Disclaimers: I do not own any of the characters in CSI or the rights to the show itself. However, I would like to thank CBS for letting me take the characters out to play.

I would also like to thank my beta: mbbowman/swismiself. She is terrific at this beta thing and she has been amazing straight through to the end!

I guess I should let you in on the fact that this is pre-season 6, and although it is GSR it is not pre-existing. AND IT IS FINISHED.

Rated M for sexual situations…

Thank you for reading and all of your kind reviews - they keep me honest.

Chapter 17: Respite and Revenge

It had been incredibly disconcerting to have Gil Grissom staring at her from the back of the room during the entire lecture. Sara wasn't sure how he managed to get there for the beginning of the seminar, but clearly he had speed packed and washed up in record time.

What she couldn't figure out was why he had even attended at all, as it was readily apparent that she was still in his bad books; a fact that was heavily supported by the speed at which he disappeared when the power point presentation was over.

She had, for a moment, considered that perhaps he'd come to watch in hopes that she would fall on her face in front of her peers. But as difficult as he could be to figure out at times, the man she knew wasn't malicious.

He was… confusing.

And Sara was beginning to liken her attraction to him as that of an addiction. The Pink song "Like a pill…" ran errantly through her tired brain, as she dodged the rain and ferocious gusts of wind, and clambered onto the waiting bus. It was almost full and a few of the people who had attended her seminar nodded and commented to her as she made her way to the back and towards the only pair of open seats left. Shoving her carry-on and laptop up into the overhead rack, she dropped into the window seat and placed her purse onto the vacant seat beside her.

It wasn't a conscious action, but as she looked up to see Grissom enter the bus and amble down the aisle in her direction, she realized that she'd held a seat for him despite what her head had instructed her to do, which oddly enough involved the man in question being lassoed to the luggage rack or some such thing.

A thick sigh of resignation escaped her chest, and she kicked herself mentally, before dragging the purse off the seat and plopping it unceremoniously in her lap.

The enigmatic bugman was a dangerous habit you could overcome if you were careful and diligent, but just one slip could send you careening backwards and you would find yourself in the exact same place you started.

It was all her heart's fault.

It truly was fickle

She tried desperately not to look in his direction or think of how terribly cute he looked in his navy slacks and shirt topped off by a bright yellow rain coat, but she simply couldn't do it.

Her dark eyes drifted in his direction and she smiled wanly at him, as he took his seat. The solemn expression he was sporting revealed nothing of what he was feeling, so she turned her attention to the flow of wet people outside of the window instead. For a moment he appeared to want to say something, but appearances could be deceiving and she'd been wrong oh so many times before, so she studied the human traffic just outside the bus with all of the intensity she would give to a science experiment. Some of the people were still waiting to get onto the jet stream, others were hailing taxis, and some who clearly weren't flying out until later, were actually wandering along the sidewalk as if going for a casual stroll.

One woman reconsidered almost immediately when a heady gust of wind yanked her umbrella from her hands and flipped it inside out. The last Sara saw of her she was making a mad and flailing dash back into the dry and comfortable confines of the hotel.

Resting her head against the window the young CSI waited, unsure of what his silence meant, but also knowing that a conversation with an unwilling Grissom wasn't something she was eager to attempt. What she was sure of was the reality that, since he was the one who had come completely undone over what he clearly perceived as her loose sexual history, he would be the one who would have to do the reaching out to repair what there was left of their tumultuous relationship.

Already wounded, she wasn't willing to put her heart on the line anymore.

Not that she was counting on anything intimate with him at this point, anyway, but she was hoping that he would use the amazing brain he had been given, to make some sense of the conversation they'd had in the elevator. Though over twenty hours later, there seemed to be little chance of that. Adrift in her thoughts and caught somewhere between exhaustion and collapse her eyes closed and within moments she was out cold.

A warm hand drawing a sensual path across her neck startled her out of a deep sleep. For a moment she tried to claim the last vestiges of her dream but found that all she was left with was a residual feeling of satisfaction and heat.

"Sara…" His voice was raw. "We're here… at the airport."

Running a slender hand through her hair, Sara tried to shake off the muzziness that was messing with her head. Her sleep laden senses were dulled, but she was still well aware of the moment when the man beside her vacated his seat. The sheer absence of his body heat left her flesh craving his touch, despite her mind nudging her away from the idea.

Silently he hefted her bags from the overhead rack and placed them on the seat next to her before grabbing his own and sauntering down the aisle and off the bus.

Still wasted physically, she followed suit finding, herself at the end of the line when it came to collecting her own luggage from the bowels of the bus. By the time she had it all in hand he was long gone, having managed to assemble his early on, and make his way inside to the ticket counter.

Flicking her eyes towards one of the clocks suspended from the wall, Sara picked up her pace. Her flight would already be boarding, and she was running late.

Tossing her head from side to side she sought out the airline she was flying with and was relieved to find it was only one desk away. On the wall beside it there was a board listing departures, and Sara's flight - second from the top - had on time flashing ominously beside it. There were still a few people in line ahead of her as she moved towards her the counter, but none of them bore the physique of a familiar entomologist.

This was not surprising since he'd had at least a 10 minute head start.

There were still three attendants on duty so she made short work of checking in and headed through security, with less trouble than she had at McCarran. This time, not quite so concerned about her kit, she'd packed it in her luggage, making the load she had to lug with her considerably lighter.

They were just pulling the security strap across the ramp when she ran up to the boarding gate.

The attendant, a stubby frizzy haired red head with green eyes and a nasty scowl, allowed the strap to slide back into its holder and held out her hand like Sara's arrival was the most inconvenient thing that could possibly have happened, and that she was well aware that the brunette's late arrival was done solely to piss her off.

