Hi everyone. Thanks for being patient with me. I went away for the long weekend and didn't get much written. I've been trying to post, but I'm getting hit with the 'site overload' message. Anyway, thanks again for the reviews. You're awesome and I'm happy you like the story. One more chapter after this with possibly an epilogue. Thanks for hanging in. Peace.

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Grissom finished drying his hands and quickly grabbed a pen and scribbled a few words on a notepad by the phone. Dinner was cooked and in a container in the refrigerator. He wasn't sure if Sara had fallen asleep in the bedroom or simply didn't want to be bothered. Either way, he was didn't want to remain. Grabbing his leather jacket and keys, he turned the handle on the front door.

His eyes squeezed shut and he growled to himself. He knew he couldn't leave without making sure she was okay. As much as he wanted to, as much as he wanted to hurt her for hurting him, he needed to know she was all right. Turning around, his eyes locked on Sara. She was leaning against the wall in the shadows of the hallway. For some reason, that irked him more than her simply remaining in the bedroom. She was watching him.

"Were you gonna leave without saying goodbye?"

"I left you a note."

"Oh."

As he took two steps in her direction, Sara suddenly wanted nothing more than for him to hold her. She started toward him but froze as he picked-up his cell phone from the end table.

"Forgot my phone."

He searched her eyes for any indication that she wanted him to stay, but her face was a mask of indifference. She broke the gaze. Grissom slipped quietly out the front door.

Sara felt her throat burn as she choked back the anxiety that had been brewing for the past twenty-four hours. She crossed to the door and bolted the lock.

Resisting the urge to scream, she entered the kitchen and dared herself to read the note. Sara was more unnerved than she was on their first date. It could easily be a few lines to the effect of, "Sorry, not willing to deal with your bullshit anymore. Goodbye." That was a very real possibility. What choice had she given him?

Steeling herself with little success, she grabbed the paper.

Sara,

Dinner's in the fridge. I'm going back to work.

Grissom

Well, she thought, it doesn't get much more trite than that. Realizing he hadn't given up on her completely, she sucked in a deep breath, before beginning the self-pity.

"Oh, c'mon, it's not like you really wanted him here anyway. Every time a guy starts to care, you shove him out of your life. Face it girl, you've got issues. One of those would be that you talk to yourself."

Sara actually laughed as she opened the pantry. After a minute of searching, her hand locked onto the bottle of Scotch from Brass.

Padding to the cabinet she grabbed a glass and filled it halfway. She took a healthy gulp and managed to swallow it.

"Christ, I knew there was a reason I never drink this crap. It tastes like shit."

Picking up the portable phone she tucked it under her chin. Cradling her drink, the bottle of Scotch and a pint of bottled water to her chest she managed to make it into the living room. She felt slightly pathetic for being too lazy to make a second trip. Settling the armful onto the coffee table she fell back into the sofa and wrapped her fingers around the phone. Sara stared intently, willing it to ring and be Grissom. The tears came then and she reached for her drink.

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Grissom sat in his car outside her apartment. He had been arguing with himself for five minutes. Finally, turning the ignition over, he started driving toward the lab. This was why he didn't do relationships. Make yourself vulnerable and get your heart handed back to you much the worse for wear.

He was having a hard time concentrating on the road. Why was he letting her push him away? Because it's easier. That was a given, but Sara needed him now, his heart argued back, even if she couldn't say the words. Hadn't he said, not thirty minutes ago, that he loved her and wouldn't let her go? And what had he done? Left her alone. Depressed, anxious and slightly drunk.

"Well at least there wasn't any beer left in her fridge. Yeah, keep talking to yourself."

He was fairly certain that Sara wasn't in the habit of having liquor on hand and the thought bolstered him somewhat. She would be fine. Even if she had a bad looking bruise on her head. Pulling off into a parking lot, he took out his cell and punched in a pre-set. It was answered on the third ring.

"Catherine, listen I've got the beginnings of a headache. Can you take over for the rest of shift?" It wasn't really a lie he rationalized. Sara had been known to give him headaches.

"Good. Appreciate it, Cath. I need to sleep this off."

Flipping the phone closed he pocketed it and pulled out of the lot. Grissom willed himself to stop thinking about the woman that had turned his world on end. She would be all right.

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Sara flipped through a worn day planner until she found the right number. Dialing carefully she drummed her fingers on her legs as she waited for an answer.

"Uh, hi….I'd like to speak with Keith Sidle, please."

"I'm sorry, but Mr. Sidle's in his room. It is late." The older woman's voice sounded a bit haggard, as if she'd had a rough day.

"Yeah, sorry…I wasn't thinking. This is his sister, uh, Sara Sidle."

"Again, I really can't wake Keith."

"Oh, right. Can you, uh, give him a message tomorrow? Tell him I called?"

"I'm sorry, but that's not possible."

"What's that mean? I'm his sister."

"We've been asked to refer all callers to Keith's parents. I have that number if you'd like?"

"No thanks. I have my parents number."

Sara's initial reaction was to hurl the phone at the wall. Forcing herself to place it gently on the table, she looked around the room in desperation. This was all her fault. Even her mom thought so. Why would she censor Keith's phone calls if she thought otherwise? Damn.

She thought about calling her mom but knew it would be nothing but platitudes that would make her angry. Sara was so tired of feeling angry.

Snatching up the phone she hit two buttons and held her breath.

"Grissom."

"I need you."

Her admission was greeted with an unnerving silence. About to disconnect the call, a series of knocks on the front door startled her.

"Just open the door, Sara."

She stared at the phone, her brain not quite connecting everything. Grissom had hung-up. Damn him. Realization dawned as the knocking became more insistent.

"Sara?"

