A/N: Someone in their review for ATIA said, "I miss the old show," and I do too, very much. I'm liking the new season so far, DB Russell and Morgan Brody too – what I've seen of it anyway as we're way behind in the UK and I've stopped watching online – but it's not the same and I miss the CSI of the good old days. Anyway, I caught a repeat of Early Rollout from season 4 while doing the ironing the other night and Brass's scene with Sara in the break room gave birth to this. It's nothing we don't know already, but hey…

I hope you enjoy.

The dialogue for the first scene is taken straight from the episode itself, and isn't mine. It's just a reminder.

Ticking Time Bomb.

BRASS: How you feeling?

SARA: Hey. What do you mean?

BRASS: Well, you were popping cough drops at the scene the other day a mile a minute.

SARA: I thought I was coming down with a cold.

BRASS: Ah. Yeah, I, uh... I understand colds. You know, back in Jersey when I was getting it from both ends, from my wife and my work, uh ... things started to get heavy. I started 'medicating'. 'Cure' my cold. And, um, and god forbid I had an early morning roll-out and I had that tell-tale breath, you know what I mean? So I would dodge my supe, and I started popping cough drops.

SARA: Huh.

BRASS: I mean, what I'm trying to say is that ... there's more problems than answers in the bottom of a bottle, believe me.

SARA: Yeah. Actually, I had a couple of beers with breakfast when I got off shift. And then I got called in.

BRASS: Just a couple?

SARA: Yeah.

BRASS: I'm just looking out for you.

"This seat's taken?"

Sara's heart sank. That's all she needed, more unsolicited advice from Brass, of all people. What did he know of her problems? She sighed and shook her head in reply to his question. She didn't look up. He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down on it.

"Got no one to go home to either," he said, or maybe asked she figured, and she hated that he knew that about her. God, how pathetic must she seem to all of them. She could feel his eyes on her and she didn't like the attention. His hand slid toward hers on the table, then withdrew before settling on the salt shaker. "Sara, I want to help you."

She looked up, met his gaze dead on. "I told you, I'm fine."

"Well, I don't believe you," he said, but not unkindly.

Her eyes averted to her empty cup and she swallowed. "Why?" There was a pause and she glanced up, disliking the pity she glimpsed in his eyes as he watched her.

"Because I know what you're going through."

"No, you don't."

"You want to talk about it?"

The softness in his tone made her look away. She shook her head then pushed to her feet, the chair scraping a little on the tiled floor. "I need to go."

"No, wait," he said urgently, reaching for her hand, keeping her half-seated. "Let me get you another cup." He loosened his grip on her hand and dipped his head, catching her eye. He tried a faint smile. "Please."

She sat back down. "How did you know where to find me?"

"I have my ways," he said, then sighed. "I followed you."

Her head snapped up with surprise. "You keeping tabs on me? What, you think I'm a drunk? Like you?"

He let go of her hand. "I'm not a drunk, Sara," he said, "I just did what a lot of people do; looked for a solution to my problems at the bottom of a bottle, and I didn't find it. I never was a drunk."

"Well, neither am I," she said curtly.

His hand moved to hers again and he patted it gently. "I know. I know you're not. But I also know that you're very unhappy."

Tears built in the corner of her eyes. She turned away, hating herself for being so transparent. Brass scanned his eyes around the diner, caught the waitress's attention and ordered more coffee. She came, served them, then left. Slowly, Brass pulled the corner of the lid off a milk jigger and emptied its content into his coffee. Then he took two sachets of sugar, tore the ends open and emptied them too. Next he stirred.

Sara couldn't help the curling of her lip, mocking and amused all at once. "I didn't take you for a white two-sugar coffee kind of guy."

"Well, now you know," he said, "But this one's not for me." He looked up and after putting the plastic stirrer down swapped his cup for hers. He flashed an awkward smile. "It's for you."

"I like mine black."

"Humour me," he said, taking another milk jigger and repeating the procedure. "Listen, Sara, I'm sorry. I know my words earlier came out all wrong and that I must have sounded―"

"Judgmental?"

He smiled. "Yeah, well, I was going to say, an ass, but that sounds better. It's only because I recognise the signs, and I care." He paused, both with his words and with the stirring of his coffee. "You're a smart girl. You know drinking beer for breakfast isn't going to make you feel better."

She sighed. "I don't – drink beer for breakfast." Her shoulders lifted. "I just…I recently found out that…Grissom recommended Nick for the Lead CSI promotion. I'm not supposed to know, but I do. Don't ask me how I know," she added when he opened his mouth, "please."

"Grissom must have had his reasons, providing your…source is correct, of course."

"It is," she said, and sighed. "I'm more experienced than him. I…put in more hours. I come in on my days off. I have a better solve rate than him, but it's still not good enough. I'm still not good enough."

Brass opened his mouth then closed it. "This isn't just about this promotion, is it?" he asked, then, "Do you even want it?"

"Of course, I want it. What kind of question is that? And I'd be damn good at it too!"

"So would Nick, I'm sure."

Sara clamped her mouth shut, her hands angrily clenching into fists on the table. Of course Nick would be good at it too, but that was beside the point. "Yeah, well, it doesn't matter now."

"Grissom must have had good reasons," Brass repeated, "Maybe you should ask―"

"Stop defending him," she snapped, her voice too loud, for several people nearby turned their heads toward her. She refocused back onto the cooling coffee in front of her.

"I'm not," Brass said in an even voice, "But maybe you should ask him. Ask him why he chose Nick over you."

Sara stood up on shaky legs. "Maybe I will," she said, and flashed an uncomfortable smile. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Sara, sit down," he bid quietly. "Please, sit down." She didn't, but she didn't leave either. "Maybe Grissom feels the same way about you as you do about him," he added so quietly that she wasn't sure she heard him right. "Have you thought about that?"

She looked right then left before hesitantly sitting back down. She blew out a breath and tried calming her racing heart. Picked up the cup, but she couldn't stop her hand from shaking so she put it back down. "Is it that obvious?" she asked, not daring to meet his gaze.

Brass sighed, but didn't reply. "The way I see it," he said when she finally lifted her eyes to his face, "and you know Grissom as well as I do, better even – but the man's got no idea about how you feel."

"I think he does."

Her words left him stunned. "Then, maybe he feels he needs to keep his distance because he's boss. You got to have it out with him, get it out in the open once and for all…"

Sara's shake of the head was firm and resolute. "No way."

"Why not? What do you risk?"

"Rejection?" she wanted to reply, but didn't say the word out loud, "Again."

"As it is, it's eating you up inside," he went up, his tone compassionate, "A ticking bomb, and it's only a matter of time until it goes…boom in your face."

Sara's hand moved to her face and she rubbed her eyes. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'd hate for you to throw your career down the pan, and your life with it, that's all. You wouldn't be the first one. Besides," he added, waiting for her look up to say, "I like you. You're a good kid." He smiled, and she couldn't help smiling back. "Come on, drink your coffee, and then let's go to bed."

Sara's face lit up and she laughed. "Thank you."

"And remember," he said, serious again as he took a sip of his coffee, "Grissom's the ass here, not you."