The room was dark. The only light was dim, muted, coming from a lamp in the corner. A bottle of liquor lay on her armoire. It seemed out of place in her bedroom, adorned with traditional décor. She felt it fit perfectly. She rummaged through her wardrobe, searching for an outfit. Every fit of frustration she felt, every time she just wanted to crawl into the corner and cry, and stand him up…she took a shot. Needless to say, there were many shots taken.

Eventually, fifteen minutes late and slightly buzzed, she headed to her car. She drove slowly, precisely, methodically. Parking cautiously, she checked her makeup. She headed to his apartment, and knocked on the door. He opened it quickly, and his eyes brushed over her. "You're late." He said nothing else. She nodded, and he allowed her entrance.

The set table did nothing to allude that this was a date. Or even to anything suggesting romance or friendship. It was cold, inanimate. The scene seemed to be devoid of emotion, of feeling. There were two stark white plates, with meager amounts of food placed upon them. She saw a glass and her heart rate increased a bit. It diminished when she realized it was water. "Sorry," she belatedly added. He raised a hand to stave off any other words.

"Have you been drinking, Sara?" Her mouth was agape in shock, and she just stared at him. She couldn't describe the feeling of rage, which began to circulate in her body. Her flesh was heating from the anger, and she wanted to kill him. He paused for a second, casting his eyes on her again inquisitively. "Well?"

She seated herself at the table calmly, and began picking at the food. Occasionally, she'd nibble at it, but her main goal wasn't to eat at the moment. He asked for her reply again, and she set the fork down with a bit more force than she planned to. "That's none of your damn business," she replied, coldly. Still tranquil, Grissom walked back and forth and observed her. I am not your fucking test subject.

"Glazed eyes, dilated pupils, evasiveness," he began. "All the symptoms."

She stood too quickly, the chair falling to the floor. She walked over to him, hands on her hips. "Symptoms of what, Grissom?" she challenged. "Alcoholism?" He said nothing. "Was that the point of this dinner? An intervention?" She huffed out a laugh. "I don't believe you." She headed for the door.

"It's affecting your job, Sara." And like that, she paused. She couldn't believe the nerve of this man. He was always playing this game of stop and go with her. Not just her heart, but her. It was as if he controlled her every action, and she hated it.

"Is it?"

"As your supervisor, I'd have to place you on leave until you sorted this out."

"Don't pull that bullshit card on me, Grissom. I do my job damn well, and you know that." She headed for the door again. "I should have left the first time I wanted to, Grissom. The first time you decided that maybe I wasn't worth your fucking time or concern." She was shouting now and she didn't care. "But I stayed, and let me tell you, it wasn't for the damn plant you got me. You didn't respect me then, and you still don't now!" He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but no sound came out. "And it isn't because of the alcohol."

"I respect you." The only words that managed to escape his lips were lies. Sighing in frustration, she turned and left. She rushed back to her apartment, half-concerned with Vegas driving laws. She just needed the comfort, the healing numbness of the first sip, or the first drink, or the first bottle.

She returned home, and quickly tossed her keys on a table. She opened her refrigerator, and found there to be no alcohol. She raced through the rooms, searching. Did she drink her entire stash? She returned to the living room, and sank on the sofa. She ran with the current of her emotions, allowing the stifling sobs to steal her breath away. At least something still could steal her breath away. She was glad for the rush of torrential fear and sadness. It made her feel human. Love shouldn't make you want to die, one voice said. Neither should your life. She shook her head to clear the voices. The silence of the room, for once, mirrored the silence in her mind. She embraced it.

She went for one last drive and spent quite a bit of money on liquor. She restocked her regular alcoholic beverage holding receptacles, and drank. Tonight, she would spend the night alone, wallowing in alcohol and misery.

But tomorrow? Tomorrow…would be her first day in a world that could care less who Gil Grissom was. And she embraced that thought.