Chapter Twenty
Grissom had been sitting in the seat closest to the corner of the room as Sara sat adjacent to him with her back to the wall. She managed to slide the edge of the tablecloth over her lap so no one really noticed that she was slouched slightly in her seat, just as no one noticed that she had her foot sitting on Grissom's thigh as he massaged the soreness from her. She had only exaggerated mildly when she told the guys that she was getting a blister on her foot. The fact was that she hadn't danced like this in heels for years, and she was quite unaccustomed to them. So, while the two of them finally had the opportunity to be alone at the table, Grissom reached under the table to place his hand on her knee, then reached farther and pulled her calf up until her foot rested on his lap. He leaned back in his seat as he unbuckled her strap and pulled the shoe off, then dropped it to the floor. She couldn't stop the loud moan that escaped her lips as his thumbs and fingers went to work on her foot. She also couldn't stop the smile of absolute adoration that spread across her lips as she watched him. He was so goddamned handsome as he leaned carelessly back in his seat, looking more relaxed than he certainly had been all night, maybe more relaxed since they had last made love two days before. The way he was looking at her made her heart race madly, and she was truly beginning to read that look and knew exactly what he had on his mind. She knew he was very vividly remembering what had occurred in the parking lot before they came back inside. She knew her evening was only just beginning where Gilbert Grissom was concerned.
"Well, do you think you're in any shape to drive now?" Brass asked as he walked up to the table with his arm around an unstable Catherine's waist. "You've been downing soda for the past two hours."
"If he isn't, I am," Sara told him with a gentle smile. "I haven't had a drink since around ten o'clock."
"Sounds good to me," Brass told them, then turned to look at the redhead in his arms. "What do ya say, Red? Time to call it a night?"
Catherine snickered as she looked at Sara, then held her hand to the side of her mouth as if sharing a secret with her. "He called me Red."
Sara chuckled at them, and watched as Nick and Greg sauntered up to the table and plopped in seats. Warrick moved to stand behind them, then glanced around the room, seeing Brass escorting Catherine out of the building.
"Looks like Catherine's gonna have to come back for her car tomorrow."
"I think maybe Nick and Greg should come back tomorrow as well," Grissom told him as he watched the way Nick was staring at something under the table with complete fascination, and Greg was completely absorbed in trying to catch a fly that was walking across the top of Nick's shoulder.
"Hey! What are ya doin'?" Nick asked when Greg's hand came down on his shoulder with a sharp slap.
Greg smiled as he held his hand closed, then opened it to reveal his treasure. "Fly," he explained, then saw that his hand was empty.
"What's this?" Nick finally reached for the object he had been staring at, retrieving a heeled sandal from the floor. He held it up and inspected it more closely. "Someone lost their shoe."
Sara put her foot back down on the floor, then reached across the table and took her shoe back. "It's mine. I told you they hurt my feet."
"Oh," Nick smiled a huge grin at her. "And here I thought I had found my Cinderella–glass slipper and all."
"Yeah–well, come on Prince Charming. I'll give you a lift home." Warrick waited for Nick to get to his feet.
Nick started to leave, then turned back toward Sara and Grissom. He bowed slightly, then leaned over the table and kissed Sara's cheek. "You were wonderful tonight, Sara. We've got to go dancing again real soon–okay?"
"That would be nice," Sara told him, not wishing to get into too much of a conversation with the gentleman as she knew he was quite inebriated and probably wouldn't remember most of what happened this night anyway.
Nick stood erect again, or as erect as he could manage, and Warrick put his hand on his shoulder to steady him, then nodded his goodbye as they left the building.
"Hey," Greg said as he tried again to catch the fly, this time wandering across the table. "Has anyone see Sophia lately? The last I saw of her, she was rushing toward the bathroom. But that was about an hour or so ago."
"Greg, she was just talking to you and Nick about fifteen minutes ago." Sara jumped in response to Grissom's hand that now moved to rest on the inside of her thigh, his message still quite clear as he watched her.
"Oh yeah?" Greg asked. "It seemed longer. Should I go see if she's okay?" Greg started to stand, but Grissom reached over and grabbed his back pants pocket, yanking him back down into his seat. "Hey!"
"You're not going into the woman's bathroom to check on Sophia," Grissom explained. "I don't plan on trying to explain to the police what you were doing in there."
"I'll go check on her," Sara sighed as she slipped her sandal back on then got to her feet and made her way to the other side of the bar.
Sara pushed the door open to the woman's restroom and slowly entered, hearing the retching almost immediately. She felt Sophia had had more than her share of drink when she came back inside with Grissom. The woman very nearly knocked Sara over on her way to get to Grissom and ask how his stomach was. Of course, neither Sara nor Grissom knew just what she was talking about until Brass reminded Grissom about his IBS. Grissom looked at Brass as if he had lost his mind, until Jim informed him that he had been "in the bathroom" for such a long time that he figured it must have been his irritable bowel syndrome acting up again. Sara giggled at that, knowing that if anything had been irritated the last half hour, it certainly wasn't that part of his body.
