Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, they belong to CBS, and absolutely no copyright infringement is intended.


Chapter 3

If you ever have a hangover, there are three things you should never do. One, sit out under the hot Vegas sun. Two, wait for Grissom to pack his stuff, whilst you hang around in conditions previously mentioned under category number one. And three, don't under any circumstances, watch Catherine pacing up and down, because she'll have your eyes rolling around like one of the fruit machines down on the strip.

I don't know how she manages it; I know I couldn't be quite so mobile. My stomach is still sloshing around like a washing machine, and if my brain cells don't quit kicking each other some time soon, I might never get back to normal. In fact, I really do suspect that I'm dead, and rigor mortis just hasn't set in yet.

Whereas, Catherine has made a full recovery, which doesn't do very much to endear her to me right now. I don't know what she did, but when I left her house this morning, she looked like a member of the grateful dead, and when I got back she looked like a million dollars.

"What on earth is he doing?" Catherine continues to pace up and down impatiently, in front of my car. "How much stuff does one person need for two weeks?"

"You know, I asked myself that same question when I staggered downstairs with your suitcase this morning," I reply, remembering the fear that my arm was going to fall off under the sheer weight of her luggage.

"I packed sensibly, and what did you do? Brought a tiny bag that looks like it only has enough room for a clean pair of pants, and a toothbrush. Were you planning on getting lucky every night?" she chuckles and then laughs even louder when I send her a grumpy look.

"Some of us didn't take up valuable space with shoes. Take those heels for instance, the black ones with the strappy thingies, where the hell are you going to wear those? They'll look absolutely precious on the assault course, just right for breaking your legs in. I'm sure the doctors at the ER will appreciate your efforts."

"You're too sarcastic for words, Sidle," she points in my direction. "I packed them since I was going to suggest we go out to dinner, but I can't stand you, now."

"I hate you too, Willows," we grin at each other, which definitely makes a change from scowling the way we normally do.

She looks at her watch and clicks her tongue. "What's taking him so long? He said he was going to be ten minutes at the most."

"Probably packing his bug books," I say, as I pull a pack of cigarettes out of my pocket, and take a seat on the hood.

The way she's pacing and my reaction to reach for my cigarettes, reminds of me something I had remembered earlier on. The thought makes the pit of my stomach icily cold, even though the sun is shining and the temperature is already up in the nineties. I'm not quite sure how to broach the subject; I don't know if I should ask or leave things be. Having said that; if I leave it alone, it could cause problems later on. And there's already too much to lose, if she and I went back to hating each other.

"I thought you quit?" she asks on her next lap.

"I did, but someone not a million miles away kicked off my habit again, last night. Want one?"

"Will it stop me killing Gil?"

"I should hope so, but if not, I'll testify for you in court," I reply with a laugh and pass the pack to her.

"Why waste our time, if we bury him properly, nobody would ever know," she says with a smile, reaches out for the cigarettes and then lights one. "Thanks."

"I hope he doesn't come out with too much of his shit packed, the suspension in my car will only take so much," and I fervently hope its true, because despite her denial, Catherine packed half her closet.

"Give it a rest, I didn't pack that much," Catherine stops pacing, and shakes her head at me.

"Between your shoes, clothes, and makeup and his National Geographics, we'll be lucky to make it to the airport," I chuckle, enjoying the easy atmosphere between us, feeling sorry that it hasn't always been like this.

That's when I know that I definitely have too much to lose, if I don't bring up the subject. Somewhere along the line, it feels as if we've forged a friendship even though I can't quite place when it happened. I try to piece the bits together, but it's all so jumbled up. I remember things were good to start off with, hostility was at a minimum and then something happened. I'm pretty sure we ended up arguing again, no surprise there I guess. It wasn't pleasant, I know that much even if I can't recall the specifics right now.

I also have a vague recollection of a conversation that I think took place after the argument. I think we both said something that changed things between us, but can't for the life of me remember what. I hope she does, because my memory blanks seriously need filling in.

"Cath?"

"Yeah?"

"We argued yesterday didn't we?"

"Yeah, which is why Grissom is sending us on the trip from hell," she smiles at me and speeds her pacing up.

"No, I don't mean that," I shake my head and follow her with my eyes. "While we were out, one of us said something and we argued. I know it was bad, probably the worst fight we ever had."

"I don't really remember," she takes a drag on her cigarette, and avoids my eyes.

"I know you remember, I can tell by the look on your face. Why were we fighting, and what did we say that hurt each other so much?" my stomach flips uncomfortably as I remember tears on both sides.

I'd never seen her cry before, and I hate that I caused it.

"Can we talk about it later?" she stops pacing and stands in front of me. "It's between us, and I really don't want Gil listening in."

"Sure we can, but whatever it was that happened, we sorted it right?" I ask worriedly.

I don't want to carry on as if we're okay, and then she suddenly whips out her nail file when she's found the right moment to file me to death, in her quest for revenge.

Her smile returns, shining as brightly as the sun above. "Finally, yeah. So you can stop worrying, we're okay."

