Thanks once again for the reviews.

Em x

Sara and Adam were in the kitchen chopping vegetables. There was no meat in the house; Laura Sidle was vegetarian – some things had not changed. The conventional domestic scene contrasted massively with the anything but ordinary conversation.

"I don't believe it," Adam muttered, chopping peppers with increasing anger. "How could she keep that from me? She killed her husband? She was in jail?" He slammed the knife down and swore loudly as it caught his finger. Blood poured from the deep wound.

Sara put down her own knife and moved over to him. "Hey, hey, be careful." She picked up the knife and dropped it, dripping blood, into the sink. "You better run that under a tap. Do you have a bandage, or a band aid or something?"

"Upstairs, in the bathroom."

"I'll go find one."

"No!" Adam called out emphatically, shocking Sara slightly. There was a flash of fear and anger in his eyes but it faded so quickly as he smiled and said, "Don't bother yourself. I'll do it," that she wondered if she had imagined it.

He disappeared upstairs, leaving her to continue dinner preparation, emerging five minutes later with a wad of bandage taped onto his finger with a band aid. "I'm sorry about that," he apologised. "It's just a shock, that's all."

Sara could understand that well enough. "Now it's your turn."

"Excuse me?"

"I've told you about the first half of Mom's life. Now you can fill me in on the last 20 years."

"There's not much to know. She had me. We were living in San Diego until I was 16. Then we moved here." He turned to look at Sara. "If it's any consolation, I don't think she can have known you were here."

"She would have no reason to. But I was only a search engine away on the web."

"Mom didn't like computers much."

Sara managed a small laugh. "Sounds about right." She poured the vegetables into a pan and drizzled oil over them. "So, why did you move here?"

Adam was silent for a moment. He leant down and opened a cupboard. Sifting through the contents, he eventually pulled out a packet of noodles. "Will these do?"

"They'll be just fine."

"Where'd you learn to cook?"

"Strange the things you learn when you have no one to do everything for you. You'll find that out soon enough." Sara immediately regretted her comment. This boy had just lost his mother. But as she watched for his reaction, she found none. An unsettled feeling washed over her, but she pushed it away. "You haven't answered my question."

"How about we get dinner ready, and then I'll talk?"

I.I.I.I.I

"I'm not exactly what you'd call a trophy son."

"I'm sure that's not true," Sara murmured into her plate of food. She had been playing with it for a few minutes but her appetite was non-existent.

"I'm not proud of what I've done, Sara."

Now he had her attention. "What does that mean, Adam?"

"I like you, Sara. I think you I and I have more in common than we realise."

Sara felt distinctly unsettled by his words. Throughout the evening their conversation had grown more and more awkward and she had begun to regret agreeing to dinner so soon. The side of her brain that had told her that she knew nothing about Adam, and could not expect to find in him an instant family, was winning out. "Is this going somewhere?"

"I'm in trouble."

Sara put down her fork. "What kind of trouble?"

"Just trouble. You know."

"No, I don't know."

"Drugs, Sara," Adam stated bluntly, putting down his own cutlery onto an equally untouched plate of food. "I'm involved in drugs."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I don't see what good I can do."

"I owe someone some money. A lot of money."

Sara began to push her chair away from the table and stand up. "I should have known there was an ulterior motive. I'm not listening to this, Adam."

He reached out and grabbed her arm. "Please."

Sara flinched and pulled away. "Get off me! I'm leaving."

"Sara, don't do this."

"I've not even known you a day, Adam. What makes you think I'm going to give you money?"

"They'll hurt me, Sara," he pleaded. "You don't understand."

"I deal with this kind of thing every day, Adam. I can tell you I do understand. And what I understand most is that I don't want to get involved. I'm sorry."

She made her way to the front door, feeling his eyes upon her back as he followed her. "You don't know what you're doing, Sara."

"What I know, Adam, is that I should have listened to everybody else!" she shouted, feeling her blood boil inside her. "My Mum has just died! I have found out I have a brother who she never told me about and that you and her have been living less than an hour from my home for the last three years! And I dared to think that just maybe something good could come from this. But you have proved me wrong." She looked him in the eye. "Looks like I'malone again. Goodbye, Adam."

