This chapter is dedicated to odeepblue, without whom I probably wouldn't have decided to write a final chapter - you have acted as a partial muse to me, or at least you have helped to unleash one or two ideas I had lurking about. You kinda confirmed what I thought I could write about, although I'm not going to follow one of the suggestions because the whole point of me writing this fic was for there to not be a baby. So thank you for your input, inspiration, help and support. Enjoy, everyone.

Three weeks later.

"You seem to be drinking a lot of scotch lately." Sara stood against the sliding door that led out on to the balcony.

Grissom looked over his shoulder and took another sip of the amber liquid. "Tough few weeks, y'know," he mumbled.

Sara's eyes narrowed. "Are you drunk?"

"No, I'm not," he answered, truthfully. "I wish I was, though," he admitted.

Sara joined him and leaned into his side. "What's up?" she asked, looking out on to the street before them. It was still the early hours of the morning, and so there weren't many people out on the road. Ever since she had asked him to take her hard, he had been distant. He still held her at night, but they'd only made love three times since then, and for the past week, he had been going off on his little sojourns again. And now he was starting to drink. She knew the child abuse case they had been working that week was taking its toll on him, and after seeing bruises on his knuckles, she had come to the conclusion that the purpose of his lone travelling was to punch a solid brick wall.

He heaved a sigh, and took another swig of liquor. "This case just got to me a bit." He turned and gave her an unconvincing smile.

"Right," she said, disbelieving. "What you do to your hands? And don't lie, and say you trapped them in the car door, or whatever excuse you were gonna come up with. I want the truth. And while you're at it, you can tell me exactly why you've been funny the past two or three weeks."

Gil pursed his lips, and opened his mouth, no air passing across his vocal cords for a second or two. "I had an argument with a brick wall," he confessed quietly, almost as if he were ashamed that he wasn't able to control his anger. "That's why I'm not there when you wake up. I get these ... these terrible urges to lash out when I wake up in the middle of the night, and I need catharsis. But I don't want you to see me like that."

"Just because something angers or upsets you, Gil - you can't go running to escape it, you can't hide it from me. That's who you are, whether you like it or not. Drinking won't help, either," she added, shooting a disdainful look at his tumbler.

He ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. "What the fuck else am I supposed to do? Beat up the fucker who raped and killed his own child? Beat up all the bastards that are dragged in from our investigations because they do the most horrifically unspeakable things to other human beings?"

Sara turned her whole body to face him, and touched his arm. "Talk to me about it. You let me talk to you when I have a hard time with cases like this, allow yourself the same courtesy. You've nothing to be ashamed of," she intoned sincerely. She smiled gently and touched his cheek, and he closed his eyes.

"I'm ashamed that I feel so angry," he hissed through clenched teeth. "I don't want you to see me as an animal. I don't want to burden you, I ... I don't want you to know that I come so close to losing control so often."

"It's natural to feel that way, especially considering that being in control is very important to you. Honey, I understand that. I know that you're scared of losing control, be it to someone else, or just in a moment of anger."

Grissom smiled weakly. "You don't know how dangerous it is for me to do that. You have no idea how dangerous it is for me to vent."

She took the tumbler from his hand and set it on the balcony table. The hand on his arm slid further up, and she pressed him close to her, savouring his smell. She spoke into his chest. "It is okay to vent, babe," she said.

He rested his chin on her head and rubbed her back. "I wish I could, but how?"

Sara pulled away and looked up at him. "Fuck me," she whispered.

His face fell straight away. "No," he said definitively. "Out of the question."

"Why?" she wheedled. "Gil, I know it's what you want, even if you won't admit to it yourself. I know you love me, so you won't hurt me if you're rough. I just want you ... I don't know," she sighed, closing her eyes. "I just wish you'd trust me, I wish you'd trust yourself enough to just let go."

He traced his thumb across her lips. "I couldn't, Sara. I don't wanna hurt you."

"Why are you so afraid that you'll hurt me?"

