Chapter 39
Grissom knocked on Catherine's door twenty minutes later. When she pulled it open, he pushed past her, firing questions. "Is she ok? You didn't explain what was wrong, you just said . . ." His voice trailed off as they reached the living room. There was Sara, stretched out on Catherine's couch, giggling like a maniac. "Sara?"
"Gilllll!" she trilled. "Hey, Cath, another hank!"
Grissom caught Catherine's wince when Sara spoke. "Catherine," he hissed into her ear, "did you get her drunk?"
She nodded guiltily. "Yeah, Grissom. But she needed it, let me tell you! After what happened with Hank – oh, you don't know about that, do you. Well I'll just let her tell you herself." She fought back a smile. This was too good!
Anger fell by the wayside as he listened to Catherine's words. Grissom's eyes flashed. "Hank? What did he do to her? Is she ok? He didn't hurt her?" He crossed to where Sara was laying. "Hey sweetheart, you ok?"
"Hey it's Gil Grissom! The infamous bugman!" Sara started laughing again.
Grissom sighed. This was going to be another interesting day. "Come on, let's get you up and I'll take you home. Can you stand up?"
"Of course!" Sara responded indignantly. "You think I'm uncl – uncut – uncoordinated or somethin'?" She struggled to a sitting position, then promptly keeled over again. "Oops! Guess I am unc – um, that thing you said!" She tried again, still laughing. This time she made it upright and tried to stand.
Grissom thanked the heavens that he had quick reflexes when Sara tried to stand up. Her legs wouldn't hold her, though she didn't seem to notice, and he caught her just before she hit the ground. "Ok guess that's not a good idea. Come on, I'll get you." He leaned down and scooped her up, trying not to grunt as his muscles protested against her dead weight. "Cath – the door?"
"Oh! Yeah!" Catherine scrambled for the door.
"I can walk, Grissom!" Sara's insulted voice floated out from the vicinity of his shoulder. "You didn't give me enough TIME to get straight! Let me up!"
"No way, Sara my dear. I'm sure you can walk, ok? But it makes me feel better to carry you."
"Oh . . . ok." Sara settled down, leaning into his chest.
He gave Catherine a sardonic nod of thanks as she opened his car door. "Come on Sar, we need to get you into the seat here."
"Mmmm ok," she giggled, and settled back against his chest. Grissom sighed, making a mental note to never let Sara get very drunk, and carefully slid her onto the seat. She started to list to the side and he quickly snapped on her seatbelt.
"Ok Sara, we're off." Unsure of where to take her, he decided to swing by his townhouse and grab some clothes, then take her home. No way was he leaving her alone tonight; he'd seen what alcohol could do to people. At the very least she'd need someone to hold her hair back.
Pulling up to his house, he patted Sara's shoulder. She slowly swiveled her head around, regarding him with an owlish gaze. "I'm going to go get some clothes for myself, ok? Stay here, please." He had nightmarish images of Sara getting out of the car and wandering away circling inside his head.
"Mmkay, thanks, g'night," she muttered. She had no idea what was going on, and he just hoped she's stay both clueless and where she was.
Grissom packed a small bag in record time, rushing back to the car. "You ok, sweetie?" He supposed he should be glad Sara was so drunk, because she'd never let him live down calling her "sweetie" every five minutes if she remembered it.
They were halfway to her apartment when Sara spoke up. "Grissom . . . pull over. Now. Pull over!"
Startled, Grissom steered to the dirt shoulder. As soon as the car stopped, Sara unclipped her seatbelt, opened her door, and tried to jump out, but succeeded only in falling on her face. "Ohh . . . I'm gonna die, just leave me here."
"No can do, Sara," Grissom countered, rounding the front of the car. In a moment of panic, he saw that Sara was clutching her stomach. Alcohol poisoning? Oh god, what were you supposed to do for that? He was going to kill Catherine!
Running, he reached her just as Sara leaned over and threw up almost an entire bottle of wine. He grabbed her around the waist to keep her from falling into her vomit. "It's okay honey, you'll be ok. Come on, get it all out." He gathered her hair back, wishing he had something to hold it with. Sara moaned. "I know, it sucks, but I promise you'll live, Sara." Rubbing her back, Grissom mumbled softly to her as she heaved and cried.
Sara sniffled. "Oh, Grissom . . . your shirt, I got puke all over it, and my nose ran on you, and . . ."
"Shh, Sara, it's ok. Clothes wash. You feeling a little better?" She nodded. "Ok let's get you home." He picked up her limp form, struggling not to panic just because this was Sara. Throwing up was normal, he reminded himself. She would sleep it off once he got her home.
He managed to get her back into the car and handed her a plastic evidence bag. "If you need to throw up again you can use this, ok?"
Sara looked at the bag he held. "That's an ev-evidence bag, Grissom. Misuse of departmental resources!"
"Just take the bag, Sara." Looking chastened, she took it from him.
They made it back to Sara's apartment without having to pull over again. Helping her out of the car, he realized that he just couldn't pick her up again; he'd drop her. "Come on Sara, I'll hold you up but you've got to walk."
"I told you I could walk, Grissom." She stood up on wobbly legs, leaning heavily into him. "Maybe not so good . . . but I can do it with a little practice." This struck her as funny, and she went off into another gale of laughter.
As the reached her door, Grissom leaned her against the wall. "Got your keys, sweetie?"
Sara nodded weakly and handed the ring to him. "I wanna go sleep, Gil. Bed. Now."
He managed to get the door open. "Ok, ok. Almost there. Come on, just walk a little farther." Half-dragging, half-carrying, he got her into the bedroom, sighing with relief. "Ok, here we are." Laying Sara's limp form on the bed, he wondered for a moment if he shouldn't go into the bathroom to change, but decided that that particular room should be left open for Sara in case she needed to throw up again. Setting his modestly aside, he stripped down to his boxers.
Turning back to her, he froze. Sara was wriggling out of her jeans, and her blouse was already on the floor. He prayed that she wouldn't take off her bra and panties, because he didn't relish trying to explain to her tomorrow how she came to be naked in bed with him.
Much to his relief, Sara tossed her jeans on the floor and flopped back on the bed. Exhausted from the worrying and the carrying, Grissom maneuvered her under the covers and joined her there, wrapped around her in what was becoming a familiar position for them.
