Innocence and Beauty

Chapters 28-37

Chapter 28: Distractions

"So Gris, what's up with your ride?" Warrick asks as we pile into the department Denali to head to a double murder on the edge of town. He starts up the engine and I settle in the passenger seat.

"Huh?" I ask, distracted. I can only feel Sara's presence in the back seat, but she's already on my mind. We've had 13 official dates, 7 impromptu trysts, and countless moments where we were the only two people in the world up until now, and so far we've been successful in keeping our personal business personal. Spending this last week, however, pulling doubles and triples over a high profile kidnaping left no time to see each other when work wasn't present. I feel deprived of her, and I plan to remedy that soon.

"Where's your car?" He asks as we pull out into traffic.

"Oh," I say, pulling my mind on task, this crime scene will be torture if I can't. "Emma has it. She took it in to get serviced this morning, so I have her car." I shrug.

"As long as you're not having a mid-life crisis, though that is a nice car..." Warrick's quiet for a minute, studying the road and flicking his eyes back and forth between me and Sara in the rearview mirror. "Uh, Griss, I don't know if I should be saying this but..."

I give him a second to continue, and when he doesn't I'm sure we're caught, but I prompt him anyway. "What is it, Warrick?"

"Well," he sighs, "I think you really need to talk to Cath." It's painfully obvious he's not comfortable, and needs another prompting.

"About what?"

"You see, she's been... I know Sara's noticed it too... She's just been..." He won't look me in the eyes, and I turn to Sara for clarification.

She looks at him and gives me a quick look saying she thought we'd been caught, too, then quickly sighs. "I think he's trying to say that Cath's been a complete bitch since she found out about Emma."

I thought I was confused before, but I was wrong because now I'm confused. "What?" I practically bark.

"I don't' understand it, man. She's usually so cool about stuff like that, you know; family things? I even talked to her about it. I don't know if she's pissed because you didn't tell her, or because she's not the only one with a kid now... I really don't get it." He rubs his forehead as we pull up to the crime scene. "We were kinda hoping you could talk to her... maybe find out what's going on?"

"We?" I ask as we get out and head to the tailgate to grab our kits. Warrick just shakes his head as he's sidetracked by Brass. I raise my eyebrows at Sara as I pull out our kits and hand hers to her.

"She's been making everyone's lives Hell for the last, oh, what's it been... three months?" She smirks at me as I pull the tailgate down. I feel my forehead crinkle as I try to recall my interactions with her as of late. "How'd you miss that?"

I stare at her for a second, then lean down to whisper to her with a smile on my face. "Maybe it's because there's only one woman I can see as of late."

A half smile plays on her face before she pushes me away from the cover of the SUV and out into the desert night. "After work, Gris... after work."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Where have you been?" Cath practically bites my head off as soon as I walk into the lab.

"At a scene," I say, holding my hands out in surrender.

Her annoyance continues, "I called you at least three times. Why didn't you answer your phone?"

I pull it off my belt to find that it's no longer on, and punching the power button a few times proves that the battery's died. "Dead," I say holding it out for her to see. "Why, what's up?"

She makes a noise of disgust into the file folder she's holding, then shakes her head at me. "Handled now." She says. If this is even a glimpse of the attitude she's been giving everyone it has got to stop. This is ridiculous. "Oh, and you have a visitor in with Greg."

"With Greg?" She nods and with a fake smile she walks out of the room. Oh boy. With a deep breath I head down to the DNA lab. Over the last few months I've taken Greg out in the field with me more and more, not because I don't trust his training to anyone else, but more because I'm hoping that in some way I can make him into the well rounded CSI I never was. After all, I see much of my young self in the endearing lab rat. I can hear the rock blaring from down the hall, and I prepare my gruff exterior and lecture for my newest protege when I'm stopped by familiar laughter coming from there as well.

When Cath said I had a visitor in the DNA lab this wasn't what I was expecting. As I get closer I can see them through the glass. Emma's curled up in the corner of the lab, a notebook and CD player under her charge, and at a safe distance from the three trays of specimens Greg's shifting around his table. They're both singing around large smiles to what sounds like an eighties hair band. I post myself in the doorway, interested to both watch their easy camaraderie and wait to see how long it takes them to notice me.

Emma's been to the lab a few times since she's become a permanent fixture in my life, most often joining in on our more frequent breakfasts after shift. She'd taken immediately to Nick and Greg besides, thankfully, forging an almost sisterly camaraderie with Sara. The guys were much closer to her in age, and interests, than the rest of the team, and the light flirting they'd often engaged in seemed to do a lot for all of the egos involved. I almost objected, but sitting there watching them one night, it occurred to me that it might not be such a bad thing for Emma to have some mature, responsible male friends around here. After all, she was still technically new here and the last thing I would want would be for her to be just as reclusive as I had been.

"Grissom!" Greg's voice cracked in surprise and knocked me from my thoughts. He was like a deer caught in headlights, his hands still poised over his instruments, a guilty look on his face.

"Hey Dad!" Emma said, sitting up and smiling at me. She instinctively reached over and turned the music down.

"What are you doing here?" I ask of Emma as I let my eyes roam over Greg's backlogged desk.

"Greg was the only one I wasn't bothering. And your office is... creepy." She says, gathering her things and moving over to drop a kiss on my cheek. "So I played DJ for Greg while he worked," she proudly declared.

"Playing DJ?" I ask. I'm quite willing to let this one go, but I fight to keep a straight face to keep my reputation.

"Days has me backed up. I still have two trays of tests to run for them before I even touch our stuff, and it can't be jumped... Ecklie already paid me a special visit." I can hear the stress in his voice even though he's trying to keep the mood light. "Emma was just keeping me from freaking out by supplying some good music... like sunshine on a cloudy day." Greg and Emma smile at each other, and for half a second I almost feel like I'm intruding, but the emotion's gone before I can even say for sure it was there, and it sparks something paternal and possessive in me.

"Ok, well, you do what you can, Greg." I say as Nick moves into the room, a bag of samples in his hands to give to Greg.

"Hey, Girl, Boss" He says in a hello to Emma and me before moving over to clamp a hand on Greg's shoulder. "Greggo, backed up?"

"You won't be getting your results for a month, man," we hear him sigh as I lead Emma out towards my office.

"So, why are you here?" I ask, leading her around a corner, "Not that I'm not happy to see you..."

"You have my keys," She says simply.

"I need those to drive your car," I smile as we head into my office.

"Yes, but you didn't give me yours."

"Yes I did."

"No, you gave me the Denali key, you didn't give me your key ring."

"While I'm enjoying this little exchange, can you please get to the point?" I think she's been spending too much time with Greg.

"I have one house key. It's on my key ring. You have my key ring. I couldn't get into the house." She smirks as she sits down in my chair and pulls the Denali key out of her purse, dangling it in front of me.

