That thing’s not worthy of the name mustache,” he balefully announced. “My grandmother grew a better one, and that’s no lie—“

“Dad!” Sara laughed, smothering it in the sleeve of her shirt. He wiggled his nose.

“The truth. In fact your mother’s jealous, that’s why she grows her hair so long—compensation.”

“Oh really?” came a sweetly sarcastic tone as Avra sailed over carrying a steaming mug. William looked up at her and grinned.

“Certainly. You secretly long for your own ’stache, Avra baby, but lacking the necessary hormones, decided to go the Rapunzel route instead. Basic psychology here.”

“Will Sidle you are so full of it your eyes are two shades browner today—“ despite her tart words, Avra carefully guided the mug to her husband’s lips and tipped it so he could sip. Every action was gentle and smooth; Sara watched with a pang as her father used his good hand to rub Avra’s denim-clad hip with sweet familiarity.

“Dinner’s on, Sara—you should eat before Tom takes you to the airport. I don’t trust what they serve on those flights—even the peanuts are suspect.”

“Okay mom—“ rising, Sara made her way up to the kitchen, glancing back once to see her mother lightly kiss her father’s nose.

*** *** ***

MacCarran airport was as crowded and noisy as ever, and Grissom checked the flight board in the main hall, hoping he hadn’t missed something important. It was galling not to be able to go directly up to the gate, but the new security standards everywhere curbed all sorts of former conveniences now.

The flight from San Francisco was due in a few minutes. Grissom noted that, and looked around for the walkway from gate 15. He began the long walk down the length of the concourse, trying not to smile as his pace quickened. Around him were noisy clusters of tourists and business travelers and families and college students all shifting and moving towards destinations of their own, mingling and mixing along the way. He looked up at the displays again. Flight 1267 would be disembarking at the same time as flight 877 from Houston—

He was concentrating so hard he nearly ran into a garbage can, and caught himself apologizing to the thing. Grissom forced himself to calm down and take a breath; he positioned himself at the foot of the escalator/ stairwell that led down from Gate 15 and tried to look reasonably nonchalant, even though his stomach churned.

The first wave of passengers began clambering down the escalator and he scanned them quickly. Judging from the number of University of Texas shirts he spotted it was evident that 877 had made it in on time. The rush faded to a trickle of passengers, some of them looking pleased, most merely tired. Grissom watched as several people met up with friends or family in happy little scenarios.

“You’ve grown so much!”

“—Flight movie was awful! I HATE Adam Sandler—“

“—Kept a few of the good slots open for you at Treasure Island—“

He looked up the stairwell again and his chest lurched as he spotted a familiar figure starting to drag a wheeled carry on behind her on the escalator. She hadn’t spotted him yet, so Grissom shifted to the other side of the stairs, into her line of vision, never taking his gaze from her. When Sara finally looked around, she spotted him almost immediately, her face brightening at the sight of him.

The escalator was too slow; Grissom sprinted up to Sara, hearing her laugh when he reached her.

“Hi,” she smiled a lovely smile, her just-for-him smile, he realized. He knew he was grinning like an idiot but didn’t care at the moment. They reached the ground and stepped off onto the concourse still looking at each other, the rest of the world slightly out of focus.

“I loved you.”

“Excuse me?” startled, Sara blinked. Grissom frowned.

“I missed you. A lot,” he amended, going a little pink at his Freudian slip. Sara wisely said nothing, but reached up and lightly touched his face, her fingers caressing his beard along his jaw line. The feel of her cool fingers made him sigh happily. Sara lifted her chin.

“I missed you too. My roses helped though. Pretty extravagant of you, babe.”

“The county gives me a lot of money every month. I have to do something with it,” Grissom replied, lightly shrugging.

Under their words lay a lovely tension coiling tighter and tighter. Sara was all too aware of a desire to simply launch herself at Grissom, but held it down hard; by the glow in his blue eyes, the feeling seemed pretty mutual. They made their way through the concourse, chatting of inconsequential things, their interlocked hands making love in tender squeezes and strokes.

When they made it to the underground parking lot, Sara stopped in the stairwell and yanked Grissom’s hand hard; he turned and sailed into her kiss, bumping her up against the cinderblock wall. The floodgates opened; Sara growled into his mouth pushing her hips hard against his big body as he pinned her. The silky rasp of tongues over palates, the wet sounds of soft lips and suction echoed faintly off the concrete around them; neither Sara nor Grissom cared. They kissed with a ferocious intensity, an urgent desire to taste each other to the fullest degree. Sara finally pulled her mouth from his and set her lips against his ear, making him groan.

