A/N: This is…I don't know what this is. It's a little overdramatic, but I think that is a reflection of the frustration that I'm feeling at the moment. Grissom truly is a dumbass, but I guess it's not his fault. TPTB made him that way.

Sofia was leaving. I wasn't sure how to feel about it. Granted, she wasn't one of "us." But since Dicklie—er, Ecklie went on his vindictive rampage, there really wasn't an "us" anymore. The team was broken. And she was a good CSI. Odd, but good. And she certainly seemed to have her eye on me, which, I won't lie, felt…nice. When a young, beautiful woman comes along and notices you... Perhaps I shouldn't travel that road.

Bottom line—she was leaving. If she left, my team would go from four (three and a half, really—Greg isn't quite ready to be turned totally loose on his own) to three. You can't investigate all the crime that occurs in Las Vegas on a nightly basis with three people. She couldn't leave. Ecklie be damned.

Thus I found myself standing in my office with a beautiful woman and a dilemma. I simply couldn't afford to lose another CSI. And before I knew what my lips were doing, I heard myself say, "Would you like to have dinner?" When she gave me that coy, oh-so-Sofia smile, I knew it was too late. I couldn't back out. And truth be told, I wasn't sure I wanted to. I needed something—someone—to take my mind off of…again, let's not travel that road.

I gave Sofia a smile and told her to hang on for a second—I needed to drop off a piece of mail at the front desk. She sat down in a chair in front of my desk as I grabbed an envelope and stepped outside my office door—and ran straight into her. I stopped dead in my tracks and just stared at her. I didn't even wonder how much she'd heard. Deep in my heart, in that psychic place that everyone has but no one thinks about, I just knew. She had heard it all.

In an instant, a flicker of anger passed over her eyes; then nothing. They were dead.

"Emotionally unavailable, my ass," she said dully, before turning on her heel and walking away. Shit.

I stood there in shock, watching her turn the corner. A moment later, I felt someone beside me. "Back so soon?" Sofia asked mildly, before glancing down in confusion at the envelope I was still clutching.

I turned to her and told her the truth, rather than any of the number of lies I could have come up with. "Ah…Sofia, I think I'm going to have to back out of dinner. I'm not feeling so well."

"Uh, okay…" she said slowly, in her throaty Sofia way. "Another time, perhaps?"

This time, I lied. "Perhaps," I said stiffly. I knew very well that any desire I had ever had to see this woman outside of work had just been obliterated. The invitation I had just extended had likely cost me my relationship—if you could call it that—with Sara, and although not Sofia's fault, I doubted if I could help but hold it against her.

I watched Sofia walk slowly away, obviously aware that something was amiss. I stumbled back into my office and sank down into my chair, unsure of what to do. A plant was most definitely not going to cut it this time.

A knock sounded on my door. Catherine. God, no. Anyone but. Inwardly rolling my eyes, I looked up and asked the obvious. "Why are you here, Catherine? You should be home."

"Suspect interrogation," she said succinctly. Her eyes narrowed. Uh-oh. She was on to me. "Gil…" she said, dragging it out. "What's going on? You look…" she considered for a moment. "Dazed," she finished.

"Nothing," I lied, shuffling papers in a pathetic attempt to distract her. I should have known better.

"You know, I hate it when you lie to me. Why do you even bother?" she asked, sitting down in front of me. "What did you do? And so help me God, if this has to do with Sara, I'm getting up and walking out," she warned.

Excellent. Just what I want. "It has to do with Sara," I answered, honestly, for once in my life. I sat back, waiting for her to take the cue to leave.

No such luck.

"Dear God, Gil, what is wrong with you?"

"I thought you said you were leaving if it had to do with Sara," I complained.

"I lied. Sue me. Besides, you obviously aren't a big enough boy to take care of things for yourself, so I'm guessing that you'll need my assistance to fix whatever it is you've done this time. We would have lost an excellent CSI three years ago if I hadn't been there to hold your hand and tell you to get the stupid plant," she snarked.

Always the plant. Why did she always have to bring up that damn plant?

She continued. "Speaking of which, what did you do this time, Gil?"

I was stuck with this woman. Absolutely stuck with her. I decided to just tell her. She was bound to dig it out of me eventually. "I asked Sofia out to dinner and Sara overheard. She didn't, uh, react well."

