"So, do you need to be rescued yet?"

It was after the cocktail party; Sara was in her room on the red princess phone in her bedroom, chatting with Nick. She laughed at his last comment and said, "Maybe."

"Hm. I can't tell if that was a good or a bad maybe."

"Well," Sara flopped onto her daybed and stared at the ceiling. She was still in the dress that Cecilia had picked out for her. "You will never in a million years guess who my father's first wife wants to set me up with."

"I don't know. A million years is a long time. I just might guess right."

"Give you three guesses."

"Okay. Um, Grissom."

Sara paused. "Cheater."

"Grissom? How the hell does your father's first wife know Grissom? And how did he get down to California? He told Catherine he was going to a seminar."

"Well, it turns out that Cecilia and Grissom's mother are old friends from the art business and Grissom wound up with an invitation to Wiley's wedding. Oh, and here's the kicker: he's staying at Sara's Place!" Panic rose in Sara's voice.

"Whoa, calm down," Nick said gently.

"He already knows about my ducky pajamas! He knows my middle name is—" Sara caught herself short but Nick didn't hear that bit. "Oh God, Nicky, my whole week is officially ruined! By him!"

"Hey, drama queen," Nick's voice was dreamily soft. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure nothing's ruined. Just suck it up. Smiling offsets the gagging reflex, right?"

Sara had to laugh. "Yeah, I guess you're right. There's plenty of people here. I can easily avoid him, even in my own house."

"So," said Nick after a pause. "What are you wearing right now?"

"A G-string, cowboy boots and a feather boa, what else?"

"I likies. Wish I could see that. By the way…you do know I'll have to see pictures of you in that bridesmaid dress, right?"

"Uh, no."

"Uh, yes. I know people, Miss Sidle, people with cameras. I'll have my hands on photos of you walking down the aisle looking like a strawberry creampuff before you know it."

"You are so lucky we're nor even in the same state right now, Stokes. Good night."

"Aw, baby, don't got to bed angry."

"I said, good night, Nicholas," Sara smiled to herself. Now why couldn't she have a brother like Nick?

Nick bid good-bye with laughter in his voice and the two hung up.

Sara undressed and hung the dress on a hanger in her empty closet and made a mental note to have Cecilia return it—there was no way in hell she'd ever wear that again. She slipped into her customary boxer shorts and t-shirt and under the covers of her bed, trying desperately to grab sleep.

Sleep did not come easy. Sara kept thinking about Grissom, who was one floor above her, doing whatever. Sleeping, reading. It made her heart pound nervously and so loudly she feared Grissom could hear it. Sleep just did not come.

She decided to revert back to an old childhood remedy—not warm milk, but movies. She went to her collection on her bookshelf, pulled at least six of her favorite videos and went to the kitchen to make herself some popcorn and tea. She then went to the living room, settled on the couch and wrapped a chenille throw blanket around her knees.

"Fuck you, Mom!"

"What? Get out of my house!"

"You want me to leave? Fine! I'm leavin'!"

"Hey."

Sara jumped a mile at the sound of Grissom's voice, spilling tea down the front of her t-shirt. It burned, but she just gritted her teeth and paused the movie. "Grissom! Holy Christ, you scared the crap out of me!"

Grissom shrugged. "It's two in the morning. Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"Isn't it way past yours? It's my house, you know, and as much as I like you, Gris, I don't appreciate creepy-crawlies in the dead of night."

"I'm an insomniac, especially when I'm away from home. What's your excuse?"

"Couldn't sleep," Sara tossed the chenille throw off her legs and the coolness of the house swept over her. "When I was a kid and I couldn't sleep, I'd come down here and watch movie after movie until I got tired. My parents never knew."

"What are you watching?" Grissom glanced at the television.

"Oh....The Basketball Diaries. One of my old favorites," Sara said sheepishly. "Want to watch Leonardo DiCaprio go through heroin withdrawal?"

Grissom gave a small smile. "What else you got?"

Sara glanced at the small stack of cassettes on the coffee table beside her bowl of popcorn. "Um. Wet Hot American Summer and The Breakfast Club. Good Morning Vietnam and Monty Python and the Holy Grail. What about The Goonies? If These Walls Could Talk? Not your taste?"

"Nope. Not at all."

"You'd probably prefer something about the lifespan of the Goliath beetle, right?"

"No, I prefer Hitchcock. But, Leonardo DiCaprio will do for now."