The young CSI thrust her boarding pass and passport into the woman's outstretched hand and raked her own glare across red's face.

"You had better move before they close the doors." The grounds woman warned haughtily and shoved the papers back at Sara.

It was then that the statuesque brunette decided that she truly did hate flying.

It may have been perceived by others as a control issue, and the more Sara thought about it, it probably was. But aside from the fact that people inherently were not supposed to fly, she truly was placing a lot of trust in the hands of people who - though educated and trained - were just as fallible as the next person. She disliked having to deal with overburdened and grumpy security people, she despised that she was forever rushing to get from one end of the crowded airport to the other, she hated the falsely happy, or the openly nasty staff that sometimes worked for the airlines she dealt with, and most importantly she didn't like the idea that two people had control of her life and the lives of 350 others while they were a gazillion feet in the air.

Nope… she did not like it one bit, she ruminated as she once again propelled her boarding pass into the hands of a waiting attendant. This time it was the male steward standing at the door; he smiled tentatively at her and then directed her towards first class.

Setting aside her mental tirade Sara inhaled a calming breath and wondered who she would be facing this time; Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde?

As it turned out neither was present when she placed her bags over head and dropped into the seat beside him. It was her newest friend Muteman who was occupying the window seat, his nose completely buried in a book.

He was so engrossed in it, in fact, that he didn't even look up when she settled in and fastened her belt, or when she reached across him and grabbed the copy of The American Journal of Forensics that he'd tucked into the pocket in front of him.

The only time his eyes shifted her way was when Sara turned her head to scan the rest of first class for a particularly unwelcome professor, but she was wholly unaware of this fact as she dug in for what appeared to be round three of the silent treatment.

It was midway through the flight before Sara became aware again, and it wasn't a slow drifting back into consciousness, or even the shocking jostle into reality at the hands of someone or something. It actually was caused by a searing pain in her shoulder brought on by someone spilling and entire cup of hot tea on her.

"What the hell?!" Was all she managed, her head instantly coming up off of the soft shoulder it had burrowed into, and her hand immediately going to the assaulted area.

"I'm soooo soooo sorry." The flight attendant, young, blonde and clearly a newbie, fussed and dabbed at Sara's wet sweater with a damp clump of paper towels, while the other stewardess, a slender beak nosed lady of about 40, grabbed for a first aid kit simultaneously chastising her younger protégé.

"Stop…" Sara ordered, the roughness of the fabric was scraping intolerably at her already tender skin.

This was an all too familiar scenario. Next time she would travel in with the luggage - it had to be safer.

Grissom, who had also been asleep mere moments before, shook the fog from his head and finally found his voice. "Sara…" was all he managed, before she had her seat belt undone and was on her feet.

"I'm fine," her words were pointed and cold and directed at all three people staring at her and anyone else who dared to look in her direction. "I really hate flying!" she muttered, before tugging the first aid kit from the older of the two attendants, and stomping off to the bathroom.

Angrily slamming the door behind her she threw the lock into place and leaned over the counter fighting back her tears…

Sara had lied…

She wasn't okay, or fine.

Stripping her tea soaked sweater off, she examined the reddened flesh of her shoulder, knowing full well that it was going blister over the next day or so. "Damn…" she muttered, spinning and trying to get a better look at the soft tissue of her back. The fluid had initially hit her shoulder, but it had run down her back as well, leaving angry crimson stain behind it.

She was still trying to decide best how to deal with the situation when there came a soft knock at the door. Her response was almost instinctive. "I'm fine…" She yelled, knowing full well that she was going to need some help covering over the damaged area, but equally as sure that she didn't want to see whoever it was on the other side of the door.

"Sara…"

Least of all him…

"I'm fine." She reiterated, before turning and slipping the thick strap of her dress off her shoulder, and reexamining the scarlet area. Her shoulder felt like it was on fire.

"Let me in."

"Go away, Gris…" She told him, at the same time opening the kit and digging around for some gauze.

"No…" He knocked again.

Her search was futile, as it was clear that the supplies had not been replenished the last time the first aid kit had been used. "Just fucking great!" she muttered.

He started banging incessantly. "Let me in, Sara…"

His voice from the other side of the door sounded strained and somewhat concerned.

Staring down into the pilfered supplies, she let out a deep sigh, and opened the door a crack. Dark eyes met two bright blue ones. "I need a different kit. There's no gauze in this one."

"Can I see it?"

She rolled her two dark orbs at him. "Come back with the supplies and I may consider it."

He pursed his lips, and Sara could tell that he was wondering if her request was just a ploy to get rid of him.

Reaching behind her she clutched the kit and shoved it at him.

He examined the small white box for a moment and then nodded slightly. "Okay…" he turned and wobbled off in search of the attendant, the sway of the plane accentuating his already unusual swagger.

Sara closed the door behind her, and allowed her healthy shoulder to lean against it. It was only a moment before he returned.

There was a light rap. "Can I come in now?"

Lifting herself away from the small cubicle's entrance, she swung the door open and stepped back as far as she could to allow him access. "There's really not a lot of room in here." Her dark eyes betrayed her discomfort. "I can take care of it." She reached out for the kit, but he hid it behind his back.

Pulling the door shut he locked it and clutched her gently by one slim arm. "Turn around and let me check it out."

He actually didn't wait for her to comply with his request. Instead he dragged her in front of him and trapped her between himself and the sink. She was facing away from him, so as to allow her a full visual of the concentrated look on his face. He stared solemnly at the injured area, and carefully nudged the strap down a little further so he cold get a full view of her back. "This is at least a second degree burn, Sara."

"It's not that bad…" Her dark eyes studied his, as he gently stroked her ruby flesh. Despite her attempt to hide it, a wince showed openly on her face.

