Epilogue.

Grissom signed his name to the last case report on his pile, put it in the to-be-filed tray and checked his watch, his brow rising at how late it already was. He looked at his desk top, straightened his name plate and, satisfied he had everything ready for Catherine, tiredly pushed to his feet. Then he picked up his briefcase and filled it with paperwork on lab policy changes and various guides and leaflets on the latest forensic breakthroughs and gadgets the lab could never afford. All stuff he never found the time to read, but intended to catch up on.

Sara was due to come out of hospital later that day, and he'd taken a week off to be with her. He had been lucky not to break his ankle during Sara's rescue, it was badly sprained, and for the first couple of days he'd either been stuck at home or keeping it easy at CSI doing paperwork, with his leg elevated and an ice pack at the ready. Still now, more than a week later, it still hurt.

Sara, on the other hand, hadn't come off as lightly. She'd fractured both bones in her lower left leg, which had been set in a plaster cast that stopped just below the knee and was fitted with a hard heel she could rest her foot on. The broken ribs suffered when she'd jumped out of the car, coupled with a shoulder strain and the residual lung injury from the fire, made moving and breathing painful and difficult and had meant for a longer stay in hospital.

She was on the mend though, and doing well. He was looking forward to nursing her back to full health and spending a little quiet, quality time with her – just the two of them, recovering at home with Hank, away from it all. A soft, wistful half-smile forming on his face, he reached for the paper crane on his desk and absent-mindedly flattened the creases.

He had it all planned. They would take it easy and recuperate, watch a few movies and maybe take a drive out to Lake Mead. A long walk was out of the question, but if Sara felt up to it he hoped they could go on a boat trip on the lake. He'd never been on one before, but Warrick had taken Tina out for a dinner cruise on a real Mississippi-style river boat and it had sounded nice – romantic, Catherine had said – and apparently the views over Hoover Dam were spectacular. They could take their cameras and capture the sunset.

His smile grew; who said he couldn't do romantic?

Mike Schaffer and Heather Clarke were both in jail, awaiting trial. The Santa Clarita phone number recovered from Schaffer's cell phone had yielded an address and almost immediately, thanks to Brass's contacts, an unsuspecting Heather had been picked up. Once in custody and faced with all the evidence gathered, Heather had confessed to killing her drug-addict sister. The crime hadn't been premeditated, she claimed, even if the cover-up clearly had.

And Grissom had been right – money was involved. Heather had given Leah a roof and a second chance, a chance to get clean and back on her feet. And what had Leah done? Thrown it back in Heather's face and stolen from her. When she had noticed money going missing from her purse, money clearly used to buy drugs, Heather had seen red and the two sisters had argued, the argument soon turning to blows. At first Heather pleaded self-defence, but when confronted with the truth had confessed to throttling her sister in a moment of rage.

The cover-up was Schaffer's idea, Heather maintained, claims Schaffer strongly denied. His word against hers; they might never know the real truth. But regardless, they had enough evidence to charge Schaffer with accessory to murder and falsifying his fire scene investigation report to make the cover up look like an accident. When told, he hadn't looked so cocky anymore. His career was over.

Unfortunately, infuriatingly even, and despite the fact that he was indirectly involved in Sara's accident – Sara had lost control of her car while in pursuit – while Schaffer had failed to offer assistance or report the accident, leaving Sara for dead at the bottom of the ravine, according to the letter of the law he hadn't committed a crime. Sometimes the law was an ass, Grissom thought with a sigh, but what could you do?

"You all set?"

Grissom refocused with a start, then quickly slipped the paper crane inside his case and looked up at Catherine watching from the door. She was watching him with a strange, wistful expression on her face. "I think so," he said, returning her smile. "I've done the roster until the end of the month, and I know you'll be pleased to hear that I'm up to date with all the staff evaluations. I haven't been able to move the budget meeting with Ecklie, I'm afraid. That's on Thursday."

"It's fine. Don't worry about it."

