DISCLAIMER: Whilst I don't own the characters, or the larger scheme of the show, I do own the plot below, so please respect that.

A/N: So as to curtail any confusion, the title has absolutely nothing to do with the content of the story, but rather refers to the fact that this is the third story I have written about how GSR could have become canon. I hope it makes you smile...

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"When my father died, my mother came to a place like this for a little while for evaluation. It looked the same, it smelled the same. It smelled like lies."

"You sure you're okay?"

"Crazy people do make me feel crazy."

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As they drove back to the lab, the silence was suffocating. How could things have changed so quickly? At the hospital he had been so caring, trying so hard to say the right thing, do the right thing, desperate to make it all okay. When they had finally finished collection, he had walked her to the car with his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. He had opened the door for her and guided her in, his touch feather-light as though he was fearful she might break. All of ten seconds passed between the time he shut her door and opened his own, but in those ten seconds a fundamental shift had occurred. He wouldn't touch her again, recoiling violently when she tried to lay a hand on his arm. He wouldn't talk to her. He wouldn't even look at her. If not for the tension flowing from his frame in waves, she might have been forgiven for thinking that he had forgotten she was even there.

After the first ten miles, she had given up trying, and resorted to staring out of the window, remembering as the desert passed by the times when she could call him 'friend'. There was a time when he trusted her, when she felt that maybe she was the only one he did. When they had first met, the connection had been instantaneous. They had become so close over the following days and weeks that rumours about the true nature of their relationship started to abound. The tide of public opinion shifted quickly, and Grissom soon went from the brilliant entomologist gracious enough to offer the college his services, to the lecherous professor taking advantage of his naive young student. Nothing could have been further from the truth. He had never laid so much as a hand on her. Still, he didn't seem to mind. He knew that people were watching, pointing and laughing at the two of them as they had coffee or ate lunch together, but he ignored them, choosing instead to focus all of his attention on her. And then came the day he had to leave. His sabbatical had run its course and he had to return to Vegas. She had come to the airport to say goodbye, certain despite his kind words and warm promises that she would never hear from him again. But she had been wrong. Those first few years, he would call her from Vegas for no reason, and they would spend hours on the phone talking about their friends, their cases, their lives. She had heard so much about Brass, Nick, Warrick and Catherine, that by the time he asked her to the city, at first to investigate the team, and then to join it, she felt they needed no introduction. Separated by hundreds of miles, they had shared everything. And now he sat only a few feet away, not saying a word.

Desperation began to build in her veins. She knew that if they managed to make it all the way back to the lab like this, he would once again enter his state of emotional hibernation, and it would be months before they could talk again with any semblance of ease.

"I'm sorry, Grissom. I should have been more alert. I never should have let him sneak up on me like that. I should never have let myself get trapped."

All she needed him to say was, 'It wasn't your fault'. Just four little words that deep down she knew to be true. But the only indication he gave that he had even heard her speak was the tightening of his grip on the wheel, his knuckles turning painfully white and the tendons in his forearms starkly projected under his tan, inviting skin.

Resigning herself to the inevitable, she again turned her head to stare aimlessly out the window. As the scenery whipped by, the colours blended to one before her eyes as she relived every terrifying minute of her ordeal. In the silence, her mind went into overdrive, and she could once again feel his hands on her skin, the sharp press of the shard against her neck. And then she started to get angry. She was sitting here torturing herself with the memories, and he was sitting there ignoring her very presence, doing nothing, saying nothing, to comfort her.

With a deep breath, she attempted to remove any trace of anger from her voice before saying as lightly as she could manage, "Hey, Grissom, I'm driving myself a little crazy here. Can you just talk to me for a minute?"

This time he did respond. He lifted a hand from its resting place on the door to scrub across his face, his complexion growing red and the lines around his eyes deepening with something akin to concentration. But still he did not look at her, did not speak to her, did not reach out to touch her.

She sat and waited, staring at him as he pointedly avoided her, until she felt the dams burst, until her anger breached her final measure of control.