"Right…" One eyebrow rose on his forehead. Dropping the kit on counter he popped the lid and dug around until he found the gauze. "Turn the water on and let it run until its cold." With nimble fingers he shoved the strap down a little further again, this time forcing it to drop a little in the front.

This caused Sara to immediately grab the front of her dress and hold it in place, but not before Grissom caught sight of the upper curve of one smooth breast. His breath caught in his throat, a flutter of attraction burrowing its way into his brain. Swallowing deeply he handed her the gauze. "Soak this in cold water."

Gil Grissom's reaction was not lost on Sara, but she was so far beyond expecting anything from him that she simply chalked it up to an uncontrollable physical reaction; typically male and very reminiscent of the salivation of Pavlov's dog. Taking the item he'd passed her, she did as he asked, hoping desperately that he would hurry so they could get out of the stuffy confines of the airplane bathroom. As much as she wanted to deny it, his proximity still had an effect on her despite her desire for it not to. She passed him back the sopping material and then bent over the sink a little as he placed it over the wounded area.

A low moan escaped her as the cold cloth hit hot skin.

"Does it hurt a lot?" Grissom's palm rested lightly over the area holding the gauze in place.

"What do you think?" She snapped, guilt instantly washing over her as she saw the look of hurt on his face.

"I'm sorry…"

He wasn't making this any easier on her. "It's not your fault unless you have blonde hair, wear a little blue uniform and work for this damn airline…"

"That's not what I'm apologizing for." Blue eyes studied brown ones for a moment via the reflection in the mirror, but they looked away quickly, when a mask of confusion fell across Sara's face.

Shaking her head slowly the tall chocolate haired woman studied the droplets of water clinging to the side of the tiny sink. "Don't, okay..."

"Don't what?" Darkness clouded his expression, his free hand coming to rest on the smooth flesh of her back. Absently, he began to massage the skin there. His touch was almost delicate.

"Just don't." There was a heartbeat during which she allowed herself to enjoy his ministrations. "What are you doing?"

"Someone once told me that pleasure can often offset pain." His hand continued its deft movements. "I'm testing the theory."

God… was all she could think as his hands worked the smooth lightly freckled surface of her back. She wanted to yell at him to stop. What he was doing wasn't fair… but she didn't stop him – instead she challenged him, trying to keep the conversation going so as to distract herself from the intimacy of his touch. "Bet I know who…" Her words came out low and deep, with an almost untamed quality to them.

"No... Actually, I don't think you do." His hand moved up towards her neck thick fingers drawing sensual lines along the fragile ridge of her spine. "It was a professor at the university, who gave a seminar on the connection between pleasure and pain. I never thought to experiment in it until now."

"Really…?" There was surprise in her voice that almost lead way to accusation. The talk around the proverbial water cooler at work had definitely said otherwise.

"Really." It was said in such a tone that there would be no question of his honesty in the matter. "Does it work?"

Her voice caught in her throat as his hand moved down further, toying with the lowest uncovered point on her back. She simply nodded…Yes damn it, it did work…and far to well. "Mmm…" was all Sara could manage, and she followed it up with a quick nod.

A shy smile spread across his face, as his hand continued its intense movement, along her spine and over her scapular area. "Maybe I should write my own entry to the journal."

Sara at this point was beyond caring. Her shoulder still hurt but he was right, the sensation of his touch was very distracting; arousing... Another moan escaped her chest, as she closed her eyes, a shuddering breath bursting from between two dry lips.

Grissom stopped abruptly leaving Sara bereft and longing for his touch. A second later he had passed her the wet gauze. "More cold water on it."

Her shoulder began to burn again, so she complied, her heart hoping desperately that he would resume his comfort measures as she passed him back the refreshed material. Her head was pushing for the opposite: simply to be left alone.

As before, he carefully placed it back on the angry scarlet area drawing a sigh of relief from the woman in front of him. "A few more minutes, and then I'll put some lidocaine on it." He reached into the first aid kit and pulled out a little tube and dropped it on the thin metal counter before placing his other hand on her back. "It should dull the pain for a while, but you may need some painkillers and a doctor to look at it when we get back to Vegas." His hand began to move again his fingers gently kneading her skin.

"I already have a doctor looking at it." Sara's voice was a thick whisper.

"I can tell you what kind of bug is edible, and the life cycle of most insect species. But burns are a little beyond my purview, I'm afraid." There was a hitch in his voice and warmth in his eyes as he studied her pained reflection in the mirror.

"I'll be fine."

"You say that all the time, even when I can tell by the look on your face you're not and you probably won't be." He chided softly.

"How can you possibly know that; when you spend so much time trying to avoid looking at me entirely?" Her words were anguished more than angered. Sara hadn't meant it to come out like that. In fact, she hadn't meant the comment to come out at all. What she had intended was to let him dress the wound, get out of the bathroom, without one of their usual flame throwing sessions, and then indulge in a few ibuprophen, but she could tell by the look on his rugged visage that it was far too late for that. Leaning against the sink she raised a hand and shook it dismissively, her eyes averted from his and her mouth already recanting. "Forget I said anything. I'm over talking again."

His hand stopped its magic and he leaned in carefully, both arms wrapping around her; his mouth drifting dangerously close to her ear. "I look at you more than you know."

She tensed completely. "With anger or disgust, doesn't count…" His expression in the elevator was still fresh in her mind.

"Sara…" His face was a mask of confusion. "I have never looked at you with disgust, or anger."

If looks could kill Gil Grissom would have expired on the spot. "You could have fooled me…" She wasn't going to say it but somehow the words simply fell out of her mouth. "If that's the case then what exactly was it I saw yesterday in the elevator? It certainly wasn't acceptance or understanding."

