Grissom opened his eyes, confused. He was on an unfamiliar bed, alone and fully clothed, with daylight pouring through the window. There were photographs on the walls, like in Sara's apartment… oh.

He remembered now, all too well- everything from Sara's terrified face on the way to the hospital to telling her he loved her this morning. Telling her? More like flinging it at her like an insult. You could have planned that one better, Gil. Where is Sara? How long was I asleep?

Grissom got up and went into the living room. Sara was sitting on the couch. She'd refilled her glass. On the coffee table lay a copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting and a spiral-bound copy of Entomology and Death, a Procedural Guide.

"Did you sleep at all?"

"No."

Grissom picked up the pregnancy book and walked to the kitchen. He shoved it into the same drawer he had stashed the cookbook in, and filled himself a glass of water.

"I smoked," Sara said, "before I knew I was pregnant. And I drank."

He watched her from the kitchen. She looked calm, maybe a little drunk.

"I doubt it mattered. First trimester miscarriages are usually caused by chromosomal abnormalities." He was matter of fact, trying to match her abstracted tone.

"I didn't eat right. I drank coffee. I tried, after I found out, but I wasn't perfect."

"It's not your fault, Sara." She didn't look convinced.

"I almost got an abortion." She glanced at him quickly, as if to see how he would take this news.

"It would be understandable. And you didn't do it."

"But I thought about it. Maybe she knew she wasn't wanted." She? Oh, Sara.

He tried to project certainty. "It doesn't work like that. This was not your fault."

Sara looked at her glass. She drained it, and walked to the kitchen. She pulled out the bottle and poured another. The bottle was nearly empty. She sat in the chair. Is she making sure I can't sit too close? Grissom wondered. He took his glass of water and sat on the couch. Sara didn't say anything.

He picked up the Entomology book and began to flip through it. It wasn't the text he had given her, and he couldn't help but feel pleased that she had taken an interest on her own.

"He raped me."

Grissom froze. He wanted to say something. He wanted to hold her. He knew, though, that he had to remain perfectly still. The book lay forgotten in his lap.

"We were fighting. I asked him to leave and he just… snapped. And then, then… He didn't use a condom. I should have called my doctor or gone to the hospital, gotten the morning after pill, but I just wanted to forget the whole thing. Pretend it hadn't happened. I was on the pill. And the cops came, and then when they left I just wanted it not to have happened. I loved him, and he… I didn't want it to have happened." Sara was speaking quickly now, her words a little slurred.

"I didn't realize I was pregnant for a long time, not until that day at the morgue. And at first it felt like a bad dream. I just kept waiting to wake up, and when I didn't I was so angry, and I didn't want it. It. Her. I think it would have been a girl. I wanted her to be an it, so I could just… get rid of it.

"I'm pro-choice, you know, but I, I didn't think I would actually ever get one, I'm not a teenager. And I told myself it was okay, I never wanted to be a mother. I don't know how, and I'd be on my own, and if Tim ever found out he'd… And I didn't want to see him when I looked at my child."

She was quiet. Grissom waited. She glanced at him.

"But you changed your mind," he said.

She nodded. "I, I had this dream. And then I couldn't get the abortion. I thought maybe it was just meant to be. I was still ambivalent though. I was going to have it, but I couldn't make myself want it."

He swallowed. "What you felt was normal. It didn't affect the baby. There is no evidence to support that. You did everything right. It just… happens sometimes. I'm sorry."

Sara sipped her drink.

Grissom wanted to talk about Tim, but he worried she would be angry if he mentioned him. Still, she brought it up.

"Do you want to try to bring charges against him?"

"No." She was firm.

"Are you sure, Sara? He shouldn't just get away with it." He carefully kept the frustration out of his voice.

"No."

"He could do it again, to someone else."

"He's not a serial rapist, Grissom. He did it because he thinks he loves me."

"That isn't love."

"Thanks for clearing that up." Well, at least she can be sarcastic.

"I talked to Brass this morning," he offered.

"I figured."

"He said you'd filed charges against this guy before, in California?"

"Before I knew you." Grissom was oddly relieved by that. Before Vegas most of their friendship had been long distance, but he wanted to think she would have told him about this. Of course, she hadn't told him this time.

"Why…"

"I have to work here. In law enforcement. With the D.A.s and the judges. I don't want some defense attorney bringing this up on the stand and calling my objectivity into question."

"That's a stupid reason." And I bet it isn't the real one. "I wasn't going to ask that, anyway. Why did you take him back?"

Sara took another drink. She tapped her foot.

"I was homesick, I guess."