I found myself shrinking back in my seat at the look Catherine was giving me. I suddenly found it very difficult to believe that she was having trouble keeping a 12 year-old in line, because she was certainly having no problem at all keeping me in line. Slowly, she rose out of her seat, placed both hands on my desk, and leaned across at me, teeth clenched. "You are…the most unimaginably clueless asshole I have ever met, Gil." Her voice was low and threatening. "First of all, Sofia?" she hissed. "Shit, you really are a dumb fuck for being such a genius, you know that? How could you even dare ask Ecklie's little minion out to dinner?"

"She said she was quitting, Catherine! I'm understaffed as it is! I didn't mean it as a date, for God's sake! I only wanted to go to dinner to try to talk her into staying. She took it the wrong way."

Catherine narrowed her eyes. "And it didn't occur to you that this conversation could take place here at the lab?" She leaned across my desk, invading my personal space. That low, threatening voice returned. "You thought that perhaps some candlelight and wine could help things along? Perhaps you might find the right words to make her stay if only you could get a nice long look at that cleavage she loves to show off?"

I bit my tongue right before I remarked that Catherine had no room to talk in the cleavage department. I'm not that much of a dumb fuck.

Instead, I blew out a sigh. "I don't know what you want me to say, Catherine. I honestly don't know what I was thinking. It just sort of slipped out. Besides," I said, suddenly feeling defensive, "what if it was an actual date? Am I suddenly not allowed to have a social life?"

Bad move. Catherine clenched her jaw and looked like a pissed-off cat ready to pounce on a mouse. "Gil Grissom…" And with those two words, the anger faded away, only to be replaced by something that sounded frighteningly like hatred. "You are a dick."

She stood up, smoothed out her shirt, and turned her back on me. She walked halfway to the door before thinking better of it. Stopping cold, she dropped her head a bit before turning back to me. The pissed-off cat look was gone; in its place was a cunning fury. She worked her jaw before clearing her throat to speak. "I'm going to give it to you straight, and then I may never speak to you again. Here's the deal, Gil. Sara is in love with you. Not in 'like,' not in 'crush,' not in 'infatuation.' She is in love with you." Catherine's voice trembled. "God knows I don't have a clue why, but she is. Why the hell else do you think she stayed in Vegas?"

Isn't that the million dollar question.

Catherine continued. "What she feels for you is the real deal. Any normal man would jump at the chance to have something with a woman like that." She paused pointedly. "And you, Gil, are in love with her." I must have opened my mouth in surprise, because she held up her hand and plowed ahead. "Don't bother denying it. Everyone knows it. I do, Brass does, Nick, Warrick, Greg, Ecklie, Doc Robbins, Hodges—everyone. Hell, Gil, the fucking janitor knows that Gil Grissom is madly in love with Sara Sidle and is too chicken shit to do anything about it. And now you're at a crossroads. You pulled a stupid-ass stunt tonight because you were afraid of losing a good CSI. But in pulling that stunt, you inadvertently just lost a good CSI."

My eyes widened.

Some of Catherine's anger seemed to dissipate. "Yeah, genius boy. She's gone. God knows Sara and I have never been best friends, but I know her well enough to know that something like this is the last straw. She loves you, but a woman can only be shit on so much before she can't take any more. I wouldn't be surprised if she's at home booking a flight out of this hellhole right now. So now you have to decide what to do. Do you let her go? Or…" She trailed off.

"What?" I prodded, numbness overtaking me.

"A plant won't get it this time, Gil," she said softly.

"Gee, Catherine, I don't think I could have possibly come to that conclusion alone. Thanks so much for your help," I snarked in irritation.

With lightning-quick reflexes that did credit to her nickname, Catherine lunged across my desk and grabbed me by the collar. Perfect. The worst day of my life, and on top of it all, I was being manhandled by a five foot two ex-stripper.

"You goddamn idiot," she growled, making my testicles shrink. "You may not give a shit about our friendship, but I'll be damned if I'm going to stand here and watch you break Sara any more than you already have. So you want to know what you have to do? Get ready to shit a brick, Bug Man, because this is going to hurt.

First, you have to go find her and explain that your "date" with Sofia wasn't really a date. Then, if she hasn't planted her knee in your balls by that point, you have to tell her exactly how you feel about her, and I do mean exactly. No beating around the bush. You tell her you love her, that you're sorry for being such a shithead, and that you will do anything, and I mean anything, to fix things between the two of you. If you have to grovel, you grovel, and if she slams the door in your face and tells you to fuck off, then you suck it up because you deserve it. Got it?"

And with that, the little red-headed tornado that is Catherine Willows was gone.

She was right. This was going to hurt.