“Damn it, I want you so much right now,” came her whispered confession, “Totally!”

“Let’s go home,” he pleaded as his hands slid down her slender waist to the sweet flare of her hips. Sara nodded tightly.

“Home, “ she agreed.

They both grabbed the doorknob at the same time; Sara laughed to feel Grissom’s fingers tighten over hers, helping her turn it.

“We’re not anxious to any degree are we?”

“It’s SO hard to get anything past a Las Vegas CSI—“ Grissom murmured sweetly, herding her inside. Sara stopped suddenly, making him run into her as she looked around the living room with a perceptive eye. She picked up the neatly finished crossword from the coffee table and looked at the half-empty bottle of beer.

“You’ve been living here—“ it wasn’t quite an accusation, but Grissom winced a little, rubbing the back of his neck agitatedly.

“Part of the time—“ came his reluctant reply. “I wasn’t sleeping well, and I didn’t want to resort to medication, so I just sort of—changed arrangements.”

Sara shot him a keen glance, her lust temporarily sidetracked by curiosity. “Did it help?”

“Yeah. Here, I’m out like a light,” he responded, watching her warily as she slowly took off her coat and hung it in the closet. Over her shoulder, she flashed a smile at him that he couldn’t quite interpret, but it was piercingly sweet. Grissom stepped up behind her, arms encircling her waist. Sara wriggled her bottom against him and he rumbled happily.

“It’s not just about THIS you know,” he mumbled into her hair. Sara led him towards the bedroom, her throaty laugh echoing back to him.

“Of course not, we can both quit anytime we like, right?”

He froze.

Feeling him tense, Sara turned in his grasp to see his stricken face and a surge of panic shot through her; she widened her eyes.

“It was a JOKE, Gil, a really bad one, okay?”

“Kiss me again—“ he pleaded softly; Sara finally gave in to her urge. She launched herself at him, catching Grissom firmly in her arms, hungrily sucking at his mouth. Gratified and just as eagerly he kissed her back while his fingers wove into her hair to hold her close. Sara felt her tension dissolve in the quicksilver lust that rose up in a syrupy tide between her thighs. Grissom growled into her mouth as they swayed in the doorway.

“Don’t scare me, Sara. It’s not a light thing for me, this . . . love business. I can take jokes about everything else, but not this—“ he implored in a low voice. Shaken, Sara nodded,

“No more facetiousness, babe. You’re right, it’s nothing to make light of, and I’m sorry.”

With a great sigh of relief, Grissom hugged her hard, squeezing her tightly to him. She squeaked.

“Breathe! Gotta breathe!” came her laughing gasp. With a relieved smirk he let go slowly and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Now where were we--?” he rumbled, arching an eyebrow at her. Sara took his hand and tugged him over to the bed, gently pushing him down on it and backing away a few steps.

“You were sitting here . . . watching me strip for you,” she insisted softly, cocking her head in a playful manner. Grissom drew in a breath; his blue eyes bright and focused on her.

“Oh course,” he agreed in a slightly dazed voice, “absolutely, yes—“

“—And then . . .” Sara prompted, slowly. A soft smile touched Grissom’s mouth. He echoed,

“And then?”

Sara reached into her jeans pocket. Like a magician performing a trick, she pulled out a long, wide, scarlet velvet ribbon edged in delicate black lace. She dangled it gently in front of his face, gratified to see the thick ridge of his cock strain against the fabric of his slacks. Grissom’s eyes followed the swaying ribbon and he swallowed hard.

Sara lightly laid it over his thighs, sighing happily.

“Like it?”

“Yes,” he rasped, eyes glittering, “And so will you . . . “

Sara swayed a little, and unbuttoned her jeans, toying with the rivets, savoring the relentless attention of his gaze. She felt a sweet energy vibrating all over her, a tingle of anticipation that grew as she rolled her hips and pushed her jeans down low enough to step out of them. She turned, swinging her step, shifting her hips in a shimmy that brought a little groan from the man behind her.

“Did I ever tell you I used to daydream about this? “ she confessed in her husky contralto, “About stripping for you? Just the thought of you watching me slowly get naked still turns me on.”