Grissom paused, nodded his head. His gaze lowered uncertainly then came back up to Catherine's face. She must have sensed his hesitation because she looked behind her, then stepped fully into his office and closed the door. He hadn't told anyone about his relationship with Sara, but had been quite candid about his worries for her in front of his team, if not his bosses. As far as they were concerned Sara was going to be staying with Brass for the foreseeable future, while in reality she'd be living with him.

His team had to know though, how he felt - how they felt for each other; they had to have worked it out. Well, aside from Greg who already knew. He'd caught them looking at him with musing frowns on their faces on more than one occasion, and he'd wondered at their thoughts, whether they were judging, condemning even, but no one had asked, and he was grateful. His relationship with Sara was private, and he wanted to keep it that way, at work anyway. Maybe when Sara was back it would be different, but hopefully by then it would be old news and they could just carry on like before.

It occurred to him then that maybe he should tell Catherine, that coming clean would be the right thing to do. "I―I want to thank you," he said hesitantly, "For taking care of grave and allowing me this vacation time. I appreciate it was short notice."

Catherine's expression softened. "You've done it for me often enough. Besides, when's the last time you took time off, huh? Proper time off, I mean."

"Still. Thank you."

Catherine nodded. "Don't mention it."

He glanced down, pinched his lips and nodded his head. He opened his mouth to talk but Catherine beat him to it.

"It's good what you're doing, Gil," she said, "Taking time off to be with Sara."

His gaze shot up to her face in surprise, and she gave him a tender smile.

"She's going to need to you."

He smiled, nodded his head and closed the lid on his briefcase.

"What time is she coming out of hospital?"

"Eleven. But I got a few errands to run first…" Securing the case, he glanced up. Something on his desk had caught Catherine's eye, and he paused.

Frowning as she looked up, she reached for it. "What's this?" she asked, the surprise evident in her tone, as she pulled the realtor brochure he'd forgotten to pack out from under the briefcase. "You're thinking of moving?"

Grissom flicked his eyes down to the brochure. "I am," he said, looking back up with confidence. His underlying intention must have been plain to see because Catherine's eyes widened with glee.

"Does she know?"

He shook his head uncertainly, then took the brochure from her and tidied it away in his case. "I don't know if it's too soon," he said in a sigh afterwards, "or if that's what she even wants. All I know is that the condo is going to be too small."

Catherine watched him for a long moment, as if wondering whether this was the real Grissom standing there and not a substitute. "It's serious, isn't it?" she asked gravely. "Between the two of you?"

He gave her a shy smile and nodded his head. "Very."

"It's the quiet ones you got to watch," she mused, her face lighting up suddenly, and laughing she shook her head in disbelief and walked round his desk to him. "You dark horse!" she exclaimed, smiling widely as she wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. And then in his ear and with genuine warmth, as he reciprocated the embrace a little awkwardly, "I'm happy for you, Gil." She pulled back from him and shook her head again. "For both of you."

Despite the lump that had formed in his throat Grissom managed a small smile and nod. He picked up his jacket from the back of his chair, his briefcase from his desk, and paused.

"Go. Go be with her. Your secret's safe with me. With all of us," she added, with a wink.

Grissom chuckled. "It took you all long enough to notice."

Catherine's returning shrug was mild. "Yeah, well. We weren't looking."

Grissom's smile lingered on long after he'd left CSI that morning. He fetched Hank from the sitter and then stopped at his mother's for breakfast. Mindful of the time, he was rushing down the last of his coffee when his mother placed a casserole dish on the table in front of him. She lifted the lid, and he looked in, his nostrils immediately filling with the tantalising smell of chilli.

"Some lunch for you and Sara," she signed quickly, happily, when he lifted a puzzled face to her, "Or dinner."

His heart sank, but faced with such kindness he didn't have the heart to tell his mother that Sara was a vegetarian. I could always freeze some, he thought with a sigh.