An ache threaded its way through his chest. "That wasn't directed at you…"

She stared at him back through the mirror. "There were only two people locked in that steel box, Gris."

"Right…" Cautiously he bent over her right shoulder, making certain he didn't touch the burn on her left; his lips almost brushing her neck. "I was mad and disgusted with myself Sara."

A knot caught in her throat, and she found herself unable to speak as his freehand slid upwards and brushed aside hair at the side of her face.

"I knew the minute I said it, that I had no right to. I also knew you were right, but I didn't know how to take back what I'd said." Embarrassment flashed across his face, "The worst thing, Sara… about it is whole thing, is that at my age I have no idea how to deal with stuff like this, and I'm sorry. I know my ignorance has caused you some pain."

Now that was an understatement if Sara had ever heard one, and she was about tell him that too, when she caught the intense look of hope in his deep blue eyes. That was when she knew he had done it again… She was gone - a victim of her capricious heart. She shuddered involuntarily against him.

"I was insanely jealous last night. You know. I mean…" He sucked in a trembling breath, and Sara could feel him quake against the sensitive skin of her back. "I was worried… First… I waited an half of an hour or so and then I went to Durham's to look for you."

The slim brunette shook her head. "You didn't look too concerned Gris. I saw you dancing with Terri when I came back."

"So you met some other guy and went off with him for the night, because I was dancing with an old colleague?" He sounded almost petulant.

"An old colleague…?" Sara's face turned a brilliant red but there was no stopping her mouth. "So let me get this straight, you habitually swap spit with old colleagues?

"No… Sara…"

"Wait. I know. It's okay to lick a colleague's tonsils, but dinner out with a friend is off limits? Or is just me?"

"It's just you…" He knew the minute the words came out of his mouth that he had once again become a casualty of his own romantic inability. He had meant to be honest with her and wanted to fully explain. Instead he just managed to stick his finger into an already open wound.

The slim brunette looked like she'd been slapped in the face. She turned in his arms, a small yelp escaping her as his forearm accidentally brushed against her shoulder. Then she did something she had wanted to do for a while. She punched him.

It wasn't hard or even fully carried out, but she did try, that is before his fist caught hers a mere inch from his shoulder.

"Let go." She shoved at him with her free hand, a wince crossing her face as her movement stretched the inflamed tissue of her back.

"Stop!" She pulled her fist free of his grip and pushed him with both hands this time, but Gil Grissom was solid and in one fluid motion he had both arms wrapped around her, her upper arms pinned tightly to her side. "You're going to hurt yourself. Stop!" He ordered as she continued to struggle against him.

God she wished she could stop.

Stop her heart from not listening to her head.

Stop his words from hurting so much.

And mostly she wished she could stop him from talking and just leave so she could pick herself up again and move on.

This time for good…

She suddenly went slack in his arms. "Okay," she simply gave up. "Just go. Alright…?"

"Not until I get a chance to finish what I wanted to say to you." He'd never seen the young woman in his arms so, despairing.

Her dark eyes looked away from him, instead studying the textured pattern etched into the plastic laminate bathroom wall behind his head.

He moved his head into her line of sight. "It's just you that scares me."

She turned her face away from his again, and shook her head.

"Wait… Hear me out. I know I'm probably going to say this all wrong. But maybe by the end you will get the gist." He forced his head into such a position she hand no choice, but to see him, yet still she averted her eyes.

"Enough okay?" Her voice was very small.

"Look at me, just give me a few minutes. Please?"

A jagged sigh escaped her, and despite her head's order to say no, she nodded reluctantly.

Grissom inhaled deeply, as if for a moment he hadn't been able to breathe at all. "Terri Miller or any other woman, for that matter, mean nothing to me. I don't care what they think or do, so a kiss... it carries no importance. I know that I want something with you. I told you that yesterday morning." He released her arms and brought his hands up to clasp the sides of her face. "You make me crazy and you terrify me and cause me to question everything I do. And I have never been as jealous as I was when I met your friend," he ground the word out like he'd been chewing on it all night. "And that frightens me, too." There was a clash of emotion drifting behind his eyes.

"Nothing happened with Durham, yesterday." She found her self saying it despite the fact that she felt she didn't need to, and realistically shouldn't have had to.

"I know. I went to his room looking for you. When he answered he was in no shape to be doing much of anything. So I went to change, and you weren't in the room, so I went to the lobby…" A dark look clouded his face, a rough finger stroking the soft fullness of her bottom lip. "And I waited."

Sara bit her lip, trying impossibly to keep the words on the tip of her tongue from tumbling out. It was entirely no use. Her own jealousy had burrowed its way into her rational thought and taken control. "And then you took Terri Miller back to your room and had sex with her. It's a good thing I didn't come back last night after all; it would have been mighty crowded even in a king-sized bed." Despite the churn of emotions in her chest, her words were light.

Confusion contorted the entomologist's face, and that is when Sara knew she had made a big mistake.

Both hands moved from her face to her upper arms and he stepped away slightly, allowing the cool air from the circulating unit to come between them. "I didn't sleep with Terri Miller. In fact, I didn't sleep much at all Sara. I waited in the lobby, searched the hotel and wandered the streets around here before coming back and passing out at about 7 this morning in one of the lounge chairs." He looked away from her, his eyes falling to the polished shoes on his feet; his voice taking on a little boy quality. "I meant what I said yesterday. I wanted to tell you how wrong I was. When I found you in the room I wanted to explain it all, and then that guy showed up and I realized that I had done it again."

Sara's eyebrows rose, and she shook her head wordlessly, questioningly, unsure of what he was getting at.