"Sorry sweetheart," I say, slightly embarrassed, then I turn, confusion on my face. "My office is creepy?" She just smiles embarrassedly and shrugs her shoulders.

~~~~~~~~~~

"A whole month?" Nick asked, smirking.

"Dude," I say, laying my hands out over the trays in front of me. "Ecklie laid this crap on me as soon as I walked in the door and practically ripped me a new asshole as he laid down the law about it being first priority." With Emma's smile no longer keeping me grounded I feel the stress settling in on me again.

"Chill Greggo." Nick laughs, pulling up a stool. "Just asking." He lays his evidence to the side and watches for a moment as I continue to fill the trays to process. "So, Greggo..."

"What Nick... I'm kinda busy..." I can't deal with this now. I want to clear all of this so maybe I can get to Grissom's evidence tonight.

"Wow, your mood really went down the toilet when she left." I pause, and then go back to my work, pretending I'm not affected. I don't even have to ask who he's talking about.

"Well, uh," I say, titrating another sample, "she was DJ-ing for me, keeping me distracted." I look at Nick, and I can only match his smile. He knows my secret.

"I'm sure she was distracting you, buddy, just not like that..." He laughs and pats me on the shoulder. The GMS beeps and I head over to run the next set of samples.

"Hey, c'mon man, you know that it'll never happen." I say, loading the new samples and giving him a disapproving look. Last week we'd gone out for a beer and the conversation then took the same turn it's taking now. I find her infatuating, gorgeous, and the air is charged when I'm around her, but it would never work. I slip the GMS shut, send the run command through the computer, and start ticking off reasons to Nick on my fingers, "She's almost eight years younger than I am, not even 21 yet... She's absolutely gorgeous, intellectual, and amazing and, oh yeah, biggest problem of them all.... she's Grissom's daughter."

Nick points a finger for me to sit back down, ending my rant and signaling one of his "brotherly" talks. "First off, her being Griss' daughter won't be a problem unless any of you make it a problem. You've already shown that you're more than ready to advance at CSI, so that shouldn't be an issue. Next, Sara is, what, fifteen years younger than Gris? So unless he's going to be a total hypocrite he won't say anything about that. And all those qualities you named about her? Since when has that stopped you?"

I nod, a small smile passing over my face, and Nick smiles back at me, giving me a "go get 'em tiger" pat on the back. I shake my head sadly, though. "You may have taken Grissom out of the equation for me, Nick, but you didn't factor in the most important part."

"What's that?" He asks, puzzled.

"Emma." I stand, moving around the lab and preparing another tray of samples to be run. He shakes his head at me as he leaves, an amused smile on his face. I'm not amused.

Why do all the women I fall head over heels for have to be inextricably tied to Grissom?

Chapter 29: Making Fun of Dancers is Tutu Mean...

"So where's Cath?" Nick asked as he slid into the booth, smiling at the small group gathered there.

"She's picking up Lindsey," I say, a little annoyed, and letting it show through my fake smile. Warrick smirks at me then looks to Grissom.

"So did you talk to her?" He asked and I see Nick slump, knowing where this conversation is going.

"I did," He says, sliding his hand into mine under the table. "She just turned around and walked away mumbling under her breath," An air of defeat surrounded Grissom that I have yet to understand. He hasn't spoken to me about it and I know better than to push him. I feel suddenly protective of him, remembering how he curled his body into mine yesterday, how he laid his head on my chest seeking solace, and how I held him close, reassuring him with every cell of my skin that touched his that things were okay.

It looked like Warrick was going to say something when Emma and Greg returned, plates of food in hand. The entire mood of the table lightened as they joined us, their youthful energy and practically blinding smiles infectious. Even Grissom's mood lightened at Emma's return. Although she's been with him for months now, her presence is still a novelty to him.

"So, Girl," Nick asks of Emma sitting next to him. 'Girl' has become his nickname for her. He's taken her in as a little sister even more so than he did with me, though his flirtatious Texan charm still slips out every once in a while. "What are you up to today?"

She swallows the bacon she's eating and smiles at him, "Final registration for classes. I have to run over, get my books, check in with the registrar. You know, silly things like that."

Greg, who's pulled up a chair between Emma and me at the end of the table, has simply stared at her this entire morning. I wonder if he knows how incredibly transparent he is about his infatuation? I actually kind of think it's cute, personally. I wonder if Grissom's noticed, because if he has he hasn't said anything. My mind ponders that match for a moment.

"Books?" Nick said. "I thought you were a dance major." We all stopped and looked at him. Did he say what I think he just said? Please tell me that didn't come out of his mouth. Grissom moves forward to defend Emma, but she cuts him off.

"Yeah," she starts off, and amazingly straight faced, "we do take some classes with books. I'm really worried though." We watch her in amazement as she reels Nicky in for the kill, "We have this one book, it's almost thirty pages long, someone said we're learning the alphabet." Her face is like a rock as she continues talking, and I'm about to burst out laughing. "That's almost thirty letters! I mean, I can only count to eight," said as she holds up six fingers, looks, recounts, then adjusts to seven digits, "See? Eight! Thirty is a lot more than eight!" Nick's smiling now, taking the verbal abuse knowing that he deserves it. "I mean, like, we have to do a letter a day, and someone said next year if you put the letters together, you can make words!"

She sends him a saccharin smile, and then lightens up and winks. He laughs out loud, and Greg still simply stares, a slow smile starting.

"You know man," Warrick says as he elbows Nick, "it's not cool to make fun of dancers."

"I wasn't makin' fun, man." Nick says, smiling back at Emma, "I just really don't know why you'd have books for a dance class."

"Well, I do have to take a liberal arts core, and then there are classes like Dance History, Kines..."

"Kines?" I break in.

"Kinesiology," she smiles. "What?' she asks of the amazed faces around her, "You didn't think I just prance around all day in a tutu, did you?"

"Actually, I used to." Warrick says, casually spearing a potato slice and dipping it into ketchup. "I made fun of my cousin for taking ballet class when I was 15. My Grandmother got wind of it and made me take classes with her for a whole year. I give you guys lots of respect, that's hard work."

Emma and Warrick shared a moment, sizing each other up and nodding as she mumbled a thank you. "Nice to know someone around here respects what I do!" She said, tossing a playful jab into Nick's arm. He feigned pain and received a laugh for his performance.

"But Nick, you really shouldn't judge a student simply by their chosen major," Grissom breaks in. To everyone else this probably sounds like his lecture tone, but I can tell by the wistfulness hidden in the back of it that this is his 'I'm proud of my daughter' tone.

Emma hears it too and stares a hole through the top of his head, "Dad?"

"What?" He asks, sipping his coffee.

"No." She answers, her eyes pleading. The guys watch the exchange of tipping heads and body language that I've come to know as their form of conversation in amazement.

"I'm just proud of you," Gris says plainly.

"Good! But the whole world doesn't have to know!" Redness creeps into her cheeks and I have to laugh. They had this 'conversation' while I was at dinner once. She's quite humble about her accomplishments, and doesn't seem to understand that of anyone, this crowd would be the one to appreciate her outstanding scholastic achievement.

She'd actually presented an interesting argument at dinner, though. With her generation so shallow and obsessed with image, pop, and popularity, as soon as people found out you were smart they apparently treated you like a leper. Looking around the table I'm sure each one of us felt like that in school, but she had the added burden of the performing arts, which also separated her from "normal" society. She and Grissom had ended the discussion on a positive note, deciding that it really wasn't good to be normal, but I think he missed the spark of sadness and yearning in her eyes.

"Know what?" Greg asked, following the conversation closely.

"Just that Emma's an incredibly good student. Very smart." He stopped there, shrugging and smiling at Emma. She blushed lightly as she pushed away from the table.

"Ok, I have to go." She got up and moved around the booth to kiss Gris goodbye, and then added a goodbye to each of us just as Brass walked in. He got a quick hug from her as she moved away from the table.

She turned and pulled down her sunglasses, then popped her keys out of her pocket, "Don't forget about dinner!"

"I won't. Drive safe sweetheart!" Gris called after her. She waved and turned to exit the diner.

"Eh, she'll be fine. She's a Jersey Driver," Jim said as he took her place at the table. "They're the best drivers in the world," he added with a wink, proud of his New Jersey heritage.

For the first time all morning, Greg was actually eating his breakfast when Warrick added in, "You know, the only thing worse than a Jersey Driver is a New York driver."

"Hey, low blow man. Those are the cabbies..." Greg laughed, quickly gulping down his mouthful of eggs.

"You know, they say New Jersey is the armpit of the US, Jim," Nicky joked.

Jim raised an eyebrow, looked him up and down, and said, "Well, then, I wouldn't want to think what that would make Texas."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Shit!"

"Huh?" Sara moved out of her foggy sleep below me as I moved out of her bed, searching for my clothes.

"I'm late." I said, locating my pants, but not my boxers. Sara tapped me on the shoulder and held them out to me. I took them from her and quickly dressed, very aware that she was still naked and sprawled across her bed.

"I thought dinner wasn't until six," She yawned out as I pulled on my shirt.

"It wasn't," I say, cursing when I realize I'm short a button. An image floats through my mind of Sara pulling me to her so forcefully that it popped right off the fabric, and I smile for a second.

"Then why are you rushing?" she says, leaning over the edge of the bed to fish a sock out of the sheets for me.

"Because it's seven thirty..." I say as I pull the blanket up and look under the bed for my shoe.

"Seven thirty?" I hear right next to my ear. I turn and we bang heads. After a second I lean in and place a small kiss on the red lump. She pulls my head to her lips to do the same. But as soon as her lips leave my skin I'm on my feet again, rushing to finish dressing. Not once have we ever slept past five in the afternoon together, and usually one of us was up considerably earlier than that, so we'd stopped setting the alarm.

"She won't be mad, will she?" Sara asks, a frown creasing her features.

"No, probably just worried." I sigh as I lean down and smooth the worry from her face. Sara understands how important it is to me to have time alone with Emma, and even tries to help me find some time for it when she can. "I'll see you at work tonight." I had intended on the kiss being a parting peck, but I let it deepen, and broke away only when I couldn't breathe anymore. "Love you," I say as I get up to leave.

"Love you," she says, watching me leave from the bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Hey, Ash, I'll call you back," I hear her say as I sheepishly slip in the door. "Yeah, he's home. Bye hunny."

I see her replacing the phone, and she turns to stare at me over the breakfast bar, disappointment and apprehension scrawled across her face. She waits. I put down my coat and briefcase. It's plainly written across her face that this is about more than dinner.

"I'm sorry." I say moving into the kitchen with her.

"Don't be. I was just worried," she says quietly, leaning back on the counter. One second ticks by, then two, and still we don't say anything. "Dinner's still in the oven, it should still be good," she says, playing with her nails.

I nod and move away to retrieve it from the oven. Inside are two plates of Veal Parmesan with a side of spaghetti, meticulously prepared. If I wasn't feeling guilty by now this sure did it.

"Do you want me to move out?"

I almost drop the plates when I hear her question, her voice tinged with sadness. "What?" I ask, my back still to her as I deliberately set the plates on the counter.

"I feel like I'm exiling you from your own home. Do you want me to move out?"

Her voice is flat and defeated, and I don't know what to make of this. I turn to see red eyes staring at me, and her expression is unreadable, forced to be stoic and covering up something that I'm not sure of. "Do you want to move out?" I ask, my voice sounding more solid than I feel.

"No," she whispers out. She no longer looks at me, and she sounds so small and defeated. "But if you want me to go I will."

I move to her, pulling her into a hug that she doesn't return, she just leans into my embrace, reminding me of when she was a child and I cradled her tiny, sleeping form to mine. "What would ever make you think I'd want you to leave?" She doesn't answer, but after a few minutes pulls away more composed.

"You're never here anymore." Her statement is soft, but condemning. "The only time I've gotten to see you is if I stop at the lab or at breakfasts. I know you get called in a lot, so we don't often get dinner, but..." She stops suddenly, and a shy smile forms on her face. She'll look anywhere but at me.

"But what, Emma?" I ask, moving closer to her again.

"But, it's not like I don't know what you're doing."

What I'm doing? I work. I'm not... Oh. Sara. Now I can't look at her. I mean, she is twenty, she knows about sex... but I really don't want to think about her thinking...

"I mean... well..." She's beet red now, and I think I am too. "I'm happy for you, Dad. It's a good thing. Not, well..." She stutters, opens her mouth a couple of times, and then laughs. "Ok, anyway. I guess I'm just saying that starting tomorrow I'll be at classes all day and maybe if you guys came over here sometimes I'd see you more often." She pauses and looks me straight in the eyes. "That's all I really wanted to come here for, anyway." A small grin works its way onto her face.

"I didn't realize, sweetheart..."

"It's ok." she says as I pull her into a hug. "It just gets creepy all alone here all the time with your roaches."

Chapter 30: Talks

"Sara?"

"Hum?" she makes a low moan in her throat as I trace small circles on her back with my fingers. I'm restless and can't sleep with this on my mind, and I know that now, naked and after making love, is as good a time as any to bring it up.

"We need to talk." I feel her stiffen in my arms and I rush to make her understand. "Don't get nervous."

"It's hard not to after a line like that. Usually that precedes, 'this just isn't working,' for me." She leans her head up on my chest so she can look in my eyes.

"Oh, this is definitely working for me," I whisper, dropping a tiny kiss on her forehead. "I just... It's been six months now; I think we need to talk. Seriously."

"About what?"

"Like... like do you want to eventually get married?" I finally blurt out. I think I'm managing to keep a calm exterior, but this is tearing me apart inside. I'm sure my heart is going to burst out of my chest at any moment.

"It's not a requirement. I know you'll be faithful." She says almost too quickly.

"But do you want to?" I emphasize as I look in her eyes.

"Yes. Someday I want to be Mrs. Gil Grissom. But if that's something you can't do, I'm fine with that," she adds. Her eyes are compassionate and still nervous.

"It's definitely something I can, and want, to do." I pull her closer to me. "What about moving in with me?" I need to stop it... I need to address what's really bothering me...

"Give me a day and time." She smiles. I smile back, but start to squirm. "What is it, honey?"

"Sara..." I take a deep breath and look at the ceiling. "Sara, what about children?"

She frowns, presses a kiss to my chest, and then leans her chin there. "Kids," she sighs.

"Yeah." I breathe in and rub her back.

"They were never really a question for me. When other kids were playing house I was running around in the dirt. I never had a strong urge for a family." She pauses and looks up at me. "If I... I would never abandon or abort a child... but I don't see one as a necessary part of my future, either." I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, and she laughs at me. "How worried were you about that?"

I smile a small smile. "I just, I couldn't see starting all over again. I love Emma with all my heart, but now..." I stop, pull her up against my body, and kiss her soundly. "I was worried that... that it would be something that I'd stop you from doing. I don't want to ever burden you, Sara."

"Grissom!" She pulls out of my arms and sits up, wrapping the sheet around her. "You have to stop that!"

"What?" I say, sitting up. Frustration wafts off of her, and I'm suddenly nervous. She looks away shoving her fist into the pillow and letting out a growl of frustration. I go to reach for her then pull my hand back as I watch her take a few deep breaths. She turns back and slides back over to me.

"Gil," she says, her patience clearly barely held in check, "You can't act like you hold me back, or if something happens that I don't like I won't say something. You know me, do you think I'd sulk silently?"

"No, but–"

"No, no but's. I wouldn't." She takes my hands in hers. "I want to be here, no matter what; kids or no kids, house or no house, bugs and all. I'm here because I love you. You, Gil, you." She pokes me in the chest to emphasize each word. "I love you and everything you entail. I'm not going to run away simply because your beard grays or your hearing fails or because you think you're too old, or not enough. Please, please tell me you understand that?"

"I do," I say, taking her in my arms. "I do. I was just..."

"Irrational?"

"Yeah." When she smiles I have no choice but to kiss her, a slow languid kiss that goes on for days. I pull away slowly. "C'mon. Let's get to bed." She smiles and we snuggle down together. My mind is at least somewhat unburdened now, though I dread the other talk I need to initiate later tonight. We finally settle in and I feel sleep start to drift over me. Then another thought finds its way into my head. "Sara?"

"Hum?"

"My beard is graying?"

~~~~~~~~~~

"What did you need, Gil? I need to get home." Catherine makes her way into my office.

"Close the door." I put down my paperwork and prepare myself for this. It's not going to be pretty, or easy. She sits and stares me down. "Catherine, your behavior for the last few months has been completely unacceptable."

"Excuse me?" She squeaks, sitting forward on the chair. "My behavior?"

"We've talked about this before, and nothing's changed." We've had three meetings, in fact.

"Why don't' we talk about your behavior, Gil?"

"My behavior?" She hasn't tried this one before. I see fire in her eyes, and I wonder if we've found what she's truly upset about.

"Yes, your behavior. You're never around; we all have to pick up your slack. You and Sara are taking nights off together now... you call out to be with Emma, you don't come in for early roll outs... What's wrong with you Gil?" Her voice rose with each word until she's leaning over my desk, yelling in my face.

I stand up and put my face in hers. "Sit down." She doesn't move. "Sit down, now." With her eyes still glued to mine she slowly sits. My voice is laced with barely controlled rage now that I know what this is about. "In case you haven't noticed, I've always picked up the slack for you. I went on early roll outs so you could get Lindsey to school. I covered when you called out on a minutes notice. I finagled you days off that you needed off for dance recitals and plays and birthdays. I stayed late and came in early to finish your paperwork. In fact, for the last twenty years I've covered for you all, sacrificing my time. I took two vacation days every year, one for Emma's birthday and one for her dance recital. Do you know how much time I've lost or transferred to you? To all of you? How many hours I'd devote to making sure all of the T's were crossed and the I's were dotted so that you could live your life, be with your daughter, when all I ever wanted to do was be with mine? How dare you, Catherine."

"How dare I? How dare you keep that from us! Why couldn't you simply tell all of us? What's wrong with that, Gil?" She stands, and we're face to face over my desk again.

"You know that, Catherine. You heard the circumstances." I say through clenched teeth. How dare she turn this into something about Emma. "But this isn't about me. This is about you in the work environment."

"Sure it is, Gil, sure it is." She turns to leave, just like she always does. This time, I don't let her.

