Disclaimer: San Francisco is not mine, Grissom and Sara are not mine, neither is the place they visit, or the people they meet, but they do exist!

Author Notes: I love the new option to add a picture for each story! This story itself was inspired by the picture I took (years ago now whilst on holiday) which is now attached to this story!

Life Changing

By Rianne

Chapter Three.

He followed her, noting with faint amusement that her strides were measurably longer than his.

He found his gaze drifting to the slim striding limbs beneath her dress, before he snapped it back up.

Glancing quickly from side to side to make sure he hadn't been caught.

"Sara?" He liked the way her name sounded in the growing twilight. "Where are we going?"

She said nothing, merely throwing him a mysterious smile over the slope of her shoulder.

A smile that filled his head with a jumble of thoughts.

Was she taking him home?

Was she the kind of girl, wait, woman who did that?

She didn't seem like it, but he didn't really know her.

He watched her slightly swaying hips.

And he rationalised that it was only natural that he imagined her stretched out on his hotel bed, bare from the waist up, smiling at him, like that, over her shoulder.

He wanted.

But he shouldn't.

She was his student.

He shook himself, speeding up his footfalls, catching up with her.

But she was already stopping, reaching out for the heavy glass door in front of her.

He was so tied up in his thoughts he nearly stumbled into her.

Resisted using his arm around her waist to steady himself.

"We're here?" He questioned, his brain having to speed up to take in everything.

Surprised and somewhat guilty to find himself experiencing a pang; that this wasn't in fact where she lived, unless she lived in a store.

She was smiling again, eyes glittering with secrets he wanted to learn.

"We're here!"

She winked, actually winked, as they stepped inside.

Within was quiet, the rush of the outside world immediately gone.

The rich scent of paper, leather and knowledge was the first thing to envelope them.

It was one of his favourite scents in the world, which he knew most would consider odd.

Except in his peripheral vision he saw her breathe in deeply too, and release the air in a warmed contented sigh.

He only just managed to hide his near guttural reaction, the tightening in his gut sweet, barely able to withhold his secret delight at the recognition that somehow she already had an idea of what stirred him.

She leant back towards him, whispering, "this way," her voice soft and lilting in the quiet and as intriguing as all the shelves upon shelves of books before him.

Always in motion, never seeming to remain still for long, her moment's pause was over and off she meandered, weaving her way through the complex passages.

The books, shelved until there was no further space, had then been piled haphazard after that, creating a maze of pathways.

Intrigued by the place he followed her, tracing her footfalls, travelling through the genres.

He drifted dazedly. His attention bouncing from spine to spine, title to title. So many books calling out for closer inspection.

Some piles were crowned with foliage, ferns, and delicate spider plants. There were little strings of fairy lights scattered about to further illuminate. Throwing an ethereal glow over the rainbow of spines, catching fire in the gilt edging.

And still he followed, tempted further into the forest of fiction by the occasional backward glance she threw his way.

Making sure he was right behind her. Throwing out her hand in his direction when they came to a junction to guide him.

Her touch encouraged his continued pursuit, made his heart leap unbidden in his chest, surprised each time at the light brush of her fingers against the back of his hand.

She touched him this way, once, twice, three times.

It made his own fingers twitch to reach for her in return.

Was it accidental? Was it purposeful? The ambiguity made him hold back.

Watching her movements, admiring her vivacity and wondering that it wasn't completely impossible that she could teach him more about the world than he could acquire by reading every single book in this store.

They came across others, here and there, a staff member balancing a stack of Austen, an older gentleman who turned the spine away from their view as they glided past and he was almost sure was blushing.

They reached the depths of the store, turning what he guessed was left, somewhat dizzy from the convoluted pathway he had traversed in pursuit of her.

They could have been going anywhere, and if her earlier comments about being a female serial killer were anything but a clever joke...

Yet, still he followed her, coaxed to follow by those beseeching backward glances, her eyes gleaming in the fairy glow, and he helplessly stepped forward towards what could actually be his demise for all he knew.

Until before him she eventually stopped, and he saw her slide up to the older guy who stood vigil behind a small table doing inventory.

