Chapter 2
Night on the Town
"We're going out for dinner."
It was the first thing Catherine Willows said to Gil Grissom as he entered the break room with his empty coffee mug at 2.am that morning during his night shift. Catherine was flicking through a report and hadn't even raised those piercing blue eyes of hers to look at him. She'd put a lot of emphasis in the word 'we're' so Gil knew that meant something big.
Catherine was the only one in the break room, Gil had going over paperwork for a case while Sara Sidle, Nick Stokes and Warrick Brown were out on the field. He had separate things to deal with – half of which had nothing to do with investigating. For half of his shift, he had been going through his own mounds of paperwork in his office. He'd fallen behind with the employee evaluations again – and there were three requests for two week vacations he hadn't even begun to look at. And then there was Greg Sanders, who had filled in three request forms for chemicals required in the laboratory, and they'd been there on Gil's desk all week.
Gil stood, stumped for a moment, "define we," he said, he then walked over to the sink, rinsed out his coffee mug, then moved over to the perculator.
"We. Me, Sara, Nick, Warrick, Greg," Catherine finally raised her eyes and gazed at him, "you," she pointed at him. "Tonight."
"When was this arranged?"
"Months ago," Catherine answered nonchalantly, so completely indifferent to his response.
"I don't remember taking up an invite for dinner," Gil raised an eyebrow, he filled his cup with black coffee and took a sip of the bitter liquid.
"We never told you," Catherine closed her folder of paperwork, she stretched. "If we had told you in advance you'd have made sure you were working the night we were to go out," she pointed out. "You're not getting out of this."
"I'm busy tonight. I have a mound of paperwork to catch up with, I'm going to pull a double shift and try and get it done."
"No," Catherine said, "this is the first night in four years we've all had a night off together. We've all been tense with each other lately at work - we need to get to know each other outside of work – like when we used to go to breakfast. Only this time, we'll have a whole night."
"C'mon, Cath, I don't do good in social surroundings. I'm not a people person like you."
"I know that. But this will give you a little bit of practice. You can't hide behind your microscope forever," Catherine looked thoroughly pleased with herself. Grissom despised that smug expression on her face.
"Can't I pass just this once?" he asked sipping his coffee again, he glanced at his watch.
"Gil, don't be such a kill joy. Just make an appearance, and pretend to be social. Who knows – you might even enjoy yourself."
"Hey…"
Catherine and Gil turned to the door, Greg was leaning in around the threshold of the door, a sheet of paper in his hand.
"I've filled out a request form for—" Greg began. Gil cut him off before he had the chance to finish.
"Yes, yes, alright, I'll order the stuff…" Gil assured. That made four request forms now from Greg. Unusually enough only one form was needed for everything, so Gil suspected that Greg was deliberately handing in forms to get his attention. "I don't need a dozen copies of the form piling on my desk to know inventory is running low," he added with a sigh.
I know JUST what I'm putting on HIS evaluation, thought Gil sourly.
"Did you tell him?" Greg asked with an impish grin.
Catherine matched his grin, "oh yeah."
"And?"
"He doesn't wanna go," Catherine folded her arms over her stomach.
"Aw, c'mon, it'd be fun! We can play drinking games!" Greg said excitedly.
"Don't you have some work to do, Greg?" Gil asked pointedly.
"It can wait," Greg assured.
"Did I tell you I haven't filled out your employee evaluation yet?" Gil asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Uh…see you," Greg disappeared, through the window that looked out into the hallway Gil watched Greg through the slats in the open blinds. Greg tripped on his own foot and fell clumsily with a thud – then pulling himself up he limped off disappearing down the hall.
"Tell me why I still keep him around?"
"Comic relief?" Catherine joked, she got up, "seriously, though. He's right, you should come. It will be fun. Outside of work you can be the real Gil Grissom."
"This is the real Gil Grissom," Gil gestured to himself whilst giving her a curious glance.
"And that's exactly why you should come tonight," Catherine winked, "We're meeting at seven for drinks first at Frankenstein's Bar."
"Frankensteins?" Gil gaped.
"Greg's idea. Talk to him if you need directions," Catherine said before she left the break room.
When she was gone, Gil could do nothing but shake his head.
When Gil went home after his shift, he promised himself he was going to find a way to get out of having to go out for dinner with the rest of his colleagues. He knew he'd find it awkward, trying to find something to talk about other than work while the rest of them were sitting over their meals.
They should be thankful I don't want to go, he thought. I'd only put a damper on their fun anyway. I'd start talking about work, and they'd just roll their eyes and ignore me. It's better that I don't go at all.
After a much needed sleep, and waking up feeling groggy and somewhat dreary, he stumbled to the kitchenette, yawning.
His answering machine light was blinking, he hit the play button and walked over to the fridge to get himself a bottle of Evian.
You have 3 new messages.
Message 1: Hey, it's Catherine, I take it you're still in bed. I'll call later. beeeeep
Message 2: Hey, it's Catherine – again. It's…five-thirty-five now. We're meeting at seven. beeeeep
Message 3: Me again, you'd better show up. I mean it. beeeeep
Gil rolled his eyes and smiled. Catherine was some character, and although it was somewhat annoying, it was nice that she was intent on having him come along on their little night on the town.
The phone began to ring shrilly, and Gil, who was struggling with the cap of an Evian bottle, let it ring, he took a drink.
"Hey, you've reached the phone of Gil Grissom, leave a message after the beep"
beeeeep
"Hey, it's Cath. Well, by now I know you have to be up, you never sleep in. So you're probably standing there listening to me and pretending not to be home because you think it's going to get you out of coming tonight…" Catherine's voice had a hint of amusement hidden beneath it. "It's six now, so I guess I'll catch up with you in about an hour at Frankenstein's. Oh, and just so you know, if you don't show up, we'll ALL be coming to your apartment to get you."
