Title: A Heart's Desire.

Summary: Their relationship has been deteriorating steadily over the past years, now's the time to rebuild it. G/S. After a six months hiatus, it's finally Finished!

Author's note: It's been over six months since this WIP has been updated. But now it's finally finished. I tried to write this final chapter before, and at one point (after numerous tries) I had something on paper, but which I didn't think was worth posting. Thus I left this story to be forgotten (though I occasionally tried to write for it again), until last week when I was able to write this little bit. The style and tense of this chapter is quite different than the last chapters; consider it an experiment. And perhaps a cop-out. Regardless, let me know if it works or not.

And thus I present the final chapter of this WIP. My first, and for far into the future, last one. Beware of the fluff and mush. Thanks to Carmen for the quick once-over.

Chapter 5

There had been a whitewashed double bed with cream covers. Two simple bed stands, the right one harboring two text books; one of which detailed the classical structures of Roman building. He remembered thinking that it was such a contrast to the Bauhaus architectural design book he had seen in her living room earlier. And he was able to recall his joy when he had noticed the cover of the second book peaking out from underneath. That cover that he would have recognize anywhere: the entomology textbook he had given her for Christmas that previous year.

Even now, Grissom was still surprised that he had given it to her. Their relationship hadn't exactly been smooth sailing back then, yet he had gathered up the courage and give her something practical which also tied to his own interests. Sara always had been a gregarious student. One who valued knowledge, so that even if she wouldn't realize the shy attempt at his trying to reconnect to her, she would at least put the book to good use by perusing it. Even applying some of the texts to a case once in a while. He doubted that she'd be as invested in nature's bugs as him, going as far as to graduate with a PhD in entomology, but that didn't matter. She'd be more than capable of supervising a lab with the extent of knowledge she had already acquired. Even if he had robbed her of that first chance when the opportunity arose.

Now, months later, life had progressed. They had slept together that night as had been the plan, emotionally intimate without the physical aspect. And when they had woken, there was a sense of hesitancy, of wondering what to say, what to do? With hair mussed up, a sloppy curl having snuck back in during the night, and eyes that were blinking a few times before fully opening, she had looked beautifully chaotic. But what to do then. Kiss her, or would she kiss him? Snuggle up a little, drifting back in a state of bliss? For, he recalled, it was bliss. A feeling of contentment that he hadn't felt in so long, if ever, that it had caused a true smile to creep up his face. Spooning her, he had known she had been unable to see it, but it was almost as though she had felt it, for she rolled over and kissed the smile right off.

The next morning he had invited her to his house, a step that was monumental in its simplicity. When she'd entered the living room she noticed the copied notes of the case they had been working on, neatly penned questions and remarks written on a nearby notepad. With a seemingly transparent understanding, he'd brought two cups of coffee to the table and set one in front of her, the other in front of himself. As a final thought, he took the pages of information and planted them in between. And so they got to work, brainstorming leads and ideas which, later on, turned out to be the missing piece of the puzzle. As they progressed on the case, so did their relationship.

But the progression hadn't been smooth, hadn't been the sense of fulfillment and all-encompassing joy that poets had written about for centuries. Well, at least not all the time. And that was fine by the both of them. Individuals used to living their own lives should not be expected to magically form a lovey-dovey, fairytale partnership. Romantic poetry was one thing, reality something else entirely. And they knew it. Arguments not quite spawning into full-out fights, time spent apart on hobbies and jogs, so that while Grissom would be training his hissing cockroaches, Sara would be on a three mile run. And that, too, was part of their ritual. Just as dinner was once a month in one of the countless restaurants Las Vegas harbored.

Dressing up a bit, going to one of the finer culinary establishments in the area which they both turned out to be enjoying. A little surprising perhaps, since neither were the type to 'see and be seen'. Then again, places such as the Stratopshere were not the only ones dined at. There were plenty of quirky diners and quiet bistros where they felt more at home. Excellent, not too frilly, food, and nothing to remind them of work.

II

Sara had never expected him to become an emotionally outgoing guy, and truth be told, she didn't want that either. She shared the traits of being a bit of a loner, someone who only opened up if she felt it was pertinent, and if she'd been the one to have made the decision. Her counselor's sessions had proven to be interesting, with the other woman uttering the standard, professional sounding drivel, and Sara nodding once in a while. And occasionally speaking up a little to show that she hadn't drifted off. She'd gotten something out of it, for there was more than a little bit of truth in what the counselor had been trying to impart to her. But for the most part, there hadn't been the feeling of comfortableness around her, making it difficult to share anything intimately personal. Come to think of it, Sara thought, she'd always had more of a problem relating to women than to men. Maybe a male counselor had been better...

She was startled from her musings as she heard someone walk into the lab room, and she looked up. "Hey."

"Hey. How's the clothing coming along?" He stepped beside her and cast an inquisitive glance over the collection of shirts that was gathered on the lay-out table. "Found anything probative so far?"

Sara shook her head and braced her hands on the counter top. "Not a single thing. There's just nothing here, and it makes no sense. If our eyewitness is saying he saw Michael Whitmoore shoot his wife while wearing such a shirt, why can't I find anything!" Her hands pushed off the table and she straightened, looking Grissom in the eye. "There's nothing, zilch. Not a single hair, blood spatter on any of his shirts. I mean, I checked every single one of them to be sure, and there's not even a fleck of dandruff!" She crossed her arms in front of her. "Only reason I can come up with is that our witness is lying, which begs the question: Why?"

And once again, work infiltrated their private lives as they went home after shift to the same townhouse. Yet it didn't create a fission between them, or at least not one that couldn't be mended with some honest words and an acceptance of the other person's point of view.

III

A gift-wrapped box sat on the kitchen counter when she came home. Sliding her hands over the luxury paper, she couldn't discover a card or note. She unwrapped it eagerly, surprised and curious as to what it could be. And why. For today wasn't a special date as far as she could recall. It wasn't her birthday, and the celebration of them being …what was it, 164 days? together was something to enjoy, but not pay special attention to.

The metallic blue and chrome espresso machine that appeared was a beauty in its own right, and the little 'Just Because' card with Grissom's signature scrawled on it made her heart melt a little. The little bag of freshly roasted coffee beans allowed the scent to waft through, and Sara inhaled deeply, reveling in the spicy and poignant aroma.

"I love you."

She turned and looked into the twinkling eyes of Grissom. "Well, I love you too, you… you…doofus! What brought this on?" Her arms sneaked around his neck and she pecked his lips, drawing back to look at him once more.

"Nothing in particular. Just seeing your pout this morning when we ran out of regular coffee, and your death glare directed to Greg as he told you he hid his secret stash." He tugged her closer to him, enjoying the feel of her bare arms around his neck, of his hands around her small waist. "Can't have you all grumpy and uncaffeinated at work, unless Brass has some suspect who needs intimidating."

A playful glare and a few tender kisses later found them on the couch, watching some comedy on the television, loosely laying in each other's arms. For now, things were perfect in its normalcy, and they could only hope, and work, on letting it continue that way.

The End.