"There's only less than half an hour left. Popcorn?" Sara offered as Grissom sat next to her on the couch. She couldn't help but notice he was wearing red flannel pajama pants and a faded black t-shirt, very un-Grissom. Especially since the t-shirt read, Do Not Start With Me, You Will Not Win—a gag gift from Catherine.

"No, thank you."

Sara hit play and they watched the movie in silence as Mark Wahlberg accidentally pushed a Hispanic drug dealer off a roof. Sara and Grissom watched as the dealer fell several stories and ended up impaled on a cop car.

"We killed him."

"The fuck you mean, we?"

"This was truly one of your favorite movies?" Grissom asked as the police apprehended Mark Wahlberg.

"Truly. Saw it three times in the theater; this is my second copy because I wore the first one out. I was a Marky Mark fanatic."

"I know. I saw the Good Vibrations poster in your room."

"You went into my room?" Sara paused the video again as Lorraine Bracco called the police on Leo. She turned to him angrily. "How did you get to my room? It's in a private wing!"

Grissom held up his hands in defense. "I got lost, okay?"

Sara considered locking her door when she finally got to sleep that night.

They finished The Basketball Diaries a few minutes later. Grissom looked slightly uneasy by what he'd seen, between the heroin withdrawal and Leonardo DiCaprio receiving phallacio from a middle-aged man in a bathroom stall.

"Another?" Sara asked. "It's only a quarter to three."

"A short one," Grissom agreed.

"I feel like laughing." Sara dug into her pile of cassettes and handed Grissom Monty Python and the Holy Grail. "John Cleese is the extreme cure for the blues."

"I've never seen this one. And I actually like Monty Python." Grissom got up to pop the tape into the VCR.

"No! You can't be a true Monty Python fan until you've seen Holy Grail! God, Wiley and I would quote this movie from beginning to end, we drove my parents crazy, running around calling ourselves 'the knights who say, ni!' And I'm sure Cecilia went insane with Wiley going around telling people, 'I fart in your general direction'. It's Holy Grail's fault I pronounced 'knights' ka-nig-ets until I was twelve."

"A Harvard-bound child said 'ka-nig-ets?"

"I wasn't Harvard-bound until I was sixteen," Sara smiled.

Despite all efforts, Sara ended up falling asleep halfway through the movie. She didn't know how much longer Grissom lasted, but when she awoke, it was daylight and she was in bed, the chenille throw from the living room still around her knees.

Did Grissom carry me to bed? she thought as she sat up and looked around. Or did I sleepwalk?

The latter was a possibility, she had been known to sleepwalk when she was younger, ending up in strange places in the morning—an overnight guest's closet, the bathtub, underneath her parents' bed. It wasn't a big deal until a few of guests had complained about Sara wandering around at night, claiming it made them uneasy. So Eavan, a light sleeper, attached a bell to Sara's bedroom door. It worked—Eavan was able to follow Sara and take her back to bed. But this was years ago. Sara hadn't sleepwalked since she was ten or eleven.

Sara got out of bed and slipped her feet into her yellow rubber thongs and padded into the dining room for breakfast. Eavan and Phil were there, along with Elizabeth, Megan and Sophie, Wiley and Polexia and Grissom. She was also the only one still in her pajamas.

"Good morning, Sunshine," chirped Eavan. "Sleep well?"

Grissom eyed her from behind the morning newspaper as she answered, "Yes."

"Pancakes, Sunshine?" Phil asked her, standing up. "I was just about to make a fresh batch."

"Sure. Thanks."

"Oh, Sara," Polexia said, "you've got the final fitting for your dress this afternoon. I need to take Libby, Sophie and Megan, too. Want to ride down with us?"

"Sounds nice," Sara grinned. She really did like Polexia.

"We can get ice cream later, right Aunt Polly?" asked Megan.

Polexia blushed slightly at being called Aunt Polly. "Sure, don't see why not."

"So, Mr. Grissom," Wiley said. "Does Sara's mood differ here than from Las Vegas?"

The table was silent as they awaited Grissom's answer. Grissom slowly lowered his newspaper and saw Sara's shoulders tense. He gave her a moment's stare and shrugged. "I see the same person."

"I would think otherwise," Wiley replied as everyone, especially Sara, relaxed. "She was always a pretty serious kid."

"Sara can loosen up if you give her a chance."

"You sound like the voice of experience."

"It's not experience, it's expectation," Grissom folded the paper. "I never see Sara outside of CSI, therefore I can only assume."

"Well, Mr. Grissom, you know what they say about those who assume."

"Of course I do, Wiley," Grissom said, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously. "I meet those people every day."