A/N: So I think the majority deemed it acceptable that I ignored my history essay to write my last story. This time, I've blown off a good night's sleep for the last day of classes for the semester, but eh, who cares? Can't help that the ideas start flowing at 1 a.m.!

This is just a little follow-up piece to "Saying Goodbye", nothing too special, but something I wanted to share. Thanks to My Kate for her review on "Saying Goodbye", as it spurred on this story. I hope she, and all of you, enjoy it!

Three weeks.

It was funny how much you could learn about a person in three short weeks. If Grissom had thought previously that you could know everything about someone within a decade's time of knowing each other, then boy, was he wrong. It had taken Sara Sidle moving into his apartment, fully into his life, for him to truly know her and, eventually, accept her for everything she was. The parts that annoyed him and all.

Because for starters, she was meticulously clean. He would shave after a shower, leave the bathroom to put on pants, and return to find all the little hairs that he had left dusting the counter already wiped away. She would spend a good hour after meals standing by the sink, scrubbing every dish until each miniscule fragment of food had been scraped away, and her fingers were red and raw. She vacuumed everyday, just for the heck of it. But he knew it was the dog hairs – it drove her crazy to see just one lying around.

She would always have the television on, even if she wasn't watching it. She'd switch it on for background noise, while reading a case file, taking a nap or (surprise!) cleaning. It drove him crazy. He had a television in the townhouse more for formality, really. He hardly ever turned it on, unless there was a particularly intriguing documentary scheduled to air that he really wanted to catch. But with Sara around, the constant babble of a newscast or one crime drama or another followed him around from room to room.

She was always cold. They fought about the thermostat nearly every day. Sometimes, he would come home from pulling a double to find it cranked up all the way to 75. In the summer. In Las Vegas. His utility bill had already nearly doubled from extra showers and the television constantly on. He would lower it stubbornly every time.

And she was such a restless sleeper. When she did sleep at all, that is. Grissom was certain he had never known a person who could run on less sleep than Sara. Her average was around four or five hours a night. And during those short hours, she would twist and turn restlessly, pull the comforters from his grasp or wiggle impatiently when she was ready to get up and he wasn't. On top of it all, she'd often have nightmares. This, he knew, she couldn't help. But it didn't stop him from being frustrated when her cries woke him from the best sleep he'd gotten in a month.

All this had come to blow earlier that morning. They'd both had an unusually good night's sleep the night before, but had both still been testy when they awoke. Bickering about everything from the damned thermostat to his lack of vegetarian cuisine, it was not how Grissom had intended to spend their shared day off. Instead, she had pulled on sweats and gone for a run, something he discovered she did when she was frustrated or upset, and he went for their weekly grocery run.

Grissom's pulse was still at 90 on the way there, but had substantially decreased by the return trip. The day was turning into a beautiful one, and he still had the prospect of the entire night off before he would have to return to the lab. Stopped at a stop light and gazing at an older couple walking hand-in-hand, he absentmindedly began to reflect on the other things he had learned about Sara in the past three weeks.

For starters, he had never seen her look as beautiful as she did when she slept beside him, when her face was peaceful and relaxed, not furrowed and full of concentration. Her mouth would often be open slightly, her breaths coming in and out loud and steady. Sometimes, her hair would fall over her face, and Grissom could never resist softly pushing it out of the way, and tucking it behind her ear.

She was good at reading people. She could know in an instant's moment whether she should press an issue or leave him be for a while. She was okay with reading a book or journal for a few hours while he calmed down from a particularly difficult shift or case, and she didn't mind when he put on classical music to chase away a migraine.

She wasn't needy. She didn't whine when they would spend hours upon hours apart, and then fall right to sleep within moments of finally seeing each other again. She never left a string of messages on his phone, in fact, she hardly left messages at all. When she did, it was often a simple, "I was thinking about you. I love you." The rarity of them made them even more special.

Yet she was never standoffish. She was a warm, generous and comforting being. She was easy to talk to. And all together, she was easy to be around. She didn't need to be entertained, and they would often find themselves enjoying themselves just as much on a night on the couch as they did on a night out. Put simply, he loved being around her. Everything was much brighter, warmer, when she was around.

