Disclaimer: Neither of us owns CSI or any of its characters. neither of us is making any money from this fic. We both do, however, have the hots for William Petersen in the worst way.
A/N: This story is a sequel to mingsmommy's 13 Beers. This story is a collaborative effort between dreamsofhim and mingsmommy. The NC-17 version of this story was previously posted on GeekFiction. Spoilerish up to 7X14, AU beyond.
CHAPTER 1 – And Then Some...Aspirin
Brass closed the door softly, though he doubted she would wake if he full on slammed it. Sighing heavily, he removed a quilt and extra pillow from the linen closet and shuffled towards the sofa. He threw the bedding down on the sofa and thought maybe he'd better do the sensible thing and down some water and aspirin himself. While neither of them had to get up to go to work, there was no point in not taking preventive measures against the inevitable hangover.
The kitchen was still clean, even drinking and getting drunk Sara was a neat freak. The only things out of place were the dictionary she had placed on the counter and her cell phone, still resting against the back door. It had rung intermittently throughout the morning and into the afternoon.
After the first phone call she had not checked the caller id, she had merely ignored it. At one point she had grumbled, "Damn! I keep meaning to shut that off." She had turned and pointed to him. "Remind me next time I get up." But she had broken down before she had risen again and when she had stood, with his help, she was too inebriated and exhausted from crying to spare the phone a glance.
He stared intently at the phone for a long while, willing it to ring. It did not comply.
After long minutes, he walked to the back door, checked the locks and bent down to retrieve her phone. The screen read: 7 missed calls. He twisted his lips as he seriously contemplated invading her privacy, just to see if all seven calls had been from Grissom.
And if they were? What then? He had Grissom on speed dial on his own phone, he didn't need Sara's to…
Fate took the decision out of his hands as the phone in his hand began to ring, even as he stared at it. The display lit up: Grissom Cell.
He answered the call and began talking. "You know, for a guy who makes his living gathering clues, you don't seem to have much of one."
"Brass?" Brass could hear the shock and trace of concern in Grissom's voice.
"That, my probationary friend, would be me." He opened up the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of water.
"Where is Sara?" There was a slight pause, then Grissom hurriedly asked, "Oh my god, is she alright?"
The detective was pleased to hear alarm bordering on panic in the scientist's voice, but he didn't waste time putting his mind at ease. "Other than the fact her significant other is a giant horse's ass, she's fine." He could almost feel Grissom's switch from urgent concern for Sara to sudden aggravation with him vibrating through the silence on the phone.
The silence stretched for just a bit, then Grissom carefully asked, "May I speak with Sara please?" as if each word were glass and the rub of any emotion would shatter any or all of them leaving him with a mouthful of sharply pointed shards.
"No, she's asleep," Brass replied cheerily, thoroughly enjoying thwarting the other man's wishes. "And I would think, if she wanted to talk to you, she would have answered the phone one of the seven times you've called today already."
Another loud silence vibrated over the phone line. Then, Grissom cautiously asked, "What's going on Brass? Are you at the townhouse?"
"Nope," he took a swig of water, popped three aspirin into his mouth and chewed on them, enjoying the deep bitterness spreading over his tongue. "And neither is Sara. And from what I gather she has no plans to go back."
A sound of frustrated anger came across 2700 miles. "Look, I know she's upset, but this really isn't any of your business and she shouldn't have.."
"You know what? This isn't your rodeo anymore. So, listen up." He took great satisfaction in Grissom's sudden, startled silence. "I have been a cop for over thirty years, I have been in some ugly situations, seen a lot of awful crap…but I have never seen a woman cry as hard as Sara cried today. And I never want to see anyone cry that hard again." He thought for a second. "Unless it's you."
"She was crying?" Gil's voice had lost its surety and strength. Instead, it sounded small and full of regret.
"A lot." Brass's shirt was still slightly damp from where she had pressed her face against him as she wept. "She was crying a lot."
"Is she OK?" Soft, genuine concern sounded over the phone.
Brass ignored the question for the moment. "You know, when I figured out you two were together, I was pretty happy about it. I knew the kid had it bad for you and you were my friend, I thought you were almost good enough for her." He took another drink of water. "So, yeah, I thought it was a good deal for both of you…figured I'd give her away at the wedding, get to be godfather to the little geeks."
"Brass…" Grissom sounded tired.
"Shut up, OK? I'm telling you something here." Brass rubbed a heavy hand across his forehead and down his face. "You know when I was recovering she came to visit me quite a few times. And we talked a lot. She eventually told me about her parents." He let that sink in for a few seconds before continuing, "And you know what? Thinking back on the way you've treated this girl over the years with all your push-me-pull-you bullshit and this latest stunt of yours and I'm thinkin' you're no better than her old man."
Grissom's response was swift. "I have never abused Sara." He sounded horrified and, strangely, frightened.
"So, you're not hitting her, but what you're doing is every bit as abusive…her bruises just aren't visible." He held his bottle up to eye level and studied the remaining water. "You know, she wants to cut you a break because of the job. I hope she doesn't. I hope she holds your fucking feet to the fucking fire. 'Cause, you know what? You might be the best guy around at dealing with death…but she shouldn't have to pay because you suck at living. She shouldn't be hurting because you're scared to death of having a life."
There was silence on the line for a few seconds. Finally, Grissom's voice came over, quietly, "Will you tell her I called?"
Brass shook his head even though he knew the scientist couldn't see him. "No can do." His voice, again, resumed its cheery quality. "I'm going to give you a chance to fix this and that chance is useless if she knows I let you in on how torn up she is." He laughed out a lie. "Hell, I'm pretty drunk, I won't even remember this conversation when I wake up." He drained the remainder of the water. "But, if you don't fix this, you better understand, if you hurt her again, I will rip your head off and hand it to you, right before I take a crap down your neck." He chuckled, bitterly. "I know you're not scared of me. So, I'm not saying all this to strong arm you, I'm just letting you know, no matter what happens, I love that girl and you're not gonna hurt her again. You got me?"
The response was deliberate and genuine. "I got you."
Brass sighed. "Good."
"Brass?"
"Yeah?" He really just wanted to crawl on to the sofa and go to sleep now that he had said what he needed to say.
Grissom sounded weary as well. "Thanks…I mean, you know, thanks for caring enough about her…" he stumbled to a halt.
Brass smirked and finished Grissom's sentence. "To kick your ass? Sure, Buddy. What are friends for?"
TBC...
