Chapter XXXIX

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Complete, unadulterated, undiluted and uncontrollable anger got Sara Sidle through the halls and back to her locker. It carried her past the labs, out the morgue and back to her Prius. It wasn't until she had already pulled out of the parking lot and into Sunday night traffic that cool logical thought broke back through the thick red mist that had drifted over her brain.

"Oh God."

She ran what had just happened back through her head and then she did it again and again. Everything she'd said, everything she'd done.

"Oh God."

She had thrown everything she could think of in Gil's face. She had even brought up the doubly taboo subject of Lady Heather. To top it all off, she had questioned and criticized his actions and decisions as supervisor. He was her supervisor and she had—she couldn't even think about it. Sara put on her blinker and pulled into the first parking lot she saw, she was going to be sick.

When she was safely parked, she ran both hands through her hair and hung her head until it touched the steering wheel. Cold sweat popped up on the back of her neck and the now familiar pain of what she was sure was an ulcer began to grind under her sternum. Her hands shook as she ran them through her hair over and over again. Her breathing was becoming shallow and her chest tightened. Sara's brain registered the fact that she was hyperventilating, but she just couldn't seem to catch her breath.

As if her run in with Grissom hadn't been bad enough, then there had been Catherine.

"Oh God."

If Catherine didn't get her fired, she would surely kill her.

"You've done it this time. You have really fucking done it this time." Sara shook her head at her own verbal reprimand. She had called Catherine, Catherine "Ball Buster" Willows, a bitch. Not only a bitch, oh no, she had called her an amoral and ambitious bitch. Her PEAP counselor had told her that she had some self destructive issues, but this? This was like walking into a match factory wearing a dynamite vest.

Outside of her complete and utter loss of sanity while dealing with Grissom and her attempted suicide by Catherine, she had walked out on her job. She had never in her life just walked away. She had left Nick, and the entire team, shorthanded. It was unprecedented, unthinkable even. She had already taken her cell phone off of her belt and was halfway to hitting the number for Greg's speed dial when she realized what she was doing. She couldn't call Greg, undeniably her best friend. He was at work, where she was supposed to be. Plus, Sara scowled at herself, he didn't need to be dragged into the mess she had made of this entire situation, her life. After a moment of thinking, she thumped her head against the hybrid's steering wheel. All of her friends were working, either at the lab or the PD.

She had reached a new personal low, which was saying something for her. She was sitting in a drive through wedding chapel's tiny parking lot with no one in all of Vegas she could safely turn to. The irony of the situation didn't escape her or help matters.

Then an idea started to form in her head. It probably wasn't the brightest idea she'd ever had, or even the most well thought out plan in history. There was, in fact, a very good chance that it would fail publicly, spectacularly and utterly. Unfortunately, she didn't have any other ideas. She wasn't alone in Vegas, not even now. There was one other person in the city that was in almost the exact same position she was in.

Sara started the car again and headed towards the Paris.

Graveyard had just started and the Vegas night was mid-swing into its usual festivities. The strip was glowing and people were everywhere. Everyone had somewhere to be, something to do. She passed clubs with lines of people outside of them and found herself frowning. They'd thrown her off the case, the biggest case of the year and she wasn't allowed near it. What worried her more was the fact that the case, the murders, were nowhere near over. She skimmed over one of the club's lines when she stopped at a red light. They all looked so young. She had been young like that once. Well, she'd never even owned a tiny strapless red dress—it looked like the woman was about to burst out of it—but she had seen her fair share of night life. Nothing like Alex had seen and done, of course.

Alex, the woman she knew very damn well she needed to avoid at all costs. She was also the only friendly face she knew in the metro area that wasn't carrying a badge. Sara switched lanes carefully and watched the helter-skelter traffic, but her mind was elsewhere and when. She needed to see Alex alone. She didn't want lawyers or assistants or cops or CSIs there. There were private things they had to talk about. Sara scowled—they? She needed to talk to Alex and she wasn't sure exactly why. The only thing her mind could muster up was because she just needed to. Sara wasn't sure exactly what she was doing, but she had already thrown her job, and possibly her entire career out the window, she might as well go for broke. It was Las Vegas, after all.

She went by the Paris once, and decided that it would be in her best interest to go in the front. The press had been pushed back to keep business flowing and if she played her cards right, she would blend right in with the people coming in and out. It was just like before when she had taken pictures of the crowd at The Lady Luck Luxury Motel.

After flashing her ID at the valet, she parked her car in the garage herself, and hoped nobody had run her plate numbers. She took off her sidearm and shoved it into the glove box along with her laminated ID. She wasn't CSI Sidle tonight; in fact, considering what she had done, she may never be a CSI in Vegas again. She rummaged around and found one of Nick's discarded black baseball caps. She shoved her hair through the back opening in an impromptu pony tail and pulled the brim down low over her eyes. She was Jane Doe for the evening. Halfway through the garage, she found a discarded Casino quarter bucket. She dropped some spare change in it, and she was instantly Jane Doe Gambler which was even better. The press didn't even give her a second look. Then again, she wasn't with a posse of cops and she was fully dressed, there was no reason to recognize her.