"I had pushed you away; this time into the arms of some other guy." His cerulean eyes took on a sapphire quality, and he looked saddened; almost embarrassed.

Overcome by emotion and listening unfailingly to her heart, Sara pursed her lips, leaned forward and into him; her mouth landing tentatively on his. It was a chaste kiss, but fraught with feeling.

Grissom didn't move, terrified that one more misstep and she would be gone for good. He was more that willing to let her call the shots, since if left to his own devices there was a good chance he would fuck it up… again.

When they broke apart both were breathing heavily.

"Ryan Wolf is a CSI with Miami-Dade. Caine, or H…" She grimaced slightly, "as everyone calls him, summoned me last night. They had another murder down on some dock and it looked like it might be connected to the one in my room." Sara's unaffected arm came up and she tugged carefully on the strap of her dress, which had been making steady progress towards her elbow. "I spent a romantic night on a wet and windy dock, looking every bit a total freak in my costume. I even helped process back at their lab, for a while, before I had to head back to the hotel. They have a serial by the looks of it and it is cross-jurisdictional." Brown eyes gazed into blue ones. "Ryan loaned me his jacket. There were no more jumpsuits."

A singular look of relief flashed across Grissom's face. "Why didn't you tell me? I would have come with you."

"I told you, I was going to, but when I went into the ballroom to tell you, you were dancing with Terri, so I didn't want to interrupt." She pursed her lips a smile stretching across them.

Gilbert Grissom matched her grin. "We are really bad at this aren't we?" He leaned in, his forehead resting against hers.

Sara laughed and nodded; their noses bumping together slightly. "Yup…"

"Mmmmm…" Grissom's mouth sought hers again his hands drifting to the silky skin of her neck. This time there was no hesitation; lips parted, tongues explored.

The sensation was electric, a jolt of energy ricocheted through the tall brunette as his fingers gently toyed with her sensitive flesh. He tasted like coffee and licorice; a small candy he'd been snacking on when he'd sat beside her on the bus.

"Miss Sidle, I know that two wrongs don't make a right, but two negatives do make a positive, so in lieu of that do you think that two social misfits, if they work together can make a fit?" He was punctuating his words with a series of intimate caresses, his mouth tracing a languid path along her jaw, long elegant neck, pale shoulder, and the small delicate dip where clavicle meets sternum.

It was getting very hard to think.

Sara's eyes closed and for a moment she allowed herself the indulgence of his touch. "Yes." The word was whisper soft, but it unfurled seductively from her mouth offering up hope, and desire. Yet her head would not be denied; the deafening roar of alarm bells went off causing her to stiffen slightly.

To anyone watching it would have been imperceptible, but to Grissom's heightened senses it was the equivalent to a glaring stop sign. He stepped away immediately allowing her room to breath, yet he was reluctant to release her completely so he allowed his hands to slide down her bare arms where he took her slim fingers in his. "Too fast?" His voice was thick with uncertainty, as he searched her dark eyes.

There was fear in them. It was not an emotion Sara Sidle showed willingly or easily.

She was hesitant and had every right to be, he told himself. Just because he was ready, and he finally felt hat he could commit to something with her, didn't mean that she would just fall into his arms; especially, after all he'd put her though.

The young woman smiled sadly at him. "Not too fast. Just…" She unclasped one of her hands from his, anxiously shoved aside a tight ringlet, and leaned back into the small counter; the coolness of the metal that formed it seeped through her thin cotton dress, and sent a quick chill up her spine. "I…" She glanced down at her feet for a moment, trying to arrange her thoughts, before bringing her gaze back up to meet his. "Look, I'm a realist, so I'm not asking for a proclamation of undying love, or a wedding proposal, or even the promise of a commitment. But what I need to know is; what is going to happen tomorrow?" She pursed her lips. "I mean, you're fine with this, now, but how do I know you're not going to have second thoughts? Run away again? Ignore me? Pretend that none of this happened? Or worse, decide that it is for the best that we don't continue what we started here, no matter how we feel?" She swallowed heavily. "Does any of this sound familiar?" Her eyes were shadowy and insistent.

Grissom could finally breathe again. He had been expecting something far worse; like I'm sorry we can't do this, ever… He nodded silently, his free hand running a nervous path over his lips; the memory and the taste of her soft skin still fresh on his tongue. "You don't trust me…" It wasn't really a question, more a statement of fact. "I know I have been doing a perfect rendition of an ass…" There was a smile in his eyes. "For a long time, now…" he added. "And I know that I have been making decisions for the two of us, when I really had no right to." His hand moved back to her face, a thick thumb tracing a whispery soft path along her cheek. "And you're right. I can't promise forever because we both know that relationships don't work that way, but I can assure you that I want to be with you more than you could possibly know, and that I won't back away, walk away, or run away, again." He closed the gap between them, and pulled her mouth to his. "In fact, Miss Sidle…." He murmured, as he reluctantly released her lips. "I may become such a pest that you may need to tell me to get lost, occasionally."

Sara flashed a careful grin his way. "I think I can handle that."

"Mmm…" The bugman ruminated and then backed away. "Turn around," he instructed.

Her eyebrows rose seductively, but she did as she was told. A second later she let out a soft cry, as he removed the wet gauze from her burnt shoulder and picked up the lidocaine.

"This really is bad, Sara," was all he said, before squeezing a generous pile of it out onto his hand.

The slender brunette closed her eyes while the man behind her carefully worked the cream across her scarlet skin. It numbed that pain immediately, something for which she was duly grateful.

A few minutes later he was done. Hands were washed. The cream was on, dressing applied, and a small kiss had been planted between the edge of the bandage, and the graceful curve of her neck. "All better…?" He announced.

