A/N: I am SO sorry about my sudden disappearance, guys! The past two weeks have been positively insane, and today is the first day I actually had time to sit down and do something other than work or prepare to work. Anyway, this is the second-to-last chapter of the story, just so you know. Enjoy!
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Sara yawned hugely, squinching her eyes shut. "God, no one ever told me how little sleep a bride gets." Surveying her surroundings, she added, "I suppose it wouldn't be a good idea to fall asleep while my hair's being done, huh Cath?"
"Yeah," Catherine said with a chuckle. "Bad idea – you might end up with something girly." Turning her head as far as the hairdresser's busy hands would allow, she offered Sara a smile. "You'll wake up as the day goes on. By the time we get you to Nick's, I fully expect to have to tie you down to make you stay still."
"It's your fault that I'm tired," Sara mock-whined. "You kept me out too late last night."
Susan, who was in a chair next to Michaela and across the aisle from Sara, sighed and shook her head sadly. "Sara, it's called a 'par-ty'. People often have them before they get married. In your case, since you're female, it was a bachelorette party. You said yourself that if Grissom was going to have one, you wanted one."
"Besides," Kate threw in, "I wouldn't say that two drinks at Applebees, with the waiters singing 'Happy Wedding to You' . . . well, I wouldn't exactly call that a wild bachelorette party."
Michaela giggled from her position at the sink. "Nice, Kate. She's right, Sara. Face it, you're getting old and boring and you're not even married yet!"
"Am not!" Sara retorted. "Didn't I let you guys drag me out bowling this morning?"
Four female voices erupted into laughter. "Who wants to be the one to tell her?" Catherine asked with a grin.
"Not it!" When the dust had settled, Michaela, who was forced to hold a towel on her head and didn't have a free finger to put against her nose, was left to explain to Sara that bowling wasn't exactly known as a wild and crazy activity.
Sara frowned at her bridesmaids. "You guys better watch it or . . . well, between me and Grissom, there's no chance you'd be found." She grinned at the looks that crossed their faces. Catherine and Kate looked terribly amused, while Susan smirked warily and Michaela looked around nervously.
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Grissom checked his watch for the tenth time in the last hour. "Don't you guys think we should start getting dressed or something? It's already noon . . ."
"Not so loud," moaned Greg. "If you talk any louder, my head is gonna explode and you'll have bits of gray matter splattered all over your tux." He put a hand to his head and pressed, letting out another weak moan.
"Pussy," Warrick muttered behind his hand to Nick, who snorted.
"Come on Greggo, admit it. You just can't hold your liquor. Last night wasn't all that crazy," Nick said.
"Speak for yourself, man; I don't know about you but I had four beers and two shots of tequila."
The other four men exchanged worried looks at this pronouncement. "Greg," Grissom warned from his prone position on the couch, "if you get one bit of bodily matter on my clothes, you're fired." Half-sitting up, he reached out a hand and shoved at the dog that was stretched out next to him. "Dog breath, ugh. Up, Newton!"
The dog didn't move and Nick grinned. "Face it, Gris; Sara and Susan are the only people that dog will obey unquestioningly. With you, she wants a complete scientific explanation of why she should do anything at your command."
"Hey, who buys the dog food around here?" Grissom said huffily, and shoved at the dog again. She finally surrendered and allowed herself to be rolled off the couch, then gave Grissom a mournful look and padded over to Nick, who was already patting the empty area on the loveseat he'd claimed two hours earlier.
"Come on," Grissom said, checking his watch again. "We really should be doing something. Guys, the women were up at 8AM to get themselves primped, for heaven's sake; are you sure we don't need to get started?"
Andy, who was sitting with his back against the side of Grissom's couch, occupying a large swath of floor, looked around at the three other groomsmen. When none of them spoke, he sighed and put down the bottle of soda he'd been drinking. "Gil," he said solemnly, "we're male. It takes us, what, three minutes each to shower? And then, say, another fifteen to wrestle ourselves into those tuxedos?" Imitating Grissom, he checked his watch. "It's currently twelve-oh-eight. The wedding starts at 4PM. Nick's house can't be more than a twenty minute drive from here, if that."
"He's right, Gris," Warrick threw in. "We could sit here and do nothing until 3:15 and probably still get there in time."
"But . . ."
"Not so LOUD!" Greg suddenly yelled, causing the other men to jump in surprise and himself to moan in pain.
"If you're gonna throw up, Sanders, the bathroom's that way," Grissom said, pointing. "If you do it anywhere other than in there, you're cleaning it up. And if you wake up the baby," he added with a threatening look on his face, "then you're just plain dead."
"Oooooooooo," chorused the three other men. "Better do what he says, bro," Nick said with a laugh. "You've never seen Grissom when he gets really mad, and you don't ever want to see it."
"Hell yeah," Warrick agreed.
"Well," Grissom said, getting bored of threatening Greg, who was so predictable in his cowering, "what are we going to do for the next three hours, then?"
"Beer?" Nick suggested.
"No way!" Warrick snapped back. "Do you want to see Grissom kill Greg?"
"Well it wouldn't be . . ."
Andy cut him off before he could finish. "How about we go for something that's not likely to kill anyone, like pizza and football. There's a 49ers game on in ten minutes or so – what say we order a pizza, make some popcorn or whatever, and veg for the next few hours?"
"Sounds good," Grissom said, nodding. "Guys?"
"Yep," Nick said brightly.
"Sure," Warrick agreed, nodding.
"Oh god . . . don't talk about food," Greg moaned, and dropped his head into his hands.
