A/N: Welcome back loyal readers! For this installment, I'm handing out hot cocoa (made with milk too, not that powder crap) and homemade cookies. Perhaps that will prompt you to review? I can only hope…

P.S…. hurrah for tomorrow! Last day of the semester… can you GUESS what I'll be doing over winter break? I already have an idea for a new fic…

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She clutched to him unknowingly as he led her out of the crowd, out of the club and down the brightly lit streets to his car. He had to help her into the seat, because after a few tries on her own she had ended up on the ground, a puddle of giggles.

He smiled too, at the sheer insanity of the situation, and he wished that he could truly get mad at her. Everyone needed to indulge once in awhile. And she as no different. So, he helped her up, got her settled and, buckled her in.

"Safety first." She piped up, leaning forward, playing with the dials on the radio even though the car wasn't even on. Grissom got in on his side and sat stationary for a moment.

"You're not going to get sick in the car, are you?" He asked, hand poised over the key that was in the ignition.

"Why'd I get sick?" She asked, confused, thrilled that the radio was on, even more excited that she had free reign over it.

"No reason." He said flatly, turning the car on and pulling out of the parking complex. He drove two blocks before Sara had turned up the radio to deafening proportions. Grissom brought his hand down to fiddle with the volume, but Sara batted his hand away.

"Good song!" She shouted, turning it up another fraction.

Grissom's ears adjusted, actually recognizing the song. He turned to gape at his companion for a moment, her head bobbing at the twanging guitar.

"Lynard Skynard?" Grissom called out, 'Sweet Home Alabama' blaring from the speakers. He laughed, an actual laugh, loud enough to capture Sara's attention. She turned her head to stare at him as she sang along. She raised her eyebrows, exaggerating her lips as she sang, prompting him to sing along. He smirked, but sang along anyway, appeasing her. She smiled and turned her eyes back to the road.

The song ended, and another oldie began, but they both ignored it as Sara twiddled with the radio again. She settled on a classic music station, violin strings of Vivaldi filling the large vehicle.

He smiled deeply, amused at her strange musical tastes. She settled her head back in the seat and closed her eyes, allowing the music to wash over her.

"Don't let me fall asleep, okay Griss?" She opened her eyes a fraction and peered at him.

"You could sleep with music this loud to begin with?" He asked, looking back at her for a moment, admiring how innocent she looked on the verge of sleep.

"I can sleep anywhere. I thought you knew that." She said and closed her lids completely, settling back even deeper into the seat, shifting around until she was comfortable.

Grissom drove in silence, glancing over from time to time when he would hear her shift around. As Grissom drove he wondered why things weren't different. How he had landed himself in such an outlandish situation... how strange it was to have a drunk Sara in his vehicle... to have Sara in his car at all after hours.

He pulled in front of her building, waiting to see if she would notice, but she was asleep. He wondered if she even knew that he knew exactly where she lived, knew exactly which window was the window to her living room. That he would drive by, late in the day and just stare up at it, hoping that she would come to the glass and see him sitting there, longing in his eyes.

Reaching over, he touched her shoulder, rousing her from her brief slumber. "Hmmm," she sighed. "I told you not to let me fall asleep!"

"I didn't really have a choice. You were done as soon as you closed your eyes."

"Hmmm, my head hurts." She scrunched her brow and brought her hands up to massage her temples.

"Let's get you inside." He said, throwing the car in park, and getting out to help her out of her side.

He ignored how she clutched at him as they climbed the stairs, and he pretended to be exasperated with her show of adolescent indulgence. He wasn't. His heart clenched and he, all of a sudden, wanted to make everything better. He wanted her sober, clutching to him like she was in her inebriated state.

The alcohol had caught up with her and she was feeling sick. Sick and embarrassed. She was entirely too ashamed to be clutching Grissom's arm, ashamed that she would have been unable to unlock her door without his help.

Once inside her apartment, she suddenly burst into tears, flopping down on her couch. He didn't know what to do, so he just stood before her wait for her to do something that would spur his movement. He was slightly sweaty from all of the pulling and pushing he had been doing and his mouth was parched, at a loss for coherent words.

"I'm sorry." She wept, defenses down do to her inebriation. "I'm sorry Griss, it just hurts, you know? To love you this much and be this close to you and have you pretending like you care." Her mouth choked out the words, lips dry from the booze coursing though her veins. "Oh, god... I didn't mean to say that. Pretend like you didn't hear any of that okay? Okay? Okay."

She coughed and scrunched her brow and tried to turn her head to the side but fell upon the arm of the couch.

The double scotch he had indulged himself in had dulled his nerve endings. Had dulled his consciousness. Grissom stared down at her relaxed body with a sense of wonder. He had never been truly drunk, never had enough to make him feel the way he was sure she felt.

Grissom recalled a quote from a professor he had had in grad school. They had been discussing distilment, for some reason or another and the man at said "There's a business in alcohol, Gil. Alcohol is the most potent verbal lubricant. You only speak the truth when you're drunk."

Grissom smiled, just slightly, just enough for the quirk of the lips to be considered a smile and tilted his head.

He picked her up, a bundle of untold emotions, asleep in his arms and walked with her into her bedroom. With a rare show of loving reverence he deposited her on the bed, sweeping her hair from her face and pulling a blanket from the end of the bed.

At last, he settled in a worn armchair near her bed and leaned back, anticipating the time at which she would awake.