"If you don't shape up, Catherine," She stops and turns to me, "You're going to have to answer to Cavallo. We can all cover for your bad attitude and bare bones work for only so long."

"And you remember, Gil," She says as she opens the door, "how many young dancers come to Vegas to "make it" and really just end up topless showgirls or exotic dancers."

~~~~~~~~~~

I stare at the bottle of whiskey I just pulled out of the cabinet. One drink. Just one. I pour it into the glass and gulp half of it down. It's been so long since I'd had a drink that I cough at the burn. But I take another big gulp, refill my glass, and put the bottle away before heading to the sofa.

Catherine's wrong. She has to be. My baby girl can't... couldn't... wouldn't...

But then Don's words float back to me... Maggie disowned her own daughter. Could I be that blind? Could Emma be playing me like a violin? Could she not be completely innocent in all of this?

I take another swing of my whiskey when I hear Sara come in.

"Hey Gris," She says as she drops her keys on the counter. I made her one when we started staying here more often. "Finished the B and E. Guy pled guilty and is getting a slap on the wrist." She keeps talking as she walks through the house to the back bedroom, returning in a pair of mesh shorts and a tank top. She stops abruptly and stares at me. "What's wrong?"

"Come here," I say softly, craving her comfort. She obliges and curls herself into my lap, taking my glass from me. Her face falls as she looks at mine, caressing my cheek with a soft hand.

"What's wrong?" Her words are gentle, like the way she's holding me.

"I talked with Catherine today," I say as I bury my head into her neck. I quickly relay the conversation to her, Catherine's parting words flowing out of my mouth all too easily.

"You're going to let Catherine make you doubt your daughter?" Sara asked as she slid off my lap so we could look at each other while we talked, her legs still resting across mine.

"I don't want to..."

"You sound pathetic. You know that, right?" She smiles at me and punches me lightly in the arm. My melancholy is forced back by her candid assessment. "Honey, Cath sees herself as the Alpha female- at work and in your life. Emma and I have knocked her off the throne she thought she had."

I feel my face wrinkle in thought. While this makes sense, it's totally ridiculous. "So you're saying this is a plea for attention?"

"Maybe. I don't know. But she has been acting like the spurned lover, hasn't she?" I nod. "She's jealous, Grissom, that you don't go to her anymore with your problems, that you come to me. She's probably upset that you kept Emma a secret, no matter how immature that may sound. Don't take offense, but for a while she probably felt that no matter how bad her family problems got she at least had more than you, but all of a sudden you have a family that's better than hers, a father daughter relationship that's better than the one Lindsey had and the one she has. She may not even understand that she feels like this, she just knows it hurts."

"Cath is like a sister to me, though..." But suddenly it clicks in my head. Sara's right. It makes sense with the way she's acting. It explains her behavior, but it still doesn't make me feel better about Emma. "But what about–"

"Stop. If you're worried about Emma, talk to Emma. Don't go around assuming things." We stare at each other for a minute before she brings a hand to my face. "Feel better?"

"You always know exactly what to say to me..." I smile and she smiles back as she touches her lips to mine.

"Yeah, well..." She trails off as I claim her mouth in a slow kiss, a tiny sigh escaping her throat. "C'mon, Mr. Neurotic. Bedtime."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Chapter 31: Thanksgiving

"Ok, so just keep an eye on the turkey... baste it every hour..."

"Dad, I get it. You even left me a list for crying out loud!"

I laugh from the doorway as I watch father and daughter stop and smile at each other. Thanksgiving dinner is at their house tonight, and it's the first time that I'm really looking forward to a holiday that previously had only ever meant fighting, slammed doors, and burnt something or other to me.

"Go to bed." She orders as she points to the doorway. A smile cracks on his face as she leans over the counter and pecks his cheek.

"Ok, but don't forget about the vegetarian..."

"I know! Now go!" Emma laughs as she literally pushes her father into me. "Make him go to bed?"

"Bed, now!" I say in my best authoritative voice, knowing I'm going to lose it any second now. I smile at Emma as I usher him into the bedroom and shut the door. I've lost the awkward feeling I had about going to bed with her father right in front of her face even though she's shown no sign that it ever bothered her. I've been slowly moving in now, and I expect to give my landlord my notice as soon as we can figure out what we're doing with my furniture.

"I'm never going to win with you two around, am I?" Gris says as he strips down to his boxers.

I slide into my side of the bed and start to settle down. "Nope." He slides in beside me and we share a tired, yet lingering kiss. "Now get to bed, you heard your daughter!" I say, patting him on the chest a few times.

"Yeah, yeah..." he sighs, pulling me to him and settling us into our normal sleeping position.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"Emma, this looks delicious..." I hear Sara talking from my spot in the bathroom. Sara was up and ready first, and has been helping Emma finish up the huge meal. I straighten my collar and walk out to watch my girls as they move around the kitchen, talked animatedly. They both stop, as if they know I'm watching them, and turn to grin at me.

"Dinner's ready!" Emma proudly announces as she picks up the last dish to go out to the table. We file out of the kitchen and sit around the table. Though it's just the three of us I feel an incredible essence of family surrounded by these two amazing women. Just as we begin to pass around the dishes the phone rings.

We all look at each other, knowing what is more than likely going to happen. I slowly stand and answer the phone. "Hello?"

"Hey Gil," Brass sounds annoyed and apologetic.

"Crime scene?" I ask, cutting right to the chase. Sara and Emma both watch me intently.

"Yeah." I frown and nod at Sara.

"I'll change..." She says as she gets up, her dress inappropriate for a scene, but gorgeous for a simple dinner.

I jot down the address and frown as he keeps talking. "It's not only a multiple, but high profile. I'm gonna have to call everyone we can get."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

ShootingStar: Why aren't you in the field?

Leggo_my_Greggo: New guy's not trained enough to be here alone, esp. on high profile cases- they didn't even call him in.

ShootingStar: ahhh

ShootingStar: So what are you doing online?

Leggo_my_Greggo: plugged in my laptop...wasting time while I'm waiting for evidence to get in

ShootingStar: everyone's still at the scene?

Leggo_my_Greggo: Yeah, except for me and Jacqui. We got called in to cover the lab... help out as soon as they get the evidence in.

ShootingStar: So then you guys didn't get your Thanksgiving Dinner either

Leggo_my_Greggo: no :(

Leggo_my_Greggo: I was on call, so I couldn't leave- family's all in NY anyway.

Leggo_my_Greggo: Why didn't you get your dinner?

ShootingStar: I couldn't eat after Dad and Sara left. There's something really sad about eating Thanksgiving dinner by yourself.

Leggo_my_Greggo: True, true.

ShootingStar: Hey- I just got a brilliant idea. Will you sign me into CSI?

Leggo_my_Greggo: Sure, why?

ShootingStar: It's a surprise ;)

Leggo_my_Greggo: oh. ;) ok

ShootingStar: I'll be there in about a half hour. Don't eat anything.

Leggo_my_Greggo: ok. See you then.

ShootingStar: bye :)

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"Give me a hand, will you?" Her tiny stiletto catches on a crack in the pavement as she tries to get out of the car, pulling out a bag and almost falling to the ground. I run over and reach out a hand to steady her as I take a bag from her. I'm rewarded with a blinding smile when she gets her balance and I help her pull bags from her little blue sports car to carry them into CSI.

"What did you bring?" I ask incredulously as I eye up the three bags I'm holding as she walks beside me with her two.

"We had enough food to feed an army- so I figured to put it to good use was the least I could do." She shrugs humbly as she heads into the break room and starts unpacking dishes and dishes full of food. I help as I watch her out of the corner of my eye; her red dress is simple, flows just below her knees, and sports a neckline that reveals nothing, but I'm enamored just the same. Her humility and simplicity is sexier than any vamp in revealing clothes, but I shove those thoughts away. While she's a woman in her own right, she's Gris's daughter... it just feels... wrong.

"This is just, amazing, I can't believe you did this!" The food we lay out includes a whole turkey, all the trimmings, a vegetarian lasagna and two apple pies. "Where did all of this food come from?" I haven't had a real Thanksgiving in years, especially with home cooking and it's making my mouth water.

"I'm used to cooking for more than three..." she says almost sadly. Oh no. I've made her upset. Think, think.... make it better, idiot...

"Well, you're gonna have some very happy CSI's." I smile at her, and she smiles back. I think I love her smile. "C'mon, let's get Jacqui and dig in before the rest of the troops get back."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Jacqui, Emma and I are laughing as we recite the lyrics to Adam Sandler's "Thanksgiving Song" over apple pie when we hear footsteps coming down the hall and Grissom and Brass shouting orders over each other. The three of us, sitting on the couch, just watch as everyone walks past in a large determined group. The funniest group double take I've ever seen happens as they all stop, turn, and wordlessly enter the break room, confusion on their faces.

Emma smiles and let's out a simple yet joyful, "Happy Thanksgiving!"

"Girl, you did all of this?" Nick says as he swaggers in, his eyes glued to the food.

"Mostly," she says, catching her father's proud eye as the rest of the team filters in. "Our dinner was interrupted, so I figured everyone else's was, too." She watches as everyone just stares at the food and laughs. "It's not evidence, you can eat it..." After a few awkward looks the spell of what's going on is broken and they all rush to deposit their evidence, hurrying back to start talking and milling around the room.

Nick runs over and lifts Emma off the arm of the couch into a big bear hug. "Girl, I don't know the last time I had home cooking that didn't come out of a box on Thanksgiving!" He puts her down and she hugs him back, but something occurs to me.

Like a light bulb it goes off in my head; most of these people would probably have been alone tonight. Nick would have been: his family's all in Texas like my family's all in New York. I'm not too sure about Warrick, he might have family locally, but he's never mentioned them. Brass is the confirmed bachelor, no family around. All Gris and Sara have are each other: before this year they'd have been alone, too.

Cath's the only one not here: she and Lindsey are visiting her mother for the holiday two states away. With the way she's been acting, good riddance!

But then in saunters this breath of fresh air, this amazing young woman who makes Gris happy, makes my heart beat faster, and just makes everyone else smile when she's around. Emma just waltzes in to everyone's lives around here and pulls us together. With one simple gesture she just made what could have been a horrible evening into, at least for a few minutes, a bright night. Here we all are, mulling around, talking and laughing like a team, or even a family, because of her. I'm amazed and watch as she makes her way around the room, caught in conversation between Grissom and Brass as everyone digs into the feast she's brought.

"Could you be anymore obvious?" Sara asks as she takes a seat next to me, candied yams piled high on her plate. I just stare at her.

"Close your mouth, Greg," She says as she spears another sweet potato. "Why don't you go for it?"

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Greg shakes his spiky head, and looks at his feet, a blush rising in his cheeks. "Nah," he says like a little kid talking about a crush.

"Why not?" I ask, indulging in another candied yam- my favorite Thanksgiving treat.

"Oh, so many reasons..." He's deadly serious as he looks up at me, his boyish charm gone and the man that we only get glimpses of sits here. "She's everything I never knew I wanted..." he says quietly.

"So?"

"You think people don't know about you and Gris... but we do. We're happy for you. I'm happy for you." He stands and tosses his plate in the trash. "Not everyone gets happy endings, though." He forces a smile onto his face and picks up an evidence bag out of Warrick's hands as he's eating. "I'll be in the DNA lab..." He walks out; an air of happiness around him that I doubt really exists.

I watch as he leaves, almost no one notices, except for Emma. She turns her head slightly to watch him leave. She tries to give him a smile, but he doesn't see her. With the practiced eye of a CSI who deals in body language I see her sink a little, though the smile stays on her face as Gris puts his arm around her as he talks about the case to Brass. With the practiced eye of a woman who has been looked over by men all her life I see an inner sadness that no one else does.

Is this what everyone else saw with Grissom and me for the last three years?

Chapter 32: A Night and A Knight

"Oh God..." Sara sighs as she pulls me closer to her, her hands tangling in my hair as I continue to kiss her neck, my tongue darting out to taste the salty flesh there. From where I stand between her thighs I pull her closer to me, sliding her along the counter of our kitchen. Her mouth seeks mine out and our tongues mesh hotly. I reluctantly pull away, moving over to the pan on the stove and stirring the contents. Sara pouts at me as she pops another cube of cheese in her mouth.

We've finally moved the last of Sara's furniture into the townhouse this morning, taking advantage of the holiday to scoot back and forth with carloads of boxes. She's officially moved in, and I haven't stopped smiling yet. Though with her attempts to ruin the romantic New Year's Eve I have planned for tonight I just may have to start getting stern: if she keeps eating the cheese we'll just have crackers and wine left.

I lean over and kiss her: a distraction as I pull the tray out of her reach.

"Hey!" Her eyes grow wide and she smirks as I put it on the opposite counter. I raise my eyebrows as I thwart her attempts to reach the platter, blocking her with my body.