"And now?" Grissom tensed, waiting for her answer. She won't press charges. Does she still care about this creep?

"I still am, I think. But not for him. I miss the ocean." What does the ocean have to do with this?

"I miss it too, sometimes. But the desert has its beauty."

"It isn't home." She took a drink.

"I don't want you to leave."

"It doesn't matter, Grissom." She sounded tired. What doesn't matter? It doesn't matter how you feel or it doesn't matter what I want?

"If you're planning to leave, I need to know that."

"Are you here as my boss?" Oops. She's right, that wasn't fair.

"No. I'm not here as your boss."

"I'm not planning on quitting. I'm going to go see the ocean now, with my sick days."

"You should be resting."

"I'm not asking permission. I can't work, I wouldn't be able to concentrate, and I don't want to sit here. I need to go, and it would be a like a funeral for her." Sara stared at the glass in her hand, swirled it a little, and took a sip.

I don't want her to sit here either. She'd just drink. But I can't go with her.

"I can't go with you."

"You aren't invited." Oh.

"When are you going?"

"Tonight. I'll drive. I like road trips."

"Sara… you've been drinking. And you need to sleep."

"You're not my mother." He looked at her, knowing if he waited she'd regret snapping and consider his words.

She did. "I'm not going right this minute. I'll sleep and sober up, and go tonight."

"You're going to drive to San Francisco tonight?" That's a long drive. She should be recovering.

"No. I don't need to go all the way to San Francisco. I just need the ocean. I'll go toward L.A." Toward Tim Conolly.

"You need to follow up with your doctor."

"I will."

"It's important."

"I said I would do it, Grissom." She was irritated now. She took another large sip of her drink.

"I just… worry."

"You don't need to."

"I can't help it. I love you." There. Still not very romantic, but at least I wasn't yelling.

"No, you don't." She sounded firm, and a little sleepy. The whiskey was definitely having an effect. Not a bad thing, under the circumstances. It will help her sleep.

"I do."

"You're saying that now because you're tired and upset. Tomorrow you'll regret it. I can't play this game anymore. I won't. It's too late."

Too late.

No. I won't agree to that. And it isn't too late. I'm here, she's talking to me. She hasn't shut me out. It cannot be too late.

"I do love you. I won't regret saying it." I won't.

"I don't want your pity. You don't love me. You don't have to do this. I'll be okay, you know. But it doesn't help to have you complicating our relationship."

"I don't pity you." How can she think that?

"You only express affection when you find out something horrible has happened. It's adrenaline and pity, and I don't want it." She took another sip.

"Adrenaline helped me say it. I'm not good at expressing that kind of thing. But I don't pity you, Sara. I admire you."

"There's nothing admirable about this, Grissom. It just happened, remember?" Is she always this argumentative when she's drunk?

"I admire you because no matter what has happened to you in the past- your family, this guy in L.A.- you're still willing to put your heart on the line and try again. I couldn't do that."

"Well, neither can I. Not anymore."

"You don't love me." Grissom's heart fluttered rapidly in his chest, waiting for her response.

"No. And it wouldn't matter if I did. I loved Tim, back in grad school. Love isn't enough. I'm done with men who hurt me." Grissom felt as though the ground had been yanked out from under him. She doesn't love me. I shouldn't have pushed. She doesn't love me.

"I never meant to hurt you." But I can't talk you into loving me. She doesn't love me. Oh God, why did I say I loved her? She doesn't love me. I can't stay here and face her. I have to get out of here. No, I can't just go. She's drunk. She's hurting. I need to take care of her. And so what if she doesn't love me? That's now. She doesn't even really know me, and she's upset. That's it. This is only temporary. I'll woo her. Somehow. But right now I need to get away. I can't look at her.

"But you did. Griss, I'm going to bed now." Thank God, I can get out of here. I've never felt so humiliated. "That means you need to go. Thank you, for coming back, before. You've been a good friend." Friend, Grissom thought bitterly.

Sara was waiting for him to say something, he realized. "You'll call me? Let me know you got there safely? And when you'll be coming back?"

"If you want me to."

"I do." He stood up, and so did she, a little unsteadily. She's a remarkably articulate drunk, he observed. He wondered what that meant- did she drink enough to perfect that skill, or was it natural? She couldn't have had anything to drink in a few weeks, because of the baby. So was her tolerance naturally high? Then why did she get the DUI? A puzzle for the future, he told himself. But it worried him. At least the worry is a distraction, he thought. She doesn't love me. I'm too late.

She walked him to the door.

"Lock it behind me," he said. She nodded. Before he could think twice, he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. Her eyes widened. He stepped outside, and waited in the hallway until he heard the locks engage.