And, perhaps most of all, she was affectionate. One might never guess it, given her professionalism at work, but Sara was a creature who loved to love and be loved. She would give him tantalizing shoulder rubs, his entire body would melt at the touch of her slender fingers and strong hands. Cuddling on the couch with a movie was top on her list of activities for a Saturday night, and she was always up for spooning. It all worked out very well, as Grissom couldn't seem to keep his hands off her.

Back at the townhouse with these thoughts swirling around his head, Grissom began unloading his groceries in the kitchen, balling up the plastic bags to throw away before Sara saw them. She would chide him for not using paper, again. As the garbage lid slammed shut, he saw her round the corner into the living room, toweling her hair dry.

"Hey," she said shyly, the morning's argument obviously still in her mind.

"Hi," he said back, warmly.

Sara folded the towel carefully and placed it on the couch before joining him in the kitchen.

"What's all this?" she asked, gesturing to the expansive stretch of groceries.

"This," he said, picking up the item nearest him. "Is soy milk. And these are veggie burgers. Half-off this weekend."

He winked at her.

"These," he continued. "Are ingredients for the lasagna I'm going to attempt to make us for dinner tonight. This is a heater for the bedroom, because I'll finally admit it needs one. I might catch hypothermia from your freezing cold feet if I don't act now."

Sara laughed.

"And this," he concluded, holding up the final item. "Is a new blanket for Hank, because you said he needed one."

Sara stood silent a moment, her mouth slightly open in awe, her gaze bouncing from item to item.

"You didn't have to do all this."

Grissom set the doggie blanket on the counter and moved towards her, taking her hands.

"Honey," he said softly. "This is as much your home as it is mine. And I want you to be as comfortable in it as possible. Okay?"

She bit her lip and nodded.

"I'm serious about this, Sara," he added. "Making this work. You and me. I don't ever want to have to sleep in a bed alone, especially after nights like last night."

Her sheepish smile grew into a full-out grin. His words meant even more since they hadn't had sex the night before. They had cuddled up together, enjoying each other's company and closeness, and talked, late, late into the night.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Now, I'm going to walk the dog, and then I'll get started on tonight's cuisine magnifique," he said. "You pick a bottle of wine."

He headed to the front door and, as he whistled for Hank, his last glimpse before shutting the door behind him was Sara, leaning against the kitchen counter where he left her, the happiest, widest smile on his face that he'd seen in a long time. It made him feel warm from the depth of his chest to his fingertips.

Later that night, after a surprisingly delicious meal of vegetarian lasagna, followed by chocolate-dipped strawberries and a make-out session that would make a 15-year-old Gil proud, Grissom made love to Sara. Yet another thing he knew, but did not fully appreciate until she moved in with him. With Sara, it was never having sex, or, dare he say the word, fucking. It was always making love. It was always romantic and passionate, no matter if it was slow and sensual or quick and needy. The things her body could do to him never ceased to amaze him.

Coming back from the bathroom in just a pair of boy shorts and his button-down shirt, Sara slipped under the covers and curled up next to him. There was nothing he loved more than the feeling of her warm body beside him.

"I was thinking about what you said earlier," she whispered, adding the next sentence only when he remained looking perplexed. "About making it work."

Her eyes were directed somewhere towards the footboard of the bed.

"Mhm?"

"You and me," she continued, her eyes flickering back to his. "Did you really mean it?"

He propped his head up, cupping her face with one of his hands.

"Of course, honey."

"I guess I'm just not used to hearing this… relationshipy side of you," she explained, perhaps catching on to the defensive tone in his answer.

The corners of Grissom's lips tugged upwards. He couldn't help but tease her.

"Relationshipy," he repeated. "Is that a professional term?"

Sara grinned too, putting a few fingers on his chest and pushing him away softly before allowing him to drape his arm back around her waist.

"Yes," she teased back. "It is."

They smiled at each other for a few moments before Sara closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into the covers and closer to him. His thumb stroked her arm absently. He had no idea how much time passed, and he hated to wake her if she fell asleep, but, for some reason, what he had to say next seemed so incredibly urgent.

"Sara?" he whispered. "Honey?"

"Hm?" Sara sighed against his chest.

"You know how much I love you, right?" he asked. "You know how happy you make me."

Sara's eyes fluttered open and she leaned a little closer to brush her lips against his.

"Yeah," she said softly. "I do."

And with that, Sara laid her head on the pillow once more and Grissom closed his eyes in peaceful reflection, his arms wrapped around the one thing in this world that could make him happier than he ever imagined. He was content.

The End