June 2005

She hadn't slept well for the last two weeks. Vegas was sweltering and every morning when she laid down to go to sleep she turned the temperature in her apartment down as low as she could stand it. She wasn't sure why she bothered, it didn't really matter, three hours later she would awaken with her clothes and sheets drenched in sweat and her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her temple. She would change her pajamas (which was just a t-shirt and girlie boxers) or strip down to nothing and then change the sheets. She knew she would be mortified when the electric bill came for the month and she had already broken down last week and bought a third set of sheets, so she could throw the two sets of sweat soaked ones in the washing machine before she left for work each night.

Sara chided herself for dwelling even for a moment of the expense of a bitterly cold house and new sheets. It was ridiculously petty for her to even think about it after all that Nick had been through. She knew the horrors that haunted her sleep had to do both with her worries of what would have happened if they hadn't found him and what if it had been her that was buried alive. She was certain she would have taken her own life hours before he actually had broken down and raised the pistol to his head. She wondered what she would have done not knowing her coworkers could actually see her in agony. Again she reminded her overactive mind that Nick was safe now and he was in Texas with his family on medical leave. Now if she could just forget about how weak she would have been in the same situation.

It was noon when she awoke this time. That meant she had been asleep for almost three hours. She stripped the bed and hopped in the shower to rinse off and calm herself. After the shower, she shivered in the cold room before making the bed quickly and crawling in naked. She refused to get out of bed until at least 4:00 PM. She reached for her book, which was now some fluffy fictional best-seller rather than her usual forensic journal. Mentally she ran through a checklist of what she could do next to combat the insomnia. Aroma therapy, white noise machine, sleeping pills, working longer hours, going to the gym. This had to stop soon before her performance started to slip at work.

Her book had slid from her hands and she had just dozed off when the phone rang, jolting her straight up in momentary panic and disorientation. She shook her head and reached for the phone.

"Hello," she croaked. There was silence. "Is someone there?"

"Shashhara," a voice said, slurring badly.

"Who is this?" she asked.

There was a long pause. Then she heard a mix of words that she could only interpret as, "ish ta gol".

She was getting frustrated. Whoever it was had probably misdialed and she made a vow to call the phone company later and get caller ID on her home phone. "I think you have the wrong fucking number," she said in exasperation and slammed the receiver back in the cradle.

Ten minutes later the phone rang again and she angrily answered, "WHAT!"

"Sh-ara, doon t hang up thish time."

"Who is this?" she sighed.

"Gil."

She was wide awake. He sounded totally drunk. Incapacitated drunk.

"Grissom? Where are you?" she asked.

"I'm (hic) on your (hic) landing," he said.

"My landing?" she repeated dumbly.

"Yessh, pretty shure, that is where I am," he answered.

Sara scrambled for clothes and started to tug on some panties and shorts then grabbed a baggy shirt. "Okay, hold on, I'll be right there," she said.

She opened the door to find him sitting on the landing next to her door with his back against the wall and his legs straight out in front of him. Between his legs he had a bottle of tequila and in one hand he was staring at his cell phone while the other hand held a bottle of Corona. She observed three empty bottles scattered across the floor. She put her keys in her pocket and sat down next to him.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"The bitchy bartender cut me off and kicked me out of the bar, so I deschided this was a good spot to keep drinking," he answered.

"How long have you been here?" she asked. She was thankful her neighbor worked the day shift otherwise the police would have been called. She could just see LVPD arriving to arrest Grissom for public intoxication. He didn't have a lot of friends on first shift. Departmental courtesy may have been expected, but the rumor mill would have been flooded with details of the incident.

He shrugged in answer. She saw a receipt sticking out of the carton of beer. He bought the beer and tequila from a store a couple of blocks from her place 45 minutes ago. He had probably been sitting there for 35 minutes.

"You drove her after being shut off at a bar in Vegas? What were you thinking?" she asked him in shock. She wondered if he had been obnoxious or abusive. She couldn't imagine he would get drunk enough in a public place to draw attention to the fact that he was incapacitated.

"I am in complete control of faticuties…my faclulties…my…I was just fine to drive," he said triumphantly.

"Uh-huh, sure you were," she said, not the least bit convinced.

"I am," he protested. "Do you want me to say the alphabet backwards? Z…Y…X…V…Sara, if I were in charge of the alphabet u and i would not be so far apart," he finished seriously.

"Oh, for the love of Christ!" Sara exploded. "Have you been getting drunk at a Hallmark store? Give me that!" she lunged for the bottle of tequila and he moved it out of her reach.

"No…it's mine," he said. She almost thought he sounded petulant. Was this some sort of strange-ass dream and if so when the hell would she wake up from it?

"For God's sake…you could at least share it," she said.

"Not until you admit that I am not drunk," he taunted.

Sara looked him squarely in the eye. "You forgot 'W' in case you missed that," she said.

"Oh." He handed her the bottle. "Touché."

She took a very long swig of the tequila and welcomed the burning sensation in her throat and chest.

"Seriously Grissom…why are you here?" she asked after a few more swallows.

He looked away from her and appeared to stare at absolutely nothing for a few moments. He finished the rest of his beer and studied the ceiling as he answered her.

"Sara? What happened to us?" he asked softly.

She had only been speechless a few times in her adult life and this was now one of them. She looked at him incredulously

"Us?" she said. "Grissom, in case you missed it, there hasn't been an 'us' for many, many years. Fourteen years to be exact."

"Why is that?" he asked.

"You know what? I am so not having this conversation on my landing," she said. She scrambled to her feet while still holding the bottle of tequila. "Are you able to stand up and come inside my apartment?"

A/N: Next chapter to be posted Tuesday, May 8th.