He blinked. The thought of them all in his apartment made him uneasy. He strangely found himself beginning to reconsider. It wasn't so much that he wanted to go, but it was that he was concerned that the others might hound him at work the next day if he didn't turn up at all, or like Catherine had said, just show up on his doorstep, and who knows how long it'd take him to get them to leave.
I'll turn up, maybe, he thought as he sat sipping coffee at his kitchen counter. I'll turn up for maybe twenty minutes, have a quick drink, and then tell them I have other things I need to do, he decided. That way, then I can always point out the fact that I at least showed up.
He didn't know what kind of a place Frankenstein's sounded to be, but he was betting if it was somewhere Greg had chosen it would be full of young people with their strange fashions and odd hairstyles. He decided if he wore black, he might make it in and out alive without ever being noticed by the patrons, and so he dressed in black pants and a black shirt.
He used a phonebook to look up Frankenstein's Bar, and find its location. He left early, knowing he had to walk to get there, since, if he was going to have a drink – and it couldn't just be a soda because his colleagues would surely make fun of him for this – he was better not taking his car at all.
When he got to Frankenstein's Bar, he found out he'd been right about the people. Most of the patrons were either of the gothic or punk culture, they were all people ranging from their early twenties to thirties. A rainbow of fantastic colours of hair was everywhere he seemed to look, people with all manners of facial piercings left him wondering how anyone in this place could blow their nose without ripping their septum completely out.
Gil felt immediately out of place and felt he stood out even more like a sore thumb thanks to the grey in his hair and the beard on his chin.
The walls were black, the lights were dim, and the music was loud – and the lyrics of that music didn't even seem to be English, and if it was, it was very poor English at that. The bar was crowded, the seats were all taken up, and there were groups of people standing with their drinks in one hand and cigarettes in the other. The faint smell of Cannabis left Gil thinking that perhaps someone's cigarette wasn't just a cigarette at all.
Trust Greg Sanders to pick a place like this to invite his colleagues for drinks, Gil thought shaking his head. He was beginning to feel very foolish for turning up at all.
He glanced around trying to pick out anyone he recognised. He was somewhat relieved that he saw no one familiar, and yet at the same time somewhat unnerved by that. Did this mean he was the first to arrive? How strange that would seem, for the person most reluctant on going in the first place being the first person to get there.
He pondered if perhaps this could be a trick, that they'd all pulled him in on some sort of practical joke – they meant for him to show up but had no intentions of showing up themselves.
No, Cath wouldn't do that. Greg certainly wouldn't do that either if he expected to keep his job, Gil thought.
"Oh my god, you came!"
He blinked, the voice coming from distinctly behind him, he turned, Sara Sidle standing there with her hair in curls, clad in a long flowing purple skirt, and a lilac top with tiny sequinned flowers embroidered upon the chest. Her lips were glossy and pink, her eyes dusted in lavender. She looked stunning – he'd never seen her look so undeniably beautiful.
All those familiar feelings began to rise up in himself, and he had to try and force them right back out of his head, he tried to regain his composure and stop staring so much.
"Nick and Warrick were convinced you wouldn't show up," Sara admitted, smirking, she folded her arms. "In fact, they had a bet against Cath that you wouldn't. She'll be two hundred bucks up by tonight."
"No wonder she kept hounding me to come," Gil commented.
"Is anyone else here, yet?" Gil asked. He found himself speaking loudly just to be heard over the music.
"Not yet," Sara glanced at her watch, "it's only ten past seven. It's much more popular to be fashionably late. I got here about ten minutes ago – which says a lot about me and my fashion."
Gil chuckled, slightly amused. It reminded him that the first time he'd seen her, at a seminar he'd given in Harvard several years ago, she'd been the first to show up.
They sauntered to the bar, finding it slightly difficult to not bump into the several patrons who were all congregating around it. "What would you like?" he asked Sara, gesturing to the bar.
"A Screaming Orgasm," she called out to him, and her expression was so completely indifferent asking this, he was taken aback.
Did she just say what I think she said? He thought, feeling rather dismayed. He looked at her blankly for a few moments, then cleared his throat, "I meant to drink…" he said after a moment, finding himself growing rather flustered.
"So did I," Sara responded, "just ask for it at the bar, whoever serves you will know what you're talking about, I'll go see if I can get a table."
"Good luck…" Gil trailed off, he watched her go then made his way through more people to finally get served.
The bar maid, a gothic woman painted white with black lips, stared at him expectantly.
"One Budweiser, and a Screaming Orgasm," he said, the words felt strange on his tongue.
"You look like you need one," the woman responded bluntly, she went to deal with the drinks. Two minutes later, she had the drinks, she placed them down, he paid, and left the bar, glancing around.
He found Sara sitting at a table, looking rather smug with herself.
"What're you smiling at?" Gil asked as he placed her drink in front of her.
Sara gave a soft laugh, "I got six people to walk up and leave this table," she said, "told them I was a cop and that I could have them arrested for possession of marijuana – two of them had joints. I've never seen anyone leave a table so fast in my life."
"You're not a cop," Gil pointed out to her, taking a seat himself.
"They don't know that," Sara said, "I showed them my C.S.I I.D., they bought into it, anyway," she shrugged, she picked up her glass and took a delicate sip.
A silence fell between them, the music boomed in the background making it ever so less slightly awkward, "are you sure the others are coming?" Gil asked.
