A/N: I wrote laaaaate into the night to finish this. It's very different "Consequences" (which was 100% Snickers), but I hope you'll enjoy it. The idea is snapshots lifted from different times during Grissom and Sara's relationship, and the scenes all occur at the same place – Grissom's bed. The timeline is as follows:

Snapshot 1 – Season six, somewhere post-"Nesting Dolls"

Snapshot 2 – Season seven, pre-"Living Doll"

Snapshot 3 – Season eight, post-"Dead Doll"

Snapshot 4 – Season eight, post-"Goodbye and Good Luck"

Snapshot 5 – Season nine, post-"One to Go"

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of their characters. If I did, I wouldn't be a poor college kid.

Please tell me what you think! Reviews make my day =)

He could tell she was there from the minute he closed the condo door behind him. She must have showered, because her scent was lingering in the air and it was intoxicating.

He found her passed out in his bed, looking peacefully serene. He smiled at the sight of her, her pale, freckled shoulder poking out from underneath the sheets, her tangled hair spread out across the pillow. He made his way toward the bed and slipped into the sheets beside her, stretching his arm across her. She stirred as he did so.

"Hey," she whispered, twisting in the sheets to face him.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said softly. "Go back to sleep."

In the dark, he could tell she was smiling.

"I'm glad you're here," she said, stifling a yawn.

He took her chin in his hand and stroked her cheek softly with his thumb.

"Me too," he replied. "Now, sleep."

He planted a kiss on her hairline and she turned back away from him, snuggling up against him until she was so close, he could feel the heat from her body. He propped his head up with one hand, and with the other, he gently stroked her hair, which smelled of his shampoo and was curling as it dried. He loved her hair curly. His fingers worked through her tangles for a few minutes before he too sank back into the pillows. His arm reached across her again and he covered her hand with his, rubbing his thumb on top of hers.

He liked this. What this was, he wasn't entirely sure, but it didn't really matter. All he knew was that he liked having Sara here. Looking back, he couldn't pinpoint when exactly they had started sleeping with each other. True, they had always had a less than typical relationship, but when it became intimate, he couldn't recall. Whatever they had though, that's what it was, intimate. Intimate, not sexual. They hadn't had sex. He hadn't even seen her naked. But Grissom liked that, too. It didn't complicate things any more than necessary.

They had just… slipped into this routine, these sleepovers. They spent some nights at her apartment, some nights at his and other nights apart. There was no set schedule, no pre-made plans. It just happened. Lately, it was more frequent. For the first time in his life, Grissom realized he slept better with someone than he did alone.

Beside him, Sara sighed and twisted around, facing him. He smiled at her in the dark. Wild, even in her sleep. He began stroking her arm again, and his fingers made their way toward her face, outlining her features. Her eyebrows that raise in surprise or furrow when she was in deep concentration. Her lips that could curl into a half-smirk or into that full-out grin he loved so much. He felt her eyes flutter open.

"Gil, stop touching me and get some sleep," she said.

"You don't like me touching you?"

He pulled his hands away in mock indignation.

"You know what I mean. We have to work a double tomorrow."

"I know," he said softly, grateful for her concern.

She sidled up to him.

"I sleep better when you hold me."

Grissom found himself smiling yet again as he wrapped his arms around her and listened to her breathing become slow and even. He wondered how she felt about their… arrangement. She had been more forthright about her feelings toward him from the start… was she expecting something from him? Was she disappointed that their sleepovers hadn't turned into something more?

Grissom shut his eyes tight as if to shove the thoughts from his mind. That was exactly why they didn't try to analyze what was going on. It would ruin it. As he felt himself nodding off to sleep, he reminded himself just to be grateful. Grateful that she was there, that he was holding her, and that they were both happy.

He stood in the doorway, staring at her. She had fallen asleep with the T.V. on, still in the tank top and jeans she had been wearing all night. When he lowered himself onto the bed, his weight made her turn around.

"Hey," she said, her voice raspy from sleep. "I thought you'd never come to bed."

"I thought you were going back home tonight," he said. "I figured you'd left."

"Without saying goodbye?"

He raised an eyebrow and a shoulder. She reached for his hand and starting playing with his fingers.

"What were you doing in there anyways?" she asked.

He shrugged again.

"Keeping my mind and my hands occupied," he replied coyly as she put his hand to her cheek.

