I HAD TO PUT MY TWO CENTS IN ON THE WHOLE FINALE. IF YOU'RE ASTUTE ENOUGH (WHICH I'M SURE YOU ARE), YOU MIGHT BE ABLE TO SEE HOW PART OF THE CONVERSATION RELATES TO HOW A LOT OF US FEEL. I JUST MISS THAT WHOLE ANTICIPATION OF WHAT WE WERE EXPECTING NOW. I MEAN, NOW WE ACTUALLY KNOW WHAT'S GOING ON. IT'S A SLIGHT ANTI-CLIMAX. BUT THEN ALL I HAVE TO DO IS RE-WATCH THE LAST SCENE AND I'M ALL WHEEEEEEEEE! ANYWAY, ENJOY.

"I'm not ready to say goodbye." Sara regarded the man lying on the bed before her with a smile. The blue-and-white floral print shirt would have looked horrendous on anyone else, but it brought out the cerulean depths of his eyes and showed off part of his chest.

The left-hand corner of his mouth turned up and he shifted, motioning with his hands for Sara to join him on the bed. She did so, and he pulled her so that she lay on top of him partially. One hand ran through her hair, the other lightly cupping the curve of her spine under the off-white gown. "Neither am I," he replied gently. "I was just postulating," he added, thrusting his jaw out.

Sara braced her hands on either side of him. "Do you like the gown?" she asked, blinking coyly.

The corner of his mouth twitched and he took a breath. "It's very nice," he said simply, the hand on her spine travelling slightly further south.

"I ... I saw you looking at those geisha girls," she whispered. "I noticed the way your eyes scanned over every inch of their clothes. They had similar gowns to this." One of her hands rested on his cheek, the soft skin complemented by the scratchy beard. He regarded her curiously. "You seemed to find it arousing," she explained, thinking she was digging herself a deep hole. "I wanted to capture that interest," she finished.

The hand in her hair trailed to her face and he cupped her chin, gazing into her eyes with reverence. "Sara, sweetheart, you'll always interest me. You could wear nothing but a thong, or you could wear a burlap sack and I'd still think you were the most beautiful woman on Earth. Because you are." He blinked and smiled, feeling her hand slip into his hair. "But I have to say, I think that gown would look better on the floor."

"So would your shirt," she replied, equally daring. This was still a surreal experience for her - sharing an apartment with Grissom, sharing a bed, sharing a life - she remained unaccustomed to being the sole focus of his attention. Not that being so was a bad thing. She dropped her hands to his chest, tracing her delicate fingers over the tanned, exposed flesh. She gently undid the buttons, spreading the parting fabric from his chest. She took in his solidly-built torso, the brown nipples flat against the pectoral muscles. She smiled and ran a finger over each one, savouring the look on his face.

Grissom sighed harshly, his left hand moving to undo the belt that held her robe closed. Gently, he parted the robe that protected her modesty, his big warm fingers caressing her flesh. He caught her eye and tilted his chin for a kiss, their lips touching briefly. He wasn't used to having her around him all the time, was still acclimatising to having her wake up in his arms, to holding her hand when they watched television, kissing her whenever he wanted to (well, almost whenever he wanted to - he complied with her wishes in all circumstances), to making love to her.

Sara's eyes fluttered closed, but they were so near to each other that she could feel his eyelashes brushing her cheeks. She cradled his head and groaned onto his soft lips appreciatively. She pulled away, aware of the lack of sensation of silk on her skin, but just as aware of the gentle fingers that danced across in its place.

"Going to join me?" Grissom murmured, his breath brushing against her ear. He sat back and pulled the duvet cover away so that she could slip between the sheets. He smiled at her tenderly, marvelling at the woman with him. He loved her, but he couldn't, for the life of him, understand why she wanted him.

Naked and shy, Sara crawled under the blanket, and Grissom joined her. "I'm still having a hard time beliving this," she whispered frankly.

"Me too," Grissom agreed, his right hand touching her left hip. The skin was tight under his hand, so thin that he could feel her hip-bone. "It's a little strange, to be honest. All these years I've dreamed of us being together, and now, here we are, and I'm still having trouble grasping the enormity of this situation."

