A/N: I keep reading all these fics were Sara getting drunk with somebody. Either it's Nick or Greg or Grissom. But then I thought why not Brass. He never gets to do anything fun on the show. Some fics only make sense to the authors. I think this might be one of them.
"Uugghhh." Slowly lifting a hand to cover eyes. The sun spills in through the curtain. Smells mix and sheets rumple. Then another groan. This time it's male. 'Who the hell?' Sara slows lifts her hand. There's dark hair and strong cologne.
"Brass?" she asks.
"Yeah? Sara? What happened?" he moves his hand to block the sunlight.
"I don't know." There is looking down. She's fully clothed and so is he. "Well, I don't think a whole lot. We both are clothed." Thank God she thinks and silently sends a prayer up.
His eyes shift down to his own clothes. He moves his hand back up. "I can't remember what happened. But I've got a headache that's the size of Texas. I think I drank way too much alcohol," he says in monotone.
"Yeah me too," she says with the same voice.
"Sara, do you mind if I just go back to sleep?" he asks not quite sure of the answer.
"Yeah, I'm going to the same," her eyes slowly slip shut and he repeats the action.
The previous night…..
"Hey, what are you doing here?" she slides up to him on the barstool.
"Not much. Felt like a drink. The case seems to be on a continuous loop inside my head," he answers and sips a little more scotch.
"Yeah. How far are you?" she asks while waving over the bartender.
"Number Uno," he answers sipping more.
"Alright," she turns to the bartender. "I'll have a margarita."
"Come 'n right up," the bartender turns to prepare the drink.
"That case was pretty tough." The look in her eyes is distant. She's recalling some case and a painful memory. "They all seem to be getting harder. I don't know if it's me or the world," she says with a caustic laugh.
"There's no doubt about that," comes his words that carry the same sentiment. "I think I might give it all up soon." He adds on.
"Yeah? And do what?" The margarita swirls in the glass as she lifts it to her mouth.
"Like I have any idea. I've been doing this job for way too long."
More scotch and more tequila is consumed. Soon they move on to other topics and stronger drinks. They reach their limit and the bartender calls a cab. But Sara is the only one able to remember her address. Stumbling shoes out of the cab and up the steps. Keys are searched for and found. Fumbling with locks and passing out cold.
The next morning….
She wakes again later. The sun is even brighter. She moves her hand faster to cover her eyes. She detects another body next to her. Her eyes fly open.
"Brass? What are you doing here?" she asks confused.
"I thought we already went through this early," he groans out.
"Oh, yeah," she replies. "Do you have to work tonight?"
"I think. What day is it?" he grumbles shifting from the sunlight.
"Friday. Maybe. Let me check." The bed shifts as she rolls over to the calendar on the wall. "Yeah. It's Friday."
"Okay. I'm going to get up then," he says shift moving up and off the bed. "Sara, do you have to work?"
"Yeah," she answers. "I'll get up too."
"Is my car here?" he asks confused.
"No. I think it's still at the bar along with my car," she says. "Let me get up and we'll take a cab over."
"Yeah. Good idea. Where's the bathroom?" he asks a little unbalanced.
"Down the hall. I can't remember which door it is right now," comes her reply.
"No problem. I'll find it on my own," he strides out the door in search of the right door.
She sifts and lifts her legs from the bed onto the floor. Standing slowing she tests her balance and her headache. It's not so bad. She can drive home. She takes in her appearance. A little rumpled but not overly disgusting. She locates her keys and the phone. She quickly calls a cab. They'll be here in 10 minutes. She hears Brass leave the bathroom.
"The cab will be here soon," she yells out the door as she brushes her hair.
"Okay. I'm going to crash on the couch," he yells back.
There's honking outside. It's the cab. The hungover friends climb in the back. The driver takes the address.
Brass turns to her. "Let's not mention this ever again. I don't want people to know that I pass out so easily," he chuckles lightly.
"Me neither," she laughs back.
"So, this night never happened?" He asks for clarification.
"What night? What alcohol?" She pretends.
They arrive at the bar. They say goodbye and drive off in different directions.
They pass each other at work with a knowing look. Both are tired and a little hungover but still functioning.
They won't be drinking alcohol again with each other.