The drive home was made in eerie silence; Sara spent the ride staring out the window and giving off "don't touch me" vibes, while Grissom tried to concentrate on his driving and not the worry and anger that were warring within him.

Sara would have jumped out of the car when Grissom pulled into the driveway, but at the rate her belly was increasing, she wasn't jumping anywhere any time soon. She was going to be forced to let Grissom help her, she acknowledged, but that didn't mean that she had to like it. She settled for not allowing him to touch anything but her arm as he helped her out.

Grissom's patience was stretched so thin that he would have sworn it was no thicker than a micron or two. He gritted his teeth as Sara pulled away, calling on his last reserves to keep himself from snapping at her. She's pregnant, he reminded himself. It's the hormones, she can't help it.

On the heels of that thought was the knowledge that her hormones only affected how she reacted, not how she thought. If Sara told him that she didn't want to get married and she thought it was a stupid idea, it wasn't because of the baby.

Sara looked at Grissom's face out of the corner of her eye as they walked into the house. What was he thinking? Was he angry? Well if he was, that was just too bad. No way was she changing her mind and marrying him just because he thought she should for the baby's sake. In fact, she was completely insulted that he'd asked her to. What was she, a brood mare? He'd marry her so she could give him an heir or something? No way.

Grissom was looking back at her, she realized as she woke from her thoughts. "What?"

He looked away, quickly assuming an innocent expression. "What, 'what'?"

Ready to tear something apart to vent her frustration, Sara gave him a nasty look. "You were looking at me. Either tell me why, or let go of me." She tugged at her arm, which Grissom was still gripping, in demonstration. "Let me go, Grissom."

He hadn't realized he was still holding onto her. Giving their joined arms a distracted look, he muttered, "Sorry," and removed himself. Then, as he processed what she had said, his distraction turned into anger. "I was looking at you, Sara, because I'm surprised that you'll let me touch you, considering how much you hate me."

"I don't . . ."

He whirled to face her, finally allowing his feelings free rein. "Oh yeah? Then why'd you make such a big production of making sure everyone knew you wouldn't marry me? That certainly doesn't spell love to me, Miss Sidle."

In the face of his open hostility, Sara's emotions did another of those full reversals she was coming to hate, and she was suddenly on the verge of tears. "I don't hate you," she said again quietly. Then, even more quietly, "I think . . . I don't think I should stay here tonight."

Grissom, who was concentrating on the fight he had been sure was coming, blinked. "What?"

Sara sighed, willing the tears to stay back at least until she could get out of the house. "I said that I don't think I should stay here tonight. I don't think we can . . . deal with each other right now." She swallowed. "I'll go stay with Catherine."

"You can't stay with Catherine, Sara," Grissom said snarkily. "She's got a daughter of her own to deal with without you whining to her."

Sara sucked in her breath, unable to believe he'd just said that. Closing her eyes for a moment to try to regain some composure, she tried again. "Then I'll stay with Nick. Or Warrick. Or Greg. None of them would mind having me 'whine' for the night."

"You. Are. Not. Going. Anywhere."

"Yes, Gris, I am," she replied, suddenly feeling like she was watching this argument from somewhere on the sidelines. "Please just let me go. We can argue more tomorrow if you really want to."

He took hold of her arm again and pulled her toward him. "You're not leaving, Sara. If you don't want both of us in this house tonight, I'll leave. I promised you that the day you moved in here."

The reminder of his grand promises broke her last thread of resistance to the tears and they began to slip down her cheeks, unnoticed. At the same time, her voice took on more strength. "No. This is your house. I'm going." She yanked her arm out of his grip and began walking toward the door.

"Sara!" He grabbed her arm again, this time harder to keep her from escaping again. "You're staying. End of story." He gave her a little shake to emphasize the point.

Looking down at the hand squeezing her arm and then up at his set face, Sara could almost feel the blood draining out of her own face. There would be bruises tomorrow. "Please don't touch me," she managed in a voice that was, strangely, very polite. "This . . . isn't a good place right now."

Surprised at her tone, one that he'd never heard from her before, Grissom dropped her arm and stared. Sara didn't stay around to check his reaction, though. Moments after he released her, she fled through the front door as quickly as she could, not caring that was leaving with nothing but what she wore.

Grissom had no idea how long he stared at the door after he heard her car roar to life and then fade away. Probably five or ten minutes at least, he decided later, but at the moment it didn't matter. He couldn't believe what had just happened. He couldn't believe he'd held her tightly enough to hurt her. Giving his head a hard shake in an attempt to clear it, Grissom moved slowly toward the phone, checked the roster of his team members, and started dialing.

Elsewhere, Sara knocked on a door. When it was opened, she raised frightened eyes to the person who answered. "Hi. Can I, um," she stopped and bit her lip, "stay here with you? For tonight?"

Her friend, knowing better than to question right now, simply nodded and pulled the door open wider.