"I did tell you I was a lover, and not a fighter," I quirk an eyebrow at her, as I laugh.

"Oh yeah, Sara Sidle, licensed to thrill as my personal love muffin," she blows out smoke and almost chokes, as my eyebrows reach my hairline.

"Love muffin? You need to work on your chat up lines," I shift position and cross my legs, desperately scratching around for a change of subject. "If Grissom comes out with more than one bag, we're gonna need the Tahoe."

"Are you back to bitching about that, again?" she must decide she's had enough of pacing, as she leans against my leg, and rests her arm on my thigh. "I did say we could take my car if you were that worried about your suspension."

"There was no room on the backseat for Grissom between Sindy, Bridal Barbie, and Ken the cheating bastard," I say in reply, as Catherine shakes with laughter.

"And Gil's car is a heap of shit," she comments, as we both look across the parking lot to his rust-bucket.

"The last time that car was fashionable, Bo and Luke were being chased around Hazzard County. Freakin' car is older than I am," I say as Catherine bursts out laughing again.

I like this side of her. It's not like I've never seen her laugh before, I'm just never unusually the one to cause it, and I could quite easily get addicted to it. I prefer making her laugh, to making her cry because I'm fairly certain watching the tears fall from her big blue eyes broke my heart. I feel my throat tighten as my heart aches and I know she's noticed something is wrong, but is tactful enough not to bring it up right now.

"Please, don't tell me you were a fan of the Duke boys?" she quirks an eyebrow at me, and I wonder how I should tell her that I wasn't.

"Well, not that I used to watch it often, but no, I wasn't a fan of the boys," I say, after deciding to go for something approaching vague. "Daisy Duke was way cooler."

"Here's Grissom now," she squeezes my leg, and I breathe a sigh of relief that she hadn't called me on my comment.

The man is carrying no less than two suitcases, and I thought Catherine was bad. He's definitely packed half of his bookshelves, unless of course he really is like Catherine, and he's packed his secret collection of heels instead. The thought makes me shudder, as unwanted images of Grissom as a drag queen float through my head. I need to get out more.

We watch as he staggers toward us, and we should probably help him but I don't think either of us wants a hernia. He comes powering past, red faced and sweating, before putting the suitcases down with a sigh of relief. It's then that I notice he's carrying a satchel too, which looks stuffed to capacity.

"Good Lord, Gil. You got half the lab in there or what?" Catherine remarks as she grinds her cigarette out underfoot. "Sara, check to make sure he hasn't packed Greg will ya?"

I choke on my laughter, and he gives us a stern look, which has us both pouting like we're back at school again and being told off by the principal.

"I packed a few necessities, my entomological textbooks, mostly," he says wiping his brow before tossing his bags in the trunk.

"And you're planning to do what with them?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. "Besides getting charged excess baggage."

"Study them," he looks at me like it was a stupid question.

And people think I'm a workaholic.

"You know Grissom, he won't relax," Catherine says as I nod in agreement with her. "He won't take any time off, and he most certainly won't socialise with people. He'll be about as much fun as an attack of the bubonic plague."

"Cheaper for us though, only two drinks per round when we get rolling drunk," I climb into the car as Catherine grabs shotgun, leaving Grissom to climb into the back seat.

"Sara Sidle, do you mean to tell me that you're going to unbend long enough to get drunk with me, again?" Catherine grins wickedly.

"Oh yes, I intend to get so drunk I won't be able to stand up, and neither will you," I return the smile, and pull out of our parking space, heading toward the exit.

The pair of us must be mad, we were half past dead earlier this morning, and we both maintained we were never drinking again, and most certainly not with each other. But here we are planning our next session. Oh well, you know what they say: my liver is evil and must be punished.

"Daisy Duke, huh?" Catherine breaks the silence, as I merge into traffic. "I liked her too; I remember having shorts just like hers."

Oh shit. Not only did she hear me, now she's giving me visuals. This is going to be, one very long trip.

***

An hour later, I'm sitting in the departure lounge of McCarran international and drinking a beer as I watch the city skyline, and various aircraft taking off and landing beyond the window. It's not often I get to go anywhere, and I'm feeling like a big kid at the moment due to excitement at getting out of the lab for a while. I think a lot of my excitement is also due to the fact that Catherine is with me. Now that I've partially gotten over myself, I can admit she's nowhere near as bad as I thought she was. I think I really do like her, and if me comparing her smile to the sun earlier on is anything to go by, my hormones like her too.

I look at my watch and notice I've been sat by myself for the best part of fifteen minutes. Grissom is mincing around the gift shops because typically, he brought the kitchen sink but forgot to bring his sunglasses. Catherine on the other hand, was only supposed to be taking a trip to the bathroom. I know the airport is big, but I didn't realise she'd have to swing by Hawaii just to use the restroom Still, she's left her purse with me, its currently sitting in my lap and I don't know a woman alive who'd go anywhere without it.