"With what?"

She kissed his wrist, then the back of his hand, then his fingers.

"I, uh… I'm making my own miniature."

She stopped her kisses and stared at him.

"What?"

"My own miniature. Of my office."
"Why?" she asked, still incredulous.

"Why not?"

"Gil, this is a psychopath we're dealing with," she said. He wished she'd keep kissing him. "Obsessive compulsive at best, but probably someone insane, and a serial killer."

His silence seemed to infuriate her. She dropped his hand.

"And now you're copying him? It's a little… weird, Griss."

The use of his last name, even its shortened version, was a sign of her irritation. She barely ever used it at home, and certainly never while in bed.

"I'm trying to understand him better," he tried to reason, reaching out to stroke her hair.

She flinched away from his touch.

"Sara."

She shook her head.

"What are you thinking?"

She looked at him and gave a small sigh.

"I'm thinking… I wish I could understand you better sometimes," she said quietly.

"Why?"

She shook her head again.

"Talk to me, Sara."

She bit her lip as her eyes darted around the room, landing on anything but him.

"It's just… I've been here all night," she said finally. "In your bedroom. And you've been in there, working on some miniature you didn't tell me about, and you thought I'd left. Without… saying goodbye, without saying anything. I just thought you knew me better than that."

Grissom opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off before he made a sound.

"And… I thought you liked spending time with me."

"Oh, Sara," he said softly, taking her hand again. She let him, which he took as a good sign.

"I love spending time with you. I'm just… still getting used to this," he said as he gestured between himself and Sara. "You know, I have lots of bugs and lots of butterflies around here. But there's one rare one I've never managed to catch. It's called the social butterfly."

Sara couldn't help but let out a small laugh.

"You know, I've looked for it, I've hunted for it, but I've just never gotten a hold of it," Grissom continued, a smile forming on his face in response to the one on Sara's. "Honey, you make me very, very, happy. But sometimes old habits die hard, and you have to bear with me on this one. I'm not used to sharing things so intimate with another."

"I understand," Sara said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Grissom whispered back. "I spend every minute of every day at work thinking of when I'll see you next. I should make good use of that time."

She smiled up at him and he felt a rush of emotion for Sara. His Sara. He decided to say what was on his mind, despite the probability of it coming out corny.

"You're the most beautiful butterfly of them all, Sara," he said, wrapping his arms around her.

Luckily, Sara laughed and snuggled closer, and all corniness was avoided.

"You're not going to tack me up on the wall, are you?" she questioned.

This time, he laughed. This was why he loved being with her.

"No," he chuckled, planting a kiss on her hairline. "But you were an awfully good catch."

He lay on his back, waiting for her. She had been gone a while. Her showers seemed to get longer and longer lately, and he began to wonder if she was using them to avoid him. Finally, she stepped out from the bathroom, dressed in her pajamas, but water still dripping from her hair. Wordlessly, she toweled her hair dry and climbed into bed, her back towards him.

He reached out and twisted a strand of her damp hair around his forefinger.

"You did a great job today," he said.

"Thanks," came the response.

He inched closer to her.

"Honey, are you feeling okay?"

"I'm just tired," she said with a sigh, still facing away from him.

He watched her for a few moments, but she said nothing more.

"Sara, are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm fine."

I'm fine, two words he had come to resent. Usually, he had nothing against them, but lately they had been used too often, and with too little certainty behind them that would make him believe it when she said it. She was not fine. They were not fine. This was not fine. She was right here next to him, and yet he felt like she was a million miles away.

She had been like this since it had happened. Quiet, withdrawn and introverted. It made Grissom feel helpless. He had thought that they had gotten to the point where they could talk about anything. He had thought that she knew he would be there for her, that she shouldn't be afraid to breakdown in front of him. Yet no matter how many times he asked, or how hard he pushed, he couldn't get her to open up to him. He was at a complete loss of what to do.

So, in true style of what he had deemed his "old self", he withdrew his arm from around her waist and rolled away from her, staring at the ceiling, trying to keep his mind from drifting to that day in the desert when they had found her. The day when everything changed. He remembered the relief that swept through his body when she opened her eyes. But the Sara that opened her eyes was a different Sara from before. And Grissom would spend every minute after that moment longing for the Sara he fell in love with. The passionate, fiery Sara. The one who gossiped with Catherine, laughed with Greg and teased with Nick. Not this version, who wandered the halls like a ghost, gliding past everyone without seeing anything.