"Yeah, I called Catherine the minute I got here to say I'd arrived. She said she'd be about half an hour – her sister is supposed to be watching Lindsay and she's running late. Nick said he'd be here at half past seven, he had some errands to run and Warrick said he'd probably be here sooner or later – probably later. Knowing Warrick he'd come about ten minutes past eight, being the last to arrive, just to look cool, and hip," she rolled her dark eyes with a smile.
"What about Greg…I'm surprised he's not here yet," Gil admitted, "since he picked this place and all."
"You never know with Greg," Sara shrugged, "no one knows when he's arriving."
"What exactly is a Screaming Orgasm?" Gil asked with an eyebrow raised.
"If you have to ask, you'll never know," Sara teased, she held her drink out to him.
Gil took the glass, and glanced into it, he sniffed at it, "vodka?"
"Yep," she replied.
He gave it a tiny sip, "Amaretto?"
"You're good," Sara took the drink back from him, "but you left out the Irish Cream and Kahlua."
"Sorry. Cocktail identification definitely isn't one of my best skills," he replied, he took a swig from his bottle of beer.
Sara brushed a curl of hair away from her face, and Gil turned away, he didn't want to keep looking at her in this way, he felt his the emotion rising up inside of him. They hadn't been alone together since the night a storm had caused a blackout over most of Vegas. Gil had spent the night at her apartment waiting until the power came back on, but before hand, being in a room with her surrounded by candles hadn't helped his situation with her.
And being alone with her at a table in a bar with a drink in his hand and her looking as incredibly stunning as she did wasn't exactly helping either. This felt like it was two seconds from being a date, and he didn't like that thought.
What if that's been the plan all along, he thought, what if this was someone's joke that they'd all meet us here and set us up like two twenty-year olds who like each other and just don't know it. It screams set up. I should leave.
"You have that look on your face," Sara commented after taking another sip from her drink.
"Look?" Gil asked, pretending to be very nonchalant and afraid she could see through him.
Sara gave a shrug, "You know, the typical, Grissom look. As if you're quietly analysing something," she explained, "so what's goin' on in your head."
"Only the question of how did Cath pull me into this in the first place…" he stated. It was somewhat truthful, just slightly off what he'd been thinking.
"That'll be a mystery you'll never understand," Sara took another sip of her drink, "but at least you're here now," she said, "you might as well try and enjoy it."
"PARTY TIME!"
The yell caught them by surprise, and they turned as Greg Sanders dropped into a chair at the table. "Greg, we were just wondering when you'd make your appearance," Sara said, she smirked.
"He showed up," Greg pointed to Gil as if he were a piece of meat rather than his boss. "He's actually here…how did she do it?"
"Cath is some kind of miracle worker," Sara remarked.
"Some kind of bully, more like," Gil uttered under his breath, he glanced at his watch, twenty minutes past seven, no sign of the others – save Greg. He'd wait, let them all show up, have one more drink – and let them all see him drink – and then he could go, then he'd made some kind of effort and they couldn't complain much anymore. "Catherine called my apartment four times consecutively to leave messages telling me I better go. The last message – which was more of a threat – advised me that if I didn't go, she'd have you all come to my apartment. I figured I better comply."
"So it isn't just my charming company you've come to enjoy, then?" Greg gushed, "oh well, I know that's why Sara came – right?"
"What charming company?" Sara asked, finishing her drink, "you've just sat down, you haven't even offered to get us a drink. That's rude in my opinion. Me and Gil hadn't even got a table yet, and already he offered me a drink."
Gil felt a shiver at that comment. The words 'me and Gil' didn't seem to sound right. What didn't sound right first off was that she usually called him Grissom, or Gris. Gil was personal, it felt personal, and that was uncomfortable and unfamiliar to him.
"You're right, I apologize," Greg stood and gave a congenial bow mockingly, "and what would the lady like? Is that a Screaming Orgasm?"
"Yes," Sara responded.
"Wow. I wonder how many bosses give their employees a Screaming Orgasm," Greg smirked, he looked at Gil and wiggled his eyebrows.
Gil frowned slightly, "Greg…" he said in a warning tone, to indicate the boy was walking on very thin ice.
"I'm going, I'm going…" Greg disappeared off to buy drinks.
Sara ran her finger over the rim of her empty glass absently, "he's just as zany as he is at work," she commented thoughtfully.
"And annoying," Gil rolled his eyes. Somewhere inside, Gil wished Greg hadn't come at all, and yet, at the same time was glad he had because now he didn't have to sit alone with Sara like an awkward date he didn't want to be on.
"He looks cute without a lab coat on," Sara mused.
"He likes you," Gil took another swig of his beer.
Sara scoffed, "since when?"
"Since…the moment you first came to C.S.I. more or less," Gil responded. "In fact, when you first came to C.S.I., I think you turned the head of every guy in the place," he added.
"Even yours?" Sara raised an eyebrow.
Walked right into that one, didn't you, Gris. When will you ever learn? He thought angrily at himself. "Mines was the exception – I'd seen you before, remember?"
Sara seemed content enough with that answer, so Gil left it at that. He half expected her to ask if she'd turned his head when he'd first saw her years before, but she didn't.
"One Screaming Orgasm," said Greg as he returned putting Sara's drink down on the table.
"I bet this is the first Screaming Orgasm you've ever given any woman," Sara mused.
Gil suppressed a chuckle at the childish pout on Greg's young face, then watched as Greg put a bottle down in front of him, another Budweiser. "I didn't ask for anything…" Gil began.
Greg shrugged, "I figured you could use another," he sat down, he himself was having some strange concoction that was blue, neither Sara nor Gil asked what it was. "So everyone else is running late?"