"We won't have anything for later..." I drop a kiss on her shoulder, her clavicle, all around her throat as I keep talking. "You don't want to ruin my surprise now, do you?" She makes a low noise in her throat signaling that she doesn't. "Good," I say smiling, adding a peck on her lips for good measure. Sara smiles as I hand her wine glass back to her, then reach around her for the bottle to refill it.

"Trying to get me drunk now, are you?" She laughs.

"Nope." I tap her on the nose before heading back to the stove.

"So how's Emma?" She asks as she watches me flip the fish fillets.

"Doing great. I don't think Mom's gonna want to let her go." Emma flew out to spend Christmas and New Years with my Mom. While it would have been our first together, it was my Christmas to work. I ended up calling Sara in on what the media dubbed the "Santa Slayings:" Three murders in 72 hours, all committed by a man dressed as Santa. Four days (and a total of 3 hours of sleep) later, we caught him. It wouldn't have been a good Christmas even if she were here.

Emma's been calling almost every day, telling stories of how much fun she's having. Emma and her Grandmother are like two peas in a pod: enamored with the arts and subtle senses of humor.

"Did you give Emma her present yet?" Sara asks.

"Yeah, before she left." I smile at the thought. "She just about fell out of her chair when she saw the tickets."

"Hell, even I'm surprised that you were able to get them." She says as she gets up and starts moving around the table, lighting the two candles and then bringing up the two plates towards me. "Floor seats at a Bon Jovi concert, close enough to spit on him... How'd you manage?"

I arrange the fish and garlic pasta on the plates simply smiling at her. "I called in a few favors." Smiling, I hit the lights as I walk over to the table, bathing us in simple candlelight while I set the plates down. "She said it was the best Christmas present anyone could ever get," I add with a laugh.

A full blown Sara-smile starts, "Oh, I don't' know about that." She reaches out her hand to link it with mine, the diamond on the fourth finger of her left hand winking at me in the flickering light. "I can think of better ones."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"10...9...8...7...6..." Grissom plays with my hair absentmindedly, my head in his lap, as we're sprawled on the couch, watching Dick Clark count down the seconds until the "Ball" drops in Times Square.

As it hits "one" Grissom closes the gap between us and kisses me softly. "Happy New Year," He whispers. I scoot up so I'm sitting on his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"We still have three hours..." I say as I pick up a grape from the tray on the table. Before I can get it to my mouth, Grissom has it, along with my fingers, in his. His tongue dances around my fingers before he releases them, then he chews the grape with slow deliberateness as he picks up another. He feeds it to me, and I play along, sucking his thick finger into my mouth before releasing it. Tiny kisses make their way up my neck and I almost forget to chew.

"Well, I can think of a few things to pass the time," he whispers huskily at my neck. A purr escapes my throat before I even realize it.

"You were planning to seduce me tonight, weren't you?" I whisper as I take his earlobe into my mouth, gently sucking and biting the bit of skin.

He pulls away, only to consume my mouth in a passionate, sloppy kiss. "Yes," he says as he moves against my mouth, "Is it working?"

While I would love to give into this sweet torture, I can't resist the opportunity to toy with him while we have the whole house and the entire night to ourselves. I quickly stand, a smile on my face as I pick up my wine glass and saunter away from him. He frowns, a twinkle in his eyes, and watches me cross the room.

I turn and smile, swirling my wine. "You're gonna have to work harder than that..."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"So, Gris?" I ask from bed, twirling around my engagement ring.

"Hum?" He makes a noise from the master bath, one that sounds obscured by a toothbrush and toothpaste.

"What, um..." I trail off, nervous about asking him. Emma's practically grown, she doesn't need me meddling in things- but if I'm going to be her step-mother, a concept that still frightens me, I need to know.

"What Sara?" He asks a he walks in, only in his boxers, and slides under the blankets. He moves his pillow around then slides over, deciding to use my stomach as a pillow instead.

"Well," I start again trying to hide my nervousness, "what are your rules?" My hand automatically twines in his hair, gently stroking.

I feel his forehead wrinkle as it shifts my t-shirt against my skin. "My rules?"

"Yeah... rules." I don't think he understands what I'm talking about. I frown, he sighs.

"I don't have rules," he stutters out. He shifts to lay on his back and turns his head to look at me. "What kind of rules?"

"Like... rules. Y'know, for Emma." I sigh and lay my hand on his bare chest, tracing invisible patterns with my nails through the tiny hairs there.

"Ahhhh,"

"Yeah. I mean... she's basically old enough to make her own decisions... but..." I lean back against the headboard. How do I explain this to him?

"You're going to be her step-mother," He says so simply I almost laugh. Leave it to the guy who over complicated everything in his life to simplify this. He lifts my hand to drop a tiny kiss on it before holding it over his heart. "You're really nervous about this, aren't you?"

I look at him and smile, he knows me too well. "Well, yeah!" I say plainly. "I mean, she has no reason to ever listen to anything I say... I mean, hell, I moved in here right after she did... I wouldn't be surprised if she resented me..."

"She doesn't resent you... she likes you. She told me so." He sits up and pulls me to him, cradling me in his arms.

"I just... I don't want to step on any toes here. I don't want her to think that I'm trying to replace her mother, especially after what happened."

"Look, you have nothing to worry about, but if it's really getting to you, why don't you two spend some time together when she gets back next week?" He smiles and kisses my forehead. "What do you think?"

I shrug, smile, and nod. My fears are assuaged, albeit temporarily, but my mission is not yet accomplished. Grissom slides the two of us down, shifting around until we're comfortable.

"Good," he sighs, squeezing me to him for a second.

"So?" I ask again, and he simply grunts at me. "What are your rules?"

"I thought we went over this?"

"No, rules for things she'd be doing now: going out with friends, making plans, dating..."

He frowns with his eyes closed, "Is she dating someone?"

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"Yeah, Jim, I get it... but I need to get Emma from the airport today." I sigh. Early rollout today- bad by the sound of Brass' voice. Sara walks out of the bathroom, still looking a bit tired, but more than ready to head to the scene. I roll my eyes at her, she just laughs and wraps her arms around me.

"Well, we need people here now." Jim barks. "All the troops. Huge case... Movie star gunned down in his home... three other db's in the basement... the press is already starting to camp out and the call only came in an hour ago." He sighs as I wrap my free arm around her, "I feel for ya, Gil, I really do. But you gotta figure something out, we need ya."

Sara frowns, intuitively knowing what's going on here. She kisses my cheek then heads over to the bureau, removing her ring and tucking it safely away: it's a secret engagement...for now. "I guess I'll have to, Jim," I say, definitely annoyed.

"Gee, thanks, Gil." Jim throws back before laughing a bit. "You know, you can always do what Cath does," he says before hanging up on me.

I stare at Sara, my face tight as I try to figure out what to do. There's no way I can get in touch with her now to tell her to come home, and I don't want to just send a car for her. Sara looks at me, forcing a smile.

"Do what Cath does, huh?" I look at my phone, and dial another number.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Oh, I'm gonna be late. I pull into the temporary parking area and sigh. Emma's probably already sitting here, waiting for Grissom and freaking out. Lindsay's going to be out of dance class in a half hour... Why do I always say yes?

Oh, who am I kidding, I wanted to come, now I'm going to look like an idiot: late and freaking out. I head in the terminal and look up at the signs, then down to the scrap of paper that has her flight information. Straight, left, down the escalator, left, right... I feel the sweat break out as I search for the gate, finally spotting it. There she is, sitting by herself, her two carry-ons by her feet as she stares out the window and talks on her cell phone.

She looks tan and healthy, yet sad. Gris said he couldn't get in touch with her, so she doesn't know to expect me. I listen innocently as I get closer.

"Oh, Ash, that sucks, I really wish you could have come with me, but I'm happy for your sister." She pauses, listens, and continues, "No, Cali was amazing! I forgot how much fun my grandma could be." I step closer, not wanting to interrupt. "I know I'm weird." She looks up and catches my reflection in the window and turns. She smiles at me and holds up a hand. "Hey, my ride just showed, I'll call you later? Great, bye hun!" She closes the phone and stands.

"Hey, Your dad got called out on a scene- huge deal, sheriff threatened to fire him if he didn't show." She raises her brows, then shrugs and smiles.

"So you get to be my knight in shining armor then, huh Greg?" She adds with a laugh.

I make a sweeping bow, lifting her luggage and swinging it over my shoulder as I come up. "I am at your service!"

"Ok, then," I must be imagining the gleam in her eye; seeing it there because I want to see it there. "Two more suitcases, my humble knight." We start to make our way to the baggage claim as she begins chatting again. "So, how'd you get stuck picking me up?"

I raise an eyebrow, unable to think of a proper comeback that won't make this sound like a chore. Spending time with her is not a chore, but truth be told I'd rather not be the lab "go-for" all the time.

"Ok, I get it. My Dad asked, and if you wanna be a CSI you can't say no to the boss?" She raised her eyebrows and stopped at the carousel. She's as perceptive as her father can be... my lack of movement and reaction told her all she needed to know. "Well, I appreciate this... I think... but you can't sell yourself short. You're a DNA tech, not a babysitter." She lifts a bag off the conveyor and shoulders it. "Besides, I know and you know that my Dad wouldn't hold this against you. If he thinks you're ready to be a CSI, he'll put you in the field. He might use a little field time as a bargaining chip..." she picks up the second bag and turns to me, smiling, "but what person wouldn't?"

"Eh, I guess you're right," I say as I lead her back through the maze of the airport to the parking lot.

"Of course I am." She smiles at me as she dons a pair of sunglasses. "Don't let him, or anyone, get used to jerking you around. If I know my Dad, and I'm pretty damn sure I do, he'll respect you more if you stand up for yourself." She pauses and turns to me, confused as I hold the door to my car open for her. "Not that you shouldn't do people favors anymore...though... 'cause then I'd be stuck at the airport instead of being escorted to the Lab by such a daring and chivalrous knight!"

We smile at each other, and I wonder if she's flirting, really giving advice, or just happy to be home. I round the car, dumping her bags in the back, and get in. "We need to take a little detour first, actually." She raises an eyebrow, I sigh. "Cath needs me to pick up Lindsey from dance class."

She shakes her head, valiantly trying not to laugh. "Hey, mind if I turn on some music?"

"Go ahead." I frown, we've managed to hit the evening traffic, and we'll probably just make it on time to get Lindsay. The speakers burst to life with the last CD I was listening to, and I turn to apologize, but she turns it louder. "You know Sugarcult?" I ask, astonished.

"Know them? I love them!" She smiles at me before I have to turn back to the traffic. "I saw them at a festival a few years back and just couldn't get them out of my head! I'm dying for their new CD to come out!"

"Me too!" I'm not used to people actually liking the music I listen to, never mind knowing who the bands are. "Hey- One of my friends is trying to get tickets to a concert they're playing this summer..."

"Not the one with Good Charlotte and Simple Plan?" She says, amazement in her voice. A quick glance shows her eyes are wide and sparkling. "The one I've been trying to get tickets to for ages? The only punk rock show worth a damn this year?"

I laugh at her enthusiasm, "Uh, yeah." I pull into the dance studio parking lot and turn the music off, not wanting to disturb the parents waiting around us. "I can't promise anything, but I can see if I can put a good word in for ya..."

"You're kidding... you could do that?" She smiles so big I think her face will burst. I nod. Before I know it she's launched herself at me, squeaking about how wonderful it would be if we got the tickets.

This moment, right now, is wonderful in itself. I sigh as she leans back.

Just then the door to the dance studio opens and Lindsay as well as a dozen other young ballerinas bound out into the parking lot.

Chapter 33: Warmth

We followed Grissom into the labs as if he were a superstar and we were his entourage. He barked orders, already feeling the pressure from Cavallo on this one, as we accompanied him down the halls. Nicky branched off at Ballistics, Warrick at Trace, and Catherine at DNA as I followed him towards the break room. His back and shoulders were wrought with tension and though I ached to touch them, to slowly rub the knots and tension out of them, I know that's a long double shift away.

He stops in the hallway and I literally walk into his back. I stutter back and turn to stare at his face. He's literally frozen, an eyebrow raised in study. I turn to the glass wall of the break room to see Emma and Lindsay there, each with one hand resting on the table, their gazes at the floor, and classical music quietly leaks out. Emma drops in a squat in front of Lindsay and lifts Lindsay's leg, rotating it around to the side until it's behind her. In the glass I see Grissom slowly smile, some of the stress immediately melting from him.

"Now you try," Emma gently instructs as she sits back in her squat. Lindsay tries once, her leg at a forty five degree angle, dipping a bit before she gets it all the way back, and frowns. Emma smiles. "Don't think about it lifting.... think about energy moving through your leg and out your toe..." As she says this she lifts Lindsay's leg again and holds her ankle in the palm of one hand fairly close to the ground. "Now just think about going out, not up...."