As her breathing became slow and even, he reached out and covered her hand with his. She twisted away from his touch. He knew it was unconscious, but he still felt an ache in his heart. All he wanted, more than anything, was to help her through this. If only she would let him.

He rolled over to his side, his arm stretching out across the bed.

"Sara," he mumbled.

His fingers were searching for her, desperate for her touch. They usually didn't fall asleep in each other's arms, but he felt a need to pull her towards him and hold her close. His hand took a wild grab at the other side of the bed, but fell to the mattress with a soft flump.

He twisted around. The other side of the bed, her side, was empty. Recollection swept through him like a cold breeze and made him shiver.

It had been three months since she had left. Three months since she left that letter, left the lab, left Las Vegas and left him.

They talked nearly every day. Every day, she promised him she'd come back to him, and every day he told her he understood why she needed to do this. But that didn't make the nights any less lonely.

He did understand. But what he didn't tell her was what mattered. He didn't tell her that the bed seemed bigger and colder without her. That the apartment was quieter, Hank sulkier. That he smiled less. And most of all, that he missed her more than she could ever comprehend.

Having her gone was giving him some sort of clarity – he was realizing things. Things about her. Things he didn't know he loved so much until they were gone. Things like the way her hair looked in the morning or the scent she left on the pillows. Things like seeing her jacket slung across his kitchen chairs when he walked through the door, the look on her face she got when she watched him cook, or read, or work and, most of all, her smile. It had been more than three months since he had seen her smile.

He missed her, and in her absence, he wished so many things. He wished he had been there for her more in the past. He wished life had been kinder to her. He wished she would have let him help her pick up the pieces. And, most of all, he wished that she was there with him, touching him softly, speaking quietly and grinning at him through the dark.

Grissom closed his eyes and he could picture her so vividly, he felt like he could reach out and touch her. But when he did, he felt nothing but air.

He turned on his side and pulled the covers to his chin, clenching his jaw down tight. He missed her so much it hurt. As he willed himself to go to sleep, he made one last wish for the night. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing, he wished that it would lead her to the path that brought her back to him.

He tossed and turned, the mattress springs groaning and squeaking threateningly below him. It felt like years since he had gotten a proper night's sleep. He took a deep gulp of night air and turned on his side. He was happy. Finally, he was unbelievably and incredulously happy. But something was missing.

He felt a pair of warm hands on his back, and through their touch, all sense of loss was forgotten. He turned and saw a tall, dark figure.

"Can I join you?"

Her voice was low and her body close. He groped in the darkness for her hand and found it in seconds, pulling her towards his small, rickety cot. He couldn't see her, but he could tell she was smiling as she cuddled up to him and reached for his arm to put around her. His face was nestled in her hair, curled from the humid Costa Rican air. Her voice cracked when she spoke.

"I'm so glad you're here, Gil."

"Me too, honey."

Her fingers were playing with his, his other thumb was stroking her arm.

"I'm sorry I left the way I did."

He knew it would come up. He caught her fingers and squeezed them.

"For once in your life, you were doing something for you," he said. "I could never hold that against you."

Suddenly, she began moving in his arms, wiggling around so that she was facing him. The cot's springs gave an ominous groan and she giggled. He realized how very much he loved that sound.

"God, Sara, I missed you so much," he said.

"I missed you too," she breathed, her lips just inches from his.

His fingers began to get lost in her hair and he pulled her head towards him, brushing his lips softly against hers. He began to kiss her deeply, one hand in her hair, the other on her back, their chests and thudding hearts pressed together. They remained that way for a long time, and he only broke apart for a moment, to tell her something he realized he should have told her much, much more often.

"I love you, Sara."

He breathed the words onto her lips, and repeated them on her cheek, in her hair and on the nook of her neck. He felt the words reverberate in his chest, the way his love for her did. He loved her with his entire being, a feeling he didn't believe possible for the first few decades of his life. He loved the gap in her teeth, the darkness of her eyes, the freckles on her shoulder, the tattoo on her foot and the goodness in her heart. But most of all, he loved her for the four words she uttered next.

"And I love you."

A/N: Thank you SO much for reading! Take a second and hit that little review button, I honestly and truly want to hear what you think. Cheers!