Chapter 4

An hour later Grissom stared at Sara's door, not really sure whether he was angry, or just confused. Finally, gathering his courage, he rapped lightly on the offending piece of wood. After a minute, he knocked again. As he was raising his hand to knock a third time, a disgruntled-looking Sara pulled open the door, muttering, " . . . your horses, I'm coming, I'm coming. Oh, it's you. What can I do for you, Grissom?" She looked genuinely puzzled.

"May I come in?" He was surprised when a flash of something that may have been panic flashed over Sara's face at his request.

"Umm…sure." She pulled the door open wider, allowing his to pass. "Can I, uh, get you anything? Coffee?" she asked with the brightest fake smile she could manage.

Grissom nodded. "Coffee would be nice. I take mine – "

"Black. I know," she said shortly, already on her way to the kitchen.

He blinked. "Yeah, black. But Sara, I have something to ask you," he called after her.

Returning with a tray, Sara admonished him, "Talk *after* coffee, Grissom. Your hostessing abilities are even worse than mine." At that, she handed him a mug of coffee and a plate with a slice of pie on it. "I baked it," she clarified, noticing Grissom's raised eyebrows. "Like I told you before, I *do* know how to cook." She curled herself into an easy chair across from Grissom's seat on the couch. "Now, what did you want?"

He swallowed, trying to think of a better way to phrase the question. There didn't appear to be one. "Why did you lie to me?" The blank look on Sara's face threw him. She didn't look guilty at all . . . had Catherine been making it all up? "Sara, you lied to me about what happened last night," he explained, trying to sound sure of himself.

Her eyes widened, and for one terrible moment he was sure she was going to fling her coffee at him. Then, with an obvious effort, she forced her features into an attempt to look confused. "I didn't lie, Grissom. Why would you think I did?"

"I spoke to Catherine. She spilled the metaphorical beans, said something about us kissing. But she didn't know that I didn't know," he added hoping he wasn't getting Catherine into too much trouble. "Now, Sara – why don't you tell me the truth about last night? No need to protect my delicate sensibilities."

The wheels in Sara's head were spinning madly. "I, uh . . . don't remember," she attempted. "So if, um, Catherine says something happened, maybe it did. I don't know."

"There, that sounded believable," she told herself. "When in doubt, tell half-truths. God, I didn't think I'd ever learned anything from the scum we interrogate."

Grissom shook his head. "Uh-uh, Sara. You remember. You weren't surprised to find me in your bed this morning, and you were the one who explained how I got there. Now, the truth. Please."

If she hadn't been so concerned with looking innocent, she would have growled. Then a thought hit her: "You know, Sara, why are you even trying to hide it? Everyone was there, everyone saw that he asked you to kiss him, not the other way around. So what's the problem? Tell him the truth and watch him squirm." Hmm, the voice in her head sometimes had good ideas, Sara reflected.

"Ok, Gris, you've convinced me. But don't bitch to me when you find out what happened." Good, she thought, he was starting to look apprehensive. "It's not a long story. You were drunk. Apparently you suffer from beer goggleliam," she joked. "You decided I was the subject of your . . . interest. So you pulled me down on your lap and made me kiss you. And then you asked for a pole dance, but you passed out before I could beat you up." She shrugged. "End of story. I dunno what Catherine got so worked up about, anyway."