I watch in amazement as this time her leg goes higher, and rotates smoothly, Emma's hand hovering just below in a silent show of support. Lindsay and Emma smile at each other.

"That is so awesome..." Lindsay smiles.

"That's physics... and mind over matter," Grissom says as he rounds the corner and walks in the room, still proudly beaming. Emma smiles warmly, somehow looking like she knows we were watching. Lindsay bounces over to Grissom for a hug, mumbling something about him missing her last birthday party. I slip into the room and head over to the coffee maker, still taking in what I'm seeing.

"We were getting bored, and we started talking about dance... so we started dancing... and it kinda turned into ballet class." Emma shrugged, looking shy all of a sudden and dropping her gaze to the floor. Gris and I turn to the doorway to see a very annoyed Catherine there.

"Well, that's very nice," she says in her best barely-patronizing voice. "C'mon, Lindsay, I have to drop you at your Aunt's." Lindsay's face falls immediately and she moves slowly to her bag. "Hurry up! I don't have all night!" Cath leans against the door and sighs. I know she's tired: she made a production of how she only got three hours of sleep in the last two days. She also had the pleasure of dealing with several unruly suspects and is at the beginning of what looks like one bitch of a case.

That's no excuse, though.

Lindsay picks up her bag and says a quiet goodbye to us as she's ushered out of the room. As she moves down the hall we hear her voice drift back, "Mom, we were just having some fun!"

I hand Gris a cup of coffee and sit down at the table, knowing that Nick and Warrick will also be in soon to grab a coffee and regroup before we try to attack this case. It's going to be gruesome, tangled with media and politics: probably the worst case we've seen since Emma moved in, or since before Grissom and I became a couple. It makes me wonder what will happen when we go home and he'll want to deal with this without our help. I frown into my coffee.

"Shit," Grissom says under his breath, causing Emma and I to stare at him: Grissom never curses. He looks at me expectantly. "We forgot to take two cars."

"Shit," I spit out, slightly less venomous than he did. We'd economized to one car after we realized that being discreet did not have to mean keeping it secret, especially since most of our shift suspected anyway. Tonight's plan had been to bring two cars so Emma could take one home. Oh well.

Nick walks into the room, a smile gently crossing his features as he says hello to Emma. She smiles back but goes to pick up her bags. "No big deal, I'll just get a cab."

"No!" The three of us yell at once, causing her to jump. She stares at us, her eyes popping out of her head.

"Or not..." She says as she shoulders her bag. "How about I just crash in your office 'till someone has some time to drop me off at home?" She asks cautiously.

Grissom gets up, fishing his keys out of his pocket. "Yeah, sorry sweetheart," he says handing her the key to his office. A large, albeit confused, smile graces her face, and lightens Grissom's mood again. With a wave Emma's retreating form is quickly replaced by Warrick at the door.

Warrick shakes his head as he comes in, heading right for the pot and pouring himself a steaming cup of coffee before sitting heavily at the table.

"She mad?" Nick asks as he cringes.

"Nope, Claire has the patience of a saint," Warrick sighs, rubbing his forehead. "This is the third date in as many weeks I've had to cancel, and she just smiles and reschedules..."

"Sounds like a great girl," I add in, surreptitiously reaching under the table to take Grissom's hand as I look at Warrick: the tension's returned and I can't help but try to relieve it. Grissom squeezes my hand and doesn't let go.

"Great? More like incredible, amazing, beautiful...understanding..." Warrick smiles just a bit.

"I hope you're trying to hold on to her," Nick says, almost sadly. We all know how hard it is to date with this job.

Warrick shakes his head, looking right at Nick. "With two hands, man. With two hands." He chuckles.

We all sigh just a little, mine more because Grissom let go of my hand than anything. With a shake of his head, he opens the folder in front of him and assumes supervisor mode. We all notice the shift and return to our stoic facades as CSI's.

"Let's talk it through," Grissom says, the epitome of cool.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

As I enter my dark office I slow my pace, gently closing the door. This case is going to be rough. Worse than rough: it's going to be mentally, physically and emotionally draining. My head whips around, searching for Emma, finally finding her on the couch curled in on herself, facing the back of the black leather. Her shoes are kicked off and lying at the foot of it next to her bags.

Here, in this moment, she is the epitome of innocence. Out there is only guilt, deviancy, and noise. Everything that makes me come into this room to escape. She is what I have escaped to for the last twenty years of my life. I could simply watch her all night, but not tonight.

Tonight, there are three teenage girls that were raped and murdered in the basement of a teen heartthrob's home, the young man murdered in his bed. We're all feeling this one enough without the political pressure, and feeling that enough already without the media pressure. We've only been on the case a few hours and we're all already ready for it to be over, never mind the coming months of testimony and litigation after the investigation.

I search the room, but fail to find the blanket I know I have. It's not terribly cold, but she seems too exposed, too vulnerable, so I reach over and pick up my lab coat, unbutton it and drape it across her. I'd take her home, but she's already sleeping, and I can't leave now.

But what will happen when I leave here today? I can already feel the urge to curl in on myself, to fall back from everyone and try to detach from it. But somehow that reaction fills me with dread... and I know that it will be the wrong choice. Even if I can mentally retreat I cannot physically retreat from the two that I love most, and I fear the mental retreat would hurt them more than if I simply didn't come home.

I drop down into my chair and sigh. I feel a headache coming on.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

It's six a.m. when Grissom seeks me out at a computer terminal, in the dark, cross referencing databases. He closes the door behind him and pulls a chair next to mine. I pause the program and turn to him, a hand slowly coming up to try to ease the worried lines off of his face. They're still there, but he leans into my caress.

"Can you take Emma home for me?" He asks gently. I lean my forehead against his and twine a hand in his hair. "I have a meeting..."

He doesn't need to finish the sentence. The evidence thus far tonight has led us nowhere, and the press is clamoring for information. This case is being thrust out into the public before we even have one. And for my favorite politically deaf person, this case is really getting to him.

"Sure..." I want to kiss him. I want to kiss him so hard and so deep that I can take away the fear and stress and demons in his eyes. My hands slowly move down his arms and cover his hands.

"You've already pulled a double... stay home..." He says quietly, nuzzling his cheek to mine.

"I should be back here," I protest gently. I want to be near him, even though I worry that he doesn't want to be anywhere near me.

"I want you home, getting some sleep, so when I get back from this ridiculous meeting I can fall asleep in our warm bed, in your arms..." He punctuates his words with a tiny kiss on my cheek. A small sigh escapes my lips: that sounds like a wonderful plan.

"Ok," I say quietly, dropping my own kiss on his cheek. I stand and he follows as I brush an almost motherly hand over his forehead, trying to melt away the worry. He silently leaves to wake up Emma as I save the search I was working on to pick up tomorrow.

Emma meets me at the car and silently shoves her bags in the back, her eyes still heavy with sleep when she jumps in the passenger seat. "How's Dad gonna get back?" she asks with a yawn.

"Nick was in the middle of processing, he's gonna keep working 'till Gil's done then drop him off on the way home." Emma nods. She's quiet for a moment, then I see her turn her face to me in the corner of my eye. "What was with the freaking out over the cab?"

"Oh, that," I say, remembering how we practically jumped down her throat before. "We worked a case last month: serial rapist who was a cab driver. He'd take these young girls to their destinations and if he saw they were alone he'd wait around a while and..." I stop, clearing my throat. I think she gets the rest.

The rest of the drive is quiet, and when we get back to the house we part ways, each starting our own quiet ritual to fall into bed. We meet in the kitchen, Emma with a bottle of water, popping grapes in her mouth, and me digging through the cupboard for the chocolate I know I hid there a while back.

"Thanks for the ride, Sara," Emma says, putting the rest of the bunch of grapes away.

"Anytime," I say, finally finding my prize. Leaning against the counter I open my wrapper, happy to be in the soft cotton t-shirt and shorts. Emma's in a similar ensemble, her's adorned with little ladybugs while mine's plain gray.

"I'm gonna sleep and unpack most of tomorrow since I'm going back to school the next day. Uh, if you guys need me to do anything..." Emma shrugs with a yawn.

"We probably won't. The case is..." I look for the right word, but she beats me to it.

"It looks really rough... so, just let me know if I can do anything, ok?" Emma smiles a bit. She's always been very good about not expecting anything from either of us when it came to work, but this is more than she's had to deal with before. She walks over quietly, and offers a quick hug. We've been getting closer slowly, but we still have our awkward moments. This is not one of them. In her short hug I find unexpected comfort and total acceptance.

I slide another chunk of chocolate in my mouth as I watch her retreat to her bedroom.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

I quietly slip into the house, placing my keys and wallet on the breakfast bar and slipping off my shoes. I pad over to Emma's room, opening the door just until I can see the lump of her in the middle of her bed. It makes me smile.

I'm so tired... I can't even think anymore. I quietly make my way into our bedroom. The sight of Sara, curled up on her side with the worry lines gone from her face releases a feeling of calm in me that I haven't felt all day, my hands work of their own accord, stripping off the clothing until I'm only in my boxers.

My body goes limp as I slide between the sheets and I have to force myself to move over to Sara in my exhaustion. Closing my eyes, I reach out blindly for her. She mumbles as she rolls over and molds herself to my body. Her hair falls against my shoulder as she snuggles into my arms. Her warmth calms me as her deep breathing lulls me to sleep.

Chapter 34 : Bonding

"This isn't right..." Sara whines into the phone, surprising me with how she's almost pleading.

"Well, it's not changing," My tone's flat: she needs to know there's no argument.

"There's no way I'm going to let you work a double on this case while I take a day off!"

"Well, it's happening, Sara. You need the day off just as much as anyone." I attempt to soften my tone, smiling as I think of her petulant little face. "Honey, sleep, watch a movie, maybe read a little." She sighs, and I know all I have left is the one trump card I can play, "If you're rested you can look at the case with fresh eyes." It feels like we're both holding our breath. "You know I'm right, Sara."

"Fine. Leave me here with nothing to do." She sighs dramatically.

"I'm sure you'll be creative."

"Don't overwork yourself. You should be an example to all of your employees, you know."

"I'll be home as soon as I can."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

It's nearly seven when I poke my head into Emma's room as I knock on the door, concerned after I heard a loud crash. "Emma?"

She's picking herself up off of the floor, surrounded by piles of formerly sorted clothes and nick knacks.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," She says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"What are you up to?" I hedge into the room and stare at the covered floor.

"Ash sent me all of my stuff that got mixed up with hers when we moved out of school last year." She waves her arm around and shakes her head. "We were planning on still being roommates, so it wasn't a big deal..." I hear a hint of sadness and regret in her voice, but it's gone before I can even think of confronting it. "Anyway, I was trying to put it away and the box tipped."

We both stare at the covered floor for a minute, shaking our heads.

"Well, do you have any plans tonight?" My voice is calmer than I feel. Though we've gotten a lot closer recently, Gris has almost always been with us. 'Girl time' has been few and far between.

"Only cleaning my way out of my room," she replies with a sideways smile, one that I'm sure she inherited from her father. "What were you thinking?"

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"I hate it when they invoke their right to a speedy trial," Cath spat across from me as she threw down the folder she was reading. "A quadruple homicide, we barely have the evidence processed and she's ready to plead not guilty. Damn it, she came to us!"

I carefully place my papers down and rub the bridge of my nose. If she's going to do this all night I don't think I can take it. "Cath, it's part of the job. And that's why she's a psychopath." We're prepping for next week's trial of a fan gone over the edge. The quadruple murder of the teen heartthrob and his three sisters, who the suspect thought were girlfriends, has been all over the media. Not only is the suspect going to plead not guilty, but by reason of insanity. The evidence was forced, the conviction was forced, and now man hours are probably going to be in vein when the fan gets put in a mental hospital for a murder I'm sure she's cognitive of.

"You know this is a waste of time,"

"It's never a waste..." I cut her off again as she tried to respond. "There's still a chance, slim, but a chance, that we can put her away. The evidence will talk for us."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Emma has the best ideas, I swear. Only she would think to skip dinner and go straight to dessert. Not even just dessert: Ben and Jerry's premium ice cream. We've been passing our Phish Food and Karamel Sutra back and forth for most of the night, entertaining ourselves with idle chat while the TV drones in the background.

We're both quiet for a few minutes when she starts quietly, "Sara?"