Sara simply nodded at him through the mirror.

"The top of your dress is all wet, so is your sweater…" He nodded in the direction of the floor where the item lay in a crumpled heap. "Did you bring a change in your carry on?"

"I did…" She turned and faced him, her dark eyes searching his for any sign of flight.

Grissom leaned in and kissed her reassuringly, his hand coming up and tracing the swell of one smooth breast where skin met with the material of her dress. "Then take this off, and I'll get you your clothes." With that he was gone.

Sara stared down at the dress she was wearing and though the better of following his instructions. Grissom may not have noticed it, but she was sans bra. I had been a necessity because of the cut of the dress, so removing it would leave her almost completely naked.

Outside the door voices seeped in through the crack she recognized her former mentor's tone immediately, and he was clearly talking to one of the attendants.

"It's a really bad burn…"

"Please tell her I'm so sorry."

It was the newbie attendant; the one who had branded her.

"We're going to be a few more minutes."

"Take all the time you need, seat belt sign is off and airspace is clear. We're out of the path of the bad weather."

There was a quick rap on the door, so she unlocked it and backed away.

"Is this it?" He held out the clothing she'd shoved into her bag.

Sara nodded silently, as he entered and locked the door behind him.

"You didn't get undressed." He was still clutching her clothes, his eyes falling on the brown stain that ran down the front of her. "Do you need help?"

One well manicured eyebrow lifted curiously. It was almost a challenge.

Grissom turned red, and cast a lopsided grin Sara's way. "I mean…" He gave up and held the clothes out to her.

Sara reached out and shoved her hand between the top and pants and pulled out a pink lace bra. She dangled it in front of him.

The entomologist's mouth dropped open at the sight of the dangerously intimidating undergarment, his eyes darkening perceptibly as he examined it with the intensity of a seasoned professional; all the while wondering if she was wearing matching underwear.

"This is why I didn't get undressed." She waved it at him and turned away her chocolate eyes falling on the sculpted metal toilet, now, in front of her.

The bugman watched her from behind; studying the gentle bend of her shoulders and the delicate shape of her long lean arms; as she slowly worked the straps of her dress all the way downwards.

She flinched slightly as she reached across to slide the strap down further, her action pulling at the damaged tissue of the injured shoulder.

That was all the invitation Grissom needed. "Stop…" He told her and brushed her hands away.

"I can undress myself, Gris. In fact I have been able to do it since I was a small child." Her voice hitched as thick warm hands slid down over her arms, taking the top half of her dress with it.

"Elbows up..." He ordered seemingly unaffected by the intimacy of the situation.

With an equal amount of feigned disinterest, she complied.

Within seconds the frock hung precariously around her waist, the pale skin of her back was exposed, the long straight ridge of her spine dividing it perfectly in half. Grissom's breathe quickened, as he ran a cool finger along it. "Mmmm… very, very nice…"

The young woman visibly shuttered, a low moan escaping her parted lips. Her shoulder length ringlets bounced against the creamy flesh of her back as she turned her head and looked darkly at the man behind her. "If you do that again there is a good chance that neither of us will get out of here unscathed." His earlier ministrations had already heightened her susceptibility to his touch.

"Promises…promises…" He tutted and moved closer the heat of his body serving to warm her in the cold plastic space of the small room. A devilish grin spread across his mouth, and he ran his finger along her spine again, this time following it up with a trail of velvety kisses.

A soft gasp escaped her mouth… followed by something almost feral. Some women loved to have their breasts stroked and fondled in the act of love making. For Sara, while that in and of itself was a tactile pleasure, her back was equally, and in some ways even more sensitive.

"You are incorrigible Dr. Grissom…" Sara's words were light, yet contained a seductive lilt to them.

"And you are beautiful, Miss Sidle." He was pressed up against her now, warm breath rasping in her ear.

A shiver ran up the slim brunette's spine. "Gris?"

"Mmhmm…" He was far to busy to answer, at the moment he had his fingers threaded through the soft curls and the nape of her neck and his lips firmly affixed to the silken skin of her uninjured shoulder.

She so did not want him to stop, her head had finally fallen in line with her heart and both were telling her to keep her mouth shut and just go with it, but somewhere in her subconscious a tiny voice told her to offer him one more chance to back away. It was a survival mechanism; a concoction of her own fear. "Gris, don't start something you can't finish." It was meant to come out as an order but ended up sounding more like a plea.

"The attendant said we have lots of time, and I propose an experiment."

Strangely modest despite the intimate circumstances, Sara reached behind her and grabbed her top off of the pile of clothes he'd placed on the counter. Clutching it to her bare chest she turned and grinned seductively at him. "Another one?"

Grissom nodded a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Okay, I'll bite; what kind of experiment?"

"Well I once had this student, turned friend, turned colleague, who told me that she doubted an article that I'd read. The item in question stated that high altitudes can enhance the entire sexual experience, that it can increase the euphoria. Mind you her beliefs were based on a limited and by the sounds of it, poorly executed past experience. I'm just wondering if you would like to test out the theory. After all we are both scientists."

"But we've already conducted one experiment." She grinned at him, a dare in her eyes, and her hand still firmly holding her top in front of her.

"Well see this could be an extension of that." He reasoned, his eyes drifting to the frail outline of her collar bone. "I mean, after all, it does involve alternate stimulation. We could technically kill two birds with one stone." He stared at her, a mock seriousness plastered on his face, his hands already stroking her upper arms. Having denied himself for so long, he was having trouble not touching her.

"Whatever happens here will absolutely not be written up in a magazine, Gilbert Grissom." Sara whispered and leaned into him her mouth seeking his and finding it more than willing.