I take a sip of my beer, and almost choke on it when I feel it begin to vibrate against my pelvis. Damn, if purses do that, no wonder most women want to carry them. Tough girl status be damned, I want one. And then it suddenly sinks in, when a faint noise emanates from it. It's obviously her cell phone ringing, and I'm undecided on whether to answer it, because it could be important. But I wouldn't want to open her bag either, it's her personal property.

But on the sixth time of hearing the opening riff to Sweet Home Alabama, it's seriously starting to get on my last musical nerve and I fumble with the bag, as I pull the phone out.

"Hello, Catherine Willows' phone, how may I help you?" nice one Sidle, now you sound like her PA.

"Who's this?" A gruff male voice on the other end sounds familiar.

"My name is Sara, I work with Catherine. You must be Eddie, right?"

"Yeah, so where is she?" he asks rudely.

"She's busy at the moment but if you want to call back in about ten minutes," I look around but can't see her, "she should be available."

"I don't have time to go chasin' after her. Just give her a message."

"You sure you don't want to talk to her, yourself?" and I wish he would because the last thing I want, is Catherine going postal on me.

"I'm sure. Tell her when she feels like pretending she gives a shit, to call our daughter and tell her that I'll be looking after her when she comes home from her trip. Kid doesn't need to suffer just 'cause Catherine thinks more of her job than her daughter," he growls and then the phone goes dead.

"Goodbye to you too, asshole," I sigh, and flip the phone shut.

I shove the cell back where I found it and try to close the bag, but it's proving extraordinarily difficult. I went to Harvard, I studied theoretical physics for god sake and I can't manage to close Catherine's purse? I stick my tongue out, and lavish all of my concentration on it, but nope, nothing. I've solved Rubik's Cubes faster.

"I wouldn't bother, there's nothing in there worth blackmailing me for," she says with an amused tone, and plants herself down on the stool next to me.

"Your purse started vibrating," I say, still struggling with the stupid clasp.

"Bet you thought I'd packed a little something extra with batteries, huh?" she giggles and I send her a 'not funny' look.

I'm so busted.

"The phone rang, and I answered because I thought it might be important," I say, still struggling with the purse. "Cath, how do you work this thing?"

She snorts with laughter, and shows me. "See? Doesn't take a genius."

"Here's your drink, smarty pants," I say with a grin, as I pass it over.

"Beer, at this time of the morning?" she asks, shrugs and takes a mouthful anyway.

"It's after 5pm somewhere in the world, and it's helping my hangover, roll with it," I take another drink. "That was Eddie on the phone."

I give her a run down of the conversation and her eyes glint dangerously, but thankfully it isn't directed at me.

"She gets home an entire 24 hours before I do. Nancy is going to pick her up and watch her all day, he's only got her overnight for god sake, and that was by choice," she bites her bottom lip and closes her eyes as she sighs deeply, the way she always does when he upsets her.

"Things still no better between the two of you?" I ask, because if I'm going to be her friend, I want to do it properly.

"You really don't wanna know," she sighs heavily and picks at a loose corner of the label on her bottle.

I think she wants to talk, but because we're sort of only just becoming friends, then she's most likely finding it strange. I don't blame her because I think I'd feel weirdly about it too, it's been surreal between us since we left Grissom's office. Despite our history, I always did hold out a secret hope that we could be friends. That doesn't seem like such a crazy idea now.

"If I didn't want to know, I wouldn't have asked. Shoot," I nudge her with a smile and figure I should be sensitive to her needs; she hasn't exactly had it easy lately and I know what that feels like.

"Every time I do or say something he's waiting in the wings to prove how much of a bad mother I am. He keeps threatening to file for full custody, and even though he's appeared to clean up his act lately, I don't buy it in the slightest."

"Still no further forward with the divorce?"

"It's not like I haven't tried but this is Eddie we're talking about, the guy's like ether."

"How's Lindsey coping with it all?"

"She's angry with me all the time, and hardly speaks to me. He's got her twisted around his little finger and I'm always the bad one. The more time she spends with him, the more he turns her against me, it never fails."

"It won't be like that forever. She's only eight years old; she's probably confused about the breakup, angry even. It's natural."

"I know it's hard for her, and it breaks my heart that she's hurting so much but she won't let me near her. She lashes out when she gets upset, and I can understand that because she gets that from me. I hope to hell she grows out of it, though," she says with a sigh, and focuses on her drink.

"I doubt it, she takes after her mother, remember?" I joke to try and lighten the heaviness that's settled around us, and I'm glad when she shoots me a grin.

"I'll get you back for that, Sara. Don't say I didn't warn you," she smiles, and slips her tongue inside her beer bottle, before tipping her head back.

That simple move seems to make the room spin slightly.

"You already got me back this morning, when you grabbed a handful of my rear," I motion for the bartender, and order two more beers. "And believe me, I'm suffering."

"Awww I hope your ass isn't too badly bruised," she gives it a quick pat, and then captures her bottom lip in-between her teeth and laughs throatily.

"Not nearly as much as Grissom's will be," I say quietly as a shiver runs down my spine.