Sara was angry. She was angry with herself. She was angry with Grissom. She was angry that her return to Las Vegas was anything but triumphant. She was angry mostly that Warrick was dead. Back when she was working, they had all faced their tribulations. It was Warrick who didn't make it. He had been shot -- by one of the "good" guys.

If you cannot trust the ones you know and love, who can you trust? She had been corrupted and jaded, but not nearly so much as Sin City. They were never going to make it.

Grissom's apartment was illuminated by the hazy, orange sunset. She stood by the bed, her things packed and her cab waiting downstairs. Grissom had gone to work, or, rather, he had never come home. She had been with him at the lab for the better part of the night, and then rested at his place during the day. He didn't seem to be coming back any time soon and she could wait no longer. Vegas was a lethal substance and Grissom was the needle. It promised her a false release and taunted her addiction, as though it could never be possible she would crash again. But she could feel in all her limbs and in her heart the weight of an unquenched emotion and a lingering sadness that had settled in since the day she'd left the city; since she'd left him. And all was insulted by the memory of her dead friend. She could not grieve alone. She could not be his part-time affair despite how she once believed she could wait forever; despite how much her very soul agonized for him to come home and stop her. But she fingered her plane ticket in her purse and checked the clock.

He's not coming. She had to leave now before she changed her mind.

With that, she shouldered her bag and heaved a sigh as she left the room. As she wiped away a bitter tear, she closed the apartment door.

--

Grissom had been running around all day, checking in with his team, making rounds around the lab, and carrying out a ton of various paper work. He was attempting to get a week's worth of work done so that he might be able to spend at least a day or two with Sara uninterrupted. He wasn't sure what they would do, but he had considered the Natural History Museum as a start. He was a touch worried. Something felt wrong between them, but soon they would be able to talk about it. He wanted to understand what she was thinking.

Rounding a corner in the lab, he purposefully rushed past Hodges' workstation and, in doing so, nearly had a head-on collision with Greg.

"Whoah!" Grissom exclaimed, ashamed that he hadn't been paying better attention. Greg, too, looked embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," Greg muttered. They stared at each other for a moment and Grissom put his hand on his shoulder in an awkward display of concern.

"I know there's lot going on around here, Greg, but you're allowed to go home. I've called in a number of people to help us keep things going on around here." Indeed he had, as he had called a number of ready-to-go interns to suit up, as well as having called a couple of more prominent names to ease the load around the lab.

"Thank you, sir," he replied quietly. Grissom was highly aware of a general fading of Greg's usual exuberance. It so mirrored Sara's. He wondered if he might go to keep her company that evening instead of moping around at work.

"Have you seen Sara?" Grissom then asked. He had originally intended on having dinner with her and had left a note in his office for her to come back around eight o'clock. It was just past the hour. Maybe they could all go.

"No, I haven't."

He raised his eyebrows. "When did you last?"

"Not since this morning."

Grissom appeared to be thinking. "Okay," he then said. "Really consider getting some rest. We're okay here," but he was lying mostly. The extra help had not yet arrived and they would need guidance. But he could plainly see the weary look in his young co-worker's eyes. The poor guy needed to go home, and soon did.

Suddenly energized by the prospect of seeing her face, Grissom turned on his heels towards his office to see if Sara was waiting there for him. When he got to the doorway, he spied the note he'd left for her still in its original place--on the exact angle from the edge of the desk that he remembered placing it. His keen eyes told him that she hadn't seen it.

He turned his head toward the window and saw the night sky beginning to blanket the glowing beacon in the desert valley. He had a sinking feeling, and an insatiable urge to see Sara. He had done his best at the office; now it was their turn.

He had to go home.