“Me too—“ came Grissom’s growl. She looked over her shoulder and laughed softly.

“You used to dream of it, or it turns you on?”

“Both.”

“Ah,” Sara half turned and stretched, making her long lines even longer. Her thin grey sweater rode up, revealing her flat stomach and lower edge of her ribcage, but she noted Grissom’s attention was focused lower than that.

“You look like you’ve never seen a lace thong before—“ she teased. His glance flickered up to her face and he gave her a devastating smile.

“Gift wrap,” he corrected firmly as he toyed with the ribbon draped on his thighs. Sara gave a little shiver and faced him as she brought her hands down to the edge of her sweater. She grabbed it and tugged the top up over her head in one fluid motion, lightly tossing it at Grissom, who batted it away with a lazy laugh.

“Better moves than Catherine?” she demanded. He laughed again.

“Don’t know—I never saw her dance, Thank God.”

Sara sashayed closer, enjoying herself immensely.

“Thank God?” she echoed. Grissom shook his head.

“Many men look at Catherine and see a beautiful woman. All I see is a friend who admits she wants my job.”

“Grissom!” Sara spluttered into chuckles. He continued to stare at her body as he licked his lips.

“Catherine’s not my type. Sexuality is a means to an end for her, nothing more. Another tool in her kit, Sara.”

As he spoke he reached out to her hips, stroking them with his warm palms, cupping the bones lightly. His touch made Sara give a shuddering sigh.

“Ohhhhhh.”

“And frankly we have MUCH better things to talk about, right?”

“R-right—“ Sara agreed in choked tones as his thumbs slid up under the hip straps of her thong. Grissom cupped her rear reverently.

“For instance, did I ever tell you about my first lust attack?” he asked conversationally. Confused, Sara looked down into his smiling face and he rambled on.

“The first casual Friday you were with us. You were in the Trace lab, bent over the light table and working on something. I stepped in to see the most magnificent ass I’d ever laid eyes on right there, within hand’s reach. Thank God I had a lab coat on or you would have seen me for the evil-minded supervisor I am.”

“You’re kidding!” Sara gulped, pleased at his words and enjoying his soft caress of her bottom. He shook his head.

“Magnificent,” he repeated in a slightly dreamy tone. “You wore maroon hiphuggers with that wide silver belt, and the act of bending over dropped the back edge of your jeans so low I could see the dimples on either side of your backbone. The small of your spine between your jeans and your tank top—I’d never seen anything so erotically enticing.”

Sara felt his fingers slide up under the thin stretchy lace of her thong. She braced her hands on his big shoulders.

“Wow—“

“It would have been so easy to reach out, grab your gorgeous butt and squeeze—“ he admitted, doing just that, his warm palms clenching around the smooth globes of her ass. Sara squealed, hips rocking forward. He kissed her belly button, tongue sliding into it.

Sara gave a soft cry as the ticklish brush of his beard nuzzled under her navel. She swayed, her hands tightening on his shoulders. Teeth nipped her and her stomach tensed with hot sexual sparks.

“Gris—“

“Teacher,” came the muffled response. The smug tone annoyed Sara slightly, but the heat sliding up between her thighs scorched it away and she wriggled against his big hands. He loosened his hold and with agility managed to tug her thong down, lightly brushing it down her legs until it landed on her feet in a little puddle of lace.

“An A for presentation, an A plus for contents. Shall we move on to active participation?” he rumbled. Sara modestly dropped a hand over the soft fur between her legs, making him chuckle again.

“Nice display of materials—“

She giggled; she couldn’t help responding to his seductive lecture mode and reached for the ribbon on his lap.

“I brought my binder.”

“Yes that’s going to help with the in-depth, hands-on work . . . “ Grissom cheerfully smiled, accepting it from her. Sara held her wrists out, giddy with anticipation. Grissom turned his face slightly and his dimples deepened.

“Spontaneity is the key to an engaging session with a student. Presenting a puzzle or dilemma can be an invaluable learning tool—“ as he spoke, Grissom brought the ribbon around the back of Sara’s knees, wrapping it twice around before tying it in a surprisingly beautiful bow in the front. She looked down, perplexed.

“Pretty, but . . . limiting,” she observed breathlessly since his hands had returned to caressing her ass in slow possessive strokes.

“A knotty problem for a naughty girl,” he cooed, enjoying her dilemma intensely. Sara worked her jaw back and forth, her lean frame thrumming now with sexual tension searing just under her skin now by his soft touch.