Sophia started drinking a little faster than before, especially when she noticed that Sara was going to be at the table with no signs of getting up to dance any more that night. When Grissom turned in his chair to face Sara, entering in a conversation that seemed to go on and on without including Sophia, her indignation was complete. She spent the next two hours ordering more beer and trying to get Grissom to have some more scotch, but when that failed, she turned her attention to Warrick and Nick. Evidently the more she drank, the more suitable they became for her superior attentions. She tried to get them to dance with her, but by then, they were both past the point of dancing and were playing pool, so she joined them in a few games.
Now, as Sara entered the restroom, she crossed over to the last stall, seeing the woman's legs, beneath the door, and realizing she was sitting on the floor.
"Sophia?" Sara asked gently.
"What?" She gagged.
"Are you–alright?"
"No!" She spat, then Sara heard the undeniable sound of vomit hitting the inside of the toilet followed by a loud moan. "That goddamned Catherine poisoned me!"
Sara had to smile at that and she moved a little closer, pulling the door open to see her leaning heavily against the toilet rim.
"What makes you think Catherine would poison you?"
"She kept talking about poison to Grissom. She probably planned to use it on me all night."
"Oh, I don't think Catherine wanted to poison you. You must be mistaken."
"No! Of course "you" wouldn't believe it! You're on her side."
Sara didn't answer that, mainly because she most certainly was on "Catherine's" side. But, she knew she couldn't leave Sophia stranded here in the bar, so she resigned herself to help her home as best she could.
"Sophia–do you think you can make it out to my car?"
"No! I want Grissom to take me home." She moved to try to stand, but slipped and fell back onto the floor.
"I'm sure you do," Sara mumbled as she reached in and tried to lift the woman under her arms. "Jeez, you're all dead weight. Can you "try" to get to your feet?"
"Are you saying I'm fat?" Sophia looked at her with accusing eyes as she pushed herself up until she was leaning heavily on her.
"No. I'd never tell anyone they were fat."
"Good–because I'm not! You're just so damned skinny that you look like a starving survivor from a deserted island."
Sara sighed heavily on that, but continued to try to get her out of the stall. "Well, at least I look like a survivor."
"Ya know, I don't know why you hang on to Grissom the way you do. Anyone can see that he isn't interested–at all. He laughs at you–did you know that?"
Sara closed her eyes to try to shut the woman's comments out of her mind. She didn't need to hear this–not when she was just starting to trust Grissom with her heart. She didn't need any doubts rumbling around in her subconscious.
"Grissom is a difficult person to make laugh. I'm flattered that he can laugh at something I've said."
"Yeah–but what's that old saying? He isn't laughing "with" you. He's laughing "at" you. He thinks you're clingy. He thinks you should try to get another paramedic so he can walk through the halls of the lab without worrying if you're around the corner, ready to pounce on him."
"Well, he doesn't have to worry about me pouncing on him at the lab," Sara said stiffly as she started toward the door to the restroom.
"Good," Sophia giggled. "Like he'd be interested in you, anyway! You know, you're not very pretty. You should try someone like–Greg! He's young enough that he won't care that you're so plain." Sophia looked back at Sara with a superior expression (drunk, none the less), as Sara put her hand on the door's knob. "I'm going to have him in my bed tonight. Did you know that? You can go out there and dance in your little leather skirt–but he doesn't even notice. It must really hurt to be ignored like that. But then, you're probably used to it."
It really was an accident–or at least Sara thought it "might" have been an accident. How was she supposed to know that the dumb bitch was going to try to walk through the door just as she was opening it? The bang as the door came in contact with Sophia's head knocked the blonde to her knees. Sara gasped with surprise as she tried to hold the woman up, but when she turned furious eyes on her, she simply let go o her.
"You stupid bitch! You hit me!" Sophia growled at her and tried to get up, clearly in an attempt to charge into Sara, but Sara side-stepped her and watched in shock as Sophia hit her shoulder against the paper towel dispenser and was knocked to the floor a second time. This time when she looked up at Sara, she held her head and looked dazed, on top of being drunk. "What happened?"
"You tripped and hit your head–twice," Sara said to her as she grabbed her upper arm and helped her to her feet again, this time being careful to open the door fully before trying to push the other woman through it.
Once she got her to the front of the bar, Sophia caught sight of Grissom and hurried to him, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face against his shoulder.
"Oh, Gil–I hit my head! And she wouldn't help me! She was useless!"
Grissom pushed her back at arm's length and looked into her imploring eyes. "You do realize that she almost "carried" you out here, don't you?"