Taking that as a yes, he pulled her completely to him, the two of them becoming completely lost in their kiss. Somewhere along the way her top ended up on the floor, discarded, beside the damp sweater, and Grissom's broad hands, found their way silken skin of her breasts, his thumbs moving in a circular motion, their actions coaxing her already sensitive nipples to erection.

This elicited a low moan from the woman in front of him, followed by a harsh gasp as he his lips moved away from hers and drew hot trail of nips and licks down across her sternum, and then onto one darkened areola, where he suckled heartily.

The tickle of his beard drove her distraction, but still managed to find herself amongst all of the sensation, and reached down and tugged on Grissom's shirt. "You have a serious advantage here bugman." She groaned slightly under his touch.

Grissom stood up and leaned into her again his mouth capturing hers as he worked to undo the buttons on his shirt. Sara helped eagerly, her slim fingers fumbling slightly as they both labored to relieve him of his top.

She giggled into his mouth.

"What?" His words were hoarse.

"Just…" She kissed him. "This all seems so very, not you…"

His shirt ended up strewn on the floor, and he looked at her darkly. "Do you have any idea how hard it has been, Sara?"

"Your self denial didn't only affect you, Gris." She stared meaningfully for at him for a moment before allowing herself to be pulled into a tender embrace.

"I know. I'm sorry…" He stepped away holding Sara's face between his hands. "You have to know that I've wanted you forever; ever since the first time. Walking away was the hardest thing I have ever done." He kissed her again and held her once more, much like a falling man clinging to the edge of an abyss. He breathed into her hair, at the same time inhaling the soft scent of lemons, it offered.

The slim brunette's healthy arm was wrapped around his neck, while the burnt one had slipped around his waist. She groaned and molded herself into his grip as warm lips worked the soft flesh of her uninjured shoulder. Evidence of her partner's arousal was firmly pressed into the soft tissue of her belly and her body's response was an immediate and uncontrollable rush of dampness between her legs.

Grissom's hands slid down her back and slipped under the ridge of her dress, his dexterous fingers working it down over her hips to expose, an incredible pink lace thong. He couldn't have stopped his reflexive moan, even if he'd tried. "Good God, Sara…" His breath quickened.

Gil Grissom could feel her smile against him, her laugh breaking loudly across his shoulder, as her mouth moved to lick and nip at his earlobe. This only served to draw another shuddering breath from him.

Sara's dress fell into a pile at her feet and Grissom used his own foot to tug it out from beneath her before losing himself in the sweet heat of her skin.

Both were seemingly unable to think, their movements an extension of the desire they'd harbored for so long. Within seconds Grissom's pants had joined the other items of clothing strewn on the floor, and Sara found herself leaning up against the counter, her lower back pressed lightly against it.

In front of her, the enigmatic entomologist was hard at work exploring the peeked skin of her breasts with his mouth. "You're so amazing," he hissed; his tongue eagerly teasing each of her nipples, his fingers dancing along the skin of her abdomen, and then stopping for a second to toy with the tiny dragonfly dangling from her navel.

They both moaned in tandem.

Sara, her eyelids rested almost closed against her flushed cheeks, was lost in the moment; the feel of his caresses serving only to fuel the growing fire in her belly. "Gris…" His named rolled off her tongue like a long forgotten prayer.

In response a flash of heat shot through her as one of his fingers slipped down under the silky confines of her panties and nudged the sensitive bundle of nerves there. She heaved a quivering breath, and let out something akin to a mewling sound.

"Shhh…" Grissom laughed softly and covered her mouth with his to stifle her oncoming moan, as he slipped one long finger inside of Sara and slowly massaged her slickly sensitive opening.

Automatically, she bucked against him, the sensation rolling through her like a freight train on fire, barely able to think, the only thing that came to mind was revenge of the most pleasant sort.

Not one to give up absolute control Sara slipped her hand between their bodies, and up against the length of his erection.

Through, the rough cotton of his boxers she massaged him mercilessly, enjoying his steely hardness under the soft material that covered it.

Her actions elicited a rumbling growl from somewhere deep within his chest, forcing him to step back from her a moment. "God…" he gasped and rested his forehead on her shoulder for a second before stilling her hand. "Sara, love, it's been a while, and I won't last that long." His apology was thick and rasping alongside the skin of her neck. With that he placed her hand on the edge of the counter, and moved his own back to the delicate v of her legs. Ruthlessly, he shoved aside the thin material of her panties and this time slipped two broad fingers inside of her.

A demanding sob echoed through the cabin, as he worked them in and out of her tight canal, the tip of his thumb bumping cruelly up against her sensitive nub with each thrust administered.

"Oh Jesus, Gris…" The words were a tight breath and barely audible, as her world shattered around her into a million shards of glittering color, and her legs buckled underneath her.

A minute later her heart was still trying to pound its way out of her chest, as he held Sara clutched against him, until her legs could finally hold her, again.

The sensation was almost blinding.

For a man who had been out of action for a while, Gilbert Grissom definitely knew what he was doing.

"Inside work, Gris, outside work Gil…" He whispered, pressing his warm lips up against her temple and then drawing her even closer. "Are you okay?" He murmured against her silky chocolate curls.

"More than okay…" Her voice was husky and sated, and she pulled away momentarily so she could look him in the eye, and smiled broadly at him before catching his mouth with hers.

The wake of her orgasm seemed to have tapped an uncontainable energy source, and Sara did nothing to stifle it. Her hand once again moved to the front of his boxers, this time shoving them down to free his generous arousal; it sprang up; ominously thwacking against his abdomen.

"No…" He hissed, but the woman in front of him would have none of it.

Taking his rigid member in hand, she began to move her palm slowly over it, absorbing and memorizing the look of a fully aroused, heavily lidded Gil Grissom.