At a clearing of her throat, surprisingly loud in the reverent hush, the man's gaze lifted from his annotation.

He met Sara's gaze with recognition and a slow shake of his head.

"You know the opening times. We close at six." The man told her. Clearly familiar, she must be a regular.

She said nothing, merely lowered her chin, and he could guess the face she was pulling.

He saw the exact moment that the man gave in.

"I'm an enabler," the man muttered.

He saw her jaw lift as she gave the man a grin before as she turned her smile over to once again grace him.

"If you are found again, I had nothing to do with it." The other man told her.

She was grinning, nodding carelessly to the guy, literally bouncing on her heels.

Then with a purposeful, but light hand pulling on his arm, she began tugging him away, towards a doorway at the very back of the store.

The door opened into a stairwell, and together they climbed.

She had relinquished her hold on his arm, but the ghost of her touch it remained.

Only one floor, 13 steps in total, before coming to a doorway with a glass panel inscribed with the words Antique and Rare Book Room.

Below was a two sided hanging sign, with the 'Sorry we're closed – Try again soon' side turned towards them.

He opened his mouth to question, but her hand was already on the door handle, and the darkness of the room beyond swallowed them.

A few more steps and he heard her lighter footfalls cease, he could hear himself breathing.

Waiting.

But for what?

Then the sweet warmth of her breath near his ear swept away all cognitive thought as she breathed, "Did you bring your flashlight Mr CSI?"

Her chuckle danced away into the darkness leaving him staggered.

Until she elaborately whispered, "ta da!" as a small light flicked on, a keychain with a Maglite, illuminating her face against the darkness.

She held it beneath her chin for just a second, angelic in its glow, before she turned it outwards gesturing towards the room.

"Welcome to book Nirvana."

Her voice was sultrier than he had ever heard.

He smiled slyly, not ready to give over to the gleeful just yet. Instead he, with a quick fumble within his pockets withdrew his very own, identical flashlight keychain and forced it into illumination.

"I never leave home without it," he confirmed in response to her mirroring sly smile. "Shall we?"

He moved forward, feeling something akin to real pleasure building inside him. He had longed to visit this holy grail of a purchasable collection, but his classes ran until after the room closed.

He wasn't a bender of many rules.

Her complete contrast.

Yet, look what pleasure her disobedience brought.

He took time to take stock.

Moving from place to place, intrigued by more items than his meagre budget could accommodate.

She followed him for a short while, leaning over his shoulder to peruse whatever he selected to be of interest.

He worked hard to try not to show how she affected him, but as he scanned a stanza of poetry he was utterly distracted by the faintest brush of her hair against his cheek as she leaned in to silently read the words before them; the light scent of her jasmine shampoo was still clinging to the strands.

He felt himself intimately stiffen.

His hold on the books spine became worryingly tight.

Eventually she drifted away and he was able to breathe again.

He moved on, scanning his little light around, as he purposely wandered, letting whatever this room had in store to draw him this way and that.

Yet, his light somehow kept finding its way to her, its wavering beam dancing over her.

Noticing that her pale dress became nearly translucent as it floated around her legs.

That her hair highlighted red in its ray.

Studying her, taking in the beauty of her expression and the dreamlike sway of her stature as she gazed longingly into one of the locked glass cabinets at the leather bound volumes within.

Trying to be discrete in his observations.

Watching her through a tome free gap in the bookshelf, the flashlight she carried throwing her expression into a glow, illuminating the faint trail of freckles across her nose and shoulders.

She shivered, sensing his gaze, looked up at him.

He froze, unable to hide that he had been watching her; too completely captivated by her image, framed as she was by the books.

Their curious gaze held a moment, she studying him as he drank in her, before she raised her brow, and they both looked away, smiles on their faces.

A little later his attention was drawn from the book before him to a light on the ceiling above his head, where her flashlight was blinking out a signal of some kind. A primitive Morse code.

When he moved through the room to find her, she had this look on her face. An expression he wanted instantly to preserve forever.

"I found your section," she whispered, unable to shatter the stillness.