She couldn't help the tears as she heard his muffled voice from just outside her apartment.

Grissom heard the click as the deadbolt was turned and watched as she pulled the door toward her. He stepped inside, not quite sure what to do. Sara had retreated, her cheeks stained with tears.

Making up his mind, he took two steps and brought his arms around her. She leaned into him, the strong smell of Scotch assaulting his nose.

Stroking her back gently, Grissom allowed Sara to relax and get her breathing under control.

"Thanks for coming back."

"I shouldn't have left."

"Not like I gave you a reason to stay."

"Sara, your perfectly understandable inability to vocalize what you need during an emotionally vulnerable time, does not let me off the hook for taking the easy way out."

"That's a Grissomian sentence if I've ever heard one."

"I like to throw one out every know and again. Keeps you on your toes."

He was rewarding with a small laugh as Sara sighed into his chest.

Grissom pulled away slightly and took in the woman before him. He could feel the tension bouncing off of her body and her eyes were a mixture of pain and grief. If he could take any part of it away he would. He guided her toward the sofa and she sat stiffly. Temporarily ignoring the bottle of Scotch, he focused on Sara.

"I'm scared, Griss."

"Talk to me."

"I want to, but I'm afraid."

"Of me?"

"No. It's just…I don't want to frighten you, Grissom."

"That statement alone scares the hell out of me, Sara. I won't leave. I promise."

"Please don't make promises you may not be able to keep."

He rubbed her cheek with the back of his hand. "I don't care what you tell me. I will not leave you."

Sara met his eyes briefly and he could still see the doubt.

Pulling away from him, she reached for her drink and Grissom frowned.

"Sara, I'm not here to fight, but you shouldn't be drinking. You could easily have a concussion."

"I'm fine, Griss."

"First of all, no you're not."

Sara shot him a look of mild annoyance as she swallowed almost the remainder of her drink.

"What I mean is that you're trying to work through what is obviously an emotional issue and I want to help you. I can't do that if you pass out."

The look went from mild annoyance to barely contained hostility and Grissom did his best to diffuse the situation. "I'm sorry, Sara, but you're making me nervous and I'm not saying what I mean very well."

A single tear slid down her face. "I know, Griss. The booze doesn't solve a damned thing. Just makes it a bit easier to tell you the story."

"I know. Please, just talk to me?"

Pushing herself deeper into the pillows of her sofa, Sara took a deep breath.

Grissom made a move to grasp her hand in his, but she pulled away.

"Griss, uh…I just have to say this and I know I couldn't stand it if you stopped holding my hand because of what I tell you. It's easier for me if I can't feel you pull away physically.

Grissom nodded to her, realizing there was nothing he could say to assuage her.

"I called Keith, but he was asleep and my mother won't let him have messages or calls. I can't figure out what to do. I mean he has to know, but I don't think they'll tell him…uh damn, I know they won't tell him."

Grissom struggled to piece together pertinent information.

"Sara, can you go back to the beginning? Is it all right for you to do that?"

"I'll try."

"Okay, take a step back, if you can, and tell me the basic facts."

She buried herself further in the cushions and her voice took on a detached, hollow quality.

"I was thirteen. My brother Keith was seventeen. He'd been accepted to Stanford. I'm not positive, but I think he would've gone pre-med. Keith wasn't just smart, he was…uh jeez, he was just really outgoing and funny and he played soccer and the drums. My parents used to kid me that Keith got the brains and social skills while I got only the brains. They were right. I was a nerd. Once, I overheard Benji tell my brother that he was a parent's wet dream. I didn't understand what he meant at the time."

Sara looked down and seemed to get lost in the memories.

"Who's Benji?" Grissom took a chance.

Surprised, but broken out of her trance, Sara traced a seam on the cushion and continued.

"Uh, Ben Stillman lived down the road from us. He was Keith's age. They were best friends since like kindergarten. When I was a kid, he was almost like an extra brother. I uh, didn't know it then, but he didn't have a good home life. I guess that's why he always spent more time at our house. I found out much later that his father had a nasty temper and would take it out on Ben and Mrs. Stillman."

"Did your parents know what was going on?"

"My mom said she had no idea, but I've never believed that."

"Why not?"

"Mrs. Stillman was her best friend. She had to have suspected something."

Sara shifted uncomfortably as her jaw clenched involuntarily. Grissom made a move toward her but she put up a hand in protest.

"Well, by the time I turned fourteen, boys took on a whole new meaning for me. Maybe I was a late bloomer or something, but suddenly I started seeing Benji in a new light. He wasn't just the guy that always picked on me for tagging along, he was cute."

"You developed a crush on him."

"Big time. Don't get me wrong, despite being a science geek I didn't know all that much about sex."

"Well that sounds about right for a young teen twenty years ago."

"You're being kind, Griss. I was just plain naïve. Caught up in some romantic notion. I knew the mechanics of sex, but never realized that people would do those things without being married."

Despite the serious tone of the conversation, Grissom's lip twitched into a brief smile. He was pleased to hear a small laugh escape Sara's throat.

"I guess that does sound funny," she admitted.

After a few seconds, Sara swallowed hard and massaged her temples, any hint of levity long gone. Again, Grissom wanted to reach for her, but he checked himself.

"I'm still here, Sara. Whenever you want to continue."

"Did you ever read Rupert Brooke?"

"English poet. First world war?"

"Yeah."

"I've read some, not much."

"I've always loved his work,"

Sara closed her eyes. "…I was a better target for a kiss…"

Grissom studied her. Though pushed tightly into the sofa, she held her body in a guarded possition.

"Of course, I'm taking that line way out of context." Her eyes shot open and connected with Grissom's.

"It's from a war poem, but I've always connected it to Ben."

"What happened, Sara?"

TBC