Thanks for the awesome reviews. Sorry I'm slow in posting, but again, this is proving difficult to write. Again, probably two more chapters after this one. Enjoy and please review. Peace.

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"You in the middle of anything right now, Gil?"

Grissom, closing his cell phone, looked up to see Catherine looming over his desk, case file in hand.

"Uh, no. Sara just called. She won't be in tonight. What's up?

"Wow, I'll mark that on my calendar. 'Sara Sidle misses work.' Sick?"

He cocked his head at her, hoping it conveyed that he was eager for her to get to the point. "Yes, Cath."

"Anyway, I'm having trouble with the bullet track on my vic from last night. I'm working on a three-dim recreation if you'd care to take a look?"

"Sure." Grissom stood and followed Catherine out the door. He hoped she wouldn't catch on to his detached manner tonight. A laugh almost escaped his throat as it occurred to him that he doubted anyone other than Sara could tell if he was acting more remote than usual. The thought was both pleasing and depressing.

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Her hot bath had eased the ache in Sara's muscles as the beer had dulled her headache. Pulling on blue sweats and a long-sleeved white tee, she grabbed a large toothed comb to tame her wet hair. Catching her reflection in the bathroom mirror, Sara startled.

"Oh, fucking great, Sidle. Looks like you went two rounds with Tyson."

She touched the large purple knot and small cut on her forehead. The hot water had washed away the blood.

"Well, it looks about as good as I feel. Okay, Sara, just stop talking to yourself."

Tossing the comb on the counter she headed for the kitchen to grab another beer. She had to admit that the previous two had done an admirable job confronting her hangover. Sara realized an added benefit was that the flashbacks of Ben had dulled. The scene was no longer on a constant loop in her head. Glancing at the unopened pizza carton, she realized her nausea was gone as well.

Grissom. She'd almost forgotten he was coming over. Unlocking her front door, Sara turned off the bright kitchen light and reclined on the sofa. She clicked on the television more as a distraction. Maybe some inane sitcom would keep Ben's face from popping into her mind every two minutes.

She never should have let him in her room. What did she expect? Like he was only coming up there to listen to music. Right. Stupid, Sara, stupid. She'd wanted him to kiss her. But his hands. His hands were everywhere. Under her sweater. Ripping her bra. No, Benji! No! He was touching her through her jeans as he crushed his frame onto her. His knees were pinning her arms. No! NO!

"Sara?"

"No!" She sat bolt upright on the couch, arms thrusting forward in defense and knocking Grissom off his tenuous perch on the edge of the coffee table. Sara's eyes flew open in time to see him tumble unceremoniously to the floor.

"Jesus, Sara!"

"What the hell, Griss?!" You just scared the crap out of me."

"So you shove me off the table?"

"No. I mean yeah, but I didn't mean to. Are you hurt?"

"I'll live," he sighed, and righted himself on the floor.

"I must have dozed off. I was dreaming. You're sure I didn't hurt you?"

"For God's sake, Sara. I'm not that old. It's not as if I'll break a hip at the slightest fall," he cocked an eyebrow to further emphasize his point. "And you weren't dreaming, you were having a nightmare."

She cocked an eyebrow of her own.

"I was knocking for at least a minute until I heard you yelling." Grissom paused and watched as she raised the beer to her lips, downing the remaining half bottle.

"You left your door unlocked. You know better than that."

"No lectures, Griss. Please."

"Then stop doing things that put me in that position."

"Okay, truce. Please?"

He grabbed a bottle of Pepto from his jacket pocket and extended it to her.

"Is that the best you can do by way of a peace offering? That's pathetic," she managed a half-hearted smile.

"Somehow I think you'll be begging me for it in another couple of hours."

"You do mean the Pepto, right? Sara enjoyed seeing Grissom's face turn a deep crimson. It amazed her that she could still embarrass him so easily.

"You tell me." He watched her mouth drop slightly. Before she could catch his smug grin, he stood, grabbed the untouched pizza box off the table and turned toward the kitchen.

"Uh, can you get me another beer, please?"

"I'll make a deal with you, Sidle. I'll get you a beer if you eat what I cook for us."

"Fine, but only because I'm hungry. And only because you're a fabulous cook." She rose from the sofa and stretched as Ben's face flashed in her head again.

