Staring through the one-way glass, Grissom found himself fighting back a
shocking surge of rage.

"I'd ask how you're doing," Warrick's voice was grim as he walked in. "But
the look on your face pretty much covers that subject."

"I hate him." The older man said suddenly, his voice absent. "He's just a
kid - a scared and stupid kid - but I hate him." He tore his gaze away from
the teen to look at his friend. "I've never hated a suspect before; been
appalled by them, disgusted, angry, even indifferent, but I've never hated
one."

Warrick digested this then summed it up in one sentence. "None of them ever
put Sara in intensive care. This one did."

Grissom's hands balled into fists and he had to consciously suppress the
urge to explode into the other room and attack the young man. "He made it
personal." He responded after a moment's thought. "I've always been able to
keep a certain degree of distance, even when I was involved..."

"When it's the person who means everything - distance is how far you have to
go to kill the son of a bitch who hurt them." His friend replied bluntly and
honestly.

"That obvious?"

"What? How you feel about Sara?" Warrick grinned. "To everybody but you, Sara,
and maybe Greg? Though, to be honest, even he's starting to catch on."

A shadow of his usual smile appeared on Grissom's face. "I'm beginning to feel
like a cliche."

"Yeah, well, believe it or not, it's a good thing."

"A good thing?" Eyebrows rose. "How?"

"You were blind to your feelings for Sara...proves your human, like the rest
of us." He smiled. "That whole you always being right thing can get kinda
wearing." Warrick watched his superior's eyes return to the interrogation
room. He was losing him again. "Better get some of it out of your system now."
He told him in resignation. "Letting it brew too long...it won't possibly
turn out good."

"Warrick! Grissom!" Greg seemed to appear out of nowhere, file folder in hand.
"Guy's blood tests are back."

He barely had the words out of his mouth before Grissom took the file.

Flipping it open, he scanned the paper inside until his eyes lit on the number
he'd been looking for. Reading it, his face darkened and, abruptly, he pushed
by the young man.

As he realized giving it to the CSI supervisor might not have been the best
idea, Greg looked to a frowning Warrick. "Uh...oops?"

-----

Brass paused mid-question when Grissom stalked into the room and slapped the
test results down on the table. Slowly, the detective slid the paper free
and read it. "Well, Counselor, seems to me your client has a serious problem."

"Excuse me?"

"His blood alcohol." Grissom gritted out through clenched teeth. "It's three
times the legal limit."

The kid glared back with teenage defiance. "So what?"

"So what?" He echoed back. "So you nearly killed someone last night. You
still might!" Reaching for his wallet, he fumbled as he pulled out the
picture of Sara he kept there. "Her name's Sara. She's thirty years old and
she's beautiful. She's a vegetarian, has a great sense of humor. Loves life
and laughter and..." He closed his eyes and inhaled, uttering fateful words.
"And I love her." Opening his eyes, he met the young man's. "Look at her
face and think about it, you nearly killed her. She's lying in a hospital
bed right now, non-responsive, bruised and beaten and it's *your* fault."
His voice shook with uncharacteristic emotion and he straightened up. "Think
about it....I hope whatever drinks you had were good. The price you're going
to pay..." He trailed off, finding his rage draining away.

"Gil..." Brass took the chance to stand, steering the other man toward the
door. "I think you need to take some time. Depressurize."

"I know. I know." He sighed heavily. "I'm going back to the hospital. Check
on Sara."

The detective nodded. "Take your time, grab some sleep, a shower maybe." He
smiled slightly. "No offense, but you could use it."

"Ha ha." Grissom replied dryly then paused. "Thanks Jim."

He smiled. "She means a lot to all of us." 'But nowhere near as much as she
does to you.'

TBC