"What is your problem?! Are you angry with me? Is that it? Perhaps my being held at knife-point by a crazy man means that you have to fill out a few extra forms when we get back? Or perhaps it's just that you wish it had all ended differently? I mean, if the guy had killed me, that's your problem solved, isn't it? If I was dead, gone, nothing more than food for your precious bugs, then you wouldn't have to figure out what to do about this!"

Abruptly he turned the wheel, pulling them over to the side of the road, and jumped from the truck. She was shocked into silence. She watched in confusion as he moved further and further off into the desert, stopping forty or fifty yards away before resting his hands on his hips and hanging his head in despair. This was not what she had expected. In the past, whenever her rants had touched upon the subject of their blatant non-relationship he would sigh, pinch the bridge of his nose and say her name in a tone that spoke of disappointment, frustration and regret. But this time he was pulling away from her not only emotionally, but physically. He was taking the distance that existed between them and making it real.

Steeling herself for battle, she jumped from the truck and followed. When she got within ten yards, she started to yell, gesturing wildly as all the anger, love, pain and confusion swept through her, fuelling her chase.

"This is new for you, Grissom. Usually you only run away symbolically, but this... Did you think I didn't get the point?"

As she reached his side, he dropped his hands from his hips and spun back in the direction of the truck, never so much as glancing in her direction. She briefly considered using one of the small desert rocks lying at her feet to throw at his head, but then realised that such physical pain was fleeting, that she could do far more lasting damage with her words. And she wanted to do damage. She wanted to hurt him as badly as he had hurt her.

His pace had quickened and she found herself struggling to catch up without breaking into a run. As he got within a few yards of the truck, she caught his arm in her hand, darting around him to stand less than two feet away from him, between his solid frame and the side of the truck.

Even standing this close, he wouldn't look at her, staring over her shoulder with a determined look on his face. So she stepped closer, laying both her hands flat against his chest, her right directly above his pounding heart. Leaning in close enough for her breath to tickle his throat she continued, her voice now soft, but full of venom, "Or maybe I just touched a nerve before. Maybe you really did want it all to end differently. Maybe when you close your eyes you see him killing me, and you find yourself smiling. Is that it? Did you see the solution to all your problems behind the glass? Is your refusal to talk to me, look at me, just some perverse manifestation of your disappointment? Do you–"

Without warning he brought his hands up to grab her arms, his fingers digging into her flesh so deeply that they were sure to leave a bruise as he stepped forward to pin her forcefully against the passenger door. His face was red, his mouth twisted into a passionate scowl. He pressed his face close to hers, the air between them sparking with anger, love and lust. As he spoke, he shook her waifish frame, his breath burned her cheeks.

"Don't you dare! Do you hear me? Don't you DARE! You could have died, Sara. Do you get that? You could have died!"

Searching his face, Sara was shocked by the pain, anguish and sorrow shining unguarded behind his eyes. He had the look of a man overwhelmed, a man pushed to the edge, a man no longer able to cope.

Gradually he came back to himself and realised what he was doing. He released his grip on her arms and just stared at his hands, mouth open and unbelieving.

"I am so sorry, Sara. Oh my God... Did ... Did I hurt you?"

Her muscles were aching from his grip, and her skin was stained with the dull red impression of his fingers, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that he was in far more pain than she was. So she lied.

"No. You didn't hurt me."

Hanging his head to stare at his shoes, he nodded slightly and straightened his stance.

"Well, we should start heading back. If we're not careful we'll end up stuck in traffic for hours."

Still leaning against the side of the truck, the metal now warm against her back, she asked quietly, directing her question at the top of his head as he continued to stare at his shoes, "Would that be so bad?"

Confusion prompting him to lift his eyes to meet hers. He raised a questioning eyebrow out of habit and asked simply, "What?"

"I said, would that be so bad?"

"Would what be so bad?"

"Being stuck in traffic for hours with me."

Understanding dawning on him, he again averted his gaze, rubbing a hand across his face before taking a step away to round the front end of the truck. Reaching out her hand, she gently laid a hand on his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. Without turning around to face her, he said quietly, his voice equal parts warning and plea, "Sara..."

"Why won't you talk to me anymore, Grissom? We used to talk... You know, we actually said more to each other when we were separated by state lines. Just... Just talk to me."