"I just want to go home now, Gil. Can't you just take me home?"
"Of course," he said as he looked over Sophia's head at Sara and Greg. "Looks like you're the only one sober enough to drive, Sara. Let's go."
The fact that Sophia was being escorted to the car by Grissom helped her steps to become more steady. The fact that she was being taken to "Sara's" car went by unnoticed. There seemed to be a glint of triumph when he opened the back door and sat her inside, then went around to the other side. Sara watched in amusement as Grissom opened the other back door and maneuvered Greg in with Sophia, then got into the front seat with her.
"All set?" Sara asked.
"I think we need to go to Sophia's place first."
Things remained quiet in the back seat for about six blocks before Grissom felt a sharp kick in the middle of his back and heard Greg yelp.
"Hey!" Greg said loudly. "What the hell?"
"Come on, honey," Sophia purred. "You know you want to."
"No I don't!" Greg sounded like a frightened child. "Now, stop that!"
"Ohhh, baby," came Sophia's voice again. "You're a big boy, aren't you?"
"Jesus Christ!" Greg nearly jumped to the front seat as he pushed himself farther away from the wondering hands of his backseat companion.
"Are you okay, back there, Greg?" Sara asked, glancing in her rearview mirror to see Sophia begin to bend forward, aiming for Greg's midsection.
"Stop it! There are people in the car with us!" Greg's shock was sounding throughout the car.
Grissom sighed deeply, clearly not wanting to have to deal with this, then turned in his seat. "Good, God!" He grumbled, then shouted loudly. "Sophia! Don't touch Greg anymore! Greg, pull up your zipper!"
"I didn't pull it down! She's like a damned octopus!"
Sophia gave a throaty chuckle as she leaned in to Greg again. "Come on, baby. Make momma happy."
"Oh my God! You want to pretend you're my mother–and you want to do "that" to me?!"
"Does Sara have to pull this car over?" Grissom threatened loudly.
Sophia sat upright and looked around herself, focusing in on Grissom staring at her from the front seat, then she looked at Greg, as if seeing him for the first time.
"Don't touch me, ya little perv!" She said angrily to Greg.
"My pleasure, lady," Greg mumbled.
"Pull in here," Grissom advised Sara as they came to Sophia's home.
Sara no sooner had the car stopped than Greg was outside, standing on the sidewalk, then starting to walk away. Grissom joined him, as did Sara.
"Greg! Where are you going?" Sara called.
"I'm not riding with "that" thing! I'll walk the rest of the way."
"Get back here," Grissom ordered. "We've got her almost there. Come help me carry her inside."
Reluctantly, Greg did as ordered and between the two of them, they walked her to her front door.
"Where are her keys?" Greg asked, looking at Grissom with fear, hoping they hadn't lost them somewhere and would have to put up with the woman until she got sober enough to find another way into her home.
"I don't know," Grissom told him, doubt entering his eyes as well.
"Did she have a purse when she came to the bar?" Sara asked, receiving a shrug and a negative shake of the head. "Then they're probably in her pocket."
"I'm not reaching into her pocket!" Greg blurted out. "She's so primed I might lose my fingers."
This brought a chuckle from Grissom, that he quickly covered it as he looked at Sara. "Don't look at me. I'm not risking the chance that you won't talk to me for a week because I had my fingers in her pants."
"Fine!" Sara sighed with resignation as she patted the pockets of the woman's jeans, then after finding the appropriate bulges, reached in and pulled out a set of keys. Thankfully, she only had one key that resembled a house key, and they quickly and efficiently got her inside, where they took her to her sofa and lay her down.
"Do you think she'll be alright?" Greg asked as he swayed in front of the sofa.
"She should be fine," Grissom told him. "Just let her sleep it off."
"What if she throws up? I've heard of people getting drunk and throwing up in their sleep–and they drown in their own vomit." Greg looked concerned, even if he wasn't very fond of her at the moment.
"We'll prop her up," Grissom said as he grabbed her and pulled her back into a sitting position, then leaned her against a stack of pillows that Sara quickly collected from various chairs around the room. "There. Now if she falls, she'll still be upright enough that she won't aspirate."
Greg gave a satisfied nod of his head and started toward the door, only to trip over a pair of shoes that were left in the middle of the floor. Grissom caught his arm an steadied him, then closed the door and put his hand on Sara's leather-covered bottom as they followed the younger man to the car.
"One down and one to go," Grissom told her.
"God, I feel like I'm their mother–making sure they get home safely." She smiled up at him. "You really aren't too buzzed out to drive–are you?"
"No, I'm not. I merely wanted to ride with you–and didn't want to get stuck taking anyone else home."
He gave her a smile that told her things were working out almost as he had planned. She couldn't help but return that smile that had her stomach twisting in a sensational coil, already.