"Yeah, but they'll show up soon," Sara stated, as if to ease Greg's mind, "so…you arranged all this, where are we going?" she asked of Greg.
"Oh, there's this cool restaurant, all you can eat Chinese…it's called Saigon, Saigon."
"All you can eat Chinese. Perfect," Sara rolled her eyes, "I thought this was supposed to be a classy affair."
"Who needs classy? We'll be shovellin' the food down, throwin' back a couple of drinks and heading out to a nightclub. I thought you said you wanted to have FUN on this night out?"
"I did," Sara said, "but I didn't say I wanted 'fun for under 30 bucks'."
"Hey, you make more than I do, I have to work on a budget here," Greg pointed out, he pulled a digital camera out of his pocket, and he pointed it at Sara. "Smile for Greg," he teased.
Sara held a solemn and stubborn face, deliberately, and nevertheless, Greg hit the button on the camera anyway, and momentarily blinded Sara and Gil.
"Isn't that a works camera?" Sara raised an eyebrow.
"Of course it is," Greg said, "but no one will notice it's gone," he promised.
"Greg…" Gil said, "you know if something happens to that camera I'd have to fire you…" he said.
Greg forced a confident smile, "nothing will. I'm only careless with my own stuff."
"You BETTER not print out that photo of me," Sara warned.
"That baby is goin' on the bulletin board in the hall," Greg joked.
"And your head will be going down the nearest toilet if it does," Sara responded sharply.
Gil listened to them prattle on for several more moments before Catherine Willows and Warrick Brown made an appearance.
"Gil, you showed up!" Catherine's eyes lit up, "Fancy that."
"Yeah, fancy that," Gil folded his arms and smirked.
Catherine put her hand on his shoulder, "you knew what was good for you," she responded, "anyone need a drink?"
"No," Gil responded.
Sara accepted, she'd finished her second drink fairly quickly. "Screaming Orgasm," she said to Catherine.
Greg had downed his own drink in one gulp – it was some kind of shooter that smelled almost like mouthwash – so he also accepted the offer of a drink. "Aftershock for me – blue only. Red makes me gag."
Catherine and Warrick disappeared off to the bar to get a round of drinks for everyone.
Greg noticed an acquaintance of his at the other side of the room, and got up, "excuse me," he said, "I see one of my biggest fans over there, better go say hi," he said, pretending as if he were some kind of celebrity rather than a C.S.I level 1. He disappeared off into the crowd, leaving Sara and Gil alone at the table.
Gil eyed Sara's empty glasses concernedly, "go easy with those, that's a lot of alcohol, I mean…vodka and amaretto…" he reminded.
"I'm fine, I have a high tolerance."
That worries me, thought Gil. People with high tolerances are people who drink a lot, and Sara's drinking makes me nervous. "That's all and well, but you're working tomorrow, and it's not appropriate to come to work smelling like alcohol. Ecklie would have a field day with that."
"He has a field day any day," Sara rolled her eyes, "anyway, we all agreed tonight we wouldn't talk about work…"
"Then what is there to talk about?" Gil asked, he leaned back in his chair, arms still folded.
"We'll figure somethin' out," Sara shrugged, she tucked her hair behind her ear.
Greg returned to his seat, just as Catherine and Warrick returned with drinks. Catherine placed Sara's drink down, "there you go."
"Wow, now Cat's giving Sara a Screaming Orgasm. This is some wild party. Kind of like an alcoholic orgy," Greg mused.
"Behave," Catherine slapped the back of his head, "and what have I told you about calling me that?"
Greg winced, "ow…" he laughed, he grabbed his camera and took a picture of her.
Nick Stokes was the last to arrive, he dropped into a chair, "sorry I'm late, was helping a neighbour fix her car."
"This neighbour hot?" Greg asked, absently snapping photos.
"That's not the only reason I'd help a lady fix a car," Nick rolled his eyes.
"But was she hot?" Greg asked.
"What do you think?" Nick asked and grinned.
Warrick gestured to a beer on the table, "got you one, figured you'd show up soon enough," he said to Nick.
"Hey, Gris, look this way," Greg said as he held the camera in Gil's direction, he took a few random photos.
"Put that thing away," Gil requested, shaking his head.
Soon, they were all sitting, drinking, laughing and discussing things amongst each others, talking like they'd known each other their whole lives.
All, that was, except from Gil, who was more of a spectator. He listened, whilst he sipped on the beer Greg had bought him. His eyes kept falling upon Sara, no matter how hard he tried he couldn't keep his eyes off her. She was so enchanting, the way her dark eyes glittered when she laughed at the madcap things Greg would say, or the way she'd brush her hair out of her face with one finger. He was entranced for long stretches at a time.
He was entranced so much he was distracted completely, he forgot all about his plans to leave early after having had one more drink with them all. Four drinks later and he was still sitting there.
Three more rounds of drinks later, and the six were set to go to dinner at this Saigon, Saigon place that Greg had talked of. Gil walked a little behind them, watching their behaviour, their laughter. It was nice to see them out of work,
The Chinese restaurant wasn't bad. The serve yourself policies were a little hectic, and there wasn't a moment where someone wasn't getting up from the table to go get something else from the buffet. Gil ate lightly, he didn't feel much like eating all.
The only bad thing about the Chinese restaurant – he felt – was that for some reason he'd ended up seated next to Sara. This hadn't been Sara's choice to take that seat, but rather a waiter who had pulled her chair for her politely, and pushed it in for her when she'd sat.
I should have offered to do so, thought Gil. How un-gentlemanly of me. That goes to show how long it's been since I even had a date…that I don't pull chairs for women anymore. He pondered if he even held doors open for women anymore. He had to think back and realised he probably didn't.