He turned to look at her, his gaze once again inscrutable. Her eyes begged him to respond, to say something, anything, to justify her hope, but he stayed obstinately silent. Eventually she gave up and dropped her hand from his shoulder, hanging her head to hide the tears welling in her eyes. Just as she began to straighten, squaring her shoulders for a return to the status quo, he stepped quickly forward to lay a gentle kiss on the angry red wound adorning the right side of her neck. With his lips still against her skin, he began to whisper his apology, his words punctuated with kiss after tender kiss.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have been there. I never should have left you alone. I should have protected you. Sara... My Sara..."

Tortured, he tore his lips from her skin and pulled her close to his chest, burying his face in her hair. Revelling in the feel of his arms around her, she melted into him, breathing deeply so as to imprint the memory of his smell on her senses. After a moment, he starts to pepper feather-light kisses in her hair. Pulling back slightly, he met her gaze and she was rendered speechless by the look of pure, unadulterated adoration in his eyes. Leaning forward, she closed the gap between them, laying her lips on his in a chaste yet powerful kiss. Slowly, Grissom pulled back, keeping his eyes closed as he lays his forehead against hers, savouring every sensation. Slowly, he stepped forward, guiding her gently back against the side of the truck. As her shoulders pressed against the glass of the passenger side window, he claimed her mouth in a fiery kiss, his hands snaking below the hem of her shirt and up her sides to caress the sensitive skin below her breasts. The thought that they were standing against their police-issue Denali on the side of the road came roaring to the front of her mind, but as he began trailing kisses across her jaw and collarbone, she found that she no longer cared. As he pulled her shirt over her head, she let herself fall into the moment.

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The drive back to the lab was awkward. Neither knew what to say, or if anything between them had really changed, so they said nothing, and for once Sara was grateful for the silence. Part of her truly believed that this was the beginning of something great – he had kissed her, had made love to her, and that was not something he could run from; they had lost themselves in each other, and he could not deny it. But the larger, more rational, part of her knew that a few fleeting moments in the desert – no matter how beautiful, satisfying, earth-shattering – would not change him. On the most basic level, Gil Grissom's operating principle was 'out of sight, out of mind', and the moment they stepped from the truck and back into the real world, she was destined to be hidden away.

Turning into the lot, Sara forced herself to take a number of long, slow breaths, discretely swallowing back the tears that were threatening to fall. As he killed the ignition, he turned to look at her, opening his mouth once and then closing it again, abandoning whatever it was that he was going to say. Climbing from behind the wheel, he opened the trunk, pulling bags of evidence from their resting place and quickly made his way inside. He had disappeared through the glass doors to reception before Sara worked up the energy to even unbuckle her seatbelt.

Moving slowly down the halls, Sara passed his office, noticing the slivers of light shining from his desk lamp through the drawn blinds. Scanning the rooms on either side of her as she walked, she found their evidence lying unceremoniously atop the layout table in the room furthest from his office. And so it begins, she thought as she stared at the sterile metal table before her, wondering whether or not the door to the room should be marked with a warning: 'DANGER! EMOTIONAL QUARANTINE AREA'.

She worked studiously for the next three hours, sorting the evidence and logging it into storage, before filling out the requisite paperwork and retiring the case as closed. All that was left before she could leave for home was to have her supervisor review the file. Glancing one last time through the pages to ensure that everything was in place, she raised her head defiantly and moved down the hallway towards his office with determined strides. This was his last chance. Either he would acknowledge in some way what had happened between them and they could move on together, or he would ignore her, avoid her, attempt to deny the very fact of her existence, and she would move on alone. Coming to rest before his closed office door, Sara raised a hand to knock with only the slightest hesitation.

"Come in."

Pushing the door open, she leant against the doorframe, trying desperately to exude an air of casual nonchalance.

"So... I'm, uh, I'm going home now."

Perched behind his desk, surrounded by the cluttered minutia that spoke volumes about the man to those who would care to listen, he simply leaned back and looked at her. The intensity of his blue eyes chipping away at her resolve, she quickly stepped into the room and deposited the folder on his desk, nervous energy prompting her to offer a stilted explanation when none was necessary.