"Yeah?" I swallow the lump of fudge in my throat and look at her down turned eyes.

"You know that I don't really expect you to try to..." She quietly gets out, toying with the spoon in her ice cream.

"Oh," Suddenly it's very tense and I almost wish she didn't bring it up. "I don't want to try to be..."

"My 'step parent' experiences haven't been very positive, you know?" She looks at me with a piercing blue gaze and I suddenly feel very sorry for her. She looks so meek and lost, yet I've seen in the last months how adult, efficient, and powerful she can be. I've gotten at least most of the story from Grissom in bits and pieces, and the picture I got was a sad one. "I just," she continues, "I just want you to know that I respect you, and I don't think my dad could have done any better."

"That means a lot to me." We smile at each other. That was a lot better than what I had been imagining. Somehow nothing more really needs to be said at the moment on the subject, so we nervously go back to scraping at our pints. She still seems... well... nervous. "Is there, something else?" I ask, almost afraid of the answer.

Emma laughs a nervous laugh. "It's silly really. I, uh," She takes a deep breath and turns a bit red, her next words coming out in a rush, "I need to find a gynecologist."

I almost choke on the fudge fish in my mouth. Sputters and coughs come out as I drown my throat with a gulp of water. "Sorry, " I say as I turn back, "I was not expecting that." She shrugs and I try to compose myself. "Is, uh, is something wrong?"

"No, no!" She smiles and rushes to assure me. "I... well, I don't know if Dad knows, but my mom's side of the family has a history of..." she waves her hands around helplessly while she searches for the right words, "problems, I guess you could say. There were a few cysts and a couple of cases of cervical cancer." She clears her throat, clearly not entirely comfortable. "I'm fine, but since junior year of High School I've been going. My mom always said that prevention was way better than ending up with a problem. I guess being uncomfortable a few hours each year is a lot better than any of the alternatives." Emma begins to smile, and then is wholeheartedly laughing. "Besides, it's not like I could have asked him to just set that up when he was setting up my ENT appointment, too. I think I would have given him a heart attack!"

We both laugh, and the release feels good.

"How is your hearing?" I ask cautiously.

"Fine." She shrugs as we switch cartons again. "He's just paranoid about it, but I appreciate it."

"So what are you doing for Valentine's Day?" I throw out, not quite sure what response I want to hear, but hoping to move away from the loaded subjects we've been skirting around.

"Rehearsal," Emma sighs almost sadly, but perks up with a slight smile on her face. "But Jon was talking about maybe going out afterward. You?"

"Working. Warrick took the night off to take Claire out, so the rest of us are on." This will be our first Valentine's Day together, and though I'm hoping he'll plan something, I'm not expecting anything. "Oh well. So, who's Jon?"

Emma smiles shyly and then rolls her eyes at her own reaction. "He's just a guy in the department. He was really sweet, showed me the ropes and everything. We're a pair in partnering class: he's got great technique."

I smile, but frown a bit inside. I remind myself not to meddle. "Tell me more about school..."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

My aim is to make assignments a quick affair tonight: the court prep has been moved from the layout room to my desk, and I had to practically throw Catherine out to get her to stop complaining.

"Ok, Cath and Warrick, you have a 419 off of the interstate. Looks like it could be a drunk driver, treat it like a suspicious circs." They nod at me and I hand Catherine the slip.

"Nick, you're taking Greg out on a Trick Roll. Let him lead you, but don't hesitate to correct him." Nick smiles at that. I know he's not fond of the trick rolls, but he could do one in his sleep, and Greg could learn from no one better.

"I'll be in my office, working on the court prep. If you need me you can find me in there."

I escape quickly to my office, afraid of the already burgeoning headache I feel behind my eyes.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"First kiss?" She asks with a smile.

"Jimmy Conners in Study Hall, eighth grade." I reply, popping another kernel of popcorn in my mouth.

"Wow. Um, Eddie Duke at a dance sophomore year of high school." Emma laughs a little, and then makes a show of thinking about her next question. "Ok, Favorite Disney movie?"

"Alice in Wonderland."

"Monster's Inc."

"Favorite Novel?" I ask. This is really nice. It's girl talk, and I haven't had that in a while. I'm relaxed and haven't thought about work all night.

"Serious or Trashy Romance?" She asks with an evil smile. I like her more and more with every minute.

"Both."

"Ok, well, Mitchell's Gone With the Wind for the serious, obviously, and... My Lady Vixen by Connie Mason for trashy."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

It's a quarter to one when the phone rings. I checked the time twice.

"Grissom?"

At first I didn't recognize the voice or the name.

Then pictures flew across my mind, the connections clicking and I quickly recall her step-cousin status to Emma.

When I made the mental connection of who it was I wondered how she got this number. Then I remembered the conversation we had over the phone when she first started babysitting Emma.

"I really don't think it's necessary," she'd laughed over the phone.

"Please?" I plead, "It will make me feel better. You never have to use it, only for emergencies."

Only for emergencies.

And I thought all of this with just the uttering of my name.

A second ticks by, and when her name falls from my lips it's shaky at best. "Ann?" I pull my glasses off and rest my hand on the desk.

It's then that I hear her quiet sniffles.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

When I quietly unlock the door I'm still not sure what I'm going to say. I don't know how to say it. The television flickers, sound quietly spilling from it and illuminating Sara and Emma. They're both sprawled on the couch, each using a different end as a pillow, a fleece throw haphazardly hanging onto their tangled legs.

I don't know how long it is that I stand there and stare at them, but Sara's the first to move. Her head rolls and she simply stares at me for a long moment; it's like she's trying to decide if she's really awake.

"Why are you home?" She asks, sleep dropping her voice low.

My jaw works for a few seconds, but nothing comes out. Sara, my savior, senses something's horribly amiss and gets up to enfold me in her arms. "It's Maggie," I whisper in her ear as she runs her hands up into my scalp. "It's bad."

She says nothing, and doesn't have to. I selfishly sap the strength from her embrace, and untangle myself as I hear Emma stir.

She's sitting on the sofa, looking at me with wide eyes as I crouch in front of her. Sara hangs in the background, waiting to hear what has brought me home at two in the morning.

"Emma, something's happened..."

"Just tell me, Dad," She says, her eyes already tearing, as though she can tell what's going on.

"Your mom was in a car accident. It's really bad." I don't think I can go on, I don't think I can face her as I tell her this.

"How bad, Dad?" She chokes out as she forces the tears back.

"They're saying...." She grabs my hand as I stutter. "They're saying she only has a matter of hours."

Chapter 35: Quiet Desperation

Since the moment I received the call from Ann, I've been filled with a sense of dulled urgency: a bubbling inside that tells me to move precisely and swiftly, and a dread that pulls at my heart and limbs and keeps me from practically doing anything at all. Our arrival at the hospital has been all Sara's doing: somehow she knew that I wouldn't be able to do any of this, and she drove us to the airport, screamed at the ticket counter agent, and called ahead for a car to take us to the hospital all by herself. I even think she may have packed my bag; I'm not quite sure.

The last hours are a blur of nervous energy and pain: not pain for any loss I might feel, but pain for Emma. Any words out of her mouth have been quiet and direct. Her eyes are hollow and her posture is too straight as we head into the sterile hospital surroundings.

As soon as the words were out of my mouth about her mother, she stood, dropping my hand from hers. "I'll pack," was all she said as she softly made her way to her room. There was no yelling, no sobbing, no pounding on the walls or slamming doors. I could have handled that. But the quiet 'click' as she carefully closed her door and the deathly silence that followed scared me more than anything.

Later, when Sara knocked on her door to tell her that we were leaving for the airport, she simply emerged, packed duffel bag swung over her shoulder. She was still hollow, and faint blotchy red marks told me she'd cried silent tears because I couldn't remember hearing any sounds coming from her room. We moved ghostlike to the car, through the airport, and onto the plane with no words, no emotions.

Halfway through the flight she put her head on my shoulder and fell asleep. I put my arm around her, trying to help her, subliminally sending her some kind of message, but I don't even know what I would send, or say. I'm sorry is so cliched and I love you doesn't fix damn thing.

We walked off the plane, our small duffels all we need as we find the driver at the gate, his sign with our name on it beckoning to our disembodied minds. "Where to?" he asks as we climb into the town car. I reply blindly, and before I know it we're at the hospital's reception desk.

Emma walks ahead of me to the elevators, her back ram rod straight and her posture belaying all the emotions I'm sure she's feeling. I join her in the next available car with three strangers and a nurse. She quietly pushes the button for the intensive care floor, an innocuous looking twelve, and I see the nurse give us a pitying look. Emma blindly reaches back and takes my hand.

The doors open up to the ICU and I'm awestruck at how deserted it initially looks. We head to the reception desk, Emma's hand still in mine. "We're looking for Maggie O'Connor," I quietly inform the nurse, afraid to break the spell around us; afraid that it will all come crashing down.

"Are you family?" She asks, almost devoid of emotion. I wish I could be like that right now. I've been accused of it in the past, and I understand it, and at this moment I miss it.

"I'm her daughter," Emma says, her own face stoic.

The nurse nods, and turns to me. Before she can ask, Maggie's sister walks over and speaks to the nurse. I don't pay attention to what she says, and when she starts to move away she signals us to follow. As we round the corner we see that Jennifer's not alone: a small group huddles outside of the last door at the end of the hall made up of family that includes Maggie's mother. Another group of familiar people huddle a few doors down.

I stand back as Emma's almost silently greeted and hugged by her extended family, knowing that though I'm welcomed, I'm not truly wanted here. Jennifer lingers, the red puffiness around her eyes catching stray silent tears.

"What happened, Jennifer?" I quietly ask, my eyes still on Emma as her grandmother whispers to her.

"They were on their way home from a party. Don was driving. He, uh, he wrapped them around a telephone pole. They won't tell us yet, but we're pretty sure he was drunk." She pulled out a tissue and dried her eyes. "He's been in and out of surgery already. He's worse off. They're trying to decide now if they want to donate his organs or not." Jennifer's words are venomous.

"How's Maggie?"

"We just took her of the ventilator. She's not doing too bad on her own, but they're still not hopeful. She has a living will, so they can't do much more for her." She turns away, and laughs cynically. "I never liked you much, Gil, but at least you were smart enough not to do something this God damned stupid!"

"Somehow, that means a lot," I mutter as Emma walks toward me.

"Dad... I'm gonna..." she nods toward the door that leads to her mother. "Do you want to..."

"Only if you want me there." I say, taking her hand gently. I fee an almost imperceptible shake in her hand, and she needs me to be brave, every cell in my body tells me that now. "Why don't... why don't I go first, ok?" Her smile tells me I've said the right thing, though I don't really know what I'm going to do in there. I nod and move away, preparing myself as I pass the extended family I never belonged too.

Inside the frosted door is a quiet world disturbed by the almost imperceptible beeps and whirrs of the machines around her. Maggie's living will is very specific; her outlines for stopping life support are only slightly less rigid than my own. I'm used to seeing people in all states, but the bruised arms and blackened eyes are more meaningful when you know the person. I walk closer to the bed, and I can see the marks on her skin where the tape held the ventilator to her skin. She's as pale as death itself, and a glance at the monitors across from me signal that she'll be there shortly.

My hand hovers above hers, and I look at her face. It used to be so full of promise. Twenty years ago I thought her eyes held my future. How right and wrong I was at the same time. I feel the need to talk to her, though I don't know if she can hear me or not. Though it's unscientific, I like to think that maybe she does hear me. I almost don't recognize my voice it's so choked with emotion when I speak.

"I'm sorry how things had to happen, Maggie. I'm sorry that Emma's going to have to lose her mother, and that you two haven't spoken in months. I'm not sorry that she's with me now, though, and I hope in some way you can understand that. She's the best thing that's ever happened to me, and you gave me her. I'll be forever grateful, and connected to you, for that." I take a deep breath and finally touch her hand. "Don never deserved you, Maggie, but neither did I. I hope... I hope that you'll be happy now, and that you know I'm going to take care of Emma, no matter what it takes."

I almost expected a response from her: corporeal or divine I'm not sure. Of course I didn't get one. I squeeze her hand a bit and turn away, not quite sure what I should be feeling. Emma meets me outside of the door and we pass silently. I take her hand in mine for a second, but let her move into the room and yield to her privacy.