During the meal, whenever Sara would want to say something to Gil in particular, she would reach out and put her hand upon his wrist to get his attention. He hadn't been able to respond much at all, really, except from agree with her whenever she asked his opinion on something. Apart from this, Gil barely spoke, although he very much enjoyed the banter of Greg and the in depth discussions everyone else was having.
Okay, so maybe I'm not having as much of a bad time as I figured I would, he thought as he sipped a glass of water he was having with dinner, he'd decided to lay off the drink. He was also to be at work tomorrow and didn't need the hangover anymore than he needed a hole in the head.
Sara, however, hadn't stopped drinking since the moment she'd got into the restaurant. He'd lost count of how many drinks she'd had at the bar. Four? Five? Maybe six? Now she was on wine – she'd even had a few sips of Nick's beer. Gil was concerned her mixing drinks was going to make her very ill indeed. He counted four glasses of wine, and then lost count.
"You've hardly touched your beef satay," Sara pointed out to Gil, "not hungry?"
"Not particularly," he admitted, he looked at her, he could see the haze in her eyes that she was finding it harder and harder to focus clearly on anything and anyone she looked at. She'd really drank too much. He wondered if he should perhaps call a cab for her and tell her she had to go home, that he wasn't going to let her get any more drunk.
But what could he do? She was a grown woman, who could certainly look after herself. She wasn't doing anyone any harm, and she didn't need to drive home, so why should it matter if she had too much to drink or not?
It matters though, he thought. It matters because I care that it matters. He sighed silently to himself as he watched her closely. Knowing he cared about her made his heart ache and his chest tighten.
"I'll have it," Sara picked up the beef satay and began to eat it in a very hungry and rather unladylike manner, Gil wasn't so much astonished by her stealing from his plate as he was with the fact she'd told him he was a vegetarian, yet she was eating beef.
"Aren't you a vegetarian?" he raised an eyebrow.
"Uh…" she paused, "when I'm not starving."
Okay, so maybe alcohol has just made her hungry, who knows, he thought, shaking his head absently. I can't even think straight it's so noisy at this table, he thought. He found it laughable that he was bothered by the noise. Barely two years ago, he'd found himself losing his hearing and then would have given anything to hear it all again – even this ruckus. Now he might have given anything for a pair of earplugs.
The longer they remained in the restaurant, the drunker Sara seemed to be getting, the fact was she was getting even louder, and more outrageous, her jokes became even more outlandish, and her eyes continued to get hazier.
Gil looked at Catherine with a somewhat helpless expression, and Catherine gave a shrug, as if to say 'what can I do?'. Gil spent a few moments considering what he himself could do, but came up with nothing.
He glanced up to see Greg taking photos – again. Sara glanced up, "is this my good side?" she asked drunkenly.
"Any side is your good side," said Greg adoringly, he snapped photos, "c'mon, get closer to Gris, put your hand on his shoulder or something, then people can't accuse us of 'Photoshopping' him in."
Sara got up, and awkwardly dropped herself into Grissom's lap. Her drunken weight crushed his apartment key right into his hip and he winced. "How's this?" she asked of Greg, laughing. She held on to her glass of wine, holding it up as if it were a trophy, she put her other arm around Gil's neck to steady herself, she let her cheek rest upon his hair.
"Classic," Greg burst out laughing, he took several photos, Gil couldn't smile, he couldn't even manage to laugh at this, it felt awkward and so inappropriate – and painful where his keys were concerned.
It felt even more awkward when Sara remained seated on his lap once Greg had put the camera down. Her arm still around his neck, he was almost convinced she would never let go and almost admitted to himself he really didn't want her to either.
"Are you okay?" Gil asked of her, he put his hand on her back gently to steady her, she was swaying more and more, and he could almost picture her so entirely unsteady that she'd tip off his lap entirely and land on Warrick.
"I'm excellent," she gave a rather assuring nod, and a grin, her eyes closed for a moment, he almost thought she might pass out there. "Actually, no I'm not, I need to pee," she pulled herself up off his lap and disappeared to find a bathroom.
Gil shook his head at this and rolled his eyes, he stared down at his plate, he was afraid everyone might be looking at him strangely, but no one seemed to have noticed at all. When Sara returned, she took her seat beside Gil again, and seemed oblivious to the lap-sitting incident totally as if it were already forgotten.
After the meal was over, Catherine, who by now had stolen the works camera from Greg, arranged for a waiter to take a picture of everyone together to mark the occasion with the photo. "It'll be nice to look back on," she explained to Gil, "try and smile, huh?" she nudged him as they walked over to a space where they could all stand together.
Catherine moved around directing everyone just how she wanted them to stand, and Gil noticed she was using her most professional tones as she spoke, and that ever so slightly amused him. Sara at his left side, Catherine at his right side, Greg, Warrick and Nick kneeling on the ground in front of them so everyone could fit into the photo.
Gil stood idly, waiting for the photo to be taken.
"Come on, at least LOOK like you're having a good time," Catherine nudged him once again, she took his arm and pulled it over her shoulder, "I know you hate close physical contact, but just grin and bear it," she added, rolling her eyes. "Put your arm around Sara," she added.
Sara pressed her head against Gil's shoulder, and Gil felt very lost between these two beautiful women, an arm around each of them. His arm was more behind Sara than around her, his hand secured on her waist, Sara gave a very blissful smile, and Gil caught it. He couldn't help but smile too, and the camera caught him that way, with probably the most genuine smile he'd given in a long time.