"You just need to heat it up and cook some rice to go with it," Betty went on happily, unaware. "You got rice, haven't you?"

Grissom gave his mother an indulgent smile. "Yes," he signed back. "I have rice, and I know how to cook it too."

A wide smile on her face, Betty patted her hand to his cheek, and he twisted his face from her reach. "You're going to have your hands full as it is," she signed.

His brow arched dryly, but he doubted his mother had meant her words the way he'd interpreted them. "Thank you," he signed, grateful nevertheless. Then he pushed to his feet and took his cup and plate to the sink, Hank close on his heels.

"And send Sara my love," Betty signed when Grissom turned around.

"I will," he replied.

"Tell her I look forward to getting to know her properly, when she's had time to recover, of course."

Grissom's smile was knowing, but he found he didn't mind. Sara was an integral part of his life now, and it was only right that she and his mother got to know each other. "Mom, I…"

He paused with his hands hovering in mid-air uncertainly. He was about to ask his mother's advice on whether she thought it was too soon for him to start making plans for the future, as regards moving house anyway, when he hesitated. Worried she'd get too excited and carried away at the prospect, he decided not to. No, he'd leave the realtor's brochure lying about in the condo and wait until Sara found it. If she was interested – or not, as the case may be – he'd know soon enough. Either way didn't matter to him, as long they were together.

Instead, he raised the fingers of his right hand to his chin and lowered them in thanks and after a moment's hesitation leaned across to kiss his mother's cheek.

"You're a good boy, Gilbert Grissom," Betty signed when he pulled back, the look in her eyes soft and loving. She waved her hand toward the door. "Now go, or you'll be late."

Just after eleven o'clock, he rushed inside the hospital lobby, headed straight for the bank of elevators. He'd showered quickly, but straightening out the condo and speed-walking Hank around the block took longer than he anticipated. He'd just pressed the button to call an elevator when he felt his cell vibrate in his pocket, a short quick buzz that alerted him to a text message. The text, from Sara, read, Turn around, and a smile spreading on his face Grissom slowly did as bid. The elevator doors open behind him, releasing a handful of people, but by then he was already making his way to a small waiting area nearby.

He slipped his cell back in his pocket, his brow rising and his smile widening, as he noticed Sara sitting in a wheelchair looking fed-up next to a male orderly in a peach uniform that was holding a pair of crutches in his hand. Her purse sat on her lap, her travel bag on the ground nearby. Their eyes met, and he shook his head in disbelief.

"They didn't give me the choice," Sara said brightly with a nod at the orderly. "And I couldn't stay in the hospital room a second longer. That woman was driving me crazy."

Stifling a smile, Grissom glanced at the orderly.

"Hospital policy, I'm afraid," the orderly explained.

Grissom leaned down and bussed her on the cheek. "How do you want to play it?" he asked, pulling back. "I'm parked out front."

Sara turned to look at the orderly who shrugged his shoulder. "Once you're out of the door, it's up to you," he said.

"Lead on, then," Sara said in a sigh.

Grissom grabbed the travel bag and they made their way outside. The orderly stopped, put the brakes on the chair and passed Sara the crutches.

"I got this strong feeling of déjà-vu," Grissom said as they reached the car.

Sara laughed. "Me too." She craned her neck forward, looking into the car. "No Hank?" she asked, her disappointment palpable.

"He's at home, waiting. I wasn't sure how long we'd be."

He opened her car door for her, moved the seat right back and then helped her inside before stowing the crutches and bags in the backseat and walking round to the driver's side. "Do you think it's a case of two trips to the hospital and get the third free?" he asked, his expression deadpan despite the smile in his eyes, as he secured his seatbelt and put the key in the ignition.

Sara punched him on the arm, hard and dead centre, and starting the car he gave her a long sideways look and bright smile. "Glad to see you back to normal," he said, laughing, "I've missed you." And then, before she could reply as he started the car, "So, where do you want to go?"