I step away from the prying eyes of her family. They've always held a sense of betrayal and contempt when looking at the man who got their perfect Maggie pregnant. Somehow it was my fault that she wouldn't marry me, that by her admission she stayed in the relationship months after she felt it was over. Settling away from them a foot or so, and leaning against a sterile white wall, I wonder, with all the turmoil I'm feeling, how in the world Emma's still standing.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Sleep doesn't come tonight, and I don't fight the insomnia. Instead, I roll over and stare at the empty side of the bed: Grissom's side of the bed. It was like leading around two zombies tonight, and I can't help but wonder how they're doing. They're probably just getting to the hospital now.

If it hadn't been for Emma, Grissom probably wouldn't still be connected to Maggie. Maybe he'd learn of her death in weeks, or months, or even years from now. He'd feel a spark of nostalgia, but he wouldn't be involved. Emma makes him involved.

How does it feel to know that the mother of your child is dying?

What in the world does Emma feel? She probably thought she had years to reconcile with her mother, to come to the conclusion that it didn't matter if anyone was wrong, or who was wrong, but it mattered that they were family.

I've already talked to Catherine. She's going to take care of the politics, and I'm going to go in tomorrow and pick up the case Grissom was prepping. I'll prep it myself, and if he's not back in time for the trial, I can step in for him as a CSI that was on the case. I'll make sure his bugs get fed (though I may need to call him about that, I'll put it off as long as I think is possible), and I'll keep up the house so he has something familiar to come back to.

He's never needed me before, and it scared me when he just stood there, looking sadly at Emma's closed door. I'm glad I could do the little that I did, but the emptiness, the utter confusion and sadness that I saw in his eyes was almost crippling to me.

I pull his pillow close to me, and inhale the scent. It's silly, but it makes me feel closer to him. He should call me first. I don't know what he'll find in New Jersey, but I don't want to interrupt anything.

I laugh.

He'll probably call in a panic when he realizes that he simply left without a thought to work or his bugs... or even me. I can't remember him ever doing anything that emotionally driven, that blinding before. Everything will be taken care of here, though. I'm going to make sure that all he needs to think about is Emma.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

When Emma emerges her face is a splotchy red, tear tracks still wet as she swipes at them. She dodges her mother's family and quietly moves to me. I push off the wall and meet her half way, pushing the tangled stray hairs from her face. She looks up, her blue eyes full of tears, and I can't help myself. I kiss her forehead for a long moment, feeling her soft skin hot with released emotion, before she pulls away and gently leans into me. Her quiet hot tears filter though my shirt, burning my skin like acid, making her pain mine.

We stay like this forever, until she's clinging onto me to simply stand. When I look around I see that most of the extended family is gone, leaving only Maggie's mother, her sister, and us. Her mother's visible through the frosted glass door, sitting at Maggie's bedside, and Jennifer's sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, sleeping. I pull Emma towards the vacant bench across from the door, and she numbly follows, leaning into me once we're seated.

A nurse moves in and out about once every half hour. A doctor checked her vitals around 11:00 am. Emma was sleeping against my shoulder when he told us that she was having trouble breathing on her own and it would be a matter of hours at most. At noon Maggie's mother came out and left without a word, coming back ten minutes later with a cup of coffee for me and one of the sweet, bottled coffee drinks for Emma when she woke.

We all drank silently, keeping up vigil for the woman inside. Jennifer and her mother took turns sitting while Emma and I stayed outside.

It was 1:07 pm when the nurse rushed past us into the room. Emma stood, and I followed suit, putting my hands on her unsteady shoulders.

It was 1:13 pm and sixteen seconds when the doctor hurried past.

And it was 1:22 pm when Jennifer and her mother walked out, their bodies exhausted and their eyes red. No words were needed; we knew she was gone.

The four of us walked away from the ICU room just as a gurney was wheeled in.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"I'll drop you at her house." Jennifer says as we drive along, her voice so measured and quiet it's frightening.

"The nearest hotel will be fine..." I start, but she stops me, pulling onto Emma's old street. "Don't be silly. Maggie would have wanted you to stay here. Besides, someone needs to feed the monster."

She says nothing as we pull up in front of the house, even though Emma and I are openly confused. We quietly get our bags, and I look to Emma. "Key?" I ask.

She silently walks over to a lawn sculpture and lifts it, pulling the key from the hidden base. Jennifer drives off and I carry our two bags into the house, a barking dog getting louder from the back of the house.

"You have a dog?" I ask, hopefully gently, but I'm drained and not quite cognitive of my words anymore.

"I guess so," she said as she moved to the back porch where the barking is coming from. Minutes later she carries in a small golden lab puppy who is now happily munching on a treat. "Meet the monster," she says with a bit of a smile.

I reach a hand out and pet the downy fur as I search for his tags. "Bailey," I almost laugh. We spend long minutes over the puppy until Emma yawns, starting an almost never-ending chain reaction.

"I guess I'll head to bed..." Emma says, moving away with the puppy and up the stairs.

I watch her slowly move up the stairs, and then slowly take in the foreign house. A lot has changed in the few years that I haven't been around, and I wonder how much has changed in the last few months. As I move to take in the living room I almost trip over the duffel bags. I lift Emma's over my shoulder and take mine by the handle and head up the stairs.

I'm almost at the top when I see her shadow in the door of her room. She's just standing there in the doorway, unmoving, her back to me as the puppy wriggles in her arms. Quietly I set the bags down and move toward her. If she hears me she doesn't move, and as I get closer I can see the shake of her shoulders, signaling the silent tears.

I'm still unprepared for what I see.

Gone are the pink fuzzy rug and the light pink walls. The painted border of roses, her heavy pink drapes that blocked the early morning sun, and the stars on the ceiling are gone, too. Her furniture, the white bedroom set that never made it's way to Las Vegas, the one that I know gave Emma some hope of someday being welcomed back home to her mothers, is gone. It's all gone.

The walls are white, the floors are hardwood, and the window is covered in mini-blinds. A radio, a small TV, and a heavy wood sideboard are against one wall; an exercise bike, treadmill, and weight lifting bench lines the other.

The door that was painted white with Emma's name and a pair of ballet shoes stenciled on the front is missing, nothing replacing it on the exposed hinges.

I prayed that we were looking at the wrong room, but I knew we weren't.

"I'll sleep in the guest room," Emma muttered, moving past me back into the hall, letting the puppy to the floor as she picked up her bag, "If it's still there."

Chapter 36: Pride

I take a few nervous steps into the room and smooth down my hair. I can't remember the last time I was at a real funeral. The funeral home we are in is filled with people quietly moving about, their conversations ranging from soft whispers of loss to barely restrained laughter.

I don't see her yet, so I keep moving into the strangely inviting but macabre room.

The casket is up front in the next room: closed. I don't think I would have wanted to see her face, anyway. I didn't skip a day of classes and drive for hours on end, running solely on caffeine to see a woman who wasn't strong enough to stand up to her husband or family and love the people she should have.

No. Who I came for is silently sitting on the end of the front row that's reserved for family. He's sitting behind her, holding her hand over the back edge of the seat. Her eyes are on the floor, not bothering to feel pain as most of her mother's mourners skip right over the two of them. He's staring at her like maybe he can somehow make her feel better through his simple will. I wish that were the case.

It's beautiful how they cling to each other, and ugly how these amazing people have been shunned from this elitist group. I've never met two better people in my life.

I skip the line for the coffin, preferring not to deal with that, and instead head right to Emma's side. Dr. Grissom sees me first and just watches, with almost a smile, as I put a hand on Emma's shoulder. It's only a second that her tear stained face looks up at me before she'd standing and hugging me so tightly I may never breathe again, but I let her squeeze, and I squeeze back as hard as I can.

"Ash, thank you," she says between sniffles, tugging at my heartstrings.

"What's a roomie for?" I joke as she pulls away, trying to hide her splotchy face. I wonder, somewhat guiltily, if she's crying for the loss of her mother, or because of how separated they are. Dr. Grissom quietly greets me with a real smile this time and a hand on my back. Even though he wasn't physically there a lot for Emma, there wasn't a day that went by when she didn't talk to him, or had some story for me about him. He always sat on her shoulder wherever she went, and she was proud of that.

I asked her about it one night freshman year, and the conversation stayed with me, allowing me to see a side of her I never knew before.

"Em, I thought you lived with your mom?"

"I do." She said curtly, a flash of contempt in her eyes.

"You don't like it, though." It wasn't a question.

"I've always been much more like my Dad." She sighed and turned her chair around to look at me. "My mom's family seems to think that I was a mistake. My mom's usually ok, but she's not a very strong person sometimes. She lets them sway her. I kinda think she might be a little bi-polar some times with the mood swings she has. Anyway, she was the one that took us from California to Vegas, and from Vegas to Jersey. I wanted to stay with my Dad, and he wanted me to stay with him, but there was some issue with custody. He always thought it would be better I stayed with mom, even if she treated me like a maid more than a daughter sometimes."

Emma's melancholy melted for a moment and I watched her smile. "Besides, I can't picture my Dad trying to give me the 'you're becoming a woman' talk."

We laugh for a second at the image, but quickly fall back to our serious tone.

"Didn't you ever tell your dad?"

"No." She stood adamant, her jaw line set. "He feels bad enough without having to think they treat me bad. They don't. It's just... I'd rather be with him."

"So? You're old enough to take care of yourself and make your own decisions! Why don't you go back to Vegas?"

Emma looked profoundly sad. "I'm afraid I wouldn't be what he wants..." her voice dropped to a whisper. "If he thought I was a mistake, too, I wouldn't have anyone left."

Watching her now, as supposed family quietly stalks by doing their best to ignore her, I understand how she could feel so abandoned. What I don't understand is why they treat her like she has the plague. She's one of my best friends, a person willing to go to the ends of the Earth for a friend with the biggest heart I've ever known. I can feel my anger rising, my instinct to protect her coming out full force. I want to drag these elitist snobs out by their stuck up noses and tell them how wrong they are about her.

The anger dissipates in a rush when I look over at Dr. Grissom, and is replaced by sadness. His body tells me he's resigned himself to this treatment by these people, maybe even convinced himself that he deserves it, but it breaks his heart to see Emma all alone. He keeps looking around the room, holding Emma's hand as a constant source of reality, as he searches for someone to console her. He hurts more for her than he does for himself.

Something about watching these two, about knowing them for the last two years, that's shown me more beauty and strength than I ever knew existed.

A priest quietly moves to the front of the room and everyone begins to move to a seat. Emma, four empty seats away from everyone else in the front row of family, stands and pulls her father by the hand, silently sitting him three seats in from the aisle. With a plea of her eyes, she takes my hand and seats me on the aisle, and quietly sits between us, holding our hands like lifelines as the priest begins.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Emma and I wander down the staircase as the viewing room is cleared to move the coffin to the hearse, leaving Dr. Grissom looking lost at the top of the stairs. I follow her into the ladies room, but stay over by the sinks as she moves into a stall. Two older women move in, their hushed voices and conversation getting louder as they enter the sanctuary of the bathroom.

"Did you see her in the front row?"

"She has a right to be there, you know."

"But after running off like a spoiled brat? She's got some nerve coming here. He does, too."

"Imagine how wonderful Maggie's life could have been if she never met that dipshit."

It doesn't take much to realize who these two crass women are talking about. I want to split their surgically enhanced noses with a few well placed punches.

"It's a tragedy, really. It all started with one bad choice."

"How much you want to bet she's out in Vegas prostituting herself and doing heroin? I'm sure he's a wonderful role model for her."

Emma quietly walks out of her stall to the mortified faces of the women, washes her hands and, gets a paper towel, all with quiet dignity. Before we leave she turns to their still stunned faces. "I'd ask you not to talk about things you know nothing about. If you want some gossip you might want to think about how Don drove drunk and wrapped my mother around a tree. That's the tragedy here."

Emma turns and walks out in measured steps, nothing else coming from her. At the top of the staircase she walks to her father, and without a word I follow them out to the limousine for family.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"Even if I didn't like her, Ash, I still loved her."

It's the first thing she's really addressed to me all night, and sitting here in the guest room, me on the couch, her lying sideways in her bed as the sun sets and night slowly creeps in, she feels more secure.

"I know you did," I say simply as I kick off my dress heels. We're still in our black clothes, but we're sprawled out as if we're back in school in sweats on a Sunday, talking about boys. This is just a little more serious, though.

