TITLE: HOW WE GOT HERE.

AUTHOR: fanofkdc.

SUMMARY: ANOTHER TAKE ON THE MUCH-DEBATED START OF THE 'SHIP, GRISSOM'S POV.

RATING: M, JUST IN CASE. PROBABLY DEFINITELY JUST IN CASE. OH, AND I HAVEN'T ACTUALLY SEEN THE LAST FEW EPS OF SEASON SIX ('CAUSE I'M A BRIT), SO I CAN'T GIVE AN IN-DEPTH ACCOUNT ON CERTAIN SCENES MENTIONED HERE.

DISCLAIMER: NOT MINE, BUT I THINK 'JOVIALITY' MIGHT BELONG TO ME. I'M NOT SURE. I'M GOING TO DO A CONTINUATION, AT SOMEONE'S GENERAL SUGGESTION OF 'KIMONO SMUT' BUT FOR OBVIOUS REASONS, IT WON'T BE POSTED HERE. I'LL SEE IF I CAN GET IT UP (NO PUN INTENDED) ON GEEKFICTION, BUT IF ANYONE WANTS TO READ, SEND ME AN EMAIL, AND I'LL SEND YA A COPY. ENJOY.

How did we get here? How did we get from being fairly good friends to awkward co-workers to slightly less awkward co-workers to lovers? Well, I have my thoughts.

"Maybe one of them snored ... or had insomnia ... or liked to work at night." I snore. Sometimes. Not that she would have known that then. I've always known she's had sleeping problems. And we both work at night. Perhaps that why I got ... short? Sarcastic? Wry? I don't know.

"Or maybe they were suffocating each other and he couldn't breathe." Did I really say that? We were more comfortable around each other then. Well, we had been. After all that I'd found out about her past. After seeing another man putting his hands on my Sara. Woah, where did that come from? Anyway. No, we were happy with each other, our comfort zone had been partially restored. This conversation in a bedroom, about a married couple, with their half-full, sticky bottle of lubricant, was nothing. Yeah, right. My crotch was begging to differ.

"You know, you don't have to sleep in the same bed to have sex ...". Damn right. I'd have taken her up agaisnt the wall right then and there. "Or to have romance." No shit. Romance isn't necessarily about sex anyway. At least, ours isn't. Not all of it. That's why I had to 'go see the doctor' - I didn't really, but I had nothing in my hands to cover myself if you see what I mean. Damn hormones, turned on by that sexy voice of hers prattling on about lube ...

I think that's when I knew things were going to change, definitely, no matter what I wanted to happen. Okay, I'll phrase that differently. I did want something to happen, but I, for my own sanity, and Sara's, tried to prevent it from happening. Oh, our 'alley date.' And then she started calling me 'Griss.' She never used to do that, not even when we were damn close, not even at Harvard. So I took that as a sign she was flirting with me. So I flirted back. I made that wonderfully obscene comment about being good at mouth to mouth, and then a couple of cases later, we talked things over, I don't know why, or how, aside from opening our mouths, and ... that was it.

"And may all your dreams come true."

A little while later, we share a look over the break room table. Oh, I've seen that look before. Not in her eyes, although I've often wondered what it would make her eyes look like. It's so intense, I have to break the contact. And then I look back up at her.

"Did you like that necklace Nick had?" I ask. God, I feel like a hormonal teenager, the geek asking out the most beautiful girl in the class. In the year. In the whole goddamned school.

She just carries on smiling at me, the tendons in her neck protruding slightly, her hair dropping in her eyes. Her beautiful mouth, the top lip ever so slightly bigger than the bottom lip. I wonder what they would feel like on me. "Yeah. It was nice. A little expensive, but nice all the same."

I nod. "Well, I'm going to head off. I'll see you later? How about I pick you up for work?"

That throws her. "Uh, okay. Any reason?"

"Just feel like it. We used to do that. Remember?" I watch her nod, and I flash her a smile. "Okay. See you later."

Before going home, I stop off on the Strip. By some impulse, I want to buy her a necklace. Something nice. Something to show her I'm sorry for all the hurt I've caused her over the past six years. Something to show her I love her, and I want her, if she still wants me. I manag to find something. It's nice, a little understated, like her. Now Catherine, she's someone that if I was going to buy a present for, which I wouldn't, she'd be first on the list for bling. But not Sara. She has a rare, but natural beauty about her. Down to earth, but precious, as precious as platinum. If platinum's precious. Nah, nothing's as precious as my Sara. There. I said it again. My Sara. The necklace is on a silver chain, with a diamond pendant hanging from it. Small and beautiful.

Heart in my mouth, I knock at Sara's apartment door. The last time I'd been there, it was under less fortuitous circumstances. At least she doesn't answer the door with a bottle of beer in her hand. She gives me another beautiful smile. "Hey. You're early. Have a seat, I'll be with you in a minute."

In my typical, bumbling way, shuffling my feet, my left hand extended at an awkward angle from my body, fiddling with my fingers I waddle over to the couch. There is something about her apartment that strikes me in a horrible place. It's lived-in, yes. But it's lonely. Just her, no-one else. Just like my townhouse. She saunters back in from the bathroom. "Sara?" Yeah, my voice is doing that whole 'octave' trick. Maybe this is a dream, and I am actually a teenager again. God help me.

"Something up, Griss?"

