While the rest of the group argues about who could be the rapist if Angelo isn't, I focus on consuming as much of my pizza as I can cram in. I haven't had pizza this good in . . . I don't know how long. Certainly not since I moved to Vegas. Have to take advantage of it while I have the opportunity! I listen to the conversation with half an ear while I chew.

When I hear Gary say, "If Angelo didn't do it, why did we just happen to pick up a guy who fit the victim's description right near the crime scene?" I perk up and start listening more closely.

"Keep in mind that witness statements can be flawed," Sara adds, reaching over and trying to steal a piece of cheese off my plate.

I slide the plate out of her reach and swallow the bite I've been chewing. "Sara's got a point," I agree. "Besides, that description could apply to thousands of the men who live in New York alone."

Sara gives me a dirty look and reaches past me to snag the cheese. "We need more information," she says to the table at large.

Sharon glances at my plate, then at Sara, and smoothly steals more of my cheese. She plops it into her mouth, chews, swallows, and gives me a sweet smile. Two seconds later, before I can block them, the whole table is chowing down on my lunch.

Oh, well, I think. Can't stop it now. I relax in my chair and watch them finish off my pizza.

Five minutes later, the waitress drops the check onto our table. Sara lets me pay with less argument this time. She just tells me that she has her own money and I don't have to pay for her. She gives me a dirty look, but lets me put my money on the table. I make a mental note to thank her.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After lunch, we head back to the hotel. Sara's agenda tells us that the afternoon is dedicated to more lectures, but this time the students are the teachers. Each group has to present the statement they worked on and their conclusions to the assembly.

We listen while the first group describes the homicide that they read about. "The suspect wrote more lines in the exposition than in the body," a thirty-something man is saying. "That's suggestive of a lie. We also found that the contents of the statement had a lot of factual holes. Therefore, we think the writer of this statement lied."

There are three more presentations to sit through before it's our turn. Our presentation goes well, and we're all a little relieved to have it over with, but there are four more groups we have to sit and listen to before we're done for the day. By the time the second group is mid-presentation, Sara's fidgeting beside me. I glance at her and catch her rolling her eyes in the general direction of the podium. She never was very patient, I remind myself. Some things don't change.

Interrupting my thoughts, she leans into me and whispers, "When can we leave?"

"About an hour," I whisper back. "Bored already?"

"You know I am."

"Just try to listen," I tell her, then turn my attention back to the podium.

Two hours later, the last presentation has barely ended before Sara is on her feet and tugging on my sleeve. "Let's go! I have got to go to the bathroom!"

Amused, I just look at her for a moment. Somehow I don't think she needs me with her to do that. "You can go without me," I tell her. "I'll meet you back in the room later."

She goes, but she's back before I even leave the room. In fact, I'm standing right where she left me, chatting with Sharon and Alex. We're taking turns telling each other which groups we thought did the best and the worst.

"Well," Sharon is saying saucily when Sara returns, "I happen to think that we were the best. We had better examples and I could tell that almost everyone agreed with our arguments."

"That's just because we had two gorgeous women running the presentation," Alex says. Smooth, I think. Now why didn't I think to say that?

Sharon preens, and Sara looks like she's trying to keep herself from following suit. "What are we doing tonight?" she blurts just as I can tell she's about to lose the battle with her inner female.

"I can think of one thing," Sharon says with a smirk, wiggling her eyebrows.

Sara, choosing to ignore that taunt, says firmly, "Whatever we do, there will be absolutely no eyebrow wiggling, raising, twisting . . . no eyebrow involvement at all."

"Yes ma'am," I say, faking a salute.

She elbows me in the ribs. "Shut up. I know where you sleep," she adds, probably trying to sound threatening.

To me, it just sounds intriguing. "Really?" I say. "Care to tell me where I sleep?"

She opens her mouth, then seems to remember that Sharon and Alex are watching us. Rather than whatever interesting thing she was about to say, she goes with a generic, "No."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The night ends up going a little differently than what I had planned. Sara and I have barely reached our rooms after dinner before both of our cell phones go nuts simultaneously. We look at each other and groan. The coordinated cell phone rings could only be the work of the team back in Vegas. I don't know about Sara, but I'd really like to stay in my little happy bubble a while longer before work intrudes.

Sara wiggles her phone. "I'll go in the other room, even though . . ."

". . . they're probably both the same call," I finish. "True, but it's better not to set their imaginations working by hearing the two of us in one room."

Her smile dims a little at that. That wasn't an insult! . . . Was it? She's out of sight before I can figure it out, so I just sigh and open my phone. "Grissom."

"You're not going to like this," Catherine's voice warns.

I had pretty much already figured that out, but I say, "Thanks for the warning. What's up?"

"I know you're supposed to be there for a few more days, but we need you guys back. Preferably yesterday," she emphasizes.

She doesn't sound too enthused about this either. I wonder what she's not telling me . . .

"Why do you need us so suddenly?"

She coughs - that is, fake-coughs - as she tries to think of a way to avoid dealing with me. I can tell the difference; I'm not quite as dense as the women in my life seem to think. When I just wait for her coughing fit to end, rather than saying something, she gets the picture. "I'll tell you, but you're really not going to like this, ok? But don't panic."

As she ought to know, the words don't panic set off all sorts of panic alarms in my head. "What happened, Catherine?" I say brusquely, knowing something is very wrong.