Retrieving the camera from the waiter, the six exited the restaurant, and walked for fifteen minutes to a nightclub that Greg frequented on his nights off. Sara staggered somewhere ahead, in her heels, making quite an exhibition of herself, at one point stumbling so much one of her heels came off, and she left it on the pavement, completely unfazed by the fact that she was walking at an awkward slant now since one foot was lower than the other. The other heel came off, and she left it there, Gil picked them both up as he walked, and carried them by his side, which gained many a curious eye by passers by. One person even commented, 'nice heels, man' jokingly, and he felt a blush creep up his neck.
Sara was walking barefoot across a pavement, and as they stopped outside of the nightclub to wait in a queue to get in, Gil caught up with her.
"I found these," Gil held her shoes up to show her.
"Wow, they look just like the ones I'm wearing," Sara said drunkenly, and then looked down, "oh…someone stole my shoes!"
Gil rolled his eyes, why was it that alcohol always had the effect of making the smartest woman turn into a complete moron within a couple of hours? He handed her the shoes, "they fell off," he said.
Sara pulled them on awkwardly, she stood swaying, gripping onto the velvet rope nearby trying to steady herself.
Gil put his hand on her back tenderly, "you sure you're okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine," she assured in a proud voice, "the world is swaying a bit though…I think it must be moving right now…" she added in a whisper as if she were fascinated.
Gil smiled a little, and thought of a romantic compliment. Possibly. I know when I saw you tonight, I could have sworn I felt the Earth move. He didn't say it, he didn't even try to. Even if he had, she'd never remember it.
"Lean on me," Greg said, he too, was pretty intoxicated by now, perhaps worse than Sara, although he seemed to be handling it better than Gil might have imagined, because he, at least, could stand perfectly straight, although his mouth hung open and he had a vacant stare which suggested just how much alcohol he had consumed.
Sara leaned on Greg for support, "you're sweet. But y'know…you're not Gil Grissom," she said rather candidly.
Greg looked at her as if to ask what she meant by that, and then laughed, "no…I'm not, I'm Greg…Greggo…"
Gil overheard all this, and just looked at her, she was now looking away from him and he could only see the back of her head, but the comment was terribly direct and he was concerned she might shout something out that would somehow reveal what her feelings might be for him. His worse case scenario at that minute was that she might jump out to where everyone could see her and shout something along the lines of 'I think Gil Grissom is just swell'.' He could feel his cheeks flush at how horrified he would feel if she did so.
He'd always known about the way she felt, but he had just always felt too helpless to do anything about it. He'd have liked to have given her everything she wanted from him, but things were never that simple, were they?
In the nightclub, the music was far worse than that in Frankenstein's bar. The music, now Gil was convinced, definitely wasn't in English. In fact, he could have sworn it was German.
Sara had barely been in the doors two seconds and she'd flung herself upon the dance floor – quite literally, falling and knocking over Greg who'd been at her side. They picked each other up, and laughed.
Catherine stood by Gil, shaking her head at the pair, "I've never seen anyone that smashed before – and I worked as a stripper. I relied on guys as drunk as Greg to put me through college," she grinned.
"I'm concerned. Look at Sara, she can barely stand…" Gil pointed out.
"She's young, let her enjoy herself, god knows, she's had enough despair at work to last a life time."
Gil folded his arms, and stood against a pillar, he watched Sara and Greg dancing ridiculously as he remained shrouded in the darkness. "This is dancing?" he asked.
"I know, it's not exactly a Slow Waltz or the Twist, but it's exercise," Catherine grinned, "you gonna dance, or you going to stand there looking po-faced all night?"
"I prefer the latter. If I danced, I'd probably hurt someone," Gil chuckled gently.
Catherine shrugged, "fair enough," she said, and she went off to join the others on the dance floor.
Warrick and Nick remained near the bar, talking with beautiful women most of the remainder of the evening, and Catherine, Greg and Sara danced in between drinking. Gil was somewhat surprised at Catherine's energy on the dance floor. Hardworking mother, and still knows how to hang loose, he thought with a smirk.
Gil let himself have one more cold beer, just to beat the heat of the place, but he remained ever watchful, keeping an eye on Sara, feeling the utmost concern.
He caught Sara at the bar downing a double vodka, and decided that she'd definitely had enough now, and that he'd better do something before she ended up passing out on the dance floor from alcohol poisoning.
I shouldn't have let it go on this long, Gil thought desperately. I can't let her go home alone like this either. She'll get mugged, or walk out in front of a bus…or worse…Looks like I'm going to have to hail a cab for her.
Gil moved over to the bar where Sara was standing, she'd just downed her drink, and she was swaying, "hey, you," he put his hand on her arm, "how many drinks is that you've had now?"
"Three?" she asked with an innocent smile.
"In one glass, from what I saw," he said, taking the empty glass from her, "c'mon…you've had enough excitement for one night," he put his hand under her elbow, gripping firmly. "I'll hail you a cab."
"I don't want to go home, yet," Sara pulled away and staggered, "I'm having fun."
"There's such a thing as too much fun," Gil assured.
"Not for me," Sara wandered to the dance floor, Gil followed her, tailing closely at her back.
They reached the small area where Catherine and Greg were dancing, and Gil leaned close to Catherine, "Cath, I'm gonna head off – but I'm gonna make sure Sara gets home first."
"Good idea, I'm just about to head out, my feet are killing me, and Greg is gonna go – he's working tomorrow morning! Can you imagine!"
Gil nodded, "okay."
"I'm glad you came," Catherine said loudly trying to be heard throughout the loud music. Gil managed to read her lips despite her voice was drowned out.
"I'm glad I came," Gil said very casually, but then winked slyly, he looked over to Sara, "Sara, the others are leaving…"
"Nooo," Sara made a face, "it was just getting good!"