"The case notes..."

Moving back to the door, she paused in the doorway, her back to him. Speaking over her shoulder she said lightly, "So, I'm going now."

She stood there unmoving for what seemed like an eternity, awaiting a response she knew in her heart would never come. Eventually, he uttered a simple, "Okay".

As he began to shuffle the papers on his desk, a signal that she was dismissed, he heard her breath hitch in her throat and stilled his hands. His heart broke as he heard her say quietly over her shoulder, her voice betraying all the hurt he had caused her, "Goodbye, Grissom." Before he could respond she was gone, walking away from his office, away from him, without ever looking back.

Maybe you're overreacting, he thought. Maybe it was just a slip of the tongue. Over the five years they had worked together in Vegas, it had become a tradition of sorts for her to stop by his office at the end of every shift and say 'goodnight'. But she hadn't said 'goodnight' this time. She had said 'goodbye'. As he sat staring at the hands of the clock as they crawled by, the sickening sense of loss that had settled in his chest grew stronger. He could still taste her on his lips, could still feel the heat of her skin as it pressed against his, and as he stared at the empty space where she once stood, he knew that he had finally pushed her too far. She was gone.

Downing his pen, he stood and grabbed his coat, abandoning his work without a second thought. He wandered down the halls and past reception, his head hung low, his shoulders slumped. As he reached the truck, he turned his eyes away, anxious to avoid the smudges her exquisite skin had left on the glass as she wrapped her legs around him; more evidence of their momentary indulgence, the finite event which threatened infinite consequences for their delicate and complex relationship.

As he climbed behind the wheel and shut the door, the intoxicating smell of her shampoo surrounded him. Winding down his window, he pulled from the lot, driving aimlessly around the city for the better part of an hour, before finding himself parked outside her building. His body ignoring the commands of his conscious mind, he jumped from the truck and made his way up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. Raising his hand to knock, he stopped when he heard the muffled sounds of crying through the door. Overcome with shame, he let his hand fall back to his side. Resting his head against the door he called out softly, "Sara. Sara, it's me. Please open the door."

Curled up on her couch, she jerked her head violently in the direction of the door as she heard his voice calling to her from the other side. Standing slowly, she made her way to the door without a sound. Wiping at her face, she did her best to destroy all evidence of her tears – she didn't want to give him the satisfaction – but her eyes remained red and watery. Pulling the door open without warning, she instinctively reached out to steady him as he stumbled forward, thrown off balance from his position in the hallway, his head resting against the wood.

As soon as he recovered, she moved to pull her hand away from his chest. Reaching up to grab her wrist, he brought her hand back to rest over his heart, hoping that if words failed him, perhaps his racing heartbeat would speak for him. With his spare hand, he pushed the door closed before placing gentle pressure on her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

As he took in the sight of her red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, he drew a thumb across her jaw. Finding all his eloquent words had abandoned him, he simply whispered, "Hey."

Averting her eyes to glance around the room, she yanked her hand from his grip before turning to stand behind the breakfast bar, the obstacle between them a comfort to her. Crossing her arms over her chest, she dropped her head to count the flecks of white in her countertop, waiting for him to tell her that it was all a mistake, waiting for the inevitable excuses, apologies, the delicately-couched rejection.

As he watched her distance herself, he shook his head in defeat. How ironic that the day he finally gave in to his feelings for her was the day that he managed to extinguish any feelings she still held for him.

Still, she deserved to know that what they had shared earlier had meant something. She deserved to know that she was loved.

Taking a half-step forward, he asked the question that had been haunting him since she had disappeared from his office doorway.

"Why did you say 'goodbye', Sara?"

Confused, Sara dropped her arms from her chest and tilted her head to the side in a silent question. When no response was forthcoming, he asked again, driven on by a self-destructive need to hear her say it out loud, to hear her say that she was done with him.

"Why did you say 'goodbye'?"

"I always say goodbye before I leave."

"No, Sara, you always say 'goodnight'. Never 'goodbye'."