The feel of her slim cool fingers moving over his turgid erection almost caused him to stop breathing. In a complete loss of control, he shoved her hand aside, and then tugged her lacey thong off.

It flew across the small cabin immediately forgotten, and ended up dangling off of the toilet paper holder.

With an untamed roar he lifted her up onto the counter forcing her to clutch it with both hands or tumble backwards.

She winced and he stopped.

"Sorry…" He rasped, his fervor waning under the weight of his concern. "I hurt you…"

"No…" Sara's steadied herself, and then her hands came up and she enfolded Grissom into a loose embrace; her lips tumbling onto his. "I'm fine." She mumbled into his mouth; her tongue toying with his for a few seconds. A moment later she wrapped her legs around his waist and pressed her own slick heat up against his achingly engorged organ.

He moaned, as one of her hands worked its way between them to play with the ultra sensitive tip of his penis. He stopped her again. "You are a devil, Sara Sidle." He accused between kisses.

"Maybe…" She licked her lips and pressed herself into him once more.

He gasped, holding onto his rapidly unfurling control by a mere thread.

"I want you in me, Gil." Sara's eyes were dark with passion as she stared into Grissom's sea blue orbs.

Those six small words uttered with an understated passion were his complete undoing. In an instant he was inside her, a tense huff escaping him as he relaxed into the firm velvety grip of her taut inner walls. He moved slowly at first, doing his best not to hurt her. She was incredibly tight, and the soft cry she'd let out when he first entered her, still rung in his ears, so he tempered his movements allowing her body to adjust to his generous girth. "Are you okay…?" The question came out as little more than a moan, but the brunette in his arms responded immediately with a quick jerk of her hips.

Sara was so lost in the sensations pervading her already overly heightened senses that she found herself unable to talk. Instead, she let her body lead, her and her lover. She moved her hips into him again, the word, "More…" finally managing its way out of her mouth as a soft sigh.

She felt a little like Oliver begging for extra food, but this was a different kind of sustenance. This was a deeply satisfying emotional feast one that they had both denied themselves for far too long.

In response to her demands Grissom sped up, his movements become faster and more frenzied; his warm hands clutching her carefully against him.

The soft cries from the woman in his arms were punctuated by low guttural moans emanating from his own chest. He felt like he was about to explode, the tight fiber mastering his control was slowly unraveling with each thrust.

He moved faster and deeper, his lips fused to the mouth of the woman he had dreamed about for almost ten years.

Wrapped in his embrace Sara's body suddenly went rigid and shuddered almost interminably as a lightening storm passion consumed her for a second time. "Oh God…" she cried into his shoulder, her mouth falling against it to stifle the sound.

This was Grissom's cue to allow himself his own release, and he came with a howl; his own mouth pressed into the shiny tendrils of hair, at the nape of her neck.

They held each other for a while; their breathing slowing to normal, and bodies cooling.

A few minutes later Grissom's hand came up, and he pulled her face to his for a long languid kiss. "Thank you, for giving me another chance." His eyes were bright with emotion.

Sara smiled carefully, a warning held in her eyes. "Last one, okay…?"

"Okay…" Grissom agreed, his lips grazing her forehead.

One eyebrow rose curiously. "So Dr. Grissom…re: our experiment…" Her fingers drew small lazy circles on his shoulders animatedly, as she stared into his eyes.

"Yes?" He grinned, reaching for her bra.

"Would you say the theory is correct?"

He held the lacey undergarment between them. "I think that making love to you here was spectacular, but there needs to further experiments conducted."

Sara stared at him for a moment and then smiled.

"Arms out..." he ordered, and then helped her to thread them into the thin scrap of lace before leaning into fasten it behind her. He was careful make sure the strap sat at the edge of the bandage and away from the burnt skin. "I mean we need to change the parameters of the experiment and say, make love in a bed, on a couch, maybe a table, a boat, perhaps a rollercoaster… so we can confirm or deny the theory, before we are able to state that it is scientific law." Bending over he pulled up his indigo colored boxers, and passed Sara top. "What do you think?"

Sara took the item from him and didn't argue when he helped her slip into it. "I would have to agree with you." She leaned in and kissed him. "What good is a theory if it hasn't been tested or proven?"

"Exactly, Miss Sidle…" He smiled completely at her before assisting her down off the counter. "Oh…" He pulled her up from where she had bent to retrieve her capris and thong, which mysteriously had ended up crumpled in the same corner. "And in case I haven't told you yet…" He leaned in and kissed her again his thick fingers threading their way through her hair, as he deepened it before letting her go. "I love you, Sara Sidle."

Sunday noon…LV Crime lab

Conrad Ecklie was nothing if not a creature of habit. Anyone who knew him was well aware that he routinely came in for two hours on each and every Sunday afternoon. It was this visit that he used to justify taking a full Friday off twice a month. Work after all was a numbers game. It was not that he actually did anything while he was there, the truth being that he generally locked himself in his office and played online poker, or video games to pass the time. But at least he could say that he had come in if any one asked, and he knew that his attendance in the lab could be verified.

It was this fact that lead him to believe that the reason he was sitting at a sopping desk with a smoking computer, and a drenched $600 Italian wool suit that was getting smaller by the minute, was the result of an inside job.

He stared up at the ceiling where the sprinkler above his desk was still dripping enthusiastically, and let out a tense curse. None of the others outside his office had gone off.

This was aimed specifically at him and he was going to find the son of a bitch who'd set him up if it was the last thing he did.

Hurling himself to his feet he moved around to the back of the computer, his shoes squelching noisily, and tugged the plug out of the wall, furiously.

Oh yeah – someone was most definitely going to pay.

Finito…