"It's happened before."

Oh, this was interesting. "What happened?"

"I don't really wanna talk about it."

"Well I do, so I guess I win. Spill." She pressed her head to his chest and rocked them slightly. "I won't judge you," she said quietly.

"I had a lover. She wanted to tie me up. Being young and naive, I let her, reluctantly, because I didn't want to relinquish control, but I wanted to please her. In the end, I got so frustrated that I broke out of the restraints, pinned her to the bed and fucked her. I scared the hell out of her, and she refused to make love to me again. So the relationship ended."

"Oh, honey, I trust you. Implicitly. You could never scare me, you could never hurt me. And I'd never ask you to do something you're not comfortable with. But I know that you need this," she added when she saw that he was about to speak. "Gil, maybe if you let yourself fuck me, like I know you want to, you might not need to do it again. It might release the tension that you have inside."

He sighed again, and she could tell that he was willing to do it. "If I hurt you, I'm so sorry. I want you to tell me the minute you feel any pain. 'Cause I swear to God that me moving in you, and I mean really fucking moving in you, it's not going to be the most gentle thing in the world."

"That's what I'm banking on, babe," she told him. She began to unbutton his shirt, but he stooped and grabbed her under her thighs. He pulled her to him, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her back to their bedroom and threw her down roughly on the bed. He literally ripped his shirt off, all the buttons snapping from their threads. He bent over her and pinned her arms up above her head, his other hand flipping open her robe. He kissed her harshly, at the same time practically jamming two fingers inside her. She let out a parched cry.

"You okay?" he asked, his eyes dark, his chest heaving. He had to lean closer to her to hear her speak.

"Harder," she gasped, and he obliged. He reared up and swiftly unbuttoned his trousers, sliding them and his boxers down his thighs, kicking them off hurriedly. His raging erection pressed against her as her divested her of her robe and her underwear, and before she knew, he'd removed his fingers from her again and plunged his rock-hard cock into her. She yelled out loud again. "Oh, God, that feels good," she moaned, tightening her legs around him.

"Good. I'm not hurting you, am I?" he asked. She shook her head, and he pushed into her harder, his hips rocking against her roughly. The tendons in his neck stood out, and his eyes were closed in concentration. He continued to slam into her, one hand holding her left hip, his fingers splaying across the lower left side of her back as well, the other hand cupping her cheek.

"Open your eyes."

They indeed opened. "What?"

"Watch me come," she pleaded, reaching up and holding his face between her hands. "Come on Gil, fuck me harder than that, I know you've got it in you."

His eyes locked with hers, and he pushed into her so damn hard. He frowned. "I love you Sara, I love you so damn much," he gasped.

"I know you do, Gil, I know," she gasped back. Her eyes closed as she climaxed, but he traced her cheek.

"Look at me," he whispered, grunting in between words. They looked at each other, panting, gasping and straining as they came. She screamed out loud, and he let out a massive groan.

As soon as he withdrew (gently, it had to be said), he pulled her into his arms, his chest still heaving, and stroked her hair. "You okay?"

"Mmm," Sara murmured, resting against him. Her head hit the pillow as he sat up, and he bent over her hips. "Wh-what are you doing, honey?" she asked, watching him look between her legs.

"Checking if there's any damage," he replied, his eyes examining where he'd been seconds before. He looked up into her eyes and frowned slightly. "There's a bit of bruising, but no tearing," he told her.

"Are you okay?" she inquired. He nodded, and she held out her arms to him. He rested his head on the top of her chest, slipping his arms under her to hold her, and one of her hands rested over his torso, the other stroking his hair. "That wasn't so bad, was it?" she cooed.

"No. You were right," he agreed. "But -"

"Yes, I will ask you to do that again. But no often. Tough cases only. I love you too much to ask to do something you're not comfortable with."

She felt him smile against her. "Thank you. Thank you for being my catharsis."

"Now and forever, babe," she told him sleepily. "Now and forever."