Chapter 2

Walking into work later that night, Sara prayed that things with Grissom wouldn't be as awkward as she expected. It was not an auspicious start when she proceeded to walk right into him.

"Ow! Shit, Grissom, what are you doing in the middle of the hallway?"

One graying eyebrow shot upward at her accusing tone. "Not standing here trying to make you run into me, despite what you seem to be thinking." Sara growled. "Sara, when you've, uh, calmed yourself down to a non-homicidal state, I'd like to talk to you in my office. Not now," he hastened to add as she opened her mouth to speak. "Have some coffee, take some cleansing breaths, whatever it is you women do to calm yourselves down. Then come see me in, say, half an hour."

"Fine," Sara responded tightly.

An hour later, Grissom decided to go in search of his missing protégé. He found her in the trace lab, deep in conversation with Greg.

"Greg. Do not even try to blackmail me with that. Right now I don't even care if he knows what – oh. Grissom." Both Sara and Greg jumped slightly at the sound of Grissom's knock on the doorframe.

"May I ask who 'he' is, and what he knows?"

"No," stated Sara flatly.

"How much is it worth to – ow!" Greg's voice ended on a yelp as his foot was crushed under a size-10 ankle boot.

"Don't . . . even . . . try it," Sara enunciated between clenched teeth, "or you'll never get that date you wanted."

"Date?" asked Grissom, who was having a fair amount of trouble figuring out what was going on in his lab.

"Never mind. What did you want, Grissom?"

"You were supposed to be in my office half an hour ago, Sara. Now, do you think you could pull yourself away from Greg here, and come speak to me as I asked you to?"

"Oh. Sorry. Whatever." Sara was not at all sorry, but she knew when to be politic, unlike a certain bug man she knew . . .

Settling down in a chair in front of Grissom's desk a few minutes later, Sara decided that her best defense was an offense. "What, Grissom? Are you mad at me for throwing a party or something?" she asked in an exasperated voice.

"You're welcome to whatever kind of social life you want, Sara, unless it interferes with your work. Which it hasn't," he added quickly.

"Then what's got your boxers in a bunch?" Thoroughly tired of trying to figure Grissom out, Sara slouched down in her chair with a huff.

"My boxers, as you phrased it, are not in a bunch. Nor are they any of your business." Sara's eyes narrowed.

"Fine, Gris. None of my business, duly noted. Now, what do you want?"

"I'm not quite sure how to phrase this, so I'll just ask you straight out: did anything happen between us last night? I have a few jumbled memories – I must have been more drunk than I thought – and some of them are of me and, uh . . . you."

Sara considered for a moment, taking in the grim face before her. "No. Nothing happened 'between us,' as you put it. Any memories you think you have must have just been bad dreams."  She emphasized the word "bad."

"So I didn't, uh, make you kiss me or anything?"

"I just told you nothing happened, Grissom. Leave it alone. Now, can I get back to work?"

"Yes, Sara. Thank you for . . ."

"Ruining all my hopes," said the voice in his head.

"Reassuring me," said his voice out loud.

"Anytime, boss." Was that sarcasm he heard in her voice? Before he could decide, Sara was gone.

"Damn, I hate it when she does that." Grissom eyed the clock. Two hours into shift. He was usually in no hurry to leave the lab, but tonight he was glad time was passing quickly. "Ok, then. Let's get to work, Gil. Man, I really need to stop talking to myself like this."

Grissom caught a glimpse of Catherine passing his doorway just before he heard her voice float back. "Yeah, Gris, you do!"