“Um . . .” she began swaying. He stood and turned, dropping her back onto the mattress.

“State the problem, Sara.”

“My legs are tied together.”

“Why is this a problem?”

“Because I want you between them,” she pointed out with loving exasperation, “Making love to me!”

“Stunning summation—“ Grissom lifted her legs and kissed her ankles; Sara shrieked as his beard tickled the thin skin on the top of her bare feet. She clutched a pillow and tossed it at him; he gave her a mock frown.

“Keep that up and you’ll be staying after class, Ms. Sidle.”

“Banging erasers along with the teacher?” she batted her eyes at him and he chuckled.

“Perfect use of innuendo—extra credit,” he mused, his fingers gripping her ankles. Sara let him rest her feet against his chest and took a moment to look at him in all his unguarded amazing beauty. He looked happy. The corners of his mouth were turned up, and his blue eyes sparkled playfully. She propped herself up on her elbows as her gaze softened watching him. Grissom slid his palms along her calves, enjoying himself.

“Honey, you are about ninety seven percent legs,” came his delighted observation. Sara let her toes touch his nose.

“Statistically true. And YOU are still one hundred percent dressed, Teach.”

Grissom lightly shifted her limbs to one side of him and rested his hands on his hips.

“I may need a helper—“ he rumbled, making Sara stifle a giggle at his semi-serious tone. Grissom took his role playing seriously and often held out far longer than she could. She raised a hand.

“Pick me, pick me!”

“Miss Sidle, I believe it’s your turn to come to the head of the class—“

At his use of the word ‘head’ she dropped her gaze to his fly. He cleared his throat suggestively and Sara shifted herself around, struggling a little with her bound knees but managing to reach for his fly. She felt a bit like a beached mermaid as she leaned on her elbows and tugged at the tab drawing it down with difficulty over the prominent ridge.

“Whooo! Show and tell!” she crowed as his erection surged happily towards her. Grissom choked a laugh as she impatiently pushed his trousers and boxers down.

“And I brought enough for everybody,” he dimpled.

Then Sara licked the broad plum colored head of his cock and he grunted, swaying forward a little in quick response. She purred and did it again, pleased at the flavor of him on her tongue, the musk that made her pulse race. With delight, she pushed her mouth onto him, keeping enough slick tension to make Grissom groan softly. One big hand dropped to her shoulder, the other slid under her chin.

“N-not too much—“ he warned with a forced smile. Sara tasted the heat of him and knew; after a few minutes of slow sucking she reluctantly pulled away and used his hips to pull herself up on her bound knees as her breasts brushed his midriff. He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, tongue sliding deep and determinedly into her mouth.

“I love a student who pays lip service—“ he whispered playfully. Sara moaned in agreement, feeling his cock rubbing her stomach. Grissom reached down and picked her up from the mattress, making her gasp; she kept forgetting how strong he actually was. He rubbed noses with her.

“I’m going to be behind you all the way, Miss Sidle.”

Before she could figure that out, he ever so gently bounced her on the mattress, face down and Sara felt a few pillows tucked under her hips. This brought her ass up in the air, and she strove to look over her shoulders in surprise. Grissom slid a hand in the soft space between her thighs and bottom, wedging his big palm against the lovely fur and slick folds of her sex. Sara shuddered with pleasure, gripping the sheets. He shifted his hand slightly.

“Positive strokes—“ he smiled, leaning down and rubbing again. His palm cupped her firmly; Sara gave a sweet little gasp.

“Ohhhhhhhh!” the even pressure and heat of his trapped hand was amazing. Sara tried to spread her thighs wider but the ribbon held, and she swallowed hard at the insidious restraint. He rubbed again.

“I believe in rubbing a student the right way, Miss Sidle. I think you do too—is this getting your attention?”

And how, Sara groaned to herself. She arched her back, shoving herself against his hand aware of what a lewd image she probably was making. Grissom bent down, and—

--nipped her left cheek, HARD. Sara jumped as his fingers very lightly tweaked her bud between them. Then the scrape of his beard on her ass moved to the other cheek.

“An apple for the teacher—“

“Please--!” Sara pleaded, grinding against his hand.

“Yes—I think we’ve played long enough—“ he agreed thickly, pulling his hand back. Sara whimpered at the loss. He shifted behind her, and she heard the soft tear of foil. Within a few seconds, the hot welcome press of his cock slid where his hand had been; Sara dropped her shoulders to the mattress, hissing in pleasure.