Shaking her head, she sighed loudly and brought a hand up to rest over her eyes, ostensible out of frustration, though her true motive was to hide from his prying eyes the fresh wave of tears pushing at the back of her throat.

"What do you want, Grissom?"

Either unwilling or unable to let the matter drop, he pressed on.

"I want to know why you said 'goodbye'."

Without dropping her hand from her eyes, she finally answered, her words filling him with shame.

"Because that is the game, isn't it? You pull me in, give me a taste of everything we could have together, and then you push me away again. It has been going on since the day I got here, Grissom. And the old adage rings true, one step forward two steps back. However close you pull me in, you'll be sure to push me that much further away."

She could sense the pain her words were inflicting, and she delighted in it. Dropping her hand she saw that his eyes were closed, his head hung low, and she took the opportunity to move swiftly, silently, to stand before him, leaning in close enough to feel the heat rolling off his frame in waves.

"And how did you pull me in today? You doted on me at the hospital, never leaving my side. You guided me through the halls with your hand right here." Reaching out, she lifted his hand from his side and placed it on her lower back. She was sure as she did it that he would snatch it away, but he did not react at all, his eyes still closed and his hand unmoving. Wearing only a threadbare tank and pair of grey cotton gym shorts, she could have sworn she felt each ridge and swirl of his fingerprints pressing through the thin material, marking her as his for life. "And then in the desert you kiss me right here." Closing the last of the distance between them, she places a gentle kiss just below the line of his beard. "Again and again and again. And then you kiss my hair." Pulling back, she brings her lips up to hover just above his, her lower lip grazing his with ever word. "And then you kiss my lips, at first soft, delicate, light, and then deeper and deeper and deeper. And then you undress me. And then you take me right there against the side of the Denali, because you just couldn't wait any longer, and neither could I." His breathing had grown heavy and ragged, and she was amazed by the power she held over him. Leaning forward to kiss him properly, she opened her mouth without hesitation as she felt his tongue snake across her lips, begging for entry. Pulling back somewhat breathless, she reached around to where his hand lay on her back and pulled it from her burning skin. Walking backwards away from him, never once looking away, she continued harshly, "And then you go back to ignoring me. You position me to work as far away from you as possible. From the time I pulled my shirt back over my head to the time you showed up outside my door you said exactly one word to me. That's why I said 'goodbye', Grissom. The game has gone full circle. You pulled me in too close. I got to feel you against me, inside me, and now you have to find a way to push me far enough away that you can pretend it meant nothing, that it didn't even happen. The only way I can think of for you to do that is to transfer me to days, or perhaps fire me outright. You would certainly have Ecklie's support. I would have been gone months ago if not for your support, and now that it is gone... " Her voice trailing off she shrugged her shoulders, resigned to her fate.

Swallowing heavily, he shook his head, a tear blazing down his cheek. Choking on his words, he whispered gruffly, "It's not gone."

"Not yet. But it will be, Grissom. I know you."

"Not as well as you think, Sara."

As his hand came up to wipe over his cheek, she noticed his tear for the first time.

"Grissom..."

Waving a hand to silence her, he turned and moved towards her door. Resting a hand on the doorknob, he said pointedly over his shoulder, "Goodnight, Sara." Pulling the door open, he disappeared into the hallway and down the stairs as she stood too confused to follow. Climbing behind the wheel of his car, he pulled away from her building and into traffic, driving this time with purpose towards his own house. He needed to get away from her, to wash any reminder of the day from his skin.

Pulling into his driveway, he jumped from the car, too impatient to wait for the garage door to open. Barrelling through the front door, he dumped his keys on the kitchen bench as he passed, pulling off his clothes as he made his way down the hallway, leaving them strewn across the floor. Turning on the powerful jets, he stepped under the spray, feeling as the steaming hot water beat into his back, soothing his aching muscles and reddening his skin, all the pain, the anguish, the despair, slip away until nothing was left except the vision of her face as he pushed into her for the first and last time.

Back in her apartment, Sara collapsed onto the floor, the look in his eyes as she tore his hand from her back haunting her thoughts. She had been trying to hurt him, trying to make him suffer, yet somehow the satisfaction she expected never came. In hurting him, she had hurt herself, and she found herself wondering why he had really come to her door.