Sara rested her left forerarm on his right shoulder and stroked that sexy neck of his, feeling the warm flesh under her fingers. "I'm happy. And now we're finally ... here. We've resolved this. I think it might take me a little time to get over what's happening here." She kissed him, feeling more confident.

Grissom leaned into her, and she could feel his thick body against hers, intoxicated by the feeling of skin on skin. "Sara, just savour every moment, honey," he told her earnestly in between kisses. "You're beautiful and special and you deserve to be treated accordingly. Thus, I'm going to make it my goal in life to achieve that for you."

Sara blinked back tears. "Damn, I love you, Gil," she murmured, salty tracks filing down her cheeks. Unperturbed, Grissom kissed each tear that fell, whispering in her ear, soothing her. His right hand shifted from her hip to her spine, tracing down from her neck to the curve of her sweet buttocks with one single finger. He raised a series of shudders from her, and smiled against her mouth.

"I love it that I can make you do that," he told her, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the tender flesh at her neck and collar bones.

Sara arched into him briefly, knowing what was coming next. Her mind slipped back to the night they first made love, the very first night Grissom decided he knew what he was going to do about this. After Caprice had pulled him up about fantasies and dreams. The smile Sara gave him over that table, and the look she got back, the 'come hither' look. If the door to the breakroom had been closed and locked, and the blinds had been down, she got the feeling he would have grabbed her and done her right there on the table. And she wouldn't have objected. Instead, they shared a few words, and Grissom asked her back to his for breakfast. They had eaten muesli and drunk orange juice and, later, coffee, and had chatted about the case. Then he had confessed to her.

"Sara?"

"Yes?"

"I know what to do."

"Know what to do about what?" She regarded him, a smile playing about her lips.

"This. I know what to do."

Sara's heart stopped. "What do you want to do?"

"You." His blue eyes held her in place. "I can't make my dreams come true if I don't take steps to achieve them. You've done far more than I ever should have asked you to do, even though I didn't ask. I'm ready," he finished.

Sara put down her coffee cup and reached over to caress his hand. "If that's want you want," she replied.

"It is. Is it what you want?" he probed, his eyes never leaving hers. She nodded, and he rose slowly, pulling her to him. Their lips met, shy at first, then more confident, then very friendly. Their hands roamed, their bodies pressed to each other. "I think we should take this elsewhere," he whispered in her ear, his lips moving to suck her earlobe. Sara felt a rush of pleasure at the unexpected gesture, and arched against him.

"Yes," she breathed.

He pulled away and led her slowly to his bedroom, guiding her after him. He pushed the door open, but she didn't take in her surroundings. All she was aware of was a comfortable bed underneath her, Grissom above her, relieving her of her clothes, allowing her to fiddle with his fly. When they were both naked, he pushed her down on the bed, holding her in place with his hips. "Is it safe for us?" he asked.

"Pill," was Sara's reply. "I'm optimistic," she added upon seeing his face.

"What are you thinking?" Grissom asked, left hand gently stroking over her right breast.

"Just reliving the moments of our first time together," she answered, feeling the desire bubble up within her.

Grissom nodded, his hands all over her body, leaving no square inch of skin untouched. Their lips and tongues mingled and mixed, not allowing themselves to be confined to each other's mouths. By the time he entered her, they were just as slick with saliva as with sweat. Sara's hips rolled beneath Grissom, his hands contributing to their rhythym. He stroked in and out of her with a tenderness he had forgotten he possessed. Her hands grasped at his back, her nails clawing at his back, leaving scratches, taking blood. She tensed, her legs wrapping around him, damn near suffocating him. She cooed his name in his ear, followed by things she would have liked him to do in the past, or wanted him to do in the future. His tongue caressed her neck and her jaw, sometimes nibbling and sucking. Her hips bucked up under him, and she called out his name in ecstacy. He called her name out, told her how much he loved her, that he would always want her. He left part of himself in her, then withdrew, kissing her face tenderly, holding her in his arms.

"I'm not ready to say goodbye, either," he told her, closing his eyes.