"Nick and Warrick had an accident."

"What!" I suddenly hear Sara screech from the other room. I wonder who's delivering the bad news to her.

"What?" I shout into the phone. It's unoriginal, but it's the only question I can articulate as images of crushed vertebrae and amputated limbs fill my mind. "What kind of accident? Are they hurt? What happened?"

"They rolled the truck they were in. We had a downpour and I guess they were trying to get out of the mud and just . . . over-accelerated or something. They're ok!" she adds before I can ask again. "Banged up, but pretty much ok. Nick's got a nice bald spot where they had to sew up the laceration on his scalp. Warrick dislocated his shoulder, but they got it back in without trouble. He's going to be in a sling for a while. And they're both bruised as hell."

I continue to listen, open-mouthed, for a few seconds before I realize that she'd stopped talking. My head is spinning. My worst fears are allayed, but my god, to have something happen to Nick again, so soon . . . I'm shaken.

Without really thinking about it, I head for Sara's room. I find her sitting on the end of the bed, staring down at her closed phone with the same shell-shocked look I must have on my face. "Catherine," I say into the phone, "hold on a second." I put my thumb over the sound holes in the phone and walk over to Sara.

"Come on," I tell her gently, pulling on her arms to get her to stand up. "Hug me, ok?" It's a ridiculous thing to say, but I think we both feel comforted when her arms go around my waist and her face buries itself in my neck.

I uncover the phone. "Sorry. You swear they're ok?"

"They're fine, Grissom," she reassures. "They both wanted to come back tonight and finish their cases."

"I hope you told them no!"

"Of course I did. I'm not stupid. I sent them both home under the care of Brass, since he was off duty tonight."

I close my eyes for a second, thinking about how much worse it could have been. If they had been in different positions in the truck . . . if help hadn't been able to get to them quickly . . . if Nick's head was an inch to the left and the laceration had been over his temporal artery . . . I'm frozen, haunted by the what-ifs.

I feel Sara take the phone from my hands. "Catherine?" she says. "It's Sara. Grissom . . . needed to start packing." A few seconds of silence. "No! We have adjoining rooms. He came over into mine about a minute ago. Listen, tell me what we need to do to get home." She listens for a moment, then orders Catherine to hold on while she finds a pen and paper.

Five minutes later, she closes the phone and hands it back to me. "We can go tonight if we're willing to rush."

I nod. "Right. So we just need to . . ." I stop, realizing that I have no idea what we need to do.

"You," she says, giving me a gentle push toward my room, "should go call Sharon or Alex so they don't freak out when we're mysteriously gone tomorrow morning. I'll start packing the suitcases. That is, as long as you don't mind having your clothes pretty much stuffed into a big ball."

I shake my head vaguely. "It's fine. Whatever you need to do."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

An hour and a half later, I hand a sizeable tip to the wonderful cabbie who got us to JFK in a very short time and at a very illegal speed, and slide out of the taxi. I check my watch: we have thirty minutes to make our flight. Sara's already at the trunk, pulling out our suitcases. She gives the cabbie a distracted smile, which he returns, and then he's gone.

The upside to trying to fly out of New York City close to midnight is that the lines are almost nonexistent. We fly through check-in, where the agent promises to notify the gate that we're coming, and stop at Security just long enough for a TSA officer to wand Sara. Then we're off again, running for the gate.

The woman at check-in was true to her word; when we skid to a stop outside the jetway door, a flight attendant already has her hand out for our boarding passes. "Just in time," she tells us with a smile. Motioning us through the door, she adds, "Go ahead."

We find out seats without incident and settle down, breathing sighs of relief. As the adrenaline rush that's sustained us for the past few hours begins to wear off, we both wilt. Sara lays her head on my shoulder and I look down at her. She gives me a small smile and says, "Wake me up if I drool."

I think about that for a second. "I have a better idea." I tug experimentally on the armrest between us and find, to my pleasure, that it's moveable. I raise it until it's vertical, then pull Sara the extra inch toward me that the new space allows. Now she's snuggled up against my side. I put my arm around her shoulders and squeeze. "If you drool on me," I whisper into her ear, "I'll just drool on you."

She reaches up with her hand that's not crushed between us and takes the hand I have dangling over her shoulder. Pulling it down so that she's forced almost onto my lap and my hand is almost on her stomach, she kisses my chin but doesn't let go of my hand. "Deal."

Within minutes, we're both asleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

We sleep for almost the entire flight, but we're still groggy when we stumble out into McCarran. She pulls me to a stop against a wall in the never-ending hallway between the terminal and the baggage claim and sighs.

I look at her questioningly and she shrugs. "We're back. It feels . . . different."

I can understand that. "We should . . ." I start, meaning to tell her that we need to revert back to our former standoffish relationship until it's safe. I cut myself off when I look down at her, though. She looks like she's waiting for me to punch her - muscles tensed, eyes closed, fists clenched. I can't say it. I know it's what she's waiting for me to say, but her position now shows me how much it will hurt her to hear it. "We should keep our eyes open for someone from the lab," I substitute. "Catherine said someone would meet us."

She opens her eyes and stares at me, perplexed. "That's it?"

Moving deliberately, I take her hand in mine and give it a squeeze. "That's it. Let's go find our suitcases."