“Please,please,please—“ she gasped. With one slow glide Grissom thrust himself into her pillowy folds, groaning low in his throat. Sara echoed it, and sobbing with pleasure at the feel of him deep within her again.

“So good. I want it, Please, hard---“

He was slow, and tender, moving in deep deliberate strokes that pulsated pleasure through her entire frame, and when after a while she thought she would go insane with his purposeful pace, he slid a hand around her hip and between her thighs to touch the swollen little button buried in her fur.

Sara came, hard and loud, sobbing joyously, and barely a few heartbeats after her, Grissom’s pleasure erupted deep within her as well as he collapsed across her sweat-dampened back.

*** *** ***

“—And she never did figure it out, although I did have to replace the banana and the battery,” Grissom sighed. They were lying in the semi-darkness, cuddled together. The bedside clock read nine thirty, but neither was in a hurry to get ready for work, not just yet. Sara was playing with the ribbon, knotting and unknotting it while Grissom caught her up on events. He looked over and smiled at her.

“Sara—“ he began, “I’ve been thinking.”

“You do that sometimes,” she agreed, playfully. He smiled briefly and continued. “About you, and me, and the weekends.”

She bit her lip as a needle of fear stabbed her heart, but seeing it, Grissom shook his head.

“Do you think—you could maybe handle—a little bit more?”

In the pause, Sara looked over at him and brushed the tousled hair from her face.

“Define your terms, Grissom.”

“Well, instead of a weekend, maybe, possibly—a week. Or two—“

She simply stared at him, surprised and inwardly thrilled at his suggestion, but too smart to show it right away. She managed a crooked grin instead.

“We’re already crossing the line by being here on a Wednesday, you know.”

“It felt right.”

“Yes it did. Does—“ she agreed.

Another companionable pause circled the room, and pleased, Grissom smiled up at the ceiling. He sent one foot out to touch Sara’s under the sheet; she nudged back.

“So?”

“So—“

“Do you want to?”

“Only on one condition.”

“Anything—“ he smiled.

And then she told him.

He stiffened, cocking his head, unsure if he’d heard her correctly and fearing deep down that he had. Sara looked more than nervous, but one of her many charms was impulsive persistence, and it kicked in as she repeated herself in a low slightly croaky tone.

“I said I want to tie YOU up, Gil.”

His first overwhelming reaction was to snap at her, to remind her of the ground rules they’d agreed to, but he bit down his words knowing full well they were borne of panic, not anger.

Shifting up on one elbow, Sara studied his wary face and her expression saddened when he let out a quick sigh.

“You know, it’s GOOD to want things—“ he weakly replied, echoing one of his mother’s favorite retorts. She managed a sickly smile of clear disappointment. That expression hurt, and Grissom flinched a little.

“Sara—“ he gripped her arm. She stared down at his hand; he softened his hold instantly, ashamed of himself. Sara’s mouth twitched; she looked up, not quite meeting his eyes.

“So that’s pretty much it, isn’t it? No maybes or possiblys here, just—no.”

“I didn’t say no,” Grissom countered defensively, hating his petulant tone. Forcing himself to use a more reasonable voice he continued.

“Sorry, you took me by surprise. I thought things were . . . good . . . between us.”

Better than good, he privately thought with a mingled rush of lustful adoration he hoped she could see in his eyes.

Sara flashed him her gentle smile, the tentative one that Grissom knew meant she was conflicted.

“Things ARE good. God, what you do to me from the minute you walk into a room—hey, in that regard, everything’s pretty damn wonderful, Gris. Don’t ever doubt it.”

A pause lingered in the conversation, widening the chasm between them. Grissom thinned his dry lips, feeling slightly helpless. He smoothed a hand over the sheet draped on his hip.

“Then why change it? What . . . what’s not right, Sara?”

She looked away and then back at him, chin high.

“Do you love me?”

He reached for her, but Sara shook her head and Gris hung back, eyes locked on hers.

“You know I do, Sara. Deeply.”

“Do you respect me?”

“Of course I do. You’re intelligent, hard-working and compassionate,” he responded quickly, wondering where this was going. The corner of her mouth quirked up; she fingered the ribbon lying on her bare stomach.

“Now here’s the crux of the matter: do you trust me?”