Pulling herself together, she grabbed her keys from the table by the door and ran to her car barefoot, pausing only to pull the door closed behind her. Driving recklessly in the direction of his house, she felt time slow, each and every mile stretching on for an eternity. When she finally reached his house, she pulled to the curb harshly, her front tire bumping against the guttering and leaving a trace of black rubber on the concrete. Hurrying up the steps to his front door, she was about to raise her hand to press the bell when she noticed the door was slightly ajar. Pushing it open, she called out cautiously, panic rising in her throat when she received no reply. Stepping inside, she saw the clothes littering the floor and felt her heart began to beat faster. This was not like Grissom. He was always so meticulous, so careful, so thorough. Something had to be wrong. Dashing down the hall, she followed the trail of clothing until she found herself standing at the foot of his bed, listening as the relentless pounding of the shower jets behind the closed door to her right suddenly died.

Wrapping a towel around his waist, Grissom wiped a hand over the vanity mirror to clear the steam. Examining his face with an unsympathetic eye, he found himself wondering when his life had spiralled so hopelessly out of control. As the glass fogged over once again, he turned away, turning the handle on the door and stepping out into his bedroom. Wiping a hand over his face, he failed to see her standing there, drowning in the sight of him, his hair still mussed and damp, his chest naked and exposed. Sitting on the side of his bed, he placed his elbows on his knees and hung his head in his hands, his back to her, the tiny curls at the nape of his neck calling out to her as she stood only a few feet away.

Slowly, silently, she made her way to kneel in front of him, expecting him to look up any minute and banish her from his home. Lifting a hand to hover over his damp curls, she took a breath to steady herself, before twining her fingers through his hair, the shock of her touch causing him to jump up and pull violently away.

"What... Sara? Oh my... What are you doing here?!"

Dropping her hand back down to rest in her lap, she hung her head with embarrassment.

"I came to talk to you. What I said earlier... Well, anyway, I got to your front door and it was open and... I was worried about you. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I didn't mean to scare you..."

A long moment passed in which neither of them said anything, Grissom painfully aware that he was adorned in nothing but a towel. Eventually, Sara pulled herself quickly up from the floor and started for the bedroom door.

"I shouldn't be here. I'm just going to leave."

Faced with the prospect of watching her walk away from him again, Grissom quickly stepped forward to block her path. Reaching a hand out behind him, he swung the door shut, standing patiently before her until she finally looked up to meet his gaze.

"I think it's time we talked, Sara. All we seem to do these days is fight, and... well, I... I guess I what I am trying to say is... I miss you." Lifting a hand to cup her cheek, his thumb tracing over the soft skin of her cheekbone, he took a half-step closer. "Just give me one minute to put some clothes on. Promise me you won't go anywhere. Okay?"

Nodding her silent reply, she closed her eyes to hold on to the memory of his touch as he pulled his hand from her face. Grabbing a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt from his dresser, he disappeared again into the bathroom, emerging again a minute later fully dressed and running the towel over his hair. Throwing the towel behind him in the direction of the hamper he came over to her and gently took her by the hand, drawing her down to sit beside him on the end of the mattress.

At first neither of them said anything, each taking a moment to adjust to the feeling of having the other so close. After a while, Sara broke the silence, whispering quietly, "I miss you, too."

As she dissolved into a flood of tears, Grissom wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her to his chest. Silently, he stroked her hair, pressing gentle kisses in wake of his touch until her breathing calmed and she began to relax into his frame. With her head resting in the crook of his neck, she asked, her hot breath dancing over his skin, "What are we doing, Grissom?"

Tightening his hold on her, he turned his head to rest his chin against her temple.

"I don't know, Sara. I really don't... But what I do know is that I really, really don't want to let you go..."

Lifting her head from his shoulder, she brought her face to rest dangerously close to his, their eyes and lips perfectly aligned, their noses gently touching. Searching his eyes, she found herself smiling at what she found there. This was the beginning she had wished for in the desert. This was their something great.

Pressing her lips to his she whispered, her voice infused with all the hope in the world, "Then don't."

FIN.

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