The desk clerk was going to be slightly more challenging. It occurred to Sara as she walked towards the opulent check-in desk, that right then would have been a nice time to have her CSI ID. She only had one chance at this and her only hope hinged on a years old memory. Her plan had more holes in it then a sieve.

The desk clerk was a thirty-something year old ebony skinned man whose name tag said David. His name tag also informed her that he was that evening's concierge. Sara tugged at the brim of her cap again. "Here goes."

She walked up to the desk, hands firmly in her pockets. David held up a finger, signaling her to wait just a moment. She waited and sized him up. He'd probably been in the business a while. He didn't read like he was a college hire in. He'd probably started as a valet when he was eighteen. Working nights had probably jaded him to all kinds of Vegas shenanigans. He wasn't going to be an easy man to pull one over on.

He finished up whatever it was he'd been doing and turned to her with a professional smile on his face. "Welcome to the Paris, the most magnificent palace in Las Vegas. I'm David, how can I help you tonight, mademoiselle?"

She forced a smile of her own. "I just need you to place a call to a guest for me, please."

He nodded. "Name and room number please." She felt a bead of sweat slide down her spine. This was where it could all come crashing down around her. "Jane Walchesky, she's in a private suite."

It took less than half a second for David's face to go from politely helpful to completely serious. "I'm sorry, she's not taking visitors this evening."

Jane Walchesky was the name that Alex used when traveling. Jane was her middle name and Walchesky was her maternal grandmother's maiden name; Alexandra Dupree only rarely listed herself as a guest at any hotel.

"Please call up and inform her that," Sara paused for a moment, as she hadn't done this in years, "that Sahara Sun is here to see her." David didn't look impressed or convinced. Sara sighed, "Please." David relented, and she wasn't sure if it was because she had named off all of the code names or if he followed the tabloids, but he did. She watched him pick up the house phone and dial a series of numbers. She didn't listen to him announce himself or her, she just watched his face. She knew her idea had panned out when his brows lifted. She was in.

David hung up the phone and inclined his head. "I apologize. I didn't realize who you were. Please, I'll escort you up to the suite."

The elevator ride and short walk to the suite door was almost identical to the one she had made before. Only this time Sofia Curtis wasn't with her and she wasn't sure if that was for better or worse. Then again, Catherine wasn't with her either this time and that was definitely a good thing. She hadn't been alone with Alex in—she paused to think. The elevator went from the ground floor to the top and that gave her ample time to think about things she hadn't allowed herself to ponder in years. She and Alex hadn't been alone together since that day in the hospital where Sara had broke it off completely. Less than a week later she had been in Vegas. There had been no in-between period, no time to grieve over her broken heart, she hadn't allowed herself that weakness. She had moved to Vegas and wiped the slate clean with one fast swipe. At least she thought she had. Obviously she had missed a few steps in between somewhere. Otherwise she wouldn't be here now, running back to Alex the first chance she got.

She could feel David's discrete gaze on her back. Now that she was here and headed up to Alex's suite, reality started to set in. She had done exactly the last thing she should have done. She was going to visit the woman and former lover she had shared the front page with. "CSI and suspect share romantic evening in suite, details at eleven." Her stomach started rolling as they reached the door. She shouldn't have come. Before she could say so to David, before David could even raise his hand to knock, the door opened and Sara's escape was squashed before she'd even formulated a plan.

Alex smiled at David and raised her hand, revealing several folded hundred dollar bills between two long, elegant fingers. "Thank you, David, that will be all." It was part tip, but mostly bribe. Sara couldn't tell exactly how much it was, but figured the amount wasn't as important as the assurance that it bought complete silence. David quickly tucked the undisclosed amount away in a pocket, excused himself and left. They were alone, she and Alex were alone.

Sara shuffled her feet and re-crossed her arms, "So where is everyone?" The blonde shrugged, pushed the door open and motioned for Sara to follow her inside.

"I sent Tristan off to fume by himself in his own suite and Harv went to see one of the Cirque shows." The model, dressed in a tight black skirt and a slinky shirt designed by some hot up and coming designer, arranged herself on one of the leather couches. "And Jennica is out running some card table, fleecing the casino for thousands I'm sure."

Sara tried to be mad at her. She wanted to be annoyed by the woman's casual attitude and almost lazy ease. She wanted to be mad because Alex looked so damn good. She wanted to be mad at her for being there, for ruining her smooth, calm life. She couldn't be and even that didn't upset Sara. She simply sat down on the couch across from Alex and relaxed against the leather. Sara closed her eyes and for the first time since Hodges had flashed that damn article in her face, she was still.

At one time, all those years before, she would have sensed Alex crossing the space between them, now she didn't realize it until the woman was sitting beside her. "What are you doing here, Sahara?" The question wasn't accusatory, as it would be with Catherine, or layered with subtext and riddles as it would be with Grissom. It wasn't even the blunt curiosity of Hank or any other of her attempts at dating recently. It was something else altogether, something she could only classify as Alex.

Sara opened her eyes and was slightly disconcerted but in no way surprised to see Alex so close to her. She gave the other woman a half-smile. "I took the night off."