He began to respond, but Sara rolled over and pressed her fingers over his mouth, cutting off his words.

“You said you did from the first night we made love, Grissom, but that trust was that I’d accept that framework you needed for intimacy. You’ve earned mine, and we’ve had a hell of a wonderful time with it. But---“

“But?”

“But now, I deserve YOUR trust. Because wonderful as it is to climb into bed with you, I’m NOT an equal partner most of the time. I’m the woman you do things TO, not with. I want—“

“—More,” he finished, bleakly. Sara looked close to tears, but she nodded hard.

“Exactly. If you want us to stay here together for longer than our weekends, I need parity, Gris. I need to be your partner, not just your pet.”

He closed his eyes and let strange prickly emotions roil around in his chest and stomach. The negative ones surfaced first; the anger and frustration. And under them—

Cold, inky fear. A tingly sensation, like biting on tin foil or an icy wind down the bare spine. Grissom’s muscles tightened and he balled the sheet in his palm.

This fear had nothing to do with reality; this wasn’t fear of Paul Millander or impending deafness or phone calls from hospitals. This was a darker, primal, ocean at night sort of unreasoning fear.

“Equality. Haven’t I given you that? Autonomy in this relationship? Freedom to come and go, to be yourself?” he whispered desperately.

Sara held back from touching him; the hardest thing she’d ever managed to do. Grissom looked utterly lost as he waited for her to say something.

“You have, and all of those things are amazingly precious, Gil. I’ve never loved or been loved to this degree in my life, which is why it’s killing me to do this.”

“Do this?” he echoed, striving for understanding and not quite reaching it. Sara bit her lip.

“Make a point here. I love you. That isn’t going to change, Grissom—not now, not ever.”

Her declaration seemed to soothe him somewhat; he rolled over to face her and they mirrored each other, both with a hand propping up their heads.

“I don’t understand then. Why does it have to come down to this? I love you too. I want to keep things as they are, but more OF it—stay here with you through the week instead of keeping up this ridiculous façade, this semi-relationship.”

Sara nearly gave in at his bewildered tone, but instead picked up the wrinkled ribbon and draped it over his warm bare shoulder.

“You need time to get used to the idea, I know, but we can’t go forward without some change, babe. And giving me that moment to dominate you is . . . symbolic. A big step towards thinking of us as a partnership instead of just a weekend fling.”

He mulled that over quietly, his fine mouth pursing for a moment, then he sighed. Very gently, as if embarrassed, as if sharing a humiliating secret he leaned closer to her ear. Sara smelled the sweet after-fragrance of their lovemaking on his cheek as he whispered,

“I’m afraid, acushla.”

She pulled back to look into his eyes and saw no humor, no sarcasm, just a wary hint of fear in the clear blue irises. She fought off a smile.

“I’d NEVER hurt you—“ Sara rushed to reassure him, but Grissom shook his head impatiently.

“Not of you. You don’t GET it—“ he blurted, and Sara’s insight hit her heart and stomach in the same blinding rush of chill. She froze and he swallowed hard.

“—Of me. I’m afraid of myself.”

Those quiet lonely words hit her hard; Sara slid her long arms around him to pull his unresisting body against hers. She held him and gradually he relaxed.

Grissom finally spoke again, urgently, his lips against the satiny skin of her shoulder. “It’s control, Sara. I need control because I’m afraid to be without it. My life, my work, my personality; all of those are directed and channeled and tightly maintained for my own good. Even us, this relationship—the issue’s always been around control. We both know that.”

“Shhhh—“ she soothed, stroking the back of his head and trying to sound calm. Grissom gave a self-deprecating snort.

“Years of conditioning--this isn’t something I can change overnight, honey.”

She smiled into his hair even though a nagging sense of worry rose up in her like a fever.

“Not asking you to—we’ve got two days until the next weekend, Gil. If it happens, we can stay. And if it doesn’t—well, we’ll have the next weekend, right?”

He pulled away to study her face.

“To try again?”

She shook her head sweetly.

“To keep the status quo--Jesus, I’m not about to end things just because the next step’s a hard one—what kind of lover do you take me for?”

Grissom swallowed hard, then pulled her into a quick kiss.

He sighed, glancing at the clock.

“We’ve got work.”

“Work is good,” she agreed.

As Grissom watched her slide out of the bed, he pursed his mouth and wondered if he could handle the next forty eight hours.