"We'll do it again," Catherine promised.
Sara looked at Greg, "you're going too?"
"Gotta get up at eight for work. I want tomorrow night off so I have to do the day shift." Greg said, "so yeah."
Sara sighed, "alright…I'll see you guys tomorrow then…or…technically today…because it's already tomorrow and tomorrow is not today…or something."
Catherine disappeared, and Greg followed, they'd probably share a cab. Warrick and Nick seemed to have disappeared entirely, probably enjoying drinks in a quieter area with some ladies they'd met at the bar.
Gil was left standing at the edge of the dance floor with Sara beside him.
Sara looked at him, "you going too?" she asked almost as if she was going to accuse him of abandoning her like the rest.
"Do you want me to?" Gil asked, just out of interest, although deliberately knowing he'd never leave her here on her own. He knew too many bad things could happen to a drunk woman alone in Vegas, and he wasn't about to risk one of his best employees – especially when he – no matter how much he denied it – was in love with her.
"No," Sara shrugged, but smiled, "I like you the best," she added in a half whisper near his ear, as if this might be a secret, her speech very slurred and slowed.
"Thank you," Gil smiled a little at the compliment, he moved back from her close proximity and looked at her with a tender expression, "but it's three am, you know. Time you were getting home," he added.
"But it's still early," Sara interjected. Three am was early to her – she worked so many nightshifts that tonight, going home at three am was as ridiculous as wanting to go to bed at seven pm at night.
Gil was wondering how he could convince her – without causing a scene – to go home. "C'mon…this place will close soon."
"Greg said this place stays open all night," Sara commented firmly, she staggered again, she looked tired, and weak. She didn't need to dance the night away, she needed to go to bed and sleep off this binge.
Gil paused, looking away from her for just a second, a young couple – who looked to be in their twenties – were making out on the dance floor. It gave him an idea. Sara's attentiveness towards him all night – even whilst drunk – proved that she still had feelings lingering for him. Why not use those feelings to manipulating her into going home?
"Okay…well…" Gil turned his attention back to her, "you could stay here…and dance the night away all on your own…" he leaned a little closer to speak in her ear, just the way she had a moment ago with him, "or we could go back to your place - together," he tried to make the suggestion sound as intimate and evocative as possible, although he wasn't sure if he had done a good job in sounding convincing. Flirting and making such suggestions was something he didn't excel at with women.
Sara moved back a little and looked at him, her eyes full of wonder "what do you mean…?" she asked, looking a little blank.
If she'd been sober, she definitely wouldn't have missed that suggestion, Gil thought. Even when I don't flirt she finds ways to twist my words into sounding more meaningful.
"Do I need to spell it out for you?" he asked, he raised an eyebrow and gave a shy smile, "I don't really think I can say it."
She looked a little unsure, and she staggered again, she gripped onto his shoulders with a start to steady herself. "Are you askin' me whatI think you're askin' me? 'Cause I really need to be sure…"
Gil placed both hands upon her waist in a tender way, although his hands were somewhat shaking, "I can be more explanative when we're at your place…but I think you know what I mean."
"Okay," she said at once, her eyes hopeful, her lips quivering in anticipation, she leaned forward as if to kiss him but he stopped her, her lips had been barely a centimetre from his as he'd caught her. He shuddered, thinking how close it had come. If she had kissed him, he was worried he might have succumbed completely to his feelings for her. He couldn't do that. He couldn't allow it.
"No, not here…" he said, he tried to remain calm, but he was now as nervous as ever. Being close to her, trying to convince her he wanted to be close to her, it was making his pulse race in ways it never had before. "When we get to your place…okay?"
"Alright," she said, her breath was somewhat uneven, her eyes were locked on his.
Great, how am I going to get myself out of this now? I'll figure something out when I get her to her apartment. Maybe I can tell her I left my oven on and go rushing out. Maybe I can tell her I made a mistake. Hell, she won't remember, look at the mess she's in, she's probably too drunk to even realise what her last name is.
They left the nightclub, and he managed to hail a taxi despite the high demand for one at this time of night outside the nightclub. They climbed in and Gil gave the driver the address.
Sara watched Gil, as if fascinated by him, then she reached over and tried to unbutton the first button of his shirt, he resisted that.
"Ah, ah, ah," he chided, "what did I say?" he asked. He swallowed, feeling all the more nervous
"Wait until we get to my place?" she asked, her voice childish, her expression incredibly naughty.
Gil nodded absently, and tried to focus on outside the window as the cab made its way across the busy streets of Vegas to get to Sara's apartment. He felt Sara fiddling with his hand, twining her fingers with his, rubbing her thumb against the top of his hand, and he tried to force out the thought of it. He felt like a kid all of a sudden, not sure at all what he should do with this woman.
Of course he knew what he could do with this beautiful woman. He knew of a thousand things he could do – none of which included sitting idly in a cab pretending to be indifferent towards her advances. But he knew he wasn't going to. His only concern was to get her into her apartment, then he'd find some way to get away.
She'd be fine on her own as long as she was home. She'd throw up or she'd fall asleep or she'd spend the night dancing to loud music and annoying her neighbours. As long as he didn't have to go through with what he had suggested to her, he didn't care what she did.
She didn't let go of his hand until the end of the cab ride, when he objected to her holding his hand because he had to pay the fare. When they got out of the cab, they stood on the street for a moment, she was still as drunk as she'd been when they'd left, the final drink having kicked in now, and she was still staggering, trying to keep her footing and failing miserably.
She looked at him, her eyes never leaving him for a second. He wanted to run. Run and hide, and pretend that nothing ever happened and nothing was ever said if she asked him about it at work. But she probably wouldn't. She was too hammered now to be able to remember anything after tonight. The way she talked said it all.