Entomology.

And there on the shelf was the holy grail of entomology texts. His eyes recognised it immediately. A book he had sought for years, he reached out, lifting it from the shelf, with mesmerised fingers trembling.

It was wonderfully heavy in his palm, he carefully fluttered through it, enjoying the delicate paper pages annotated with full colour depictions, in fantastic condition despite its age.

The gleeful sensation made him feel alive.

The little boy within him wanted to hug her in delight, but the older man restrained.

It was fairly priced too, although to him it was priceless.

And so was the smile she bestowed upon him as he tried and failed to voice his pleasure at her bringing him here.

But that smile told him she knew, and she understood what he couldn't say.

He took another moment, unable to help looking over the book again.

Only distracted by the sudden realisation that the beam of her flashlight was no longer scanning books.

Did she just check out his ass?

When he turned, she merely blinked, the picture of innocence.

But he could see the grin withheld.

Unable to decide how he felt about that he led them back to the entrance, back to the safety of others.

Clutching his prize they left the room, not wishing to cause trouble by overstaying their welcome.

Knowing it might jeopardise her future secret visits.

Her sandals made light footfalls as they came back down the stairs, sliding back into the forest of fiction at the base.

He hid his grin as Sara saluted the staff member who had 'admitted' them access.

But they didn't leave yet.

Instead they continued to weave amongst the passageways.

Staying together this time.

Occasionally brushing shoulders.

He following her, she at times falling behind, and consequently following him.

Occasionally her long delicate fingertips would trail over a particular item.

He watched her touch caress the spines of books, mainly romance books, or little books of poetry, wondering.

Did the books she touched have hidden meaning?

Her favourites, her intrigues, her adorations?

Was she spelling out things, was she just tactile by nature?

He tried to keep up with the imperceptible codes, and failed hopelessly.

His eyes stumbling from text to the text, trying to decipher if there was a code he was missing.

If she was trying to tell him something, or just plain teasing his curious mind?

He realised that as he had so far completely underestimated her that anything was possible.

He was intrigued when she stopped short, rising up on his own toes to prevent a collision.

They had come to a secluded alcove in the furthest corner of the store.

But that was not what had brought her up short.

What had slowed her to a stop was the sight before her.

Wrapped up in one another, in this blissful little hiding place, was a couple.

Completely unaware that they had been discovered.

Snuggled together on the floor, the man leaning backwards against a shelf, the younger woman was curled into the shelter between his legs, reclining against his chest.

Both were lost in the otherworld of the books they read.

In complete simpatico.

He found his gaze drifting from the couple to Sara.

The truth was expressed so beautifully across her face.

Undeniably inscribed.

She wanted that.

A loved one.

Just like that.

To be held, to just be together in silence and be comfortable.

Her look was overflowing with longing.

He dropped his gaze back to the couple.

In the blink of an eye the couple before him transformed into he and Sara.

He couldn't have stopped the fantasy if he tried.

The desire was so intense, his heart throbbed.

He had known her scant days.

But he couldn't deny it.

He wanted that too.

With Sara.

He could feel the softness of her hair against his cheek as she breathed; the warm weight of her against his chest.

Until he realised that he really could feel her.

As he had been watching the couple, she had taken a step backward, trying to back away from the couple before they were disturbed and turned straight into him.

His free hand came up instinctively to steady her.

Capturing her waist.

Finding his body blocking the way she tilted her face up to find out why.

Her eyes were full.

So open and true.

Dark irises full of desire, fear, and dawning surprise.

His breath caught.

And hers did too.

Mesmerised.

They wavered there.

Her soft parted lips releasing breaths in little pants, which breezed against his mouth.

He was falling.

He didn't close his eyes.

Lips just barely brushing hers.

So brief it was almost imagined.

He felt her gasp.

Saw her eyelids lull.

Felt the rise of her chest in response, the warmth of her breasts.

He withdrew.

Forcing himself not to think.

She looked so bemused.

Blinked up at him.

And all he could do was faintly smile.

His heart racing.

Then hold up his book.

Whispering, "Where do I pay?"

To Be Continued...