I.I.I.I.I

As Grissom drove through the busy streets of Las Vegas in the direction of Laura and Adam Sidle's home, he began to wonder why he was doing it. Because you're worried, he told himself firmly. They had no evidence against Adam but he just had a feeling about him. Grissom was not usually the type of man who listened to 'feelings', but in this case he knew he was not going to be able to settle until he had checked that Sara was alright.

He turned on the radio but after switching between the channels he discovered that he was not in the mood for music or chat. He felt strangely nervous. Again he asked himself why. He did not really believe that Adam would hurt Sara. So why are you driving over the speed limit? He glanced down at the speedometer and immediately eased off the accelerator. What is she going to say when you turn up on the doorstep? What business is it of yours?

They were good questions. To Sara, Grissom was a boss, a colleague. To Grissom, Sara was…he pondered this for a second. Why else was he driving through the city at ten o'clock at night to visit the home of a man he did not know when he really should have been working? Why else did he make excuses so that he could be the one who spoke to her on the phone; the one who called round at her house? Why did the sight of her make him smile inside? Why did her pain hurt him so much? Grissom wondered why it had taken him so long to think this through. To Grissom, Sara was everything.

And there are some 'feelings' you can't ignore.

I.I.I.I.I

Sara was five minutes from home when she spotted the all night grocery store's lights gleaming in the darkness. Her stomach rumbled slightly; she had never got round to eating anything this evening after all. She pulled into the car park and manoeuvred the car not very straight into a space. Shutting the door behind her and forgetting to lock it, she wandered into the store. The night shift cashier looked up from a magazine suspiciously but upon seeing Sara evidently decided she was not a threat.

Sara made her way over to the food shelves. Packets of chips, biscuits, chocolate bars…suddenly, Sara did not feel very hungry. She made her way towards the door. The cashier looked up again, this time irritated by the customer who had a look around and did not buy anything. Sara smiled apologetically. It was as she did so that she spotted the bottles lined up on the shelves behind the counter. Don't Sara. That's not the answer. You know it's not.

Even as Sara's brain argued, she was moving over to the counter.

I.I.I.I.I

Grissom rang the doorbell, inadvertently holding his breath as he did so. For a moment he heard nothing. He reached out to press the bell again but then he heard the latch click and the door swung open. Standing inside was Sara, dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and a white T-shirt, with her hair scraped back into a messy bun on top of her head. She looked shocked. "What are you doing here?" she questioned abruptly.

"I went to Adam's. He said you had stormed out. It sounded like you weren't having a good night, so- Is that alcohol I can smell on your breath?"

"Maybe." Sara's anger dissipated in a moment and she smiled sheepishly.

"Oh, God, Sara," Grissom sighed. "Not again."

Sara moved away from the door. "No lectures, Mr Grissom," she laughed. He followed her in and shut the door behind him.

"Sara, what are you trying to do?"

Sara turned to face him. "So what if I want to forget my problems? It makes me feel better, that's all." She moved over to the sideboard and picked up a bottle of vodka. It was nearly finished. Grissom approached her and took it from her hands. "Hey!" she protested. "A little more can't hurt."

"Oh yes it can." Grissom moved into the kitchen and poured what was left down the sink. Sara was one step behind him.

"I paid good money for that!"

"I'll pay you back." Grissom turned to face Sara. "This isn't you, Sara."

"I can assure you it is," she replied. Her eyes scanned up and down Grissom's body. "Would you like me to prove it?" She moved closer to him and placed a hand on his chest.

"Sara-" he protested, but before he could say more she had pressed her lips to his. He resisted for a moment. You can't do this, Gil. Not when she's like this. But still she kissed him, hard and desperate, as though he held the solution to all her problems; as though letting go of him would kill her. Not like this. But before he could think more, he found himself kissing her back.

Together they stumbled into the living room. Sara's hands fumbled with the buttons of Grissom's shirt. "In…the…bedroom," she murmured between kisses.

Somewhere in the back of Grissom's mind he knew this was wrong. But knowing and acting are two very different things.