"One of us has to be," he couldn't help laughing as he opened the pantry. Pulling out a jar of marinara and a half-full box of pasta, he was slightly stunned that she had both essential ingredients.

Sara watched him from the center island, forcing herself to concentrate on the here and now. Despite the past twenty-four hours and feeling as if her life was upside down, the man now searching her fridge still warmed her heart. This was the Grissom she'd fallen in love with so many years ago. This was the man she wanted in her life. Needed in her life. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him from behind as he closed the fridge.

"I hope you're not trying to hurt me again?"

"Not even close," she mumbled into his shoulder.

He turned around and gently lifted her to the island. Capturing her lips as she snaked her hands into his hair, the kiss quickly deepened. Grissom reluctantly pulled back after a couple of minutes.

"Sara, we really do need to talk."

"I know," she kept her tone even. "It may take me awhile, Griss, but I do want to talk."

"Fair enough."

"Thank you."

"Spaghetti sound good?"

"Yeah."

Grissom switched on the overhead kitchen light and grabbed a pot from a bottom cabinet. Turning to the sink to fill it with water, he looked over at Sara, a smile gracing his face. It quickly turned into a frown as the light revealed what he'd missed earlier.

"What the hell happened to your head?"

"Don't make a big deal. I fell off the couch and hit the coffee table."

He made a move to examine the darkened knot on her forehead, but she batted his hand away.

"Another nightmare?"

She shrugged and it bothered him more than he cared to admit.

"Did you lose consciousness?"

"No, I was asleep."

"That doesn't make sense."

"I was asleep but cracking my head on the table woke me."

"I'll repeat the question. Did you lose consciousness?"

"No."

"Why didn't you call me? You could have a concussion."

"Damn, Grissom, I'm not a suspect, so stop the interrogation. I hate that shit."

"I'm not interrogating you, Sara. It looks really bad. You could have at least called me."

"Oh, so we could fight some more?"

Grissom stepped toward her and brought his hands to either side of her face. She turned her head and attempted to pull back. His hands remained.

"No, because I love you. And I think you love me. And it's the kind of thing that people who love one another share."

Sara sucked in her breath. "Don't change the subject. I'll tell you about the call when I'm ready."

"I'm not going to let you go."

"You'll have to if you push."

Grissom stepped back and resumed preparing dinner, his eyes deliberately avoiding her.

Nice job, Sara, she silently berated herself. You can't even make a good relationship work. Grabbing the beer Grissom had set on the counter, she hopped down and scanned the small apartment. Suddenly feeling a wave of anxiety, she headed for the bedroom. It was dark and suited her mood. Besides, she thought, Grissom was hurt and would probably leave shortly to nurse his wounded ego. He was better off not being around her for awhile anyway. I've got shit to deal with, Sara contemplated as she leaned against the headboard of her bed. I wonder if they've told Keith about Ben?

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Grissom turned as Sara left the kitchen. He'd expected her to maybe log on to the computer, since she seemed so agitated. Surfing always calmed her down. He was mildly surprised when she went down the hall and didn't return.

For the umpteenth time, Grissom wished she could tell him what the phone call meant. He'd known Sara over ten years and knew that she would drink to relieve extreme stress or mental pain. If her abundant energy couldn't be expended doing the work she loved, it built to an uncomfortable level. She would push herself to extremes. He knew her tendencies, but he wasn't certain that she knew his.

He'd pushed too far. Studying the boiling water, he tossed the pasta in, while turning on the burner beneath the marinara sauce. At the very least, she'll eat, Grissom thought, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He would give her space as soon as the food was cooked. It was obvious that Sara didn't want him here

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Sara's thoughts went in ten different directions as she downed the last of her beer. She could feel a heaviness, almost like Ben pushing down on her again. She wondered about Keith. Mom hadn't mentioned him. Of course, that wasn't unusual. Dad may have said more, but she was loath to call him and create more difficulty between her parents. Was Grissom even here or had he left? Looking at the empty bottle, she tried to remember if she had anything stronger than beer. Brass had given each of the CSI's a bottle of expensive scotch for the holidays. Sara was fairly certain she'd tucked it away in one of the kitchen cabinets.

TBC