"I guess I thought I'd have more time. That maybe..." She takes a deep breath, and I'm surprised she's not crying again. "That maybe if I was successful she'd understand... maybe she'd want to love me again."

"I'm sure she always loved you, even if she didn't agree with you."

"I'm not sure I can believe that, Ash." her voice is so flat and defeated I want to cry. She quickly changes gears. "When do you have to leave?"

"In a few hours," I wish I didn't have to leave, but I do. "I need to be back to run the dance tonight, and I have an eight am class tomorrow."

"What class?" She asks, profoundly excited in changing the subject.

"My science with Gotlieb: Chemistry and the Modern world." I say, rolling my eyes and laughing at the ridiculous required class. Emma laughs a bit, and it makes me feel a little better about leaving in a few hours.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

I start the engine in my car and look back one more time at the two figures in the doorway. A few tears drop on my cheeks as I pull into traffic and start my drive back to school. I wish I could stay longer, but Emma wouldn't have it. She knows how important school is to me, and a friend's death in the family isn't exactly an excused absence. She practically shoved me out of the house when I started to edge that I could stay the night if she wanted.

I miss her, and it sucks that I can't be there for her now. But I know that she has all she needs with her right there in that empty house with her.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"She's almost too quiet," I sigh into the cell phone at my ear, idly watching the muted television.

"It's hard for her," Sara says quietly. "And she's a lot like you, Gil. She might just not have the words... I don't know how there can be words for this."

"I..." I stutter, having trouble with words myself, now. My eyes are drawn to the television as I watch the woman run up to the old estate, a lump forming in my throat because I know what happens next. "I don't know what to do for her, Sara."

"You're doing all you can right now: you're there for her." Can hear her smile a little through the phone. "It won't be easy. But she has you, and I'm sure that will be all she needs. Wait- hold on,"

I hear the phone scuffle a bit, and muffled voices. She's taking her break in my office tonight to talk. I practice my lip-reading on the television for a bit, but am foiled when I realize that I know all the words to this part.

"Sorry, it's Nick. We might have a break in our case."

"Go," I say with a smile, knowing that she'd ignore it if I asked her to stay here and talk to me. "I'll call you tomorrow with our flight information."

We say our quiet goodbyes, and I relax back into the sofa, turning the volume back up on the television so that it's little more than a whisper: Emma should be asleep.

A few minutes later I hear the stairs creek, and I turn to find her softly sneaking down them.

"Hey," I say quietly. She half smiles at me. "What are you doing up?"

"Can't sleep." She ambles toward me, her body screaming that she's tired. I'm sure it's her mind that's keeping her awake after today. She drops heavily on the couch and I wind my arm around her shoulders. She rests on me limply, wrapping her legs up under herself. "What are you doing up?"

"Can't sleep." I parrot back with a little smile. She snuggles into me and we turn our attention to the television. I wince.

"Gone With the Wind." She says simply. We watch as Scarlett discovers her mother's dead.

"We can change this..." I reach for the remote, but she pulls my hand back.

"No. I like this movie. It's one of my favorites."

We sat quietly and watched the epic unfold as Scarlett runs into the fields and closes the first act of the movie. Emma's lips move as she silently quotes Vivian Leigh.

"As God as my witness....as God as my witness they're not going to lick me. I'm going to live through this and when it's all over, I'll never be hungry again. No, nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat, or kill, as God as my witness, I'll never be hungry again."

Chapter 37: Listening

My stomach flips, and I'm not quite sure what I'm doing.

Hey, Greg, do me a favor?

A shaky finger rings the doorbell on the townhouse I've only ever been to once, but seen in my mind so many times since then.

You can't run overtime as a trainee, anyway.

The cups of coffee in the carrier tip precariously, my weight shifting from side to side nervously.

It's... It's a personal favor.

She was the one who convinced me to stop doing personal favors- at least the menial ones... but Grissom's eyes were so blank, so dead... I couldn't say no. I wouldn't have said no about this, anyway.

Can you check up on Emma? She- She probably won't like it- but I'm going to be here and... and I haven't left her alone this long since...

I couldn't decide in that short moment, when his eyes bared the man instead of the supervisor and mentor, what exactly he was worried about. Deep inside a fear coiled up that maybe, just maybe, he was afraid of her hurting herself, but that was suppressed quickly. I didn't want to think about that. He'd only been back to work three days- they'd only been back a week, and already he was pulled into a serial case. It has been great for me, following the case, learning new things... but we've watched Grissom work silently, without the fervor he once had, and we can see the worry lines around his eyes and forehead are more prominently displayed than before.

The door slowly creaked open, her brown eyes and sightly disheveled hair peaking out. "Hey," she whispered. She peaks a little around the door, then opens it all the way.

"Hey." I enter and look around. Her hands move over her nervously, and her eyes are bloodshot. I can't tell if she just woke up or she was just crying, probably both. "Gris is gonna be working at least a double... asked if maybe I'd take his place as your breakfast buddy." I shrug, she smiles knowingly.

"He's really worried about me, isn't he?" She says, taking the tray from my hands and putting it onto the breakfast bar. If this weren't such a bad time I'd let my mind linger on how adorable she looks: tousled hair, no make up, black sweat pants cut to capris, a grey shirt, cut around the neck and hanging off the shoulder touting "dancers do it turned out" and bare feet make her just about the cutest, and somehow sexiest, thing I've ever seen.

And then her smile falls, tears form in her eyes, and my heart breaks.

"He's so worried about me," she whispers, dropping onto a stool at the breakfast bar, "and I know he can't help it, but there's nothing he can do right now." I move closer, wanting to stop the flow of tears, but I don't dare. "She's dead... and short of any kind of miracle, nothing can change that."

The words come out slowly, my brain picking each carefully. Suddenly I feel like this short visit will be filled with significance: a moment when we move from casual friends to something more involved and trusting. "I'm sure... I'm sure he just doesn't know how to help." I hate this... I hate watching women cry, and knowing I can't do a damn thing to make them stop. I never want to see her cry again in my whole life.

She looks at me, wide eyed, and shaking her head. "He can't, Greg! My mother died because my step father decided to dive with too much liquor in him! I haven't talked to her in months- and I'll never talk to her again!" She swipes at the salty drops that turn her cheeks a blistered red. "We should have... I should have..."

"I know..." I say, finally reaching out a hand to hers.

"You don't!" She yells, jumping back. I'm so surprised by her outburst that I just stare as she begins pacing the room like a cat. Suddenly she stops and crumbles to a heap on the floor, and I rush to her, panicking that she's passed out, but as I fall to my knees in front of her she lifts her face to mine, her eyes steely and her face beet red. "That first night in Jersey, as I was getting ready for bed in the guest bedroom, you know, because they'd gotten rid of any trace that I'd been there and turned my room into a sterile exercise room," she monotoned out to me, her voice low and biting, "there was a moment, maybe even a good five minutes, that I was happy she was gone– that they were both gone." Our eyes hold, hers still dripping over her matted lashes. "How am I supposed to deal with that, Greg? That I was happy she was dead?"

And when she crumbled again, I pulled her into my arms, set on not letting her fall to pieces, even if I couldn't stop her tears.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

Leaning back in the couch, her feet on the table and her arms thrown over her head, she looks like a cemetery statue: her face angelic, but her expression unmoving, her eyes far away, and her soul gone. I sit across from her, wracking my brain for something to do. We've been quiet for too long now. The puppy in her lap is sleeping, and stroking it's fur seems to take all of her attention.

"I didn't like her, Greg, but I loved her." Her voice was barely above a whisper, and my eyes snap back to her face.

"You can't choose who your family is," I start cautiously. "You did the best you could with what you had. Sometimes... sometimes you can't control how you feel about someone, especially if they're the ones that are eliciting those feelings. You weren't upset at her for no reason," I'm guessing now... who knows if she'll ever really tell me all that's happened.

Emma shrugs, flips on the TV and leans into the arm of the couch. "Maybe that's true." A deep, heavy, and guilty sigh falls from her lips. "I just...haven't figured that out yet."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

We're watching a random Saturday Night Live rerun when Griss slips into the living room. Emma and I turn, both staring at the large bag of fresh lemons he's holding. as the puppy bounds off of the couch to lick at Gris' feet.

"Sara's decomp," he says by way of explanation.

For a moment we all just kind of stare at each other, not really sure what to do while the puppy's exuberance is ignored. So, being the odd man out here, I get up and slip out, quiet waves and goodbyes to all around. The door clicks shut behind me and I stand outside on the steps, trying to figure out just what happened in there. It felt like I just stepped out of a time warp, out of some kind of black hole where nothing existed but that small living room.

I shake my head and get into my car. I have to get rid of this uneasy feeling if I'm ever going to get any sleep tonight.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"You wanted to see me?"

Looking up from my paperwork I see Greg, nervously hovering in my doorway. "Yeah, um, close the door." This almost makes him more fidgety as he sits across from me. He avoids my stare for a few seconds before trying to make conversation.

"So how's the paperwork?" He nervously asks, a facade of interest falling into place.

I cut to the quick, "Greg, what did Emma tell you yesterday?"

"What?" He asks, clearly surprised as she sits up straight. His eyes go wide and I see almost fear in them.

"I need to know what you guys talked about..." I sigh, leaning forward. Maybe this shouldn't be done here, but... I'm lost, and I'll do anything to find my footing again. "It.. It made her look better, and I need to... I need to talk to her myself, Greg."

His face changes and suddenly we're talking man to man, not nervous subordinate to boss. "So why do you need to know what we talked about?" I start to talk, but he stops me before any sound can get out. "I mean, have you even tried to talk to her by yourself? Or just listened?"

I can feel the guilt on my face. "Why do you think I need to know what you talked about? Of course I tried talking to her!" I feel like I'm almost yelling, but my voice is nothing more than an angry whisper. I drop my head, surveying my desk. "Nothing I said was right..."

"Did you try just listening?" Greg cocks his head, and isn't as judging as I'd expected him to be. I guess maybe I just automatically expected him to see me as wrong, or some horrible parent. "She's go a lot to say."

He holds my gaze, looking at me like the answer is somehow right there, and he can't understand why I haven't found it yet. It's ok, Greg, I don't know either.

"Look, I'm not going to tell you what we talked about. I wouldn't betray her trust like that."

"Greg, I need..."

"Maybe... Maybe you should tell her how you feel." He raises his eyebrows at me. At first I'm inclined to ignore his comment, to yell and scream and throw something across the room to get him to understand what I'm saying... and suddenly it occurs to me that he does. He's just showing me a different way to get there. I tilt my head, and he continues. "I will tell you that she's very upset with herself right now, for a lot of different reasons- some of them I'm sure you can guess, and some I don't think you ever could." He pauses. "How did you feel when she died, Grissom?"

Silence.

I can feel it inside. I can feel every emotion I felt, but I can't separate them.

"I was upset."

He doesn't believe me. "What kind of upset?"

"I–" I stutter, and stop. It's so easy to say I'm upset... but to really explain it? I look at him as I try to sort it out.

"Don't tell me," He whispers, leaning forward onto my desk as he gets out of his chair. "Tell her... she needs to hear it." And with a talent he must have learned from Sara, he's gone before I have a reply.

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

"Where's Sara?" Emma asks as I hand her a cup of coffee and a plate of eggs before slipping into a seat across from her.

"Still running with her decomp. She's got a lot of day work with this one." Emma just nods, and drops a few pieces of egg on the floor to appease the begging Bailey before eating a few of her own.

We eat in silence, and I follow her into the living room when we've cleared our plates. "Can– can we talk?"

"I don't know, can we?" She smiles as she parrots back the smart-aleck comment her mother used to use to make her remember the difference between can and may. A small smile quickly fades as we sit on the couch. "What's on your mind, Dad?"

I take a deep breath, and just start talking from my heart, " Emma, when your mother died, I was very upset. But even more than that, I was worried about you."

.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.

The door clicks. Clothes rustle. The bed creeks. A warm arm snakes around my middle.

"How'd it go?"

"Why are you still awake?" He whispers.

"Can't sleep without you. Stop avoiding the question." Sleepily I roll into his embrace, feeling the tiny hairs on his chest tickle my skin as I snuggle against him.

"It went well. I think." He says, burying his face in my hair, his hands caressing my back.

"You think?"

"We talked a lot. We made progress, I just hope it's as much as I think it is." In the dark his lips search out mine and he softly possesses me. "Stop talking." he silences me with another kiss as he slides his hands under my shirt.

(TBC...)