This was written and posted in Vegas; written and added to very, very late at night or early in the morning when my traveling companion was asleep. It's so not beta-ed. Betaed? It hasn't been read for mistakes.

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"So," she whispered, still hanging in his doorway, though he had invited her in, "You're really leaving." A statement instead of a question, no room for questioning.

Grissom didn't turn to face her, just placed another book in a box, and replied, "Yes. I am." His demeanor was slumped even as he managed to walk about his living room with a certain amount of speed.

There were tears in her eyes, he could feel them wavering in her voice. There were tears in his too, that was why he refused to look at her. "Come on, Grissom, it can't be..." Sara began, stepping inside, shutting the door. "Know what, I didn't come here to talk you out of it."

Grissom stopped in his tracks, moving to the kitchen area. "Then why are you here?" he asked rather bitterly, still clutching an armful of books.

Sara stood there before him, outwardly crying then, and began to unbutton her light shirt. When the first two buttons parted to reveal smooth, pale skin, Grissom dropped his books. "Stop," he whispered harshly, unable to tear his eyes from the actions her fingers were performing.

She looked up at him quickly, shook her head whilst biting her lip, and continued undoing her buttons. "Sara, please, don't do this," he managed to speak but still, still he watched her move down another button. "Sara..."

"You're leaving tomorrow, it shouldn't matter anymore," she hissed, pressing her shirt open. "You don't have to risk anything; this is just... what it is..." And so there she stood, her naked torso on display for him, the clasp of her black bra visible. Standing there, just standing, Sara waited.

Grissom licked his lips and tore his gaze away from the newly bared skin to meet her eyes. "Sara, this isn't right... not like this..."

"Then how?" she countered harshly, taking a few steps closer to him. "Tonight or never? You haven't told anyone where you're going or why or for how long... and what if we never see you again?" she spat bitterly. "Give me something, Grissom; let me know that I haven't been waiting here for six years on you to come up empty handed!"

Shock wracked his body for a moment. "You should never have done it for me, Sara," he whispered shamefully. "That was never my intention."

"Well, it was never my intention to fall..." she sighed and smoothed her palms down the front of her pants.

"Inlovewithyoueither," came the rushed conclusion of her sentence.

His jaw twitched a few times as he attempted to set it in a straight line, belay no emotion. But she was standing there in front of him, heart on her sleeve, tears in her eyes, asking him to have her even if it was only for one night.

"Grissom," she let out on a long whoosh of breath, "Gil... please."

With that, she opened her shirt and let it slowly trail down her shoulders and onto the floor. Sara dropped her eyes for a moment, standing in her bra, waiting for him to want her. But she didn't have to wait; he'd wanted her all along. He simply had to go about the supposedly insurmountable task of taking, of having her.

"Sara," he trailed out again, tortured and thick as he reached out to skim his fingers over her shoulder. "Jesus," he growled, moving to take her in his arms and kiss her hard, stumbling over the books that had fallen in the process.

Tongues stroking, stealing, feeling; he kissed her with everything he could, every tiny little scrap of passion or emotion he possessed. She sobbed into his mouth while wrapping her hands tightly around the back of his neck, clinging, holding on lest he try and detangle himself from the web of emotions she had spun to trap him in.

Retaining her dignity somehow, and finding it easier to speak to him now that they were that close, she begged, "Don't leave me, God, please don't leave me, Grissom."

Too caught up in the moment to take it further, too far in to pull back, he took her into his arms and held her. She shook, not sobs wracking her body, but she shook just enough to let him know that she was still crying; the tremors that touched her body began to travel through his and though the urge became nearly overwhelming, he didn't cry.

Expelling the tightness in his chest on a long exhalation of air, he began to rock her, just a bit.

When she sputtered and hummed against his shirt, his hand involuntarily shot up to cup the back of her head.

"Are you alright?" he asked, when she didn't lift her head from his shoulder. Feeling her nod against his shirt, he strained his neck to pull back in an attempt to look at her. He could barely see her, but the glimpse he caught had her with her eyes closed, her mouth curved in peaceful submission. "How long has it been since you slept?"

Sara shuffled into him a bit more, sighed against his neck. "Two, wait, three... days."

"Since I told everyone..."

Sara nodded against him once more, "Yeah, I couldn't... yeah."

Grissom too nodded, and slid a hand over the back of her head, smoothing out over her hair. For a moment more, he held onto her, then kissed the top of her head and pulled away, hands on her shoulder. Sleepily, Sara looked up to him, looking quizzical. "You need to sleep," he spoke, sliding his right hand down her arm to clasp her left hand. "Let's get you to bed."

Hazily, she smiled, realizing that she didn't have a shirt on. "I... wait."

"Hon, I think you're delirious," Grissom mumbled as he began to lead her away from the living room with an arm wrapped around her waist.

"Maybe," she agreed, but allowed him to guide her easily, curving into his body, leaning on him for support.

Once in the bedroom, he helped her to sit down and once seated, slipped off her shoes. Sara mumbled something incoherent, but watched him moved, next attempting to remove her pants. She shifted back and forth on the bed, lifting herself so that he could remove them.

Grissom got up and went to his dresser, retrieved a tee shirt and returned with it. Seated next to her, he reached for the clasp of her bra and undid it, his eyes never leaving hers. "Grissom," she whispered, allowing her head to loll onto her shoulder, "Are we going to… make love?"

He smiled, tracing a hand over her cheek. "Not tonight," he said and quickly pulled the tee shirt over her head, giving her a moment to slip her arms through the holes. Mussed and sleepy, she looked more as if she should if they had just made love.

Sara blinked and smiled at him; his chest tightened considerably and it took him a moment to move, he had to swallow the lump that had risen to his throat. "Go to sleep," he urged and pulled away from her to hold back the covers, inviting her to lie down.

From the cocoon of the covers, she glanced at him, eyes glinting in the low light that crept about the room. "Sleep with me," she said, more than asked, and shimmied over in the bed so that she took up only the right side, leaving the left vacant.

Considering for only a moment, Grissom slid into the bed beside her, shucking his pants once he had gotten under the covers. Immediately, her body molded to his, her face buried in his neck. "You smell like dust," she mentioned, kissing him there.

"Yeah," he returned, "I was packing; I was moving."

Her head came up away from his body so that she could look at him. "Was?" she asked in a voice that was so small, even she didn't recognize it.

"Yeah," he replied, wrapped an arm around her, closing his eyes. "Was."