Alex chuckled and gave her a sideways look. "Try that line with someone who doesn't know you." She paused, then let out an aggravated breath. "Is this because of that fucking newspaper? I swear, Sara, I didn't know anything about that picture. You know I would have fought it tooth and nail. It didn't get you in trouble at work did it?" She put her hand on Sara's knee. "Sahara?"

Sara shook her head. "It's a little hard to miss, but no I got into trouble all by myself tonight." She sighed, " I thought we were on a private beach." The non-sequitur didn't throw Alex a bit.

"So did I. I've already got Harv and Tristan on it." She let out a hiss of breath. "I give those bastards everything: stories, pictures, exposes, but it's never enough." She put a finger under Sara's chin and lifted it. "They had no right to drag you and your career into this shit."

Sara pushed her hair out of her face. "Just like old times, huh?"

Alex laughed and let Sara's face go, slowly, so she could settle back against the arm of the couch. "Something like that." They sat quietly for a moment, facing each other on the couch, and then Alex nudged at her with her bare foot. "It was that Willows woman, wasn't it? That one knows exactly how to push your buttons."

Sara let out a groan and let her head fall back. "Can we not talk about her, please?"

She could see Alex's smirk from behind her closed eyelids. "Okay then."

Sara felt the couch shift and Alex's weight leave it. "Today's events call for a drink."

Sara cracked open one eye. "Absolutely." Sara watched, with unabashed appreciation, as Alex sauntered over to the fully-stocked bar that her penthouse suite boasted. She closed her eyes again when the woman was behind the bar. She listened to the open and close of the mini refrigerator, the clink of glass bottles being rummaged through and the random curse words that floated across the room. It was wonderfully familiar, a comfort in its own way. Sara needed comfort tonight and despite possible repercussions, she knew she had come to the right place and the right woman.

The woman in question came back and sat down on the couch beside her, several airplane bottles in one hand and two frosty full-sized bottles of Becks beer in the other. Alex tossed her mane of wild curls. "Champagne is for celebrating, Vodka for remembering and—"

Sara smiled and finished the familiar phrase, "Tequila is for forgetting."

They both took a drink of beer and sat for a moment.

"You did look good, though, in that picture. Very relaxed and sexy, I always said you would make a gorgeous model."

Sara laughed. "Well outside of it quite possibly ruining my career and life, it was a nice little ego boost."

Alex handed her one of the many small bottles of Tequila. "I'll drink to that." They both downed their airplane bottle and quickly chased with the Becks. Alex negligently tossed the bottle over her shoulder and the back of the couch. "That was for you, Sahara, in honor of your new place in countless cop spank banks."

She was appalled by the idea, but laughter bubbled out of her throat none the less and she finished the rest of her beer. "This is a very bad idea."

Beside her, Alex nodded. "Very bad."

Sara rose to get another round of beer. "I cursed out two of my direct supervisors tonight. Really spoke my mind without filtering or omitting anything at all."

Alex polished off her own beer and cocked an eyebrow, saying, "You're going to regret that in the morning."

Sara walked back to the couch, a bottle of cold beer in each of her hands. "I regret it now. Don't get me wrong, I've waited a long time to tell Catherine Willows off, but she is probably getting me fired as we speak. You were the best plan I could come up with."

Alex opened up two more airplane bottles of tequila. "I'm flattered."

They sat quietly for a minute, drinking. Sara slipped out of her ankle boots and tucked her feet underneath her. Alex propped her arm along the back of the couch so her fingers brushed up against Sara's dark hair.

Sara tipped her head back and sighed, resting for a moment. "So tell me about what you've been up to. I haven't kept myself in the loop." That, Sara smirked to herself, was an understatement. She had carefully, almost religiously, avoided anything that was even vaguely associated with the high stress, big bucks fashion industry.

Beside her Alex let out a sigh. "Shows, shoots, after parties and endorsement deals, nothing has changed that much. I sponsor a shelter back home, for women and children." Sara smiled at the sudden infusion of life that had rushed into the other woman's voice as she spoke of her charity work. "And I've got a second shelter that I'm about to sponsor in LA. I used a couple of your old contacts in the system to build ties, I hope you don't mind."

Sara glanced at the large window that overlooked the neon drenched strip. Instead of gazing out at the city, she unfocused her eyes to see their ghostly reflections in it. The alcohol she had downed burned and buzzed in her system. They took a third airplane bottle of tequila and Alex rose for a third round of beer, and Sara remembered that she hadn't eaten anything except the chocolate she and Wendy had shared earlier. She really was going to regret this later.

She might regret it, but this was the first night since Natalie Davis had kidnapped her that she had relaxed. She was comfortable and she felt safe. No one, not even Grissom, understood her quite as well as Alex. Alex had been her friend, first real love and her pillar of strength. There were years between then and now, but somehow they still fit. Maybe that was why when she saw Alex's reflection leaning in for a kiss, she welcomed it.

Author's Note: Oh fun! Wish me luck, I've hit a small snag with the chapter I'm currently working on. Okay, so I hit the snag about a week ago...Then again, I've been coming home from work only to be a yard slave. Spring is here and my free time has been stolen from me and given to the flower garden.