Oh, God, the shortening of my name, and her gorgeous voice. Something is certainly up, and I'm no't about to get into that. Not now, anyway. "Uh, I got you something."

"Really?" Her face lightens, all joviality gone, but certainly not serious.

"Yeah. That guy who died, he spent ten grand on a present for a woman he'd known for twenty-four hours. I know you appreciate beauty, and I thought ...". Fuck it. I pull a box from my pocket and hold it out for her. "I got you a necklace. Not original, I know, but I wanted to save that for later. If there can be a later. If you want there to be."

She looks from my outstretched palm to my eyes, and back again, and gingerly reaches out for it. She, with slight difficulty, she opens the box, its hinges stiff ... oh, God ... and gasps.

"Is it okay?" I gaze at my hands, not daring to look up, those pretty eyes scaring me for a second.

"It's ... it's, uh, it's beautiful," she murmurs. "My God, it's beautiful," she breathes.

"Like you," I murmur back. I am getting either braver or more reckless by the second.

"Would you put it on for me?" She gently takes out the necklace and holds it out for me. I take it from her, our fingers briefly touching. "Thank you."

I drape the necklace around her slender neck, feeling the soft skin beneath my fingers. I wonder what it would be like to kiss her neck, the hollow in her throat, what it would be like to bite it gently, give her a hickey, perhaps. She holds up her hair so that it won't get caught up in the necklace. I fasten the jewellery for her and steer her gently over to a mirror. "What do you think?"

She puts a hand up to her throat and trails her fingers over it, then looks up to the reflection of my eyes. I drop my hands to my side. "It's gorgeous," she says, smiling shyly.

"Only the best for you." I step away and duck my head as she turns around to look at me.

"Gil?" My head snaps up. "Why did you do this?"

"You deserve it. I want to show you how much you mean to me. I want to show you how sorry I am. For being such a horrible bastard to you. For not treating you with the respect you deserve." I see her eyes cloud over, but I carry on, surprised at how easily the words roll from my tongue. "I know a necklace doesn't just make up for all that I've done, or, in some cases, not done, and I'd understand if you're still angry with me, or you felt you couldn't accept this. But I needed you to know. Before I kill us both with my inconsideration."

She smiles tearfully and approaches me, lifting a hand to my face. I can feel her fingers through my beard, and all of a sudden I want to feel her fingers digging into the other places where my hair is rough and coarse. "Griss, I've never hated you. I may have disliked certain things you said to me, or the way you acted sometimes. But I could never hate you. Why do you think I stayed?"

"You almost didn't." I bare my bottom row of teeth, my typical coping mechanism.

"True. But I'm still here. And I still have this necklace on. And I still want you." There is no disguising the sheer desire in her eyes.

"I want you, too," I admit. "But not now. Work. We have to go. Maybe we should meet tonight, have dinner?" She nods, both of us knowing it won't just be food on the menu. "My place," I confirm, seeing the look in her eyes. "I'm ready to let you in."

She drops her hand and takes mine. "I've always been ready to let you in," she replies, making no effort to hide the lust. God, that voice makes my dick stir just thinking about it.

God, that night, I was laid like I've never been laid before in my life. Okay, maybe it didn't happen like that. We drove back to mine, we ate a nice meal, and then we danced.

"I never thought I'd see the day when Gil Grissom went all sentimental. How often have you done this?" She rests her and one hand on my chest, the other splayed on my back.

"What? Danced with a woman, or seduced a woman?"

"One. The other. Both."

"Never. Well, not like this, at least." I hold her hand to my chest, and cup her buttocks with my other hand. How firm she is, but also receptive, melding her body to mine sensually. We sway a little more, to music whose tune I can't even remember. Then we pull away, and she looks at me. "Yes?"

"What next?" Her voice isn't confident, or brimming with unrequited passion. It is an innocent question, not daring to hope.

"I have plenty ideas. From kissing you, to having you move in here and spending the rest of our lives together." She gazes at me, eating me up with those chocolate orbs. Oh, how she arouses me. "It's true," I affirm. "I'm ready. Ready for this. If you are."

"Oh, I'm ready."

So, more accurately, we kissed tenderly. Then we kissed roughly. And then I allowed her to pull me along the floor to my bedroom, where we proceeded to make the sweetest, most tender love I have ever made, or could ever imagine making. And now, here we are today. She started moving her things over to mine the next day, saying that my place was more cosy, more inviting than hers. Plus, she didn't have any room for a bed.

Ah, a bed. The one I'm lying on now, whilst I talk to her as she sashays about in the bathroom, wearing that beautiful gown of hers. The gown I take so much pleasure in stripping from her delicate body most nights, whether to make love to her, or to just feel her naked body against mine in the affirmation that we're both here and this isn't a dream. But tonight, we're in one of our more 'married couple' modes. I'm talking to her about my own death, and how I'd like to see it play out. And then she comes out of the bathroom, those long legs that I feel around my body so often softly padding towards me. She's not ready to say good bye, and I'm not. To be honest, I don't want to think about death. I want us to put it all behind us. Jim's safe, and that's great. Now, though, I just want to share a few moments with Sara before sleep, or maybe a couple of hours, depending on how much satisfaction we're both requiring tonight. She purses her lips, and I smile. Or rather, she purses her lips, and the left-hand corner of my mouth turns up. And that's when her sexy kimono somehow slips off.