Reason

Things had been static; things had been safe. They'd played their usual game of push and pull, advance and retreat. There was comfort to be found in patterns, in consistency. Solitude was normal; loneliness was normal.

But then Nick was taken, and nothing was normal anymore.

It had taken just twenty minutes for Grissom to show up at her door. Five years and twenty minutes. Sara had leaned her forehead against the door, her shirt stained and her eyes bright, and he'd known then what love was.

Each morning after work, he followed her home.

Sometimes he worked late. He'd come by when he was done, whatever the hour. She'd sleep on the couch those days, so she could hear his quiet knock. She didn't bother changing out of her pajamas, and he didn't bother making conversation. They sipped warm tea and listened to the silence.

After three weeks, he kissed her. The approach wasn't slow, nor was it fast. He just moved in and placed a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. Neither of them closed their eyes. They wanted to witness the moment.

Silent teas became hours of gentle kisses. They saved passion for work; theirs was a calm love, an easy love. He slept over twice a week. They didn't hold each other as they slept, but his hand usually came to rest on her stomach. Even in sleep, he tended to need reassurance that she was still there.

They went away for a weekend in late July. They played tourists in Reno, taking walks in Galena Creek Park and going shopping in the city.

Warrick called to ask if she wanted to join him and Nick for drinks. She said she was visiting an aunt. As she lied, a little wrinkle formed on her forehead. It stayed there halfway into the night.

It was about balance, Grissom told her the next day. It was about wearing different hats.

She stared at him blankly.

He explained that he was one person at work, another with his family, another with friends. Another with her. Compartmentalization was normal; it was healthy.

The wrinkle crept back as Sara followed him into a costume shop, her eyes downcast.

He felt his pulse quicken as he wondered whether this would do it; whether this would make her finally leave him. She was thumbing through racks of genie costumes half-heartedly. Forcing himself to stay calm, he wandered over to the Star Trek section.

She probably knew he wasn't worth it. Other men were younger, more dashing. Other men would show her off in public, then ravish her in the bedroom. They didn't race cockroaches or smell of decay. Other men-

He jumped when he felt something plop down on his head. Sara wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her hands on his soft stomach. This is the hat you wear with me.

It was big and it was ugly. But most days he felt big and ugly, too. She took it up to the cash register, and he didn't stop her.

Grissom wore the hat on their trip to Chicago, and almost lost it after a gust of wind blew it off. Sara chased it halfway down the street. The wind was strong, but her legs were really quite long, and she managed to snatch it out of the air.

One night, she wore it in bed. She loomed over him, lithe and smooth. The hat perched precariously on her head. When it started to slip, he caught it for her.

On their two-month anniversary, he filled the hat with red rose petals. She blushed and asked what the occasion was, and he replied that two months ago, he'd fallen in love with her. Kisses and kisses and kisses, and thoughts of five years and two months.

Three months. Pop stars and hockey players got engaged after three months; not entomologists. But he found himself wandering into jewelry stores, researching cuts of diamonds and the merits of platinum bands.

It was for later, not for now. Down the road. Far, far off.

Then one morning he came home to find her stroking his favorite tarantula. It balanced on her long fingers, and suddenly three months seemed just about right.

On their way to check out a scene, Sofia asked her how she'd been.

Sara thought about compartmentalization, about hats. About the baked tofu Grissom had made that night before work. Fine, she was fine.

Compartments were clean, and sterile. There was nothing wrong with compartments.

They arrived at the scene, and Grissom was waiting. Wearing the hat and a little smirk.

She grinned to herself, and wondered what the ring looked like.

FIN

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