Carmen's sound played in his ears as Gil Grissom stood over the evidence table, tweezers in hand, examining the fine granules of soil he’d separated into neat piles. A beetle scuttled lazily across the edge of a petri dish nearby, momentarily distracting him. He watched it for a beat too long, letting the outside world fade into the background.

Then, a familiar voice calling him over the music. Yours.

He didn’t look up immediately, but the corner of his mouth twitched, just slightly, before he finally lifted his gaze. "You’re back.” Simple, factual. But in that soft-spoken tone of his, it almost sounded like something more.

You had come once or twice before, brought in to consult on particularly tricky cases. He remembered how you fit in with the team, not seamlessly, but in a way that made him want to make room for you. You were sharp and meticulous. You asked the right questions, sometimes before he even had to. And you never shied away from his more... eccentric habits. In fact, he had the distinct impression you actually liked them.

Which, of course, only made you more interesting.

Grissom set the tweezers down, brushing his hands together as he stepped back from the table. "You know," he said, not looking up, "Necrophila americana can smell decay from over a mile away. Always finds its way back to what it’s drawn to."

It had been a slow build, the connection between you. An understanding that unfolded between evidence bags and quiet, stolen conversations in the lab. When the case ended, you left. Just like people did. Just like he’d come to expect.

But this time, you came back.

"You never did tell me how you take your coffee," he mused, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "I figured I’d get it right eventually. If you kept coming back." There was no question in his tone, but the weight of one lingered between the words.

Would you?