In fact I'll bet you never knew

But to cry in front of you

That's the worst thing I could do

Grissom drove to Sara's house without thinking about where it was that he was going. He wasn't even aware that he knew the way until he found himself knocking on her door. He didn't know what he was going to say, or how he was going to say it. It was sort of funny, really. Lately there had been so much to say; yet he had barely spoken a word. He found himself at a constant loss of what to say. First with Greg, now with Sara. The news that she had been drinking again had shocked him. In retrospect, it shouldn't have come as such a surprise. She had left so many clues for him that she might as well have been screaming the news from the rooftops. It was ironic – he had had his hearing restored only to be deaf to so many cries for help. And what was worse, now that he heard them, he was at a complete loss for how to handle them. He didn't know how to make Greg stay and he didn't know how to save Sara. For a man who thought of himself as calm and controlled, he felt like he was trapped on a sinking ship with no chance of rescue.

"Grissom" Sara sounded surprised as she opened the door. "What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk," he said seriously.

"What about?" she asked. He noticed that she didn't allow the door to open more than a crack. She doesn't want me to come in, he thought. It was so tempting to heed her unspoken warning and run away from the problem, but he knew that he couldn't ignore it any longer.

"I'd rather not discuss it at your front door. May I come in?" he asked. She knew it wasn't really a question.

She fought the urge to slam the door, lock it and hide inside her sanctuary. She took a deep breath, and the reasoned, adult side of her opened the door and ushered Grissom in.

He walked in and couldn't help but sweep his eyes across the living space as if he were assessing a scene. He zoned in on the monochromatic paintings on the walls, the starkness of her furniture and the many, many scientific journals that lined her shelves. He also noted the distinct absence of any personal photos and anything that would have made the house feel like a home. There was a highly impersonal feel to the living room, as if she was only occupying space instead of really living there. How many nights has she sat here alone, finding solace in the arms of Jose Cuervo, Jack Daniels and Jim Beam? he wondered sadly as he sat on the sofa. He felt like an interloper into her personal hell. Maybe it was just what she needed.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" she asked. He visibly flinched at the question.

"Sit down Sara"

"We're not at work; you can't tell me what to do" she tried to keep the tone teasing, but failed miserably. He gazed at her with tired eyes.

She sat.

"I met with Greg today –"

"What did he tell you?" she interrupted curtly, not caring that it was rude. I'll kill him if he told she thought to herself.

"What do you think he told me?" asked Grissom quietly.

"Something that he promised me he wouldn't. So let's hear it: why are you really here?"

"Why don't you tell me yourself?"

"Why do you always have to answer a question with a question?" she shot back in frustration. She rolled her eyes and shook her head, a look of anger flashing across her face.

Grissom let out a long breath. "I answer your question with a question because I want to hear the truth from you. Haven't you been hiding it long enough?"

She laughed bitterly. "Like you've even noticed how long it's been"

"It's been a year," he said gravely.

Sara stood then. She paced the room like a caged animal in a storm. She knew, as well as he did that the rain of accusations was imminent and she would have done anything to get away. She could sense his disappointment, his anger and his hurt. She was on the verge of breaking down, but knew that she couldn't. Losing control in front of Grissom was the one thing that she could never allow to happen. She had experienced the closest thing to that the previous year, when her moment of weakness caused her to wrap the car around the tree. She knew that he had seen it as a loss of control, but he had been so concerned about her well being that she hadn't even had to disguise it. But she refused to let herself fall apart in his presence. He had always held her in such high regard. She was his Sara, the one who was supposed to be so strong, so perfect. He was so stoic himself that she was afraid to let him see her crumble. She could do a lot of things, but to cry in front of him was not one of them. She took a deep, albeit ragged breath and forced herself to look him in the eye.

"You're right. It has been a year. It has been the longest, loneliest, most damnable year of my life. I would even venture to say it's the worst year of my life. I mean, I can't remember all of it of course, but from what I gather, this year has been horrible. Let's see: first I nearly killed myself and Greg because I was stupid enough to get behind the wheel of the car while drunk. Then I inadvertently ran what might be my only real friend out of town by sending someone to go talk to him, to patch things up. And those were some of the high points of the year! After that it seems to be a blur of people avoiding eye contact with me, as if I have some communicable disease. I vaguely recall my coworkers, who, incidentally are supposed to be my friends, avoiding having any sort of real conversation with me. Which is too bad because maybe someone would have clued in that things aren't going as well as I made them out to be. My boss, well, let's face it Grissom, you couldn't have been more evasive if you tried. You barely even talked to me, as if you were afraid that I might say something that would disappoint you again. I guess it's easier to sweep things under the rug, huh? Just brush it aside, pretend it never happened? Guess what? It did happen, its still happening! You want me to say it? Fine – I have been drinking since the day Greg left. I have drunk, alone, every day. At first it was one drink, just to take the edge off. But it seem that edge was a little sharper than I thought, and soon one drink became two, and well, you can draw your own conclusions. So, yeah, it's been a year Grissom. Boy, has it been one hell of a year!"

Her face was flushed and she was out of breath from raising her voice and talking so fast. She glanced down at her hands. They were shaking. She could feel the tears burning behind her eyes and fought to push them away. Much like she couldn't control her drinking, she found she couldn't control the tears. One slipped down her cheek, followed by another. Grissom stood and reached out to her. It was more than she could bear. She jerked away from his hand and rushed towards the kitchen. He followed her. This time, he wouldn't turn away.

She had pulled the whiskey bottle out from its hiding place beneath the sink and was wrestling to open it. If she could have one drink, just one before he tried to take the bottle away, she would be okay. She could handle anything he had to say – if she only had that one drink.

"Sara-" he reached for the bottle.

"Leave me alone!" she cried shrilly, turning away from him, finally wrenching the lid free.

"I won't watch you self-destruct!" he said, his own voice climbing as he tried to reach past her flailing arms to grab the bottle.

"You've been watching for a year!" she shouted, swinging blindly at him. She was putting the bottle to her lips when he managed to knock it away. Some of the whiskey splashed on her shirt. She pushed him backward blindly and hurled the bottle at him.

"Damn you!" she screamed as the bottle missed his head and shattered to pieces on the wall behind him. He gaped at her, as the sea of broken glass and whiskey spread across the floor. Staring at the surreal scene in front of her, she sank to her knees, her strength gone. Tears spilled down her face as she sobbed.

"Damn you! Damn all of you!" it was little more than a heartbroken whisper now as she rocked hysterically on the spot.

He put his arms around her and pulled her close. She resisted at first.

"I wasn't there before. Let me be here now" he whispered into her ear.

She finally surrendered. For the first time in a year, she let the walls come down. He had seen the real her, and he hadn't left. For the first time in a year, she felt like there might be some chance of emerging from the nightmare. For the first time in a year, she didn't have to hide anymore.

For the first time, she cried in front of him.

And it was the best thing she could do.

A/N – The lyrics are from "There Are Worse Things I Could Do" from the soundtrack for the movie Grease!