"Home," she said. "I just want to go home and shut the door on the outside world for a long while. Give Hank a big hug. Did you get him a big marrow bone like I asked?"

Grissom's smile broadened in amusement.

"He saved my life, you know."

So did I, he thought, and what do I get for my effort? A sprained ankle and not a word of thanks.

You get your girl back, you big numbnuts, a little voice said in his ear.

Head shaking in disbelief, he put the car in gear and set off. At this time of day, traffic was light and fluid and they made good progress. They were driving past the Chipotle Mexican Grill on West Charleston Boulevard when Grissom suddenly remembered to pass on Betty's love and good wishes, and then told Sara about the chilli con carne waiting at home – emphasis being on the 'con'.

Sara laughed, but Betty's care and good intention seemed to touch her, and he knew that the two of them would get on just fine. They lapsed into silence and he concentrated on the road, Sara watching the familiar scenery pass by, and he simply content to have her back by his side.

"Maybe I could pick out the meat," she said musingly after a while, and turned toward him.

"Good luck with that," he said in a scoff, and then his expression sobering patted his hand to her thigh comfortingly. "I'll tell her, next time, when the opportunity arises."

Sara's smile faded and her gaze returning to the road she nodded her head distractedly. Maybe he should have told his mother about Sara being a vegetarian there and then, he thought suddenly. Did Sara mind that he hadn't? Had he done the wrong thing by her?

"I spoke to Jim," Sara said, drawing him out of his thoughts, as he rounded the corner into their neighbourhood, "And he's happy to have everyone round – well, the guys – for breakfast, or drinks or a meal, or whatever."

Grissom pursed his mouth and turning toward her nodded his head. "It's a good idea," he said, bringing his eyes back on the road.

"I'd like to thank them all for everything they've done for me since the fire, you know? And I thought—"

"Why Jim's?" he cut in. "What don't we…huh…have everyone round at the condo? It's your home too now."

Sara stared at him with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. "You wouldn't mind?"

"Mind what?" Keeping his eyes fixed on the road, he shrugged his shoulder. "That you have your friends – our friends," he amended pointedly, "come round?" He turned to look at her and shook his head. "No."

And he found that to be the truth; he didn't mind. They would just have to be very careful, that's all, especially at work, and if the truth about their relationship came out, if the powers that be were to find out, then they'd deal with it. What was the worst that could happen, he asked himself for the hundredth time? That he was demoted or moved to another shift? He'd take that to losing her for good any day of the week.

He could feel Sara's puzzled eyes on him as he drove. "And you'd be there too?" she asked after a while, the doubt undisguised in her tone.

A giddy smile twitching at his lips, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "I might."

Sara's smile widened as the implications of his words sank in, but she turned her gaze to the road without commenting.

He pulled into the condo's car lot, skilfully slotted into his space and killing the engine turned toward her. "Unless, of course," he added mischievously, "you…didn't want me there."

She laughed. "Worried you'd be cramping my style?" she retorted with a playful arch of her brow.

"What style?" he almost said, but kept to himself.

Truth be told, he was worried about what they would all think. He knew he would find it all very uncomfortable at first, but he and Sara couldn't stay cocooned in the condo all the time. There would be times, outside of work, where they'd be with their friends and he'd want to act as Sara's boyfriend rather than her boss. At work, he was boss and could act like it. At home, in social situations, he didn't want to have to pretend or watch his every move. If he felt like holding Sara's hand, he would do it. If his arm were to instinctively drape around her shoulders, he would let it. And if he felt like kissing her, he wouldn't stop himself.

Smiling at the thought, he released his seat belt and shifted on the seat until he could comfortably lean over the middle console. His smile turned shy, a little self-conscious, as looking into her eyes he lifted his hand to her face and stroked his thumb to her cheek. Sara must have read his intention because she swallowed, then moved on her seat and reached out her hand before slowly closing the distance to him until their lips met for a slow, languorous kiss.

She was home. The rest would take care of itself.