At least I can walk her up to her apartment, after that, I'm going. He thought, trying to stay focused and calm, although his heart was pounding in his chest like a bass drum so hard it almost made him ache.
Sara led the way, she fell up the stairs several times and if Gil hadn't caught her he imagined she'd have fallen completely down one short flight and ended up with a few more bruises than she probably had right now. Her hair no longer hung in the attractive curls it had earlier, it was now mussed and hanging over her face rather unflatteringly.
Gil smirked at the sight of her, and followed onwards.
She struggled in her handbag to get the key, and when she found it, she dropped it.
Gil knelt down and picked it up, he held it towards her, feeling almost like a man about to propose with caret diamond ring to a woman he'd been in love with all his life. He laughed quietly to himself and pulled himself up, he watched her struggle even further to get the key in the lock. Was her hand shaking?
He put his hand on hers to steady it and led the key into the lock, then let go. She turned to look at him, her eyes were smouldering, her lips trembling in anticipation. Despite how drunk she looked and how much of a mess she was now in, he couldn't help but want her. He was still a man after all, testosterone kept blatantly reminding him of this.
But he wasn't going to have her. He didn't deserve to have her. And even if he did deserve her – deserve this moment – he wasn't going to cheapen it by sleeping with her when there had never even been a first date, a first kiss, or the simple three words he'd never told any woman before. 'I love you'.
She opened the door and stumbled in, falling on her knees, she looked ready to pass out from exhaustion. Gil wondered if she'd even slept since leaving her shift, or had she spent all day making herself look so beautiful. He helped her up, "careful, you're going to hurt yourself," he scolded softly.
"It's okay…I don't feel it…" she confessed.
Gil shrugged, "but you will tomorrow. Pain usually sets in the night after alcohol has worn itself out," he held her up.
She slid her arm behind his neck and he looked away from her, pretending to be fascinated by the true crime novels she had a collection of on her small bookcase.
I'm in a jam, now. How do I get out of this without hurting her feelings? He thought. I can't go through with this, I can't sleep with her. I can't put her through that...I can't put myself through that either.
She turned his head so that he faced her, and she drunkenly tried to kiss him, but he dodged, and she just barely caught his chin. Bad move, he thought as he trembled, her lips seemed to be fine with that, and began to travel down his throat, it sent more inappropriate thoughts racing through his frantic mind. It felt good, and it certainly felt right, and in Gil's mind, that was wrong.
"Sara…" he said firmly, trying to move away from her.
She moved back too, now confused, "what's wrong?"
"I think I left my stove on," he said.
"I'm sure it'll survive an hour or so!" she laughed at this, her eyes glittering.
She wants me to take an hour? I'm not even—okay, let's not even go there, he thought. He gripped her firmly to steady her, "you're drunk, and I don't know if this is such a good idea anymore," he said.
"Sure it is…if it doesn't happen now…it might never happen," she looked at him. It seemed to have been the most sober thing she'd said tonight.
He spent moments considering this, but forced a smile, "you're tired, Sarah, you need sleep, not…not…sex."
"I need you," she said, her voice dry and emotional, he was sure she might cry right then. Crying from Sara was something he couldn't bear.
He ached, his heart, his lungs, his whole chest felt as if it might cave in as he sighed, he let his forehead rest against hers, emotionally weary, not sure how much longer he could put on this fight with her. He closed his eyes to take that moment to try and pull himself desperately together.
He wanted to go right now, before he made a mistake that would sabotage everything he'd ever worked for in his life – and sabotaged his friendship with her. "I don't know what to do about this…"
Sara looked at him in disbelief, "Gil…I lo—" she began.
"I know…" Gil interrupted quickly, he knew what words were coming and he didn't need to hear them, it might break his heart to hear them…and it might break hers to say he couldn't love her back right now, that he might never be able to, "lets go to the bedroom, then," he said.
Good idea, he thought, get her to lie down, close her eyes, talk to her softly, she'll drop off. She's drained. She's going to go out like a light, sooner or later.
She smiled, contented again, took his hand and led him towards the bedroom, her eyes full of mischief, yet, at the same time, full of emotion, he could tell her heart was beating just as furiously as his.
If she remembers this tomorrow, I'll probably crawl under a rock and die, he mused. She stood there facing him, and he stepped close enough, backing her up to the bed, he placed his hands on her shoulders and manoeuvred her into a lying position, her hair tumbled onto the bed sheets, light from the street lamps outside filled the dark bedroom, enough that he could see her perfectly even when the lights weren't on.
This might be the closest you ever get to being near her, he realised. He leaned over her, and stroked her hair away from her face, looking at her, her eyes closed lightly, as if she were savouring the moment. He brushed the backs of his fingers across her warm forehead, "go to sleep," he murmured softly.
He moved back and slipped the shoes off her feet, tossing them aside. He ran his fingers across her soft velvety cheek, watching her for reaction – for a smile, a flinch, anything. When he realised she wasn't moving at all – save her soft even breathing – he knew she'd gone out like a light, just as he'd predicted she would.
Sighing, relieved that he wouldn't have to go through with the suggestion he'd lured her here with, he pulled himself together, and he turned her over so she was lying on her stomach, he moved the wastepaper bin to the side of her bed in case she felt sick, and he gave her one last look before he left.
The closest you'll ever come to being near her, the thoughts ran through his mind again almost like an echo. He felt somewhat as if he'd lost the chance of a lifetime, and yet felt proud of the fact he'd resisted.
The only comfort he had right now was that was sure that by the time she woke up, she wouldn't remember any of it what so ever. That was solace enough for him.